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半夜青崖吐明月 (and there, the moon)

Summary:

He gathers his mask firmly in place – he knows how to play this game.

“On your knees,” he tells Wen Kexing, a sliver of a knife’s edge in his voice.

Wen Kexing folds and kneels at his feet. Up close, Zhou Zishu can see the way his long lashes brush against the dark bruises under his eyes, expertly hidden with makeup. His lips are tinted as red as his robes.

Zhou Zishu catches the underlying currents of his own want and lets his arm flow with it, raising his hand to the man’s porcelain face. He presses his thumb to the soft swell of Wen Kexing’s lower lip, plush. Wen Kexing’s gaze flickers upwards and their eyes meet, and the mouth beneath Zhou Zishu’s finger stretches into a coquettish smile.

In a world where slaves denote status, Zhou Zishu is given a slave he never wanted but cannot refuse.

Notes:

I wanted to write wkx kneeling for zzs and then it exploded into this monster of a fic (❁´◡`❁) entirely self-indulgent horniness, please ignore everything else that doesn’t make sense heheh

This fic starts in the same timeframe as canon but because personal (read: sexual) slaves exist as a common status symbol among the upper class, people made different choices which led to many differences compared to canon.

Click to the end notes for spoilery but more specific warnings!

The fic is definitely not as dark as it sounds, but it still deals with issues and situations that are upsetting, messy, and ugly. As an author I have tried my best to write them with care; as characters in a story zzs, wkx, and others do not handle them perfectly, nor are they meant to. If that’s something that bothers you, this fic is probably not for you!

Title from《句》by 李德裕.

Companion piece to and then, the sun because I started writing them at the same time and they’re basically variations of the same (but role-reversed) premise.

With all that said, please enjoy <333

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

“Report,” Zhou Zishu says, and listens attentively as Jiuxiao updates him on the situation of Ghost Valley after the ghosts streamed out of it a month ago. Prior to that, Jiuxiao had been deemed ready for more responsibilities, regardless of what Zhou Zishu felt. He had reluctantly placed Jiuxiao in charge of their network for Ghost Valley, thinking that it was the most stable one out of them all. But nothing ever goes right for Zhou Zishu, and now Jiuxiao is nervously overseeing an ever-expanding network that is attempting to track down all of the more important ghosts, with Zhou Zishu’s guidance. He’d much rather put Jiuxiao to use elsewhere, but they really are running scarce on agents, and it would hardly be appropriate for Jiuxiao, who amounts to the heir apparent of Tianchuang, to work in the kitchens or stables. Shimu would have scolded him for pampering his shidi too much.

“...and I do not have enough evidence for this, but may I offer my suspicions?”

“Of course, Jiuxiao. Your opinion is much valued. Speak.” Zhou Zishu cannot quite keep the warmth from his voice. Jiuxiao has always been clever, even more so since everything they’ve been through has tempered his naivety. It brings a pang to his chest that Zhou Zishu ignores with well-practised ease.

“I believe that at least some ghosts have aligned with Duxie. Things do not add up, otherwise. Han-dage said that the ghost masks found on those who attacked Jinghu Sect were genuine, though I suppose those could be collected, and more importantly our healers have identified what they believe to be traces of Meng Po soup in their bodies. But the liuli shard ended up with Duxie. Another thing is that, in the past week, it almost feels like they’ve been even more unrestrained than usual.”

“Good,” Zhou Zishu nods at Jiuxiao, who almost lets slip of his facial control, struggling not to beam with pride at his approval. “Your assessment agrees with mine and Han Ying’s.”

They had separate networks for Ghost Valley, Duxie, and the jianghu sects, originally. The massacres of Jinghu Sect and Danyang Sect gradually led to them overlapping, as liuli shards began collecting in the hands of Duxie. Soon afterwards Gao Chong had died of a heart attack, despite having always been healthy, and Duxie gained yet another liuli shard. But Zhou Zishu had not survived the past decade of his life still blindly trusting his eyes, and his instincts are pointing towards a bigger plot.

Shen Shen is in charge of the Wuhu Alliance now, but a man so careless and brash as to be on track for running the Wuhu Alliance into its grave does not seem capable of cultivating the resources needed to convince various healers that Gao Chong died naturally. That leaves Zhao Jing, even if he seems too meek and subservient to be behind all this. Perhaps it is both Shen Shen and Zhao Jing – two great actors on the same stage.

“Tell the men to be more careful in the coming days, since you believe the ghosts are getting increasingly aggressive, and make sure that they have enough–”

“Shouling,” Han Ying’s voice rings out beyond the doors of his study.

“Enter,” Zhou Zishu says quickly, already alarmed. They had planned for Han Ying to be in the field these two weeks. Han Ying walks in briskly, sweat dripping from his face, even though he is barely out of breath. “What is it?” Zhou Zishu demands, before Han Ying could bow and greet him properly.

“A letter from Duxie, letters, to be exact,” Han Ying replies, for once forgoing his customary shows of earnest deference.

Zhou Zishu stiffens. “Was anyone caught?”

“No, Zhuangzhu,” Han Ying says, and Zhou Zishu bites back his reprimand for this term of address. “The letters were left in the hiding spots of nearly all the agents we had put on Duxie, at the same time. No one has been injured. The compromised agents have already withdrawn from the field.”

Cold washes down Zhou Zishu’s spine. He’d known Duxie was stronger than Tianchuang, and has been for the last few years, but he hadn’t anticipated that they could root out so much of their network.

“Understood. Make sure everyone is alright and has taken the appropriate measures. You’re in charge of setting up the new network. The letters?”

“Elder Bi has checked them; they’re all safe and contain the same message.”

Zhou Zishu holds out his hand, and Han Ying draws a letter out from his robes. The envelope is already torn open.

He skims through the words. Vaguely, he hears the twin sounds of distress from Jiuxiao and Han Ying as he feels the blood drain from his face.

Duxie is asking for, no, demanding an audience. An overture of friendship and alliance, the letter claims.

It is signed by Zhao Jing.