Pine Trees & Mulberry Leaves

by SunflowerSupreme

Summary:

“Trash,” Wen Ruohan sneered, looking at Nie Mingjue’s unconscious form. Then his eyes found Meng Yao, and there it was again, that sickening affection that he didn’t know what to do with. “What he did to Wen Xu,” he murmured, reaching a hand for Meng Yao’s stomach, “and to you.”

Notes:

Content Warnings

 

 

- Mentioned Rape/Non-Con (it never happened, but a characters thinks it did)
- Power Imbalance (Meng Yao/Nie Mingjue had a relationship while Meng Yao was still his deputy)
- Mentioned Underage (Meng Yao was technically (barely) of age but, again, there’s an age gap so I tagged for it)

Chapter 1

“I found him for you,” Wen Rouhan cooed, his voice dripping with sweetness. “Just as I promised I would.” 

Meng Yao brought his hands forward and bowed, ever the dutiful servant. He’d taken all the time he needed to process the current situation as he had been walking through the room, past the captured disciples and clan leader. Wrapped around his waist, tucked safely out of sight, Hensheng seemed to vibrate sympathetically. 

By the time Wen Ruohan spoke, he was ready to turn to Nie Mingjue and say, “Clan leader. Long time, no see.” 

Something unreadable flickered in Nie Mingjue’s face, something that might have been pain, but he covered it quickly, his eyes narrowing, “You,” he snarled. “It’s you.” 

Meng Yao smiled. 

Knowing there was nothing Nie Mingjue could do to stop him - and that he had wanted to do this for years - Meng Yao knelt in front of him, reaching out to stroke hair back from Nie Mingjue’s face. Mockingly. “I would never have expected that you could look so miserable today.” 

Nie Mingjue shoved his hand away. “Get lost!”

He forced a laugh. “Do you think you are still the ruler of Heijan?” Pushing himself to his feet, Meng Yao took a deep breath before saying, “Look closely. This is the Scorching Sun Palace-“ 

“What Scorching Sun Palace?! This is just the den of the Wen Clan!” 

He flicked his eyes toward the Nie Disciple that had spoken. ‘Wonderful,’ he wanted to say. ‘Now I have to kill you.’

But he buried that thought along with every other righteous thought he’d ever had, because righteousness didn’t protect him, didn’t feed those he would die to protect. One slash of his sword - not Hensheng, just a nameless sword picked up from a Wen disciple - and the man fell.

Tucked away, Hensheng vibrated slightly, annoyed that Meng Yao hadn’t chosen to use her. She failed to understand why he tried to keep her clean, not dirtying her with the unrighteous acts he carried out. 

He didn’t fully know why he cared. 

“Jackal! Kill me too if you can!”

Meng Yao smiled, tightening his grip on the borrowed sword. “Pleased.” 

The Nie Disciples’ lives were easy to trade, when he knew whose survival they bought. 

He lifted his head, feeling Nie Mingjue’s eyes boring into his back. “Anyone else feel like saying that word?” 

“Jackal,” Nie Mingjue snarled.

It took a second, his face almost didn’t want to work, but Meng Yao smiled, turning back to his former leader with a pleasant expression. “Clan Leader,” he said sweetly, approaching the weakened man, a retainer falling into step beside him. “Please. Have a look at this.” 

Baxia.

She lay in the protective box Meng Yao had personally designed for that purpose, where not even the most daring Wen Disciples would be able to harm her. ‘Take her,’ he wanted to say. ‘Do your part, you brute.’ 

But Nie Mingjue only stared at him, refusing the bait. 

So Meng Yao pushed harder. “Clan Leader.” He reached out, running his hand across Baxia’s blade. “I’ve held Baxia many times before-“ 

Where is it?!

It is ours!

Give it to us!

He’d never heard Baxia’s voice before, but as it ripped through his head, he knew it had to be her. It took all his strength - years of practice pleasing his so-called betters - to not pull his hand from the blade and flee her wrath. Instead he forced Baxia’s voice from his head, turning back to Nie Mingjue to ask, “Isn’t it a little late for you to be angry now?” 

We will protect it!

Feed us his blood! 

Death to the traitor!

“Put your hand away,” Nie Mingjue grit out. But Meng Yao was rooted to the spot, trapped by the screaming saber in his mind, struggling to break through her paranoid control.

He’d seen Nie Mingjue with the saber before, had seen the edges of his eyes redden as Baxia ate into his mind, but he’d never imagined it could feel like this, twisting into his stomach, ripping at his very being. 

Ours!

We will keep you this time!

Protect our child!

Meng Yao was all to happy to pull his hand away and silence the blade’s voice. He didn’t know how she had known, but if he had her as an ally-

They might yet make it out alive.

He just needed to goad Nie Mingjue into taking the blade, so she could tell him the truth, could explain to him what needed to be done. 

Hensheng vibrated in annoyance that he had touched yet another blade, and he took a moment to place his hand over his abdomen, pressing against her through his robes. 

“Your blade, can barely be deemed a first-class spiritual tool.” Meng Yao pretended to frown, hoping that - if Baxia heard him - she would understand he didn’t mean it. He swallowed, barely inclining his head, mentally cursing Nie Mingjue for his refusal to grab the damn saber, and said, “Compared to your father’s blade, its a little bit inferior.” 

Nie Mingjue seemed to be struggling to breathe, but still held himself back from grabbing Baxia, or attacking anyone.

‘This is your fault!’ Meng Yao wanted to shout. “Why not have a guess how many times Clan Leader will slap it until it’s broken?” 

The answer was none, because as long as Meng Yao was tormenting Nie Mingjue, then Wen Ruohan wouldn’t feel the need to step in. He could feel the man’s eyes on them, hungrily eating up the interaction, no doubt waiting for Meng Yao to parade the truth - his secret - in front of him.

Until Meng Yao had played that card, Wen Ruohan would wait and gleefully watch the scene before him. He could play the long game and, thankfully, so could Meng Yao. 

Nie Mingjue seemed to be having a difficult time not throttling Meng Yao, which was unfortunate, because Meng Yao really needed him to start a fight. 

He stepped closer, pleading with Baxia to please understand, not knowing if she could hear his thoughts as he said, “I remember that when Old Clan Leader received his broken blade-“ he dropped his voice, barely leaned forward “-he died-” they were almost close enough to kiss, and it was a damn miracle Wen Ruohan hadn’t suggested such a thing, just to mock Nie Mingjue “-of wrath.” 

Finally Nie Mingjue shoved him, and- well, he’d been wanting to smack his former mentor for a very long time. It wasn’t for Wen Ruohan that he kicked the man, knocking him back to the ground. It was all for Meng Yao. 

Stupid.

Trusting.

Meng Yao.

“How dare you be so rude in front of Clan Leader Wen?” he demanded, when what he meant to say was ‘how dare you use me and then throw me aside as though I was nothing?’ 

Nie Mingjue threw him across the room. It jarred his body, still weak, still hurting in all the wrong places, and he couldn’t do anything as Nie Mingjue raised a sword he’d grabbed from one of the Wen Guards.

Hensheng pulsed, begging to protect him, but he couldn’t bring himself to act soon enough. ‘Wen Ning will take him to Lan Xichen,’ he promised himself. ‘He has my letter, he will-‘ 

Wen Ruohan saved him, tossing Nie Mingjue across the room with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. “Yao-er.” 

“I am fine,” he lied, feeling sick at the idea that the Wen Clan Leader was genuinely concerned for him. 

Wasn’t it cruel that the only person who had shown him such care since his mother’s death, was someone as evil as Wen Ruohan? What did that say about Meng Yao?

Nie Mingjue held out his arm and - finally - Baxia flew to him. Meng Yao allowed himself only the briefest moment of relief. 

There was still no guarantee of Nie Mingjue’s success, nor of what Baxia would have to say after all of Meng Yao’s taunting, but he felt safer than he had in months. He held his hand over his abdomen, wincing in pain as he pushed himself up, watching the fight with bated breath. 

They weren’t winning.

Baxia’s pure rage wasn’t enough against Wen Ruohan’s power, not when they were in the seat of his power, and Nie Mingjue was sent sailing back across the room, coughing blood as he hit the ground. He didn’t move.

There was no time to mourn. Either he was dead or he wasn’t. Despite their colored past, Meng Yao didn’t need for him to be alive, even if he might prefer it. 

Meng Yao winced, pushing himself to his feet. Wen Ruohan was striding toward him, so he put a weak expression on his face, saying, “I’m so incompetent to bother the clan leader-“

“Trash,” Wen Ruohan sneered, looking at Nie Mingjue’s unconscious form. Then his eyes found Meng Yao, and there it was again, that sickening affection that he didn’t know what to do with. “What he did to Wen Xu,” he murmured, reaching a hand for Meng Yao’s stomach, “and to you.” 

He forced himself not to react as Wen Ruohan stroked his abdomen, a slight frown on his lips. Then he turned to the door. “Things are getting interesting outside Scorching Sun Palace. Meng Yao, it was set up by you, don’t you want to see?”

He’d set up more than Wen Ruohan realized, of course. Meng Yao had been the one to tell Xichen about Nightless City’s weaknesses, and the one who had allowed food poisoning to spread through the Wen troops. 

But he kept his face blank, pretended they were only discussing the fact that Meng Yao had been in charge of Nightless City’s defenses and that, as far as the Wen knew, had done an excellent job. 

Wen Ruohan tossed the Yin Iron forward, allowing it to circle over the pit of exposed flame. Without looking back, Wen Ruohan asked, “He should see his father’s triumph, should he not?” 

“I will fetch him,” he lied with a smile on his face. 

Thankfully, Wen Ruohan’s attention quickly shifted as he lost control of the Yin Iron. “Why?” he demanded, running for the door, resentful energy peeling off him. “Why isn’t it working?” 

Meng Yao waited for Wen Ruohan to be safely through the door before he killed the last two living Wen Guards. Then he checked Nie Mingjue’s pulse - sluggish, but alive - before taking a moment to straighten his robes. 

Then he walked out the door.

Hensheng trembled as he finally drew her from his robes. 

He arrived just in time to find Wen Ruohan’s hand at Wei Wuxian’s neck, the man snarling, “Stygian Tiger Amulet-“ 

Wen Ruohan stumbled forward, seeming shocked by the knife in his back. He took one, two, three shaking steps.

Then he fell forward, down the stairs of his own palace.

Dead.

Lan Xichen’s younger brother rushed to catch Wei Wuxian, just as Meng Yao’s own (older, half) brother ran into view. Blood soaked his yellow robes, but he was still impossible to miss, still beautiful and powerful and- 

Everything Meng Yao should be. 

As Jin Zixuan’s men started up a victorious chant, the sect heir stared at his half-brother. Meng Yao didn’t have time to waste on wondering what his plans were, or what he might be thinking. He turned on his heel and bolted back into the palace. 

He didn’t stop to check on Nie Mingjue that time, didn’t even stop when Lan Xichen - who must have run to reach the interior hall before Meng Yao had finished crossing it - shouted for him. He disappeared behind the throne, through the door that led deeper into the palace. 

Meng Yao slayed every Wen guard he passed, letting Hensheng drink her fill on their blood. 

Too many of them - far too many - knew the truth, had seen him when he arrived, had watched him swell over time. Killing them took time, delayed him from reaching his destination, but there were risks he wasn’t willing to take. 

Once they realized they had been betrayed, he knew where their anger would turn. 

He couldn’t guarantee Lan Xichen’s gratitude for the information he’d passed, and he refused to rely on anyone. There was too much at stake. 

Nie Mingjue had personally taught him the risk of trusting so-called honorable cultivators. 

Meng Yao turned down a dark hall, hidden in the recesses of Scorching Sun Palace. His eyes adjusted easily to the gloom, lit only by a few torches. No guards appeared to stop him as he strode for his destination. 

Wen Ning emerged to meet him, his dark eyes flicking nervously around the hall. 

Meng Yao held out his arms before he was even halfway down the hall. 

A cold voice from behind him stopped him. “Meng Yao.” 

He gestured for Wen Ning to run, to flee, to protect himself and his precious cargo. Then he turned, straightening his back to find Baxia at his throat. 

‘Traitorous fucking saber,’ he thought bitterly. ‘You were supposed to tell him!’ 

Or perhaps he’d been wrong to think the Saber would extend her protection to him, perhaps he had misunderstood her raging. Worse was the idea that she had told Nie Mingjue, and he just didn’t care.

“Clan Leader Nie,” he begged. “Let me explain-“ 

Baxia trembled, pressing against his throat where his robes parted, at his most vulnerable and exposed place. 

“Clan Leader,” he whispered, pressing himself flat against the wall, “your wounds are still fresh.” 

Nie Mingjue was panting, as though every movement cost him dearly, still weak from his fight with Wen Ruohan. His eyes moved past Meng Yao, staring at something in the distance. His expression was unreadable. 

A glance over his shoulder revealed Wen Ning frozen, Lan Xichen approaching from the opposite end of the corridor, sword drawn. They’d cornered them, and the worst part, was that it was probably accidental. 

There was no way they had known that turning either left or right at the last junction would take you to opposite ends of the same hallway, they had just split up in order to cover more ground. 

And Meng Yao, Wen Ning, and the most precious thing in Meng Yao’s life were trapped between them. 

His mind whirled, his self-preservation instinct kicking in, honed from a lifetime of desperation. “I can explain,” he whispered. “I had no choice!” If it wasn’t for Baxia, so close he was half afraid to breathe, he would have fallen to his knees to beg again. 

Wen Ning looked at Meng Yao, still pinned to the wall by Baxia, then looked down at the bundle in his arms. Then he looked at Meng Yao again.

Turning to Lan Xichen, he quietly said, “I am supposed to bring him to you, if he is in any danger.” 

Stupid. Idiotic. Sweet. Moron. 

Lan Xichen froze. 

Meng Yao wanted to cry, wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and sob, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the scene, watching as Wen Ning slowly approached Lan Xichen. 

The Lan Sect Leader stared at the tiny bundle, lowering his sword, whispering, “That is… that is a baby.” 

“A-Song,” Meng Yao sobbed, holding out his hand pleadingly. “A-Song.” 

His son wailed. 

He’d named him for Huaisang, of course. Who else was he supposed to name a fucking baby after? He’d considered naming him for Lan Xichen, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t have been obvious to the Wen. He was lucky Wen Ruohan hadn’t demanded the baby be named for him. 

The names were not the same in character or exact pronunciation, but close enough to Meng Yao. It brought a smile to his face when he said it, reminded him of his friend’s easy going smiles and happy laughter. 

Baxia trembled, pulling away from Meng Yao, forcibly slamming herself back into the sheath on Nie Mingjue’s back. The Nie Sect Leader let out a betrayed roar. 

Meng Yao ran for his son, pulling the sobbing child from Wen Ning’s arms and gathering him to his chest, rocking him and shushing him. A-Song calmed down at the sight of his father, reaching his hands up to coo and pull at the ends of Meng Yao’s hair. 

Lan Xichen continued to stare. “A-Yao-“ 

“He is my son,” he whispered, lifting the baby and bending his neck to press their cheeks together. A squishy hand pressed against his nose, bringing a smile to his face. 

He’d never mentioned him in any of his letters, in any of the missives he’d sent to Lan Xichen. All those months, when he’d been pregnant and miserable, heavy with child and still doing everything he could to undermine Wen Ruohan, he’d stayed silent. 

Lan Xichen would have told him to leave Nightless City if he’d known. He’d been unhappy with Meng Yao risking himself, if he’d known there was an infant involved, he would have demanded Meng Yao flee. A man like Zewu Jun could never understood why a father would willingly carry a baby in his arms as he oversaw the construction of war defenses, or as he issued instructions to torturers. 

But he’d stayed, because he had to win. He had to be the one to defeat Wen Ruohan, because that was the only way to ensure his own safety, his own honor, and then he could pass that onto his son. His son was already a bastard, but if he was the child of a war hero, perhaps he would fare better than his father had. 

He’d learned long ago he couldn’t rely on the man who had impregnated him. No one cared about their bastards, not even those who claimed to be honorable. 

There’d been a plan, he’d intended to send A-Song with Wen Ning to safety, but then he’d given birth, had held his son in his arms, and he couldn’t send him away.

Lan Xichen didn’t ask about the child’s other father, didn’t even ask how Meng Yao - whom he knew to be a man - had given birth. He just held out his arms, smiled, and asked, “May I?” 

He could never deny Lan Xichen anything, letting the man gently ease A-Song from his arms, lifting him up and smiling as the baby reached for his shining guan. 

The first sign that anything was happening was when Wen Ning shifted, drawing himself protectively around Meng Yao even as he trembled in fear. 

“Meng Yao.” 

He lifted his head, meeting the Nie Mingjue’s questioning eyes. 

Nie Mingjue might be a brute, and he might be an ass, and he might not be the brightest, but he was, shockingly, capable of basic math. He could look at the child and work out when he had been conceived, or at least a rough estimate. 

There were tears in Meng Yao’s eyes - real ones, not fake - as he said, “I didn’t know.” 

Nie Mingjue stared at him, then at the child in Lan Xichen’s arms. 

“I would have told you,” he promised. “If I had known, but I didn’t, not until-“ He’d thought it was the stab from Wen Chao making him ill, then blamed it on stress. Only when Wen Qing had confronted him had he finally been forced to accept the truth.

He really shouldn’t have slept with Nie Mingjue. 

They’d been tipsy, after Nie Mingjue’s feast to celebrate Xue Yang’s capture, and he couldn’t even remember which of them had instigated it. He remembered ending up in the Clan Leader’s bed, remembered his own shock that Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared what his body looked like under his robes, and remembered that it felt so good.

He’d promised himself he’d get a contraceptive from the doctor, then he’d freed Xue Yang, murdered the captain, and everything had fallen apart.

All he’d managed to get from the Nie Healers before he’d fled had been a potion to prevent infection, and he’d only gotten that because Nie Huaisang had brought it to him, shoving it into his bag along with what must have been his friend’s entire monthly allowance and several pieces of jewelry that were worth more than everything Meng Yao had ever owned. 

He’d spent the money protecting Lan Xichen.

He’d kept the jewelry. 

Lan Xichen looked from A-Song, to Meng Yao, then to Nie Mingjue. “He’s your son,” he realized breathlessly. “Mingjue-“ 

Wordlessly, Nie Mingjue allowed the baby to be passed into his arms. 

Meng Yao never seen the fearsome Chifeng Zun look at anyone except Nie Huaisang with such tenderness. It was ridiculous to be jealous of his own son, but the feeling twisted in his stomach nonetheless. 

Lan Xichen turned to look at Meng Yao, reaching a hand out to stroke his hair. “You never- A-Yao, you never mentioned him.” There were no accusations in his voice, no suspicion, just concern, as though it were somehow Zewu Jun’s fault that Meng Yao had misled him. 

“By the time I knew-” he whispered. Tears choked his throat, preventing him from finishing. 

“Four months,” said Wen Ning helpfully, startling them all as they remembered he was still there. He’d shrunk back once he’d realized that Nie Mingjue posed no threat, but he’d still stayed, watching his friend with worried eyes. 

“It… it helped the story,” he admitted. “I told Wen Ruohan that-“ he swallowed, closing his eyes “-that Chifeng Zun had forced himself on me.” 

Lan Xichen cooed, stroking his hair. “Oh, A-Yao.” 

He swallowed. “That- that is why he summoned me here, when Clan Leader was captured. He had promised that I could kill him, personally.” Once he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop, sobbing out, “Baxia spoke to me- she felt him- I needed him to grab her, so she could-“ 

Nie Mingjue nodded shakily, still staring at the tiny infant in his arms. “She spoke to me,” he whispered. “She said I had to protect you, that you were her’s.” 

Lan Xichen made a scolding noise. “And you thought she meant he was her’s to kill?” he guessed. 

Another nod. Nie Mingjue had the decency to look embarrassed. 

Meng Yao didn’t know what to do with the tensions. None of his carefully laid plans had involved a confrontation with the two men he loved and respected most, his own life only spared for the sake of a baby. “Wen Ning’s sister,” he said suddenly. “Wen Qing.” 

Lan Xichen required no explanations. “We will find her,” he promised. “They are both under my protection as Sect Leader.” 

Wen Ning sagged against Meng Yao in relief. He’d promised to try to protect them and the rest of the Dafan Wen, he just hadn’t thought it would be so easy. “Their family,” he said. “On Dafan Mountain-“ 

“I will send disciples to find them,” Lan Xichen promised, squeezing Meng Yao’s shoulder. 

“They weren’t combatants-“

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said gently. 

Nie Mingjue, despite his hatred for anything Wen, said nothing, too entranced by his son. 

The son in question, no longer able to be entertained by Nie Mingjue’s braids, started to sob. “He’s hungry,” said Meng Yao. He hadn’t fed the boy all morning, too busy rushing around, dealing with the fall out of the invasion. He’d been on his way to feed him when he had received word that Chifeng Zun had been captured. 

Lan Xichen looked between Meng Yao and Wen Ning and asked, “Where is the wet nurse?” 

Once again, Meng Yao was painfully reminded of how different life was for those born to powerful sects. Of course Lan Xichen wouldn’t have expected Meng Yao to lower himself by feeding his own son. That was servant’s work. 

“He doesn’t have a wet nurse,” Meng Yao said quietly as his son continued to cry. “I’ve been- I wouldn’t have trusted anyone with him.” 

“Oh,” said Lan Xichen. It took him a second to process the information, then he smiled, squeezed Meng Yao’s shoulders, and promised, “We can find you somewhere private.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Whatever,” Nie Mingjue looked distinctly uncomfortable as he passed the child back to Meng Yao. “Whatever you need.” 

He nodded.

But he’d long since learned not to trust Nie Mingjue’s charity. 

Notes:

A-Song is, clearly, Rusong, although in this universe Meng Yao chose the name “Song” (松 Pune tree) because “A-Song” sounds close to “A-Sang” (桑 mulberry leaves) so he could talk to his son and pretend he was talking to Huaisang. He was lonely and Huaisang was always nice to him, so he liked to imagine they were still friends.

Huaisang is insufferable once he figures out who the baby was named for.

Chapter 2

They emerged in the throne room to find that someone had stripped Wen Ruohan’s corpse and propped him up on his own throne. A sword through his neck held him upright. His dick had been cut off and crammed into his mouth. 

Ever the model of propriety, Lan Xichen frowned. 

Meng Yao kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to confront his own, complicated feelings toward the man. He’d been a murderer, and a monster, and it was better for the cultivation world that he was dead… but he’d also sheltered a man he believed to be the victim of a violent crime. 

Nie Mingjue grinned at the sight. 

Thankfully, he didn’t stop to admire it, keeping their small group moving through the hall, to where Nie Zhonghui, who had been leading the Nie troops while Mingjue had been on his mission, visibly relaxed at the sight of them. Then he did a double take at the sight of Meng Yao, and a triple take at the sight of A-Song. It was a testament to what a loyal man he was that he didn’t ask questions (well, loyalty and the fact that nothing could shock a man who was used to Nie Huaisang’s antics). 

He also didn’t ask questions when Nie Mingjue ordered him to locate a private space. 

In the end, the best they could find was a small antechamber off the throne room. Lan Xichen wrapped Meng Yao in his own silk over robe, the light blue material swamping the smaller man, then they left him alone, standing at the door so no one could enter. Ostensibly they were standing there to make themselves visible, in case any of their disciples needed them. But in truth, they were protecting him. 

The disciples must not have needed too much, however, because a whispered argument soon started up, barely audible over the din from the victorious soldiers. 

Lan Xichen started it, transitioning from a conversation about Nie Mingjue’s capture to ask, “What were you thinking?” 

“Xichen-“ 

“Mingjue, listen to me. Meng Yao was a child, he’s barely older than Huaisang-“ 

Meng Yao focused on his son and pretended he couldn’t hear them, stroking the baby’s downy hair as he suckled greedily. 

“We were both intoxicated-“

The conversation abruptly cut off, and Lan Xichen calmly answered questions from a disciple. Then, after the disciple left, the Lan Sect leader hissed, “That is no excuse! He was your servant, do you truly think he felt he could have refused you?” 

“Of course he could have!” 

“Mingjue!” 

Another disciple must have approached them, filling them in on where the wounded were being taken. Lan Xichen asked about his brother, seeming relieved when the disciple assured him that Lan Wangji was well and overseeing the care of Wei Wuxian. 

Meng Yao sighed, leaning his head back against the wall, stroking his son’s downy hair. He hadn’t yet decided what angle he needed to play with Nie Mingjue, hadn’t anticipated seeing the man so soon, and until he knew exactly what his options were, he wasn’t ready to commit himself to any side.

Nie Mingjue was honorable, and could likely be persuaded to legitimize his son. Meng Yao doubted he had other bastards, for starters, Meng Yao would have known about them, but mostly because Nie Mingjue wasn’t the type. 

But there was always Jinlintai. The entire reason Meng Yao had initially gone to Wen Ruohan had been to prove himself to his own father, and that was an avenue he still wanted to explore. ‘Perhaps I should go find Jin Jixuan, ensure he knows who-‘

A knock at the door interrupted his plans. 

He covered himself quickly, scrambling to peer out the door. Lan Xichen smiled back at him warmly. “Accommodations have been found.” 

He allowed himself to be led off, escorted by Nie Zonghui and Lan Xichen’s best healer. They took him to Wei Wuxian’s sick room, where Jiang Yanli looked up from her brother’s bed to offer him a warm, if tired, smile. 

He didn’t know what to say, just held his son more tightly and wished he’d had time to change out of his Wen robes. 

How many of her friends had he killed? The Jiang were reckless, and no small number of them had found themselves in the Fire Palace, tortured by Meng Yao and his underlings. He’d traded their lives for that of his son, and he wasn’t going to apologize for that. 

But she either didn’t know or didn’t care.

Meng Yao found that he liked Jiang Yanli. She was sweet and friendly, keeping up a steady conversation with him while Lan Wangji played his guqin and stared at the unconscious Wei Wuxian. Nothing seemed to faze her, not even when Meng Yao tucked himself behind a divider to nurse his son. She didn’t comment on his body, except to say that there was a cream she could make him if his nipples were sore.

Lan Wangji said nothing, just swept his gaze over the two of them before returning his full attention to his music. 

Jiang Yanli continued to stare at A-Song. “May I hold him?” 

He could count on one hand the people who had held A-Song from his birth until the success of the Sunshot Campaign: himself, Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and Wen Ruohan. In the past few hours, he’d surrendered his son to be held by both Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, but he knew them. He trusted them.

He barely knew Jiang Yanli.

Still, he found himself passing the baby to her, letting her smile and coo at him. 

“He needs to be changed,” she said after a few minutes. “You should rest. Allow me, please.” 

She never once left his sight, laying a blanket out on the floor beside his cushions and gently unwrapping A-Song, cooing at him and giggling as she did. 

When she found the first trinket she paused. 

He’d wrapped all the jewelry Huaisang had gifted him into his son’s swaddling cloth, along with the letter he’d written for Lan Xichen. That way, if Wen Ning had needed to flee with him, he would have been able to pawn the jewelry until he could get to the Cloud Recesses. 

“I-“ he began, staring hopelessly at her curious face. 

Lan Wangji produced a spare qiankun pouch and Jiang Yanli carefully tucked his treasures away into it, then handing it to Meng Yao. 

Once the Lan healer finished her examination of Wei Wuxian (giving a list of songs to Lan Wangji), she turned her attention to Meng Yao instead. He wasn’t entirely thrilled to allow examination by a doctor other than Wen Qing, but given that they hadn’t yet found her-

He bit his lip, put a smile on his face, and thanked her, politely declining. He would wait for Wen Qing, he explained.

Not that he was expecting Wen Qing, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she showed up. Even if she didn’t, he would be fine. 

The healer didn’t seem happy, but she left willingly enough. Meng Yao just wanted to sink into a bed and sleep for a few decades. 

Unfortunately, his nap couldn’t have lasted longer than an hour or two. 

“Where is that son of mine?” 

Meng Yao turned to the door just in time to see a glittering man enter, sweeping through the room in fine yellow silks, unblemished by battle. 

He couldn’t help but stare, suddenly feeling like a child again, walking up the steps of Koi Tower, desperate for his father’s approval. 

‘Son of mine.’

Son.

“This humble one is here, Jin-Zhongzhu,” he replied, pushing himself to his feet, circling his hands and bowing deeply. 

His father was beautiful, glowing like the son, and there was something like pride in his voice as he said, “The slayer of Wen Ruohan. Lianfang Zun.” 

He had… a title?

Meng Yao wasn’t certain how long it had been since his decisive actions, but it seemed rumor of his accomplishments had already spread far and wide. His face flushed and he allowed himself a smile. “This one only seeks to please.” 

“Good!” Jin Guangshan’s voice was loud and booming, everything Meng Yao had ever wanted from a father. “I have room for loyal men at Koi Tower.” 

He could barely find his voice, his mouth dry, but he managed to whisper, “This one would be most honored.” 

“We will have to do something about your wardrobe,” Jin Guangshan added, flicking an eye up Meng Yao, taking in his rumpled appearance. 

“Of course, Jin-Zhongzhu.” 

“And your hair.” He almost sounded… displeased. Meng Yao made a mental note to remove his Nie Braids as quickly as possible, and to ask Jiang Yanli if she knew anything about Jin hair styles. 

He had a sudden desire to bring A-Song to Jin Guangshan, to say, ‘look father, I have birthed you a grandson. The first of his generation.’ But before he could force his body to act, the Jin Sect Leader was already turning his back.

Such an important man, of course, had other places to be. Meng Yao could only imagine how busy the Jin Sect leader must be, and the thought that he’d made time for him-

“Come Zixuan,” he said impatiently, sweeping out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

Meng Yao would have to tell him later, he decided, still flushed with pride.

He’d barely noticed his half-brother, too entranced by the splendor of their father. But after Jin Guangshan departed, his favored son hesitated, staring at the rumpled man before him. 

They couldn’t be more different, despite their shared birthday. Meng Yao was tired, his robes dark and stained with blood, his hair rumpled, falling out of the Nie braids he still habitually wore. 

Jin Zixuan stared at Meng Yao a moment longer, then managed a slight smile. “I am honored to call you my brother.” Then his eyes drifted to A-Song, and his smile grew wider, more genuine. “I would enjoy getting to know my nephew.” 

So someone knew of his son. Perhaps Jin Guangshan just hadn’t known what to say. No mind, Meng Yao had an entire life ahead of him to introduce his father to his grandson. He could wait for the best time. 

Jin Zixuan watched him go, seeming to think long and hard, then he gave another smile, for Meng Yao this time. “The next generation,” he said stiffly. “The name prefix I believe will be Ru. But only if you want.” 

He did want. 

He wanted so badly.

“This one thanks you, Jin-Gongzi,” he murmured, inclining his head.  

“Gege,” corrected Jin Zixuan. “I’ve always wanted a brother.” 

“Zixuan-ge,” he murmured, bowing deeply. 

---

Jin Guangshan, true to his word, sent a new wardrobe for Meng Yao, along with a black hat that he supposed was intended to replace his Nie Braids. He didn’t know what to make of the hat - it seemed more like the sort that a servant might wear - but his father had sent it, so he would wear it with pride. 

He dressed himself behind a partition, and Jiang Yanli gave him a kind smile as he stepped back into her view. 

“Second Master Jin,” she murmured. 

He felt himself smile. “Lady Jiang.” 

There was something unreadable in her expression, and for a moment he was certain she was going to ask him something, but then Lan Wangji knocked at the door, no doubt arriving for his regular guqin appointment. 

Meng Yao stared at his reflection as Lan Wangji played, shifting this way and that, letting the light reflect off his glimmering clothes, wondering what his mother would say if she could see him. 

She would be so proud, he decided, smoothing the front of his robes. Meng Shi had given him caps similar to the one Jin Guangshan had sent, she would be pleased to see him wearing it. Perhaps… he refused to let himself consider the idea that his father had known Meng Shi had dressed him in structured caps. It must be a coincidence. 

Perhaps his father would be pleased to hear of it. 

There would, he supposed, be a new name for him once he ascended Koi Tower. If his father kept the same root, Yao 瑶, then his name would become Jin Ziyao. Of course, there was a chance his father would bestow a different name on him, a root other than Yao. 

Excitement stirred in his belly at the thought. 

A-Song whimpered from the cushions Meng Yao had tucked him into while he dressed, and he scooped his son up, smiling brightly and allowing himself to imagine the boy also dressed in Jin Gold. 

Of course, A-Song was the bastard child of the Second Son, he would never inherit, not if Zixuan had children of his own, but perhaps… He allowed himself to imagine his son, the elder cousin, teaching Zixuan’s children, showing them the secrets of cultivation, the best places to play in Koi Tower. 

Meng Yao beamed. 

Although… if he could convince Nie Mingjue to recognize his son perhaps one day A-Song could inherit there. Nie Mingjue might marry one day, and have legitimate children of his own, but he liked to think of himself as honorable. It might not be hard to convince him that Meng Yao’s son - his eldest - should have priority.

He’d need to act quickly, if that was his aim, but he’d also need to be careful. It would be worth it, however. Meng Yao was willing to do anything to ensure A-Song lived a better life than he had. 

But he pushed his thoughts aside, there would be time for such machinations later, once he’d caught up on what had been going on during his respite.

With a brief promise to Jiang Yanli to check in on her later, he set off in search of the Jin Delegation, A-Song tucked into his arms. Surely they would have need of him, there was no one else who knew Nightless City like he did and he was more than happy to share his knowledge with his father. 

But Jin Zixuan found him before he could locate their father. Meng Yao bowed deeply, half-hoping that his brother would say he didn’t need to bow to him, but the Sect Heir only said, “You should be resting.” His eyes were on A-Song, warm and welcoming. At least he clearly adored his nephew. 

“I am knowledgeable about Nightless City and her inhabitants,” he said. “I thought to offer my services to Jin-Zhongzhu.” 

“I will tell father you came to honor him,” Jin Zixuan promised. “And that you have offered your knowledge.” 

There were, he supposed, two options. Either Jin Zixuan was honest and he truly was worried about his half-brother, or he was going to lie to his father and claim that Meng Yao had not visited. 

It would be good to know which his brother picked, he decided. An early test to find out if Jin Zixuan had been honest when he had said he always wanted a brother. 

Still, leaving the Jin Delegation’s area felt oddly like accepting defeat. 

He had no where else to go, not knowing where he could find the Lan or Nie, and not entirely sure he would be welcomed there. As of yet, he hadn’t seen either of the Sect Leaders since they had sent him off with Nie Zonghui. Instead he located his old room, gathered up his meager belongings, and then carried them back to the room he was currently sharing with a sleeping demonic cultivator.

As far as lodgings went, he’d had better. 

But he’d also had worse. 

---

“My baby!” There was no question who that screech could be. Nie Huaisang flung himself through the door of the room without knocking, throwing himself into Meng Yao’s cushions and reaching out for A-Song. 

Jiang Yanli hid a giggle in her sleeve. 

Meng Yao willingly passed his son to Huaisang, watching as the baby’s eyes lit up at the sight of the glittering necklace his friend wore. Immediately Huaisang unclasped the necklace and dangled it above A-Song’s face, letting him giggle and reach for it. 

“My baby is so precious!” Huaisang cooed. 

If anyone else - even Nie Mingjue - had so readily laid claim to A-Song, Meng Yao might have panicked. But it was Huaisang, his closest friend, so he smiled instead and asked how he’d been.

Huaisang moaned dramatically. “I have been living in Cloud Recesses,” he complained. “With Lan Qiren.” 

Meng Yao bit back a smile. 

“A-Yao,” Huaisang moaned. “He made me cook and clean and held lessons in a tent.” 

“Oh gongzi,” he soothed, reaching out to stroke his friend’s cheek. “However did you manage?” 

It was impossible to resent Huaisang for his complaints, no matter how immature they were. He wished he could have so few worries that he could be upset about needing to cook and clean for himself. 

He could only hope his son could grow up so spoiled. 

Given that he was currently sucking on an emerald necklace, perhaps that was possible. 

But it was Huaisang, so once he’d run out of complaints - Gusu cuisine, the lack of good paint, Lan Qiren releasing a bird he’d caught, being beaten for catching said bird for the second time, getting his favorite robes muddy on the trip to Nightless City - he turned to Meng Yao and earnestly asked, “What about you, YaoYao?” 

He put the fake smile on his face and said, “I have been well.” 

Huaisang frowned. “You don’t have to coddle me,” he complained. “I know where you’ve been.” 

“I want to coddle you,” said Meng Yao. “Huaisang, you-“ he smiled, reaching out to cup his friend’s face. “You should remain innocent.” 

Huaisang looked away, nodding slowly. Then he scooted closer to Meng Yao. “Promise me you’ll talk to someone?” 

“About what?” 

“What happened to you.” 

“Nothing happened-“ 

“Da-ge threw you out.” Huaisang stared at him, his eyes impossible to read. “He threw you out and I didn’t stop him.” He shifted, supporting A-Song with one hand, reaching the other to cup Meng Yao’s cheek. “And you had a baby all alone.” 

Although he had always insisted on privacy before, he allowed Huaisang to remain with him as he nursed. His friend seemed unbothered, continuing to fan himself and lean on Meng Yao’s shoulder as he opened his robe and held A-Song to his chest. 

As the baby latched, Meng Yao said, “I- I have been invited to Koi Tower.” 

Huaisang peered over the top of his fan. “So?” 

Meng Yao looked down at his lap, then back up at his friend. “My father intends to legitimize me.” 

He expected Huaisang to be pleased for him. It was all he had ever wanted, after all, and his friend knew that. Instead Huaisang frowned and closed his fan. “But you have to come home,” he said slowly, tapping his fan against his chin. “With my baby nephew.” 

“He is Jin Zixuan’s nephew as well.” 

“But-“ 

“Huaisang-Gongzi,” he said quietly. “In Qinghe, I would be nothing more than the bearer of the Sect Leader’s child. In Jinlintai, my position would be based upon my own standing, as the son of the Sect Leader.” 

Huaisang stared at him. Then he flicked his fan open, shrugged, and said, “Marry da-ge.” 

Meng Yao couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled to his throat. “Marry Clan Leader?” 

Huaisang nodded. 

“Huaisang,” he said patiently, giving him a gentle smile. “If I do not go to Jinlintai, then I am nothing but a bastard, as I was before. I could not marry well in that position.” 

“Da-ge doesn’t care,” said Huaisang quietly, fanning himself. “And- I don’t care either.” 

“That is not how the world works,” he said softly. Meng Yao sighed. “Why are you telling me this and not Clan Leader?”

Huaisang peered over the top of his fan, seeming amused. “Because Xichen-ge won’t let him speak to you until he behaves.” 

Meng Yao nodded slowly. “Zewu Jun believes I was… wronged.” 

With a sniff and a flick of his fan, Huaisang grumbled, “Xichen-ge is correct.” 

 He tried to argue, to defend Nie Mingjue against whatever it was that had Lan Xichen so incensed, but Huaisang only waved him off. A-Song had fallen asleep, once his stomach was full, and Huaisang scooped him up once more, pushing Meng Yao toward the bed. 

“You need to rest,” Huaisang ordered, tucking his friend into the blankets. “Don’t look at me like that A-Yao, I know you’ve not been sleeping well.” 

“Gongzi-“ 

His friend’s face was unamused. “Gongzi orders you to sleep.”

Spoiled brat.

Notes:

I feel like Xichen is just hyper aware of the concept of consent because he spent his life living under his parents’ shadows. He loves and trusts Mingjue, but he also loved his father so…

Childhood trauma.

Chapter 3

Notes:

This story has quickly become literally every character scheming while Nie Mingjue has a new crisis every minute, meanwhile Xichen’s just having the time of his life with A-Song.

 

Chapter Warnings

 

- Misgendering
- Transphobia
- Jin Guangshan’s Parenting
- Brief mention of dysphoria (Meng Yao makes a reference to how he felt wearing women’s clothing)

Jin Guangyao.

He stared at the slip of paper, written in what he could only assume was his father’s handwriting, offering him a new name, a new life; everything he’d ever wanted. 

Guang. 

Not Zi.

“That’s an insult,” said Huaisang. 

Meng Yao glared at him, resisting the urge to pluck A-Song from him and banish him from the room (he could do that now, he reasoned, since they were both formally recognized young masters). 

“You know it is,” Huaisang said again, dangling a necklace over A-Song’s face to let him play with it. The baby was tucked safely in his crib, gurgling up at his uncle bending over him. 

“I am honored to be named after my father,” he found himself saying. That must be it. Jin Guangyao wanted to share a generational name with him. Unorthodox, sure, but meant as an honor. 

“You should be Jin Ziyao,” Huaisang pointed out. “Well, actually, you should be Nie Furen-“ 

“I am not your brother’s whore,” snapped Meng Yao. 

“No,” Huaisang agreed. “You’re his partner.” 

“I am a Jin,” he said. “Which is all I have ever wanted.” Well, it was all his mother had ever wanted for him, and he just wanted to make her happy. If she was happy, then he could be happy.

Huaisang scowled, likely frustrated that his hopes of someone else being Nie Mingjue’s heir were thwarted. “Jin Guangshan doesn’t want you.” 

Meng Yao slapped him.

Startled, Huaisang stumbled back, lifting a hand to his cheek, unable to believe that anyone had lifted a hand against him. 

“Leave,” said Jin Guangyao. 

Scowling, and clutching his cheek, Huaisang stormed from the room. 

---

He didn’t wear the hat in the room. 

It itched, and A-Song stubbornly pulled at the neck strap, sticking it into his mouth whenever his father’s attention drifted. Whenever they had visitors - often, considering that many people wanted to gawk at Wei Wuxian - he would quickly pick it up and put it on, ignoring the temporary discomfort and making a point to keep his son occupied.

They would both grow used to it. 

Even after Wei Wuxian awoke and bounced off with Lan Wangji (how no one else could see it when Jin Guangyao had figured them out in less than five minutes was astounding), Jin Guangyao kept to the room. It felt safe, particularly since he’d reclaimed his meager belongings from the room Wen Ruohan had given him. 

Jiang Yanli even stopped by to visit him from time to time, claiming he was better company than could be found elsewhere. He took that to mean that he didn’t trouble her or attempt to bring up her relationship with his half-brother (and he let her play with A-Song, which seemed to be a huge point in his favor).

Huaisang visited as well, although he tended to ignore Jin Guangyao in favor of A-Song, loudly talking about how much he adored his nephew, and how he was going to be the best uncle in the world. 

It was a week after Wen Ruohan’s death when his father made another appearance. As always, Jin Zixuan was trailing behind him, looking like a particularly stupid doll in his gleaming clothes and golden hair ornaments (they hadn’t sent any hair beads for him, although he assumed he could always ask for some once he arrived at Koi Tower). 

His father seemed annoyed at the sight of Huaisang and Jiang Yanli, as though he’d hoped to catch his son alone, but he waved off Jin Guangyao’s offer to send them away. “I haven’t much time to spare,” he sniffed, “but I thought to stop by and check in on you, now that I’ve found you.” 

“This one is honored,” Jin Guangyao said truthfully. 

“How’d he loose him,” Huaisang muttered to Jiang Yanli, barely hiding his face behind his fan. 

She gave him a look and patted his arm, looking across the room to A-Song, as though trying to bribe Huaisang with his beloved nephew. 

“Of course, we’ll have to see about presenting you properly,” Jin Guangshan continued. “I want you to come to the Jin rooms, before the Victory Banquet. There can’t be any question left on who you belong to.” 

“As father wishes,” he said eagerly. 

“He knew where he was,” Huaisang continued, his voice growing slightly louder. “Really, everyone did, except Jin Zixuan-“ 

“Nie-er-Gongzi!” she whispered, grabbing his fan. 

“-who really does look like a peacock.” 

If Huaisang thought he could force Jin Guangyao to return to Qinghe by ruining his relationship with his family, then he had bad news coming. Jin Guangyao placed an easy smile on his face, bowed, and said, “This one is eager to join his family.” 

“Hm,” said Jin Guangshan, looking pleased. He, too, seemed to be willing to ignore Huaisang’s childish outburst. Then he swept from the room, his son trailing obediently after him. 

Jin Guangyao turned on Huaisang, fully intending to scold him. 

Huaisang lazily fanned himself. “If you join the Jin Sect,” he pointed out, “then you’re not da-ge’s deputy, so you can’t order me around anymore.”

He grit his teeth together. “Nie-er-Gongzi,” he said patiently. “It is not as if you ever listened even when I was.” 

Huaisang snickered. 

“Dirty little baby, where do you think he got it?” Jin Guangshan had paused outside, apparently thinking they couldn’t hear him from the other side of the door (or he didn’t care). 

Jin Guangyao froze. Huaisang grabbed his sleeve, tucking himself into his friend protectively. 

“Father-“ Jin Zixuan sounded tired, and a bit frustrated. 

“He’ll have to get rid of it, of course,” Jin Guangshan continued. “We can’t have anyone starting rumors about him.” 

“Father, Sect Leader Lan has told me that the child is -Yao’s.” 

“Oh,” said Jin Guangshan. “Its one of them.” 

“… them?” 

“A woman who thinks herself to be a man.” 

Jin Guangyao crumpled, falling into Huaisang’s arms, burying his face in his friend’s shoulder. Jiang Yanli stared at the door in shock, no doubt trying to convince herself that Jin Zixuan wasn’t as horrible as his father.

Thankfully for Jiang Yanli’s crush, the Jin heir began, “Father-“ 

“Never mind,” continued Jin Guangshan. “I could use a daughter. We’ll remove the child and marry her off, let her have a few more, she won’t even remember this one.” 

Jin Guangyao released his grip on Huaisang, running to gather his son up in his arms protectively, cradling the sleeping child to his chest and mentally making a plan to flee. 

Something crashed behind him. 

He spun sharply, just in time to see Jiang Yanli rush out the open door, crying, “Nie Huaisang!” 

Jin Guangyao ran for the door, his mouth falling open at the sight that greeted him. Huaisang and Jin Guangshan were both at the bottom of the steps, rolling around on the ground as the much weaker man attempted to pummel the Jin Sect Leader with his fists, screaming insults the whole time.

Jin Zixuan gaped. 

Jin Guangyao shoved his son at Jiang Yanli, the only person he could even begin to trust in his current situation, and descended the steps two at a time. He managed to pull Huaisang back before Jin Guangshan could recover enough to turn the tide of the brawl, pushing his friend behind him just in time for a fist to collide with his face. 

“Please, everyone!” There was a flash of white, and suddenly Lan Xichen was standing between Meng Yao and his father. 

He couldn’t see Jin Guangshan anymore, but he could hear his voice, snarling as he told Lan Xichen, “This is a matter between a father and his errant offspring.” 

“I’m not your offspring!” Huaisang roared. Then, perfectly timed, he burst into tears. “Xichen-ge,” he sobbed, grabbing for the Lan Sect Leader’s robes. “H- he hit m-me.” His anger seemed to have evaporated, replaced by perfectly practiced terror, and Lan Xichen, softie that he was, bought it hook, line, and sinker.

The Lan Sect Leader made a noise of distress, resting one hand on Huaisang’s head as though to calm him, stroking absently at his hair. “Jin Zhongzhu-“ 

“My-“ Jin Guangshan made a choking noise “-offspring incited Young Master Nie-“ 

“That isn’t true.” Every eye in the courtyard was suddenly on Jin Zixuan, who paled, realizing he had just spoken out against his father for the first time in his life. He looked like he wanted to sink into the ground. 

“Zixuan-“ Jin Guangshan began.

He looked at Jin Guangyao, then at the baby in Jiang Yanli’s arms, then turned to Lan Xichen and straightened his back. “Father made comments about my nephew,” he said shakily. “And spoke cruelly about my- about Meng Yao.” 

“I am his father,” Jin Guangshan said cooly. His eyes swept over the scene, over his younger son who was still kneeling on the ground, clinging to Huaisang. “It is my right to determine his… identity.” 

He still thought of Jin Guangyao as a woman, even if he was content to refer to him as a man for the sake of keeping the conversation going. 

Lan Xichen managed to keep his voice light, tilting his head to ask, “His father?” Huaisang buried himself more tightly in his robes. 

“Mm.” Jin Guangshan smiled. “A-Yao is my long lost son,” he said patiently. “It is good I have found him, is it not?”

Huaisang’s grip on Lan Xichen’s robes tightened, as though holding himself back from attacking him.

Meng Yao looked up feeling tears prickle his eyes. He clutched Huaisang, digging his nails into his friend’s shoulder, desperate to borrow the bravery that had led Huaisang to attack the Jin Sect Leader. 

He looked his father in the eye and said, “Fuck you.” 

Lan Xichen opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again. He appeared to be reciting Lan Sect Rules in his head, presumably reminding himself that he couldn’t applaud Meng Yao for insulting a Sect Leader. There was the slightest grin at the corner of his mouth. 

Jin Guangshan look incensed, opening his mouth to spit out something. Then he saw Lan Xichen, who had shifted to reach out for Meng Yao, his touch on the smaller man gentle. Within the span of a single breath Jin Guangshan hid his anger, putting an easy smile on his face, scolding his son almost gently, “A-Yao, you should rest,” he said as he allowed Jin Zixuan to help him to his feet. “Clearly you’ve had a long day.” 

Meng Yao grit his teeth, forcing himself to turn his attention to Jiang Yanli who had approached to offer him a squealing and wiggling A-Song. 

Lan Xichen offered polite words, bidding Jin Guangshan farewell, promising to take care of his son. All the while he didn’t move, remaining firmly between the Jin Sect Leader and the two youths he’d attacked. 

Watching his father walk away, feeling the life he thought he’d wanted slip through his fingers, Meng Yao felt oddly cold. 

Jin Zixuan hung back, looking oddly uncomfortably (then again… he usually seemed to be uncomfortable). “A-Yao?” 

He shifted A-Song in his arms protectively. “Jin-Gongzi.” 

“You are a man?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jiang Yanli grab Huaisang’s sleeve. 

“I mean to say, if you are- I would welcome a sister, or a brother, I just wish-“ 

It almost sounded like he was trying to ask what Meng Yao preferred, rather than making assumptions. It almost seemed like he might be a decent man. 

“Yes!” shouted Huaisang. “Meng Yao is a man, it doesn’t matter what your father thinks!” 

But he was still looking at Meng Yao, still waiting for him to confirm it. 

“I am a man,” he whispered, his throat dry. 

Jin Zixuan nodded, bowed, and wished his brother a good day. 

Meng Yao practically fled back into the room. 

He was vaguely aware of Jiang Yanli saying something to Lan Xichen, passing A-Song into his arms and hurrying off, disappearing in a different direction from where the Jin had gone.

Huaisang didn’t give Meng Yao time to worry, leading him back into the room, a tight grip on his arm. His friend was pale, clearly shaken by his own actions, his momentary bravery forgotten. Or perhaps he was afraid of the consequences of his actions. 

Meng Yao stared at himself in the mirror. His robes were a rumpled mess, creased and stained from falling on the ground, and his hat was askew. A handprint was forming on his cheek. 

He threw his hat across the room, narrowly avoiding Lan Xichen who had gone in search of the teapot. 

Thankfully, his outburst was ignored. 

He ripped at his clothes, fumbling desperately at the ties at his waist, then remembered he still wore a belt, and fumbled for the buckles. 

He hadn’t felt so wrong since the last time he’d worn women’s clothing. 

“YaoYao-“ 

Ignoring Huaisang, he struggled to pull off his belt, pulling at the metal clasps until his fingers stung. 

Soft hands stopped him, gently peeling back his grasping fingers. “YaoYao,” Huaisang repeated. 

Lan Xichen pointedly had his back to them. Judging by the slight hunch of his back, and the way he held his arms, he must have taken A-Song from Huaisang and was focusing on the baby to give them privacy. 

“Let me help you change.” 

Meng Yao didn’t want anyone undressing him, but if it had to be someone, it might as well be Huaisang. His friend’s hands were careful, gently peeling off his belt and dropping it to the ground. The ties and buckles posed no issue for Huaisang’s steady fingers, and soon Meng Yao found himself in nothing but his soft inner robe. 

Huaisang glanced at him, waiting for him to grip the edges of his robe and whisper, “Enough.” 

The inner robe was one of his, one he’d commissioned in Nightless City. It hadn’t been from Jin Guangshan. 

He could stand to wear it. 

Huaisang produced a set of his own robes (why he had them tucked into a Qiankun pouch at his waist was a mystery Meng Yao was too tired to ponder), helping Meng Yao to wrap himself in the familiar trappings of QingheNie. 

All the while, Lan Xichen kept his back turned and rocked A-Song. 

“I named him for you.” He’d never meant to say that out loud, never meant to swell Huaisang’s pride so much, but it spilled out anyway. 

His friend only tilted his head, seeming surprised. 

“I would talk to him,” he whispered. “And I- I could pretend we were having tea in your room. If I called him A-Sang they- everyone just thought it was my accent.” 

Huaisang nodded, patting his shoulder and offering him a watery smile. “My baby,” he said. 

Meng Yao managed a weak nod, resisting the urge to collapse into Huaisang’s arms and sob. 

There was a knock at the door.

Lan Xichen expertly navigated the room, keeping himself turned so that he still didn’t face Meng Yao, and disappeared behind a screen to the answer the door. 

They heard the door slide open, and a familiar voice demand, “What happened?” 

Huaisang gave Meng Yao a questioning look, as though asking if he needed to make Nie Mingjue leave. He shook his head, sinking to sit on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Jin Guangshan was here,” he heard Lan Xichen saying.

“Jin Guangshan’s a monster!” Huaisang shouted. “I hope he fucking dies.” 

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen scolded, coming back around the screen with Nie Mingjue in tow. “You can’t-“ 

“He wanted to kill my son,” Meng Yao whispered, a tremor in his voice. “He was willing to kill his own grandson.” 

Lan Xichen gasped. 

Nie Mingjue reached for Baxia, gritting his teeth together. “I’ll kill him.” 

“Mingjue!” Lan Xichen said, grasping his friend’s arm. “You cannot kill a Sect Leader.” 

Nie Mingjue seemed to shrug. “Qi Deviation,” he said, as though it were the perfect excuse. 

“That’s lying!” 

“If we let him live,” Meng Yao said quietly, looking up at their visitors for the first time. “I can ruin him.” 

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. 

Nie Mingjue grit his teeth, seeming torn between finding Meng Yao’s proposed plan dishonorable, and desperately wanting to see Jin Guangshan suffer. Finally he relaxed his grip on Baxia, giving a curt nod. “We can ruin him,” he agreed. 

Notes:

Bless Jin Zixuan who never actually wondered about where the baby came from until his father brought it up. He was just like “oooh cute baby!” He has one braincell. I love him.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Nie Mingjue, trying to make Meng Yao honorable: I can fix him.
Huaisang, having the time of his life; I can make him worse.

He was given Qinghe Nie robes for the celebration.

He recognized them as Huaisang’s, although they had been hastily tailored to fit Meng Yao’s smaller frame. Some of the extra cloth from the alterations had been used to make a matching outfit for A-Song. As little as he wanted to take his son to the celebration, he wanted to leave him behind even less. With Hensheng tucked around his thigh, he felt secure enough to hold his son without hyperventilating. 

Wen Ruohan’s body was gone, and the blood cleaned up from his throne. Meng Yao still couldn’t bring himself to look at it. 

Huaisang hung by his side as they entered, fanning himself with an appearance of boredom that hid how he scanned the room, making note of who had attended and where they were. Sometimes, it scared Meng Yao that he wasn’t sure exactly how smart his friend was. It terrified him that no one else bothered to see it. 

Lan Xichen offered him a warm smile from where he stood with the Lan delegation. 

Jin Guangshan greeted them, happily playing the host, as though he’d had anything to do with the Sunshot Campaign. He didn’t spare a single glance for his son. 

Beside his father, Jin Zixuan looked as though he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“Nie Zongzhu,” Jin Guangshan said with what seemed to be a warm smile. “Why are you late? We are all waiting on you.” 

‘Because none of us wanted to be here,’ thought Meng Yao bitterly. As if in agreement, A-Song squealed, reaching up for the end of his father’s hair. 

Nie Mingjue simply ignored the question. 

Then Jin Guangshan motioned to Wen Ruohan’s empty throne, urging Nie Mingjue to take his seat.

Meng Yao’s brain whirled in his head, trying to piece together what his father was doing, wondering what he was playing at, what they were supposed to do. 

Ever suspicious, even before the murder threat, Nie Mingjue slowly asked, “What do you mean, Jin Zongzhu?” 

Acting as though his request made perfect sense, Jin Guangshan said, “Please, take a seat so we can begin the banquet.” 

Meng Yao realized two things at once: First, that Nie Mingjue would refuse to sit in Wen Ruohan’s throne, and Second, that Jin Guangshan wanted him to refuse. 

Before Nie Mingjue could speak, Meng Yao smiled, saying, “Of course, it is an honor, who else would be worthy, except for the hero of the Sunshot Campaign?” 

Both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangshan looked like they wanted to shout at him, but both of them wisely kept their mouths shut. 

Meng Yao didn’t leave time for either of them to think about it, guiding Nie Mingjue past Jin Guangshan, mingling with the Lan delegation as he slowly guided them toward the throne. 

He felt sick at the idea of Nie Mingjue sitting in Wen Ruohan’s throne. If it were up to Meng Yao, they’d melt the thing down and then smash it to bits. 

But he was a pragmatist, and he sighed, quietly saying, “You need to.” 

Nie Mingjue pretended not to hear him. Meng Yao risked speaking again, “You cannot let him hold that power.” 

“It’s just a chair,” he sneered.

He grit his teeth, clutched A-Song a bit tighter. “Then sit in it.” 

Nie Mingjue seemed to consider, weighing his options. One the one hand, he didn’t want to position himself as the next Wen Ruohan; on the other, he didn’t want Jin Guangshan to do the same.

Huaisang elbowed him. “Da-ge.”

That seemed to win him over. With a clearly irritated look on his face, Nie Mingjue took a step forward. Then he stopped. “Meng Yao,” he said. “Come.” 

Huaisang hissed at him. 

“Please,” the Nie Sect Leader added. 

If he followed Nie Mingjue, stood at his side while he sat in Wen Ruohan’s throne- no one could question his standing ever again. 

Nie Mingjue, content that Meng Yao was (no matter how bitterly) following behind him, headed toward the dais at the end of the room. But he didn’t stop at the table that had been set up, gliding past it, up the steps, to the throne itself. 

But Nie MIngjue didn’t sit on Wen Ruohan’s throne, instead he took Meng Yao’s hand, guided him forward, and sat him on it. Then he walked away. 

Meng Yao blinked. 

Huaisang, who had followed behind them, gaped.

It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, politically speaking, it was a rather good one. 

Meng Yao was not offically aligned with any Sect. He had strong ties to the Jin, the Nie, and, arguably, even the Lan. As the killer of Wen Ruohan, he had a good reason to sit in the man’s throne, without claiming power for any one sect. Even if Huaisang got his way, and he eventually became Nie Furen, he was currently no more than Nie Mingjue’s former deputy, barely a strong political move on their behalf. 

It was a brilliant political move, and Nie Mingjue had done it entirely by accident. 

The throne was not a comfortable seat. He’d always suspected it would be, of course, but wasn’t pleased to have his suspicions confirmed. He shifted uneasily, glaring at Huaisang who had snatched A-Song from him and plopped down on a much more comfortable looking cushion at the foot of the throne. 

“Da-ge would have had a Qi Deviation if you made him sit in that throne,” said Huaisang. 

“Should I have let my father?” 

“Of course not,” said Huaisang. “That’s why you’re sitting in it.” He glanced out over the hall, taking in the assembled cultivators. “Just think Yao-ge,” he said, “this will be in history. Your son, the future Nie Zhongzhu, introduced to the Cultivation World on the throne of a fallen tyrant.” Huaisang shrugged, glancing back at him, tilting his head with a slight smile. “And you, above them all. Perhaps even the Chief Cultivator.” 

He did rather like the way that sounded. 

And it did truly seem to infuriate his father, which increased his enjoyment tenfold. 

He could see the assembled cultivators whispering, trying to remember who he was, if they’d seen him before. Whispers that he, a small, unassuming man, had killed the greatest cultivator of a generation to save his son. Strong, but loving. Perfectly balanced. 

Not a word was said of his mother’s profession. 

Huaisang was right, he decided, leaning back in the throne. He could learn to enjoy this. 

Jiang Yanli brought her brother over to greet him, bending to ask if he was feeling well, then whispering a promise to sneak him out if he wanted. 

He thanked her, promising to find her if the need arouse. 

“Wuxian has been dying to cause a scene,” she told him with a gentle smile. 

Jiang Wanyin scoffed. He’d been pretending not to be interested in A-Song, but when he thought no one was looking, he held out his clarity bell and let the baby reach for the tassel.

Nie Mingjue appeared to be circling the hall, barely speaking to anyone, but gliding around in a circle, passing by them regularly and exchanging glances with Meng Yao that seemed to be ensuring his continuing comfort. 

“He’s not good with words,” said Lan Xichen with amusement. He’d joined them on Nie Mingjue’s last pass by, stealing A-Song from Huaisang to rock the baby in his arms.  

“I know,” Meng Yao replied, giving him a quiet smile. “I have known him long enough to read him.” 

“If he doesn’t propose tonight,” Huaisang complained, fanning himself, “I’ll shove him in the lake.” 

“What lake?” Lan Xichen asked as Meng Yao’s face burned red.

“I’ll find one,” muttered Huaisang. He snapped his fan closed and sat up, waving his fan and shouting, “Wei-Xiong! I need to find a lake!”

They could hear Wei Wuxian’s laugh from across the room, then he appeared, Lan Wangji ambling along behind him as though he had his own gravitational pull. 

“What kind of lake are we looking for?” he asked, a grin on his face. 

“It doesn’t matter,” sniffed Huaisang. “I may need to shove Da-ge in it.” 

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes glittered, as though already mentally marking out where the nearest water sources were.

“Impolite,” said Lan Wangji. 

“There are no rules prohibiting it,” mused Lan Xichen. His younger brother’s face twitched, as though he hadn’t noticed his elder’s presence. 

Lan Wangji was apparently physically incapable of not saying “Rule 35: respect one’s elders.” 

Lan Xichen countered, “Rule 304: be honest with your feelings.” 

Amber eyes twitched. “Rule 675.” 

“456.” 

“1057.” 

“2692.” 

They both seemed content to sit and recite numbers at one another all night. Meng Yao prided himself on his memory, but even he was quickly losing track of which rules the brothers were referencing. 

Huaisang gave them a disbelieving look. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian moaned, throwing himself dramatically over the nearest empty table. 

Across the hall, still playing the host, Meng Yao felt his father’s eyes on him. He tilted his head, leaned back, and smiled. 

---

Jin Guangshan’s attempts at running the party were… less than successful. Meng Yao had - in the very brief time he’d been Jin Guangyao - been drafted into assisting with it. The parts he had put together (namely, the seating chart) went smoothly enough, no major fights breaking out, since he’d kept everyone strategically spread out. 

Everything else… well, he certainly thought it was funny to watch the server’s genuine confusion that the Lan didn’t eat meat or drink alcohol. In any other circumstance he would have thought it was an intentional slight, but given that they’d also failed to have more than one strain of tea, he added it to their tally of mistakes. 

Unable to take the seat he had clearly intended to claim (Nie Mingjue, though still refusing to set foot near the throne, had seated both himself and Huaisang at the table at the foot of the dais), Jin Guangshan instead set himself up in the center of the hall. 

A seat of honor, sure, but he was also being literally looked down on by everyone else present. Once he’d gotten the greetings out of the way, thanking everyone for their involvement in the Sunshot Campaign (as though he himself had been the mastermind of it), Jin Guangshan immediately moved on to what he was no doubt trying to get out of the evening. “As you all know, Clan Leader Jiang Fengmian and I were as close as brothers,” he was saying.

A funny look crossed Jiang Cheng’s face, but he said nothing. 

“And my wife and Madame Yu were also as close as sisters,” he continued. Well, at least no one could refute that. Even Meng Yao had heard tales of them (mostly, that neither of them had grown up to be particularly pleasant people). 

“My son, Zixuan, has been engaged to Lady Jiang since their childhood.” 

Also, true, because that was something the gentry tended to do. With a frown, Meng Yao wondered who exactly his father would have tried to marry him off to. 

“But, because of some misunderstands, we called it off. What a pity!” 

Huaisang barely bothered to hide a snort behind his fan. Meng Yao shook his head, recalling the letter Huaisang had sent him from Cloud Recesses, happily recounting that Wei Wuxian had nearly broken Jin Zixuan’s nose. (‘I’m almost glad he didn’t,’ Huaisang had written. ‘You have the same almost nose, and it would have made me sad.’)

Studying his half-brother, Meng Yao decided that Huaisang didn’t actually understand the phrase ‘you have the same nose.’ 

Jin Zixuan couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to stare at the floor or at Jiang Yanli, eyes flicking between the two of them nervously. 

“Now my friends have joined the angels”- unlikely, Meng Yao decided -“and my wife and I both hope that the two families can become relatives by marriage again.” 

Huaisang flicked open his fan, then turned to give Meng Yao a meaningful look. He nodded. 

‘Fund the rebuilding of Clan Recesses, take Jiang Yanli in marriage, and no doubt attempt to claim me once he works out that my son is the Nie heir,’ Meng Yao thought. Jin Guangshan seemed to think he was going to have all three major sects eating out of his hand. 

He wondered what it would take to convince Lan Xichen to let him fund the rebuilding of Cloud Recesses instead. There was a second Wen treasury, one he hadn’t bothered to mention to anyone, holding it back in case he’d needed leverage. Of course, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue both would think it dishonorable if they didn’t share the contents with the other sects. ‘Perhaps I can claim the Jin portion as my bride price,’ he mused. The Jiang could have a portion for all he cared, they’d need it to rebuild Lotus Pier anyway. 

In the time he’d been plotting, Jin Guangshan had continued his meaningless prattle, the Jiang family growing increasingly pale (Jin Zixuan didn’t look much better). 

As Meng Yao forced himself to once again listen to his father (he couldn’t entirely rely on Huaisang, since even he wasn’t entirely sure the boy wasn’t actually full of shit), he said, “Clan Leader Jiang, what’s your opinion?” 

Judging by his face, Jiang Cheng’s opinion was that he wished he’d just gone home. 

Thankfully, Wei Wuxian took that opportunity to bust in, Lan Wangji trailing behind him (gods, they were helpless), loudly insulting everyone without actually insulting him. 

‘I need him,’ Meng Yao decided. ‘He could be useful, and not just for the amulet.’ Studying Wei Wuxian’s quiet little follower, he decided that Lan Wangji didn’t look as though he was the sort to help with any underhanded schemes. 

He was quite enjoying the show, particularly when Jiang Yanli turned Jin Zixuan down. It didn’t seem as though his half-brother was used to being rejected by anyone. 

Jin Guangshan managed to conceal his disappointment, only letting it flash briefly behind his eyes.

Then he turned to the throne, a pleased expression on his face as he studied his bastard son, seated above him. 

Nie Mingjue stiffened. 

Huaisang snapped his fan shut.

“Lianfang Zun.” He didn’t bow, didn’t even incline his head, just stared evenly at his bastard son. Meng Yao met his eyes.

Jin Guangshan turned slowly, gesturing widely to the room, beckoning for all the cultivators present to pay attention to him. “Jin Guangyao,” he continued. 

Meng Yao grit his teeth. 

“The killer of Wen Ruohan,” he continued, “and my long lost son.” 

Meng Yao took a deep breath, forcing a smile to his lips. Huaisang glanced over his shoulder, a worried expression on his face, but Meng Yao just twitched a finger to tell him to turn back around. 

Clan Leader Yao leaned over to Jin Zixun, seated beside him, and loudly announced that he’d always known he liked the look of ‘that little deputy.’

“And his…” Jin Guangshan’s eyes landed on A-Song, one eyebrow raised. “Offspring.” 

Reminding everyone that Meng Yao, no matter how many pretty names he dolled himself up in, was still a bastard and - more than that - the father of a bastard. 

Clan Leader Yao only nodded sagely when Jin Zixun matter-of-factly muttered that the little assassin was unwed.

‘Just for that,’ he decided, ‘you’re both going to die.‘

Jin Zixuan glanced over his shoulder and something in his expression made his cousin snap his mouth shut.

It didn’t matter, Zixun was still dying. Jin Zixuan could live though, he might even be a good Sect Leader, particularly if Meng Yao could set him up with Jiang Yanli (it shouldn’t be hard, the pining was almost as bad as Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian).  

The hall was quiet, everyone staring up at Meng Yao, waiting for his reply. Well, everyone except Wei Wuxian, who was griping the table so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break and glaring daggers at Jin Guangshan. 

Propriety dictated that Meng Yao ought to get up and thank his father, probably say something polite, non-committal, and self-degrading. He could do that, he supposed, or he could let the thinly veiled insult hang in the air long enough and- 

Nie Mingjue stood up.

Yep, that would work. He would have been content if Wei Wuxian blew his fuse again, but Nie Mingjue was welcome to do it for him. (There’d also been a small possibility of Huaisang throwing a tea cup at him, Meng Yao had estimated that at about 10 percent.)  

“Clan Leader Jin,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice clipped. Anyone who knew him would realize he was barely holding back his temper (Lan Xichen was currently turning very pale).

Jin Guangshan just smiled dumbly. 

“Meng Yao has long been an honored deputy of the Nie Clan,” he said. 

It sounded practiced, and far too eloquent for Nie Mingjue to have come up with on the spot. Across the room, Lan Xichen, still pale, was slowly nodding, as though coaching him through his speech.

That explained where the two of them had disappeared to for several hours the day before. 

Huaisang slowly opened his fan, raising it just enough to hide his mouth, allowing him to whisper, “Your heir.” Of course that was what he was most concerned about, making certain everyone knew he was no longer Nie Mingjue’s sole heir.

Jin Guangshan continued, “The Jin Clan cannot adequately express our gratitude to the Nie for watching over our lost son-“ 

Nie Mingjue jerked abruptly. “How did you loose him?” 

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. It seemed he’d gone off script. 

“I wrote to you when I took him into my service,” Nie Mingjue continued. (That was news to Meng Yao, although he couldn’t being to imagine what Nie Mingjue’s plan had been. Probably… probably something to do with being honorable, although he couldn’t begin to guess at how.) “I thought you should know you had a commendable son.” 

Jin Guangshan, not prepared for being actually called a shitty father in public, froze. 

Wei Wuxian was beaming, leaning forward over his table, his eyes gleaming with delight, giggling maniacally to himself. 

Huaisang’s fan had fallen into his lap, and he was staring up at his brother in slack-jawed disbelief. This hadn’t been in any of their plans. 

“It must not have reached us,” Jin Guangshan said finally. 

Nie Mingjue replied, “Perhaps you threw the messenger down the stairs.” 

Huaisang started choking. 

Alright, that was enough. Meng Yao stood, forcing a smile to his face. “Clan Leader Nie. Chifeng Zun.” 

They both stared at him, as though both of them were waiting for him to end the argument. Both of them, funny enough, seemed convinced he would take their side. 

It rankled that even his father saw how desperate he had once been for his approval. 

Huaisang was still coughing. 

Taking a deep breath, Meng Yao nodded to his father. “This one is honored to be recognized by his father,” he said slowly. “However, I owe much to the Nie Clan of Qinghe, which accepted me without hesitation when I was… lost. It would be dishonorable for me to abandon them now. Particularly with… circumstances as they are.” 

He shifted his grip on A-Song, and Huaisang, voice still hoarse from his coughing fit, burst out with, “Meng Yao is the father of Nie Song, the young master of Qinghe Nie and da-ge’s son.” 

It wasn’t elegant, but it had the intended effect. 

Jin Guangshan froze. His face drained of what little color he had left as the realization that he had threatened the life of Nie Mingjue’s heir sunk in. 

Meng Yao smiled. 

“Oh,” said Sect Leader Yao. “I suppose he used to be a girl.” He seemed completely unperturbed by that, and, somehow, his off handed comment seemed to be enough for everyone else. They just nodded along, accepting that Meng Yao had once been a girl (‘a remarkable feat of cultivation,’ said a nameless disciple). 

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t kill him? 

Just as Meng Yao was mentally adjusting his priority list of who to kill and how painful to make it, Nie Mingjue spoke up. He stared down at Jin Guangshan, his face steely, and said, “I will marry your son, if he will have me.” 

“Yes,” said Meng Yao almost too quickly. He didn’t care. 

He was going home.

Notes:

Lam Xichen wrote this beautiful, flowing speech for Nie Mingjue to confess his love and ask for Meng Yao’s hand in marriage while still being somewhat cordial to the Jin… and Nie Mingjue went straight “fuck you and the sword you rode in on.”

-whispers- you may have noticed this has become a SERIES and that’s because I have ideas for one shots in this universe. It’s Whumptober y’all.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Nie RuSong