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ibijau · 1 year

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Blue Orchids pt1 / On AO3

aka the hanahaki fic where I take things way too seriously

aka that fic I was super into at first but now low-key hate, so I’m posting it to get rid of it

The cultivators’ disease had appeared several generations earlier, around the time when cultivation sects took a sharp turn into becoming cultivation clans. There had been much debate over the decades as to whether the disease had been caused by that change, or if it had caused it, or even if it was entirely unrelated, a mere coincidence. It was the subject of many essays within the Lan sect’s library at least, as was the disease's most obvious consequence: since it had appeared, not a single cultivator had ever managed to reach immortality.

The disease always killed them before that.

How the disease worked was both fairly simple to understand, and incredibly obscure to explain. It targeted people holding unresolved love for another person, especially (but not always) romantic feelings, and caused flowers to grow inside their lungs. It was not immediately lethal, some people lingered for years, even decades, coughing up petals every so often until the day they choked to death, or until their lungs were so overcome with roots that the flowers would spread to their heart, killing them.

Anyone with any knowledge of cultivation could catch it, however low their level, how weak their potential. At the same time, and for reasons unknown, the stronger a cultivator was, the easier it was for them to get sick, meaning anyone who would have had a true chance to reach immortality was instead almost certain to die a painful death, even if they survived political assassinations and dangerous Night Hunts.

Of course some people also healed from the disease. Lan Xichen had seen it happen. Or more accurately, those people who managed to stop it from spreading any further counted it as healing. as had happened to Lan Wangji who had gone from coughing whole flowers daily after Wei Wuxian hid in the Burial Mounds of Yiling, to never being bothered by more than a few petals once or twice a year after the object of his affection died. But Lan Wangji was something of a miracle in that regard. For most people the disease remained even if the target of their love died.

More importantly, most people who had been sick once would likely become sick again sooner or later, the flower’s roots withered but never truly gone.

The only true cure, or so people said, was to face one’s own feelings, confess them to the person they targeted, and fully accept their own feelings whether good or bad. It sounded simple. Lan Xichen had never understood how so many people failed to overcome the disease, when all it took was to be honest and decent. Certainly there were complicated circumstances sometimes, like his brother’s feelings for a man gone mad from playing with evil forces, or those who were married yet wasting away from love for another person and favoured propriety over their own life. But for most people it should have been easy enough to just talk.

Of course Lan Xichen’s opinion came from a place of privilege, as he would be the first one to concede. He’d been lucky enough that he’d never developed the sickness himself in spite of his exceptional cultivation, although he believed luck was only part of it the education he'd received, and his life experiences, had served to make him feel immune to the sickness. After all he had learned, even as a young child, to accept his father’s coldness, his mother’s absence, his uncle’s many demands, his brother’s peculiarities. And while intimately close, his friendship with Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao had never served to hide secret feelings. These few people aside, there was no one in his life he’d ever been truly close to, no one who might have caused flowers to bloom within his lungs.

Or so he’d thought.

The first symptoms, if there even were any, had been light enough that Lan Xichen never noticed them in the weeks leading up to the sickness, too preoccupied with more urgent issues. Later on, he wondered if a certain shortness of breath had appeared here and there, if his morning breath had become less unpleasant than it ought to have been. There must have been signs. It was inconceivable that his own heart never gave any warning before it condemned him to death.

He wished there had been signs.

Had he understood then what was happening to him, and more importantly who was the cause for it, Lan Xichen would surely have confronted that person, certain to accept how that man felt for him, in good or bad. They’d always gotten along, it should have been easy enough to have a conversation on that topic, allowing Lan Xichen to move on and heal after being rejected, as he would have expected to be. Even back before things took a turn for the worst, Lan Xichen would not have entertained foolish hopes.

It would all have been so easy, had Lan Xichen only understood in time.

But until the last moment, he’d remained oblivious to his own feelings. Even when his body did finally warn him of his heart's secrets on that fateful night, Lan Xichen did not understand.

If breathing had felt so hard while he was in that temple in Yunping City, he’d thought, it was only because Jin Guangyao had sealed away his strength.

If he’d felt something stuck in his throat, it was only because the series of reveals he’d witnessed had left him nauseous.

If he felt the repeated impulse to reach for that specific man out of everyone present, it was only to protect him from both the danger around them and the horror of what was being discussed.

Even then, when his soul screamed at him, Lan Xichen had more urgent concerns than his own heart. But at last it all ended, the tragedies around him reached their unstoppable conclusion, leaving everyone present in that temple broken and wounded, in spirit if not in bodies.

In the painful quiet of the temple, Lan Xichen stood motionless, his hands stained with the blood of his sworn brother. He had turned to look at Nie Huaisang, shaking with the realisation of what he’d done, seeking from his last living friend the reassurance that he hadn’t had a choice. He’d looked at Nie Huaisang and found him fighting a cough, one hand pressed hard against his mouth in a failed effort to contain the delicate petals spilling from his mouth. It was not an unusual sight, Nie Huaisang having suffered from the sickness on and off again since childhood, and yet that night it hit him harder than it had ever done, another wound on his already battered heart.

A hundred thoughts rose to Lan Xichen’s mind, all of them too selfish to be entertained at such a time. He pushed them all away to instead ask if Jin Guangyao had truly moved, the only thing that seemed safe to discuss as his lungs started itching.

A simple question, calling for a simple answer.

Nie Huaisang, although wrecked by intense fits of coughing, skilfully avoided giving any sort of answer, muttering about the heat of the moment. Even when Wei Wuxian started accusing him of being more than another victim of the events that had unfolded around them, Nie Huaisang deflected, coughing and whining and making himself to pitiful that Lan Xichen ached to either comfort him or shake him until he said anything of value.

That emotional ache turned to a physical irritation in his throat, and then to a real pain consuming his lungs. It grew worse and worse as other people joined them who needed to hear what had happened during the night. They all asked from Lan Xichen the details which no one else present appearing willing to share. He tried, at first, to help, to answer, to explain. The more he said, the worse the pain in his chest grew, making it hard to breathe, harder still to speak. Lan Xichen was barely breathing when he spotted Nie Huaisang making his escape from the temple.

Nie Huaisang who only turned around long enough to see Lan Xichen vomiting his first few petals, and whose face turned into such an expression of open hatred as he turned away that it prompted another slew of petals to spill from Lan Xichen’s lips.

---

As if to compensate for a lifetime of avoiding it, the disease struck Lan Xichen hard, spreading through his lungs with a speed which alarmed his sect’s doctors. They all but begged him to rest, but in a rare fit of pride and denial he refused to listen. His long ignored heart should have been easy to set aside, so Lan Xichen tried at first to carry on with his life. In a move he thought bold at the time, but soon understood to have been stupid, he even went to the calming ceremony conducted for the coffin that imprisoned the corpses of his two sworn brothers.

Part of him had hoped that he’d misunderstood Nie Huaisang’s expression of hatred that night, that Wei Wuxian’s accusations had been wrong, that his newfound sickness could still be stopped by being reasonable and just talking. But upon arriving to the Unclean Realm Lan Xichen had taken one look at Nie Huaisang to understand his mistake. Nie Huaisang had stood in front of that sealed coffin straighter than he’d done in years, his every gesture betraying a previously absent self assurance. His chest suddenly burning once more, Lan Xichen had started coughing so hard that he’d barely lasted for half of the ceremony before one of his disciples had to lead him away, choking on whole mulberry flowers, his teeth clenched tight so not a single petal could escape his lips and betray him.

The trip home was a blur. All Lan Xichen remembered later was that as soon as they saw him, his doctors insisted on him entering seclusion, their prognostic for his survival worse than it had been before. The progression of the sickness had been too quick, they feared for his life if he did not rest while his body acclimated itself to the foreign presence growing in his lungs. Rest was ordered, as well as quiet, and as few visitors as possible, to whom he was advised to speak. Talking always caused terrible coughing fits, leaving him a little weaker each time.

Exhausted, Lan Xichen gave in.

Because he was in such a weak state, Lan Xichen did not initially find it strange that nobody mentioned the one true cure known to the cultivators' sickness. But as days turned into weeks, he found himself wondering why it was so. He had seen enough Lan disciples fall sick to know it was usually standard procedure to interrogate people until they confessed the cause of their illness to a doctor or a trusted elder, who would then see whether it was possible to bring the object of their affection to the Cloud Recesses and force an honest conversation. Lan Xichen himself had been that trusted elder for many boys, when he'd been only a teenager a few years older than them.

His first thought was that his state had been so worrying that nobody had wanted him to suffer through such an ordeal. That theory satisfied him a day or two, until he remembered people much closer to death after hiding their sickness as long as they could, and who had still been forced to confront their feelings.

He wondered, then, if perhaps Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian had guessed the target of his unspoken love, and understood how impossible it would be to get Nie Huaisang to hear a confession from him. Lan Xichen felt grateful to his brother for sparing him, grateful to Wei Wuxian even for being more observant of others' feelings than his own.

Ultimately, the truth was nothing so heartwarming. No one was sparing him, no one had guessed the truth. Instead, from the way his doctors spoke to him, Lan Xichen realised that it was widely assumed his hidden feelings were directed at either Nie Mingjue or Jin Guangyao. Their theory, as he came to understand it, was that the trauma of seeing one man's fierce corpse, or the horror of having killed the other, had forced him to realise his own feelings, leading to the emergence of the flowers in his lungs.

By the time Lan Xichen realised what others thought of him, the worst of his early symptoms had started to stabilise. He no longer spent his days lying on his side, no longer struggled with every breath he took, no longer vomited entire clusters of pale little flowers one after the other, forcing an unfortunate servant to come and clean them away every shichen, when it wasn’t more frequently. He’d been in the state of someone living with the disease for decades, the doctors told him when he was well enough to have a conversation again, and they scolded him for perhaps trying to hide his condition for them. Lan Xichen tried once or twice to protest it really had started on the night Jin Guangyao died, that they were wrong to think he had loved either of his sworn brothers in a manner conducive to secrets. He eventually gave up on defending himself when he realised the doctors did not believe him.

And why would they have believed him? Everyone who fell to the sickness denied being in love. Everyone protested when others guessed at their true feelings. How could they have known he was more honest than most?

Thankfully his uncle heard his protests too, and took him to his word. He did not doubt that Lan Xichen's sincerity in swearing he'd never hidden anything concerning his sworn brothers, believed his nephew when he said he'd never expected to fell ill.

In fact, concerning that surprise, Lan Qiren even had a theory of a sort to share. After years of observation, Lan Qiren had come to believe that the sickness appeared, not when the unresolved feelings themselves came to be, but when their bearer first began to realise how they felt about another. In cases where little time had elapsed between the birth of those feelings and the eruption of the sickness, he had noticed that the initial symptoms were mild and would grow in the gradual manner most people were aware of. But on those rare occasions someone went for years without understanding how they felt, only to be suddenly struck by it, the sickness would spread quickly and violently, often killing its victim in a matter of weeks.

Such cases were rare, but Lan Qiren had seen enough people die that way to be confident in his belief.

“Of course I might be wrong,” he said, pushing away some damp strands of hair from his nephew’s still feverish forehead. Lan Xichen, laying on his bed, leaned into that touch, too exhausted from the sickness to control himself as he normally did. He feared to be scolded for acting so childish, but Lan Qiren gazed down on him with unbearable sadness. “Perhaps I am to blame for this,” he mused. “From the moment you were born I tried to train you out of acting on your emotions. I feared you would become like your father, like your grandfather. It never occurred to me that you might be more like your mother.”

“Gentians,” Lan Xichen whispered, struck by a sudden thought. “Mother used to say father planted the for her because it reminded her of home.”

His uncle nodded, his hand still busy putting order to Lan Xichen’s hair.

“A young doctor in her hometown had written a treaty on their uses,” Lan Qiren said. “She had made the request that part of her allowance as the sect leader’s wife be sent to that man, to help him treat those too poor to pay the normal fees. When she learned he’d died, she suddenly developed the sickness. In less than a month, she was lost.”

That his mother had died of the cultivators’ sickness was nothing new to Lan Xichen. Adults had tried to hide it from him at the time, but when he’d gone into her lonely home after she’d died, he’d found dried out purple petals that nobody had cleaned away yet. He’d understood what had killed her, even if it had taken him several more years to realise what it might say about his parents’ marriage, especially when his father too had been sick and growing weaker for every year he had to live without his wife.

For a while, Lan Xichen had found their situation unbearably tragic. Over time, he’d learned that most sect leaders were in a similar enough situation thanks to arranged marriages. By the time the Sunshot Campaign had started, he'd already decided that the real tragedy of the cultivators’ sickness was that it had not been enough to curb certain people’s thirst for power and influence. So many parents were happy to condemn their children to a slow and agonising death as long as it served their sect's fortune.

And yet even with a kinder family than most, Lan Xichen still found a way to cause his own. He would have laughed, had he not feared coughing.

“I am glad you are stronger than your mother,” Lan Qiren said. "If we had to lose you too…"

The comment, however well meaning, struck Lan Xichen. It had him wondering if he would have survived this sudden attack of the disease, had Nie Huaisang died.

Just the thought of it had him coughing up cluster after cluster of mulberry flowers until he couldn’t breathe anymore. By the time Lan Xichen calmed down enough to take a breath, he’d half fallen off his bed and his uncle was clutching him by the shoulders, half supporting him, half cradling him, apparently unbothered by the mess of flowers and saliva that now stained his robes.

“You’ll be fine,” Lan Qiren muttered, to comfort either his nephew or himself. “You’ll be fine. You’ve survived the worst of it, it should get better now, as long as you learn how to control your feelings. You just need to stay in control, and you’ll have many years ahead of you.”

Lan Xichen nodded, more out of the habitual desire to please his uncle than anything else. It had been so long since his uncle held him like that, Lan Xichen had not realised how much he’d missed it. And, because he was still sick, because Lan Qiren was worried and willing to indulge him, Lan Xichen allowed himself to cling to his uncle until he fell asleep.

Just for a moment, he wanted to feel loved.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #blue orchids

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ibijau · 1 year

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Blue Orchids pt3 (end) / On AO3

Nie Huaisang had already looked sickly and frail while playing the host to everyone invited to the conference, something Lan Xichen had found unbearable. He would have thought it impossible to ache more over that situation. He was proven wrong when he went at last the confront Nie Huaisang as planned. There simply were no words for the emotion that submerged him when the door to Nie Huaisang's private quarter opened, and the man himself appeared in front of him. He must have thought it was only a disciple of his disturbing him at that late hour, and so he had answered without manners, wearing only his night clothes, his hair half untied.

Underdressed as he was, Lan Xichen couldn't miss the fact that Nie Huaisang appeared to have lost considerable weight, something his elaborate outfits during the day had hidden. He must have also worn makeup of some sort before, because the circles under his eyes were now much darker, his skin much greyer, giving him the look of a fierce corpse rather than that of a living man.

Jiang Cheng might have been generous in giving Nie Huaisang even a year left.

Lan Xichen, who had carefully prepared what to say on his way there, who had made sure to take every medication possible so he would be able to say it without revealing his secret, suddenly found himself at a loss for words, his chest hurting not only because of flower roots, but out of ordinary pity as well.

Nie Huaisang, looking more tired with every passing moment, leaned against the side of the doorway with affected nonchalance and sighed.

“Whatever you want to talk about, can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ve had a long day.”

“I’m sorry to be bothering Nie zongzhu so late,” Lan Xichen managed to say once he got his emotions under control. “But I don’t think this should wait, no.”

Hearing his title made Nie Huaisang wince, and in turn Lan Xichen wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have just used the other man’s name. He’d never called him anything but ‘Huaisang’ in private, and this since the first time they’d met, at Nie Huaisang’s own insistence. But it would have felt wrong to still act so casually when his every action had lost him any right to Nie Huaisang’s affection, to his respect even.

“I’m really tired, though,” Nie Huaisang protested, just a touch of his old whine in his voice. Perhaps it was sincere, or just something he knew usually worked on Lan Xichen. “I want to sleep. I don’t think it’s the right time for a conversation.”

“It is because you are so tired that I want to speak with you,” Lan Xichen replied. “You’ve become quite sick, haven’t you?”

Nie Huaisang laughed weakly at that understatement, then quickly turned around to hide when that laughter turned into another round of vicious coughing. Without thinking Lan Xichen stepped closer to rub his back, hoping to comfort him as he’d done countless times over the years, but Nie Huaisang shoved him away with what little strength he still had.

“I don’t… don’t need… keep your… pity!” he managed to spit between coughs, one hand pressed over his mouth as he stumbled back inside the room in search of the box where he’d spilled his flowers all day.

He fell to his knees before he could reach it, breathless and shaking, but Lan Xichen had rushed after him and was able to hand it to him.

“Don’t look,” Nie Huaisang ordered, his voice muffled by the flowers in his mouth and the two hands now pressed hard against his lips. “Just go away!”

Even if this hadn’t been the man he loved, Lan Xichen could not have left alone someone in such a dire state. He refused to leave, but at least turned around so he wouldn’t see the pale blue flowers Nie Huaisang had to be vomiting into that box. It went on for longer than Lan Xichen would have wished even upon an enemy, Nie Huaisang coughing himself raw and then wheezing for air in turns, his body never giving him a moment of rest.

Forget a year, Nie Huaisang would be lucky if he survived another month.

But at last his coughing subsided, his breathing became easier, and Nie Huaisang was able to close his little box, though his entire body still trembled too much for him to get up again.

“I’m tired,” Nie Huaisang whispered weakly, holding the closed box against his chest. “I have nothing to say you might want to hear. Go away and let me be.”

For a brief moment Lan Xichen was tempted to do as he was told and leave. Seeing Nie Huaisang in so much pain was unbearable, especially knowing that he’d go through worse once Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji joined them. But without going through that pain there could be no chance of healing for Nie Huaisang. Lan Xichen remained, and even came to kneel next to Nie Huaisang, taking out a small bottle from his sleeve and handing it to the other man.

“I have brought you something,” Lan Xichen said, to which Nie Huaisang answered with a disbelieving grunt, clutching his box of flowers tighter against his chest as if fearing Lan Xichen might try to take it by force. “You’ve always said that the pills from Gusu were the most efficient against your flowers, “Lan Xichen insisted, trying to not be hurt by this new proof of Nie Huaisang’s distrust. “I have some here with me, and if you allow me, I’ll have more sent your way when I get home.”

Nie Huaisang glanced at the bottle, and sneered. It was a rather poor gift, the bottle already half empty because it was the one Lan Xichen had brought for his personal use. Lan Xichen couldn’t help feeling guilty that he hadn’t thought to bring more. But he hadn’t expected Nie Huaisang’s health to have degraded so much, and wouldn’t have dared to presume such a gesture would be welcome even if he’d thought of it. He was only offering now because he couldn’t bear to watch Nie Huaisang in such pain and not try to help.

“Even now, you have to be nice, uh?” Nie Huaisang muttered, making no movement to take the bottle. “I can’t imagine what it must cost you to be so considerate, when you hate me this much.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lan Xichen replied as he put down the bottle on the floor, in front of Nie Huaisang. “I never could.”

“Hm. I guess I’m not even worth your hatred,” Nie Huaisang said, coughing slightly. “But forgiveness and pity might be even worse to bear than hatred. I don’t have the strength to put up with your kindness tonight. Go away.”

“I cannot leave you until you feel better,” Lan Xichen protested.

“If you did that, you’d never leave my side at all,” Nie Huaisang sneered, only to be seized by another fit of coughing.

This time Lan Xichen didn’t need to be asked to look away. At the mere thought of never leaving Nie Huaisang, his own lungs turned against him, and he had to fight flowers of his own. This time though, Nie Huaisang calmed down more quickly, and even managed to get back on his feet while Lan Xichen was still struggling to breathe.

“Poor Er-ge,” Nie Huaisang whispered, hesitating a moment before putting one hand on Lan Xichen’s back to rub it in the same way Lan Xichen had done for him countless times. “Do you really have time to worry about me when you’re like this? The day must have been hard for you too. Go sleep. We can talk some other time. I’m not as sick as I look, I swear, so there’s no hurry. I’m definitely going to make it until the end of this conference, we can talk then if you still want to.”

“I’ll be surprised if you make it to the end of the night,” Jiang Cheng barked from the door, startling both of them. “You look like shit.”

As soon as he realised they had company, Nie Huaisang removed his hand from Lan Xichen's back and stepped away before he turned to glare at the newcomers. As planned, Jiang Cheng had brought with him Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. The first looked rather more cross than he usually did, while the second seemed a little more amused than the situation really called for. They both appeared more relaxed than Lan Xichen could ever imagine being if it were his lover who was about to be confessed to, and he wondered if Jiang Cheng had really explained the situation, or if he’d merely said whatever he thought would work to trick them into helping Nie Huaisang.

"I wasn't aware I’d have so many visitors or I’d have dressed a little better,” Nie Huaisang said dryly, gesturing at his night clothes, hanging awkwardly on his too thin body. “I’m going to have to ask everyone to take a turn, whatever it is you want to blame on me this time. Lan zongzhu was here first, so I think I’ll hear him first. The rest of you can go queue outside.”

“No, we’re all here for the same reason,” Jiang Cheng said. “Consider this an intervention. You’ve been acting stupid about your health long enough, so we’re here to make sure you act like an adult for once and confess your feelings.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, and crossed his arms on his chest.

“That’s rich coming from you,” he snickered. "Jiang zongzhu, haven't you been sick longer than me? And yet now that you could cure yourself, have you done it? Deal with your own problems, and I’ll deal with mine as I please."

At the accusation Jiang Cheng went pale, and although Lan Xichen wouldn’t have sworn on it, he thought Jiang Cheng’s eyes briefly darted to Wei Wuxian before he glared at Nie Huaisang, who seemed unbothered. For his part Wei Wuxian appeared sincerely shocked, as if he truly had no idea that Jiang Cheng had become infected by the disease. He immediately started fussing over his former shidi in a manner half teasing and half serious, asking when it had happened and who might have caught Jiang Cheng’s eye that way.

“Why should I tell you about my personal problems?” Jiang Cheng barked at him. “Are we friends? Are you my right hand man anymore?” Wei Wuxian winced, but said nothing. “I thought so,” Jiang Cheng went on. “So don’t let Nie zongzhu distract you. This isn’t about me, it’s about him, and what he has to say to you, Wei Wuxian.”

“What?” exclaimed Nie Huaisang, worriedly looking at Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Lan Xichen in turn, only to find everyone except Jiang Cheng just as confused as he was. “What do I have to say to him?”

“You know exactly what,” Jiang Cheng insisted. “Just get it over with already.”

“But I don’t know!” Nie Huaisang protested, nervously feeling his sleeve in search of a fan. Being only in his night clothes, he found no fan to hide with, and settled for twisting his hands instead. “I really don’t know! I have nothing to say to Wei gongzi!”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, and looked to Lan Xichen for support, but none was offered to him, Lan Xichen too shocked by this misunderstanding to know what to say.

“Come on, bringing him back from the dead?” Jiang Cheng said, barely containing his anger. “Making sure he found that undead Wen dog of his as soon as he ran into trouble? You used to be more subtle than that, Nie Huaisang. It’s obvious you’re in love with him. Just say it already, and get to work accepting it so I don’t have to deal with another major power change in less than a year.”

“But I’m not in love with Wei Wuxian!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, before turning to Lan Xichen with an intense expression of distress. “I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

“Of course not,” Lan Xichen replied, and immediately Nie Huaisang calmed down somewhat. “Jiang zongzhu made some good points, yet he came to a very different conclusion than I did when I considered the situation. But I supposed he saw less than me, and so did not realise which one of the two you are in love with.”

Nie Huaisang frowned in renewed confusion. “What that’s supposed to… Wangji?” He gasped, visibly outraged. “You think I’m in love with Wangji? You seriously think I would…”

A violent fit of coughing interrupted him, but that did not stop him from scowling at everyone in the room, as if they had insulted him greatly by daring to guess at the truth. Between anger and exhaustion, it didn’t take long for his cough to grow too intense to be hidden. Without any other choice Nie Huaisang tried to reach the box he’d left on the flower to get rid of the flowers in his throat.

Seeing a chance to force him to be honest, Lan Xichen grabbed both of Nie Huaisang’s wrists before he could reach his box, and pulled his hands away from his mouth. Nie Huaisang tried to fight Lan Xichen’s grasp on him with all the energy of despair, even attempting to kick him so he could break free and hide himself, but in his state he simply didn’t have the strength. In spite of his effort the flowers couldn’t be contained long and just as had happened at the temple, pale blue orchids started raining down from Nie Huaisang’s lips.

“It’s fine, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen whispered to him as soothingly as he could, while Nie Huaisang tried to clench his teeth and glared at him amidst heavy tears, spit and petals staining his chin. “You just have to say it, and you’ll feel better after, like always. I know it hurts, and I hate that you have to go through that, but I’d hate it even more if I had to lose you. Just say the words, Huaisang, and everything will be fine again. Wangji will listen and give his answer. Won’t you, Wangji?”

In spite of his obvious perplexity at being dragged into this, Lan Wangji slowly nodded. Lan Xichen couldn’t help feeling grateful to his brother. Poor Lan Wangji had been forced to endure more than his share of unwanted confessions over the years, and though he’d never refused to help those who needed to hear his rejection to start healing, he’d always found it tedious and awkward. Having to bear with it once again, and for the sake of a man for whom he had little regard, couldn’t have been pleasant.

“See, Wangji is ready to listen,” Lan Xichen resumed, still holding Nie Huaisang’s wrists so he couldn’t try to run from the room without confessing his secret. “Just say it, and it’ll be over.”

“I’m not… not in love with Wangji!” Nie Huaisang gasped between coughs. “I’ve never… I don’t… I don’t love him! Why would I… I don’t even like him!”

“Huaisang, please don’t be stubborn,” Lan Xichen pleaded while fighting the flowers in his own chest, already making their way up his throat.. “I cannot lose you. Please don’t make me lose you. No matter how much it hurts, please just be honest. I cannot… if you die…”

“I am honest! I don’t love him!”

“Blue orchids, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen hissed, starting to lose his breath. “I understand you have a low opinion of me, but surely even you can’t think I’m that stupid. There’s no one else these flowers could be for.”

“Yes there is!” Nie Huaisang cried out. “The flowers are for you, you idiot!”

Stunned by those words, Lan Xichen finally let go of Nie Huaisang’s wrists, his strength suddenly failing him. Nie Huaisang, realising what he’d said, pressed both hands to his mouth, his sickly face quickly turning red.

“Huaisang, don’t mock me,” Lan Xichen whispered. “Even with everything I’ve done, everything I failed to do… I don’t think I deserve that level of cruelty.”

“What cruelty?” Nie Huaisang hissed, spitting new flowers. “I am in love with you! You wanted me to tell the truth, even though I was trying to spare you, well there it is! Now that you know, is it really so revolting to you?”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to explain he did not find it revolting, but merely impossible when he had given Nie Huaisang so many reasons to despise him. But assaulted by emotions too strong, his body fully betrayed him. A powerful coughing fit seized him, just as devastating as the one he had suffered months before during the calming ceremony for Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, forcing him to press both hands to his mouth, unwilling to have his secret revealed when he couldn’t believe that Nie Huaisang meant what he’d said.

In a moment Lan Xichen was struggling to breathe. He might well have stumbled and fallen if Lan Wangji, realising this coughing fit was stronger than usual, had not hurried at his side to hold and support him.

“I can imagine how disgusted you must be,” Nie Huaisang went on, wiping pale petals that clung to his lips as he looked at Lan Xichen with sincere sorrow. “I wouldn’t have bothered to hide it so long otherwise. How pathetic for poor, dumb, useless little Huaisang to be in love with his perfect Er-ge, right?"

He laughed weakly, and swallowed a cough.

"Even before Da-ge was murdered, I knew I couldn’t confess," Nie Huaisang said. "It would have made everything awkward for everyone and we couldn’t have that, could we? You were Da-ge’s only friend, I couldn’t do that to him!" He cried out, spitting more flowers. "And then he died, and you… I almost confessed back then, before I knew how Da-ge had died. I just wanted it over with. I wanted to be able to move on from all that, so we could be friends and I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage whenever I begged for help. But just when I was finally ready to tell you, I realised San-ge had killed Da-ge and… I couldn’t confess to you anymore, could I? You’d have told San-ge because the two of you had a thing, and I really couldn’t afford to make him angry by saying I loved his lover, could I?”

Between the flowers spilling from his lips and the heavy tears that had started falling on his cheeks, Nie Huaisang was unbearably pathetic. In spite of the intense coughing wrecking his own body, Lan Xichen couldn't resist wanting to go to him, aching to comfort him. He couldn’t even take a step without nearly falling. His legs couldn’t support him when he was barely breathing, and Lan Xichen ended up leaning even harder against his brother’s side.

“Nie-xiong, jealousy’s an ugly thing,” Wei Wuxian quietly remarked, coming to stand at his husband’s side. “Is that why you made him kill Jin Guangyao, then? Because Zewu-Jun loved him rather than you? Even for you that’s pretty low.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way,” Nie Huaisang snapped at him. “If anything, it’s your fault if it happened like that, Wei Wuxian! I wanted Da-ge to have a chance to get back at the man who killed him, but no, you had to pacify him before he could get his revenge! And then neither you nor Jiang zongzhu had the guts to live up to your reputation and murder him yourselves, either. What was I supposed to do? Let him live, knowing he’d find a way to escape sooner or later? He had to die that night, and Er-ge was… he was… there was no one else…”

Nie Huaisang trailed off as his eyes fell again on Lan Xichen.

“If I’d had any other choice, I wouldn’t have done this to you, Zewu-Jun,” he said, new tears staining his cheeks. “But you were my only option, and I had to… I owed it to Da-ge. Revenge for him had to come first, I had to do it, I had to make sure San-ge died. Even knowing it would destroy you, I had to do it. But if it makes you feel better, now it’s destroying me too,” he added with a joyless laughter. “Hearing you start coughing that night, and again at the calming ceremony… knowing how much it had to hurt you, knowing you were going to die of love for him by my fault… It was more than I could bear. No pills or medicine are enough to contain the sickness anymore for me. I guess in a way, you’re avenging San-ge. Congratulations.”

At the idea that it was his fault if Nie Huaisang was so unwell, that it was his own behaviour that had rendered him so resigned to die, the last of Lan Xichen’s strength abandoned him. He collapsed on the floor so quickly that Lan Wangji could not stop him from falling to his knees, and started vomiting cluster after cluster of small white flowers. He heard the others’ surprised reaction at the sight but could not see their expressions, his vision blurred with tears of pain and humiliation.

“But… but it should be peonies,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “Why… why are they…”

Without waiting for an answer that Lan Xichen was in no state to give him, Nie Huaisang knelt down in front of Lan Xichen and carefully picked up one cluster of flowers, inspecting it carefully, as if looking closely enough might reveal that they weren’t mulberries after all.

“Er-ge, I don’t understand,” Nie Huaisang said, wiping away some of Lan Xichen’s tears with his free hand. “Why aren’t they peonies?”

“Because we’re both idiots,” Lan Xichen coughed, the onslaught of flowers slowing as soon as Nie Huaisang touched him. “I was so sure it was Wangji. I thought you had to hate me.”

It seemed impossible for Nie Huaisang not to hate him, considering everything that had passed between them. But then again, judging by what he had just said, Nie Huaisang apparently considered it just as impossible that Lan Xichen might not despise him, so at least they’d made the same mistake.

Without really paying attention, Lan Xichen heard Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji whisper between them, trying to find out if any of them had guessed at the truth. But Nie Huaisang remained silent, merely kneeling next to Lan Xichen whose last few tears he was drying with the hem of his sleeve, as if too stunned to do anything else. Lan Xichen could not blame him. Words felt inappropriate, unable to carry the whole depth of emotion he was feeling.

Instead of trying to speak, Lan Xichen waited for his breath to return to normal and pulled Nie Huaisang into a tight hug, the way he’d wanted to do since the first moment he’d laid eyes on him that morning and found him looking so terribly sick. Nie Huaisang gasped in surprise, but lost no time in returning that hug, clinging to Lan Xichen as if his life depended on it. It felt right, in a way so few things had felt right in those last few months. It felt like coming home. Somewhere nearby, Jiang Cheng said something about leaving them to deal with this, and three sets of footsteps left the room, careful to close the door behind them, but Lan Xichen barely noticed. Nothing mattered except the familiar weight of Nie Huaisang in his arms, exactly the same as it had always been whenever he’d had to comfort the other man, and yet different in a way no words could ever describe.

"Er-ge, are those flowers really for me?" Nie Huaisang asked after a while, laying his head more heavily against Lan Xichen's shoulder.

"They are. I love you,” Lan Xichen said, amazed at how easy it was to say it now. “I never noticed until it was almost too late, but I love you."

"I love you too," Nie Huaisang whispered, sounding almost scared. Then, after a moment, he added: "I have no idea what we’re supposed to do now. No one else ever liked me back before."

"Their loss," Lan Xichen fiercely retorted, tightening his hold on Nie Huaisang, as if he might protect him from the effect of a lifetime of rejections. "If I’m honest, I don’t really know either. I suppose what we do now is… well, first of all, we both need some sleep I think," he said, causing Nie Huaisang to chuckle weakly, and just that made Lan Xichen’s heart sing in relief. If Nie Huaisang could laugh without coughing, things were really getting better. "Then we will go through the rest of this conference like normal. When it is over, I’d like to stay in the Unclean Realm a little, so we can talk about what we want. I know our positions won’t make it easy, I know there will have to be compromises, but I don’t care. As long as I have you in my life, for as long as I can have you… I don’t care about anything else."

"I guess we do have time now," Nie Huaisang said, some tension starting to melt out of his body, causing him to lean even more on Lan Xichen who privately thought that this was exactly the way they were meant to be. Nie Huaisang belonged in his arms, and he wondered how he had never noticed it before. "I thought I was running out of it. It's odd to think I won't die just yet."

It was odd indeed, and Lan Xichen couldn’t deny he too had been trying to get used to the idea of his own inevitable death since the moment he’d realised he was in love with Nie Huaisang. He’d never allowed himself to consider the possibility that Nie Huaisang might let him confess, at once to proud to beg for a chance to save his life, and too unwilling to give Nie Huaisang more reason to despise him. Being granted this second chance was nothing short of a miracle. It was almost too good to be true, in fact, and Lan Xichen could feel that the flowers in his lungs hadn’t started withering yet, perhaps precisely because he couldn’t quite believe that Nie Huaisang loved him back. It would take some time for it to sink in, but they had that time now.

It would take however long was necessary but they would heal together, and find a way to be happy.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #blue orchids

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