#first draft wife hasn't read it yet you know the drill

[gravitywonagain]

Can't Cheat Death While You're Digging Your Own Grave; Part 2

[Part 1] I didn't abandon it, look! Now with [Part 3]

What if Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian were closer? Sworn brothers, even? What if NHS visited WWX in Yiling?

Prompt from the wonderful @shiranai-atsune

[T (for now?), implied Wangxian, 3.5k, 2/?]

~

Nie Huaisang:

The solution was obvious. So obvious that Nie Huaisang was a little annoyed that he seemed to be the only one who saw it. 

In fairness to everybody else, there was a lot going on and not everybody even knew there was a problem that required a solution. But Nie Huaisang didn’t feel like being fair to anyone when his brother was dying. And not only was he dying, but he wouldn’t admit he was dying. He wouldn’t change a single thing even though they both knew that his saber was slowly killing him. 

To make matters worse, the entire cultivation world had somehow conspired against the only hope for his survival and stranded the two of them on a mountain of corpses in the middle of fucking nowhere. Okay, technically it was in the outskirts of Yunmeng, but the point remained. 

Nie Huaisang, however, was nothing if not proactive. Don’t ask anyone to corroborate that, but he was. Da-ge knew of his competence, and that was what mattered. 

There were, after all, multiple reasons he was left in charge of the Unclean Realm’s resources during the Sunshot Campaign. Reasons that had little to do with his refusal to pick up his saber. Reasons that resulted in a very effective hospital, if he did say so himself. 

His brother was very aware of his covert brand of brilliance. Which was good. Because he really needed his brother to hear him out. And he would definitely not want to hear him out about this. 

Da-ge was sweaty and smiling when Nie Huaisang found him, Baxia laid gently across his lap as he tended to her edge with all of his attention. He was relaxed in the way he only was after losing all his breath and working himself into near exhaustion. Training always made Da-ge feel powerful and centered. It was the cleanest exercise he got -- at least outside of visits from Er-ge and San-ge. 

Which was why Nie Huaisang waited to search him out until the early afternoon. He wanted Da-ge to be calm and happily exerted, which could be a detriment to one of Nie Huaisang’s arguments, but would leave him in the best state of mind to hear out Nie Huaisang’s plan. 

“Da-ge!”

“Sang’er.”

There’s a warmth to Da-ge’s voice when he’s happy. It’s a good sound. A sound like fresh soil for planting flowers. 

Nie Huaisang skipped his way over to his brother and sat himself down on the stone stair next to him. 

He smiled and said, “You look relaxed.”

Da-ge raised an eyebrow and replied, “You look calculating.”

Nie Huaisang huffed at that. This was the danger of being known, of course. This is the reason Nie Huaisang pretends to be an idiot in front of other people. When people don’t know that you’re clever enough to be calculating, they never accuse you of it! 

He pouted at Da-ge, but it was no use. 

Hands still moving in long, confident strokes, Da-ge looked up and dismissed the rest of the disciples in the training yard. 

The disciples moved at once, not wanting to get involved in an argument between the brothers. Nie Zonghui set a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder as he passed by, leaving swiftly after a comforting squeeze. 

“What do you want, Sang’er?” 

Da-ge’s eyes returned to Baxia, but Nie Huaisang had no doubt he had his brother’s attention. 

“I have a solution to our problems,” he said, a simple kind of delight affecting his tone. 

“What problems?”

“See,” Nie Huaisang flapped his fan lightly, “I knew you would say that, because you always say that whenever I try to bring this up.”

“Huaisang.” It was almost a groan. Nie Huaisang hated when his name was a groan. 

He deflected, “But your cultivation is only one of the problems I’m about to solve for us.”

“And the other?”

He couldn’t help himself, quirking his head to the side like a magpie, “So you admit it’s a problem?”

“Sang’er.” Another groan. This time edged with chastisement, which was even worse. 

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, but pressed on. “The other is Wei Wuxian.”

At this, Da-ge froze. His hands stilled, whetstone hovering a paper’s width over Baxia’s blade. Then, slow as a mountain, Da-ge turned to face Nie Huaisang with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. 

“You have a way to kill him?” he asked. 

“Da-ge! No!” Honestly, Nie Huaisang shouldn’t have been surprised. And he wasn’t, not really. But he had forgotten -- briefly -- in all of his scheming that Wei Wuxian was on that stupid mountain of corpses because people wanted to kill him. Apparently those people included Da-ge, which was something Nie Huaisang, again, knew, but had, momentarily, forgotten. 

He brightened his smile and said, “I have a way to save him.”

Confusion spilled over Da-ge’s features. “Save him?” he asked. “From what?”

Nie Huaisang sighed, “Himself, mostly,” and got a chuckle out of Da-ge. 

“You’re a bit late for that.”

“Maybe, but maybe not,” he shrugged. “I want to bring him here.”

Anger came next. This Nie Huaisang was expecting. This he was quite prepared for. So when Da-ge began to shout, “You want to--” Nie Huaisang was quick to cut him off before he could work himself into a frenzy. 

“Him and the refugees he’s protecting,” he said, channeling as much certainty into the words as he could and backing them with his own brand of Nie stubbornness. 

“The Wens he’s protecting,” Da-ge shot back. 

But Nie Huaisang didn’t budge. “Yes.” 

“Why?” 

Good. Good; leave it to his brother to know that there was a reason. That this wasn’t just some frivolous idea. This, Nie Huaisang would acknowledge, is why you do show some people how clever and capable you are. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he starts, leaving behind all pretense of flightiness in his voice and in his body language, “is the world’s foremost expert on resentful energy and Wen Qing is a medical genius who treated Wen Ruohan for years.” He did not stop as his brother’s eyes narrowed further at the mention of Wen Qing and her uncle. He continued, “They are wasted living in the Burial Mounds, farming radishes in soil fertilized by human corpses.” 

“Wasted?” Da-ge’s voice quivered with suppressed rage. “They should both be dead!” Barely suppressed. 

“He’s the hero of the Sunshot Campaign!” Nie Huaisang really didn’t understand why people kept forgetting that. 

Sure, he knew that some forgot it conveniently as they used his friend’s villainization toward their own grasps for power, but Da-ge was there. Da-ge saw Wei Wuxian in the aftermath of that final battle, drained and pale after having wrested control of Wen Ruohan’s puppets and turned them against their former master. 

“Meng Yao--”

“Do you really want to bring up San-ge right now, Da-ge?”

Da-ge flinched and deflated a little. Paused, looking down at the massive saber in his hands. “No,” he said after a moment. “But that doesn’t explain why you want to bring an army of demonic cultivators--”

“They’re not an army,” Nie Huaisang said, waving his fan as if he could dismiss the thought from the collective consciousness like fanning smoke from the air. “They’re too old and weak. Common people caught in the conflict.” 

To his credit, Da-ge doesn’t ask how Nie Huaisang knows that. He says instead, “They are Wens.” 

“They are villagers. Not even in the tenth degree of kinship to Wen Ruohan.” 

“The doctor and her brother are his cousins.” 

“They did not take part--”

“And you think that absolves them?” Da-ge stands, Baxia in his grip but flung out wide as he spreads his arms with frustration. “Did you not just say she treated our father’s murderer for years? Why does she deserve our protection?” 

“She helped the Jiang siblings--” 

Anger begins building up in Da-ge’s body. Nie Huaisang can see it like a physical thing. 

“Then let Yunmeng Jiang take her in!” Baxia flares red. “Let them deal with their supposed saviors and their heretic defector!” He swings her back and forth in a small arc as she splutters with their combined power. 

Nie Huaisang needs to calm him down. He needs to separate him from Baxia, but first, he needs to bring his brother back. 

He leans back on one hand, fan fluttering gracefully. He keeps his own voice light, perfectly non-combative, and says, “Jiang Cheng doesn’t have the resources.” Flippant, “Or the balls.” 

The joke lands. Da-ge doesn’t laugh or even smile, but his shoulders relax. He loosens his hold on Baxia’s hilt. Seems to notice her in his hand for the first time. Before there might have been something like worry in his eyes as he looks at her, or an apology on his lips as he looks back to Nie Huaisang. But they are past that now. It is not good, but it is known and they do not waste breath on performative promises that mean nothing. 

Instead, Da-ge sets Baxia down gently and steps away from her; sits on the other side of Nie Huaisang, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“And his lack of balls is my problem somehow?”

Nie Huaisang snaps his fan closed, the closest thing to an acknowledgement either of them will make. 

“Not your problem, no, but it could be our gain.”

His pulse settles out and slips back down into his chest from where he’d felt it lodged in his throat. 

“Gain?” Da-ge asks, incredulous. “What do we stand to gain?” 

Nie Huaisang simply nods, “Wei Wuxian.”

“The demonic cultivator.” 

Now he wants to groan. Is that all his friend is to anyone anymore? “The former first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang,” he says, insistent. “The champion archer. The talismanic genius. Remember all his potential? He was the fourth ranked young master of my generation.” 

“I’d wager that ranking has changed. And it’s not like we can put him back on the Sword Path, Sang’er.” 

“He can’t return to the Sword Path, anyway.” The words leave his mouth almost flippantly and it’s less than a second before he notices but the regret is instantaneous. 

Of course, Da-ge picks up on it immediately. “What do you mean ‘he can’t?’” 

The thing is, he’s not actually sure of this bit. It’s just-- Well, he notices things. But because this isn’t a fact that he knows, it wasn’t one he was going to bring up in this conversation. 

He likes to have confidence in the things he tells Da-ge. It helps maintain his credibility, or whatever. And also doesn’t give Da-ge false information that may put him in a sticky situation if he bases a decision off of it. 

Because of that, he also knows that if he were to tell his brother to let it go, that the information is not reliable yet, that Da-ge would. He would leave it. He would wait. 

But, the other thing is, Nie Huaisang is almost sure of this bit. He would give it ninety percent odds of being true. Higher if his source in Yunmeng isn’t blowing smoke; which she never has yet. 

It’s enough, he decides. 

“Da-ge, he doesn’t have a core.”

“He-- what?!” Da-ge’s eyes go wide as archery targets. His full body turns to face Nie Huaisang, legs shifting, as he fixes Nie Huaisang with the narrowest of narrow-eyed stares he’s ever seen and asks, “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t!” Nie Huaisang says, and this time he means it, “I don’t. But the rumors during the war-- You remember, I told you. Rumors of Jiang Wanyin falling to Wen Zhuliu during the massacre of Lotus Pier. Rumors of Wen Chao dropping Wei Wuxian into the Burial Mounds. If Wen Qing, the accomplished doctor that she is, sheltered them…” he remembers the haunted look in his friend’s eyes after he returned, the way he flinched away from touch, the way he avoided Lan Wangji of all people. “The pieces fit and think about it, Da-ge. Why else would he give up his sword?”

Da-ge doesn’t look convinced, yet. His voice is calm as he says, “Men do all kinds of things for great power.” 

Nie Huaisang can’t help himself; he shouts, “He had great power! You’ve seen him! He was Yunmeng Jiang’s head disciple. He went strike for strike with Wangji-xiong. He and Wangji-xiong, alone and injured, defeated the beast under Muxi Mountain!”

Da-ge only shakes his head, “All of that pales in comparison to what he did at Nightless City, Sang’er.” 

“Which he did for us! And we all let him! We encouraged him. We used him!”

“You’re right.” Still so calm. He reaches out an places a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, just like he used to when they were young and one of Nie Huaisang’s birds had died. “We should never have allowed him to live,” his eyes are dissonantly kind, “but war is a desperate time.”

“And he’s desperate now!” Nie Huaisang feels strangely like the conversation is slipping from his grasp. It sits heavy and awkward in his chest, his emotion welling up and distracting him from the task at hand. So he calms it. He closes his eyes, forces it into a ball, and shoves it down, burning it off inside his golden core, or imagining that he does. 

When he looks back into his brother’s eyes, he is steady. “He helped us then,” he says, voice strong and clear, “and we can help him now.” 

Da-ge looks back, just as steady. “By bringing a demonic cultivator and a bunch of Wens onto our land, Sang’er? No. Absolutely not.”

“They’re farmers, Da-ge. Farmers.”

“Farmers and whatever Wen Qionglin is.”

That is so not the point! “Aiyo, Da-ge! He could save you!”

“Save me? Huaisang, I’m not dying.”

And back into the same old argument they go. Nie Huaisang is beyond tired of it. He refuses to allow his brother to lie to him about this any more. Every time the subject comes up, Nie Mingjue avoids or distracts or prevaricates. They’ve never talked about how Nie Huaisang figured it out; they’ve never talked about what is actually going on; and Nie Huaisang will not let pride or stubbornness kill his brother. Not when he’s finally figured out how to save him. 

“Yes you are.” He allows no room in his words for uncertainty. 

“I’m--”

“You’re going to qi deviate. Like your mother. Like Father.”

“Wen Ruohan--”

“Took a shortcut. We both know Father would have died soon enough anyway.”

Da-ge looks at him with his jaw set. He doesn’t deny it. He can’t deny it, not honestly, and Nie Huaisang will always know if he’s lying -- mostly because he’s exceedingly bad at it. But it’s not like he looks ready to give up, either. 

“And what exactly do you think Wei Wuxian can do about it?” He asks it like a question, but it’s difficult to tell whether or not he actually cares to hear the answer. 

Nie Huaisang gives him one anyway. “It’s inside him, Da-ge, like it’s inside you.”

“The Saber Path is not the Ghost Path, Sang’er.” 

“Ghosts, beasts, what’s the difference?” 

“Do I need to send you back to Lan Qiren a fourth time?” 

He flaps his fan dismissively. “It’s resentment. It’s harmful. It’s not spiritual energy. It might as well be the same thing. And if he can contain it, if Wen Qing-daifu can help him, maybe they can help us.”

The clench of Da-ge’s jaw tightens. He huffs through his nose. “That’s a lot to risk on a maybe.” 

“What risk?” Nie Huaisang asks honestly. “Your life, the lives of every Saber Path cultivator, could be saved!” 

“By an unstable man with wicked cultivation?” 

“He’s unstable because he’s desperate. They’re barely surviving on that mountain.” Nie Huaisang laughs, “He scraped together a cultivation method that defeated Wen Ruohan and ended the war with a few months and no golden core. Imagine what he could do if we gave him time. Shelter. A library. Food.”

“Sang’er--” Da-ge starts, but there’s a weakness in it. Not quite conciliatory, but close. Close enough to press. 

“I will bring him here,” says Nie Huaisang, forcing all of his conviction into each syllable. “I’d marry him into the sect if he wasn’t so in love with Wangji-xiong.”

Da-ge sighs, “You don’t need to--” 

“You’re right! Because there’s another option!”

Da-ge’s eyes widen as he realizes, “Huaisang, no.” 

Nie Huaisang grins, “He just has to agree to it.”

“Huaisang.”

“It’ll be perfect!”

“Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang stands tall, raising his fan high, and cries out, “We’ll bow before Heaven and Earth and the entire cultivation world as sworn brothers!”

Da-ge stands to match him, “You will not.” 

He’s tall, so much taller than Nie Huaisang, so Nie Huaisang goes two steps up the stairs, saying, “We will. In Lanling. At his nephew’s Full Moon celebration.” 

Da-ge doesn’t chase him. He looks up, now, to his younger brother. A mixture of defeat and something else -- maybe hope? -- in his steely, grey eyes. 

“You think you can arrange that?” he asks, but it’s not a question. It’s a yielding. An acquiescence. Permission. 

Nie Huaisang smiles down at his older brother and nods. “Jin Guangshan will be so pleased to have Wei-xiong close enough to touch.”

“Close enough to trap.”

“Yes, we’ll have to be careful.” He taps his folded fan against his chin, “But if Qinghe Nie offers him protection, I bet Wei-xiong will be willing to give up that stupid seal that has everyone frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs.” 

Da-ge’s eyebrows climb his forehead. “He’d give up his power? Just like that?”

Nie Huaisang steps back down the stairs, putting him on equal footing with his brother, his sect leader, again. Now that he’s won, now that they’re talking strategy, he sits back down on the stone stairs, pleased when Da-ge does the same. He picks up the whetstone that Da-ge had discarded in his earlier rage and hands it to him. 

“Wei-xiong doesn’t want power for power, Da-ge. He wants it for purpose. He needs it to keep people safe and if we take on that burden for him, he won’t need that power anymore.”

Da-ge hums and nods, turning the stone over in his hands, thumbs gliding over the smooth edges of it. 

“If we take in a few dozen farmers --” he continues, but Da-ge cuts in. 

“And the Wen siblings.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes, “and the Wen siblings, who will be very grateful to not have to scrounge out a living on a mountain of death anymore,” he reminds his stubborn brother, “then Wei Wuxian will give up the Seal. He’ll come here. We will protect him and those he has claimed. And he will fix--” Da-ge cuts a glare at him from the side, and Nie Huaisang amends, “adjust our cultivation so that it stops killing our most powerful practitioners.” 

“It is not bad to have a defined upper limit on power,” says the man who is always pushing up against that limit with his own two shoulders. 

But Nie Huaisang doesn’t need to bring that up. “So you’ve said,” he nods. “It is also not bad for our sect leaders to have an expected lifespan longer than forty years.” Really, it doesn’t seem like he’s asking too much here. 

Da-ge grins. “You just don’t want to be a sect leader.” 

“This is true,” says Nie Huaisang, because it very much is. “And you will need all the time I can give you to find a wife who can stand you--” he dodges Da-ge’s hand as it flashes out to catch his arm, giggling when the fingertips connect with his sleeve anyway “--long enough to make you a tiny little heir!” Da-ge lunges again. 

For a moment, they’re just brothers again. Before titles and wars and death molded them into what they are now, they were just two brothers. Two brothers who loved each other and who protected each other. 

Nie Huaisang supposes they haven’t changed too much, in the grand scheme of things. They love each other. And they will protect each other. 

“This will work?” Da-ge asks, and Nie Huaisang swallows past the fear in his throat. 

“Da-ge, it is the only chance we have.” 

Da-ge hums again, passing the whetstone from hand to hand until handing it to Nie Huaisang. “You will pick up a saber?”

Nie Huaisang hesitates, fingers barely grazing the now-warm stone. “That was not part of this deal.” 

“What if it was?”

He can’t tell, he honestly can’t tell if Da-ge would back out over this or not. It’s an amazing bluff if it is one, but if it’s not -- Nie Huaisang can’t afford to give up now. Besides, he’s only ever had one truly major complaint against the Saber Path. 

“If he fixes it-- Don’t give me that look. If he fixes it,” he takes a deep breath and accepts the whetstone from his brother, “I’ll pick up my saber.” 

“Deal.” Da-ge stands, smiling, and Nie Huaisang just can’t help himself. 

He snaps open his fan and says, “But I’ll put it back down as soon as I start sweating.” 

“Sang’er!” Da-ge starts to stomp after him. 

He runs. “It’s so gross, Da-ge!”