Chapter Text
Nie Mingjue stretches and reaches for the next report. Nothing out of ordinary; usual routine. The younger disciples did well on their first actual night hunt, and Nie Mingjue circles the names of the best students; he ought to keep an eye on them. Maybe he should send them to Cloud Recesses with Huaisang? They'd benefit from Teacher Lan's wisdom. More so than Huaisang would, even though it pains him to think so.
What should he do with his brother to steer him to the right path? Should he be a better example? Should he insist on more rigorous training? But Nie Mingjue already did that, and it didn't work; Huaisang just became better at inventing excuses, and Nie Mingjue can't bring himself to be harsher with his baby brother. Yet, he can't just leave him be—Huaisang will inherit the sect one day, and he'll have to rule it; at least Nie Mingjue can try to prepare him for it.
Hopefully, Meng Yao will still be around—Nie Mingjue came to rely on him, and if Meng Yao decides to leave... That would not be good. The sect would manage, of course, but—Nie Mingjue doesn't want to manage without him.
It makes him uneasy; Nie Mingjue shifts in his place and looks down at the report, pretending to read. Meng Yao is busy sorting through correspondence, so he isn't looking in Nie Mingjue's direction; Nie Mingjue steals a look.
Impossible; forbidden; he must stay away. He's always mindful of the distance between them; Nie Mingjue feels Baxia tremble and exhales slowly.
The reports; he has to finish with them and then he'll go train or meditate, do something to distract him. He's neck-deep in a fascinating letter from one of the villagers about this year's harvest when Meng Yao coughs to attract his attention.
"Yes?" Nie Mingjue puts the brush down, and Meng Yao passes him a message with a bow. His manners are impeccable; Nie Mingjue will send him to Cloud Recesses to greet Teacher Lan properly, so Huaisang won't be able to fuck it up.
"Baling Ouyang send you their greetings and invite you for the wedding of Sect Leader Ouyang in two months. How shall I answer them?" Meng Yao's voice is so sweet—it matches his smile.
"Send a polite refusal, wish them well, add a gift—I'll order my third cousin to deliver it." He scoffs. His third cousin is his closest relative except for Huaisang; he's a decent cultivator, so Ouyangs won't be too offended. They don't actually expect Nie Mingjue to come—if it were for a wedding in one of the major sects, then it'd be his honor, but Ouyangs aren't important enough to warrant his visit.
"You seem to disapprove," Meng Yao says softly. "Aren't we on friendly terms with Baling Ouyang?"
"He's marrying his guest disciple. Half his age and directly in his line of command." Nie Mingjue winces. "So he wants fresh meat, and she... I don't think she would do it if she had a choice."
Meng Yao raises an eyebrow. "Do you disapprove of such age difference?"
"It's not just age—she's his subordinate. That's just... low. He has too much power over her already, and she has no way to refuse his advances if they're unwelcome. Were she from another sect she'd have their protection, but she's from commoners, if I recall correctly, so she has nowhere to go."
"Your moral principles are admirable," Meng Yao bows, his polite smile not betraying any emotions; Nie Mingjue thinks he sees a flicker of something real in his eyes, but it's over too soon. "I will do as you said. But pray tell—what if a subordinate were the one to initiate... something like that? Provided she would dare—I heard their rules are more relaxed than most major sects'. Surely it isn't impossible, is it?"
Nie Mingjue hums. "Highly unlikely. Half his age—I would think she has something to gain by that."
This time Meng Yao needs one second too many to take his emotions under control; Nie Mingjue sees a flash of hurt across his handsome features. Why would he... Is he so invested in this story? He's so desperate for love—and Nie Mingjue can't show any of his own love for Meng Yao, not directly, at least.
"I see," Meng Yao says, bowing again; the light gray pattern of his hanfu accentuates his pale skin. Nie Mingjue watches him return to his place and picks up the brush again; he can't explain why this short exchange has left him so lost.
They continue in silence; Meng Yao asks for his opinion once or twice, but otherwise, neither of them says a word. It's comfortable; Nie Mingjue isn't a big fan of paperwork, but he accepts it as a necessary part of his job. How will Huaisang handle that—Nie Mingjue ought to involve him more so he'd be prepared when the inevitable happens.
Finally, they're done; Meng Yao gives him another smile just as he starts preparing everything for tomorrow, and Nie Mingjue escapes to the training grounds.
There are lines he mustn't cross, and he knows and accepts his limitations; yet Nie Mingjue is only human. His rage at Ouyang's behavior is partly him being angry with himself for not being able to act on his desire; he knows he's unwanted, even without the gap of their positions between them—Nie Mingjue knows what will happen to him eventually, and he doesn't want to drag anybody into this if he can help it. Huaisang has no choice, being his only heir, but Meng Yao still can walk away.
*
The rest of the day passes quietly; Nie Mingjue oversees the training of the youngest disciples—smallest ones don't even reach his waist, and Nie Mingjue smiles, remembering his brother at this age. He was so cute—he still is, uncharacteristically petite for their family, but as stubborn as any Nie that ever was; Nie Mingjue thinks of their last big argument and sighs. Huaisang is still mad at him; Nie Mingjue will apologize tomorrow, he's tired of Huaisang avoiding him and taking his meals in his rooms. But for today the dinner is a quiet affair; Nie Mingjue doesn't stay for longer than needed.
He goes back to training; only when the sun sets does he stop, returning inside. He walks into the archive, attracted by the light, and finds Meng Yao sprawled over a table; he's asleep, brush still in his hand and ink on his face. Nie Mingjue pokes him carefully, but Meng Yao doesn't wake up; he's been working for too long recently, staying awake long after the sunset. Not that there was any real need for that, but Meng Yao wanted to clean up the old records—in addition to his usual workload.
Nie Mingjue sighs. Heavens help him; he can't just leave him like that, Meng Yao will wake up aching all over. So Nie Mingjue does the only logical thing and picks him up, cradling Meng Yao in his arms. He's so small—shorter than most adult men in the sect, thinner than he should be at this height; he puts on more layers to hide that, but the trick doesn't quite work. Nie Mingjue blows out the candles; Meng Yao doesn't even stir, blissfully asleep, and drooling a bit.
In Meng Yao's room, Nie Mingjue places him on the bed carefully and takes off Meng Yao's shoes, removes his guan; he can't fight the temptation to run his fingers through the black hair. Nie Mingjue had a chance to comb his hair once—it took all his willpower to stop at that; he didn't ask about it anymore, too afraid of what he might do. But he couldn't also refuse Meng Yao's help with his own hair—Nie Mingjue has so little time for simple pleasures like that, he can't deny himself one small thing.
The room is small—Meng Yao politely refused to move when offered a bigger room, even though his window opens to the training grounds with absolutely nothing interesting to see. A smallish bed, a set of chairs and a table, shelves with scrolls, a chest—and a small altar in the corner with an incense burner for Meng Yao's mother; Nie Mingjue comes closer. The incenses are quite cheap, and Meng Yao is almost out of them; Nie Mingjue ought to give him something of better quality. Ancestors deserve respect; Meng Yao's mother seemed to be a good woman despite her life circumstances, so Nie Mingjue thinks she should be treated according to her character, not to her profession.
Her son finally stirs awake; he sits up slowly, looking around. Nie Mingjue sits next to him and wipes ink from Meng Yao's cheek awkwardly.
"You fell asleep in the archive," he explains, and Meng Yao looks at him in confusion. "I saw you and brought you to your room."
"Thank you," Meng Yao tries to bow, automatically. "I apologize, I didn't think..."
"You work more than anybody else in Qinghe Nie," Nie Mingjue interrupts him. "So I order you to rest for three days. If I see you working, I'll lock you up in your room, you hear me? You need to take care of yourself."
Meng Yao looks away. "I want to be useful," he says quietly. "So you wouldn't regret..." He makes a vague gesture with his fingers. Nie Mingjue scoffs.
"I don't regret taking you in and giving you your position if that's what you mean. And you are more than useful—but even you have your limits, and you need to learn them. So relax—read some poetry, sleep in, what else do you do. I can send Huaisang to you, he seems to relax all the time, he can be your company." Nie Mingjue shrugs. "I don't want you to break down from exhaustion. Proper work, proper rest, there must be a balance in everything."
"As if you ever rest," Meng Yao wrinkles his nose and then smiles, "you are always busy with something."
"I'm not! I rest when I train!"
Meng Yao doesn't say anything, just raises an eyebrow, and Nie Mingjue huffs. "Do you want me to read you poetry?" He asks, and Meng Yao tilts his head, surprised.
"Would you?" He finds Nie Mingjue's love for poetry unusual; most people who don't know him very well assume Nie Mingjue has no other interests outside of martial arts. It's not true; he's got no ear for music and no eye for art, but he loves to read; it's a shame he hasn't got much time lately.
"If it means you'll at least sleep in your own bed."
Meng Yao is quiet for a beat; he looks as if he wants to say something he might regret later, or it's just a trick of the light; the moon is bright tonight but not bright enough to see all his microexpressions. Not brighter than Meng Yao's smile now—Nie Mingjue wants to smile back.
"As you wish," Meng Yao says, mischievously, "if Sect Leader Nie will grant me his company, I will be happy. On one condition though."
Nie Mingjue blinks, confused. Meng Yao keeps smiling; Nie Mingjue wants to poke his dimples with a finger to see how deep they are.
"You make up with young master Nie. Then I will rest for three days and listen to poetry. I will go back to tidying up the archives after that."
Little devil; Nie Mingjue groans. "Fine. I was going to do it anyway. Now go back to sleep." He stands up, but Meng Yao catches his sleeve.
"Your hair," he says. "I should... Please?"
Why is he even asking? Nie Mingjue hates himself for it, but he craves the physical contact; he's always touch starved, and despite Huaisang touching him freely Nie Mingjue is aching for a different kind of closeness. He wants to feel a lover's touch, but he knows he isn't going to get it in this life; maybe after he dies and hopefully reincarnates it will be somewhat better.
Meng Yao makes him sit down at the dressing table; there's no trace of his sleepiness, his fingers as quick as ever; Nie Mingjue wants him to prolong the process but he doesn't dare to say anything. Usually, he is talking about literally everything to avoid saying what he feels, but now—the memory of moments ago haunts him still. Meng Yao was so small in his arms—Nie Mingjue ought to make him eat more, or he'll be blown away by the wind, and Meng Yao should train more to get some muscles on that tiny frame. He refuses to, claiming that he's a scholar, not a warrior, but Nie Mingjue doesn't see why one can't be both; Xichen combines the two things with ease, and so do many others; Meng Yao might not rank high among cultivators, but it doesn't mean he shouldn't improve his skills.
Meng Yao is humming a melody Nie Mingjue doesn't recognize; he pauses to yawn, and Nie Mingjue's heart clenches. "You're tired. Go to bed, I'll..."
"I'm almost done," Meng Yao says stubbornly. "Let me finish."
Nie Mingjue sighs. "I can do your hair afterward. So you wouldn't have to... yourself," he finds himself saying, and Meng Yao's fingers stop at once. Oh no.
"If it's not too much trouble," his voice is suddenly much quieter. Of course, it isn't; it's Nie Mingjue's pleasure, to take care of Meng Yao. He can't say how he feels, but he can at least try to show it—how much he cares about Meng Yao, how much he appreciates him. How he wants him to be happy with his life—and Nie Mingjue wants to see Meng Yao happy more than he wants to see Meng Yao his. Even with Meng Yao's revelation of his preference—he can take his pick, all men of the world are at his disposal—if any of them refuses Meng Yao then he's a fool who never deserved him in the first place.
Nie Mingjue sighs again, biting his lip. He can see Meng Yao retiring from the Qinghe Nie's business, making up a place for himself and the one he chooses; Nie Mingjue should make arrangements so Meng Yao will have a house to retire to and some income so he would have a comfortable life; Nie Mingjue hopes Meng Yao outlives him by decades if not more, growing old with a man he loves. Will he still braid his hair and wear light grey patterned fabrics? Will he gain at least some weight around that unhealthily thin waist of his? Will he burn incense for Nie Mingjue and think of him once in a while?
It's his turn now, and Nie Mingjue wants to drag it out, but he has to make it quick—Meng Yao is drowsy, trying not to yawn again, and Nie Mingjue combs his hair quickly but carefully and sends him to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day; they both need to prepare for it.