The first time they were in public together was after the mourning period. People offered him platitudes and insincere well-wishes while greedily waiting for him to make a fool of himself. Huaisang didn’t care. He was there for one reason and one reason only: to identify and point out to his guest the people he wanted dead.
Him? The voices asked as Huaisang stared at Jin Guangyao. He looks…insignificant.
”It’s his mind that’s dangerous,” he murmured under his breath, hiding his face behind his fan.
A fleeting moment in time and his mind will be gone.
It was tempting—the cloyingly suggestive tone, the promise of torment beyond his wildest imaginations, madness delivered in a flash.
He shook his head. No. He didn’t want instant gratification. He wanted to drag Jin Guangyao down, destroy his reputation and life, and he wanted to make sure that in the end, he’d know it was Huaisang.
Ah, the entity hummed, amused. You have teeth, Little One. The entity’s focus turned to Lan Xichen, standing next to Jin Guangyao, head bent attentively and lips drawn in a small, indulgent smile. What about him—should he die as well?
Huaisang felt the familiar wave of frustration and disappointment swell inside him and he ducked his head, averting his eyes before anyone could see the look in his eyes.
”He let da-ge die,” he breathed.
That was not a no, the entity purred.
Huaisang turned his back on the assembled cultivators and wondered how it would feel to be at peace.
There were contingency plans from the start, even if he didn’t know what they were. He didn’t need to leave instructions for Lao Gang because he knew that the moment he walked out of the Sect Library with the scrolls to summon the entity, Lao Gang would initiate extensive protective measures.
Huaisang would be granted his revenge the way he wanted.
The Nie Sect would survive it.
We’re insulted you think we would hurt you, the multi-faceted voices inside his head murmured shortly after Huaisang moved the first piece on his Go board.
He snorted as he gently dipped his brush into crimson paint that looked a lot like blood. ”You could’ve ripped me apart the moment you stepped on this plane of existence but you didn’t because you were bored.”
Bored? No. Intrigued, yes.
”Which is why you are still willing to entertain me.” The crimson ink spread on the silk, curling into a shape he wasn’t quite aiming for but he could work with. He was nothing if not adaptable, after all.
And because we care about you.
”Do you?” Huaisang asked, genuinely curious. ”Are you capable of caring?”
He wasn’t surprised by not getting a reply.
As time crawled by, the cold darkness spread inside him eating away his feeble golden core, stretching itself along his meridians in a mockery of spiritual energy. The Huaisang who met and seduced Mo Xuanyu was more darkness than man but he didn’t care because it was finally—finally—happening.
The resentful energy curling around the Nie Saber Tomb made the entity perk up and purr with excitement and meeting Wei Wuxian even more so.
He seems familiar, the voices murmured as Huaisang cowered behind his fan as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji interrogated him about the Nie Tombs. He is Kin but also Not Kin. Curious.
”You are not allowed to hurt him,” Huaisang hissed under his breath as he flailed his way out of the inn and ducked via back alleys and secret passages back into his safe house in town.
We never said we would hurt him, the entity said, sounding offended.
”You are not allowed to attempt friendship with him, either,” Huaisang added. ”I know they might not seem like much but Hanguang-jun will burn the world if he loses Wei Wuxian again.”
He felt the flare of interest, a needle-sharp focus on his memories of Lan Wangji, and shoved it aside. ”No need to go poking around,” he muttered. ”Just believe me.”
A ripple of amusement.
You have proven to be a cunning sort, Little One. We have found that believing everything you say might not always be for the best.
”As if you didn’t merely read my mind to know everything,” he huffed.
We could, the entity said. And yet, we do not.
Nie Huaisang’s breath hitched as thick, swirling resentful energy propelled Baxia forward across the yard and into the Guanyin Temple. He knew da-ge wasn’t there anymore and that this was just Baxia’s rage combined with resentment that always clung to da-ge but it still felt like his brother.
He was a fine warrior. We honor him.
He wanted to spit and hiss and snarl, to tell the abomination he was cradling inside him that as da-ge wanted nothing to do with it and its kind, there was no need for honor or respect. And yet, when he felt the entity grow still inside him almost like it was bowing at da-ge (and what a weird, weird sensation that was), it felt right. Proper.
It felt like da-ge deserved that respect.
He does.
Later, after Huaisang’s warning had prompted Lan Xichen to spear his sword through Jin Guangyao’s treacherous heart, they let their eyes flash green and malevolent and take vindictive pleasure in how his face turns from white to sickly grey as he sees who—or what—has delivered his demise.
Later, after the Temple collapses, they send a sliver of themselves into the rubble and snatch the lingering piece of Jin Guangyao’s soul to torment for all eternity.
It tastes delicious.
Later, later still, after they exchange empty words and shallow bows, Wei Wuxian’s knowing eyes feel like a brand in their neck. They ignore it and walk down the pristine white stairs, away from the mountain Huaisang spent so many summers in, away from the sect whose motto has nothing to do with justice.
The man who once was Nie Huaisang and who now looks deceptively like him turns his head slightly and spreads out his fingers. The shadow that is and is not his shadow reaches back, curls around his wrist, and ducks under his sleeve, familiar and possessive.
Where next, Little One? They ask.
And they answer, We’re not sure yet.