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Chapter Text

Wen Kexing lounges on the rough-hewn throne in Yama Hall and surveys his dominion languidly. Beside him sits his little maid Gu Xiang, meticulously cleaning the blood off his fingers with a washcloth. None of the 3000 ghosts kneeling in terror dare to point out the incongruity of this gesture, since the new Valley Master’s once-white robes are drenched through with red, and blood flows in sluggish rivulets down the stone steps to pool in the corners of the throne room.

Lao Meng, the Ghost of Impermanence, kneels before the Valley Master, his brain whirring frantically. Apart from the old Valley Master, five of the ten great devils have been flayed and eviscerated by the lunatic on the throne. The rest bowed their heads and accepted their new chief — at least for the moment. Lao Meng steals a glance at Sun Ding, the Delighted Mourning Ghost, who kneels beside him in a mass of tattered red robes. Sun Ding catches his eye and makes a barely perceptible nod.

Lao Meng trusts Sun Ding as far as he can throw him. He knows the sentiment is returned. You don't survive the Ghost Valley by making friends. You survive by making allies and then betraying them before they could betray you. For now, the biggest threat is Lunatic Wen who, for some reason, is now smelling his fingers while the girl at his side snickers.

Lunatic Wen. Something about that man brings shivers to Lao Meng and raises goosebumps along his skin -- no mean task. He's seen a lot. He's seen and survived three Valley Masters rising through blood and viscera, one after the other. The previous Valley Master was the worst. No act was taboo for him, no relation sacred. He had ruled by might and fear alone, and the entire valley had prostrated itself before him, hoping and praying to remain outside his notice as he roamed around, casting torment and misery wherever his fancy struck. This Wen Kexing was often seen by his side, shadowing him, a wooden man with no features of interest, fading into insignificance before the roaring might of the Valley Master, silently accompanying the Valley Master and doing whatever menial tasks were demanded of him. The ghosts had a betting pool going on about how long he would last and what his end would be like.

All of them had lost.

Ji Se Gui had been the bookkeeper, but Ji Se Gui was one of the first to fall. At least their money is safe. And it's only Ji Se Gui. It's no great loss.

Lao Meng had still been fighting when he heard the news of Lunatic Wen overthrowing the Valley Master. He hadn't seen the gory sight himself. Sun Ding had told him that Wen Kexing had beheaded the old Valley Master and then proceeded to eat his brains. Xue Fang disagreed. The lunatic had eaten him alive and then cut off his head. Bullshit. Neither of them had seen anything but both love to pretend that they know more than the others. So Lao Meng had contributed his own piece to the legend of Lunatic Wen: Wen Kexing had flayed the previous Valley Master alive slowly and then beheaded him.

The fact is, no matter what gory monstrosities they think up, nothing is as scary as the cold satisfaction on Wen Kexing's countenance as he sits in state in Yama Hall with blood still dripping from his fingertips.

Perhaps they should have anticipated it.

None of them knew when, where, and how Wen Kexing might have honed his skills. As the previous Valley Master's pet of sorts (and nobody knew how he gained the Valley Master's favour), they had mostly ignored him. Attacking him simply wasn't worth incurring the Valley Master's ire. And Wen Kexing himself had rarely sought out trouble, preferring to keep himself deferentially in the back of the Valley Master’s party with barely an expression or a gesture that brought notice to him.

Except....

Except when it came to the little child who constantly toddled along by his side.

Lao Meng had no idea from which forgotten corner of Qingzhu Ridge this Wen fellow had unearthed that tiny creature who was barely a mouthful, nor how she had survived in the Valley for so long. Most of the lesser ghosts, who had crawled into the Valley out of sheer desperation, were perpetually hungry. Even a scrawny little tyke was better than nothing. Yet none of them had ever even attempted to harm her. Instead, they cowered away whenever the brat skipped ahead, giggling, while a teenaged Wen Kexing loped silently behind her.

Sun Ding had a story about it when he was in his cups. More precisely, when he was sipping human blood from a skull. Lao Meng himself preferred it tempered with some wine, but there's no accounting for taste, and it was no skin off his nose. (After describing the flaying alive story in graphic detail, Lao Meng has stopped using the phrase “no skin off his nose”. It has started giving him the shivers.)

So, the story.

According to Sun Ding, there was a new ghost who was stronger than most and had a bit of an appetite, who scoffed at the other ghosts' treatment of Wen Kexing and Gu Xiang. He once argued loudly and volubly against the idea that the Valley Master's protection could extend to Gu Xiang. He even poured doubt on the notion that it applied to Wen Kexing. After all, none of them had any proof that the Valley Master was fond of either the teenager or his ward except for the fact that the boy was often seen in his company, and most of them had not seen him being openly harassed or punished. What if it was just a legend that they themselves had built up in their heads?

He argued this quite publicly, in what could generously be called a tavern, and heads started slowly nodding.

It took a lot to discomfit, let alone shock, the denizens of Ghost Valley. What happened the next morning succeeded in doing both.

The next day dawned to the sight of a pile of corpses arranged in concentric circles around the hut where Wen Kexing and Gu Xiang lived. Some were slashed, some were charred, some were torn to pieces. Sitting in the midst of that chaos, Gu Xiang gurgled and played with a wooden doll. Behind her stood Wen Kexing, face impassive.

“It was the creepiest sight I've seen in my life,” Sun Ding had said, swirling the blood in his skull. “The weirdest part was that the Ghost who incited the whole thing wasn't among the corpses. Nor were most of the ones who listened to him. They were a random assortment of the lowest, most desperate scum that crawled through the Valley. It's highly unlikely they would have tried to attack Wen and his best.”

Lao Meng hadn't been impressed. “So he went and killed a bunch of randoms who could barely remember their names, let alone defend themselves. Big deal.”

“No, no!” Sun Ding had slammed the skull down, shattering it, splattering blood everywhere. “Ah shit, that was my favourite cup. No, you don't get it. None of them had attacked Wen. He just killed them as a warning to the rest. As a spectacle. You didn’t see him standing there cool as cucumber. That, right there, was madness in his eyes.”

Privately, Lao Meng had thought Sun Ding was full of shit. Until, that is, he sees Wen Kexing lounging against the steps of the throne with the previous Valley Master's head on a pike, bloodlust visibly radiating from him, his robes soaked crimson, with just a single line of red running down his chin from the corner of his mouth. His eyes don't look fierce and violent. They don't look cold and calculative. They look bored. And his boredom is terrible to behold.

Lao Meng sinks to his knees in a deep bow. “All hail Valley Master Wen!” He calls out in a resounding voice, a cry taken up by thousands of other kneeling ghosts.

Wen Kexing cocks his head slightly and smirks. Then he goes back to whispering to his pet.

...

“A-Xiang.”

The child looks up from where she's fussing with his bloodied fingers. She had had an initial moment of shock at seeing him in this state, but had rallied cheerfully upon realising that none of the blood was his.

He holds her gaze for a long moment. "Are you afraid of me?"

She scrunches up her face and shakes her head.

"Not yet, eh?" He swivels to survey the hall, craning his neck like a particularly graceful predator. The assembled ghosts cower deeper. He gives a mirthless laugh. For a moment, his eyes take on a faraway look. "It's over." He says, and his voice is barely louder than the whisper of the wind. "And now it begins."

"What, Master?" Gu Xiang draws back slightly when he turns his gaze on her, but draws herself up with admirable alacrity. "You said nobody will hurt us any more, right?"

"That's right, A-Xiang." He feels a smile spread across his face. Maybe, in time, it'll feel less unreal. "You can play all over the Valley. You are the fearless Purple Danger. Nobody will dare to cross you."

Gu Xiang jiggles in place with excitement, mouthing the words "Purple Danger" a couple of times. "Can I have a real curved dagger?"

He makes a careless gesture. "You can have two."

She's all but bouncing now. "And a whip? I want a wicked whip!"

The grin that curves his mouth feels slightly more natural. "Slow down there. The last time you stole that woman's whip, you almost put out your own eye."

“I was little then!” Says Gu Xiang, drawing up her nine-year old self with a dignity she immediately proceeds to break when she scowls. "You said we can play as much as we like, Master."

"All in good time." He raises his voice slightly to acknowledge the audience quaking in silence. "For now, we have some cleaning up to do."

Sure, the wily devils had bowed down pretty fast once he tossed the remains of the old Valley Master's body into their midst. Some of them had even turned on their allies and wiped out those still fighting against him, in a bid for his favour, just as he had known they would. There are few friendships or alliances in Ghost Valley but for self-benefit after all. But he would have to be a fool himself to believe they were all his now. He had conquered, but now he has to rule.

Gu Xiang, literal little thing that she is, perks up at the thought of a task at hand. "Shall I get the mop then?"

She jumps up, but her wrist is caught in Wen Kexing's iron hold. "What do you think you're doing?"

She draws back a little at his tone. "But Master... You said... cleaning up...."

Wen Kexing pins her with his gaze. He can feel her mentally squirming. "What did I just tell you? You're the Purple Danger of Ghost Valley. Will you disobey the Valley Master?"

The shifting of the masses below is subtle, but not subtle enough to hide from Wen Kexing. Perfect. Let his unpredictability be etched in their little grovelling hearts.

Gu Xiang shakes both palms at him. "N-no, Master!"

"Are you afraid of me now?" He asks quietly.

She worries her lip. "A... bit?"

He gives a short laugh. "Good. You're learning."

He releases her wrist and guides her forward with a hand on the back of her head. "Silly girl. Look at them. They're all yours to command. You don't clean up any more. You command them. They clean up."

The shift in the hall this time is distinctly more awkward.

"Go give them my orders. And then come straight back without dawdling. I'm going to teach you something."

"Master, you're going to teach me how to fight with a whip?" She's vibrating in place again.

"No, silly." He laughs, rapping his knuckles on her head. "I'm going to teach you how to cook."

"You?" Gu Xiang laughs, before suddenly remembering herself. She bobs her head in muted apology.

Wen Kexing decides he's going to be known for his magnanimity, and lets her cheekiness pass. "For the moment, I still cook better than you. And we are going to remedy that situation as soon as possible."

Gu Xiang pouts. "Master, you just said all of them are ours to command and we can just play all over the Valley. Why should we bother with cooking? Why not just play all day and make them do all the work?"

"True." He guides her head again, swivelling it to face the prostrating multitude. "But do you want to eat anything they might cook?"

Gu Xiang makes a face.

He laughs and pushes her ahead. "Go on. Stop wasting time. Give my orders."

She skips downstairs, her purple skirts merrily dancing around the bloodstains. Wen Kexing watches her closely. This is the farthest she's ever strayed from his side, but it's still not far enough away that he cannot reach in one burst of qinggong. Not that the assembled ghosts know this.

As Gu Xiang approaches, the ghosts in the front row cower further back.

Wen Kexing knows it's much much too early to relax. Becoming the Master of Ghost Valley is only a means to an end. But still, seeing Gu Xiang ordering the devils around with all the haughtiness her nine-year-old self can muster, something within Wen Kexing involuntarily settles down.

Chapter Text

The man who calls himself Zhou Xu is the most gorgeous enigma that Wen Kexing has ever encountered, and he’s anticipating a really fun time unravelling that enigma. He suspects it’s going to be even more fun than unravelling the silks off his favourite courtesan, though Wen Kexing certainly won’t mind if any undressing is involved! It’s just that, among the slavering packs and dumb flock of the jianghu, he had never expected to meet a lean, mean lone wolf like Zhou Xu, with unmatched martial arts, butterfly bones sharp enough to cut a deep groove into Wen Kexing’s soul, a sharp tongue, and a soft heart that had sold him out to a dying man for two pieces of silver.

And that mask! Wen Kexing has seen many variants of human skin masks in the jianghu, but most of them are indifferently crafted at best, giving off the impression, “I know that you know I’m wearing a mask, but I don’t give a damn, and let’s see if you dare to raise this issue with me.” And everyone would politely ignore the mask, as if it’s some unwritten jianghu code. If Zhou Xu was wearing one of those masks, Wen Kexing wouldn’t have bothered to find out its secret. However, he truly cannot find any fault-lines in this man’s mask — no tell-tale creases where fake skin meets real, no flaws in texture, not even spots of blankness where human warmth and emotion fail to touch — nothing, in short, that says this man is wearing a mask. Nothing but the unerring voice inside Wen Kexing that insists he’s right — a voice that has kept him alive through two decades in Ghost Valley, so he’ll trust it over his senses, thank you very much.

“That’s just his face, Master.” Gu Xiang wrinkles her nose. “You just don’t want to admit that the man you thought was a great beauty from the back turned out to be such an ugly loser.”

She’s hanging upside down from the rafters inside their room in a middling little inn near Dong Ting, earrings dangling around her eyes, arms crossed like a grumpy baby bat. Wen Kexing is sitting on the windowsill, one leg dangling outside, enjoying the night breeze, and if there are some sounds filtering in from Zhou Xu’s room next door, it’s not Wen Kexing’s fault.

“What do you know of beauty?” Wen Kexing swats at her lightly with his fan, making her swing away reflexively. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you admire that silly little Cao boy with his vacuous words, just because he keeps praising you brainlessly.”

Predictably roused, she rounds on him with a scowl. “Master, you’re just jealous that you’re not the only one around spouting literary stuff. Cao dage is a refined gentleman. Not like that ugly sick ghoul of yours who’s always stinking of cheap wine.”

Wen Kexing gives a delicate shudder at the memory of Cao Weining’s “literary stuff”, but even he cannot defend Zhou Xu from Gu Xiang’s accusations against his taste in wine. It’s not like the man doesn’t enjoy good wine; he once singlehandedly drained a jug of Wen Kexing’s best plum wine without a word of gratitude, but the satisfied smirk on his lips had betrayed his enjoyment. And it’s not like he can’t afford good wine any more than he can afford good clothes or a much more comfortable inn. Wen Kexing doesn’t understand why someone who has both money and taste would waste his time on inferior wine, but he chalks it up as one more aspect of the enigma he must unravel.

Soon, he thinks, there will be no more time to fritter away on such things. The fine threads of the web he has spent a decade weaving is finally coming together into a steel trap, maw open and hungry for its hypocritical prey. Might as well steal some pleasure where he can.

Gu Xiang is still swinging and talking when he leaps lightly out of the window onto the ledge outside and, in the same motion, takes a running jump to alight on Zhou Xu’s windowsill.

He finds himself nose to nose with a stone-faced Zhou Xu.

Wen Kexing regains his balance admirably (if he may say so himself), though Zhou Xu’s smirk suggests he caught the near imperceptible wobble. For a moment, Zhou Xu stands his ground, leaving Wen Kexing to contemplate the thrills of forcing his way in, but then he sighs and moves back, shaking his head as though at the idiocy of his uninvited visitor.

As Wen Kexing drops to his feet, the other man ignores him and moves on to continue — what he had presumably been interrupted in — preparing for bed. Wen Kexing leans against the wall and watches him, slightly thrown. He had come expecting to find a flustered Zhou Xu undressing for bed, ripe for a few suggestive remarks. However, what greets him now is a calm and collected Zhou Xu puttering about in his sleeping clothes, looking unreasonably soft and domestic. Wen Kexing feels some unfamiliar emotion stirring within him, which no Su Yue or any other courtesan had ever raised in him.

As he watches, the other man settles down by his bedside table and rather pointedly pours himself a single cup of wine.

Gu Xiang’s remark on his terrible taste in wine comes to mind, and Wen Kexing moves to sit opposite him, snagging the bottle and sniffing it suspiciously.

“Ugh, what is this concoction you’re drinking, A-Xu? How can a heavenly beauty like you tarnish his body with garbage like this?”

Zhou Xu grunts and snags the bottle back. “This lowly one isn’t worthy of Mister Charitable Wen’s magnanimous concern. If my lowly tastes disgust you, I’m sure you can easily find the way out. Don’t let me keep you.”

Wen Kexing shakes a finger in his face. “Ah, ah, don’t say that, A-Xu! Your body is always my concern! I just can’t bear to see a beauty suffering like this.”

The corner of a thin mouth turns up. “Are you offering to take care of my needs?”

Wen Kexing holds his gaze. “Are you offering to let me?”

He means to toss the line as flirtation, but it somehow comes out sounding much more serious, and both of them freeze. Zhou Xu’s mouth falls charmingly open, ignoring the bottle he’s raised for a sip, so of course Wen Kexing steals the offending bottle and throws it out of the window.

“In my room,” he says, scooting swiftly backwards with arms raised placatingly before a distinctly annoyed Zhou Xu can land a hit. “There are two bottles of delightful méijiǔ, brewed for ten years by a charming old farmer in Yueyang.”

“Good for you.” Zhou Xu hits out again, driving Wen Kexing back as he parries in a flurry of moves.

Wen Kexing laughs. “A-Xu, you wound me. I’m inviting you for a drink. Not the nasty stuff you’ve been imbibing, but the kind of divine ambrosia that you richly deserve.”

He times Zhou Xu’s movement and sweeps a kick at the right moment. Zhou Xu, of course, dodges, just as he expects, but Zhou Xu is suddenly surprised to find himself collapsing, acupoints blocked by an unexpected little missile in the form of a tiny little walnut shell.

When he tumbles to the floor, Wen Kexing’s arms are waiting for him.

“Do you ever tire of this childishness?” Zhou Xu grits his teeth.

Wen Kexing takes a moment to answer. Zhou Xu’s limbs are loose, his hair cascading over Wen Kexing’s shoulder, his throat temptingly bare, his dishevelled robes revealing the deep jut of his collarbone. How does he manage to look so delicious, even in the throes of temporary paralysis, when most people just look stiff and awkward? Wen Kexing feels impossibly fond of this ridiculous man.

He clears his throat. “If I don’t resort to such trickery, how can I hope to hold my own against my most talented husband?”

“Who’s your — Wen Kexing! What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing makes soothing noises as his fingers trace the edges of Zhou Xu’s jawline. He caresses all the way up to his ear, then runs his fingers down the long line of his neck.

“Amazing.” He murmurs. “I can’t even feel the ghost of a seam. Where is it?”

Zhou Xu relaxes minutely, though Wen Kexing can still sense him trying to break free. He judges that he probably has just a few more seconds, so he recklessly plunges his hand inside Zhou Xu’s open collar, ignoring his spluttering curses and threats, and shamelessly gropes around.

Just as he suspects his finger touches a slightly different texture of skin, iron fingers clamp down on his wrist.

“Ow,” says Wen Kexing mildly. Ah well, it was too good to last. He twists himself free, only for Zhou Xu to start trying to punch him from where he’s lying.

“This lowly one is embarrassed,” Zhou Xu spits out from behind gritted teeth as he sends out a qi-laden punch that would have pulverised Wen Kexing’s handsome face if it had connected, “to have thus inconvenienced the great Valley Master.”

Wen Kexing chuckles and blocks another blow. “A-Xu, husband Zhou, won’t you have mercy on this delicate wife of yours?”

Zhou Xu mutters something uncomplimentary under his breath, just as Wen Kexing manages to grip both his wrists and pin him down. Blowing a strand of hair out of his face, Wen Kexing cocks his head and considers his options. True, the position they are in is truly delightful, but where to go from here? The advantage he has is rather tenuous, and might be ceded any moment with a wrong move. By trapping Zhou Xu with his hands, he has managed to trap himself as well.

“A wager,” says Zhou Xu, after a long moment in which they size up each other.

“Loath as I am to turn down a demand from my lovely A-Xu,” Wen Kexing indicates their position with a movement of his neck, “Why should I agree to a wager when I clearly have the upper hand?”

Zhou Xu smirks, and mirrors his gesture. “You tell me.”

Wen Kexing juts out his lower lip a bit. “A-Xu, it’s not nice to tease your wife like this. What’s the wager?”

“Find my real face in an incense stick of time,” and the man has the audacity to tilt his head as though to provide better access, “and you can do what you like with me.”

Wen Kexing narrows his eyes. “I can already do what I like with you.”

“Maybe you can, and maybe you can’t.”

A beat. Then a smile spreads across Wen Kexing’s face. “What a nice game! I didn’t know my darling A-Xu was so inventive in the bedroom! Of course I’ll play.”

“You didn’t ask what would happen if you lost.”

Wen Kexing shrugs. “Obviously, you can do anything to me.”

He cautiously releases Zhou Xu’s wrists and moves his hand to the other’s jaw, tracing it lightly. Zhou Xu shivers slightly, and then stills himself with a perceptible effort. Wen Kexing immediately begins to explore the other’s face and neck with his fingertips and nails, and if he was drawing it out a little, he reckons no one could blame him for taking advantage of such a rare opportunity.

“Hurry up,” Zhou Xu grouses, but without any heat.

Wen Kexing makes soothing noises and continues with his task. Suddenly, he feels a crease in the skin behind Zhou Xu’s left ear. He worries it a bit, and feels it begin to peel away.

“Get ready, husband Zhou,” He croons, flashing a smile at Zhou Xu’s dishevelled face, “This devoted wife is coming right away to claim her marital rights.”

The other man’s face is impassive, though his eyes pool larger and darker than ever.

Once he begins, it’s easy, but Wen Kexing decides to savour his victory. He carefully traces the contours of Zhou Xu’s jaw until, with a crow of delight, he peels off a layer of skin from Zhou Xu’s face…

… to reveal exactly the same face beneath.

As he sits stunned astride Zhou Xu, the other suddenly smirks and, with a sudden movement, throws Wen Kexing off him. Rising, he makes a show of dusting himself off, and makes an exaggerated bow to Wen Kexing. “This Zhou apologises to the great Valley Master for tainting his eyes with his ugly visage.” Then, in a completely different tone, “Close your mouth. You look idiotic.”

Wen Kexing closes his mouth. Slowly, he looks down at the layer of skin in his hands. With a shudder, he casts it aside and looks piteously at Zhou Xu. “This wife apologises for her ineptitude. A-Xu, come back here. There’s still time.”

Zhou Xu scoffs and indicates a stick of incense on his table that’s on its last legs. As they both watch, it crumbles to ash.

“That’s cheating! That’s been burning for a long time.”

Zhou Xu looks back at him with merriment in those dark eyes. “Did I specify a new incense stick? Did you? I think Mister Charitable Wen is a sore loser.”

Wen Kexing pouts. “Never let it be said that Wen Kexing didn’t pay his debts. A-Xu, this wife is at your service.” He begins to take off his outer robe with a leer. “How do you want me?”

“Far away from me,” Zhou Xu holds him at arm’s length. “But since apparently that’s too much to hope for, I want your bottles of plum wine. Go bring them here and serve me like a good wife.”

“Anything for you, my dear husband. Wait here for me!”

He leaps back out the window.

Gu Xiang is still hanging from the rafters, doing pull-ups now. She opens one eye and squints at him as he rummages among his belongings and locates the bottles of wine just as voices filter in again from the neighbouring room. Voices, plural. And Wen Kexing grits his teeth as he recognises the other voice.

“Are you having a party?” Gu Xiang asks with interest.

Wen Kexing swears. “That damn pretty boy in white. I’m sure it’s him. He’s had an eye on my A-Xu for a while. Stay here. I’ll be right back after I teach him a lesson.”

By the time he’s out again, Zhou Xu’s room is empty. Leaping onto the roof, Wen Kexing discerns two figures walking away together, one in white and the other, more familiar, in blue.

Stowing the bottles behind the chimney for later, Wen Kexing follows them silently. Answers can wait. The mysteries of Zhou Xu can wait. Right now, he has an arrogant brat in white to beat up. Then he and A-Xu can enjoy a leisurely cup of wine on the rooftop, gazing at the moon. Or rather, with A-Xu gazing at the moon and Wen Kexing gazing at A-Xu, who’s definitely more radiant than Chang’e herself.

Oh, Wen Kexing’s going to have so much fun.

Chapter Text

The first time Wen Kexing kisses Zhou Zishu is part performance, part opportunism. They are accompanied by Deng Kuan, Gao Xiaolian, and Cao Weining, and have just discovered the corpse of the thief Fang Buzhi. Upon learning that Wen Kexing’s piece of Glazed Armour is responsible for the thief’s death, Zhou Zishu turns to Wen Kexing with a new coldness creeping into his eyes. So Wen Kexing moves swiftly into his space and seals his mouth over the other man’s, sealing off the words of denunciation before they could take shape. The three youngsters scram in embarrassment. For a long moment, it’s just Zhou Zishu’s hair tangled amid his fingers, Zhou Zishu’s lips slackened by surprise falling apart under his, and Zhou Zishu’s taste — the soft, moist warmth of his mouth and the sweetness of cassia wine — on his tongue. Until it’s suddenly Zhou Zishu’s fist in his abdomen, and Wen Kexing is doubled over in the corridor, clutching his stomach and tearing up with laughter as Zhou Zishu stalks away with a muttered curse, eyes no longer cold but flashing with fire.

…

The second time Wen Kexing kisses Zhou Zishu, he is exhausted from fighting the puppets in the Puppet Manor, and Zhou Zishu is injured. They are snatching a few moments to breathe while a terrified child keeps watch. Wen Kexing looks at the sharp angles and planes of Zhou Zishu’s face and wonders: if he watches closely enough, will he be able to see the life draining out of him bit by bit?

“Stop thinking.” Zhou Zishu coughs without opening his eyes. “I can hear your brain turning like the puppets’ mechanism. It’s distracting.”

“Just thinking of how fortunate I am to have such a lovely husband,” Wen Kexing answers automatically.

The fact that Zhou Zishu does not even bother to scoff at this admittedly mediocre line betrays how exhausted he must be. This worries Wen Kexing more than he likes to admit. A droplet of ruby red trickles down from the corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth, the sole spot of colour on his face. Wen Kexing thinks again, life draining out of him, and feels something constrict painfully in his chest. He presses his mouth to the edge of Zhou Zishu’s, and softly captures the drop with the tip of his tongue.

When he straightens, Zhou Zishu’s eyes are open and staring straight at him.

“Disgusting,” says Zhou Zishu. The corner of his lips curves ever so slightly. His eyes pool softer than Wen Kexing has ever seen them before.

“A-Xu,” says Wen Kexing, “Won’t you stay with me?” His voice comes out choked, as if he has just received a blow to the solar plexus, but he doesn’t try to hide it.

Zhou Zishu closes his eyes, impassive again. “As if I can get rid of a plague like you.”

Wen Kexing looks down at him and feels an immense desolation aching within his chest. It’s so unfair. He has almost achieved his objectives, and was looking forward to roaming the jianghu with this beautiful, infuriating man who matches him so well in power, in villainy, in mischief, that Wen Kexing knows in his bones that he will never find another so attuned to the harsh, vibrant music of his soul. He’s the Master of Ghost Valley. He has battled devils of all sorts to rise to his position. How can something as mundane as death steal the love of his life from him?

Or is this the punishment that destiny demands of him? The price to pay for the fruition of his plans? If so, Wen Kexing laughs at any destiny but one his own hands shape, and will continue to laugh until his last breath.

He remembers the Great Shaman’s words. If you incapacitate yourself by ridding yourself of your martial ability, I may have a fifth of confidence that I can save you….

He concentrates his qi in the palm of his hand and raises it. For a long second, he hesitates. Just as he’s about to move, cold fingers curl around his wrist. Though Zhou Zishu’s touch is light, his grip feels like an iron manacle.

Wen Kexing doesn’t look up. “A-Xu, I can live with you hating me if that means you’ll live to hate me.” So long as you’re alive, even if you reject me and flee from me, I can dog your footsteps like the ghost I am, and stick to you until I convince you to fall in love with me again.

“Wen Kexing.” His voice is low, but it draws Wen Kexing’s gaze upwards to meet his. “Others may not understand, but you….”

His tone is expressionless, but Wen Kexing can hear the recrimination in his soul. What matter honeyed words and protestations of eternal devotion? Wen Kexing had met Zhou Zishu when he felt he was all alone in the entire world. From the very first time he set eyes on Zhou Zishu, he has known there is an invisible thread linking them. Where else will the heartless Ghost Valley Master find a kindred spirit but in the cruelly efficient leader of the Window of Heaven? Where else will Wen Kexing — lonesome lunatic and lost child — find someone to wander the jianghu with him without skittering away from him or wrinkling their nose in disgust at him?

He sighs and looks down. Zhou Zishu is physically incapacitated. Even if he were not, his inhibited martial arts are no match for Wen Kexing’s savage might. Yet the force of his will is like a steel fortress at which Wen Kexing can only rant and rail pointlessly.

He lowers his hand. Zhou Zishu releases his wrist.

When the next puppet breaks through the wall, Wen Kexing’s lips curl into a mirthless grin. Saving Zhou Zishu’s life may be out of his hands, but that Great Shaman had seemed quite impressive, and even the useless pretty boy Lord Seventh seemed pretty determined to save his friend. Well, Wen Kexing knows he has inherited none of his parents’ genius at healing, so he’ll just leave it to those two. Meanwhile, he thinks as he blasts the puppet away, he’ll just have to keep A-Xu alive until then.

…

The third time Wen Kexing kisses Zhou Zishu, Zhou Zishu kisses him back.

It’s a surreal night, infused with the fragrance of night-blossoms and the haunting melody of an erhu fading amid the whispers of the wind. Two hardened killers are crouching beneath the window of a brothel room in Luoyang, listening to the indecent noises coming from within, barely daring to breathe, while a third killer lounges inside as a spectator. The cool breeze blows a strand of Zhou Zishu’s hair into Wen Kexing’s face. The moonlight suffuses the sharp angles and hard planes of his profile with an unusual softness that makes him look deceptively attainable.

To break the spell the night seems to have put on him, Wen Kexing once again takes Zhou Zishu’s palm and traces on it with his finger: Even if the performers don’t get tired of performing, won’t the spectator get tired of spectating?

Zhou Zishu’s brows furrow. Wen Kexing allows the possibility that the sentence might have been too complex for the medium.

Head Scorpion won’t get tired? He compromises.

Zhou Zishu’s lips curl, and suddenly the intimacy of their position strikes Wen Kexing anew. The moans and thumps coming from within the room fade into pleasant background noise, and Zhou Zishu’s hand is warm in his. He finds his thumb wandering, tracing the lines in Zhou Zishu’s palm. Apart from a slight stiffening of his hand, Zhou Zishu does not react, his faraway eyes still trained into the horizon. Wen Kexing’s thumb moves to hover over his pulse. He can see Zhou Zishu’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

A-Xu, he writes on Zhou Zishu’s wrist. Stay with me.

Zhou Zishu turns his head slightly. Wen Kexing is wonderstruck by the depth of yearning in his eyes, as if the human skin mask had not been the last barrier between them, as if Zhou Zishu had finally allowed an invisible mask to fall from his countenance.

He throws caution to the winds and hauls Zhou Zishu in by the collar for a searing kiss.

Unlike the previous two times, Zhou Zishu responds. And how he responds. His arm curves around Wen Kexing’s waist, and one hand twists into his hair, holding him with an iron grip, as though Wen Kexing would attempt to free himself! His mouth is as warm and moist and wine-sweet as Wen Kexing remembers, but hard and demanding as well this time, stealing Wen Kexing’s breath along with his soul. (His heart had been lost a long time ago.)

Wen Kexing laughs soundlessly into the kiss. Trust A-Xu to make even an embrace competitive.

He braces his feet and gives back as good as he gets, tucking Zhou Zishu’s body closer to his own, plundering his mouth with his tongue. He shamelessly lets his hands roam all over Zhou Zishu’s body. He feels rather than hears Zhou Zishu’s breath hitch, before he returns the favour. Wen Kexing’s hands are fumbling feverishly at Zhou Zishu’s belt when Zhou Zishu’s hand clamps over his wrist again.

In an instant, he remembers where they are. Somehow, their instincts have preserved them, each swallowing the other’s harsh breaths into his mouth before they could escape and reveal their location to the enemy.

Raising his head ever so slightly, he looks down at Zhou Zishu, who is plastered to him, his mouth reddened, his cheeks warm, struggling to regain control over his breathing, the remnants of a delightful mischief fading out of the corner of his eyes, leaving only resignation in the face of pain. Wen Kexing knows his face is probably a mirror for Zhou Zishu’s right now.

He bends to chase the feeling with another kiss, but Zhou Zishu turns his face away, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against Wen Kexing’s. He sighs imperceptibly.

Wen Kexing stands there with his arms around Zhou Zishu, feeling more lost and lonesome than ever before in his life. He slowly moves to take Zhou Zishu’s hand again and writes: As long as your affection for me is as mine for you, I will not let it be in vain (1).

The moment is broken by a burst of applause. They break apart and move swiftly to face the window from where, Wen Kexing realises now, the moans and the sounds of slapping flesh had stopped a few seconds ago.

“I’m embarrassed that two refined gentlemen like you two have to visit me in a place like this,” A smooth voice speaks from the other side of the window, calm and holding a hint of laughter. “But it seems you both may not mind the location as much as I would have thought.”

The window blows open to reveal a slender man in white inner robes facing them, idly twirling a cup of wine in one hand and holding a jar of dice in the other, giving off every impression of being a refined gentleman of leisure.

Wen Kexing tilts his head at Zhou Zishu. This is the Head Scorpion?

Zhou Zishu ignores him.

“Please do enter, esteemed guests,” The Scorpion waves them in.

Zhou Zishu wafts straight in without a backward glance. Wen Kexing sighs. “A-Xu, wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

He follows Zhou Zishu into the Scorpion’s lair.

…

The first time Zhou Zishu kisses Wen Kexing is atop a rugged cliff on Fengya mountain. Wen Kexing is sprawling on the ground beneath a dead tree, his upper body supported by Zhou Zishu's, his head lolling against Zhou Zishu's shoulder. He can't see Zhou Zishu. He can't see the scenes of carnage beyond the ridge. He can only see the red lines of dusk slowly bleeding into the evening sky. 

Wen Kexing's mouth tastes bitter with blood and triumph. His revenge is complete, and both Zhao Jing and the Ghost Valley have destroyed each other. Mo Huaiyang the old fox is finally dead, but so is the harmless little rabbit he had raised, and so is Wen Kexing's little girl, raging and spitting fire to her last breath. If his heart hadn't shattered at exactly that moment, he would have been so proud of her. 

A-Xiang, wait for me. Ge is coming to you soon. You once said you'd follow me to hell. But now you've gone on ahead, and I have to make you wait. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't draw out your revenge and make him suffer as he deserved. 

A warm, calloused palm caresses his brow. "Stay with me, you idiot." 

Wen Kexing coughs. "Did I say that aloud?" 

An exasperated sigh. "No. But I can guess what you're thinking." A pause. "I'm sorry about A-Xiang." 

Wen Kexing wants to say something, but his throat locks up.

Zhou Zishu shushes him and holds him close. Presently, he says, "That Cao boy is an idiot, but he's a loyal idiot. He'll be waiting for her at Naihe bridge. Do you want to tag along like an unwelcome guest and ruin their honeymoon?" 

Wen Kexing doesn't answer. He just tightens his fingers on Zhou Zishu's arm. 

Slowly, Wen Kexing becomes aware of a trickle of warmth flowing into his meridians. 

"Roles reversed," He observes. "A-Xu..." 

"Stop talking." 

There's silence for a few moments. Then, "The Scorpion..." 

"Won't be back. I took care of it." 

"Of course," Wen Kexing murmurs. "Such a competent husband." 

"Such a talkative wife." Zhou Zishu swats at him lightly. 

"Indulge me, A-Xu. I've achieved the culmination of two decades' worth of efforts. Let me bask in the glory." 

"Fine, bask while you can. Once I get you back home, you're going to work yourself to the bone for your lord and husband." His voice lowers so that Wen Kexing has to strain to catch it. "You're the one that kept nagging me to live. Take responsibilty, Lao Wen." 

Wen Kexing feels his lips curve involuntarily. "As if I would dare otherwise." 

A while passes in silence, warmth slowly infusing Wen Kexing. Then, because he's Wen Kexing, he can't help but ask, “Did you see the bloodbath down there?” The bloodbath I orchestrated. 

"I was too busy killing Scorpions." 

Wen Kexing hears the unspoken reassurance and rejects it. "The killing you've done in Tian Chuang... I could tell you more hair-raising tales of Ghost Valley. I bet my hands are bloodier than yours." 

"Blood is blood," says Zhou Zishu. His arms are firm and warm around Wen Kexing. ”Is this a competition? Do I have to wipe out a few more sects to be worthy of Valley Master Wen's hand?" 

Wen Kexing's bloody fingers clamp down on his wrist. He whispers, "I could tell you such stories." 

Zhou Zishu is silent for a moment. Then Wen Kexing feels the warm, soft press of Zhou Zishu's lips against his temple, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It comes out sounding like broken glass. It comes out sounding like a sob of relief.

"Tell me," says Zhou Zishu. 

But when Wen Kexing opens his mouth, he finds that what flows out is the story he had never told anyone, not even Gu Xiang — the story of that terrible day his parents were murdered and he entered the Ghost Valley as a ferocious little ghost with rage in his eyes and the taste of his father’s flesh on his tongue. And then he moves on to talk about the little child he had adopted, tracing every milestone of her growth like a proud parent — the joy in her eyes when she finally mastered her favourite weapon the whip, her graceless ferocity and smugness at her first kill, the bickering in the kitchen before Gu Xiang learnt enough to forcefully eject him and completely take over cooking duties, the stolen moments of building snowmen and playing in the uninhabited nooks and crannies of Green Bamboo Ridge, when Wen Kexing pretended he wasn’t pretending not to be a child himself.

And Zhou Zishu says nothing, just holds him and continues to feed him qi until Wen Kexing's throat runs dry. 

And that's how Wu Xi finds them when he arrives with Ye Baiyi's directions and a pouch of the most potent emergency battle medicine from Nanjiang — silent and grieving in each other’s arms, with a thread of light and warmth stretching between their souls, broken but alive, and finally, finally, free. 

Chapter Text

The warm summer sun washes over the snow-covered peak of Mount Changming, where a teenage boy is arduously going over his forms. Wen Kexing pauses as he comes out of their dwelling place, observing the boy from the side. He’s not as scrawny as he used to be, slowly putting on muscle as well as an undefinable aura that he himself seems unaware of — the aura of a martial artist. When he thinks he’s alone and unobserved, he even has a natural grace to his movements. Wen Kexing spends a moment admiring what he and A-Xu (well, mostly A-Xu) have created, like a fond mother gazing at her grown-up son.

So, of course, Zhang Chengling executes a nice little spin, sees Wen Kexing, does a double take, and ends up on his butt.

Growing son, Wen Kexing amends.

“W-Wen-shu,” he squeaks, leaping up with alacrity and bobbing in a clumsy bow, before ruefully dusting off his posterior. His eyes wander behind Wen Kexing, obviously searching for his teacher.

“Your Shifu’s not up yet. He’s…” Seeing the guileless round eyes trained on him, Wen Kexing swallows his smirk and his original words and amends them to “he’s indisposed”.

Chengling’s face falls so abruptly, it would have been comical if he didn’t look so sincere. “Shifu has been indisposed a lot recently. Is everything alright, Wen-shu? Are you both hiding anything from me?”

Wen Kexing soothes him with empty words — a-ha-ha, what a silly boy! Your Shifu has the stamina of ten elephants! Didn’t Da Wu mention that he’s the strongest and most stubborn patient he ever had? — because he can’t tell the starry-eyed boy that his Shifu is a pillow princess who kicked his hardworking wife out of bed early in the morning just so that he can snooze a bit more like the idler he is.

“You’re being very kind, Wen-shu,” Chengling’s eyes remain downcast, so he doesn’t see Wen Kexing’s eyebrows rise at this manifestly unjust accusation. “But I know I’m useless, and a trial and tribulation to Shifu.”

Wen Kexing doesn’t say anything because, well, what can he say? The boy is rather useless in a cute way, though not as useless as he used to be. He pats Chengling vaguely on the shoulder, his mind already on what he should prepare for lunch. The bracing chill belying the bright sun has put him in the mood for some cooking, and his — er, exertions — of the night before have whetted his hunger, and the plain congee he made for breakfast suddenly doesn’t seem all that appetising, despite the herbs he had added to give it the delicate flavour that A-Xu seems to enjoy ever since his recovery.

But Chengling seems to have no plan to stop recounting his woes. “I couldn’t do anything to help Shifu, nor was I capable enough to help Wen-shu at the siege of Ghost Valley, and maybe if I was better, Cao-dage and Xiang-jiejie…”

He trails off at something on Wen Kexing’s face. An awkward pause hangs between them for a long moment when Wen Kexing finds himself back at the foot of Fengya mountain, a purple slip of a girl dying in his arms, crying, “promise me, Ge,” as the life drains from her.

“What are you two loafers doing, lazing away early in the morning?” A sharp voice recalls him into the present, and he turns to see Zhou Zishu ambling out, shading his face from the sun.

Wen Kexing looks at the man leaning grumpily against the cavern’s entrance, as if the man who drank three bottles last night and collapsed giggling into Wen Kexing’s arms was someone else altogether, and revels in the warmth suffusing his chest. Once, he might have found the emotion infuriating. Now, he finds it steadying.

Chengling, predictably, jumps to attention as soon as he hears his Shifu’s voice, and bows so low, Wen Kexing’s afraid he’ll keel over.

“Is your training already over?” Zhou Zishu asks in a dangerously mild voice. He cocks his head like a predator eyeing his prey.

Chengling shakes in his shoes. Before he can open his mouth and make things worse, Wen Kexing pipes up. “Ah, I’m borrowing Chengling for a different type of training. I’ll bring him back in a few hours. A-Xu, there’s congee in the kitchen. We’ll be back by the time you take another siesta.” He grabs Chengling’s elbow and frog-marches him away with rapid steps.

Zhou Zishu scoffs and turns away to focus on his forms — a delectable sight if ever there was one, but Wen Kexing ruefully restrains himself from following, and proceeds with his plan.

“Where are we going, Wen-shu?” The child asks, wide-eyed.

They’re not yet out of earshot from Zhou Zishu. Wen Kexing throws his arm companionably around Chengling’s shoulders and says loudly, “I’m taking you fishing.”

“F-fishing?” Chengling goggles until he himself looks like a little fish. It is a testament to how matrimony has mellowed Wen Kexing, he thinks, that he doesn’t immediately make a joke about deep-frying the child.

“But where?” Chengling cranes his head around Wen Kexing’s shoulders, as if he might discover an unexpected sea there.

“Silly child, where are you looking? Come with me.”

The boy allows him to hook his arm around his neck gently and drag him away, still looking partly stunned and partly suspicious, as if Wen Kexing was constructing an elaborate trick just to dupe him. Which, well, Wen Kexing has been known to do on occasion, but this time he’s sincere. And there’s no fun bullying this little doe-eyed child anyway. Only his A-Xu could be so cruel.

He leads Chengling a short distance down the mountain and to a small lake — one could even call it a pretentious pool — and basks a little in the boy’s undisguised wonder at seeing a water body on the mountain. The thick sheet of ice that would have covered it in winter has melted completely away, leaving its surface bright and dazzling in the sunlight.

“You believe me now?” Wen Kexing turns to Chengling, only to be brought up short by the sheer hero-worship shining from the boy’s eyes — an adoring gaze usually directed at his Shifu.

“Oh, Wen-shu, this is just brilliant! Is this where you usually catch fish?”

“Do you know how to fish, little gongzi?” Wen Kexing asks.

Chengling hangs his head. “No, but my brothers used to do it a lot, in the lake surrounding our home…”

His voice trails away, no doubt remembering all he had lost. Wen Kexing clears his throat and corrals him back to the present with an impromptu lesson on how to assemble his fishing pole.

These days, they do that a lot, the three of them. None of them have come out of the last few years without scars, and each of them has moments in their memory that will occasionally hook their claws into their hearts and tug. It’s easy to lose oneself in the past, in one’s regrets, and they each look out for one another, tugging right back when they feel the other is getting too lost inside his own head.

Wen Kexing and Chengling sit in companionable silence for a while, just gazing out at the clouds as they wait for the fish to bite. Chengling’s initial enthusiasm quietens when he realises fishing is more complex than dumping a line into the water and immediately reeling in the fish, but he is still intent enough to learn that he stays quiet and patient.

And his patience pays off, as he is the first to bag a catch. True, he loses the first one that bites because he startles at the tug and almost loses his pole in his frantic struggle. But, once Wen Kexing corrects his grip and guides him through his first catch, he seems a lot more focused.

Wen Kexing thinks smugly that his child will soon be a good fisherman — perhaps good enough to completely take on fishing duties, leaving Wen Kexing free to focus all his energies on A-Xu. After a moment, he realises that he just thought of Chengling as “his child”. And then he realises it’s nowhere near the first time he has thought or said this.

Just as the implications of this begin to creep up on him, Chengling breaks the silence. “Wen-shu, who taught you to fish?”

“My father,” he answers.

Except it’s not quite true. Wen Ruyu had taken his son on exactly one fishing trip, ensconcing him securely in his lap, and had only laughed when little A-Xing’s chubby hands had grabbed the reel his father was holding. His father gently disentangled his hands from the reel and promised to teach him fishing when he grew up a little.

Wen Ruyu never got to keep that promise.

The Ghost Valley Master who had adopted him had taught him much else, particularly the cutting and flaying of bodies warm and cold. But Wen Kexing had taught himself fishing in the dead of night in a dirty pond in a corner of Ghost Valley that nobody cared to claim, while Gu Xiang slept fitfully in a corner under a pile of old clothes or trash where he had hidden her — just as he’d taught himself trapping and hunting and all the little tricks that had kept them both alive.

“Wen-shu!”

Chengling’s worried tone brings him back to himself again, and he smiles partly in apology when he realises the boy had been calling him for a while. He smooths out the furrow on Chengling’s brow with his fingers and says, “I think we’ve caught enough for today.”

Regretfully, but firmly, he draws the curtain on those memories of his early adventures feeding charred fish to a little girl. He is not thinking of her (but also not really not thinking of her) when he asks, “Chengling, do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Chengling looks nonplussed at first, and then panic sets in. “Wen-shu! Are you planning to get married? But Shifu…!!”

He snorts. “Simmer down, little rooster! Don’t you know your Shifu and I are joined in holy matrimony in every single way two people can be?”

A flurry of gawky limbs encompass him as Chengling throws his arms around him and mumbles “mglff” or something similar into his chest. A warmth suffuses Wen Kexing. Not the familiar surge of emotion he feels with A-Xu, but something older, deeper, almost but not forgotten. Something soft but tinged with pain.

He pats Chengling’s head. “Whatever new spy language your Shifu has taught you, this Wen-shu isn’t familiar with it. I must ask you to translate it into human speech.”

Chengling disengages himself, looking slightly sheepish but also distinctively happy. “I said I’m glad, Wen-shu. I don’t want you to ever leave us.”

Wen Kexing stops in his tracks and holds the boy at arm’s length to really scrutinise his face. “Were you really living in fear that I was going to leave you?”

Chengling flushes. “I know you’ll never leave Shifu, but…”

“No buts,” says Wen Kexing firmly, placing his free hand (the one not carrying all the fish they caught) on the boy’s shoulder. “Neither of us is leaving you either. You’re stuck with us till you’re middle-aged, so don’t even think about skipping your training to mope around. Run on ahead and wake your Shifu up, he’ll be back in bed without someone to nag.”

The boy smiles brightly and surprises him with another quick hug. Before he makes to dash off, he says, “Thank you for teaching me fishing, Wen-shu! When my brothers returned from fishing trips and surprised my mother with the big fish they’d caught, I used to be so jealous of them.”

Wen Kexing catches his arm. “Wait.” He passes the fish to Chengling. A-Xu isn’t the type to greet the boy like a proud mother, but he’ll be awake to greet him if Wen Kexing has anything to say about it. “Here, carry this and follow me. And,” thinking of the unique pleasure of rolling A-Xu out of bed with sweet kisses while dodging kicks to his delicate bits, he adds, “Take your time.”

…

That night, while watching the boy doze off in the firelight, Wen Kexing asks the same question to Zhou Zishu.

“A-Xu, do you think I’ll be a good father?”

Zhou Zishu swats him upside the head, but gently. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

Wen Kexing pouts and leans his head on Zhou Zishu’s shoulder. “Indulge me, A-Xu.”

“When do I not?” Wen Kexing can hear the eye-rolling in his tone.

But then Zhou Zishu’s arms embrace him, and he says, “You already are.”

Wen Kexing buries his smile in Zhou Zishu’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Wen Kexing sulks, sitting inside a large, luxurious tent in the heart of a forest in Nanjiang and muses on the tedium that is life in the Shaman Valley. He’s heard so much about this mysterious place before arriving here, but he can’t see what’s the big deal, really. Sure, poison flows a lot more freely here, and sometimes you can’t really be sure if a medicine is poisonous or a poison is medicinal. Some of their outputs are so outrageously exotic yet effective that Wen Kexing is sure they can’t be legal in any country (they aren’t). And sure, the Great Shaman is really impressive, and Wen Kexing will forever owe him for saving A-Xu’s life. But other than that, he doesn’t really see the mystique. They’re all human beings underneath the skin-deep differences, with flesh that rends like any other, blood that flows and spurts like any other, and hearts loyal and despicable like any other. Even the Ghost Valley was more exotic than this.

He’s sulking alone, because Zhou Zishu and Chengling just don’t get it. They are both ridiculously into the idiotic training exchange programme they have set up with the Great Shaman and his ward, the Shamanet Lu Ta. All four of them get up early in the morning (yes, even Zhou Zishu, and Wen Kexing feels not insignificantly betrayed at how he’d ever deluded himself that only his ministrations could rouse his A-Xu early in the morning) and run around waving their arms and legs around for an hour. Then there would be martial arts training for the two boys, first by Zhou Zishu, then by the Great Shaman’s bodyguard Ashinlae. After lunch, they would have an intense session on medicine by the Great Shaman himself. Even the useless pretty boy Jing Beiyuan would emerge from his lethargy in the evenings and entertain the boys by quoting long reams of poetry verbatim, a cup of wine cradled lazily between his tapering fingers. His sophisticated mannerisms and his literary excursions annoy Wen Kexing no end (what’s so funny, A-Xu?) though, unlike with poor Cao Weining, he can’t detect any inaccuracies and, if Wen Kexing sometimes suspects the slothful prince’s poetic flights of fancy to be complete fabrications of his own devising, Wen Kexing’s stolen hours of scrounging around in various libraries haven’t quite equipped him to refute the prince publicly.

So, that’s how the days in Shaman Valley went. And of course at night there would be drinking and drumming and singing and dancing by the Great Shaman’s people, with everyone retiring to their rooms deep into their cups.

Well, Wen Kexing isn’t all that entertained, thank you very much, and neither is he amused.

It’s not even that they are intentionally sidelining him. The first night, Chengling had drawn him excitedly into the circle, and begged him to tell stories to him and Lu Ta. And of course, Wen Kexing had obliged with his best stories, the goriest and most chilling ones that he usually rationed out to Chengling as special treats. Despite everything, he had actually wanted to make a good impression on the Nanjiang folk.

He had made an impression alright. Chengling had hung onto every word with his usual expression of horrified fascination, and Lu Ta’s eyes had grown progressively rounder and rounder as the stories spilled over each other.

At the zenith of one of his best tales, Jing Beiyuan had pointedly cleared his throat. First, Wen Kexing ignored him. But the second time, he paused in his narration, irritated.

“Excuse me, Wen-gongzi,” Jing Beiyuan had bowed deep enough to convey an apology that was completely absent from his eyes. “I think it’s time for Lu Ta to sleep now. He’s not used to sitting up so late.”

Wen Kexing cast a glance at the Shamanet, who flushed but didn’t deny it. As he watched, the boy rose and bowed, first to him, and then to the others, before taking his leave.

That night, the little Shamanet apparently had terrible nightmares. From the next day onwards, Wen Kexing was not asked for any more stories. It’s not as if anyone was pointedly excluding him, but somehow Jing Beiyuan and his cronies seemed to come up with fresh ideas every day to exhaust the two boys so that they had no energy to ask for stories.

That’s fine. Wen Kexing isn’t petty like that guy. He doesn’t care about playing nursemaid to a couple of brats (even though one is a brat to whom he regularly plays nursemaid). The little Shamanet should count himself lucky that he got to hear even a few of Wen Kexing’s stories. When he grows up and becomes a Great Shaman himself, he will realise what he missed out on, and wander all over the jianghu in search of the wise man who would have opened his eyes if he had only let him, but finally by the time he reaches them, Wen Kexing would be drawing his last breath in A-Xu’s lap, with Chengling wetting his parched lips with a moist cloth, and he would just smile and place his hand on the repentant Shaman’s head in forgiveness and benediction, but it would be too late by then….

Wen Kexing sniffs. He draws a sobbing breath, but before he can flat out start bawling, a pebble hits him on the head and an undignified whimpering sound is surprised out of him.

Before he can turn his irate eyes on his assailant, someone flops down near him on the thickly woven carpet.

“What are you doing sulking all alone here, you maniac?” Zhou Zishu swats him lightly on the head, exactly where he had just hit him with the pebble, but doesn’t remove his hand, instead letting it linger and gently massaging his scalp. Wen Kexing leans ever so slightly into the touch, and sneakily slumps down to rest his head on Zhou Zishu’s shoulder.

“Not sulking.” He mumbles.

Zhou Zishu snorts. “I can see that.” After a moment of silence, “Lao Wen?”

He mumbles again.

“Lao Wen!” Sharper this time.

“What?”

Zhou Zishu shrugs him off and turns slightly to face him. “You’ll tell me if you’re unhappy here, won’t you?”

Wen Kexing puffs out his chest. “Unhappy?! What are you talking about, A-Xu? How can I be unhappy when you’re right by my side?”

Zhou Zishu slants his eyes at him. “Is that it? I know I’m not stuck to your side all day, but…”

“A-Xu!” Wen Kexing sits up straight and turns a serious expression on him. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Stop worrying about me and spend time with your friends.”

Zhou Zishu levels another penetrating gaze on him, but Wen Kexing smiles reassuringly. Finally, Zhou Zishu sighs.

“Fine, have it your way then. I’ll trust you to deal with whatever it is.”

“As you should.” Wen Kexing takes his arm firmly and leads him away outside, towards the fireside chatter. His heart is buoyant once more since Zhou Zishu came to find him, and he manages to annoy Zhou Zishu once more with his flirtatious teasing and make him stalk off in a huff.

Wen Kexing, following slowly behind him, is unsurprised and ungratified to see Jing Beiyuan in the centre of the circle, playing on a qin (quite melodiously, a traitorous part of Wen Kexing’s brain notes before it is unceremoniously quelled by the loyal parts). When he sees Lord Seventh pause in the middle of an adventurous ballad to beckon Zhou Zishu closer with a flask of wine, Wen Kexing decides that music will give him a headache tonight, and swivels around to stalk back into the forest.

He doesn’t look back to see two men notice him leaving. Zhou Zishu says nothing, betrays nothing by glance or gesture, but is aware of where Wen Kexing is with every iota of his body and spirit. Wu Xi, on the other hand, notices, and his brow furrows.

Jing Beiyuan continues to chatter in high spirits.

Wen Kexing finds himself wandering through a dimly lit yet reasonably wide forest path, bordered on either side by large, ancient trees from which thick creepers dangled, glistening in the moonlight like a tangled coil of snakes. Wen Kexing doesn’t discount the possibility of actual snakes lurking in the wilderness. Not that it bothers him any more than striding through the metaphorical snakes lining either side of Yama Hall ever did.

After a brief while of meandering aimlessly around, Wen Kexing finds himself exploring a small path that ultimately leads him to a craggy peak overlooking the forest and the large lake at its centre. A large, oddly-shaped rock juts out over the promontory. Wen Kexing ambles over to clamber onto it.

Standing at the edge, soaking in the moonlight and the serenity of the forest, his hair and robes blowing in the cold wind, Wen Kexing feels an unfamiliar sense of calm. He closes his eyes and meditates, throwing out his senses to embrace everything around him.

It is then that he senses the sharp-toothed killing intent moving swiftly towards him.

The erstwhile Master of Ghost Valley gathers his qi into the palm of one hand and swivels around, ready to strike —

— just as a large wooden staff flies out from the side and smashes in the head of the wolf that had tried to jump him, to return immediately to the gnarled hands of a white-haired, white-beareded old Nanjiang man in simple black robes who salutes him with a smile.

“Apologies, gongzi,” The old man approaches him in a relaxed-looking saunter. “Please forgive this old fool for stealing your kill.”

Old fool, my foot, thinks Wen Kexing, taking in the restrained power radiating from the stranger.

“I’m the one who should apologise,” Wen Kexing greets him with a low bow and a smile as insincere as the other man’s. “This lowly one should have realised he is in the territory of one so powerful.”

“You flatter me,” The other man flaps his hands self-deprecatingly as he ambles forward to confront Wen Kexing.

The two men take in each other.

“By your power and your wise appearance,” Wen Kexing ventures after a beat, “And your fluency in Great Qing Mandarin, I can only presume that you are the Illustrious One, the former Great Shaman.”

The older man chuckles. “You mean, by my withered appearance.” The old fox makes a show of peering closer. “And by your youthful glow and your great daring in wandering weaponless in these dark lands, I can only presume that you are the Ghost Valley Master that Wu Xi and his husband have been raving about.”

Calling me a young fool? Wen Kexing smirks. The old man has balls, he’ll give him that.

Then the rest of what the man said sinks in. His brows rise. “The Great Shaman and Lord Seventh? You must be mistaken. It’s probably my husband they were raving about.” Wen Kexing doesn’t quite keep out the hint of pride and wonder that creep in whenever he utters the words “my husband” these days.

The Illustrious One waves his hand dismissively. Before Wen Kexing can do something insanely suicidal like challenge him for Zhou Zishu’s honour, the other man speaks. “Zishu? Of course not, I’ve known about Zishu for ages, ever since Wu Xi came back from Da Qing. No, no, you are the one I mean, gongzi… Or should I say, Guzhu?”

Wen Kexing shrugs. “I’m retired.”

The older man throws an arm around his shoulder. “What a coincidence! So am I!”

He steers Wen Kexing back onto the main path, and they begin walking back towards the others.

“Come, come,” he lights a pipe and begins puffing away. “Let’s see what my unfilial disciple has been up to all these years.”

Saving A-Xu, thinks Wen Kexing, even at the cost of his duties to the Shaman Valley and his people. Not for the first time, it strikes him how much the Great Shaman and Lord Seventh have sacrificed for A-Xu. Not for the first time, he regrets nothing, not when it’s for A-Xu.

“We owe the Great Shaman our eternal gratitude for saving my husband,” He says to the older man, more seriously than anything else he has said thus far.

“Nonsense,” The old man puffs out another cloud of smoke, and raises a hand when Wen Kexing opens his mouth. “It’s nothing more than what they owe Zishu for helping them escape the capital all those years ago.”

“Even so,” says Wen Kexing gravely. “If Shaman Valley were ever to have any use for this lowly Wen Kexing, I would be honoured to serve.”

The Illustrious One looks him squarely in the eye. “You know,” he muses, “You remind me a lot of Prince Qi.”

He laughs outright at Wen Kexing’s indignant expression. “I see there’s no love lost there. But get to know him better, and you’ll see what I mean. Both of you have iron in your soul, beneath all the flowery words and silken smiles.”

Wen Kexing has never thought of Lord Seventh like that. But then, the Great Shaman must have some reason for choosing him. And he’s A-Xu’s friend. He’s not sure he likes what it implies, to think that he and Jing Beiyuan are alike in any way whatsoever.

The Illustrious One, who has walked a little ahead while Wen Kexing blinks to get his bearings, suddenly calls out, “Well met, Prince Qi!”

The devil under discussion walks out of the mist with a sleepy Lu Ta on his shoulders, Wu Xi a step behind him. He does a double take upon seeing the Illustrious One, and scrambles (very gracefully, supplies the treacherous part of Wen Kexing’s brain) to salute him in the Nanjiang style. Wu Xi copies him rather unenthusiastically.

“Illustrious One, we weren’t expecting you till next week.” Jing Beiyuan says as Lu Ta executes a sleepy greeting.

“You mean my unfilial disciple was hoping I would lose my way and wander a long while before I reach back home.”

“I have no such hopes,” says Wu Xi with a gloomy expression.

“Of course not,” Beiyuan interjects smoothly. “We’re so glad you’re back before our guests leave.”

Wen Kexing raises his eyebrows. “Leave?” He had thought they were staying for another month.

Beiyuan’s face is unreadable, a formidable feat in front of Wen Kexing. “Zishu said you are leaving tomorrow. Something about Chengling being homesick.”

Chengling has never been seen to be so happy as when he’s running around playing with Lu Ta. Wen Kexing knows that Zhou Zishu, for all his disciplinarian pretensions, would never deny Chengling the little bit of childhood normalcy they can give him. He knows this is for him. Zhou Zishu is ready to sacrifice Chengling’s happiness, and even his time with his friends, for Wen Kexing’s comfort. Warmth suffuses his chest.

“That ridiculous man,” he says.

Beiyuan and Wu Xi are looking at him strangely. Only the Illustrious One laughs.

“That’s the smile of a man in love,” he says, though his tone sounds as if he had said “a fool in love”. He turns to Wu Xi. “You! Brat! Aren’t you going to escort me back?”

Wu Xi shoots Beiyuan a resigned look, and proceeds to walk back with his teacher.

Wen Kexing, left alone with Jing Beiyuan, studiously ignores his gaze, but when he begins to walk, the other man matches his steps.

“Wen-shu…”

Wen Kexing looks up, startled. Lu Ta has slumped down to pillow his cheek on Beiyuan’s head, and is staring at him with those large, innocent eyes.

“Wen-shu, don’t go,” He says, sadness creeping into his face which still retains the roundness of untainted childhood.

Wen Kexing is saved from replying by Beiyuan. “Lu Ta,” He says much more gently than Wen Kexing has ever heard him speak, “Wen-shu has things to do. But he’ll visit us later.”

“Will I?” Wen Kexing asks in the soft voice that, once upon a time, made Ghost Valley tremble. 

Beiyuan shoots him a glance, but before either of them can speak, Lu Ta stretches his arms towards Wen Kexing.

“Wen-shu…” He pleads.

Both men are stunned.

“You — you want me to carry you?” Wen Kexing can’t believe his eyes and ears.

Lu Ta remans with his arms stubbornly stretched out towards Wen Kexing. “Please,” he repeats.

A tiny part of the iron wall surrounding Wen Kexing’s heart ever since his entry into Nanjiang melts as he accepts the tiny burden and holds him to his chest. The little Shamanet curls up, ensconces his head in the crook of Wen Kexing’s neck, and promptly goes off to sleep.

Wen Kexing and Jing Beiyuan stare at each other.

After a long moment, Beiyuan sighs and gestures ahead. The two men start walking slowly so as not to wake up the child.

A few paces go in silence. Then Jing Beiyuan suddenly says, “I’m sorry.”

Wen Kexing blinks. “Excuse me?”

Beiyuan sighs. “You don’t have to pretend, Wen-gongzi. I know you don’t like me, and I know why.” As Wen Kexing prepares to refute any allegations of jealousy, the other man says, mystifyingly, “I know I must have seemed quite unwelcoming.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, suspecting some trick. But the prince continues in a grave tone quite unusual for him, “Wu Xi has pointed out the gravity of my actions, and I apologise deeply.”

Wen Kexing stays silent and tries to comprehend the fact that Jing Beiyuan’s behaviour towards him, which he had hitherto believed to stem from callous indifference, was actually calculated inhospitality. He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“But why?” He’s aware that, even though he’s powerful enough to smash this idle prince into pieces, he’s weighed down by the child he cannot put into danger. He really hopes Jing Beiyuan is not planning to challenge him to a duel or something. A-Xu would be sad if he broke his friend.

Beiyuan looks out into the distance, not meeting his eyes. “Jealousy, I guess.”

It takes a moment for this to sink in. “Jealousy??” His voice squeaks, but he’s too surprised to be embarrassed about it.

Beiyuan, on the other hand, looks completely awkward. “It took me a long while to figure it out myself. I don’t think I would have realised it if Wu Xi hadn’t told me to my face.” He draws himself up and looks at Wen Kexing, steeling himself. “I have been unconscionably inhospitable to you, Wen-gongzi, where I should be prostrating myself at your feet in gratitude.”

“I — you — wait, what?” Wen Kexing splutters. He wonders if the prince has been smoking a little too much of that suspicious weed he had seen Nuahar and Ashinlae stuffing into their pipes.

Lu Ta makes a sound in his sleep, and both men clam up immediately, waiting until his breath smoothens out again. Then Wen Kexing says, with an equanimity he’s far from feeling, “Prince Qi, what on earth are you talking about?”

Beiyuan resumes walking, forcing Wen Kexing to do the same, despite feeling rooted to the spot.

Beiyuan says, “Wu Xi gave me quite a talking-to, you know. And it’s not like I don’t know how indebted we are to you for saving Zishu’s life, but he reminded me of where we would be without you.”

“Without me?” Wen Kexing squeaks again. “The Great Shaman was the one who saved A-Xu with his skills, and you were the one who saved him with your resources. Why are you talking about me? All I did was follow A-Xu around and nag at him. Prince Qi, if this is some roundabout way of getting me to confess my gratitude….”

Beiyuan shakes his head. “I swear it’s no trick, Wen-gongzi. And you do yourself a dire disservice by understating your role. Without you, Zishu would never have let us know of his condition, let alone allow us to treat him.” He stops again and moves to intercept Wen Kexing, forcing him to stop as well. Staring into Wen Kexing’s eyes, he says, “Wen-gongzi, without you, Zishu would have never felt the need to stay alive. For bringing him back to us, please accept my undying gratitude.”

He bows low, as Wen Kexing stares open-mouthed. Wen Kexing is beginning to wonder if his jaw is destined to stay permanently dropped tonight. After a long moment, he catches himself and says, a slight edge of panic creeping into his voice, “Prince Qi, please rise. I can’t raise you up since I have Lu Ta in my arms.”

Beiyuan straightens, face still serious but a tinge of good humour entering his eyes.

“I was so jealous when I first went back to the jianghu and heard from those children that Zishu has such a close friend.” He grins suddenly, the impish smile transforming his entire face. “Of course, that was before we realised exactly how close you were.”

He leers. Wen Kexing feels his cheeks warm, not from embarrassment, but from something softer.

“Then why are you jealous now, prince?” He asks, responding to the other’s honesty by allowing a little sharpness into his tone. “You and A-Xu go back a long way.”

Beiyuan chuckles, rolling his bright eyes. “Not the way you’re thinking, Wen-gongzi.” His face sobers. “We met each other when we were young and arrogant, always ready to one-up each other in a game of wits. We believed our intelligence and our lofty goals vindicated all the broken lives and carnage we left in our wake.”

Wen Kexing listens in silence. Beiyuan’s eyes softens in some memory. “Wu Xi saved my soul, you know. He cut directly through the bullshit that Zishu and I couldn’t disentangle until it was almost too late for us. As for Zishu…” He shakes his head. “Zishu had to save himself. We knew nothing of his struggles, or of how he was pushed into this decision. If we had known….”

“If you had known, you would have risked it all to race back to the capital and save him.” Wen Kexing says calmly. “And jeopardised both your lives in the process. That’s why he never told you.”

Beiyuan makes a face. “I know. But knowing that doesn’t really help. We should’ve been there for him.”

He is quiet for long enough that Wen Kexing thinks the conversation has reached its end. Lights and voices ahead signal that the clearing is near. Then Beiyuan speaks again.

“That’s what I envy the most about you, Wen-gongzi. You stuck to him and followed him around and nagged him until he was forced to believe he too deserved some happiness. And he let you.”

“I left him little choice,” says Wen Kexing, but he doesn’t need Beiyuan’s knowing look to realise that he doesn’t believe his own words. And now he has a compelling need to find A-Xu.

Beiyuan seems to realise that. He reaches out to take Lu Ta.

Once his arms are empty, Wen Kexing bows deeply. Without rising, he says, “I too have been remiss. I should have thanked Your Highness much earlier, for the kindness you showed my sister and brother-in-law.” His voice begins to choke up, but he soldiers on. “Chengling told me how far you went to ensure that A-Xiang and A-Ning can rest undisturbed.”

There is a swish of robes as Beiyuan shifts the sleeping child in his arms. Then his arm is on Wen Kexing’s elbow, raising him up.

“It was the least they deserved.”

As they walk ahead into the light, Beiyuan knocks Wen Kexing’s shoulder with his own and says, “Why don’t you stay a few more days? I’m sure you can convince Zishu and Chengling.” The first wayside lantern lights up his cheeky grin. “Think of how much fun we’re going to have bullying Zishu.”

Slowly, Wen Kexing finds an answering grin spread over his own face.

“Well, put like that,” he drawls, throwing an arm around the prince’s shoulders, “It sounds like an offer too tempting to refuse!”

THE END