Back at home, when he has time to examine it more closely, it quickly becomes obvious why this ritual never turned up in all his early research. It's not a typical soul summoning ritual. It's not a cultivation ritual at all; as Nie Huaisang puzzles through it, the closest category he can put it in is folk magic...not only that, but sex magic.

Modern AU: Nie Huaisang is at University, studying business (as is his duty) rather than Fine Arts (his passion). He is also, however, moonlighting as a photographic artist anonymously posting a series of high-end erotic self portraits, under the nom de guerre of FanBoy, in which his face is never visible. He's posting porn online, basically. But it's none of your trashy amateur shit - it's GORGEOUS. Nie Mingjue has a certain "type" (the details of which he chooses very carefully not to reflect upon) and as such he very swiftly becomes the number one fan of this mysterious photographer/model. Identity porn and actual porn and angst and more porn ensue.

The fault, Nie Mingjue thinks later, lies squarely with the blasted weather.

Nie Huaisang would do anything to help his brother. Now he knows the very thing required, and it forces every choked, desperate thought to the surface. Everything hiding beneath 'Da-ge smiled at me' rises forcefully up through him so that his mouth is filled with the taste of wanting. Yes, Nie Huaisang would do anything to help his brother, but especially this.

Huaisang ran his fingers up over Mingjue’s thigh and abdomen, smoothing in slow circles as he spoke, “Just relax, Da-ge. I’ll take good care of you.”

In the end, there isn’t much of a discussion. With the sabre spirit boiling in Mingjue’s blood, it has to be Huaisang. Huaisang has regular courses, has never actually been stabbed or tortured on the field of battle. They know their duty to the family. If Mingjue can’t risk a child, Huaisang will do it. But she's not doing it alone.

Huaisang pulls against the heavy, taut drape of the hanfu’s collar and the layers underneath, revealing barely a triangle of his pale clavicle and shoulder as he fans himself from the heat. It’s a tantalizing strip of skin, and before Mingjue can drag his eyes away, the glint of silver catches his gaze. Is that - ? Mingjue only gets a glimpse. Nestled between Huaisang’s skin and the gauzy white inner robe, there’s a strip of silver-black. A strap. A - a bra strap. It burns at the back of his mind for hours, like an ember in the dark, a glow he can see even with his eyes closed. What is Huaisang hiding, underneath all those layers?