Chapter Text
It’s not the first time that Mingjue has seen his baby brother in drag - occasionally when he goes out clubbing with Meng Yao their wardrobes have been enough to make Mingjue’s toes curl - but it is the first time that Huaisang has shown up for a Night Hunt in makeup, bootie shorts and black leather knee boots.
There is a long silence while Huaisang strikes a dramatic pose on the threshold of the living room, one hip cocked provocatively, and Mingjue just blinks, taking in the bright red lipstick, the puffy jacket that artfully obscures the full breadth of his didi’s shoulders, the tiny denim shorts that reveal an obscene stretch of smooth, pale thighs, and the chunky-heeled boots, then he sighs, says “No,” quite flatly, and turns on his heel to return to the sofa. “This isn’t a game, Xiao Sang,” he adds, disappointment bleeding into his voice. “We have important work to do.”
“No, but listen, Dage,” Huaisang says, hurrying after him, boots clip-clopping on the tiled floor. “The demon is going after girls, right? Right? Mostly cis girls, but sometimes trans girls. If we show up looking like two guys, it’s definitely not going to target either of us, but…” he gestures at his ensemble, and then waves his hands in a “ta-da!” sort of motion. His manicure, oil-slick black, glints in the lamplight. Mingjue cocks his head and considers the figure before him dispassionately, letting his gaze travel from the toes of Huaisang’s black boots to the top of his shiny black wig and back down again. The whole outfit is much less showy and over-the-top than some of the clubbing gear Mingjue has seen him in before, and his makeup, for all the slick of bright crimson edging Huaisang’s mouth, is much more subtle. He makes a disconcertingly convincing woman, in fact.
It isn’t a bad idea, in all honesty. Chances are still good that this creature will ignore them both and target some unsuspecting girl, but there’s at least a possibility that it will try to attack them, with Huaisang packaged like this. It won’t be the first time that his didi has played the role of bait; Mingjue is always deeply uncomfortable with it, but Huaisang has pointed out, quite loudly, that he is a grown man and a cultivator and that their work involves taking risks, and that he does not need his older brother to baby him, thank you very much. So.
“I don’t like it,” Mingjue mumbles, because he feels like he really needs to register his disapproval, even if, predictably, Huaisang is wrapping him around his little finger once again.
“Pah! I’m a genius, and you know it,” Huaisang says. “What demon is going to be able to resist all of this?” He pouts, and flutters his eyelashes, and Mingjue can’t help smiling.
“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But be careful.”
Huaisang makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and turns on his heel, sashaying towards the apartment door with an exaggerated gait that is going to be drawing all eyes from here to the club.“I’m always careful! You know me, Dage!”
“...that’s the problem,” Mingjue says with feeling, following his brother out the door.
* * *
The club has a public area, and a private area, and an inner sanctum. Mingjue’s preference would have been to just barge straight through, smashing the magical barriers and confronting the demon in its lair, but Huaisang insists that giving the enemy warning is pure foolishness, and that it’s far wiser to let stealth and sweet-talking sidle them in past its guard so they can take the thing by surprise. They’ve been bickering about it all the way to the club, but in the end, inevitably, Huaisang’s argument wins. Mingjue has never been able to out-talk his baby brother - and they both know it’s his turn, really; their last Night Hunt had been a decidedly unsubtle hack and slash, which Huaisang always hates.
So now Mingjue finds himself hand-in-hand with this ersatz Huaisang, familiar face rendered somehow softer and daintier through the mundane magic of paints and powders, this Huaisang whose voice is lighter, whose gestures are more expansive, all fluttering motions, giggling talk and wiggling walk, all airy confidence and unspoken promise. This…meimei.
It’s decidedly odd to have Xiao Sang getting quite so cosy with him, leaning into him and wrapping a possessive arm around his waist, squeezing his biceps and touching his hand like he’s - she’s - trying to stake a claim; Mingjue has never excelled at deception, but luckily Huaisang is actor enough for the pair of them. Huaisang’s perfume is obnoxiously sweet, all brandied cherries and bitter almonds, something addictive and almost comically dirty about it; it clings to Mingjue’s clothes where Huaisang has been nestling.
Mingjue just lets it all happen, and reminds himself how good and uncomplaining Huaisang had been last week about battling fierce corpses, even though his favourite shirt got ruined.
(Well - not uncomplaining as such, but his complaints had only been the normal babble of pouting trivialities that Mingjue thinks of as background noise, as home. He only ever worries when Huaisang goes quiet.)
It doesn’t take so very long for them to be at the entrance to the VIP section, and Huaisang is flirting with the doorman with an intensity that makes Mingjue blush, gesturing back at Mingjue and whispering and wheedling in a way that makes it perfectly clear that “she” wants to find a quiet corner to do really filthy things with this hot Gege - and implying that she might be equally ready to do some creatively filthy things with the bouncer, if he plays his cards right. When Huaisang nods pointedly back at Mingjue, he passes over a fat handful of bills which the bouncer pockets very smoothly, eyes still fixed on Huaisang, and then they’re inside.
“See, Da-Gege?” croons Huaisang in his husky girl-voice, fingers closing around his wrist. “I told you! Only the best people come here!”
“Hmm,” says Mingjue, letting Huaisang tug him down the shadowy corridor, away from the headache-inducing beats of the main public area. This is where the missing girls were taken from, this shadowy inner sanctum of private rooms. Mingjue is battle-ready, Baxia hanging in the in-between waiting to be summoned; he thinks that he will recognise the demon somehow when they encounter it, but who knows how cleverly it may have shielded itself?
At his side Huaisang is flourishing his fan like a practiced flirt fresh from a sweaty dance floor; it looks flimsy and light weight, but Mingjue knows how effectively Huaisang can wield the weighted steel and painted leather in a pinch. They are both ready.
Or at least that’s what Mingjue thinks, as he sketches a quick seeking spell into the air and pushes it into the wall.
It turns out that he isn’t entirely ready to hear an alarm promptly start wailing in the distance. Huaisang swears, and sketches out a quick counter-spell to muffle both their auras more effectively.
“Who the hell is selling magical security systems to demons?” mutters Huaisang, meeting Mingjue’s startled gaze with the same frustration he feels himself. “Someone on the council needs their ass kicking all the way into next week for letting them get away with this shit.”
The alarm has cut off, but they can hear footsteps pounding down the corridor now; Mingjue is just about to draw his sword and start swinging when Huaisang drags him over to the wall and into something that looks an awful lot like a clinch. Mingjue makes a startled noise, but instinctively allows himself to be manhandled into place, one thigh sliding between Huaisang’s legs and one arm braced against the wall, blocking any clear view of their faces from whoever is heading towards them. With the heeled boots, Huaisang is almost Mingjue’s height, for once. They are not quite kissing, but that would only be obvious to someone a hell of a lot closer to them than anyone is yet. Huaisang’s hand on his ass helps paint a fairly unambiguous picture.
“What the hell?” Mingjue whispers, as whoever-it-is rounds the corner and comes pounding towards them; he is itching to draw his blade, excruciatingly conscious of his unprotected back, but he trusts Huaisang.
“Work with me,” Huaisang breathes back, one knee hooked up around Mingjue’s leg, pulling him up flush against Huaisang’s body. More loudly he adds in a throaty voice “Oooh, yes Gege! Like that!”
Mingjue is exceedingly glad that Xichen cannot see what an absolute fool he is making of himself right now, play acting for the demon’s minions.
“Here, it came from round here - hey, you!”
Deception does not come naturally to Mingjue, but there’s no denying that Huaisang is very good at what he does; the way that he jumps and squeals and scrabbles around to hide behind Mingjue now, all trembling limbs and Bambi eyes, is pure theatre.
“Robbers! Gege, save me!” Huaisang exclaims, shrill and frightened; Mingjue takes the hint and squares up against the team of security, doing his best to radiate Large Protective Boyfriend, and not Sneaky Demon-killing Cultivator Invading Your Lair.
“What is this place?” Huaisang rants, still tucked away behind his shoulder, reminding Mingjue irresistibly of his least favourite auntie faced with inadequately seasoned food in a restaurant, and threatening to march right into the kitchen to teach them how to cook. “First those lunatics with swords, now these lunatics with guns - I thought you brought me somewhere special, Gege! What kind of girl do you take me for? I…”
“Swords?” The two minions exchange glances. “You saw people with swords?”
“Didn’t I just say that?” Huaisang says, pettishly. “Horrible men waving swords around like they thought they were in some kind of movie! They looked sharp! They could have had somebody’s eye out!”
“Which way did they go?”
Huaisang points, and the two goons break into a run. Mingjue watches them pugnaciously, then turns back to Huaisang and raises one eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this,” he says.
Huaisang sticks his tongue out. “What, like you didn’t enjoy chopping heads off all those fierce corpses last week?”
Mingjue cannot in good conscience argue with that one.
“This is a club, Dage! Full of mundane people! We need to be discreet!”
Mingjue makes a huffing noise and rolls his shoulder. They could have barged in and done it his way, dammit - but it’s true that the clean up would have been a nightmare. Again. And he does have a clean up team on speed dial, but Huaisang isn’t entirely wrong about the value of discretion.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s find this thing and get the job done.”
* * *
The demon, when they finally find it in the inner sanctum of the club, is one of the ones that can pass for human.
It shouldn’t be able to pass for human, with anyone who believes their eyes - but mundanes are astonishingly ready to rationalise away the evidence of their senses, and since the demon walks with its feet on the ground and is largely human shaped and sized, clearly the mundanes among its staff have been making assumptions about makeup and body modifications to explain the strangeness of its appearance.
It has its back to the door, which is a piece of carelessness that Mingjue disapproves of even in predatory monsters, but is also convenient; unfortunately it quickly becomes clear that this is because its attention is entirely given over to the human girl sprawled out on the altar, her head dangling at an extremely uncomfortable angle, bleached hair hanging like a dismal little flag and one perilously high heel lolling off a stockinged foot, the other lying discarded on the floor.
She does not look terribly alive.
Shit.
Huaisang meets his eyes ruefully, nodding, and the two of them bolt into the room, weapons out.
Huaisang has always hated using his sword; it’s there, in the inbetween, ready to be seized, but Mingjue knows that his brother will consider it a failure if he has to resort to his blade. Instead he uses his fan, and draws upon an astonishing array of different talismans, and the result is usually just as effective. Mingjue has long since stopped arguing about this, because life is short, and because it works, much as this galls him. It isn’t the Nie way, but - it is Huaisang’s way, and Mingjue loves his little brother. He still worries about the future of their clan, but the truth is that he doesn’t much want the family curse to pass on to Huaisang. The thought of his didi qi deviating still wakes him up screaming at night, sometimes; it would be foolish to complain if Huaisang prefers a different path.
They move like an oiled machine. Mingjue’s troops are as perfectly trained as any cultivators in the world, and when he fights with them he is always confident in the precision of their practiced maneuvers. When he fights alongside his little brother, it’s an entirely different kind of choreography - but Mingjue loves it with all his heart. Instead of classic Nie maneuvers memorised by rote, fighting with Huaisang is an endless improvisation - but one in which the two of them fit, moving in synch, seeing patterns of give and take and push and pull, reflexively taking up the slack for one another, reflexively having one another’s backs. It’s exhilarating - and it’s terrifying too, of course, because part of Mingjue would rather keep Huaisang wrapped in cotton wool far away from any demons or fierce corpses. But he’s fiercely proud of how cleverly his Didi fights. He is not among the strongest of the Nie clan, physically, but nobody can come close to him in strategy, and Mingjue trusts Huaisang’s instincts in battle ahead of even his own.
In this case, the demon is only a mid-level threat. Nasty, to be sure, but its powers are limited, and Mingjue has judged it a small enough task that it can be handled by just the two of them.
He starts to rethink this a little when a dozen or so doppelgangers step out of the mirrored walls and join the fray, but Huaisang still hasn’t resorted to his sabre, and he’s smiling a sharp-toothed smile as he whirls and kicks, slashing with his fan and thrusting flurries of talismans into the crowd bullet-swift. Mingjue follows his lead, methodically slicing and dicing his way through monsters until once again there is only the original demon, squatting over its prey, looking very much less human now, with its neck twisted to an impossible angle and the layers upon layers of its teeth clearly visible in its maw.
It has been watching the way they fight, its eyes narrowed with concentration, and Mingjue does not care for the smirk that stretches its mouth as Huaisang gets rid of the final doppelganger.
“Xiao Sang - ware!” he calls out, even as the creature howls something in an unfamiliar language and the whole floor suddenly lights up - shit, it’s an array, they’ve been skidding back and forth across this mosaic tiled floor and Mingjue has totally failed to notice that there’s a pattern built into the tiling, and it’s too late now, shit, too late, pulses of something bright and glowing surging up through the air, shivering through Mingjue’s skin and blood and bones like a promise of disaster.
“No you don’t, you fucker,” Huaisang says, and his suddenly-drawn sword is arching through the air at the same time as Baxia, perfect matching arcs slashing towards the startled demon, slicing right through it, snick-snick, severing head from torso and torso from legs.
And after that, of course, there’s just blood and gore and screaming, and Mingjue dutifully calls the clean up crew; the girl isn’t dead, it turns out, so that’s at least one small mercy.
He feels - odd. In a way that he can’t quite pinpoint. The demon did something, he’s sure, with that smirk and that strange flare of light, but he isn’t in any pain.
“It did something, right?” he says, uncertainly. Huaisang has pulled his wig off and is scratching his scalp. There’s blood splatter on his pale bare thighs and on the sleeve of his jacket; he looks tired, and small, and unspeakably precious.
“It did - something,” Huaisang agrees, pulling a face. “But I didn’t recognise the language at all, and I’ve never seen anything like…” he gestures at the room, and Mingjue thinks again of the insubstantial bolts of light.
“I felt it,” he says. “Not pain, but...something.”
“Yes. Something.” Huaisang bites his lip. Neither of them wants to say the word ‘curse’, but the thought still hangs in the air. “I’ll ask Wei Ying.”
Mingjue nods. “I think that would be sensible,” he says, slowly. “I...I have a bad feeling about this.”