#the toxic gossip..... er.... carriage.....

[envymeshi]

Sorry for the lack of posts I forgor. Anyway someone mentioned Marcille doing the ukelele apology in my notes so guess what I'm drawing next babeyyyyyyyyy

[robininthelabyrinth]

Toxicity - ao3

- part 3 -

It was not too long after Lan Wangji’s visit – a month or two, no more, and in the timescale of war that was very short indeed – that Lan Xichen finally returned to his side.

Nie Mingjue gathered his courage. “Did you speak with your uncle?” he asked, reaching out to take Lan Xichen’s hand in his.

“I did,” Lan Xichen said, and his eyes were bright as stars. “You want to marry me, Mingjue-xiong? You haven’t even kissed me.”

“I do. I do want to marry you,” Nie Mingjue said, taking the question seriously even though it had been made in jest. “I am not asking for your agreement right now, but I would not begin the process of courting you without making clear my intentions.”

Lan Xichen softened, smiling. “Righteous and unyielding, straightforward and upright,” he murmured and reached out with his free hand to tuck some of Nie Mingjue’s hair that had fallen loose back behind his ear. Nie Mingjue might be sick and tired of that particular phrase, but he would hear it a thousand times from Lan Xichen’s lips. “Oh, da-ge, you really are always the same.”

Nie Mingjue shivered a little at the familiar, intimate term of address. “May I kiss you?” he asked, and watched as Lan Xichen’s smile grew wider still.

“You may,” Lan Xichen said. “If I may kiss you as well.”

Nie Mingjue tried to find a way to tell Lan Xichen about his upcoming fate, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when Lan Xichen smiled at him so happily. The most he could do was remind him that their love had an expiration date, that it was better to marry and be done with it.

Lan Xichen refused, though. He said that he enjoyed their courtship, that he wanted the entirety of the experience for them both: the memories made together, the anticipation, the joy, and that they would wed when the war was over, in full view of both their families.

Nie Mingjue wanted that more than anything, and so he agreed…although in some respects, in his heart, he considered them already wed.

He did not intentionally keep his new relationship with Xichen a secret from his men – if he had not been so determined to treat Lan Xichen as he ought to be treated, with respect and honor, and feared the threat of distraction in the midst of battle, he would have shouted out the news of their engagement in the middle of the war camp. And yet he was also by nature a private man, inclined to be possessive of the few joys he had, and so while he did not hide it, he also did not go out of his way to mention it. It was already common for him to spend time cloistered with his guests, no matter who they were; in that way, Lan Xichen’s visits were no different from the rest, except in that Nie Mingjue enjoyed them far more.

It was not until months later that his camp discovered that their leader was courting, and naturally they discovered it in the most awkward manner possible: news coming of an imminent surprise attack at dawn that required Nie Zonghui to rush over to alert his sect leader without warning and thus finding him curled up in his lover’s arms.

“Can I help?” Lan Xichen asked as Nie Mingjue prepared himself for war, glaring at Nie Zonghui’s wide grin – the man has a fondness for gossip, and there would be no stopping him. “With the battle?”

“You may do whatever you wish,” Nie Mingjue said, leaning down to steal a kiss. “I trust you completely in all things, and not least of all your excellent cultivation. The attack is two-pronged – would you go the western front, while I take the east? We can meet in the middle. Take as many of my Nie cultivators as you think you might need.”

“No need,” Lan Xichen said. “There are a number of Lan cultivators in your camp, and the western side of the camp is guarded by a mountain ridge – we can ambush them there with musical cultivation and drive them running straight into the camp without their swords.”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Nie Zonghui, you take command of the camp and half our cultivators,” he instructed. “When the Wen sect comes running towards you in their confusion, cut them off.”

Nie Zonghui saluted, humor gone from his face – postponed, not forgotten – and the three of them left.

Nie Mingjue hoped only to repulse the attack, but it ended as a complete rout, total victory, through factors neither side could predict: it turned out that the western ridge was housing one of the dragons that sometimes passed through the cultivation world, a celestial dragon in blue and white, and it took offense to the Wen attack, demolishing their ranks with fang and claw and song-magic that deafened the ear.

(Nie Mingjue wondered briefly if it was the same celestial dragon that had cursed him all those years ago.)

In the end, there was very little more than clean-up left over, with Lan Xichen leading his Lan cultivators to drive the remaining Wen sect cultivators into the waiting arms of Nie Zonghui’s forces, and most of them surrendered at once rather than risk being sent back to face the dragon’s wrath. With that battle concluded and the western front secured, Nie Zonghui and Lan Xichen were able to rush to Nie Mingjue’s side, providing timely reinforcement, and the eastern front was won as well.

Lan Xichen was totally uninjured and barely even winded, but Nie Mingjue kissed him out of joy in seeing him well nonetheless, heedless of the blood and muck on him, and after that, of course, everyone knew.

“Go talk to Nie Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen after that, ignoring the way he raised his eyebrows. “There are things you need to know, things I’ve been dragging my feet about telling you…I’ve tried time and time again to say, and each time the words stick in my throat. But he knows. He knows, and he’ll be able to tell you.”

“I will go,” Lan Xichen said, although he looked a little puzzled. “Whatever it is, though, we’ll face it together.”

“We will,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Now go, let my brother pester you about wedding plans. He has ideas.”

Laughing, Lan Xichen left, and Nie Mingjue turned back to the business of war: planning out battles, considering strategy, securing their supply lines, communicating with allies and spies alike.

The next missive he received from Meng Yao told him to go to Yangquan.

Meng Yao’s information had been excellent up to that point, and Nie Mingjue had no reason to doubt him. The maps he sent, along with information about the enemies’ movements, had helped Nie Mingjue win battles and minimize casualties, and he thought to himself that he would be forever indebted to his former deputy for the sacrifice he had made in going to obtain it, for surely Wen Ruohan would not be a kind master.

And yet, when he went to Yangquan with only a small party – any more, Meng Yao had warned, and he might be noticed, when the goal here was to strike quickly and retreat quicker – he found himself unexpectedly outnumbered, surrounded and overpowered: Wen Ruohan himself had come to inspect the site, and he had brought his strongest guards with him.

Nie Mingjue was taken prisoner.

Tied in chains and dragged to the Nightless City behind Wen Ruohan’s carriage, choking on dust and beaten like a dog by any Wen cultivator who passed by, Nie Mingjue’s only thought was that he would die before he went mad, and he found some small measure of relief in that.

He regretted it, of course – he regretted not marrying Lan Xichen, not insisting, though he knew war was no time for it; he regretted not having seen his brother more, though he knew the battlefield was no place for him. He regretted that his death was likely to be gruesome and painful, given Wen Ruohan’s usual proclivities, and that his loved ones would know that.

But at least, he comforted himself, he hadn’t gone insane, turning against all he held dear. That fate he had spent his whole life fearing, it seemed, would not be his.

With that thought in mind, he was able to go with some sense of peace to the throne room of the Nightless City, but when he got there everything seemed – not as he had expected.

Wen Ruohan was standing, for one thing, and he seemed almost nervous, looking Nie Mingjue over to confirm that he was still alive, muttering to himself that there weren’t too many marks, that he was still mostly intact, that he shouldn’t be too angry –

“He?” Nie Mingjue asked, entirely at a loss. He was chained and bound, on his knees in front of his enemy, the man who had killed his father and whose son he had killed in turn; the situation ought to be clear and yet he was more confused than ever. “Who are you talking about?”

“Me, I expect,” Meng Yao said, walking through the door arrogantly, as if the Fire Palace belonged to him instead of Wen Ruohan. “Ah, da-ge, as usual I seem to have underestimated you.”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him, surprised – Meng Yao had never used such an intimate term of address for him, though he would have permitted it if the other man had ever shown any interest.

Meng Yao saw his expression and laughed.

“Or perhaps not,” he said, and the smile on his face was pleasant as always, and yet there was cruelty in it. “So er-ge hasn’t told you yet, has he? No, of course, he wouldn’t; he’d think he was being noble, protecting you from your own past.”

“I don’t understand,” Nie Mingjue said, his eyes darting to Wen Ruohan – but that proud man was on his knees, willingly showing reverence, and to Meng Yao of all people. “Meng Yao –”

“Jin Guangyao, actually,” Meng Yao said. “‘Meng’ was my miserable mother’s surname, for all the good it did her…I did tell you that my bloodline was the Jin.”

“You were acknowledged? Jin Guangshan –”

Meng Yao laughed. “Oh, da-ge, da-ge, still so confused! You never did understand anything. I really don’t understand why er-ge was so desperate to bring you back – he slept for over a decade after putting your soul into your mother’s belly, did you know that? A decade! We may be ancient, but time is still precious, and he wasted so much of it on you...oh, you stupid fool. You still don’t understand, do you?”

Nie Mingjue didn’t understand anything.

“Perhaps a visual demonstration would be best,” Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao, apparently – said, and the air around him shimmered as if he were a mirage induced by heatstroke.

A moment later, there was no Meng Yao, no Jin Guangyao, no human standing there, but instead the massive coils of a yellow-bellied flood dragon draped themselves around the throne of the Wen sect.

Nie Mingjue stared up at him.

“Now do you see?” Jin Guangyao hissed at him, eyes glittering. “Do you know now, what you have cost me?”

“How – you’re…you’re a dragon!”

“And not just me,” Jin Guangyao said. “Your beloved Lan Xichen is, too: my beloved er-ge, my sworn brother, and yours, too.  It was the three of us together – we were all brothers once, long ago, before you died…I never understood. Why does er-ge love you so much that he would hurt himself to retrieve your soul and give you new life? Enough to lower himself into the filth of humanity, to forget his former self, to learn to love you from the beginning as if you were a brand-new person – why? What’s so interesting about you? You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met. A righteous prig, and a fool.”

“You – Lan Xichen –” Nie Mingjue stuttered, still staring, disbelieving. “My parents – the curse –”

Jin Guangyao laughed.

“I always planned to tell you before the end, you know, da-ge. I wanted you to know,” he said conversationally. “I wanted you to know it was your fault that your parents died. Lan Xichen, my er-ge…he kept your soul after it should have passed into the wheel of reincarnation, and when your human parents came to beg for a child, he gave you the body he thought you deserved, taking years off his own life to do it – and when he had slept, that was when I came in, gifting you with my poison, the only thing you ever deserved to get from me. I infused it in your mother and father both just to make sure it got to you; if it wasn’t for you, they might have lived long and happy lives. And they thanked me for it!”

Nie Mingjue felt numb. “You killed them to get to me? I wasn’t – I hadn’t even been born!”

“Your soul is still your soul, da-ge, no matter the quirks of personality you developed through your upbringing,” Jin Guangyao said dismissively. “If you weren’t, er-ge wouldn’t have fallen in love with you all over again, would he?”

Lan Xichen was the celestial dragon, Nie Mingjue thought, just as Jin Guangyao, who he had once thought was called Meng Yao, was the flood dragon. Except his parents had been deceived: there was no price for him to pay for his birth, for his strength and cultivation talent, for Lan Xichen had willingly shouldered that debt. Instead, the poison Jin Guangyao had claimed would help them minimize the cost, making him suffer only one year in eight, was actually the source of all his ills – without it, he might have not had to suffer at all.

“Your parents must have made your childhood a misery, training you up to be tough enough to live through your first tribulation,” Jin Guangyao said dreamily. “And then you must have lived the rest of your life in fear, fear and distance, allowing no one to be close to you – I knew you’d hate the idea of turning on everyone you loved most of all. You even tried to turn Xichen down! You’ll never know how much I laughed when he told me about it: he thought you meant that you expected your mortal life to be short, you know, or perhaps that it was an early death due to war that you feared.”

Anger came easily to Nie Mingjue, an old companion.

“Well, if your goal was to separate me from Xichen, you failed,” he said. “He’s agreed to marry me.”

Jin Guangyao’s smile turned into a scowl at once, and his tail lashed out, smashing the pillars and walls of the Fire Palace – no wonder Wen Ruohan was on his knees, shaking in terror; there was no way a human could fight a dragon of such strength.

“How dare you?” he hissed. “How dare you even think of tainting him once again?”

“How dare you?” Nie Mingjue shouted back, ignoring the look of panic on Wen Ruohan’s face. He had already accepted that his death would come to him here, today, a slow and gruesome demise before he’d ever reached thirty; Jin Guangyao could do nothing to him than he had not already anticipated happening at Wen Ruohan’s hands. “You claim to love Xichen, and yet by your own words you went behind his back to sabotage what he tried so hard to do! For all your talk about the filth of the human world, you’re the one who crawled through the muck, all lies and deceit, writhing in it like the pathetic worm that you are –”

Jin Guangyao smashed walls in his rage, and yet he calmed too quickly: that pleasant smile re-emerged on his face, and he reached out to catch Nie Mingjue’s head with his claws, the long, scaly claws sliding through his hair, closing around him to rest the tips on his face, pricking his flesh.

“Always so judgmental, da-ge,” he said. “Always so quick to look down on me for not living up to your expectations. Perhaps that’s the heart of you, the part of you that you keep in every life – you were just the same when you were the great azure dragon, the mightiest of us all even if er-ge was of nobler birth. And yet, even in that past life, your strength, your might, none of that helped you, did it?”

He brought his face close to Nie Mingjue’s, the dragon’s head the size of half his body, the longest of his fangs extending the length of his hand, from fingertip to the base of the palm, his long and serpentine tongue extending to lick at his cheek and lips in vile mockery of the kiss of brotherhood.

“Let me tell you a secret, da-ge,” he whispered into his ears, the latent poison on his breath making Nie Mingjue struggle to breathe even though Jin Guangyao wasn’t yet actively trying to hurt him. “In your last life? It was me who killed you then, too. I poured my poison into the song you got from er-ge, the one you so treasured. The more you played it, the more it would hurt you; the greater your love for him was, the quicker your death would come…you died within the year, da-ge, screaming in agony, blind and deaf, your powerful body rotting away beneath you, and you never knew why.”

“You’re disgusting,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jin Guangyao forced his head back, his sharp claws digging in enough to cause small rivulets of blood to start dripping down his face. “Are you jealous? Is that it? That he sees you as his brother and nothing more, even once I was dead? Or was it some other petty dispute that made you feel the need to smile to my face while stabbing me in the back, to persecute me not only in one lifetime, but the next?”

“Perhaps it’s only that I enjoy watching you suffer,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile was as chillingly pleasant as it had been the entire time Nie Mingjue had known him, the same calm collected smile Meng Yao used to deal with everything. The same smile he’d given Nie Mingjue’s parents as he poisoned them, no doubt. “Did you think that you had escaped the fate I planned for you by coming here? It’s my poison that causes your agony, da-ge, your agony and your insanity, and I carry it with me everywhere – I’ll pour my poison into your belly until you lose your mind and turn into a mindless beast just like you’ve always feared.”

His smile widened.

“And then poor Meng Yao, who doesn’t know better, will rescue you and take you home. Home to your brother who will run to greet you, to your sect that will not want to fight back against you, to your lover who will have no choice but to put you down for your own good…I wonder how many of them you’ll take with you before er-ge has to eradicate you with his own hands? For good, this time.”

“Don’t pretend to care,” Nie Mingjue said, even as his heart froze in fear within his chest. His arms were chained to his side, the pressure of the massive claw around the back of his head irresistibly keeping him kneeling, keeping him from moving. “You miserable, pathetic little – son of a whore!”

It wasn’t one of the insults he generally favored, but for some reason it rose to his tongue now, and it seemed to strike true for Jin Guangyao in a way he wouldn’t have expected it to: he reared back his head a little, glaring down at him, but it was only another moment or two before his eyes narrowed and the pleasant smile returned.

“Good-bye, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck in your next life.”

And then he pressed his heavy head to Nie Mingjue’s, that long serpentine tongue forcing its way into Nie Mingjue’s mouth and down his throat, choking him on it, choking him on the fumes and acid that came with it, poisonous and searing the back of his throat, and then there was that familiar pain that he remembered from his eighth birthday, his sixteenth, his twenty fourth – the eight-year pain that he had feared ever since he knew what it meant, what it foretold.

Pointless pain. The grudge of another lifetime, carried over into this one, and for what?

For nothing.