The first memory Nie MingJue had of punching someone was when he was four or five. His older cousin (they shared a relative somewhere six or seven generations back), Nie YiChen, had casually sneered, "My mother says your mother should just die since she can't do her wifely duty." The young Nie MingJue didn't know what a 'wifely duty' was, but his cousin repeating such horrible words was reason enough to ball his fingers into a fist and let it fly. They all got in trouble, of course: Nie MingJue for fighting, Nie YiChen for goading him, and the aunt for wishing her sect leader's wife dead.
The young Jue'Er paid close attention to his mother after that, looking for evidence that she was, in fact, doing her wifely duties. What he noticed was that his mother, Nie JiaYi, was sad.
Her sadness floated around her like an extra layer of robes most of the time. And then it would weigh heavily on her for a few days. This pattern continued for a few years. Jue'Er was nearly eight when the sadness disappeared and Nie JiaYi started smiling and laughing. "Jue'Er," she cuddled him one night, "You're going to have a sister by the Autumn Festival. Won't that be exciting?"
Jue'Er nodded. He would prefer a brother, but a sister would be nice as well. "Is she going to be older or younger than me?"
"Silly boy! Of course younger," Nie JiaYi laughed. "She's growing in my womb right now." She placed his hand over where the baby was growing. "I'll bet you're going to be the best older brother a girl could want. You're going to grow up so strong and tall. And handsome! You're already such a good looking boy!"
Jue'Er didn't quite understand how a sister could grow inside his mother. Did she grow like plants did? If so, how did they pull her out? But if she was certain about it, he was satisfied. And happy that his mother was finally happy.
A few days later there was a large commotion in his mother's room with healers and midwives whispering in low, frantic whispers. When it was over, he was led into the room to see his mother lying still and cold in her bed, a teeny baby girl nestled on her chest. "Say goodbye to your mother and sister," he was instructed.
He was old enough to understand what 'dead' was. He was young enough to not understand how to internally process that his mother would never again kiss him goodnight or sing songs in the garden or do any of the million other things a mother did.
Nie YiChen, laughing and taunting at the newly motherless boy, was also the recipient of Nie MingJue's second punch. At least this time he knew not to tuck his thumb under his fingers. And he had enough power behind it to bloody his cousin's nose.
The next punch that mattered didn't come until a year or so after his father's death. Of course, there were plenty of occasions where a teenager or young adult in a martial sect could resort to fist fights as a way to blow off excess energy, but those didn't count as actual, memorable, punches. Not even when they involved breaking YiChen's nose. No, the next one that mattered was given to one who whole-heartedly deserved it.
Nie MingJue was stomping through the market looking for his brother (who was avoiding saber practice. Again.) There was some sort of conflict going on and a large-ish crowd blocking his way. The sect leader pushed his way through the crowd only to see a man kicking a woman in the side and back as she knelt over a small child, protecting it from being hurt. "You stupid, inconsiderate woman!" the man screamed. "You had one job! To prepare tea for my guest! Tea!'' He embellished the word with a kick towards her head. "Who asked you to prepare food? Huh?" More kicks struck the women. "Do you think that I'm so rich that I can afford to feed him a meal? Who's going to pay for it? Are you and the brat going to starve tonight because you served him your food?" He looked up at the crowd. "Maybe I should whore you out! Make you earn the money for your meal on your back!" He went to kick her again and found himself hoisted in the air instead. "Let go of me!" he yelled louder.
Nie MingJue turned the man around slightly so they could see each other's faces. "Am I to understand that your wife honored your guest by serving him food and tea? And you beat her for it?"
"No," the man spit. "I told her tea! Just tea!"
"Ah..." Nie MingJue looked down at the shivering woman. "You beat your wife in public because she served food." To his aide, he ordered, "Help her up and get her to one of our healers. The child, too." Once the woman and toddler were carefully ensconced in a hand cart and were being rolled away, he turned his attention to the struggling man in his grip. "I don't like bullies. I especially don't like men who beat their wives or children."
"She's my wife to do with as I please!"
"I think not." Nie MingJue casually assessed the man from head to toe. "Hold his legs," he ordered one of his soldiers. "We don't want him to accidentally kick anyone."
"Kick?" The man probably intended to say more than a single word, but he suddenly had no air to speak with. Nie MingJue methodically punched the man in his stomach, forcing all the air out, then his face, then ribs. All while continuing to hold the now whimpering man up in the air with his other hand. He ended the beating by jabbing his knee up between the man's legs, and then dropping him.
"My father taught me that we should always try diplomacy with people before inflicting violence on them. I have found, however, that bullies don't reform due to diplomacy. They just learn to better hide their actions. No, I've found bullies only understand that they should think about reforming their ways when confronted with someone stronger than them pushing back. I don't like bullies. If I ever hear of you beating another person like this? I will hunt you down." Idly, he wished for a curse that he could lay upon the man that would alert Nie MingJue when necessary. To the crowd he added, "There is a difference between discipline and abuse. I will not tolerate abuse like this from any of you."
There were plenty of opportunities to punch people during the SunShot campaign and its aftermath. Once that was done, however, and he was married, he was far more limited in how he was to conduct himself. Hearing his dear wife berate him as she cleaned up his knuckles was not his favorite thing in the world. She didn't even allow for make-up sex afterwards....
So the next memorable occasion for punching someone didn't arrive for many, many years. Approximately three hundred.
By that time, the four immortals had left their homes. Their siblings, children and grandchildren were gone and it was rather painful watching friends and loved ones grow old and die over and over. They were taking tea in a small village nestled in the mountains of Yiling when a white robed disciple interrupted. "My Shizun requests your presence at our temple." Intrigued, the four followed the disciple into the mountains and up to a small temple.
There were eight disciples practicing sword forms in an inner courtyard when they arrived. The woman leading the eight appeared to be in her early thirties. "Shizun," the disciple who had led them from the tea house bowed. "I have returned with the immortals as requested."
The master dismissed her disciples to go meditate. "The red blade master. The preeminent doctor. The light bearing lord. And..." here, her voice quivered a bit. "And CangSe SanRen's son."
"You knew my mother?" Wei WuXIan asked. "Are you...?"
"BaoShan SanRen? Yes."
Nie MingJue had only punched a few women before. And even then, only in battle. Punching this one in the face was very satisfying.
This woman exiled a disciple for wanting to see the world. Then, when that disciple died, did not bother to find her toddler son. Nie MingJue heard enough stories about what the young Wei WuXian did to survive until he was found by the Jiang sect leader. He had heard enough stories about how the teenaged Wei WuXian was treated by his foster parents. This woman had the capability to care for her disciple's child, and instead left him to starve and be beaten on the streets.
In short? She deserved it.
Even Wen Qing did not yell at him for it when she treated his knuckles. (More importantly, she treated his bruised knuckles before she fixed BaoShan SanRen's broken nose.)
All of this flitted through his mind as he sat in his office and waited for the man yelling at him to stop speaking. Not that he had any desire to punch this man.... At least not yet. "Mr. Waters, I assure you, my son has absolutely no designs on your daughter. As it was explained to me, by Wei'Er and by you, your daughter fainted while drinking beer after the football game. My son caught her as she fell, and stayed with her until she woke up. There was nothing improper in his actions." He turned to mock glare at Wei WuXian, "Other than drinking alcohol, that is." He turned a pleasant face back to Mr. Waters. "He has been punished for that, by the way." He hadn't. But no one needed to know that.
Mr. Waters huffed. "Well. He better never touch my Tiffany again. She's only sixteen. She doesn't need to be groped by a senior."
"He didn't grope me, Daddy," Tiffany whined. "I, like, already told you that? Everyone there said that he just, like, held me when I fell, and then, like, took my pulse or something. He was, like, a gentleman?"
Wei WuXian internally shivered at the annoying 'like's. "Her lips were blue. So she was either not getting enough oxygen," the truth, "or she was cold. In either case, allowing her to fall on the ground, wasn't.... I mean.... I couldn't just let her hit her head on the ground, right? Mom would kill me. But I swear, I didn't touch her anywhere inappropriate. Honest."
The Waters left, the father still making vague threats about what would happen to young men who laid their dirty hands on his daughter. Nie MingJue sighed loudly, and jerked his head towards the practice mats. "Spar with me," he ordered Wei WuXian.
Wei WuXian grinned. "You should just use the punching bags, DaGe."
Nie MingJue agreed. Punching bags were one of the greatest inventions. They didn't bleed or cry and they always came back for more. Gods, he needed to punch someone.
Not just anyone, mind you. Someone in particular.
Wednesdays at the studio were devoted to free self defense classes. Even hours were for women, odd for men. He had a lot of college aged girls in these classes, looking for ways to prevent being assaulted or raped on campus. A few obviously gay boys, hoping to learn the same skills. A few were women who already had bruises on their arms and faces who were blank faced and refused to say why they were there.
And then there was Clarice: late fifties to early sixties, purple-white hair salon styled hair, professionally done manicure and pedicure, carrying a handbag that cost several hundred dollars, wearing a hot pink velour tracksuit, and a single strand of perfectly matched pearls. She was matter of fact about why she was there. "I raised a monster. I gave him the best of everything and he hits my daughter-in-law. I don't like guns. So please teach me how to beat him to death."
"You'll go to jail," whispered one of the bruised women. "You should just take her and any children and hide them."
"Why? So he can divorce her and beat his next wife? No. I brought this monster into the world. It's my duty to take him out of it."
Clarice hadn't shown up to the following week's class. Nor the next. Wen Qing was reading the newspaper and read a disturbing article the morning the Waters showed up at the studio. "Clarice Edgerton? Is that the woman's name? It says here she was murdered by her son, Forest Edgerton, while trying to protect her daughter-in-law, Felicity, and grandson in a domestic violence.... Shit.... The grandson, Alex, died, too. He was four. The daughter-in-law is in the hospital in serious condition; they're not sure if she's going to make it. He's claiming self-defense, the fucker. 'My mother attacked me for no reason,' he says."
"Where is he?"
"Home, maybe? He hasn't been arrested yet. Or if he has, the article hasn't mentioned it."
Predictably, the police showed up at the studio a few hours later to ask questions about why Clarice had a note in her calendar about going to that Wednesday morning class. "She took a self defense class," he offered after confirming her name in the class roll. "Why people come to my Wednesday classes are none of my business." The police made a few more noises about investigating the studio, but after three weeks, there would be no evidence in the place that Clarice Edgerton had done anything but take a single self defense class. The District Attorney stopped by an hour or so later, also asking questions about the murdered woman. It seemed like the investigation was about Clarice murdering her son's family with the help of a Chinese martial arts studio rather than the son succeeding in murdering his own mother and son and attempting to murder his wife.
Punching bags were wonderful things. Especially the ones Wei WuXian reinforced with his talismans. Nie MingJue could punch a hole right through a normal bag using only a fraction of his full strength; Wei WuXian's bags took beatings from all four of them at full strength and held firm.
They were not as satisfying as punching Forest Edgerton would be.
Definitely not as satisfying as punching Forest Edgerton was. After the news came out that afternoon that Felicity had died from her injuries and the DA's office was officially declining to press charges, Wei WuXian spirited the man out of his house and drove him in his own car to a nearby forest. And forced him to write his confession. He'd been denied a promotion at work and he was angry that his slacker colleague got it instead. When he got home, dinner wasn't done cooking, Alex was filthy from playing in the sandbox, there was sand ground into the carpet, and Felicity's shirt and the kitchen floor had stains on it from her dropping the ladle when he came into the kitchen yelling about why she hadn't vacuumed up the mess yet.
"You murdered your wife, your son, and your mother because you didn't get a promotion?" Nie MingJue's voice was quivering with anger.
"I punished my wife because she deserved it! All I ask from her is a clean house and a clean child. Is that too much to ask for? I pay all the bills! I even bought her a new car last year! All I ask in return is that she keep things clean!"
"And your mother?" Wei WuXian's eyes were glowing red.
"She got in the way. If she hadn't interfered, she'd be fine."
The first punch took out half of his teeth. The second broke his nose. Lan WangJi was allowed the third punch, and he broke a few ribs. Wen Qing took the fourth. Well, she didn't punch; she used a knife and emasculated him. We WuXian helped the man hold a freshly sharpened kitchen knife to his throat and helped him slice his jugular open.
The four cultivators worked to undo the damage they had caused: fixing his broken bones and teeth, reattaching his manly bits. Until all that was left was the successful suicide attempt and the confession.
"It doesn't feel like justice," Wen Qing sighed, looking at the bloody mess.
Nie MingJue gently hugged her from behind, letting her sink into his body and take whatever comfort she needed.
Wei WuXian was fussing with Lan WangJi's clothes, making sure there were no blood stains to connect them to the crime scene. "If there was justice, the police would have arrested his ass after the first time he beat his wife."
"They should have arrested him last night," Lan WangJi groused. "He killed his own son and the police want to pin it on Clarice?"
"It's not justice: it's closure. Clarice, Alex, and Felicity can move on now." Wei WuXian pulled Suibian out of his pocket and jumped on. "Let's go home."
Hello!
This was supposed to fulfill AmyNChan's (over on AO3) "NMJ punches someone" request and end with filling out WWX and Vijay's story. And then... In my head Vijay's family haven't really done anything punchable. So... Another chapter.
So a bunch of writer friends and I are going to write a bunch of one-shots together. Our favorite heros meet classic fairy tales. I'm taking on 'The Little Mermaid'. Shall I post a link when we're done?
Enjoy your day and thank you for reading.
- Aitch