Archive of Our Own

Nie Huaisang let out a sigh. The servant on his left looked over, tilting his head as if questioning, but Huaisang just shook his head. He fixed his position, sitting up properly instead of slouching in his chair. Chair was a bit of an underestimate though, it was more of a throne. He was, after all, the Chief Cultivator. Ugh. 

He waved his hands to dismiss the servants and cultivators that were bustling around the room. They started filtering out of the room slowly, some casting suspicious or worried looks back at him. He smiled back, attempting to assuage their worries and suspicions. Was he successful? Yeah, probably. Very few people didn't fall for his act, even if they were aware of the truth. 

For example, those juniors that his old friends were so fond of. Even so, he could admit that the only who really tended to forget that most of Huaisang was an act, was Jingyi. The others had their moments of forgetfulness as well, but they tended to have less of a fleeting mind about it. 

Wei Wuxian and his husband never forgot though. That wasn't really a surprise though, Huaisang knew his friends. Or ex-friends, as it is. 

It had been a long time since he last saw Lan Xichen. 

Huaisang knew that he would never forget. 

He didn't like thinking back to what happened at the temple much. What a shocker! Some people would probably assume he loved thinking back to it. The moment that his decade long planning finally paid off. The moment he finally got his revenge. 

His shoulders slouched again. He raised his arms and stretched, before heading to his bedroom, almost forgetting to take his sachet of herbs with him. The sachet was mostly full of medical herbs, chosen to help with his illness. 

Ever since Huaisang was small, he had been sickly. His brother had told him he was born to early, back when Nie Huaisang had first asked. Even though Da-Ge had told him very confidently, he had known, even back then, that his brother wasn't quite sure whether it really was that, or something else. He had just been repeating what their father had said back when Huaisang was first born (presumably. Huaisang had, after all, only just been born). 

At first, Huaisang had thought his sickness was the worst thing ever. He wanted to be like his brother, his father, and his mother. Even though he couldn't remember his father or mother, Da-Ge and the older members of the sect told him stories about them. Most of the time, it was of their battles and their strength. How his father had once taken down one of the worst ghouls the sect had ever encountered by himself. How his mother had been able to win most every bet and card game she participated in. 

Those were the stories he pretended he loved. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear those stories, or that he wasn't happy about learning more about his parents. He just preferred to hear about the more personal things, like the stories his brother would tell. How his mom always snorted when she laughed, and never attempted to hide it. How his father would stay up all night pretending to protect Da-Ge from a ghost he thought he had heard. How excited they were when his mother became pregnant. 

He always wished that his brother would be more honest with those stories though. He had heard other stories from other people. He had heard that his father had attempted to convince his mother to terminate the baby. That he had only not done so because of her pleas, despite the fact that he knew she would most likely die giving birth. 

That his father had tried to kill him some days after his birth. 

But anyways, his sickness had started to be something he was almost thankful for. He started seeing how hard his brother had pushed himself, and how much people would push him in return. While he didnt want to be yet another burden on his brothers back, he wanted to prevent himself from falling into his brothers position even more. 

He regret that decision know. Maybe, if he had just helped his brother out more, taken some of the weight onto himself and not been so utterly useless -

No. 

That wasn't anything he could change now. No point in dwelling on it. 

He continued walking towards his room. When he got there, he started changing into his night robes. Afterwards he boiled some water, made his medical tea and sa back down on his bed again, his mind buried deep in its thoughts. 

The temple was almost always on his mind these days, no matter how much he tried not to think about it. It was hard to get San- Jin Guangyao ’s dying face out of his mind. Even after weeks, Huaisang could still recall the blood that poured out his mouth and wound, the words he said as he was on his deathbed and the expression with which he looked at Huaisang after realizing head been fooled for all these years. 

He wishes that he didn't miss him. 

Huaisang knew that he should hate him. Jin Guangyao had killed his brother, the only person he held dear, the one person he would sacrifice everything for-

But he couldn't. 

Guangyao had been his brother. While studying at Cloud Recess, they had been together for most hours of the day. And even though Huaisang now knew that it was most likely just a way to manipulate him, Guangyao had bought him new fans, paints and supported his hobbies when his brother didn't. He had been to one to ensure he didn't burn his hands trying to get his things when his brother had burnt his fans. 

He had been his brother. 

For a long time, Huaisang had considered Guangyao the second most important person in his life. More than Lan Xichen, more than Nie Zhonghui, more than everyone. Except his brother. 

maybe even more than him-

Huaisang laid down on his bed, his back hitting the mattress with a soft ‘oomph’

…Was life really worth it?

He wasn't happy anymore. The only reason he had even lived this long was to get his revenge. 

Da-Ge would be disappointed. He would want Huaisang to continue living, to take care of their sect. But Da-Ge would also not have wanted him to get revenge the way he did. Would it really change anything if he did just one last thing to disappoint him?

He rolled over on his bed, burying his head in the blanket. 

There wasn't even really anyone that would miss him, was there? Both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian despised him. And he honestly understood why. He had put their kids in danger, put them in danger and hadn't even thought of apologizing. He had been so wrapped up in his own revenge. 

When he had first started planning, he decided that he didn't care who he hurt. Whether they were former friends, kids or innocent animals. If they were in his way, it was their own fault. 

What an immature mindset. How he had never stopped to consider anyone else, he would never quite remember. 

Lan Xichen would be happy he was gone. He understood why.

His sect… were the most likely to miss him. He knew Nie Xiulan would. But his sect could handle themselves. He had only caused his home to deteriorate, after all. This way someone more qualified could take over. 

The position as Chief Cultivator was never even something he had wanted. 

…

Yeah. Maybe he should just die. 

He sat up from his bed, walking towards his drawer, where he had left his herb sachet. Even though most of the herbs were remedies for his sickness, he had a smaller sachel in there as well. There was always the chance that it would fall open and mix with his medicinal herbs, but he had always though that if so, it wouldn't matter that much. 

Now, he boiled the water again. He measured the herbs. He looked around for his favorite set of teacups. The set had been made when he was young, and his brother had painted them as a name day present. This was one of the first times he used them. Seems fitting, meeting his end by being poisoned. Just like his brother. 

He poured the water over the herbs. It was a nice yellow color. 

As he looked around, he noticed some sugar and honey on the drawer as well. He had always wanted to try his tea with honey and sugar, but it was always to risky because of his sickness. Though… he didn't have to worry about that now, did he?

He put both honey and sugar in his tea.

Then, he walked over to his bed again. He sat the tea on the bedside table, before sitting down on the bed. He drank the tea. It was very sweet. Even more than he had expected. The taste assaulted his tongue, but it was nice. In a way. 

He laid down on the bed, and went to sleep, hoping he’d dream about something nice. Maybe his brother s-