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Nie Mingjue’s hands carded gently through Meng Yao’s hair, big, dangerous hands used for delicate purpose. Those hands had never been anything but kind to Meng Yao, though, even on the rare occasion when Meng Yao made a mistake and fumbled the decorations to welcome a vassal clan, or when Meng Yao fell too ill to perform all of his usual duties.
Like now.
Nie Mingjue’s hands twisted carefully, layering braids on the back of Meng Yao’s head. Meng Yao trusted him implicitly here—Nie Mingjue had been braiding his own hair, and his didi’s, for far longer than Meng Yao had been in Qinghe.
“I can have food brought to you,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice deep and rumbling into Meng Yao’s chest. “You shouldn’t be moving about too much like this.”
Meng Yao cleared his throat in an attempt not to cough—in an attempt to not prove Nie Mingjue right. “Thank you, Zongzhu, but there’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of going to the kitchens myself.”
Nie Mingjue let out a “khm” sound, one that showed just how little he believed the face Meng Yao was putting on. When had Nie Mingjue started seeing through it? Meng Yao couldn’t recall, but Nie Mingjue had been caring for him more like Meng Yao was family rather than a deputy for several years now. Meng Yao still put up token resistance, but he was reconciling himself to the idea that if Nie Mingjue hadn’t thrown him out for his imperfect constitution yet, then it was unlikely that he would.
“You’re not to work until you’re feeling entirely better,” Nie Mingjue said again, timing his comment with a particularly nice and gentle motion that was almost petting Meng Yao’s head. Meng Yao closed his eyes. “If I hear that you’re straining yourself, I’ll send Nie Huaisang to make sure you don’t get anything done for the rest of the week.”
“I’ll behave,” Meng Yao murmured, trying to resist a shiver as Nie Mingjue nearly touched his ear in getting more hair.
“Good.” A few moments later, Nie Mingjue pinned the last braid to Meng Yao’s head.
They felt a bit different, compared to when Meng Yao did them himself, but he attributed this to Nie Mingjue’s greater experience. His hair felt looser, perhaps. The overall hairstyle pulled less against his scalp, though Meng Yao was certain Nie Mingjue would never take the time to braid it up only to make the style so relaxed that it would fall apart immediately.
“Thank you, Zongzhu.” Meng Yao opened his eyes and scooted to the edge of the bed, ready to put on his shoes so that he could go to the kitchens. But even before his feet touched the ground, the room swam, his head fuzzy and way too light.
A big, warm hand wrapped around Meng Yao’s shoulder. “Stay. I’ll have someone bring food to you.”
Nie Mingjue was gone before Meng Yao could argue, and since things had already gotten to this point Meng Yao laid back on the bed again, laying over top of the covers. Nie Mingjue would be more frustrated with his disobedience than anything else, so he patiently waited in bed though he itched at the thought that some servant would have to take extra time out of their duties to simply feed him.
Fairly quickly, there was a knock at the door, and Meng Yao cleared his throat before allowing the servant to enter.
“I’ve brought you congee and some melon slices—oh.” She stopped partway through the room, face slack in shock for just a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “Congratulations!”
Meng Yao’s eyebrows pressed together, and he was just sick enough to not bother hedging his words with politeness. “For what?”
“Your hair,” the servant explained, trying to control her smile meanwhile. “It’s in the style of a future Nie-furen.”
It took a beat or two for her words to sink into his mildly sickness-addled skull, but when they did a furious blush took over his face unbidden.
Oh.