Nie Huaisang 聂怀桑 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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marlowemuses2022-04-26 12:27 pm
fanoperator) wrote in marlowemuses2022-04-26 12:27 pm
Entry tags:
I know, people change just like the weather
For the past months, it has been difficult for Huaisang to view his return with anything but grief.
He’s been grateful to still have the memories of his time in Duplicity, the love and laughter and frivolity of those years, but the memories are all that remain to him. The scar of his navel piercing is gone, his jewelry is gone along with the charms that had been bound with it, and his lovers are lost to him.
He steps back into his life as though he had never left. Qinghe runs with or without him, because he leads the way he always has: the practicalities and bureaucracy are put in the hands of capable and intelligent people, and Huaisang handles the diplomacy himself. Systems of grain storage and mining and civil defense function without his oversight, and the fussing of the nobles can just damn well wait. It’s a relief, at least, to no longer need to play at stupidity and ignorance, though he still makes use of it when it suits him. In Duplicity he grew comfortable in power and confident in himself, but now he must set aside so many of those trappings. His robes are fine quality but unobtrusive, and he wears no jewelry except the silver guan in his hair and the plain gold ring on his finger. It isn’t the same ring, and no matter how many times Huaisang tries to activate it with a spark of magic it will never summon his husband.
Alone at night, he weeps, curled up tight into himself and mourning everything he’s lost. By day, he makes himself hard and unyielding as steel—just like his brother and father before him. He handles others as gently as ever and rewards loyalty with silver and praise as generously as ever, but his walls are back up, locking his heart and emotions tightly away. When he can, he spends his hours in the library, studying and practicing his cultivation, anything to try and build a bridge between the worlds and draw Javert home to him, but every effort is empty and fruitless, leaving him exhausted and lonelier than ever.
He’s in the midst of a mind-aching discussion with several of his officials over how to get more bureaucrats with high enough aptitudes, but they can’t be tested for aptitudes if they don’t have enough education to test, and they can’t be educated if they don’t have the time or money to acquire that education.
“Why can’t we just … subsidize it,” Huaisang groans, rubbing at his face and slumping further in his chair. “I don’t know. Teach every eight year old to read, then test them after a year.”
“And where do you want to take money away from in order to subsidize such an enormous undertaking?” Toutong asks him, maddeningly deadpan.
“I don’t … I don’t know.” Huaisang whines petulantly, knowing that his seneschal will endure it with seemingly endless patience and continue tirelessly keeping Huaisang’s government running. “Don’t ask me anything, I don’t know.”
A clerk comes into the room, walking swiftly and looking flustered. “Sect Leader Nie. There’s … a foreigner asking for you.”
Blinking with bewildered curiosity, Huaisang gestures encouragingly at the clerk. Even though Nie Sizhe is younger and less experienced, he normally would know enough to extract the necessary details of who and what from anyone trying to get an audience from the Sect Leader. “And?”
“And … that’s it. He seems to be a beggar. Perhaps deranged. He doesn’t seem to understand any questions and he won’t say anything but your name or some babbling in his foreign tongue.”
Huaisang gives a snort at the absurdity of it. “Have we already tried feeding him and sending him on his way?”
“Yes, of course. He keeps asking for you. Just Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang.”
Sighing, Huaisang sits up properly and smoothes his skirts, trying to look a bit more like a sect leader. “And did we try giving him some mulberry leaves? Silkworms? Silk?”
“Oh.” Nie Sizhe blinks a few times at this, surprised to consider taking the request more literally, that perhaps the stranger meant the words to hold mulberry leaves rather than the sect leader’s name. “Should I try that?”
“No, just bring him in. I’m curious now. And if he doesn’t actually know who I am, we’ll figure out his babbling from there.”
“With guards,” Nie Toutong added. “He might be an assassin.”
Huaisang rolled his eyes, but gestured yes do that, and Nie Sizhe scurried away to obey.
He’s been grateful to still have the memories of his time in Duplicity, the love and laughter and frivolity of those years, but the memories are all that remain to him. The scar of his navel piercing is gone, his jewelry is gone along with the charms that had been bound with it, and his lovers are lost to him.
He steps back into his life as though he had never left. Qinghe runs with or without him, because he leads the way he always has: the practicalities and bureaucracy are put in the hands of capable and intelligent people, and Huaisang handles the diplomacy himself. Systems of grain storage and mining and civil defense function without his oversight, and the fussing of the nobles can just damn well wait. It’s a relief, at least, to no longer need to play at stupidity and ignorance, though he still makes use of it when it suits him. In Duplicity he grew comfortable in power and confident in himself, but now he must set aside so many of those trappings. His robes are fine quality but unobtrusive, and he wears no jewelry except the silver guan in his hair and the plain gold ring on his finger. It isn’t the same ring, and no matter how many times Huaisang tries to activate it with a spark of magic it will never summon his husband.
Alone at night, he weeps, curled up tight into himself and mourning everything he’s lost. By day, he makes himself hard and unyielding as steel—just like his brother and father before him. He handles others as gently as ever and rewards loyalty with silver and praise as generously as ever, but his walls are back up, locking his heart and emotions tightly away. When he can, he spends his hours in the library, studying and practicing his cultivation, anything to try and build a bridge between the worlds and draw Javert home to him, but every effort is empty and fruitless, leaving him exhausted and lonelier than ever.
He’s in the midst of a mind-aching discussion with several of his officials over how to get more bureaucrats with high enough aptitudes, but they can’t be tested for aptitudes if they don’t have enough education to test, and they can’t be educated if they don’t have the time or money to acquire that education.
“Why can’t we just … subsidize it,” Huaisang groans, rubbing at his face and slumping further in his chair. “I don’t know. Teach every eight year old to read, then test them after a year.”
“And where do you want to take money away from in order to subsidize such an enormous undertaking?” Toutong asks him, maddeningly deadpan.
“I don’t … I don’t know.” Huaisang whines petulantly, knowing that his seneschal will endure it with seemingly endless patience and continue tirelessly keeping Huaisang’s government running. “Don’t ask me anything, I don’t know.”
A clerk comes into the room, walking swiftly and looking flustered. “Sect Leader Nie. There’s … a foreigner asking for you.”
Blinking with bewildered curiosity, Huaisang gestures encouragingly at the clerk. Even though Nie Sizhe is younger and less experienced, he normally would know enough to extract the necessary details of who and what from anyone trying to get an audience from the Sect Leader. “And?”
“And … that’s it. He seems to be a beggar. Perhaps deranged. He doesn’t seem to understand any questions and he won’t say anything but your name or some babbling in his foreign tongue.”
Huaisang gives a snort at the absurdity of it. “Have we already tried feeding him and sending him on his way?”
“Yes, of course. He keeps asking for you. Just Nie Huaisang. Nie Huaisang.”
Sighing, Huaisang sits up properly and smoothes his skirts, trying to look a bit more like a sect leader. “And did we try giving him some mulberry leaves? Silkworms? Silk?”
“Oh.” Nie Sizhe blinks a few times at this, surprised to consider taking the request more literally, that perhaps the stranger meant the words to hold mulberry leaves rather than the sect leader’s name. “Should I try that?”
“No, just bring him in. I’m curious now. And if he doesn’t actually know who I am, we’ll figure out his babbling from there.”
“With guards,” Nie Toutong added. “He might be an assassin.”
Huaisang rolled his eyes, but gestured yes do that, and Nie Sizhe scurried away to obey.