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eleanorfenyxwrites · 23 days

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The Thing You're Dealing

The Waves are Rising and Rising Extra Scene #1

Good news for anyone here interested in getting back into this universe: @little-smartass and I are making good progress on the extras and we're ready to start posting what we've finished 🥰 This one is a very important pre-fic conversation, enjoy!

--//--

The climate in Lanling is relatively mild this time of year, which is a single small mercy for Wen Qing’s situation - her situation being, ultimately, destitution and homelessness.

Her uncle had called for her to treat him in the final weeks of the war, so she had left her brother and family behind in (what she’d believed to be) the relative safety of their small village and ventured into Nightless City, settled in the caldera of a dormant volcano; the heat and heart of Qishan. She’d managed to slip away from the Palace when the Sunshot forces had arrived, suspecting - correctly, as it turned out - that the tide was going to turn in the favour of people who would not be particularly sympathetic to what she had been forced to do to survive.

She’d returned to her village and found it razed to the ground, Wen Ning and the rest of her family gone. The one tiny glimmer of hope that had stopped her from dropping to her knees and sobbing was that she’d found signs of a struggle, but no bodies. They must have either escaped (unlikely, Wen Ning was the only combat-capable person among them) or been taken prisoner.

Thinking about the situation in terms of cold facts made it easier to push down the terror; with the Jiang forces decimated in the attack on Lotus Pier, the Nie warriors having been greatly reduced in the attack on their stronghold, and Cloud Recesses having been burnt down, it would make sense for prisoners to be kept by the far more stable Jin clan.

And so Wen Qing had immediately turned all her focus on travelling to Lanling. On her way she’d sold her golden hairpiece to a merchant who’d been willing to turn a blind eye to her red Wen robes, trading it for food and a nondescript brown cloak and directions. She’d made it to Lanling and found it a sprawling city, loud and bustling and unfriendly to outsiders with no coin. She’d sold and traded what she could for room and board - spending each night listening intently to rumours and gossip and praying desperately to hear word of her family - and when that had run out, she’d been forced to huddle in alleyways like a stray dog, searching for shelter and whatever scraps she could find.

It was hard not to let herself drown in despair. Travelling to Lanling had been a fool’s errand, but what else could she possibly do? She could not give up on her family, her honour and pride and soul would not allow her.

But… what could she possibly do now?

It is during her third week of sleeping on the streets that the man in the cloak approaches her. She is suspicious at first (a drunken man had approached her on her second night, leering and leaning a little too close, admiring her large eyes and heart-shaped face, and after she had scared him off, she’d begun wearing her hood up at all times to avoid that kind of attention), but when he crouches and she’s able to see his features beneath his hood, she’s shocked to realise she recognises him.

Last time the two had met, they’d both been trapped inside the dome of Wei Wuxian’s protective ward, and the boy had wailed and clutched at Jiang Wanyin’s sleeve as the fierce corpses had closed in on them. Before that, she’d seen him around Cloud Recesses, at the lectures, cheerful and talkative with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was Nie Huaisang, younger brother of the wrathful Chifeng-zun, and friend of the Jiangs.

“Wen-daifu,” he says quietly, offering her a smile that is probably meant to be reassuring. “May I speak with you?”

Despite everything, the use of daifu to address her warms her to him; the time she has spent destitute and alone has been a miserable blow to the remains of her pride. Still, she does not trust him. He is a Nie. All Nies hate Wens. What could the sect heir possibly have to say to her? Her throat is sore and aching and her voice would likely fail her, so she settles instead for shooting him her best glare.

He flinches (she has had many years of experience in intimidating little brothers) but rallies. “I mean you no harm, I promise - I am interested in your professional medical opinion, that’s all. And I’ll pay you well for it!”

She is… intrigued. How can she not be? Even if she weren’t, the money would be a good incentive.

“If you come with me to the inn on the next street, we can share a meal whilst I ask my questions. I’ll even pay you upfront if you want. How does that sound?”

Wen Qing licks her dry, cracked lips. It sounds good. Her stomach gurgles on cue, and Nie Huaisang’s awkward smile turns into a grin. Wen Qing lifts her chin with a scowl at his amusement, but does eventually climb to her feet and follow him around the corner to the inn. Nie Huaisang pays for a small private side room for them to dine in, and when they enter, carefully presses a privacy talisman to the back of the door.

Nie Huaisang attempts to make smalltalk, but Wen Qing sits in stony silence until the pot of tea arrives. She does her best not to glug it down with the true desperation she feels, though it is only after three cups that she can bring herself to pause and take a breath.

She is warm. She has quenched her thirst. There is a comfortable cushion beneath her and the promise of food on its way - and more importantly, a purse of money sitting beside her on the table that will help her continue her desperate search for her family.

For the first time in quite a long while, she lets herself relax a little. She places her cup down and levels her gaze evenly at Nie Huaisang across the table. “Ask your questions, Nie-gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes flicker towards the privacy talisman on the door, before flicking back to her. “I am asking these questions in strict secrecy.”

Wen Qing snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I am not exactly active in jianghu society nowadays. I do not have anyone to tell your secrets.”

“I need you to help my brother,” Nie Huaisang admits. “Since the war, things have gotten… considerably worse.”

“Gongzi,” Wen Qing says, unable to hold back her incredulity, “your brother hates my family. He is famous for it. What makes you think he will be interested in my help? Does Qinghe not have its own doctors?”

Nie Huaisang leans in, eyes suddenly burning with a serious conviction she has never seen on his face before. “He will take your help because none of our doctors have been able to do anything for him. You are his last resort. He will take your help or he will die.”

Wen Qing sighs, biting the inside of her cheek and rubbing at her forehead wearily. “I assumed that he would consider death preferable than being treated by a Wen,” she mutters.

“Perhaps,” Nie Huaisang says fiercely, “but I do not. I will not let him succumb to qi deviation without at least looking for a solution.”

Gods above. Save us from the ridiculous stubborn loyalty of baby brothers, Wen Qing thinks, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. She sighs again instead. “Gongzi, I am flattered you have such faith in my medical abilities, but if every Nie doctor in the history of your sect has been unable to find a solution to your… family illness, what makes you think that I will be able to?”

Nie Huaisang avoids her eyes for a few moments in a way that immediately raises Wen Qing’s suspicion.

“You and I have a mutual friend,” he says guardedly, “who told me that you have a fair amount of practical experience with golden cores.”

A cold bolt of horror shoots through Wen Qing. She stares at him, desperately trying to keep her expression neutral. “What did Wei Wuxian tell you?”

Surely that fool wouldn’t be stupid enough to tell his friend about the golden core transfer. No - surely he wouldn’t - surely he wouldn’t put Jiang Wanyin’s reputation at such risk, surely he wouldn’t put her in such danger- when they’d parted Wei Wuxian had given every indication that he wanted to take the whole event to his grave -

“I went to visit him a few weeks ago, and when I mentioned that my brother was… struggling, he brought up that your treatment of Wen Ruohan - and his unstable qi from cultivating with the Yin Iron - had given you a greater insight into golden cores than any other doctor. And that when the Core Melting Hand crushed Jiang-xiong's core, you helped stabilise him until Baoshan Sanren could fix it.”

Thank the gods, Wei Wuxian had the good sense to lie; though even the lie is an incredibly dangerous thing to be spreading around if anyone thinks to question it any further. Wen Qing is fairly certain it is not the kind of information he would give up ordinarily.

“Did you get him drunk?” She demands.

“He is drunk more often than not nowadays,” Nie Huaisang says sadly, twisting his fan around in his hands. “Was, uh, was he not supposed to tell me about that?”

Wen Qing exhales slowly through her nose, pushing down the irritation, but also pushing down the deep ache of sadness at what Wei Wuxian has become post-war. He chose to give Jiang Wanyin his core, and he chose to pursue demonic cultivation, but… what a waste of a genuinely kind, brilliant man. She sincerely hopes he will find a way to recover.

“The treatment was strictly confidential,” she says through her teeth. “But, gongzi, what I did for them was completely different to your brother’s condition. I cannot honestly give you any good advice on the kind of treatment he would need, I’m sorry.”

“Then come with me to Qinghe!” Nie Huaisang blurts, leaning back over the table again, “If you examine him and help us figure out a course of action, I will make sure you get paid, and find you somewhere to live! Lots of villages would love to have a competent doctor and wouldn’t be picky about her family name.”

An idea stirs in her mind. She rejects it instinctively - she cannot truly trust Nie Huaisang, and even if she could, there’s an even slimmer chance that she can trust Nie Mingjue. What if she goes all the way north to Qinghe, cannot help Nie Mingjue, and is just executed for her family name, there and then?

Are you really achieving anything more than that just living destitute on the Lanling streets? Is it not worth the risk? There is nothing more you can do here on your own.

“I don’t care about money,” she says, eventually. “I just want my family.”

“Then you can bring them with you.”

She clenches her fists under the table, “I cannot. They were taken prisoner by the Sunshot forces.”

Nie Huaisang hums thoughtfully, twirling his fan in his hand then tapping it against his chin, “Hmm, that does make things a little more complicated. Do you know where they are?”

Abruptly, every terrible thing from the last month bubbles up from inside her and spills out in pure anguish. She digs her nails into the side of the table and cries, though the lump in her throat, “No! No I do not! I found our village razed to the ground and all of them gone! All I know-“ she hiccups, trying to force back her tears, “all I know is that my brother is gone!”

Nie Huaisang stares at her, eyes wide. They sit in mortifying silence for several moments, and when Nie Huaisang speaks again, his tone is completely changed, “That can be our deal, then.”

“What are you talking about?” She hisses, out of patience.

“A brother for a brother,” he fixes her with a shrewd, sharp stare. “If you save my brother, I will find your brother.”

He has so abruptly shifted his approach that Wen Qing finds herself feeling a fool for ever believing the cheerful, eager, slightly ridiculous little fop act was real.

…Although, Meng Yao was this boy’s keeper at the Nie sect, was he not? Meng Yao who had been every inch the conscientious, loyal, devoted second-in-command to Wen Ruohan - right up until the moment he killed him in cold blood.

Wen Qing runs her tongue over her lips, “What if I cannot save your brother?”

Unspoken are the words: what will happen to my brother?

Nie Huaisang tilts his head with an irreverent shrug. “I will be taking a risk bringing a wanted woman to Bujing Shi. You will be taking a risk as to whether your medical skills are up to the task.”

Before Wen Qing has a chance to bristle at the implied insult, Nie Huaisang is continuing, “If you don’t think you can do it and you don't want to take the risk, that’s alright. Just say, and I’ll pay for our meal and leave you here.”

As if on cue, a knock sounds at the door, and the servants arrive to deliver the food. Her mouth waters at the smell, but she forces herself to concentrate on the offer.

Is it worth the risk? But, really, what kind of risk is it, in the end? She has no resources here in Lanling, realistically she’s not going to get anywhere without the help of someone in one of the Great Sects - she’s not going to do better alone, is she? So her choices are certain failure (barring some kind of miracle) and… marginally less likely failure. And it really is only marginally; if generations of Nie doctors have been unable to find a solution to the inevitable conclusion of saber cultivation, what hope does she have?

No one had ever done a successful non-fatal golden core transplant before you tried, though, had they? What’s the bet that those generations of Nie doctors were all just hidebound, tradition-fixated cowards, and the real answer has been lying right under their noses this whole time?

Wen Qing looks at the steaming bowls of food sat on the table, licking her lips unconsciously. Maybe it’s arrogance, but given she has literally nothing else left now to try and save her family with besides her medical genius, she thinks that perhaps a little arrogance might be warranted.

Across the table, Nie Huaisang fills his bowl with slices of pork, seemingly unconcerned with what her decision may be, though the way his free hand fidgets with his fan in his lap belies his calm.

“I’ll do it,” Wen Qing says. “You save my brother, Nie-gongzi, and I’ll save yours.”

#the untamed fanfic #Wen Qing #Nie Huaisang #The Waves are Rising and Rising #Extra Scene

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 23 days

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Wait I just had another little dialogue thought. I’d already been considering an extra where LQR goes to the Asian market to “buy groceries” (read: gossip with the aunties) who happen to be Baoshan Sanren and Lan Yi, of course, but I wasn’t sure what the plot of it would be besides 1. go to shop, 2. gossip about ????, 3. profit. But what if the gossip is that he’s just off a “meeting” with WRH re: not buying the antique store and it goes like this while he’s browsing the aisles:

LY: Qiren! What have you done to your neck?

LQR: hm? Nothing. (Not a lie - he didn’t do it, WRH did.)

BS: you did, you’ve got a mark! What happened?

LQR: I don’t know what mark you’re talking about. (Not a lie - he’s got several and he doesn’t know which one they’ve spotted)

Okay well that’s the only direct dialogue thoughts I had but it would continue like that, with the aunties trying to get him to talk about whatever’s happening and he keeps dodging them with not-lies until they get so fed up with him they start chucking shit at him, so he appeases them by telling them about the dramas happening in the Sunshot Teens group that the kids think he doesn’t see.

I've been rereading Nirejseki's incredible Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan fics over the weekend (specifically Spilled Pearls and The Other Mountain, both of which are ✨chef's kiss✨)and I just reread my own Tales from Jianghu Shopping Center, which means I am now having THOUGHTS about TFJSC LQR and WRH being secret long-term partners and literally NO ONE knows because they're both totally uninterested in causing a fuss about this, but WRH's response to hearing LQR idly musing one day about the lack of foot traffic through the shop lately was to try to buy it himself to make sure it definitely doesn't go anywhere. And when LQR gets wind of it via WQ he goes to WRH like "you realize you can just not do that, right? You realize the shop is doing fine and I'm not going anywhere, right?"

#the untamed fanfic #tales from jianghu shopping center #dammit I’m gonna have to actually write this arent i #I’ll add it to my LITERAL EXCEL SPREADSHEET of my projects then

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 23 days

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#the untamed fanfic #Tales from Jianghu Shopping Center #'meddlesome fool' LQR calls him in TFJSC and only he knows that he means it affectionately #I'm just saying! if this is a low-stakes no evil slice-of-life kind of world (which it is) then WRH isn't evil he's just a bit overproctive #and LQR thinks he's ridiculous but also he's handsome and supportive and LQR likes him quite a bit so what's a man to do #I just think LQR deserves nice things 😭

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 month

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The Waves are Rising and Rising - Chapter Seventeen

by @eleanorfenyxwrites and @little-smartass

Summary:

“My doctor thinks dual cultivation would help. Sexual dual cultivation.” Nie Mingjue puffs out his now reddened cheeks, “Specifically as the party being penetrated. It — it helps for the energy exchange to be closer to the golden core, apparently.” He clears his throat. “More efficient that way. Theoretically it would have better and faster results than Song of Cleansing.” Jin Guangyao’s ears are ringing. He’s distantly aware that his mouth is hanging open. He stares at Nie Mingjue, trying to process if he really just said what he thought he said. Slowly, he turns his head to look at Lan Xichen who — yes, Nie Mingjue definitely just said that, because Lan Xichen’s ears are bright red and he’s blinking rapidly, his own jaw dropped. Nie Mingjue is asking to be fucked in the ass. For medical reasons. –//– Three virgins with communication issues attempt to do sex magic. It goes about as well as you might expect.

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #The Waves are Rising and Rising #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #final chapter y’all 😭

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 1 month

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The Waves are Rising and Rising

|Beginning| |Previous|

Chapter 17 - Epilogue

It's the last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who followed along while we were posting this, it's been so much fun reading all your comments and seeing you love reading this as much as we did writing it. If you aren't quite ready to let go of this universe yet you're in luck, because we weren't either when we finished it and so we've written some extras! They'll be posting in the near future so you should subscribe to the series on AO3 or keep an eye out on things here if you want to read those. There are also some clarifications in the end notes of this chapter on AO3 based on questions we saw cropping up in the comments, so check those out too. Anyway, enjoy the epilogue and thanks again for being here!

--//--

“XIAO-JIUJIU!!!”

Jin Guangyao spares a moment — just one — to press the tip of his index finger between his brows. It probably would have been a better idea to cover his ears, considering Jin Ling’s shriek could likely be used to shatter glass and he’d done it right next to him, but the boy has already detached from clinging to his leg to sprint full-tilt across the courtyard towards the uncle in question, so it’s a lost cause either way.

As much as A-Ling’s manners leave something to be desired, he can’t exactly begrudge the boy his excitement, and in the kindest, most loving way possible it’s a bit of a relief not to have a chatterbox toddler clinging to his skirts anymore, so he doesn’t call out a correction either. Jinlintai is abuzz with a general air of excitement and bustle which Jin Guangyao is, of course, in charge of maintaining and which Jiang Wanyin is still no better at pretending to enjoy even after years as Sect Leader, so he’ll likely be glad for the interruption of his nephew before any socialising begins.

Jin Guangyao dusts himself off and continues on his way with no more than a perfunctory nod to his sort-of-brother-in-law, who returns it with the same as Jin Ling begins talking his ear off where he’s perched on Jiang Wanyin’s hip.

There are only a few more details to oversee, thankfully, and by now Jinlintai runs like a well-oiled machine at the smallest hint of a hosting opportunity, so his presence is really more of a formality than a genuine need. Still, he knows that if one wants things done right one must oversee them oneself, so he directs servants with discreet gestures and nods of thanks or approval; he lets his path take him through the kitchens, where no one stops him in the midst of all their juggling of platters and things bubbling away on the stoves warming the room to nearly-unbearable temperatures. He’s happy not to stop and put out any metaphorical fires — the menu had been agreed upon months ago and the last of the ingredients delivered at first light this morning, there should be nothing to interrupt the well-choreographed dance of a major feast. He checks the gardens next, ensuring that the public areas have been pruned and arranged to their absolute best, and that the private gardens are full of comfortable benches and bowers from which to appreciate the oceans of peonies in bloom.

Jin Guangyao’s route ends in his quarters where he’s finally free to change into the best set of robes he owns — swathes of cream and coral silk, cloth-of-gold, and shining peonies embroidered along the edges of the sleeves and collars that are perfect miniatures of the real things growing just beyond his windows. He smiles to hear the door sliding open as he settles at his dressing table, and by now he doesn’t even have to look to know exactly what comes next. He unpins his everyday guan and unthreads it off his high ponytail, setting it down gently on its tray amongst its compatriots as broad, calloused hands start unwinding the leather tie at the base of the tail so it can be combed out and restyled.

“What are you thinking for today, A-Yao?” Nie Mingjue asks him, already resplendent in his best robes, almost as richly embroidered in silver as Jin Guangyao’s are in gold. Jin Guangyao hums as his eyes trace what he can see of the geometric designs in his polished bronze mirror, smiling when Nie Mingjue ducks down enough to meet his gaze in the reflection.

“I liked what you did for Wangji’s wedding in Gusu,” he decides, “though I don’t have the same ornaments with me here.”

“I’ll work with whatever you have, it’s not like you’re wanting for jewels,” Nie Mingjue shrugs. He stands straight again to section off Jin Guangyao’s thick hair and begin braiding with deft skill, a simple but flattering pattern that’ll keep his hair out of his face and off his neck as well as provide a decent anchor for his heaviest guan, once they’re all plaited together and wound around the rest of his hair on top of his head. Nie Mingjue takes care to weave in some of the various gold chains and ornaments that Jin Guangyao has acquired over the years as he goes; he doesn’t wear them all the time like his brothers tend to, but this is of course the perfect occasion to go a little overboard.

They work in companionable silence for a few minutes, Jin Guangyao letting his eyes slip shut to take a moment to rest and let Nie Mingjue take care of him. He still struggles with too much silence, though, so when Nie Mingjue finishes one braid and begins the next he cracks one eye open to look at him in the mirror again, though with Nie Mingjue standing straight again he can only see up to his throat.

“Did you meet with Wei Wuxian this morning?”

Nie Mingjue grunts in the affirmative and Jin Guangyao raises one brow, waiting pointedly for his partner to elaborate.

He doesn’t have to wait long before Nie Mingjue clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “He’s happy with where I’m at, considering how much hunting I’ve had to do with that yao infestation at the border last month. I’ll just take it easy for a while to let the extra resentment clear out of Baxia and my meridians, then I’ll keep going from there with his latest cleansing regimen. It’s been working well enough to hold us over when I can’t see you or A-Huan.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help but smile, nothing more than a pleased softening at the corners of his mouth. “Chifeng-Zun agreeing to take it easy?” he teases. “What trick has Wei Wuxian discovered that er-ge and I have yet to stumble upon? Please forgive this humble one for failing in his marital duties-”

Nie Mingjue cuts him off with an irritated click of his teeth and a painless tug on the braid he’s weaving. “Shut up, you know I only agree when he suggests it because of you and A-Huan. Where is A-Huan, by the way?”

“Last I saw he and Wangji were practising their composition for the celebration. He should be here soon.”

“I’m here now,” Lan Xichen says from the door, sliding it shut behind himself with a gentle clack. “Am I needed?”

“Always,” Nie Mingjue replies a little distractedly; he’s currently attempting to thread a gold bead smaller than one of his fingernails onto the braid he’s working on, so Jin Guangyao thinks it’s fair. Jin Guangyao holds one hand out towards the door without moving his head, and his smile widens when Lan Xichen crosses the room in just a few strides to take his outstretched hand in both of his to bring it to his lips for a quick kiss to his fingertips.

“Everything looks lovely as ever, A-Yao. Jiang Yanli wished for me to tell you she requests your presence once you’re dressed. I believe she wants to talk to you before the guests start arriving.”

“Ah, of course.”

“A-Yao, pass me something to tie this all off with. I’m guessing you want your wedding guan?”

Jin Guangyao’s cheeks are starting to ache but he can’t bring himself to stop smiling. He passes Nie Mingjue a length of white silk that isn’t a Lan forehead ribbon (but it’s not not a Lan ribbon) while Lan Xichen picks up the guan in question and the pins that go with it.

With his hair finished and his robes lying perfectly, as judged by Lan Xichen’s discerning eye, Jin Guangyao spares enough time to kiss his partners and appreciate them in all their finery before he sweeps from their quarters again to find Jiang Yanli. She’s sitting where she has been all morning, surrounded on all sides by peonies and cushions and silk hangings to keep the sun from creeping into the gazebo nestled in the middle of the east garden. It’s a private space without keeping her hidden, and as Jin Guangyao steps off the main path to cross to her he nods at Luo Qingyang marching past him in the opposite direction.

“Lianfang-Zun,” she salutes, casual and friendly. She’s a good vice general, a sensible and skilled leader who’s quick to discipline anyone she feels needs a lesson. Between the two of them they manage things in Jinlintai quite well, he thinks; it’ll likely always be a viper’s nest, there are far too many power-hungry uncles and aunts and cousins for it not to be, but between their prowess on the battlefield and in the political arena, and Jin Zixuan’s refusal to entertain his more… eccentric relatives any more than strictly necessary, there’s a better buffer there than there has been in years.

“A-Yao, your timing is perfect as always,” Jiang Yanli calls with a smile, soft and warm.

“Sao-zi,” he greets, ducking through the gauzy hangings to settle on the bench beside her, mindful not to crush the delicate silk of her lilac overgown. “I trust your brothers have already paid their visit?”

“Naturally, and muqin as well. You may therefore expect peace and quiet,” she laughs, the infant in her arms cooing in the next moment as if on cue. Their next moves are just as smoothly choreographed as the servants setting the banquet hall, or the kitchens preparing the feast; Jin Guangyao holds his arms out and Jiang Yanli gently slides the bundle of warm silk and tiny baby into his arms. It isn’t the first time he’s held his new niece, of course, but the joy of it hits him just as hard as the first time, and he smiles down at her so widely his cheeks start aching again.

“Hello,” he murmurs as she blinks enormous, dark eyes up at him, tiny lips parted and one hand escaping her swaddling to reach for his ear to tug on in lieu of his hair, all gathered up safely out of her reach.

“A-Xuan tells me you’re going to take some time off after this,” Jiang Yanli says after a few minutes of resting her eyes while she doesn’t have to worry about holding her daughter.

“Yes, I have been dragooned into service in Cloud Recesses,” he tells little A-Lu, currently gumming at her fingers with single-minded effort in lieu of finding tempting locks of hair to pull. “They are using the rebuilding of the training grounds as an excuse to redesign them for their increasing discipleship, and it is time to fully catalogue the repaired contents of the library. Mingjue and I are offering our expertise while Lan-xiansheng will be occupied with the summer lectures.”

Jiang Yanli hums softly and settles more firmly into her pile of cushions. With some amusement, she asks, “And naturally an extended period of time with Zewu-Jun is completely secondary to your purely philanthropic offer?”

Jin Guangyao finally looks up from his niece to offer her his widest, most insincere smile and a bland, “As sao-zi says,” for the delight of startling her into sparkling laughter, loud enough to echo back off the pavilion across the garden. A-Lu shrieks and waves her spit-shiny fist in the air, so Jin Guangyao catches her tiny fingers to let her wrap them in a death-grip around his index finger.

“I trust that Chengmei and Yu-didi won’t be allowed to commit too much mischief in my absence,” he notes as he watches Jin Zixuan enter the garden, spot them, wave only-slightly-awkwardly, and then stop a polite distance away; it must not be urgent, then.

“I don’t believe that’s something anyone can guarantee without your clever distractions to occupy them, but if they cause too much of a fuss I’ll send for A-Xian to come rein them back in,” she replies, unconcerned. It’ll have to do, and he’ll only be gone for a few weeks anyway. While history has taught that Xue Yang is anything but predictable, of course, he is at least less volatile these days now that he’s allowed to swing a sword covered in experimental talismans at a practice dummy as much as he wants, with Mo Xuanyu always happy to stick a nose in and reel off a list of questions if it means escaping his more traditional studies. It’s a work in progress, as so many things still are, but that’s not always a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan turns to look over his shoulder and then steps aside, and something in the vicinity of Jin Guangyao’s heart melts as he sees his partners coming up the path, walking sedately shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bent together to chat. It must be time to begin greeting guests, they wouldn’t come to fetch him otherwise, but he doesn’t move for another few moments in favour of watching them pause to talk to Jin Zixuan.

“Married life suits you, A-Yao,” Jiang Yanli muses; she’s one of the few people in the know — even had he not invited her to participate in their Lanling tea ceremony, Meng Shi’s memorial tablet cradled carefully in her hands while Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue poured for her, she’s too astute not to have noticed it the day Lan Xichen started wearing his hair in a full up-do, his neat bun stuck through with a gold zanzi in quiet violation of the Lan rule against excessive ornamentation. From there it would have only been a short leap to understand Nie Mingjue’s abrupt preference for a new configuration of braids and ornaments, painstakingly taught to both Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen by Nie Huaisang for their Qinghe ceremony. Though perhaps most telling of all are the white silk bands tied around his and Nie Mingjue’s wrists that are clear matches for the one around Lan Xichen’s forehead, tied on in a final ceremony in Gusu with Lan Qiren, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian for witnesses. They’re as married as they can be, at least, and Jin Guangyao privately agrees with his sister-in-law — it suits him very well.

“Thank you, sao-zi. I believe my husbands have come to fetch me to return to my hosting duties, though. Will I pass xiao-Lu to Zixuan?”

Jiang Yanli smiles and shakes her head, holding her arms out for her daughter again. “I’m feeling quite well, I’ll keep holding her. We’ll be inside shortly to help you.”

Jin Guangyao passes the infant to Jiang Yanli and stands, shaking out his skirts and making sure he doesn’t get caught on anything on his way out of the little bower to cross the gardens again to meet his partners and his brother on the path.

“A-Yao,” Jin Zixuan greets with a nod. “I was just saying you’ve certainly earned your time away, you’ve outdone yourself. Truly.”

“You’re welcome, xiongzhang,” he replies with a little bow.

“I’m going to check on A-Li, I’ll see you all inside.” Jin Zixuan bows again, a little deeper, and beats a hasty retreat; his desire to know as little as possible about their relationship hasn’t changed one bit since they’d first discussed it, and Jin Guangyao can’t help but find it funny (Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had poured him tea, as the closest thing to a family authority figure Jin Guangyao has. Jin Zixuan has personally married them and he still escapes their combined company whenever possible. It’s ridiculous). Jin Guangyao tamps down a wave of bemused affection in favour of looking up at his partners.

“Time to go?”

“Nearly. Wen-daifu just arrived, we thought you might like to say hello before the more official greetings begin. She’s in your receiving room.”

“She’s having tea with Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue adds and starts to usher them back down the path towards the more public areas with his hands pressed lightly to the smalls of their backs, “so I can only assume she’ll be looking for a rescue sooner rather than later.”

“Perhaps we can tell her that we want a second opinion on Wei Wuxian’s latest diagnosis,” Jin Guangyao muses. Not that he doesn’t trust Wei Wuxian’s assessment of Nie Mingjue’s progress, but well. It’s usually more fun to act like he doesn’t for the sake of winding up Wei Wuxian.

“...-ust saying, Qing-jiejie, I really think you’re onto something!” Jin Guangyao stops both his partners with a hand on their chests, Nie Mingjue’s fingertips freezing an inch away from the door to the receiving room in question. Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow at him but Jin Guangyao just shushes him with a finger to his lips and leans in closer, openly eavesdropping. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but even muffled through the door, Nie Huaisang is very clearly using his ‘I’m being a little shithead’ voice and Jin Guangyao is curious, there’s nothing wrong with that.

“I mean it! Da-ge is doing soooo much better, you really ought to publish your findings so others can try it!”

“Nie-gongzi we have seen nothing that proves Nie-zongzhu’s incredible progress isn’t simply a lucky break and I have disciples to train. I do not have the time to publish a manual on dual cultivation.”

“If you need more evidence we can work on that first! Listen, I’ve been experiencing some… rages-” Jin Guangyao has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop from snorting as Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen cover their eyes in unison, silently lamenting the clear suggestiveness in Nie Huaisang’s voice as he continues, “-you know, such awful imbalances in my qi, so if you happen to know any big strong cultivators looking for someone to rai-”

“I am not a matchmaker, Nie Huaisang!”

Jin Guangyao turns around and doubles over, biting the heel of his palm to try not to laugh and blow their cover. It’s pointless anyway — Nie Mingjue shoves the door open with a slam that rattles the wood in its frame and Nie Huaisang yelps a terrified, “Da-ge!!” nearly hidden under Nie Mingjue’s, “Come here you little shit!!”

“Wen-daifu,” Lan Xichen greets much more calmly, very much as if Nie Mingjue hasn’t wrestled Nie Huaisang to the floor to sit on him in punishment. Jin Guangyao disguises his laughter as a few coughs that convince nobody, he assumes, and steps into the room last to find Wen Qing trying hard to scowl around a reluctant smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

“Zewu-Jun, Lianfang-Zun. I trust I’m saved from Nie-gongzi’s hospitality?”

(“Get off me da-ge, it was a valid question!!!”

“I’m going to run you through so many drills you miserable little- don’t bite me!”)

“We were hoping you might be willing to check da-ge’s qi for us,” Jin Guangyao says and steps aside to gesture towards the open door behind him. “Nie-gongzi was just leaving.”

Nie Huaisang leaves in a flurry of fluttering silk sleeves and a closed fan pointed ‘threateningly’ at Nie Mingjue over his shoulder on his way out, and thankfully it doesn’t take the rest of them long at all to get settled in again at the table. Jin Guangyao pours tea for them all and settles in to sip at his with Lan Xichen, both of them watching carefully as Wen Qing presses two fingertips to the pulse-point in Nie Mingjue’s bare wrist.

She lingers for a few long moments, nothing more intense in her expression than concentration. When she opens her eyes again she reaches for her tea and Nie Mingjue tugs his sleeve back down, perfectly relaxed.

“I’m assuming Wei Wuxian already told you you’ve technically overextended recently?”

Nie Mingjue nods, but doesn’t look at all apologetic. Jin Guangyao wouldn’t expect him to, of course. “There was a nest of yao by the border with Qishan, had to be done. I’ll do some extra meditating in Gusu.”

Wen Qing raises an eyebrow but saves them all from some cutting remark about what else they’ll likely be doing plenty of in the privacy of the Hanshi.

“Extra check-ups then as well with myself or A-Ning, since you’ll be close by anyway. Wei Wuxian’s work with the saber spirits is helping almost as much as your triple cultivating; maybe he can solve the last few issues with it while you’re around.”

Nie Mingjue shrugs, but he can’t hide the relief softening the corners of his eyes or the hard edges of his perpetual frown.

“No better place to try than Cloud Recesses, I guess.”

“Wen-daifu,” Lan Xichen clears his throat delicately, “will you truly never publish your work with dual cultivation?”

Wen Qing sighs and looks at them all in turn before shaking her head, though it looks more like defeat than denial.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to figure out what it is about your qi that makes this work so well, but you three are truly one-of-a-kind as far as I’m aware. I’ll consider it for a time when I have fewer things to do, and if you would like to write your own accounts of course that’s your business, though I would ask that I be consulted on any part where my research is referenced. But as for me… no, I’m not currently interested in writing a sex manual for cultivators, medical or otherwise.”

Nie Mingjue snorts tea out of his nose; Jin Guangyao passes him a handkerchief without a word. They’re saved from replying by a faint tapping at the door, and Jin Guangyao stands to open it to find Lan Wangji on the other side, looking down at him as coolly as ever.

“Laoling Qin and Baling Ouyang have arrived.”

“Ah.”

“We’ll join you shortly, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen promises with his ever-present gentle smile. Jin Guangyao nods to his partners and Wen Qing and leaves them behind, falling into step next to Lan Wangji as they approach the Fragrance Hall and, beyond it, the main staircase.

“I have your word that Wei Wuxian absolutely will not ruin this Hundred Day Celebration?” Jin Guangyao asks, but it’s hardly a question. Lan Wangji’s irritation feels like it should have some sort of barometric effect, a cooling of the atmosphere around him (actually that might be quite nice, hot as it is this time of year).

“Mn.”

“No plots, no dramatic or miraculous reveals, no political upheavals?”

“We will be retiring early.”

That’s hardly an answer but Jin Guangyao isn’t afraid to make Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s life a hell of petty revenge during his time in Cloud Recesses should they give him any reason at all; it’s always good for him to have a project, and archiving dry academic texts for the Lan can only hold his attention for so long.

Either way, they say nothing else as they wind their way through the few servants finishing up their final preparations and emerge into the sunshine again at the top of the stairs where, as promised, Laoling Qin is just arriving. Jin Guangyao settles into his usual spot to greet them, Lan Wangji standing just behind his shoulder as a frigid deterrent for anyone who might attempt to disrespect him in his own home.

It isn’t perfect of course — he’s long since had to accept that nothing is. But as he bows and greets and makes small talk with each sect that arrives; as he listens to his nephew’s happy shrieks from the garden nearby where he’s chasing little Wen Yuan in rambunctious circles right through the peonies; as Lan Wangji’s stony presence is replaced with Nie Mingjue’s sturdy one, and then Lan Xichen’s gentle warmth; as he heads inside to take his place at Jin Zixuan’s right hand for the celebration of his and Jiang Yanli’s second child, Jin Guangyao thinks — he hopes — that Meng Shi knows what he’s accomplished in this life, and finds it in her heart to be proud of the family he’s worked so hard to make.

|END|

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #The Waves are Rising and Rising #Jin Guangyao #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 months

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The Waves are Rising and Rising - Chapter Sixteen

by @eleanorfenyxwrites and @little-smartass

Summary:

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #the waves are rising and rising #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 months

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The Waves are Rising and Rising

|Beginning| |Previous|

Chapter 16

Nearly there! The final chapter will post on Monday.

--//--

Jin Guangyao wakes slowly and groggily. His mind is a hazy mess of spinning thoughts, none of which he is able to reach out and focus on, so he lies still and stares up at the ceiling for a while.

It is morning, he is able to deduce, eventually. The shutters over his window are closed, but the light is leaking through, and it looks like morning.

Alright. He should get up and get ready for the day. He’s probably late for something… and yet for some reason he cannot summon the appropriate panic; so far he can only focus on one thought at a time.

So. First, he will get up and get ready. He pulls back the covers and sees that he slept in his day robes, which is strange but not an insurmountable issue. He will just have to change. He stands and strips methodically, folding each layer with his usual meticulous care, before lifting the pile to-

A pile of cream silks. Rumpled and dirtied, with some parts torn beyond repair.

A slowly growing puddle of blood.

Jin Guangyao drops his clothes and drops to his knees, fingers clawing in the silk, gasping for breath.

No, that couldn’t have…

Did he kill his father? Did he kick his own father down the Jinlintai steps?

No, no, that couldn’t have happened. And Jiang Yanli lying for him, and Nie Mingjue telling him he loved him — it’s too bizarre. The story is hazy and strangely elusive, like snippets of a half-remembered dream.

Could it have been a dream? It must have been. That’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Jin Guangyao dresses himself in fresh clothes purely on muscle memory. He puts on his boots, combs his hair, reapplies his vermillion, puts on his hat, and stands in the middle of his bedroom, staring at everything and nothing.

Is his father dead?

Did he kill his father?

Surely not. No, he could not have. What a ridiculous idea.

He walks blindly across his room and opens the door. He blinks as he sees a small gaggle of anxious, harried looking servants, and his most senior assistant.

“Lianfang-zun!” The assistant blurts, clearly deeply relieved. Ah, of course, Jin Guangyao realises — he must have overslept. That’s why he feels groggy, and why everyone is so desperately waiting for him.

There will be serious consequences for this. Jin Guangyao is certain he will start feeling dread just as soon as he can shake off the lingering dreamlike haze.

“I have orders to bring you to Jin-zongzhu immediately,” the assistant says, glancing anxiously back at the group of servants who also clearly need his direction. They will have to wait; the sect leader always gets prioritised, as is right. Once he has finished bearing his father’s wrath, he will be able to move along and help them too.

You killed your father, his mind whispers, but he ignores it. What a ridiculous notion. He is a filial son. He would never do such a thing.

He follows the assistant through the corridors towards the sect leader’s official office. It feels like he is in a play, just acting out his part, just going through the motions. The son attends to his father, and so he goes, yet he is completely detached from the whole thing. The assistant knocks, and when the door is opened another crowd of servants are revealed. They all part immediately when they see him, to reveal…

Jin Zixuan sitting at the desk.

He looks about as exhausted as Jin Guangyao feels; he is usually a man who takes great care in his appearance, dressing and styling himself immaculately with the famous Jin vanity, but today there are bags under his eyes that he has not bothered to conceal, his vermillion dot is slightly smudged, his golden guan is just a little crooked atop his head, and there’s a poorly cleaned spit-up stain on the right shoulder of his outer robe.

Why is Jin Zixuan sitting at their father’s desk?

You killed your father.

The image of the crumpled pile of silks surfaces abruptly in his mind and he nearly staggers with the force of the realisation that it wasn’t a dream at all, none of it, he actually killed his father, he actually did that, and —

Don’t think that I won’t put your tendencies to good use, my boy.

I gave her that worthless pearl and she fell for the same old story as all the others.

Hot on the heels of the horror is fierce, burning anger, and the shock that… he does not regret killing his father. And mixed up in all of those feelings, there are more, complicated ones —

Jiang Yanli lied for him.

Nie Mingjue said that he loved him.

But people are looking at him expectantly and only one of those facts is relevant here, standing in this office. He shoves down the clawing yearning that the memory of Nie Mingjue’s tender embrace evokes and tries to keep his expression neutral. The dread he’d been expecting finally arrives. The hazy feeling has gone and now he feels nothing but pure fear and panic, making his mind race and stomach churn.

What does his brother know about what happened? If he has been summoned to the office, rather than immediately dragged to the hall for a public execution, does that mean-

“Leave us,” Jin Zixuan says, gesturing dismissively with his hand — and then ruins the regal command by knocking over a pile of papers with his voluminous embroidered cream sleeve. Jin Guangyao scurries to collect them as the servants file out (taking the opportunity to pull himself together properly) and once the door has shut, his brother hides his face and swears under his breath.

“Thanks,” he groans, when Jin Guangyao stacks the papers back on the desk neatly. “Sorry, I’m — I’m a mess. I spent half the night meeting with the elders, and the rest of it trying to get A-Ling to sleep.”

The sleep deprivation seems to have left Jin Zixuan unusually candid. Jin Guangyao spares a moment to feel glad that it does not do the same to him.

“Do xiongzhang and his wife not have a nursemaid for such situations?” He asks politely.

“Oh we have a nurse, I just…” Jin Zixuan drops his hands from his face onto his desk, and then looks down at them, “well, to tell you the truth, I… I wanted to get better at it. I get so nervous looking after A-Ling by myself, and A-Li said the only way to get over that was to practise, and god knows she needs the rest, so I usually try and get him back to sleep at night and just bring him to her for feeds…”

He trails off. “I’m- I’m rambling aren’t I? Shit. Sorry. This has all been so sudden,” he shifts and resettles himself in his seat, straightening out his spine. “Sit down, please. Um. How are you? Zewu-jun seemed very… concerned. He said you were in shock.”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao says, kneeling on the cushion on the other side of the desk, awkwardly neatening his skirts around him. “Fuqin’s death was…”

Karmic, his mind supplies with an unexpected viciousness.

“A great blow, both to the sect, and to myself personally.”

Jin Zixuan nods solemnly, “It must have been terrible to witness. I know you two were… close.”

Close? Close? Jin Zixuan’s voice has a note of envy in it, which is deeply fucking bizarre. Did Jin Zixuan really believe that their father actually valued Jin Guangyao — and valued him more than his legitimate son? True, Jin Guangyao spent more time with their father than Jin Zixuan, but only because it was Jin Guangyao’s job to be at the sect leader’s beck and call, not because they had some kind of… loving rapport.

Jin Zixuan truly had no idea what was going on right under his nose at Jinlintai. Jin Guangyao’s head spins trying to imagine how the world must look from his half-brother’s perspective. His head spins faster trying to figure out what exactly is going on here. What does Jin Zixuan know?

What is going on? What is going on?

He can do little more than nod.

“I have heard the account of what happened from A-Li, so I don’t need you to tell me about it, don’t worry. Although…”

Jin Zixuan’s gaze turns strangely assessing, and the hairs on Jin Guangyao’s neck stand up as he is abruptly reminded that this man used to be a soldier. He’s such a ridiculous, awkward fop of a man that it’s easy to forget that he is just as dangerous as any other young master of their generation. Threat, his hindbrain hisses in response to that look, despite the crooked guan and spit up on his robes.

“Zixun had quite a few things to say about how he believes fuqin died.”

A bolt of cold terror shoots down Jin Guangyao’s spine. Jin Zixuan grew up side by side with their cousin, a legitimate-born Jin man, and only met Jin Guangyao a few years ago; of course he would take Jin Zixun’s side over his bastard half brother. Shit. Jin Guangyao’s muscles tense, as if readying him to flee.

And then, utterly unexpectedly, Jin Zixuan gives him a wry, tired smile. Jin Guangyao freezes, no idea what to expect.

“But he has been talking a lot of utter rot recently — accusing Wei Wuxian of cursing him when everyone knows he’s been in Gusu for weeks?” Jin Zixuan snorts, “The elders and I agree that it’s likely stress from the Hundred Holes curse. So don’t worry about that, I’ll deal with him.”

Can it really be that simple? Has Jin Zixun really inadvertently absolved Jin Guangyao through his own reputation for paranoia? Jin Guangyao’s mind spirals. After everything, could it really be that easy? Has Jiang Yanli lied to her husband to save him with the drive of second-hand sartorial affection? Or does Jin Zixuan know the truth, and he’s just chosen to let the rest of the world believe a lie? Jin Guangyao doesn’t know, and even through the strange flood of relief, the not-knowing itches under his skin.

“There was, uh, something else he said, though.” Jin Zixuan’s intimidating air disappears immediately as his shoulders grow tense and he goes back to looking down at his hands, pressed flat on the surface of the desk. “Something that I thought I should check with you about.”

The dread instantly reappears in Jin Guangyao’s stomach. Mouth dry, he makes a questioning sound; far too informal, but he cannot manage to speak, gripped with such sudden paralysing fear.

Jin Zixuan cringes pre-emptively, and immediately Jin Guangyao knows what he’s going to say. “Zixun said that you’re sleeping with Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun. Um. Both of them. Together.”

Oh gods. No, no, no — this can’t be happening. Nausea rises in a bubbling wave. Jin Guangyao should keep his face composed and deny it all, just laugh it off as another ridiculous story from their cousin, truly the curse must be addling him if he’s coming out with such things-

But he hesitates to reply, and whatever shows on his face must be enough to confirm it, even as he blurts, “Ah, xiongzhang, I-”

Jin Zixuan quickly lifts up his hands, cringing again, “No, no, you don’t need to tell me — in fact, I don’t want you to tell me! I have no idea why people seem to relish discussing other people’s private lives so much,” he huffs, visibly marshalling his embarrassment, swallowing and valiantly attempting to meet Jin Guangyao’s eyes. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, what happens between you and your sworn brothers behind closed doors is your own business, alright?”

Jin Guangyao stares at his half brother, utterly stunned. He can think of nothing at all to say.

“Do they… um, do they treat you well?” Jin Zixuan asks.

Jin Guangyao nods numbly.

“Good. Good.” Jin Zixuan fiddles with the end of one of the ink brushes in its holder, eyes darting back and forth to Jin Guangyao’s face, then down to his desk, “I, uh, thought they would but - but A-Li said it was important for me to check. As your brother.”

“Right.” Jin Guangyao manages weakly.

An awkward silence descends between them. As the adrenaline from the fear begins to recede, Jin Guangyao feels almost giddy; he has the strangest urge to laugh, and has to clench his fists in his robes across his lap to keep the impulse trapped behind his teeth.

Jin Zixuan blurts, “I just- I just need you to let me know if you’re planning on marrying either of them and leaving the sect, alright? Because I…” he makes a somewhat hysterical noise in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes shut, “gods, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing — fuqin didn’t exactly plan on dying so soon, so he did not prepare me at all, and it turns out he kept me in the dark about a whole lot around here, a whole lot of things that really should not be happening, and I-” he sucks in a frantic breath, “-and this is just the worst timing because A-Li is still recovering and she needs me, and A-Ling still isn’t sleeping through the night-”

Jin Guangyao realises, to his surprise, that he actually feels… sympathy for Jin Zixuan. The man is pathetically, woefully out of his depth here, and clearly doing his best not to fall to pieces in a way that, irritatingly, makes it oddly easy to look at him and see a person, rather than just a very privileged obstacle.

Jin Zixuan sucks in another breath, deeper this time, clearly trying to compose himself. “Ah. Anyway. I’ve appointed Mianmian as my Vice General-”

“You mean Luo-guniang?” Jin Guangyao cannot help but interrupt, confused and incredulous, “Xiongzhang, that position is tang-xiong’s by birthright, is it not?”

“Yes, technically, but… well, with the stunt he pulled with Wei Wuxian — it has somewhat eroded our faith in his judgement, and no one wants another diplomatic incident with everything else going on. The elders have recommended that he go and visit our outer cousins in Laoling for a while, whilst he recovers from the curse. Forcibly, if needed,” Jin Zixuan grimaces at the prospect of such familial disgrace, then moves on quickly. “And even muqin agrees; Mianmian has a lot of martial experience from the war and she's got a good tactical mind and a level head, she's the best choice. Anyway, she's my vice general, and I want to make you my vice envoy. I realise it's the same position you had with Nie Mingjue so it's, uh, it's not really a proper promotion and I'm sorry about that but it would make you my second in command and-”

Jin Zixuan keeps speaking, but Jin Guangyao doesn’t hear. Abruptly, he sees the future rolling out in front of him like a scroll; his brother, a well-meaning, honourable family man, good at keeping up appearances but poorly equipped for politics, without a single canny, cunning bone in his body. Himself, a bastard son, still doing the same work as he did for their father, but with a proper acknowledged rank now, carrying true authority, at the right hand of someone who desperately needs his help and knows it, who is willing to acknowledge it.

Someone who actually appears to want to be his family, even if it's only to make his wife happy.

“I'll do it. Yes.”

Jin Zixuan stares at him, wide eyed, mouth gaping stupidly, “You'll be my second?”

“Yes.”

“Oh thank the gods,” Jin Zixuan slumps in his seat, radiating pure genuine relief. Jin Guangyao can't help the dazed smile he gives in response. “I mean, technically it's your right as my younger brother, but A-Li said you might like to be asked properly in case you had any better offers elsewhere.”

Better offers…? The only role above the right hand of a sect leader would be sect leader itself, and he couldn't-

Oh. Or spouse of a sect leader, which, considering their previous conversation, makes more sense. Before he can spiral down that particular rabbit hole, he realises dazedly that Jin Zixuan is talking again.

“-And obviously you’ll have to get rid of that hat.”

Jin Guangyao’s hands immediately go to the hat on his head, touching the gauze protectively with his fingertips. “But… fuqin gave it to me…”

It would look bad to immediately get rid of it as soon as Jin Guangshan has died — and, despite it all, he still feels a deep sad ache in his chest at the prospect of relinquishing his father’s first gift to him. It had meant something to him, to receive this hat.

Jin Zixuan raises an eyebrow, puzzled. “But that is the hat of an administrator, or… or an accountant, a civil servant. If you are my second, you should dress like it, should you not? You’ll need some new robes, too.” Jin Zixuan searches through the piles on his desk until he finds a specific sheet of paper, which he scribbles a note on. “Take this to the tailor tomorrow and they can get started on a fresh wardrobe for you, and you’ll need to consult the sect jeweller to get you a set of appropriate guans, and maybe a new belt.” He pauses, and squints at Jin Guangyao, holding out the note, “Are you okay? You’re swaying.”

Is he? Jin Guangyao hadn’t even noticed. He feels… dizzy.

There’s a knock on the door. Jin Zixuan calls for them to come in, and several servants enter carrying arms full of white cloth.

“Ah,” Jin Zixuan says, face falling. In his busyness, it must have slipped his mind that he is only in this position because their father has abruptly died. Jin Guangyao sees the grief flash over his face briefly before he is able to pull himself together again.

One of the servants hands Jin Guangyao his own set of white grieving robes, with a sash to wear for more public events. Jin Zixuan is talking tiredly about needing to cut A-Ling’s celebration short and send their guests home so they can organise a funeral, and Jin Guangyao should be paying attention because this will likely be his job to do, but all he can do is nod vaguely.

“A-Yao?” Jin Zixuan calls, in the manner of one who has already called for him and not received a response, and Jin Guangyao blinks rapidly.

“Ah, xiongzhang, my- my apologies…”

Jin Zixuan frowns. “Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.”

“No, that’s not necessary, I’m quite alright.”

“I insist,” Jin Zixuan says, in the sternest tones Jin Guangyao has ever heard from him. “Take those robes back to his rooms,” the grieving robes are lifted out of Jin Guangyao’s unresisting arms, “and A-Yao — go and get some rest, alright? This can wait until tomorrow.”

Jin Guangyao leaves the room feeling just as strange as he had when he’d walked in, but it is as if the whole world has turned upside down in just the few minutes that they have been talking. He walks the corridors back towards his rooms in a daze, desperately trying to make sense of it all. After passing three or four members of the Jin court who immediately break into whispers upon seeing him, the part of his brain that is always sharp and alert for any kind of social danger finally surfaces and urges him to take a moment to collect himself.

He finds a side room, bars the door, then backs into a corner, drops into a crouch, and cradles his head in his hands. His breathing is fast. He tries to wrestle his thoughts into something that makes sense.

What are the facts?

Jin Guangshan is dead. Jin Guangyao almost certainly killed him.

But no one is investigating Jin Guangshan’s death; Jiang Yanli’s account appears to have been largely accepted and so it has been agreed as an accident. Jin Zixun’s claims have been completely unsubstantiated.

With Jin Guangshan’s death, Jin Zixuan has become sect leader.

He may not have the brains or political acumen of their father, but he knows those are skills Jin Guangyao has, and he’s acknowledged that he needs his help. And by making Jin Guangyao his second, officially (and by commissioning him the correct robes and guan to convey his status) he is showing the world — and their family — that Jin-zongzhu thinks he has worth. That he has bestowed authority upon Jin Guangyao, the authority that is his birthright.

And, finally… Jin Zixuan knows about his relationship with his sworn brothers.

And he doesn’t care.

Jin Guangyao will not be exploited, or humiliated, or sold for political favour. Jin Zixuan doesn’t want to blackmail him with the information, or hold it over his head. He just seems to want to know as little about it as possible.

The sickening, bone-deep terror that had been so all-consuming that Jin Guangyao’s own mind had hidden it in self-defence has just… vanished.

What now?

What is he supposed to do now?

The trembling in his hands slows and he gradually becomes aware, like surfacing from troubled sleep, that his breathing is scraping in his throat, the ragged back and forth of it the only sound in the room.

The first order of business is probably to stop breathing like that, as he’s fairly sure it’s at least part of the reason he’s feeling strangely light and floaty. It’s easier said than done with only himself to rely on, but he manages it in increments, forcing himself to inhale without gasping; hold it as he counts to seven; and then exhale again with control, counting once again to make sure he’s actually slowing down and not just hyperventilating in a different way.

Breathing normally — done.

He lifts his head to look around and finds that he can do it without things tilting or warbling around him, which feels like a step in the right direction.

You’ll be alright, A-Yao. We have time.

Nie Mingjue’s voice is crystal clear in his memory and despite his efforts Jin Guangyao sucks in another sharp gasp, though he catches himself in time to hold it in his lungs and not let it ruin his hard work.

They have time.

Time that he desperately wants to have with them. Time that he can spend loving them knowing that he has his brother’s approval to do whatever he wants with them. He has his Sect Leader’s express approval to court his sworn brothers, and the promise (that he trusts entirely) that Jin Zixuan no more wants to know what they do together than Jin Guangyao would want to tell him (i.e. not in the least).

Jin Guangyao lurches to his feet and practically flies out of the room again, startling a serving girl just approaching from further down the corridor into squeaking and dropping the artfully arranged flowers in her arms. He doesn’t stop to apologise, he simply lengthens his stride and arrives nearly running in the guest area of Jinlintai, each lavishly decorated pavilion tucked among the gardens suited to showing off as much grandeur and wealth that Lanling Jin can boast. Jin Guangyao slows his steps only when he passes the few visitors milling around in the mid-morning sun and does his best to ignore the thought that further whispers must be starting in his wake as he goes.

He can feel another wave of trembling weakening his knees, making his palms sweat, curling nauseously in his belly, tightening his lungs. It’s like a storm on the horizon, looming over the sprawling plains that surround Jinlintai with enormous thunderheads flashing from the inside out with bolts of lightning, roiling and far-off yet, but looming closer and closer.

He stops for nothing, not even to knock, and when he throws open the door to Lan Xichen’s guest quarters he feels wild, scraped raw around the edges, something far too big and heavy doing its best to escape his throat as he finally stops in the doorway with a white-knuckled grip on either side of the frame.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks, startled, as he whips around from his pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. Nie Mingjue is there as well, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him with wide, wary eyes. Jin Guangyao doesn’t blame him for his caution, he feels like he must look like a wild animal. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Lan Xichen crosses the empty space between them in three long strides to take him by the shoulders and bring him into the room, sliding the door shut behind him much more gently than Jin Guangyao had opened it.

Nie Mingjue stands, his expression quickly darkening as Jin Guangyao assumes he begins to think the worst; how could he not, after Jin Guangyao’s fears last night and his harried appearance this morning? He has to say something, he has to stop their fretting, he has to tell them-

His hands are shaking — all of him is. He has to tell them-

“I love you!”

It’s mortifying. It rings in his ears, it burns in his chest and in the corners of his eyes. It’s far too much, and it’s such a meagre offering; it’s been so painfully obvious from the start, and it’s one of so many things he had vowed he would never, ever burden them with.

Lan Xichen’s hands tighten on his shoulders. Jin Guangyao looks up at him, full of frantic fear that has him in a chokehold, and he curls his hands under Lan Xichen’s elbows to hold him right where he is. He thinks if Lan Xichen pulled away from him now he might finally shatter.

Neither of them say anything for a few beats too many; he can’t stand the silence, and though he doesn’t exactly want to keep talking about feelings, though it makes him want to crawl under the bed and hide for at least a week to let the embarrassment of wanting lose some of its sting, he meets Lan Xichen’s gaze first, then Nie Mingjue’s, then back to Lan Xichen to add, “I’m in love with you… both. Both of you.”

Not his smoothest speech ever, he notes with a distant sort of hysteria under the high-pitched ringing in his ears that’s sprung up in the sudden absence of the weight on his chest. He watches Lan Xichen’s face carefully, hunting for the smallest indication that Jin Guangyao has somehow read him wrong all this time.

But no, that’s impossible. This is his er-ge. His shock fades into a smile that would melt a much harder heart than Jin Guangyao’s and his hands slide up from his shoulders to cradle his jaw like Nie Mingjue had before he’d left last night. Jin Guangyao knows him, knows his heart like no one but Nie Mingjue could hope to match. His doubts have no real basis whatsoever, not with Lan Xichen. How silly of him to have forgotten, even for a moment.

“See I told you it would be fine,” Nie Mingjue grumbles from right beside them, but before Jin Guangyao can ask what he means Lan Xichen takes one hand off his jaw to jab his index finger into Nie Mingjue’s sternum, his smile still firmly in place but with a strangely manic edge as he turns it on their sworn brother.

“You and I are not done talking about this, but now is not the time.”

“What else is there to talk about?! He’s fine!”

Actually he’d very much like to sit down for a minute.

“A-Yao!”

Jin Guangyao lets Lan Xichen lower him to one of the cushions at the table in the centre of the room in a much slower descent than his buckled knees would have allowed unassisted, and Nie Mingjue has the decency to look at least slightly apologetic as he joins him to pour him a cup of tea once Lan Xichen scoops his guqin off the table and back into his sleeve.

“Alright, so you’re slightly less than fine. Do you want to talk about it?” Nie Mingjue offers with the warm ceramic he presses into Jin Guangyao’s palm. Jin Guangyao takes a moment to lament that this is apparently one half of where his heart has gone, but, well. Very few people in this world know Nie Mingjue as he does. It might have been an accident but he can’t say he was uninformed of the risks of falling in love with a man as bull-headed and tactless as Nie Mingjue can afford to be.

Jin Guangyao sips at his tea and watches Nie Mingjue over the rim of the cup for a long moment, Lan Xichen falling to his knees beside him in a rustle of silk to rest a cautious hand on his, below the edge of the table. Jin Guangyao tangles their fingers together without thought and tugs until Lan Xichen comes closer, then closer still, pressed against him from shoulder to knee. Jin Guangyao leans more heavily on him and sets his empty cup down with a quiet click; Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him, still waiting for his answer.

He knows he could say that he doesn’t want to talk about it. And he really doesn’t, not actively. Life would be so much easier if everything could be understood without having to be said, if everything important that needs to be communicated could be done silently the way he and Lan Xichen can do — entire conversations held in gestures and smiles and glances across a room.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t have to, but he will.

“I saw Zixuan this morning,” he says and Nie Mingjue’s other brow rises to join the first on its way towards his hairline. “He… knows. Zixun told him.”

A muscle in Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenches and Lan Xichen goes stiff as a board beside him, his perfect posture somehow even straighter.

“What does Zixuan know?” Nie Mingjue almost growls. “And what has he threatened to do?”

Jin Guangyao blinks a few times and then thinks back to the previous night, to the things he’d told Nie Mingjue, the things Jin Guangshan had done and said–

The panic sparked by the thought of Nie Mingjue tearing through Jinlintai to find and threaten Jin Zixuan right back for whatever imagined intimidation he thinks has happened is enough to break the dam holding back the latest flood of words waiting to break free.

“About us! Only about us!…I think. Zixun told him what fuqin learned and I-I couldn’t deny it in time, I didn’t... I couldn’t deny you, either of you. He… asked me to be his vice envoy. He wants my help, he wants me to stay here and not to marry out of the Sect, which — I know-” he addresses that last to Nie Mingjue, whose mouth had fallen open at the word ‘marry’ and though he’s sure Lan Xichen’s reaction is worth seeing as well, quite frankly he’s too afraid of how much longing he’d see on his face to actually look up at him, “— which is out of the question when one thinks about the long-term realities of it. But he doesn’t… he doesn’t mind what we do, short of that. He doesn’t want to know. He won’t... he’s not like our father.”

That is, perhaps, the understatement of the century.

Silence falls briefly as Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both process the, admittedly slightly disjointed, account Jin Guangyao is trying to give them. He has no patience for silence at the moment though, and it’s hardly fallen before he’s talking again to fill it, unable to sit through it calmly.

“I want to stay in Lanling. I will be a proper member of the family now, Zixuan has already begun making arrangements, I’ll be allowed to hold A-Ling-” it hits him like a bolt of lightning as he’s rambling that that will undoubtedly be part of the deal and he can’t help the bewildered smile that stretches across his entire face. He doesn’t dwell on it for more than a moment though before he’s continuing, “-and of course we will need to readdress the logistics of our arrangement; my initial rules no longer apply for what I feel are very obvious reasons. Perhaps a contract is in order — I can’t marry out of the Sect but a marriage is as much about insurance for mutual benefit as it is anything else, we can do that, er-ge is there paper and ink here? I can write something quickly, it could be similar to our brotherhood vows for simplicity’s sake in which case it would hardly take any thought at all-”

Jin Guangyao manages to get one foot under him and twist at the waist to try to stand before Lan Xichen’s arms lock around his waist from behind, hard as iron and utterly inescapable.

“You will do no such thing,” Lan Xichen ducks his head to press against the curve of his neck, punctuated with a firm kiss that lingers for long enough that Jin Guangyao gradually becomes aware of his pulse hammering in his chest, thrumming under the steady pressure of Lan Xichen’s mouth.

Silence falls again but this time Jin Guangyao doesn’t break it, choosing instead to accept the cup of tea Nie Mingjue pours for him and passes him with far too much amusement in his expression for Jin Guangyao’s liking. He just drinks it instead of attempting to do anything to wipe that smug look off his unfairly handsome face. (Mostly because his preferred method would be, of course, to kiss it off him, but there’s a table and Lan Xichen’s restraining arms in the way.)

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen finally murmurs and rocks him gently back and forth a few times, smiling against his skin, “my heart, of course we can do whatever suits us all best, we would never ask you to leave your family. Perhaps we can discuss it later?”

Jin Guangyao’s heart does something complicated in his chest that he has trouble parsing through. The most easily identified element is a clench of panic at the thought of delaying the process of… whatever they’re going to do; he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s told his sworn brothers he loves them and neither of them have, as of yet, returned the sentiment in as many words. Is there a window of opportunity he’s going to miss to secure their continuing presence in his life if they delay whatever it is they can do to bind themselves together in a new way?

“Of course, er-ge,” he agrees — is he allowed to disagree? He tries to gauge Nie Mingjue’s thoughts on it but for once his expression is inscrutable as he glances between them for a long moment or two, clearly thinking about something, though what is a mystery.

“Writing up a…contract can definitely come later, after you’ve rested some more,” he finally says, slowly, “but I don’t think we have to wait to at least discuss some things. I think maybe we should do it now, actually.”

That tickles something in the back of Jin Guangyao’s mind; Nie Mingjue had said something very similar last night, hadn’t he? He tilts his head a little and studies the tense set of Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, the determined clench to his jaw.

“Yes,” he agrees, finally. “Yes, please. I have some… questions.”

“Thought you might.”

Lan Xichen presses another kiss to Jin Guangyao’s neck and sits up straight again with a little huff that from anyone else might be irritation.

“Considering you barged into his room during a traumatic time, confessed your feelings, then simply left, one would say it’s perfectly understandable and expected that A-Yao has questions,” Lan Xichen says a little too tartly, so apparently the huffy sigh was a rare sign of irritation for him as well. Interesting.

“Yes I had that same thought,” Jin Guangyao says with a little twitch of his lips. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline wearing off, perhaps it’s the absurdity of all of this, but unlike last night he finds himself more amused than anything now. What had Nie Mingjue been thinking? He’s sorely tempted to ask that question directly, but instead he settles for, “Why now? I thought you couldn't stand me. What’s changed, da-ge?”

Nie Mingjue’s voice is so tender it borders on unbearable as he asks, “Hasn’t everything?”

The irritated tension in Lan Xichen’s arms around his waist loosens. “Mingjue?”

Nie Mingjue scrubs a hand over his face once aggressively enough that Lan Xichen tuts, but he doesn’t reach across the table to try to stop him.

“Look, I just… I’ve been so angry for years, and even I couldn’t tell how far I’d gone until that night we cultivated together properly and I felt like me again, how I used to be, before the war. I can’t think straight with Baxia screaming in my head more often than she’s quiet. But even before that night I couldn’t just ignore everything I saw; I’m not some monster incapable of observing the evidence right in front of me!”

Nie Mingjue visibly takes a deep breath and, as he had last night, seems to drag his rising agitation back in and re-center himself before he continues.

“The things you did in Qishan were things that I couldn’t overlook, A-Yao. And in a lot of ways I still can’t-” Jin Guangyao forces himself to ignore the way that twists a barb under his ribs “-but I think… I understand now, in a way I didn’t before. You give everything you possibly can — to everyone important to you, not only to me — and you’ve been trying to make me see for years that it doesn’t make a damn difference. It was easier to believe the worst of you when I couldn’t see your bruises and your exhaustion and your pain, but I refuse to take the easy way out anymore. You deserve better than that, A-Yao.”

That sounds far too good to be true.

“I just told you last night that my father ordered me to kill you.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, but there’s no taking it back (no matter how much he wants to the moment he says it).

“Why didn’t you? You had countless opportunities, so why didn’t you?”

Excuses immediately spring to the front of Jin Guangyao’s mind, the sorts of things he would have said (that he did say) to Jin Guangshan when he demanded to know the same thing. He couldn’t have done it without Lan Xichen figuring out what was happening; there was more information to be gained if they waited; there were other projects that took priority.

But that’s all that they are — excuses. Excuses aren’t reasons.

Nie Mingjue meets his eyes like he already knows (because he does; Jin Guangyao told him the night before last, confessed it in the calm after the storm when they’d been alone together with the weight of Nie Mingjue’s fragile mortality hanging like a sword over their heads). “I didn’t want to. I don’t want you to die, I never have.”

“Because you love me?”

Jin Guangyao breathes slowly through the squirming discomfort at being seen through so clearly — it’s his own fault, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“Because I love you.”

Nie Mingjue shrugs and it’s only slightly less irritating today than it had been last night. “I’ve decided everything else is secondary so long as that remains true. Maybe things are clearer after nearly dying, or maybe it was A-Huan’s scolding, but I’ve realised some things… matter more to me than others.”

“You have deserved every scolding I have given you these last two days,” Lan Xichen sniffs, but Jin Guangyao can feel the tension in him again for daring to stand his ground in a way that, by its very nature, involves being something other than conciliatory. Jin Guangyao can empathise.

“I know. Nothing about this has been fair to you, A-Huan.”

Lan Xichen relaxes again ever so slightly. “I would hardly say ‘nothing’ about this has been fair. I can think of a few... select moments that have been better than even I dared hope.”

The innuendo is impossible to miss and though Jin Guangyao resists the urge to lean back enough to insinuate himself into Lan Xichen’s lap, he can’t help but smirk even as Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“Ah yes, of course. So I shouldn’t apologise for this entire ordeal then?”

There’s no trace of teasing at all in Lan Xichen’s voice when he replies, “You do not have to apologise for any of it, Mingjue. You know I would do all of this and more; I would do anything it takes to keep you.”

Nie Mingjue’s expression softens again; Jin Guangyao isn’t entirely certain he can take much more of this. They’re so earnest, and so clearly in love with each other. It’s impossible to figure out if he wants to bask in it or close his eyes so he isn’t forced to witness something that feels like it should be shared in complete privacy.

“You shouldn’t promise that, A-Huan, we still don’t know what will happen in the future even if I try to find some solution with Wei Wuxian-”

“I know, but that can hardly change that I will do everything in my power to help no matter what comes.”

“A-Huan, my love, you have to be realistic-”

“Sweeping statements are best avoided when entering into contracts. If you would just let me begin outlining one we could avoid such promises that could prove too difficult to keep!”

This time he makes it as far as actually rising from the floor before Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen both pull him back down (gently, carefully) until he’s once again kneeling at the table and tucked even more firmly in Lan Xichen’s embrace.

“A-Yao you’ll be just as capable of writing something suitable in a few shichen as you are right now. Sit with us for a while at least, hm? You should still be resting.”

How is he supposed to argue when Lan Xichen is like this? He concedes with as much dignity as he can muster and earns himself a kiss on the cheek for a consolation prize, so perhaps it’s worth it to let Lan Xichen win every so often.

Nie Mingjue props his chin in his hand as he watches them, seemingly content to end the conversation there for now. Jin Guangyao supposes that’s fair — there’s more that they need to discuss, perhaps just the two of them, but he finds that he trusts Nie Mingjue. As sudden as this all is, it doesn’t feel wrong, and in fact on further consideration it actually isn’t all that sudden either. After all, hasn’t Nie Mingjue been calling him ‘A-Yao’ since the day he drained himself and his core down to nothing to try to prove his devotion? Hasn’t Nie Mingjue been softening towards him by degrees for the greater part of a year? Perhaps they were always going to end up here, and it’s only with the benefit of hindsight that Jin Guangyao can see the path they’d set their feet on a long time ago.

Either way, they’re here now, and Nie Mingjue is smiling softly at him as Lan Xichen toys with a lock of his hair just beneath the brim of his hat in a way that would put him to sleep if he were slightly more horizontal, so what is there left to question, really? The rest of it can wait, as they’ve been insisting.

“I agree with A-Huan, the contract or whatever you want to do can be done later. Right now you need to rest.”

“You know, you both keep telling me to do that right after saying things that make it incredibly difficult to sleep,” he gripes, despite the fact that his eyelids are, in fact, growing heavier by the moment. It’s Lan Xichen and his beautiful hands — how’s he supposed to stay awake with gentle fingers combing through his hair like that? But he has a point to make, damn it, and undermining it by passing out cold is going to be annoying.

“Mm don’t worry, my heart,” Lan Xichen murmurs with another soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ve already made it clear to Mingjue that he needs to make it up to you, what happened last night. Later.”

Jin Guangyao grumbles but lets himself be hauled off the floor at least and cajoled (gently) into bed, once Lan Xichen has carefully divested him of his hat, boots, and his outermost robe for the sake of comfort. He makes it as far as laying down with one of Nie Mingjue’s arms beneath him, prepared to pull him to his side, before he sits bolt upright so quickly Lan Xichen has to jerk back lest he get a headbutt straight to the nose.

“Wait — I have to… arrangements, for the guests! A-Ling’s celebration, it’s… well it’ll have to be a funeral and there are things to arrange with the servants before everyone grows too restless-”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Nie Mingjue growls and he doesn’t pull, but he does tighten his grip enough around Jin Guangyao’s hips that it would be more effort than it’s worth to attempt to break it. Besides, even if he did break it Lan Xichen is still standing beside the bed, arms slightly outstretched like he’s prepared to tackle him back to the mattress if need be, and he’s certainly in no state to avoid both of their efforts simultaneously.

Perhaps he should just… lie down again. Just for a minute.

Nie Mingjue pulls him to his chest as soon as he’s horizontal again, tucking both arms firmly around his waist and tucking him under his chin which is really just fighting dirty at this point. He’s warm and sturdy and his shirt is unfairly soft, all his stiff outer layers already discarded with his and Lan Xichen’s usual alacrity.

“There will be time for arrangements later, and quite frankly I would fear for the future of the jianghu if a friendly gathering of fully grown cultivators couldn’t handle themselves long enough for you to have a nap,” Lan Xichen agrees much more softly as he joins them, slinging his hair casually over his shoulder to avoid laying on it as he gets comfortable on his side, facing them. Jin Guangyao’s eyes sting a little as Lan Xichen leans in to kiss his forehead once, and then tips his chin up the few inches necessary to do the same for Nie Mingjue.

“You forget, er-ge, that there has been a poisoning and a nasty… accident-” he barely manages to force the word out at all, it certainly isn’t possible to say it normally, but neither of his partners indicate that they’ve noticed his hesitation, “during the course of their visit. It’s natural they would look for some sort of direction from their host sect as to how to approach the situation-”

Lan Xichen kisses him, which as far as redirection tactics go is both effective and pleasant.

“I haven’t forgotten at all, A-Yao. They are, in fact, my primary motivations to ensure you rest. I believe you will be kept quite busy handling all of this the moment you leave our sight, so will you let us be selfish and keep you to ourselves long enough to feel reassured that you are heading into battle properly rested and armed?”

There’s truly no winning when Zewu-Jun joins the battle against you. What else is there to do but give in? Jin Guangyao relaxes into Nie Mingjue’s chest and only feels a small flash of guilt for the relief of having the choice (lovingly, gently) taken from him.

Nie Mingjue’s hum of approval is nearly subvocal, more of a low vibration in his chest pressed against Jin Guangyao’s back than a true sound. Jin Guangyao’s eyelids droop and he doesn’t fight it. He stays awake just long enough to send a mental apology to anyone who will be inconvenienced by his disappearance, but the guilt isn’t quite keen enough to stop him falling asleep within the next moment.

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#the untamed fanfic #3zun #The Waves are Rising and Rising #Jin Guangyao #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen

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