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He wasn't that worried at first.
Alright, fine he was; try seeing Mingjue bleeding profusely and bruised on the head when his party returned. Da-ge rarely injured himself on night hunts, certainly not where he had mostly brought the junior disciples with a few selected seniors. He had brought them for their first night hunt, after all, so surely it was what he deemed a good one to start with, only to be proven wrong this time and now… this.
“A-Yuan, what happened?” Huaisang asked his second son once he'd cornered him, when he was done wringing his hand himself after he was assured that it was just a flesh wound on da-ge’s head. “And spare no details. I’d rather know if your father was being a reckless idiot.”
Wen Yuan, the sweet boy that he was, cracked a tiny smile that quickly sombered. “Do not be mad, Father. No one expected it to escalate, and Zhou Jian was the one nearest to the line of fire.”
It was him or Mingjue, he didn't have to say. A boy at the cusp of fourteen or a far experienced cultivator in his prime, it was clear who would have survived when taking the brunt of an angry yao . Huaisang sighed, if a bit fondly. It could have been anyone, and da-ge would have reacted the same.
Huan expected him to wake after a couple of hours of rest, the next morning at most, but the healer’s estimation was more or less correct when da-ge woke gradually within the span of time that it took Huaisang to bring some of the paperwork in their rooms.
He was immediately on his side at the sound of a pained groan. When Huaisang checked for any bleeding, there was none, the wound already sealed shut within the two hours since da-ge was tended. He helped him sit up, watching as da-ge blinked, frowned, and stared at Huaisang in that order.
“Where am I?”
Huaisang raised his brows at the odd question but thought nothing of it when he explained that he had been brought back as swiftly as possible. But when Mingjue suddenly asked who he and Huaisang were, well.
Even then, panic was still at the edges because it was normal, no? Especially with such head trauma. It would be temporary as it had always been the case with some of the disciples who had been out of commission in the same manner before laughing it off with their peers after a brief stint.
It would be fine. Mingjue would be fine.
He was told as much when da-ge was checked once more. The way Huan’s eyes lit up was promising, and when the older man promised that Mingjue's memory should return in quick succession within the week, Huaisang was warmed with relief.
“I've taken the liberty to give him the rudimentary details, Nie-fujun. Your and your children's names didn't spark any recognition, he said, but he remembered them quickly once he heard.”
Da-ge was less lucid when Huaisang returned, his eyes heavy with lethargy from Huan’s medication followed him quietly as he sat next to him.
“How do you feel?” Huaisang asked.
“I'm sensing an incoming headache, but well enough.”
“I hope you do not mean me,” he jested.
“Of course not,” the retort sounded indignant which had Huaisang grinning, which Mingjue noticed and caused him to dart his gaze away in what could have been an embarrassment. “You're my husband.”
On paper, Huaisang was supposed to clarify. We're technically brothers. And I say technically because we're also, technically, time-travelers but not in the conventional ways. We were brothers in our original time, and now that we are not in this new one, being married largely solved our original problems.
Huaisang’s smile was beatific when he said instead, “I am.”
“I thought you were my brother.”
Mingjue completely missed Huaisang's surprise, of course, seeing as he was hardly looking his way. For a moment, Mingjue was about to speak again before deciding not to.
“Yes, well, sorry to disappoint.” Huaisang cleared his throat, straightening. “I should leave you to rest, I suppose. Or if you prefer a bath or a late supper, that can be arranged.”
“You're leaving?”
Giving space, Huaisang preferred to call it. Da-ge's memories might be absent at the present, but it seemed that some were just ingrained in his being. His recovery should be swift though not something to be forced.
“I will be in the study. I'm taking over your share of paperwork while you recuperate. I thought to work here while I wait for you to wake.” He gestured at the low table with stacks of scrolls. “The study is at the far end of the hall. If you need me, come anytime.”
“Can you not work here?” Mingjue asked, his voice slurring. “You've troubled yourself already with delivering all those to make another trip back.”
“You wouldn't mind?”
“Why would I?”
Huaisang shrugged. “So, food?”
Mingjue waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not hungry.” At Huaisang’s grunt, he sighed. “I’ll try to sleep.”
Da-ge seemed as if he was studying Huaisang’s face. Was that a question? “Right. Huan didn’t mention anything against that. Do let me know if you have trouble with that too. He did say to bother him for any development.”
Huaisang hovered a little out of habit, and on his back with his mussed hair and valiant attempt to not fall asleep, Mingjue was not unlike A-Liang the last time their boy had thought he could brave it all with his new saber, including a terrible fever, apparently, despite his flailing knowledge of regulating his body temperature with the use of his newly developed core then.
There was something adorable in the way da-ge grumbled half-heartedly at being tucked under the covers, like a petulant child betrayed by his exhaustion.
“Sleep, da-ge,” he whispered, once he was certain that he could no longer be heard. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
“Your father is fine,” Huaisang told A-Liang. His son looked as disheveled as somebody who had heard of the news and flew back from Qishan as soon as the breaking of the dawn. “He rests, but memory loss aside, we're told he's alright.”
“What memory loss?” A-Liang paled. “How much did he forget?”
“Temporary,” Huaisang amended, hesitating, “He doesn’t even remember his and our names, though once spoken to him he retains them. Be patient. He will recover soon enough.”
While A-Liang remained troubled, he did ease a little to take a bite of his meal, albeit lacking his usual gusto. Still, he was a growing boy, and Huaisang remembered how he had scarfed down his own food at that age in both lifetimes. A-Liang seemed to have even grown bigger within the month he was away in the Nightless City, judging how his robes appeared to strain around the shoulders and arms, and already he looked about as tall as A-Qiao and gained a few inches over A-Yuan.
A-Liang was easily distracted with enough urging to tell what he had been up to with his grandfather and Wen Zhuliu. Wen Chao was also a tagalong, from what he told, useful at least as someone to carry around what needed to be carried during spontaneous night hunts. Wen Ruohan himself sounded as if he took a particular delight in lugging his second son across the more mountainous regions of Qishan like a pet donkey. While A-Liang’s relationship with his second uncle remained contentious, Huaisang was pressed to admit that he could detect a note of fondness there for somebody like Wen Chao, of all people.
Then there was a knock and came Mingjue who glanced between Huaisang and A-Liang before settling on the latter in confusion. A beat passed with Mingjue clearly not knowing what to do, or close to asking outright who the teen was.
“A-Liang’s our third son,” Huaisang was swift to rectify the situation if only to spare their son the disappointment at being the receiving end of their father’s clueless stare. “The one I told you who was away. He rushed back as soon as he heard of what happened.”
Da-ge’s nod was quick, almost thoughtless, but there was a curiosity there when he sat with them to break his fast. A-Liang sullenly ate, falling silent.
It was worse when A-Qiao and A-Yuan joined them as well. Their eldest was the most level-headed among his brothers, but while he shared Huaisang’s relief in finding Mingjue hale, his questions about their uncles’ and grandfather’s health to A-Liang sounded perfunctory at best. A-Yuan tried to keep his glances around the table at a minimum, though even his easy smiles were strained.
“If you will excuse me, Father,” A-Qiao was the first to say. “I’m afraid I have an early lesson today and a departure to prepare for.”
A-Yuan immediately followed after him with the excuse of training, dragging the gloomy A-Liang after him. Huaisang had to suppress a sigh. It wasn’t the worst that could have happened, but the awkwardness was particularly notable.
The interaction he dreaded the most was with their youngest children. Meixiang and Mingzhu were five, and their daughters, despite their precociousness, would certainly not understand what was happening to their father who had just enthusiastically played with them yesterday and suddenly acted as if in the company of strangers.
Huaisang was unable to stop the girls from seeing their father, and when they latched onto Mingjue’s legs delightfully and asked him to follow through with his previous promise of riding out in the afternoon, Huaisang was prepared to intervene on da-ge’s behalf that he would be occupied for the day.
But what came from Mingjue was: “We will. I haven’t forgotten.”
The smile on his face lingered when the girls refused to leave without asking to climb on Huaisang’s arms as well to pepper him with kisses on either of his cheeks. There was the usual fondness shared when their eyes met over their daughters’ heads.
“Liang resembles me,” Mingjue said once it was just the two of them once more. “Qiao looks familiar, but I do not remember who he resembles. Yuan has your mouth.”
Was that what da-ge had been focusing on, his mouth? He did not hide his amusement, though neither did he tease him about it. “A-Qiao and A-Liang are blood brothers, sons of your cousin. A-Yuan is a distant paternal cousin of mine. They were orphaned young by their blood parents; A-Qiao when he was five while A-Liang and A-Yuan were infants then.”
“And the girls?”
“Oh, they’re special cases. We made them.”
Mingjue drew up short. “What exactly did that mean?”
Huaisang wondered how much he should divulge while Mingjue still had huge gaps in his memory. The process was already complicated enough to explain to others, not that they had bothered to do so with just about anyone when others preferred to speculate and made it easier for Huaisang and Mingjue to run with their theories.
“Err, let’s just say they’re from our blood. You can see how they both had our features, no?”
Meixiang had the shape of Huaisang’s eyes but olive like Mingjue’s, while Mingzhu inherited his red eyes but her coloring and the coarseness and thickness of her hair were on brand for a Nie child. They were both lovely and adorable in their own ways: Meixiang was quite assertive for her age, often drawing up her mighty height when she demanded something, and while Mingzhu was a sweet girl with a penchant for shyness around strangers she was uncertain what to make out of, she could just as easily make them comply to her wishes. They would be terrors to those they did not like but the most adorable to those they favored.
“I see,” was all Mingjue said once he considered it. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but Huaisang. “I did not know it’s possible now.”
It always had been possible, Huaisang wanted to point out, though only a few cultivators were privy to the knowledge. “To be fair, it wasn’t easy. We lucked out to have the two of them at once. Just once is already laborious, imagine doing it twice.”
“I can imagine,” Mingjue said, his tone somewhat strangled. The frown he sported was pained, more toward himself than anything.
“Eh. The reward was all the sweeter for it.” A grin played on Huaisang’s lips. “You cried when you first carried them, you know.”
Mingjue only scoffed at that. “It would have been poor of me if I had not. I must have been the happiest since.”
Still a sap, it seemed. Huaisang, however, wasn’t about to complain about da-ge’s penchant for careless sweetness.
The next couple of days were slow though occupied with helping Mingjue relearn much of his day-to-day duties. His mind might have forgotten, but his body did not. His saber forms were unfailing, and his routine, while it had been disrupted, was adapted back: rise early, break his fast with the family, lead the disciples’ daily drills, receive petitioners (if any), attend to tasks that require immediate attention, take his midday meal with Huaisang and the children, leave a space in his schedule that he could spare for anything he wanted, finish the remaining paperwork, take his supper with the family if all were amenable to join him, go out on a night hunt (if any), retire for the night. Rinse, repeat.
Huaisang appreciated that Mingjue was not averse to making an effort with their sons in spite of the present obstacle. It would be kind to simply let the temporary impediment run its course, for the promise of a return to normalcy would be soon; perhaps Huaisang would have pushed for it if he was the sole person to bear its brunt. He could not ask the same from their sons, however.
It was another matter entirely in the privacy of each other’s company, where Huaisang was careful not to intrude on Mingjue if he could. The bed he left for Mingjue alone, taking the rooms originally reserved for him, and Huaisang could tell that he was grateful for the unspoken agreement.
Which was why it came as an utter surprise when Mingjue took hold of his arm just as he was about to leave, unhesitant when he asked him to stay.
“I do not mind staying,” Huaisang was careful to say, “but are you sure?”
“Why would I not be?”
“Because I thought you’d rather we remain apart for the meantime.”
“I do—at least, I thought I did,” he admitted. “You are the first I look for when I wake and the last I think of before I sleep. I know I seek your presence even when I know not of it.” There was an intensity in his conviction as if he was about to speak of something remembered loud and clear. “I know that we’ve always shared the marital bed. There’s no use to stop doing so just because I do not remember you.”
“You do have a way to make one feel special, don’t you,” Huaisang muttered. The dry tone did not deter Mingjue one bit, though it did make his hold slack from Huaisang’s arm. “Knowing something is different from wanting.”
“Maybe,” da-ge conceded. “But this I am sure of.”
Huaisang, mistakenly, thought that he meant the sincerity behind his words, until Mingjue leaned in, eyes intently at the lower part of Huaisang’s face to… oh.
He put a stop to it with a firm hand against Mingjue’s mouth. “No,” he said, pushing him back. “You’re confused, Mingjue. I’d rather we do not deal with the unnecessary complications your momentary confusion will bring.”
He left. Not quite angry but… Huaisang sighed. He couldn’t wait for the week to be over.
He must have underestimated Mingjue’s determination, it seemed, for no sooner than the following day did he corner Huaisang to get his answers.
“Did we fight?” he asked. “Before I became this, did we have a fight? It’s the only thing I can think of that will explain your distance.”
Huaisang internally groaned. It wasn’t even midday yet and a part of him was honestly sympathetic at the mess occupying da-ge’s mind. “No. I like to think that we have a harmonious relationship despite,” he gestured vaguely, “everything.”
Something inexplicable flicked across Mingjue’s face, and with him missing the point entirely, said, “I am under the impression that our marriage is not arranged by our families, and I see no record of a signed marital agreement prior to the courtship. Am I wrong? Or is this truly not arranged but rather a formal agreement between us to appease each of our families?”
Make it the entire cultivation world, Huaisang was sorely tempted to say. He did exhale, loudly. “No—alright, fine, you’re somewhat correct with the second but not entirely.”
“A necessity then, if we had to resort to betrothal,” Mingjue barreled on, “It must have been for me, at first, until I discovered that it is no longer a mere agreement but something genuine. I know in my bones that I’ve been made wrong, and it must be why I readily agreed with you, but if you can see past that, how can I not love you even if you do not feel the same?” He looked away. “When I found out about the daughters we’ve made together in some way, I know that I have hoped that you return the same affection, for how can you give yourself to me in that manner if you do not feel an ounce of what I have for you?”
Huaisang’s jaw must have gone comically slack. What the hell did da-ge mean that he was made wrong? And how in the world did he think they came about with their daughters?
So, forgive him if all he could say was: “Da-ge, what the fuck?”
At the end of the day, Huaisang wanted to be fair when it came to his older brother. He turned over in his head what he had been told and, truly, all he could think of was that da-ge had a way with words if he put his mind to it. He could have made a living in writing ballads with further practice.
If he were to place himself in his position, it was not hard to follow his line of reasoning with the facts he had been given about his forgotten life. What Huaisang couldn’t imagine was all the mental calisthenics it took Mingjue to convince himself that he was in a doomed romance where he fell for his spouse after the marriage and making children had been all said and done. Yes, Huaisang would have to pry this narrative from him later; if Mingjue wouldn’t write some masterpiece out of this, then he would have to take up that task. The prospect of a magnum opus was the one good thing that would come out of this situation.
The gods were at least sympathetic (or pitying) to his plight because the week hadn’t ended yet and already Mingjue was back.
Whole.
He’d been somewhat wary of another confrontation when he was awoken by a thin layer of quilt placed over his form. He sat up with a crick in his neck, cursing his impromptu sleep in the pavilion.
“You’d kill your back,” Mingjue pointed out, grumbling, “Brat.”
“Still adjusting to the rarely used bed,” Huaisang retorted before brightening immensely. “Welcome back, da-ge.”
A grunt was all Huaisang was afforded in return, though he did sit heavily next to him. His silence was telling, and Huaisang was being an understanding brother here when he patted da-ge’s back. “It’s not so bad.”
“Don’t,” da-ge said. “Just let me think.”
Huaisang rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is I love you too, you silly man.”
Da-ge’s wince shouldn’t have been too amusing. “Enjoyed yourself, have you.”
It was funny, true, but also incredibly frustrating for da-ge to not remember shit. “On the contrary.”
“I owe you one.”
Huaisang snorted. “Yeah, you’re not silly now, just dumb.” At da-ge’s scowl, he simply shrugged, bluntly adding, “It’s true. I can’t believe I’m saddled with a stupid husband and brother.” When no reproach came, Huaisang suspected that da-ge actually agreed to that. He laid back on the ground, dusk settling down on them pleasantly in the right side of chill. “You know what, years down the line, when we’re both old and with plenty of grandchildren, we’ll think of this shit and we’ll all have a laugh.”
Da-ge imitated him, sighing once his back hit the paneled ground. “There’s more to come for sure.”
Huaisang hummed in agreement before asking, “Is that what you’ve always thought?” At the silence of waiting, he explained, “When you said you’ve always thought you were made wrong.”
“Am I not?” Da-ge challenged. “It is not the end, to be different in more ways than one. I’ve never been one for conforming; you’re more aware of that than anyone else.”
Huaisang smiled. “If you think yourself wrong to not be on the side of what most deemed the correct normalcy, then we’re both made wrong. We’ve always been on our own side, after all.”
There came no word from him, though he did knock his knuckles against Huaisang’s. It was easy to twine their fingers from there on.
“Say, is it too late for that kiss?”
“Huaisang!”
This, he missed the best.