Five
Nie HuaiSang, second young master of Qinghe-Nie, had quite a few things to include in his next letter to his brother and their mothers when he sent it. But the funny and humorous parts were greatly tempered by the fact that W- Hua WuXian was going through a bout of silence where their voice wouldn’t work. It was tempered by the fact he had accidentally overheard Lan WangJi tell Lan XiChen and Lan QiRen that Hua WuXian had been called by the wrong name ever since being taken in by Yunmeng-Jiang Sect’s leader. It was tempered by the fact Hua WuXian had recently received news of their unborn sibling being miscarried.
He had known from the moment he saw Hua WuXian’s hair braided into flowers that they came from the same Clan as his and his brother’s mothers. The first and second Madame Nies had been adamant about teaching their sons about their natal Clan, even if it was only the stuff unrelated to cultivation since their natal Clan had a very top-secret way of cultivating that no one outside the Clan could know. HuaiSang knew about celebratory dishes, had been taught how to blend and brew ceremonial teas, the process used to cook traditional foods, had listened as his and Da-ge’s mothers recounted the history that had made Da-ge seethe and HuaiSang mourn the loss of a second home he had never known. Qiānxiàgōng had sounded absolutely lovely, and the paintings and tapestries both Madame Nies had shown their children had proved as much. The sprawling gardens, numerous fountains, open courtyard, and the various birds that had been painted or woven in the trees had made that quite clear to the two brothers, and a few visiting minor clans had given soft remarks on the beauty of the ‘imagined’ place. MingJue might have forgotten that Qiānxiàgōng had been cursed into becoming the Burial Mounds because of Xiu Chonglai’s greed and thirst for power, but HuaiSang had not. The weapon that had been broken by the five Great Clans that had banded together to defeat him had been stolen by the very man who had used it, and hadn’t been a weapon at all originally.
And here Hua WuXian was, a member of HuaiSang’s mother’s natal Clan but someone who had never before been in Qinghe-Nie territory like all the other survivors of that massacre now lived. Someone who wore their hair in seven flowers unlike Huaisang and Da-ge’s mothers’ one. The fact that there was news from Hua WuXian’s family meant that there were other members of the Clan out there, ones that weren’t in Qinghe-Nie’s territory. There were tomes of knowledge from the Clan that still refused to give their name, but the Acting Leader in Qinghe-Nie territory had admitted outright that what they did have was only what the ones who originally fled could grab when the slaughter took place. And even then, they were more focused on trying to get as many out alive than they were on preserving and keeping their history.
Hua WuXian wasn’t wearing the grey and blue robes of their Clan or the glass beads in their hair, but HuaiSang could tell just by looking at them that they didn’t consider Yunmeng-Jiang as home and he couldn’t deny that there was a separation between Hua WuXian and the disciples that Yunmeng-Jiang had sent for the guest lectures, outside of Yunmeng-Jiang’s heir. It wasn’t overtly obvious, but it was clear to those looking for it. If it weren’t completely improper, HuaiSang would have snatched Hua WuXian to bring them to Qinghe-Nie as soon as he saw the flowers in their hair. They deserved to be with their own Clan, not living on the lands of someone else’s. Even if the separation between them and Yunmeng-Jiang’s disciples didn’t exist with the heir but was somehow even more pronounced with the heir’s sister.
… There had been someone who had made their way to HuaiSang’s mother’s Clan about eight or so years ago, one who wore their hair in three flowers and carried two scimitars rather than just their own. Leng Ru, courtesy name QiongYi, who had become rather frantic upon realising that whoever the second scimitar belonged to wasn’t in Qinghe-Nie territory. HuaiSang didn’t know where Leng QiongYi had come from, how someone from his mother’s natal Clan had lived outside Qinghe-Nie territory or where the rest of the Clan’s survivors were that weren’t in the territory his father’s Clan governed.
HuaiSang’s own scimitar that his mothers had gotten forged in their natal Clan’s traditional way stayed with him, hidden inside a qiankun pouch in Qinghe-Nie silver and green, with the green being embroidered patterns of phoenixes. A personalised qiankun pouch that was made using the clan’s secret cultivation method and so could only be used by HuaiSang even if he didn’t quite understand how it was able to know who wielded it. He and Da-ge had a set of communication qiankun that could only be used by them in the same way only HuaiSang could use his scimitar, with instant receiving and sending of items. They worked through any amount of distance or wards, and glowed faintly when someone sent something through one of the pair. HuaiSang knew that Hua WuXian had to have their own bonded pair of communication qiankun, that was the only way they could’ve gotten the information of the miscarriage without Gusu-Lan knowing about the letter. HuaiSang and MingJue’s pair of qiankun were named Xiōngdì Zhàiquàn, and had been named such by the brothers in question when they received the pouches. Communication qiankun pairs were always named, there had never been a pair that had been nameless before in their mothers’ natal clan’s history.
The point was, all signs were pointing to Hua WuXian being the one that Leng QiongYi had been supposed to stay beside, to Hua WuXian being the master of the second scimitar that Leng QiongYi had had with them. Hua WuXian was the only one of Yunmeng-Jiang’s disciples to wear their hair in flowers, they were the only one without purple robes or lotus insignia on their clothes (other than the white guest disciple robes Gusu-Lan provided, but those weren’t provided by Yunmeng-Jiang so they didn’t count), and they were the only one who was separate from almost all the rest even if it wasn’t made overtly obvious. HuaiSang had trained to be observant, to always see every little detail because he was going to be his brother’s right hand man and he couldn’t afford to not know what was going on.
Hua WuXian had even confirmed directly that they were from the same Clan as HuaiSang and MingJue’s mothers, and provided a series of books on the hand language that HuaiSang had sometimes witnessed his mothers using with some members of their natal Clan who could no longer hear or couldn’t speak. They hadn’t offered to teach it to HuaiSang or MingJue, and the one time MingJue had asked when they were younger and their father was still alive Yī-niang had said no; later, Èr-niang had explained that it wasn’t that they didn’t want to teach it, it was that they weren’t allowed to teach it to those that belonged to other Sects or Clans without permission of the Clan Heir or Clan Head, even if they shared blood. It was a hand language that had been developed by the Clan Head’s family, centuries before the slaughter that took place nearly two hundred years ago.
But if only the Clan’s Head family could give permission to learn the language, then how did Hua WuXian have the books and why did they offer one so easily to HuaiSang to learn it?
Wait. Wait just a damn minute. The members of Yī-niang and Èr-niang’s natal Clan wore their hair in flowers. Always one or two flowers, Leng QiongYi had three flowers, the highest number HuaiSang had seen before coming here to study at Cloud Recesses for the third time. The one who wore their hair in seven flowers was named Hua WuXian. The traditional Chinese word for flower was hua just like Hua WuXian’s surname. Only the Clan Head’s family could allow people outside the Clan learn the hand language. Hua WuXian hadn’t shown any hesitation in allowing HuaiSang to borrow the book to begin learning.
Hua WuXian was part of the Clan’s Head family, which meant that the name of Yī-niang and Èr-niang’s natal Clan was the Hua Clan, and HuaiSang felt like a complete idiot for not figuring it out before. They had orchids embroidered on the Clan robes alongside the huli-jing that were at the hems, they wore their hair in flowers, most of the names of their ceremonial teas and at least half the names of the traditional foods had to do with flowers, it had been staring everyone at Qinghe-Nie right in the face and no one had realised.
HuaiSang felt deeply like he needed to re-evaluate what he knew and what he didn’t, if he’d missed something that was this blindingly obvious. It was most likely just hindsight making him feel this stupid, but literally all of the signs had been there now that he was thinking about things. How could he possibly be this ignorant, he was supposed to become his brother’s right hand man when their mothers stepped down as MingJue’s advisors.
I know the name of Yī-niang and Èr-niang’s clan HuaiSang wrote on some extra paper he had, before sending it through Xiōngdì Zhàiquàn to his brother.
The communication qiankun made it to where there was no need for long and boring letters to be sent, though the brothers still sent those through ‘official channels’ to avoid people finding out about their mothers’ natal Clan’s secret way of communicating without chance of interception.
It took only a matter of minutes for HuaiSang’s half of Xiōngdì Zhàiquàn to glow faintly with his brother’s response. So MingJue had to be doing something that wasn’t very important if he’d been able to send a response so quickly.
The fuck you mean you know the name? We’ve been trying to get it out of our moms clan for YEARS MingJue sent back without a shred of hesitation in his brush strokes.
I feel really dumb for not figuring it out sooner HuaiSang replied, knowing full well that he was only feeding the beast that was his brother’s need to know things.
Was this rush of amusement the reason no one had told them? If so, HuaiSang could definitely understand why everyone had smiled after refusing to let people outside the Clan know the name.
A-Sang you little shit tell me what it is MingJue’s fond exasperation was clear in the way he wrote the words, so HuaiSang knew he wasn’t provoking MingJue further than acceptable.
Ask our moms what the significance of someone with seven flowers is, they’re the reason I figured it out HuaiSang had to bite back his instinctive laughter as he placed his brother’s notes with the rest of the mini letters they sent back and forth to each other at every chance.
SEVEN?!?! Who the fuck has that many flowers, that’s way too many! What are they, the clan heir or something? MingJue sent and then just a moment later, you fucking met the clan heir?! A-Sang what the fuck, why are they at Cloud Recesses instead of WITH THEIR CLAN?!?!
HuaiSang couldn’t hold back his laughter as his brother pieced together how he’d figured out the Clan name, based only on a throwaway sarcastic bit of the note. Clearly, they were the superior pair of siblings with how alike they thought.
The clan name is really obvious if you look at the things they have HuaiSang teased, and he could practically feel his brother’s exasperation at how even HuaiSang was now not telling him.
The communication qiankun were a way for the two brothers to maintain a close bond even though HuaiSang was currently several li away, one that both boys took full advantage of at every opportunity. HuaiSang also used it as a way to keep his brother fully informed of every bit of gossip and news as soon as possible if it was important in any way.
Such as Yèwǎn Guāngshí being rumoured to being in Gusu, though there were no overtly obvious signs of the elusive being yet despite HuaiSang’s best efforts to find out more. The enigmatic talisman and wards master was the reason Qinghe-Nie had been able to preserve their books and no longer needed to find fierce corpses for the sabre spirits of long-dead cultivators to fight as appeasement for the traditional Nie cultivation. Yèwǎn Guāngshí was the reason people in Yiling, in Yunping, in Yi City, in various other towns were able to sleep a little easier, able to breathe a little easier. Yèwǎn Guāngshí had a very distinct style of talisman and ward design, one that couldn’t be copied or replicated by their own admission, as they inscribed anti-copying sigils into the very basis of each and every little thing they created. A security measure, to ensure that others wouldn’t steal their work and extort far too much money out of people who didn’t know better than to trust talismans and wards from any cultivator off the street. It was something that HuaiSang and his brother could both respect, along with any other responsible cultivator who understood the risks of asking for just a bit too much from non-cultivators in terms of payment for goods.
Come to think of it, he’d only seen Yèwǎn Guāngshí’s work a few times but there was something niggling at him. A familiarity somewhere so incredibly near that he couldn’t quite place but knew was there the same way he could feel his mothers and brother’s claims under his skin and settling against his “just too weak for a Nie” core. A core that he was ever so careful to ensure was seen as weak when it was anything but. His mothers and brother had taken time to help him find a way to cultivate that didn’t burn his palms and hands and arms the way trying to cultivate with a sabre did. It was the reason MingJue played at dogging at him to cultivate with the sabre in front of others, to play into the façade that he was weak and helpless and no good. He had his scimitar that he could use, and he had his fans that were ever so innocuously painted and designed and couldn’t possibly be for anything other than show or beauty. It was only those of HuaiSang’s mother’s Clan and MingJue so far, who could see through it to the deadliness hidden behind lacquered wood and painted silk. After all, no one ever said that a cultivator’s strength had to lie in their blade.
Not that anyone ever looked any closer. Nie HuaiSang was only ever the completely useless second young master of Qinghe-Nie, even if he was the Sect heir. And no one ever thought twice about someone useless being around when they were speaking of things they should be much more careful saying, something that suited HuaiSang and his brother perfectly.