Work Text:
A steaming pot of tea was delicately placed on the ground, continuously running warm for almost half an hour. Next to it, Kurama waited.
He poured himself a cup once he heard them come in, listening to the heavy thread of his older brother’s purposeful steps of wanting to get things done as quick as possible, followed by a softer set of footfalls.
“I haven’t seen Huaisang around,” came Jin Guangyao’s voice. “And the Third Young Master.”
Da-ge grunted about Kurama and a small party of junior Nie disciples presently investigating a case in a small village at the edges of Qinghe Nie’s territory; at Huaisang’s absence, da-ge’s growl of displeasure was unmistakable, believing it to be another of Huaisang’s ploy to avoid his saber drills.
Kurama allowed a tiny smile of agreement. Da-ge wouldn’t be wrong; after all, his twin brother was quite vocal since they were old enough to pick up the saber that, no, he wouldn’t be pursuing the same tradition, not if he could help it.
Jin Guangyao’s small hum of satisfaction quelled the moment of amusement Kurama had. Of course Jin Guangyao liked that. He could deftly handle Huaisang, certainly, though Kurama suspected that as fond as Jin Guangyao was of his twin brother, he would rather abstain from his presence when there was a task at hand that required his full attention.
It was Kurama’s absence that Jin Guangyao must be looking forward to. Kurama wasn’t sure whether to find it flattering that Jin Guangyao had gone to great lengths to make arrangements just to keep him away in the Unclean Realm conveniently whenever he was to play for his older brother. Kurama would have been fine with leaving the room with a simple request for privacy for his older brother’s… medication.
Truly, Jin Guangyao was merely calling attention to it more with his clever little ways. He could do with more discretion and subtlety and less showing off that he could get away with his schemes. Kurama might not even have gotten it into his head to listen in on one of his sessions with his older brother through the hidden passages of their home.
Kurama calmly sipped on his tea. Light notes from the flutter of fingers over strings began as a prelude to a skillful play of a piece that Kurama vaguely recognized from Gusu Lan: a piece of healing music that he might have heard a variation of in passing during the Sunshot Campaign as an aid to the injured and ailing.
While he was not particularly inclined to the musical aspect of cultivation, Kurama understood its fundamentals enough to know that it could do more than cure and alleviate pains. And for the Gusu Lan Sect—an old sect that housed scholars of renown—to incorporate and build their foundation around it could only mean that they were aware of the full extent of their own capabilities first and foremost. The idea lent a new perspective to the thousands of rules they had carved on their wall.
Jin Guangyao’s playing went uninterrupted, not even by da-ge’s voice and distaste. It was an exercise for the mind to ponder about, his da-ge’s relationship with his youngest sworn brother. Da-ge’s dislike of Jin Guangyao was genuine from what Kurama could tell, but so was his reason to agree to the sworn brotherhood. Kurama knew his older brother and recognized that it had taken more than Lan Xichen’s soft imploring and sad eyes for him to relent to the proposal, and because Kurama understood his da-ge’s clear-cut black and white principles, he must have taken it as a mission to set Jin Guangyao back in the righteous path.
Kurama blinked at the abrupt change of tone—barely two lines of notes, too swift to catch with normal hearing, and completely unnoticeable by somebody tone-deaf—but it was there, that minute shift from the soothing calm of music that Jin Guangyao had been playing.
Then he heard it again.
It was a stray note of discord that had his vision tunneling, his sense of smell sharpening. The hairs at the back of his neck bristled.
Next thing he knew, the music had stopped from the other side of the wall.
Kurama stared at his own fingers that trailed the rim of the teacup: longer and with nails more pointed. At his reflection on what was left of his tea, narrow golden eyes stared back and took note of the wisps of silver hair.
Well, well.
Kurama had to admire its brilliance.
He had no proof aside from his own hearing, nothing concrete to speak of. If he decided to infiltrate the hidden library of Gusu, he doubted he could find the copy of that particular musical passage that could cause an adverse effect. Not to mention, there was still the possibility that it was a piece Jin Guangyao had composed on his own; experimental but for the purpose of slow death, and what better way but test it on a cultivator with an already raging qi and brewed in resentment? The cherry on top was that it happened to be the same person who was unashamed of expressing his distaste for him.
Jin Guangyao’s glaring flaw was, regrettably, his birth father and his recognition. Kurama wasn’t deluding himself into thinking that it wasn’t Jin Guangshan who had given an order to eliminate Nie Mingjue. Smart and stupid altogether—Jin Guangshan was shrewd enough to acknowledge the political influence that Nie Mingjue held in contention, but Jin Guangshan was stupid not to recognize that if Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared much about politics before, a victory from the war wasn’t about to make him care now.
But that was the puzzle that was his older brother. They looked at him and his saber dripping with the blood of his enemies and thought they already had him figured out.
As da-ge burned Huaisang’s belongings that were deemed treasures by his twin brother, their older brother’s fury burned brighter than the fire, and his harsh demeaning words were a lot more hurtful than the burns on Huaisang’s delicate hands that Kurama tenderly tended to.
He was there to comfort his twin when he cried not from the pain of raw skin, and he was there to hold him close as he stubbornly claimed that he would never live up to the heir their older wanted him to be. Either from exhaustion or Kurama’s gentle tracing of that old scar that ran across his forearm, Huaisang was lulled to sleep. Kurama tucked him under the covers, brushing his hair before he left him to rest.
Only once outside did Kurama let his own anger flare, his mind gearing to work.
❁ ❁ ❁
Escaping to the human world was a shot in the dark that Kurama honestly had not expected to succeed.
The plan was to absorb the forming soul in the woman’s womb and take over the developing infant. He had not anticipated, however, to be occupying the same space with another human with a significant amount of spiritual energy at an undeveloped stage. Come to think of it, even the woman carrying him had an adequate amount of spiritual energy for a human, though not as much as the human infant who, if Kurama was correct in his assumption, had a strong sire who was the source of its brewing power. Kurama lucked out in choosing her randomly.
And because Kurama was greedy and would take any means necessary for recovery, taking the other infant’s developing spiritual prowess for himself was literally plucking sweets from a child’s hands. It shortened his estimation of recovery time to ten human years as opposed to fifteen, and Kurama couldn’t care less if the human infant died due to it.
It did not die, which was nothing short of a miracle, nor did its instincts make a fuss over what was taken from it. Still unaware then that it would be born weak and possibly with a shorter lifespan.
He was born shortly after midnight, second to the human infant who was delivered an hour earlier than him. Kurama came to the world in the same way he had left it last: bloody and with the smell of death permeating the air. The woman was unconscious afterward, and he was wiped clean and handed instead to the human who must be the sire. His assumption about his strength was correct once he was able to properly recognize his surroundings.
It wasn’t only the sire who seemed to have possessed a spiritual awareness that was above the average, in fact; there were also the two female servants, the midwife, and an older man who must be a healer.
Then Kurama was gingerly handed to a newcomer, a young man. A boy, really, but someone who felt at an equal level to the sire and carried marks of his resemblance. The eldest son would bear the strongest similarity of the sire and would be more powerful than his father.
Two potential threats to Kurama’s survival already, though not now, maybe, not when they both smiled at him and saw only a harmless infant who had no means to defend himself.
Kurama allowed himself to slumber in the temporary safety. He was still in the process of recovery, after all.
The woman died at sunrise, taken over by blood loss and siphoned energy from childbirth. Kurama heard that she had been in a delicate constitution already, and her bearing of twin sons had not helped. Her death subdued the jubilations from the birth of two healthy twin boys.
She was a beloved second wife of the sect leader, and beloved by the entire sect as the second madam. Kurama, named Nie Shoushan, was born to a prominent family, the third son of a man from a long line of the Qinghe Nie Sect’s leaders.
The most wondrous surprise was that Qinghe Nie was a major sect of cultivated humans, and Kurama couldn’t have been more fortunate to land in a place where he could effortlessly regain and retrain his youki and make room for further enhancement of his abilities. In the first few years with his human form, Kurama stuck to the sire—his father, Nie Qiang.
He carried authority with ease and with it a strong sense of responsibility and a rather loud voice. His temper wasn’t unfamiliar, quick to anger but quick to forgive. To his three sons and loyal men, he had nothing but a boisterous laugh and a large grin that hid underneath a man beset with grief from the loss of his two wives.
Qinghe Nie was deeply-rooted in its tradition of saber cultivation. Kurama held no fascination with blades aside from coveting a few as fine treasures, but the sabers of Nie were not unappealing in terms of aesthetics and the power they could possess.
The one that belonged to Nie Qiang buzzed with a spiritual force that resonated with the golden core that resided within Nie Qiang’s body. If worse came to worst, it would be the same force that would and could undoubtedly put an end to Kurama for good in his present state.
He was, however, not as concerned about him as he was with Nie Mingjue.
Qinghe Nie’s history did not tell a long life for the leaders from the main branch, and it was likely due to their manner of cultivation that functioned as a double-edged sword, their sabers cutting down its wielders just as it could its foes. Which meant that Nie Qiang was not made for a lengthy lifespan himself and judging from the way he was preparing and training his firstborn this early for responsibilities, he knew.
Which in turn meant that it was Nie Mingjue who posed a greater threat to Kurama in the near future. At this point, Nie Mingjue’s cultivation would only grow as he himself grew taller and older.
And that saber…
The saber he had endearingly named Baxia dripped with bloodthirst, to seek beasts and men that it could fell. If Nie Mingjue could remain fond of Kurama, a demon wearing human skin, as one of his younger brothers despite Baxia’s incessant need to hunt his ilk, then Nie Mingjue was keeping his saber at bay with a deft hand albeit subconsciously.
It was almost ridiculous how Nie Mingjue remained unaware of the truth about him; wasn’t a saber an extension of its wielder’s soul? Nie Mingjue liked to turn on its head what Kurama learned so far about this temporary human life. But it would be remiss of him to consider only Nie Qiang’s eldest when Kurama’s physical twin, Huaisang, was another factor to count.
Kurama was proven right that the human infant would grow up weak. His spiritual prowess stopped at vague awareness, much to Nie Qiang and Nie Mingjue’s dismay. He wouldn’t become a cultivator on par with his older brother and father, and at best he would continue to live as he was now: cheerful, flighty, and wholly unaware of his own lack and limitation, though that might allow him longer years compared to his ancestors and family.
Huaisang did not even know what Kurama had taken away from him, and perhaps if he did know, he wouldn’t have this high regard for his twin brother. Huaisang liked to call Kurama the better twin between the two of them, that there was a mistake in their order of birth and it should have been Kurama first which would have made him the spare heir.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to be me,” Huaisang would say casually time and time again, shrugging. “Maybe Father and Da-ge will be happier that way.”
Such a statement was puzzling at times. Hadn’t Huaisang known that he was spoiled and adored by his father and older brother? That they would take down the Heavens for him if he so wished? And that was without needing to be someone powerful and naturally talented. Huaisang was of their blood, and humans were awfully sentimental when it came to kinship.
There was a niggling thought in Kurama that the boy was a lot more perceptive than given credit for. Could he have gotten it from Kurama then, in that time they shared a womb? Kurama had taken notice of a couple of Huaisang’s superficial features that he might have unwittingly influenced, from the shade of Huaisang’s green eyes that went gold under the right light and to the slightly above average major senses like smell and sight. Huaisang’s eventual penchant for hunting and caging pretty birds was an acquired taste, maybe, and so was his streak of mischief.
Huaisang was a clingy child, hardly discouraged by Kurama’s bluntness when it came to pointing out his uncorrected flaws as the seasons passed and the years turned. Huaisang could cry on command, as it turned out, especially if he wanted something that couldn’t be taken by force and plain stubbornness, and his father and older brother were the most unguarded against his tears. And yet to Kurama he was nothing but painfully honest, a sincerity that he claimed only his twin was privy to.
“Because we share a soul, silly,” Huaisang chirped when asked, “They say you can’t lie to your twin because of it.”
Foolish boy, Kurama mused. What would a young human know of sharing a soul and what it exactly entailed?
They were foolish, these humans. And overly fond of reveries. Banquets were a commodity to them, and he could name a particular brand of demons that would find a home here.
Kurama was a bandit, something his blood would never forget no matter the body he occupied, and he yearned for the wide plains, to feel the wind on his face as he ran, the thrill of the chase that had also placed him at the brink of death—and had killed his partner.
There was no room in Qinghe for what he sought, and there never would be in the human world. His time to leave couldn’t come any faster.
At four, he regained a semblance of control of his youki. He made a single purple flower bloom, and it sapped a day’s worth of his energy reserve.
A few months before his body turned five, he grew a shrub of roses. The flowers remained in their buds, but he managed to grow out the thorns as long as half of his thumb.
Kurama and Huaisang’s sixth year of birth was celebrated with as much noise as the fortress that was the Unclean Realm allowed. Huaisang was more interested in the presents he was given, while Kurama’s attention was on the blooming roses and his plan to grow another shrub. He left the banquet in lieu of the untended garden, and there he spent most of his time alone.
Until Nie Qiang’s eldest and Huaisang decided to disturb his peace, that was.
Nie Mingjue threaded with heavy steps, and considering he was terrible at stealth, it was no surprise. Huaisang, on the other hand, was stupid enough to tackle him from behind and close his eyes with a giggle, childishly asking who it was. Kurama pried off sweaty palms from his eyes with more force than necessary and balefully stared down at Huaisang who, also unsurprisingly, missed Kurama’s ire altogether.
“What are you doing here? Your plants won’t grow overnight, you know,” Nie Mingjue said amusedly. Humans couldn’t grow plants overnight, yes, but Kurama could. Or he used to be. He was getting there once more, but if Nie Mingjue and Huaisang wouldn’t stop bothering him, they would hinder his re-learning process.
“It’s noisy,” Kurama muttered succinctly.
“Yes! I don’t like there too!” Huaisang exclaimed. “No fun there either. That Jiang Cheng is also scowling all the time.” At Nie Mingjue, he rounded indignantly, “I thought you said Lan Huan’s younger brother is nice. He looks at me like he wants to bite me!”
Kurama could understand the urge.
“Oh? But he’s a good kid. Very polite.” Nie Mingjue smirked. “You could learn to behave from him.”
Huaisang gasped in offense. “No!” He stuck out his tongue. “If I want that, then I’ll ask A-Shan.”
Kurama sighed in annoyance internally. He’d rather they take this argument elsewhere.
Nie Mingjue hummed, gaze flitting over Kurama with a slightly raised eyebrow. Kurama loathed that he could detect a hint of knowing there. “Maybe don’t strangle our brother so much with your twig arms.”
Huaisang pouted but relented, murmuring a half-hearted apology.
“Ah, right, here.”
A felt pouch was dropped on Kurama’s lap. He did not open it, looking up at Nie Mingjue who nodded.
“For you. It’s more difficult to find you a present compared to Huaisang here. I’d have gone with some hair pins like A-die suggested for your,” he gestured at his lengthening hair that went past his shoulders, longer than Huaisang’s, “but A-Sang said you want to keep your hair down most of the time and you’ll appreciate something else.”
Seeds. Kurama counted beyond ten of them in the pouch, each a varying kind and most were plants with healing properties.
“Da-ge asked the healers what medicinal plants can be grown quickly,” Huaisang supplied. “There’s like, three or four there, I think.”
“The rest were kind of rare since they could only be found deep in the forest or in a small patch of soil near heated grounds, so it’s okay if you can’t keep them alive for long yet.” Nie Mingjue shrugged. “But it’s worth a try.”
Kurama should be insulted at the implication that he wasn’t skillful enough to cultivate his own plants, but he was occupied with something else entirely to even get annoyed.
“... Thank you,” he said, meaning it far more sincerely than he sounded.
There was a large palm that ruffled the top of his head, warm and firm as the chuckle that he heard.
“Thank A-Sang for pestering me.”
“Hey!”
At some point, Kurama became aware of the concentration of energy forming in the pit of his abdomen. It seemed rather disadvantageous to have a single centralized point, but Kurama took it in stride as one of the many limitations of this human body.
The formation of his core helped accelerate the stability of his control over his youki at least, and halfway through the seventh year, Kurama littered the small patch of fertile soil in the stone garden with six plants—three shrubs of roses, a crawling vine, and two thorny succulents with properties helpful for cell regeneration and soothing burns.
The healers of the Unclean Realm were old but learned in the human healing arts, and Kurama found that it wouldn’t hurt to gain knowledge in recompense for his new mortality. Kurama studiously absorbed what he could about swift energy restoration that involved the utilization of his golden core.
Kurama loved to learn, and whatever he might say about human sentimentality, he appreciated how he was never turned down in his pursuit of knowledge given his outward age. He was respected and praised for his candor.
Around the same time, Huaisang expressed his interest in gentlemanly arts and showed an aptitude for painting and calligraphy. Useless endeavors but not exactly frowned upon even within a sect that prided itself on its fighting prowess.
Nie Qiang took delight in his younger sons’ recreations, or what Nie Mingjue liked to interpret, at least. Kurama understood that Nie Qiang hardly cared as long as they would eventually display a talent for the saber. Huaisang was bound to disappoint Nie Qiang then, and Kurama wasn’t about to linger around that long to witness it.
Nie Mingjue seemed content to have Baxia, and, while he couldn’t wait for his brothers to share the same attention to their tradition, he liked to encourage Huaisang’s talent for painting by bestowing him presents of paintbrushes, pots of ink, and blank canvases. His latest passing obsession was designing fans after he had seen the pretty ones by noble ladies and young masters of age.
He was keen to do the same to Kurama, often offering to till a bigger patch of soil for him to plant his seeds in. He did not pretend to know each plant that Kurama had, and he was terrible at conversation whenever Huaisang wasn’t around, but he liked to lend his help whenever he could.
Kurama found that he was fine with the silence with him, of Nie Mingjue simply meditating next to him once he was done with his routine drills.
Kurama loathed the cold season that swept over Qinghe at the end of the following year, and he detested even more how it kept him bedridden with sickness. His body was too warm and too heavy.
Regulating either of his youki or qi seemed to be worsening his condition nor did he have the energy to make his own medication, and Kurama hated how powerless he was in the face of a mere cold. Just when he thought he was over with feeling vulnerable.
Kurama’s annoyance spiked at the series of coughs and sniffles next to him. Wasn’t this counterproductive, to have Huaisang in the same room with him while they were both affected with colds? Shouldn’t he be in another room?
As if sensing his displeasure, Huaisang rasped his name with a wince. “It’s okay,” he croaked.
Kurama didn’t deign him with a reply, scowling at the ceiling.
Huaisang attempted to speak further, each time aborted with a pitiful hacking of breaths. Kurama sighed.
“Don’t speak,” Kurama told him, his reprimanding tone chafing at his own sore throat. “You’re making it worse.”
“Okay,” Huaisang mumbled hoarsely. “You can hold my hand.”
“Why?”
“It’s cold,” he said.
“It’s not.”
“It’s cold.”
“That’s just you.”
“Mm no. You’re cold too. I can feel it. Maybe you just don’t know it yet.”
Kurama laboriously mustered patience for this brat. He closed his eyes and convinced himself that he wasn’t hearing him.
Huaisang did not speak anymore, though Kurama heard the shuffling of covers before he felt him close, much closer than necessary.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“I’m staying near so you can hold my hand.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t. I’ll hold yours instead.”
Kurama held back from disgust when his left hand was held with clammy fingers but with a surprisingly strong grip. Huaisang looked determined to clutch his hand and to not let go.
“This is unhygienic.”
“I know what that means. My hands are not dirty. I wiped them before I moved over.”
“We’re both sick and you can make it worse by passing the colds to each other.”
“No,” Huaisang replied with conviction. “You’re stronger than me.”
“So you pass the illness to me because I can handle it better?”
There was an annoyed huff from Huaisang now. “No. I don’t not like you, even if you don’t like me.”
Kurama lost count of the span of lengthening silence, and just when he thought Huaisang had fallen asleep, he found him wide awake, staring at the same ceiling above that reflected the shine of the night skies bountiful with stars.
“What makes you say that?”
“I can feel it,” Huaisang repeated. “You don’t like me like you somewhat do da-ge or A-die. I think you think of me as a pest that you can’t shake off. I think it’s because you think I’m not like you. We look alike but I’m not as smart or powerful as you are. I don’t think I will be a cultivator like da-ge. I don’t even like the saber no matter how many times da-ge said I will like my own saber. You don’t like the saber too, don’t you? Or you know you won’t need it.
“A-Shan, it’s okay. I know you’re different. You don’t like me because I’m too different from you, from everyone. I think. I know that you want to be out there and not here. But don’t… don’t leave so suddenly, okay? You’ll make da-ge and A-die sad.” Huaisang squeezed his hand. “You will make me sad because you will take your half away.”
Huaisang’s eyes had fallen shut halfway. Yawning, he added, “Good night, A-Shan. Let’s get well soon.”
Kurama stared at him for what seemed to have lasted the entire night with nothing but Huaisang’s wheezing breath for company and the distant noise of the evening, until he, too, was washed with exhaustion from his sickness.
He kept Huaisang’s hand close by.
The Nightless City boasted a certain splendor that spoke of old wealth and prestige. To his understanding, Qishan Wen was the oldest of the sects alongside Gusu Lan, and it was one of its ancestors that converted to the bloodline-based system of cultivation.
Kurama observed the two sons of the current Sect Leader Wen, and they acted as one would expect of somebody who knew their blood’s worth. Nevermind that Wen Xu and Wen Chao were lacking on their own, incomparable to their own sire.
Their sire, who, in Kurama’s short span of time in the human world, was the strongest he had encountered on this side of the lands.
Nie Qiang presented his sons to the Chief Cultivator, and it was clear that while Wen Ruohan could see the potential in Nie Mingjue and seemed rather amused by Huaisang, it was Kurama that his sharp red eyes pierced the longest.
Kurama refrained from visiting Qishan Wen since then for fear of being seen.
It didn’t take a lot to persuade Nie Qiang from bringing him anywhere near Wen Ruohan, not when Nie Mingjue strongly advocated against it on his behalf in the guise of persisting with his saber drills and guiding his younger brothers in their own training, and with Huaisang throwing tantrums and pouting how hot it was in the Nightless City.
“If it can’t be avoided during conferences, stick with me or Lan Xichen,” Nie Mingjue told him, apropos of nothing, but already Kurama understood what he meant. “Wen Ruohan can be disgruntling to be around, but you don’t have to tolerate him alone when you can avoid him.”
Nie Mingjue ruffled his hair, comforting and heavy atop his head.
“I’ll always look after you and Huaisang.”
Nie Qiang left for Qishan Wen one day.
It would be his last visit.
Kurama was awake when Nie Qiang was brought back to the Unclean Realm. He stumbled into a scene in the courtyard that was reminiscent of the night Kurama was born to this world: bloody and with the smell of death permeating the air. Except this time there was Nie Mingjue frantically explaining to the healers what had happened in the night hunt, and carted after Nie Qiang was the splintered pieces of what appeared to be his own saber.
Kurama barely registered being whisked away by the servants back to his rooms. Behind closed doors, he could hear the echoes of Nie Qiang’s distant screams of agony and delusions.
“A-Shan.”
Huaisang was sitting by Kurama’s bed, frightfully clutching at the sheets. For a moment, Kurama was seized with what was akin to pity for a small, young human boy who did not know any better about how the world truly worked outside his home and the safety of his family.
“Did it wake you?”
Huaisang shook his head. “You did.”
Kurama sat next to him. “He’s injured.”
“Is A-die dying?”
How Huaisang thought Kurama would even know, he could only wonder. “They will fix him. The Unclean Realm has good healers.” And Kurama didn’t have to lie about it. He had seen them work firsthand, not to mention being a part of a sect that loved to hunt and fight guaranteed their fair share of treating usual injuries.
Nie Qiang was in capable hands.
Nie Qiang turned for the worse after waking. None of his children were permitted to visit him, and Kurama had high suspicions that it was for the best considering the erratic resentment that reeked within the perimeter of Nie Qiang’s quarters.
Kurama complied with the new simple rule of staying away from where Nie Qiang was recuperating.
Huaisang made it a habit to slip in his quarters when Nie Qiang’s voice shook the ground and walls, and Kurama could allow the boy that, at least.
They saw less and less of Nie Mingjue in the following months, and in the minimal opportunity that they did, dark circles lined his eyes and his face marked with stress and exhaustion. The elders ran this adolescent ragged in preparation for taking over the sect, if Kurama was to guess.
Nie Qiang would leave this world far sooner than Kurama expected, and in that, he found relief from one less threat to him.
It was a tingle of his youki that alerted him to a hostile presence in the middle of the night.
Kurama was instantly on high alert, consequently waking Huaisang who blearily sat up and asked what was wrong.
“Demon.”
No sooner than the back of Kurama’s neck pricking at the imminent danger, the doors burst open by a saber that stabbed the wall behind him. Kurama threw the pillows and blanket over Huaisang as covers before pushing him off of the bed before he could register what was happening.
Nie Qiang stood ominously by the doorway, growling as he stared at Kurama with unseeing eyes that burned with fury and hate. There was no recognition in him nor awareness of another person within the room.
He called the saber back to his hand; a masterless saber that was no less fatal in the hands of a veteran wielder. Nie Qiang’s sole focus was only on him, addressing Kurama with the knowledge of his true self.
Kurama mustered what meager youki he possessed and spent it on the tiny tendrils that crawled inside through the crevices of windows and walls. They weren’t enough to hinder Nie Qiang’s steps, and with the saber effortlessly hacking the vines to pieces, Kurama was left defenseless.
He snatched a blade of leaf from under the bed, holding it firmly. Nie Qiang towered over him, a giant compared to the childish body of Kurama. He could escape past him if he was quick enough, if—
Kurama felt the impact of Nie Qiang’s backhand before he saw him move, and it felt as if it was enough to separate his head from his neck. He collided against the bedpost, and the next thing he knew there was a warm and wet trickle running down the side of his face.
Nie Qiang’s saber arced, swinging down on Kurama—
“A-Shan!”
A small body knocked him away from the path of the blow, the blade burying itself deep on the spot where Kurama was previously from. It snagged the part of the fabric that remained wounded around Huaisang.
The glimmer of the blade was red and led to the arm that Huaisang was holding close to his chest.
Nie Qiang’s interest wasn’t on him, however, and no sooner was he rounding back to Kurama with all the intention to finish him. Huaisang forbade him from taking any step, thin arms wrapped around Nie Qiang’s thick legs and yelling for his father to stop and for Kurama to run.
He hit Huaisang away as one would slap a pesky insect. It would bruise later, the hit on the side of Huaisang’s face, and he’d be forced to chew his food on the other side of his cheek. He wasn’t a particularly courageous child, always afraid to hurt himself therefore Kurama’s simple but effective way to deter him from trailing after was to climb trees where he knew he would not be followed.
It was an opportunity to escape as Nie Qiang became mindless with each passing second, kicking and swinging the masterless saber dangerously close to Huaisang’s tiny body that wouldn’t be able to fend it off once it came to slice him in half.
The commotion seemed to have alerted the rest of the Unclean Realm, burly men holding their sect leader down and stealing the sect heir away to safety. Nie Qiang was past the point of recognition, thrashing wildly and cutting down any obstruction hindering him from his main purpose.
And yet Kurama remained firmly on the spot, staring uncomprehendingly at Nie Qiang’s utter hatred and bloodlust directed at him for the demon that he was. Nie Qiang denounced him as a son of his own flesh and blood and claimed him a murderer of his second wife.
Nie Qiang and his saber yearned for his blood, for his heart, and for a split-second, Kurama saw a flash of certain death, no avenue to reincarnation and—
A blade burst from Nie Qiang’s chest, staining Kurama with a spray of blood. Nie Qiang crumpled in an unrecognizable heap.
Nie Mingjue stood over him, Baxia falling from his hand with a sound that was too loud even for Kurama’s ears. Arms wrapped around him, pushing him against a broad chest while his back was stroked.
“You’re alright. It’s over.”
Kurama believed him.
It was still dark when he next came to, a soft glow of the lamplight illuminating a chamber he did not recognize.
Huaisang was snoring from his left, his cheek and forearm bandaged, though aside from those did not have any grave wounds, much to Kurama’s relief. He smoothed Huaisang’s unruly hair and pulled the covers up to his chin.
“He’s fine, but the one on his forearm will scar. How’s your head?”
Nie Mingjue shifted from the foot of the bed that he had fallen asleep on while he had watched over them, perhaps. He inspected Kurama’s forehead.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he replied. There was a dull throb a little above his right brow from the raw wound, but it was insignificant to focus on. “Are you well?”
Nie Mingjue took his time to answer before shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
You killed your father, Kurama didn’t say. You killed your father to save us. To save me.
Nie Mingjue took his hands and cradled them in his larger ones. “Wen Ruohan poisoned our father’s saber. It broke his blade and sent him spiraling to qi deviation,” he told him. “I will avenge him.”
Kurama had faith that he would, and he had nothing but respect for his endeavor. Nie Mingjue did not cry in the presence of his younger brothers, though a part of Kurama hoped that he would once he was in the security of his own space.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
“You arrived just in time,” Kurama said softly. “A-Sang and I will be fine, da-ge.”
He covered Nie Mingjue’s clenched fist; for strength if nothing else. With another hand, he held Huaisang to assure himself that he hadn’t lost him, his twin, the other half of his soul.
They were both Kurama’s family, and no one would harm them as long as Kurama lived.
❁ ❁ ❁
Which was why if Jin Guangyao believed he could get away from inflicting harm on Nie Mingjue, he was sorely mistaken.