Work Text:
Yunmeng’s summer rains felt like Qinghe’s winter storms. Perhaps the wind did not whip into as much of a frenzy, knocking back hoods and sending chills deep to the bone, but the rain could easily soak through layers of clothing in a matter of seconds. And yet the air still felt like a warm blanket enveloping Nie Huaisang the moment he stepped outside. It was rather comforting, in a way. Though he was sure he would not appreciate the way it would frizz up his hair when he went back inside.
He wouldn’t be deterred, though. If he caught a cold in this weather it would only be Jiang Wanyin’s fault for leaving him alone in bed in the middle of the night. He pulled on the heavy cloak he had brought along at Jiang Cheng’s warning of the summer showers and stepped out of the comforting stillness of the Jiang sect leader’s private quarters, determined to bring his bed-warmth back.
Nie Huaisang hesitated under the awnings for just a moment, debating with himself where to look first. Though, considering it was pouring and the middle of the night, he could only think of one place he might find Jiang Cheng.
As he had suspected, he came across Jiang Cheng sitting in the flickering orange light of the Jiang ancestral shrine, his head bowed and back turned to the open entrance. Nie Huaisang hovered in the doorway, painfully aware of the quiet dripping of his cloak on the shiny wood floor. But he couldn’t stand the idea of simply leaving Jiang Cheng alone—and returning to an empty room himself.
“A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng startled, turning around so fast Nie Huaisang was amazed he didn’t fall over himself. He cursed under his breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t sleep very heavily, you know that.” Nie Huaisang smiled bitterly. “If you want me to leave, I will.”
“No, of course not,” Jiang Cheng said quickly. “You can come in.”
Nie Huaisang blinked. After all these years, it seemed he was still second-guessing his place in Jiang Wanyin’s life. It had always been a few steps away from the whole dive in, whether by his own design or by Jiang Cheng’s.
He wrung out as much of the rainwater as he could from his cloak before kneeling before the altar, trying not to feel too self-conscious about the way he still managed to drip on the fine cushions beneath him. Jiang Cheng quietly waited for him to pay his respects to the plaques mounted on the shrine, though Nie Huaisang noticed from the corner of his eye the way he twisted the ever-present ring on his finger like he was trying to wear it down with just the repeated pressure of his fingertips. When Nie Huaisang rose from his final bow, he reached out to place his hand over Jiang Cheng’s restless ones. Jiang Cheng’s hands jumped before going relatively still. They still shook somewhat, but he at least glanced up to look Nie Huaisang in the eyes.
“A-Cheng,” Nie Huaisang said, calm but firm. “What is it?”
Jiang Cheng shook his head. “You won’t— I can’t…”
Nie Huaisang’s hand on Jiang Cheng’s tightened its hold ever so slightly. Jiang Cheng sighed. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. Not the greatest things.”
Nie Huaisang’s gaze was drawn back to the ring on Jiang Cheng’s index finger, which he'd gone back to twisting around anxiously. He pushed on, though, without Nie Huaisang even having to prompt him. Evidently, he had been keeping this inside for some time.
“I was so…” Jiang Cheng swallowed. “Worried. When Jin Ling took over the Jin Sect. I thought he was too young, too inexperienced, too immature. And at first, it was difficult, of course it was. The chaos it was left in after…” He shook his head, trying to stay on the same train of thought. “But then he grew into it so well. And he is doing so well now, don’t you think he’s doing well?”
“He is,” Nie Huaisang assured. Jiang Cheng nodded curtly, satisfied with that answer. He continued to stare at his lap and play with his ring, though.
“And at first, I tried to give him Zidian. He wouldn’t accept it. I thought he was just being stubborn, probably thought I didn’t trust him to take care of himself. But the more I thought about it, the less I—” He cleared his throat, took a couple of ragged breaths. “A-Sang, I can’t give it to him. I can’t force that onto him.”
Nie Huaisang stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he only stared at his own hands cupped by Nie Huaisang’s. Just when Nie Huaisang figured he ought to try to pull him out of his own thoughts, for his own good, he pulled his hands out of Nie Huaisang’s grip. He was about to protest, but his words died on his lips when Jiang Cheng pulled Zidian off his finger and held it out to Nie Huaisang.
“I— Wanyin, what is this?”
Jiang Cheng shifted his position on the cushion so that he was truly facing Nie Huaisang. He took Nie Huaisang’s hand in his own, palm up, and pressed the cool metal band into it, leaving no room for interpretation of the gesture. His own hands stayed cupped around Nie Huaisang’s, a mirror of what Nie Huaisang had done for him just moments before. “It will respond to you. I’m sure of it. It understands you the same way it does me.”
“What makes you think that?” Nie Huaisang asked, his voice pitching higher despite his efforts to appear calm.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes softened a fraction, losing the unsettling urgency in them. “Because, A-Sang. We are made of the same experiences. And it understands pain best.”
Nie Huaisang choked out a laugh. “Wanyin, are you really telling me that I could wield Zidian because we have the same pain? How morbid.”
“It’s a morbid weapon,” Jiang Cheng admitted softly. He searched Nie Huaisang’s eyes, which were beginning to burn for some reason. When Jiang Cheng spoke next, he sounded far less certain than he had only a moment before. “Do… do you not want it?”
“Well, I don’t know!” Nie Huaisang said indignantly, hastily sweeping a hand under his eyes. “This is a Jiang sect first-class spiritual weapon! What would a cowardly Nie sect leader who has never seen a day of battle do with that?”
“Why are you only now thinking about the practical?” Jiang Cheng scoffed.
“You create special circumstances.” Nie Huaisang sniffled and opened his hand to look at the ring. The silver gleamed gold in the candlelight, and had warmed up a bit against his skin. “You wear this all the time, even asleep. Would you really give it up, just like that?”
“I’m not giving it up,” Jiang Cheng insisted, and though his tone came off as irritated, Nie Huaisang could tell he only wanted to reassure him. “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours.”
Nie Huaisang glared at him. “You can’t just say things like that, A-Cheng! But are you really sure you don’t want to pass it on to Jin Ling?”
“I told you, I can’t give this to him without placing everything it comes with onto his shoulders. You understand all that already, just like I do.”
“It’s an heirloom—”
“It’s a burden,” Jiang Cheng said curtly. “One we both took on years ago.”
Nie Huaisang sighed. At least he knew that for a fact. He picked up the ring and rolled it between his fingers. Jiang Cheng’s hands were larger than his own, but somehow he knew that it would fit him perfectly when he put it on.
Jiang Cheng plucked the ring from his fingertips before he could test that theory. For the briefest moment Nie Huaisang worried that Jiang Cheng had changed his mind just when he had been warming up to the idea, but Jiang Cheng dispelled his doubt by slipping Zidian onto his index finger for him. It really did fit as easily as if it were made for him.
“Will you accept it?” Jiang Cheng asked, pulling Nie Huaisang’s gaze back up to him. And, well, maybe Nie Huaisang was as weak-willed as he tried to appear after all.
He glanced at the table of incense and offerings they sat behind, and the bronze plaques above them. If he was being honest, he had never quite thought Jiang Cheng capable of stepping out of the shadow of those carved names. If it was his place, then so be it—Nie Huaisang had his own looming shadows, anyway.
“I suppose burdens are best carried together,” he murmured, and Jiang Cheng smiled and kissed the hand with Zidian on it. Nie Huaisang chalked up the sparks that flew up his arm because of that short brush of lips against his skin to a reaction from Zidian.
“It’s nearly dawn,” Jiang Cheng said. “And it’s stopped raining. We should head back.”
He was right; the persistent drum of rain against the rooftops and stone floors of the pavilion had stopped, leaving only a quiet peace behind it. Nie Huaisang was suddenly once again aware of the heavy, half-dry cloak still draped over his shoulders, and the thin inner robe and trousers he was wearing underneath. “Ah,” he said belatedly. “Give me one more moment here?”
Jiang Cheng probably sensed his desire to be alone. He gave Nie Huaisang’s hand a quick squeeze before getting to his feet and stepping out into the pavilion. Once he had disappeared from view, Nie Huaisang turned back to the shrine and its intimidating names. Zidian weighed cool and heavy on his hand, and he spun it around a couple of times on his finger just to get used to the feeling of it. It was a comforting weight, he thought, at least with the knowledge that it was a shared one.
He shook his head and bowed again to the shrine, a bit lower than he had the first time. He cleared his throat as he straightened his back again, trying to find words that would suffice. “Yu Ziyuan, I realize this was your spiritual weapon before it was Jiang Wanyin’s, and it belonged to many others before you. I don’t know if I would be a proper successor to that kind of legacy on my own, but he isn’t asking me to. As far as I understand it, he isn’t leaving Zidian to me so much as sharing it with me. I think that’s fitting, considering everything, and I can only hope that you agree.”
He paused, taking in a deep breath of the post-rain air that was seeping in from outside. He could end it there, but— “I was never good in battle or leadership like those before me. A-Cheng is known for that, while my talents lie elsewhere. He is respected and feared, I am… far less so. Nonetheless… he trusted me with this. I think that’s what matters the most, in the end. Once again, I just hope that you would agree. Yu Ziyuan, and the rest of the Jiang Sect. Thank you.”
Nie Huaisang hesitated in the silence that blanketed the shrine following his words before rising from the cushion and heading towards the doorway in which he knew Jiang Cheng was waiting.