Jiang Yanli and Jin Guangyao knew each other, during the year they both lived at Carp Tower.

Every once in a while, not often, people who know them well will say that Nie Mingjue lets Nie Huaisang walk all over him. That isn't quite right.

In which Lan Xichen, nearly thirteen, visits Nie Mingjue, newly appointed Sect Leader - and decide to swap brothers for a day.

“Thank you all for coming,” Lan Xichen said, pouring tea for the other three people at the table. “I think you all know why I’ve asked you to gather here today.” “Sure,” Nie Mingjue said, accepting the cup. “Because our younger siblings have decided to join together to become a criminal gang.” “That seems like an unduly harsh way to put it,” Jiang Yanli murmured, inclining her head in thanks to Lan Xichen as she took her own. “After all, they’re helping people, aren’t they?” Wen Qing huffed. “Leverage,” she drawled. “If I ever find out who gave them that idea…!”

The healers said it was trauma. Perhaps he was too young, or too sensitive; perhaps it was only that it had happened in such a way, at such an impressionable time – in any event, Lan Wangji’s reactions to his mother’s death had gone well beyond the normal signs of grief and turned into something much more severe. After some intense discussion, it was agreed that he should be temporarily sent to live as a guest in another sect to see if he would benefit from the change of scenery. From not being around the place where he was drowning in the memories of his mother. They sent him to the Jiang Sect.

By everyone’s agreement (except his own), Wen Ning was the sect leader. Of course, practically speaking, Nie Mingjue actually ran everything; he was the one with the experience in it, after all, and he claimed he was no good at teaching, which was the other thing they generally did. Other than, you know, the whole...fierce corpse thing.

There has always been a divide between the sect and the clan. The clan flows through the male line, heritage and paternity, but it is the wife who comes from outside that rules the sect - a measure, Lan Xichen thought, put in place to prevent war between the sects. Who would want to risk antagonizing someone who might end up running your sect some day? And then Nie Mingjue's father died.

Crumpled at the base of Koi Tower’s long stairs for the second time, Jin Guangyao presses his face into the stone, takes a deep breath despite re-broken ribs, and arranges his features as carefully as he knows how. Then he stands, moving carefully around the pain, and bows deep, arms held straight and true. The walk back up the steps to his father's side is painful enough to wipe the smile from his face; it is not painful enough to prevent him re-taking his place as seneschal, bowing again at the top of the steps. As he straightens, he prioritizes his plans for his father’s demise over all else.

Qin Su makes her own decision.

During his time rebuilding the Jiang sect and the Lotus Pier from the ground up, Jiang Cheng meets a lot of people. Some of them he keeps. (5+1 Jiang Cheng adopting stray cultivators after the Sunshot Campaign)

“No, I don’t want anything,” Nie Mingjue said, deeply relieved to have identified that he had not, in fact, forgotten to fill out his calendar. “I’m stuck in a time loop.” “…ah,” the guard said, looking taken aback – he must be new to Qinghe, like many of the cultivators in the army. Like Meng Yao, for that matter. “Is that…bad?” “No, it’s fantastic. I’m going back to sleep. No one is to bother me all day.”

“My lady,” the midwife said. “Congratulations. You have a daughter.” Madame Jin shook her head. “I need a son,” she said. “My lady –” “I’m not doing that again,” Madame Jin said, her voice getting stronger. “I need a son.” “But –” She looked at her loyal maid, who inclined her head. A knife flashed. “Congratulations, my lady,” her maid said, pushing aside the midwife’s body with her foot. “You have a son.” Madame Jin smiled.

Prompt: We keep hearing little bits about the Nie bros dad, but what about their moms?

prompt: The junior generation is full of girls