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Meng Yao forces herself to unclench the hand that she has twisted up in the side of her robes. She smooths out the wrinkled silk compulsively. "I must have misheard you, Nie-er-guniang," she says carefully, clasping her thumb in her other hand behind her back in an attempt to protect her clothes. It doesn't work; as soon as she redirects her attention to Nie Huaisang her fingers find their way back to the same spot of brocade, worrying at it.
Nie Huaisang closes her fan with a click of the metal guard and smiles brightly at Meng Yao. "I simply think if I am to be wed to Lan-zongzhu after the summer, I should have some experience of the things a married woman must know."
"And you wish this humble one to—"
"Show me, yes," Nie Huaisang says, her eyes twinkling. She leans in closer, placing a hand over Meng Yao's still-moving one and stilling it. "A-Yao, you always get so formal when you're flustered."
Meng Yao is not an unobservant woman. She is well aware that the second daughter of Qinghe Nie has what could generously be described as an infatuation with her. Since coming here to work for Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao has endured months of Nie Huaisang following her around, twittering like one of the many songbirds she keeps in her private aviary, watching her from behind one of her many painted fans, a blush on her cheeks that might be rouge, or perhaps not.
Endured might be a harsh word. Meng Yao genuinely likes Nie Huaisang, after all. She is spoiled, certainly, but also clever when she wants to be. They have conversed late into the night on more than one occasion, about the stars, cultivation, the habits of birds, or nothing of import at all.
Meng Yao does not return her affections. Meng Yao cannot return her affections. She is Jin Guangshan's unacknowledged bastard daughter and Nie Huaisang is the heir to Qinghe Nie—and moreover, has been betrothed to Lan Xichen since before Meng Yao ever met her. The young and handsome Lan-zongzhu is exactly the kind of person who is allowed to love a woman of Nie Huaisang's station.
There is also the matter of Nie-zongzhu, but Meng Yao has spent too much time and effort pushing those thoughts aside to willingly entertain them now.
Nie Huaisang is still holding her hand, still watching her intently. Her pink lips are parted slightly in a way that Meng Yao suspects is entirely artifice. It is impossible to know for certain—Nie Huaisang is too well-practised in these things. She knows her role and she plays it to a tee.
"I don't know what I could teach you, Huaisang," Meng Yao says, looking away first. "There are things a husband expects that I am certainly—unequipped for."
Nie Huaisang lets out a dirty little laugh, delight written across her face. "Oh, A-Yao, whatever do you think I meant? I only want to know how to kiss."
Meng Yao is in so much trouble. "I don't think this is the wisest course of action," she tries. "This is something you should learn with your husband. He will be as new to it as you, won't he?"
Nie Huaisang snorts, unladylike, and rolls her eyes. "A-Yao, do you truly believe me to be so sheltered? I know it's one rule for men and another for women. Xichen-ge may be more noble than most, but he is still a man. I know what men do. We have brothels in Qinghe, too."
It can't be a stab at Meng Yao's parentage—not when Nie Huaisang is trying to coax her into doing something neither one of them should be doing—but it feels like one nonetheless. Nie Huaisang must see it on her face, because her smile turns as brittle as ice, melting away into nothing but wet disappointment.
"Why are you asking this of me, Huaisang?" Meng Yao asks quietly. She manages to keep the hurt from her voice—she's always been good at that—but the question alone is enough to make Nie Huaisang let go of her hand at last.
"I thought we were friends," she says in a small voice. "I didn't mean to—you're my friend, that's all I meant by asking." When Meng Yao doesn't reply, she adds, "I'm sorry."
Meng Yao sighs. "I know you're sorry." She reaches for Nie Huaisang's hand again, an implicit acceptance of the apology, and Nie Huaisang grips it so tightly that Meng Yao has to bite back a wince.
"I wouldn't ask anyone but you, A-Yao," Nie Huaisang says earnestly. "I know I can trust you to teach me, because we are friends, aren't we? Haven't I helped teach you things before now?" She presses their joined hands over Meng Yao's lower dantian, where her nascent golden core flickers like candlelight.
Her golden core may have been kindled in Yunmeng, but it was stoked here in Qinghe with the help of Nie Huaisang, who knew first hand what it takes to form one so late in life.
"Fine," Meng Yao says, obligation twisting in her chest. It is obligation, isn't it? She cannot truly say no to Nie Huaisang, not even if she wanted to, and that's why she isn't. "Because you are my friend, Huaisang, I'll teach you how to kiss your husband."
Nie Huaisang is indulged beyond reason, the beloved meimei of every person who lives in Qinghe, and no one ever tells her no if they can possibly help it—and Meng Yao also lives in Qinghe.
"A-Yao, thank you!" Nie Huaisang says, throwing her arms around Meng Yao and pressing a kiss to her cheek, already rounded with a helpless smile. "I promise, I'll be the best student you've ever had!"
"You're the only student I've ever had," Meng Yao murmurs, but she allows Nie Huaisang to cling to her.
"I hear meimei is attempting to monopolise more of your time, Meng Yao," Nie Mingjue says the next morning, taking the cloth Meng Yao proffers and mopping her face with it. She is dressed simply this early in the day, displaying large amounts of skin that glistens with sweat from the effort of the training session she has just completed, and Meng Yao is studiously not looking at her arms as a result. "Acting as Huaisang's companion isn't one of your duties, so please don't feel like you have to."
"This one is pleased to serve," Meng Yao says automatically. Then she sighs, and adds with more candour, "She is nervous about her wedding, I think. If I can ease her mind, I'm happy to do so."
Nie Mingjue raises her eyebrows. "I don't see what she has to be nervous about," she says. "She's known Lan-zongzhu since she was a child. We have always had close ties to Gusu Lan, despite the distance."
"Perhaps it is simply that she will be leaving the Unclean Realm for a new home," Meng Yao says, though she doubts that plays much into Nie Huaisang's request. "As I left my birthplace to come here, she may believe I am well-placed to advise her."
"Ah, Meng Yao, you're so thoughtful," Nie Mingjue says. She turns the full force of her smile on Meng Yao, whose knees go a little weak under the intensity of the assault. "Whatever did we do without you here?" She rests her large hand on Meng Yao's shoulder for just a moment, squeezing.
"I imagine you managed," Meng Yao demurs even as her heart skips a beat, and Nie Mingjue's warm laugh fills the morning air.
They meet in Nie Huaisang's rooms in the evening, when Nie Mingjue is less likely to have need of her deputy. Not that it matters, exactly—Nie Mingjue gave her blessing, albeit without knowing the specifics—but Meng Yao doesn't savour the idea of an interruption because her presence is required.
"I haven't seen you all day, A-Yao," Nie Huaisang says. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me!"
"I would never avoid Nie-er-guniang," Meng Yao says.
"Formal, again." Nie Huaisang smiles a self-satisfied little smile. "Da-jie was very impressed that you offered to help me—what was it? Come to terms with the idea of moving away? You probably should have told me, though; I could have let something slip because I didn't know our cover story."
"It wasn't a cover story," Meng Yao says with a sigh. "We're not lying to your sister."
"Aren't we?" Nie Huaisang asks drily. She hooks her arm through Meng Yao's elbow and leads her to the one of the low, comfortable couches that she likes to drape herself over while she reads poetry. "A-Yao, you worry too much sometimes. Life doesn't have to be so difficult."
There are a number of things Meng Yao could say in reply to that, but chooses not to. She instead allows Nie Huaisang to pull her down onto the couch, sitting so close to one another that their knees bump together.
"So," Nie Huaisang says, her attention intently focused on Meng Yao. It's a little unnerving. "Will you show me now?"
"The first thing you need to know," Meng Yao says, reaching up to carefully brush a loose strand of hair out of Nie Huaisang's face, "is that kissing is for more than just your lips." She takes one of Nie Huaisang's hands and lifts it, palm upraised, to her mouth. She presses a careful kiss to the inside of the wrist, then the concave curve of her palm. When she looks up, Nie Huaisang's eyes are very wide.
"A-Yao," she says, and for once she seems to have no words beyond that.
Meng Yao smiles at her. "Hands are important as well," she continues. "Where you place them, what you do with them; they can enhance or detract from the experience. For instance, if I were your husband—" and Meng Yao feels a strange little thrill at saying those words "—I could use my hand in your hair to hold you still while I kissed you. Gently, of course."
"Oh," Nie Huaisang says weakly, her hand twitching helplessly in Meng Yao's grasp.
Do you want me to do that? Meng Yao does not ask. "I'm sure your husband would have no need of such a thing," she says instead. "I'm sure you would be an obedient wife."
"Yes," Nie Huaisang breathes. "But—maybe you should try it? I'm so delicate, A-Yao, I should hate to learn I cannot bear it only when I am in my husband's arms."
This is a terrible idea. This has always been a terrible idea, but Meng Yao reaches out regardless. She slips her fingers into Nie Huaisang's thick, dark hair, loosely cradling the curve of her skull. "Gently," she says, closing her hand around a fistful of hair. "Surely this can be borne."
Nie Huaisang's eyelashes flutter as she closes her eyes. "Um," she says, and she swallows, her throat bobbing. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. "And if it were not so gentle?"
Meng Yao pulls her hair with one decisive motion, not allowing herself any time to reconsider the wisdom of it. Nie Huaisang cries out, her eyes flying open again as she clasps both hands over her mouth. It did not entirely sound like a cry of pain.
"Of course, your husband would not dare to treat you so roughly," Meng Yao says, letting go of Nie Huaisang's hair.
"My husband would kiss me," Nie Huaisang says, her cheeks pink. There's a challenge in it; a steeliness that Meng Yao recognises.
"Would he?" she asks, intentionally making no move to do so. She thinks she has a read on what Nie Huaisang wants from her, but she has to be certain.
"Maybe I should pull his hair if he won't," Nie Huaisang says. Her hand snaps out—she's faster than she looks, but Meng Yao is faster still. She catches Nie Huaisang by the wrist and holds her there, and they stare at each other. Nie Huaisang's breath is coming a little faster now, and she licks her lips again. "A-Yao," she says. "Husband."
Meng Yao is the first to look away. "I am not your husband, Huaisang," she says. "Nor will I be; I am not your betrothed."
"Perhaps not," Nie Huaisang says, teasing. She flexes her hand so Meng Yao can feel the tendons shift beneath her fingers—beneath Huaisang's soft skin. "But don't you think it's fun to pretend for now?"
"I think," Meng Yao says, letting go and returning her hand to Nie Huaisang's nape, "you are going to be someone else's problem soon."
Nie Huaisang doesn't even flinch. "But not yet," she says.
"Not yet," Meng Yao says hoarsely, and kisses her.
It's not a good kiss. It's not the kind of kiss Meng Yao had intended to give Nie Huaisang when she came here tonight. Her intention was to be careful, to move slowly. To maintain at least the pretence that she wasn't powerless in this situation; to pretend she was being a good friend choosing to help. Instead she finds herself gasping into Nie Huaisang's mouth, their teeth clashing painfully before Meng Yao tilts her head to find a better, deeper angle. Nie Huaisang's lips are soft, her mouth hot and wet, and they open so easily for Meng Yao's tongue when she slides it past the seam of her lips.
It makes it so easy for Meng Yao to push a little further, take a little more—control herself a little less.
Nie Huaisang doesn't kiss like someone who's never done this before. She surges forward to meet every move Meng Yao makes, sucking on her tongue one moment and licking into her mouth the next. It is at once intoxicating and infuriating. Meng Yao has allowed herself to be baited into something she knew to be unwise.
She hates Nie Huaisang a little—but she wants her a little more than that. She pushes her fingers back into Nie Huaisang's hair, scraping her nails lightly across her scalp, and Nie Huaisang moans softly.
Quite without meaning to, Meng Yao finds herself half in Nie Huaisang's lap, pressing her back into the overstuffed couch. Nie Huaisang goes without resistance, soft and pliant under Meng Yao's kisses. She makes breathless little noises into Meng Yao's mouth and clutches at the fabric of Meng Yao's belt as if she can't keep her close enough.
"Husband," she murmurs, "A-Yao, husband."
Meng Yao bites down on her lip and tugs—not hard—and Nie Huaisang squeals, squirming under the weight of her body. She might be able to throw Meng Yao off her if she really tried, but Meng Yao doesn't think she's trying at all and it's no trouble at all to hold her down more firmly.
Desire burns through Meng Yao. "Wife," she says, and sharply pulls Nie Huaisang's head back by the hair, exposing her soft, lovely throat. "Is this what you want?"
Nie Huaisang's entire body shivers as she whines and says, "Oh, please—please, take what you want, husband. I'm yours, oh, please."
Meng Yao groans low in her own throat, unbidden. She can no longer tell if it's from anger or arousal, but what she does know is that she can't leave any marks, as much as Nie Huaisang makes her want to.
Nie Huaisang is not hers. Not her wife, not her friend. Not really.
She still drags her teeth lightly down the length of Nie Huaisang's neck, lingering beneath her jaw and at the divot between her clavicles where her pulse flutters like the wings of a bird. She presses a delicate kiss there, then licks all the way back up to her mouth. Her pretty mouth, pink and swollen. Meng Yao captures it in another bruising kiss. She wants this too much to stop.
Below her, Nie Huaisang kicks out, then wedges one thigh between Meng Yao's legs. They are both wearing enough layers that it doesn't get very far, held so close and yet so far apart by grey and silver brocade, but the shift of fabric is enough to make Meng Yao realise how wet she is because of this stupid game Nie Huaisang has decided to play. The innermost layers of linen she wears drag against Meng Yao's thigh, soaked through.
Because of Nie Huaisang.
That's enough to make her break the kiss and push herself away from Nie Huaisang. Meng Yao stands up so quickly that her head spins for a moment, and she has to steady herself on the back of the couch. This has gone too far.
"A-Yao—"
"This was a mistake," Meng Yao bites out. "I'm sure your husband will be very pleased with you, Nie-er-guniang. You are more experienced than you led me to believe."
Nie Huaisang sits up, her braids in disarray. She does not bother to deny it. "You wanted it as much as me," she says. "I know you did. You were just—you're always so proper. I knew all you needed was an excuse, and I was right."
"No," Meng Yao says, and hopes it doesn't sound as hollow as it feels. She straightens her spine and sucks in a deep, bracing breath. "No, Huaisang, you weren't."
For a moment—less than a moment—there is a flash of something in Nie Huaisang's eyes that is unfamiliar, unexpected. Meng Yao was already turning away, and by the time she looks back, Nie Huaisang's features are set in the pout she so often wears when she isn't getting her way.
"A-Yao," she says, wheedling. As if they're still playing a game and she can talk Meng Yao into letting her win. "Aren't we friends? I thought we were friends."
Maybe Meng Yao didn't see anything at all. The only thing she sees before her now is the spoiled girl she has come to know these past months, for better or for worse.
"Yes, Huaisang," Meng Yao lies. "We are friends."
She doesn't avoid Nie Huaisang after that; not exactly. Though the Unclean Realm is certainly large enough to provide Meng Yao with all sorts of reasons to be in places where Nie Huaisang isn't, too many of her duties revolve around Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang for her to be absent from their presence for long—and there is no avoiding Nie Huaisang without avoiding Nie Mingjue.
Meng Yao makes herself small, but in doing so, she makes herself obvious. Nie Mingjue was a girl who became a sect leader too young, and she is more perceptive than people expect.
"Are you so very unhappy here, Meng Yao?" she asks, her keen eyes fixed on Meng Yao's face.
"No," Meng Yao says quickly, looking away before their eyes can meet. "No, zongzhu, the opposite."
"Mn," says Nie Mingjue, sceptical. Then her eyes widen as a thought occurs to her. "Is it meimei? I know the two of you have become close, and her wedding draws near. When she leaves, would you—if you wish to accompany her to Gusu, I would understand. I would not ask you to stay here if you would rather go, and it's not unheard of for a bride to take—"
"No," Meng Yao says again, more quietly.
"Meng Yao," she says, and there is a pleading note in it that Meng Yao has never heard from her before—but it's not the way Nie Huaisang pleads. Nie Huaisang always knows she'll get what she wants one way or another, but Nie Mingjue sounds as if she fears she won't.
What a strange thing for a sect leader to fear.
"Meng Yao," Nie Mingjue says once more. "Will you stay? Here, with—in Qinghe?"
Meng Yao's heart lurches in her chest so violently that she feels, for a moment, like she's falling. She takes a slow breath, deep and steadying, and readies her answer.