Nuying

忌怒應

reflections upon sunless glass
decay into disorder and equilibrium

Fiction (+fandom) writer, lore theorist, and community moderator. Angst and romance devourer. Multishipper. When not working full-time, I consume fan-works, manga/danmei, video games, and C-dramas (in that order, haha). My all time favourite series? Nirvana in Fire. If I could only have one type of dish for the rest of my life? Ramen.In seriousness, I am a genderfluid (plural they/them) Canadian, ethnically Chinese, a second-generation immigrant, member of a system. Our core philosophical view centres around determinism, though far are we from disregarding the significance of free will (the two are, in fact, compatible).My name? Ah, rather than a maiden bloom think of simmering anger. I also respond to Lachrymosity, from lachrymose, to induce tears.

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"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star."
—Friedrich Nietzsche

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"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star."
—Friedrich Nietzsche

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Cutting Torrent Shimmering Through Darkness

Ch. 16

As sure as the sun sets in the west, the tide that follows the call of the moon, hours bleed into days then weeks, and Morax falls into a pattern of gentle existence. He wakes when a crystal lark sings by his bedside, a shimmering construct of swirling waters within a shell of iridescent glass. When he lifts his hand towards it, the blue bird presses the cool planes of its crafted face into the pads of his fingers, then chirps once, bright and sweet, before flying off to alert its master.There was a time Morax found the surveillance to be a disquieting presence, but somewhere along the way, perhaps within the last thirty days, he has grown quite accustomed to the meticulous attention, has learned even to seek it when the halls seemed just a bit too silent.A knock sounds moments later and like clockwork Morax folds the first layer of his robes close against his body, murmurs a faint come in for the woman he knows stands just outside his room. She wears the same whites as when he met her, another unchanging thing that makes it too easy to forget the passage of time, though when she reaches into his wardrobe to pull out today's clothes there waits, as always, something new.This time it is the violet of a sunset scattered against clouds, coat of reds in a gossamer haze embellished with silver petals and twinkling beads. On the table bearing a polished mirror, she sets down a circlet of twinned branches, its pewter leaves shifting to white on each exhale.He recognises them as limbs from the great tree whose roots once spread out to every corner of the world, the same sighing petals Zhuhong wears in his hair. He doesn't know what to make of this, why this crown, why today, but Skirk answers before he can put his question to words."Master has been called away on urgent business at the border. We will skip today's lesson—I am to entertain you as a good host should."Her face is utterly neutral, but having spent so much time in her company, even Morax could read the displeasure in her wayward gaze through the open window towards the direction he assumes Zhuhong went. She speaks with mechanical rote, twisting the hem of her sleeves in agitation, then when she catches him staring she sighs softly, grimacing like she's tasted something particularly bitter.

Ch. 14

Her dominion is that of shade, sunlit soil beneath shivering leaves, spring breeze heralding new growth between sighs of silver dust. She is the softness of stone worn smooth by rapid waters, the welcome embrace of a warm home after a long march, hair of silent night concealing a frame, reeds in a saltmarsh.She is gentle mercy to his unyielding might, twin moon to his sun, reflections across a clear mountain pool, bright and alluring, long sleeves drifting in the wind. Yet when she turns to greet him, face a mask of cool disappointment, it is her shining, unforgettable eyes that hide an array of twisting knives, sharper than the fangs of a beast, more cunning than the river's edge.When she speaks, it is the Lord of Dust that surrounds him in a choking haze, dark as thunderclouds."Have you come to apologise?"On reflex, the words tumble out of his mouth, the first pebbles of a landslide, "There is no need. We have done nothing to warrant an apology."She sighs, deep and long-suffering, setting down her cup of verdant green porcelain. Across the stone table, Cloud Retainer bows a polite greeting, then hides her face behind the delicate fan of her wing, unwilling to meddle in this affair.

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The You as I Remember

Ch. 3

Zhongli holds what feels like the longest breath, a dark and twisting worry squirming in his gut. His heart rattles and creaks between his ribs, thoughts of blood slipping through his fingers holding him at knife-point, red running across sheets in rivers and rivers and rivers. The harder he presses the worse it seems to get, life the falling sand pouring from fractures in glass. He wakes some nights from dreams of white robes and joss paper, the smell of damp wood from an ill-maintained shrine soaking his bones in penetrating grief, a reminder that this is the best he can provide for a Snezhnayan prince several thousand li from his home.How could he admit that the silence that greets him now, Zhuhong's cold and distant dismissal, conjures only memories of failure and despair?Zhuhong pulls back the curtain far enough for Zhongli to see the soldier from earlier lead two horses away. He clambers into the carriage with the grace of boar, mumbling a soft apology for the intrusion and mess. Water rolls off creases in his cloak, splashing against the wooden floor, and when he shakes his head to clear the drops dripping from his hair, Zhongli catches a margin of the monsoon in his sleeves of shining daylight brocade.

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Our Summer of Splendour

Ch. 1

You could be famous, Xingqiu had said, shaking his head whilst helping him move into his new home with Zhongli. If the people of Liyue knew a legend walked amidst their ranks, they would erect statues and designate his birthday as a national holiday, claiming their right to celebrate a Snezhnayan hero who chose Liyuen citizenship.He still remembers the answer he gave Xingqiu back then, catching a glimpse of his husband draped in sunset, nursing a cup of tea beneath a bright red pavilion—fame is the enemy of peace, bringing its own misery. Like the Age of Archons, it is time to lay Tartaglia to rest.Whether the second master of Feiyun Shanghui caught his double meaning, recognising the cosmic symmetry of two eidolons faking their deaths to marry and live out a humble retirement, he never spoke of it again, only teasing Zhuhong for his naturally striking image and demeanour which makes obscurity rather a challenge.

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How Could I

"Are you not afraid like the rest? This beast will devour you—do you not wish to cower or plead?"The words clatter in his skull, ricocheting between all the scriptures he has read, all the notes cobbled together from a life of desolate solitude. Somehow this Vepar feels achingly familiar, suffocatingly intimate, and try as he might to pinpoint the fear his logic tells him he must be experiencing, there is only a blinding grief gouging a hole through his chest.He says with sorrow enough to drown them both, "How could I ever be afraid of you?"In a dream he remembers from eons ago, a narwhal sought to break his own horn on the cliffs of the harbour. He asked, why do such a thing, only for the response to be—so the other fish may learn to love me.To think that humble creature would cultivate the strength to become their god—even Zhongli can hardly believe it despite standing before all the proof he needs.

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Ruin

It takes only an hour for Childe to fully absorb the Oceanid's essence, Zhongli's crystalline geo glittering amongst whirlpools of energy. Even without his gnosis, the presence of the Prime of Adepti chases away any malignant spirits, the warmth of the sun after an evening of rain. When the dust settles, Zhongli notes with humming satisfaction the return of colour to Childe's cheeks and the brief blink of a second when those blue eyes sparkle with flecks of incandescent gold.He isn't even surprised anymore with the speed in which Childe adapts, feasting on Zhongli's power despite the difference in their natures. Water is much softer than earth, yet here the Harbinger takes every tool at his fingertips and bends even the most resolute stone to his will. Distantly he wonders what would happen given ten, twenty, fifty years—what kind of preeminent legend would Childe become with his linear ambition and unquestionable capability?

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Beckon

The first stars wink above, pearls in the night sky. Silence swallows his desperate need for companionship built not upon the crown, and a greed like hungering flames sputters beneath the blanketing weight of duty and responsibility. Zhongli reaches for humour, hoping he does not sound as heartbroken as he feels."I would be an ungracious emperor if I asked for anything more from this one-sided competition. If Gongzi wishes to become my servant, he will need to try much harder. Name your price."Aias brings a hand to his chin, strokes a non-existent beard. He doesn't laugh this time, as if seriously contemplating a life shackled to the throne. Impossible. Zhongli would never allow it.A sigh, tremulous yearning snapping taut at the whip crack of a single vicious smile. Aias steps so close their breaths mingle in frigid, turbulent clouds that smell of qingxin and fire water. The hair's breadth between them may as well be ten thousand li.

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A Thousand and a Thousand More

Ch. 7

When the waters recede and the shock begins to wear off, it is Ajax's face of barren devastation that greets him against a backdrop of tumultuous, pitiless darkness. He tries to lift his hand to wipe at his huxian's tears, finds with a mixture of horror and resignation that he—can't. He feels nothing beyond the rain upon his face, and as he tilts his head to look at his body, to survey what damage Osial left him in, Ajax covers his eyes with a trembling palm, pleads him with heartbreaking desperation to please, please, please—don't look."I will fix this," Ajax says, a vow of shattering finality.

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Commissions

"I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses."
—Friedrich Nietzsche

¹ Open to discussing requests, but unlikely to accept unless the idea resonates

General Info

We take commissions for both fandom and original fiction. For unfamiliar fandoms or original characters, please be prepared to discuss details at length.Main communications via email at [email protected] or Discord at @nuying.Please feel free to email or send a DM in the first instance to ask questions or gauge interest. The only absolute hard no we won't write is RPF ❌, though there are other topics/themes we may be less keen on.NSFW 🆗. Dead dove 🆗.We reserve the right to refuse requests we believe we cannot complete for any reason.

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Please ponder these points when considering a commission. This information will form the basis of a brief and will be used for the outlining process.

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FAQs

How will the fic be delivered? What format will you use?
This can be discussed—by default the fic will be delivered in Google Docs, but if you prefer other formats (e.g. .pdf, .docx, .rtf, .txt, .epub) do let us know.What can I do with the finished fic?
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We retain rights over the finished fic so we may publish online or use as part of our portfolio. If you would like to keep your commission private—i.e. not publish online—please let us know, and we can accommodate this.

Writing is our passion though we work full time office hours to pay the bills. If real life impedes us, please be assured any delays in the process will be communicated clearly.Thank you for reading and considering a commission with us!

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