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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.

Chapter Text

Days later, Zhou Zishu sits gingerly in his best robes in the main hall of Siji Manor, Zhao Jing having just settled into his seat. They make polite small talk for a while, before Zhao Jing shifts, just enough for Zhou Zishu to take his cue and let the conversation flow into a natural pause.

“Xie’er,” Zhao Jing says to the collared boy kneeling at his side, who has been pouring Zhao Jing’s wine this entire time.

“Yifu,” the boy replies softly, and Zhou Zishu jerks his eyes down to stare between them.

Zhao Jing’s hand rests on his son’s braids, and even though the man exudes nothing but placid benevolence, Zhou Zishu reads the twisted possessiveness. A cat that enjoys toying with his prey.

“Bring out our gift for Zhou-shouling,” Zhao Jing orders. The boy rises gracefully to his feet, and goes.

When he returns there is a man held in his grip, inky black hair framing pale, delicate features, draped in decadent layers of sheer red silk. A hint of molten brown eyes lie half-concealed beneath lowered eyelids. A vision to behold, except for the jarring presence of the collar around his throat.

Zhou Zishu clamps down on the unwanted desire shivering up his spine and lets his mind turn over the implications, even as the pair continue to step closer. Is Zhao Jing aware of his habit of freeing slaves from their service whenever he can do so covertly, without even the person in question realising? How much does Zhao Jing know of his history with Jin-wang? The prince had gifted him with what he called a younger disciple, but by then he had already manoeuvred the prince into a corner, and was able to release the girl without much consequence. Two months later, Jin-wang was just another lowly prince far from the capital, having run out of the emperor’s favour and his influence at court. Zhou Zishu had taken Tianchuang and left.

He had only ever wanted his people safe.

The beauty in front of him now may be a barb, then. A reminder from Zhao Jing, that Duxie is much more powerful than Tianchuang without Jin-wang’s resources, that Zhou Zishu cannot afford to go against Zhao Jing, that he is yet another mouse under his sheathed claws.

For now.

Half a step behind the man, Zhao Jing’s boy bows, then retreats to Zhao Jing’s side and sinks to his knees once more, hands folded neatly in his lap.

“A gift for Zhou-shouling, to express my sincerity,” Zhao Jing says, sounding pleased. He turns towards the man. “Introduce yourself to your new master.”

The man bows towards Zhou Zishu, elegantly done despite the awkward way his arms are bound behind him. A silk-smooth voice spills from his lips. “This lowly one is Wen Kexing, master. I am ever at your service.”

It slips down Zhou Zishu’s gut, burning like wine. Pushing his distraction away, he pats his chair pointedly, and Wen Kexing glides over to stand at his side.

Not yet broken by Zhao Jing, Zhou Zishu thinks with a burst of relief. Or perhaps a clever ploy to win Zhou Zishu’s trust until the day he exposes his back and is gutted by Wen Kexing using Zhao Jing’s dagger.

It does not matter. Zhou Zishu will be freeing this man either way. He gathers his mask even more 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.

“Do you find me pleasing, master?” comes that steady, melodic voice.

Zhou Zishu waits for a beat, then slowly takes his hand back. He stands, and bows towards Zhao Jing.

“Thank you, Zhao-zhangmen. I am indeed very pleased by your precious gift. I will carry your generosity and thoughtfulness in my heart,” he says, preventing Zhao Jing from extorting some form of repayment here and now. Zhao Jing must keep up appearances of civility, after all.

“Think nothing of it,” Zhao Jing waves a hand as if to scatter whatever debt Zhou Zishu would be in now, if he were the sort of man bound to such things. He had been, once. That Zhou Zishu had died when he realised that Jin-wang wanted him as a slave, alongside every member of Tianchuang.

“Only, Zhao-zhangmen,” Zhou Zishu inquires politely, “Is he dangerous?”

“This pretty thing’s meridians are blocked, so you must not worry about him interfering with your work!” Zhao Jing exclaims. Zhou Zishu only looks pointedly at Wen Kexing’s bound arms.

“Ah, those,” Zhao Jing begins dismissively. “My Xie’er is overly cautious. He believes the slave to still be capable of significant violence, despite the blocked meridians and the threat of withholding the antidote to the poison we gave him.”

At this, Zhou Zishu examines Zhao Jing’s boy much more closely. If Zhou Zishu has extrapolated correctly, this meek boy is the infamous Duxie head who leads Duxie’s operations, under Zhao Jing’s direction as Zhou Zishu now knows. A boy to be feared and respected.

And this raises interesting implications for Wen Kexing, given his treatment at Duxie’s hands. Slaves are usually obedient under the threat of pain and torture, like the nails that Zhou Zishu had developed at Jin-wang’s request before he realised what and who they were for.

With Wen Kexing – poison, blocked meridians, and on top of that, bound arms.

Overly cautious, indeed. Against Zhou Zishu, perhaps, so he cannot use the man against Zhao Jing. Or maybe it is an attempt at intimidation.

“The poison, Zhao-zhangmen?” Zhou Zishu asks aloud.

“He will require a monthly antidote,” Zhao Jing says pleasantly. “But please don’t worry yourself over it – the task of handling the provision of the antidote will be our burden to carry.” Another way Zhou Zishu is kept in line, then, if he aims to preserve Wen Kexing’s life, or to gain Wen Kexing’s forced loyalty. Zhao Jing continues, “It will not impede your usage of him in any way, Zhou-shouling. As long as he gets the antidotes in time, his body will function well enough to serve. The poison is also developed specifically such that it will not be transmitted in any way, including through bodily fluids.” Then Zhao Jing adds with a warm, polite smile, “Apart from the monthly maintenance, you may assume he is a pretty commoner without the ability to fight back. Unless your interests lie that way, Zhou-shouling?”

How very vulgar and utterly disrespectful. One day, Zhao Jing will regret treating Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing as people entirely under his control, with whom glimpses beneath his mask of civility will do him no harm.

For now, Zhou Zishu shoots back calmly, “I’m afraid Zhao-zhangmen must impart his wealthy experience with this humble one.” He only catches the way Zhao Jing blinks too hard at his words because he is waiting for it. At his feet, Wen Kexing shifts slightly in position. Before Zhao Jing can truly take offence, Zhou Zishu adds, “Of course, only if Zhao-zhangmen wishes to maintain communications with Tianchuang, and only if Zhao-zhangmen does not have other issues he wishes to discuss.”

After a long pause, Zhao Jing rises from his seat, lips curled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I’m glad we have reached an understanding today, Zhou-shouling,” he says. “Please treat my gift with care, though I have no reason to believe you will not, given your impeccable reputation. The antidote for this month will be delivered to you in two weeks’ time.” Zhao Jing takes an artful breath. “This has been entirely wonderful, but I’m afraid I must take my leave. Until we meet again, Zhou-shouling,” he says, and bows.

Zhou Zishu accompanies Zhao Jing and the boy of Duxie to the manor doors and sends them off with their entourage. His smile stays fixed on his face the entire time, but his head pounds with the various dangers of the situation he is suddenly thrust into. When he walks back into the manor, it is with too many questions swirling around in his mind.

Do any others among the jianghu know of Zhao Jing’s place within Duxie?

What is Zhao Jing hoping to achieve by showing his face and giving him an explicitly dangerous slave?

Exactly how much does Zhao Jing know or think he knows, to be so carelessly irreverent to Tianchuang?

He steps foot into the main hall again, and sees Wen Kexing kneeling at the foot of his seat, quietly looking at him through his lashes. Zhou Zishu catches his harsh exhalation between his teeth, and lets it out slowly.

And of course, there is the question of this beautiful man.

Who is Wen Kexing?

Chapter Text

Zhou Zishu takes in the kneeling man, head now lowered at just the right angle to hide his collar from Zhou Zishu’s view. Wen Kexing has either been trained by Zhao Jing, or has learned this from experience – some owners appreciate the reminder of their dominance, while others like the illusion of willingness. Between Zhao Jing and Wen Kexing, somebody had clocked that Zhou Zishu disliked slavery, and made Wen Kexing act accordingly. It was probably Wen Kexing, given that he hadn’t done the same in Zhao Jing’s presence.

The moment Zhou Zishu pieces together Wen Kexing’s familiarity with slave etiquette with his defiance by not taking the very first cue to kneel, his mind starts to turn over more possibilities. A lure for Zhou Zishu, by implying that Wen Kexing is at odds with Zhao Jing but receptive to Zhou Zishu, and thus trustworthy? Or an experienced slave testing boundaries with a new master?

Regardless, it does confirm that Wen Kexing has not become conditioned entirely into subservience like some others that Zhou Zishu has seen, and that he is skilled and smart enough to act in a way that manoeuvres himself into a favourable position. Somewhere behind the churning nausea that began since he laid eyes on Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu reflexively thinks, this might be useful, and immediately hates himself for it.

Zhou Zishu closes his eyes and takes a moment to pick out all the threads of his tangled feelings regarding the man in front of him, then packs it all up and tucks it neatly into the back of his mind, to be taken out and examined once he is alone.

He strides towards Wen Kexing, but immediately slows down when he catches the way the man stills entirely. Slowly crouching next to Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu draws Baiyi from his waist and cuts the rope binding Wen Kexing’s arms. He looks up just in time to see Wen Kexing’s brows smooth out from a frown.

“If you’d like, help yourself to any of the food on the table,” Zhou Zishu suggests, as gently as he has forgotten how to.

“Yes, master,” Wen Kexing replies, and immediately digs in. Zhou Zishu nearly raises an eyebrow. Clever, to turn a favour into an order.

Zhou Zishu lifts a hand into the air and beckons. Wen Kexing’s eyes dart around as Jiuxiao and Bi Xingming melt from the shadows at the edges of the main hall to stand at attention.

“Xingming, you and Bi-shu are responsible for watching Wen Kexing,” Zhou Zishu says, ignoring the way Wen Kexing’s eyes dart back towards him at the use of his full name. “Notify your shifu about this assignment and tell him to hand over his current work to Han Ying. Get extra men if you need, and organise the rota yourselves.”

Turning back to Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu says, “You’re allowed in most areas within the manor, any time you want, but please listen if Bi-shu or Xingming say that an area is forbidden, and please respect everyone’s personal areas and privacy. Otherwise, feel free to roam.”

Zhou Zishu cannot see the expression that Wen Kexing wears when he bows and thanks Zhou Zishu for this privilege. Pressing down on his budding frustration, Zhou Zishu turns back to Xingming and says, “Prepare one of the guest quarters for him. When you’re done, come to my study to collect him,” then dismisses the boy.

“Follow me,” Zhou Zishu says to both Wen Kexing and Jiuxiao, and notes the way Wen Kexing covertly tucks a smaller sweet into his palm as he stands. He turns to lead them to his study before Wen Kexing can catch him looking.

Once Zhou Zishu is settled at his desk, Wen Kexing slides smoothly into place to his right. Intending to write a letter, Zhou Zishu reaches for some paper, and turns back to find that Wen Kexing is already grinding his ink for him. After a brief pause, Zhou Zishu lets him. Opposite them, Jiuxiao begins to frown visibly. After all, everyone in Tianchuang knows the reason they relocated back to Siji Manor.

“Shixiong, why are you letting–” Jiuxiao starts.

Zhou Zishu lifts his head and silences Jiuxiao with a sharp look.

Addressing the letter to Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi, Zhou Zishu briefly explains the situation, and his hope for a permanent antidote to the poison given to Wen Kexing, thus necessitating their presence. Duxie’s use of poisons is much more developed than Tianchuang’s, unfortunately.

As Zhou Zishu writes, Wen Kexing’s gaze drifts over the piece of paper almost absentmindedly, but he doesn't manage to control the small jolt to his fingers once he realises Zhou Zishu is asking for an antidote. He is literate, then.

With Wen Kexing’s assistance, Zhou Zishu’s letter is finished much more efficiently than usual. He slides it into an envelope addressed simply to Qiye, and hands it to Jiuxiao alongside a small jade beetle.

“Deliver this personally into the hands of Ping’an at Ping’an Bank. If he questions your identity, show him this souvenir. Tell him the matter is urgent,” Zhou Zishu says, and dismisses Jiuxiao as well. Reluctantly, Jiuxiao leaves, but not before looking worriedly between Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing.

With only the two of them left, the study falls into near silence. Zhou Zishu twists slightly to face Wen Kexing and waits patiently, leaving Wen Kexing to make a move.

At first, Wen Kexing sits courteously with his head lowered. But barely a few minutes have passed when Wen Kexing begins to radiate unease, then appears to chance a glance up at Zhou Zishu. Zhou Zishu is almost certain it is all a performance.

Sighing, Zhou Zishu gives in. “You can read,” he states.

“Yes, master,” Wen Kexing says, dipping his head in a quick nod. “This lowly one apologises. I did not mean to read your correspondence. I should have let you know once I misstepped.”

A rapidly forming headache burrows into Zhou Zishu’s temples at Wen Kexing’s language. Resisting the urge to rub at his head, Zhou Zishu replies, “You don’t seem all that afraid, let alone concerned about your ‘misstep’.”

A brief pause hangs in the air. Then Wen Kexing slowly says, “You’re soft with the younger ones.”

As if that protects Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu thinks, but decides to humour his attempt to nudge the conversation into another topic. Better to let the man think he can manipulate Zhou Zishu than for him to be wary of Zhou Zishu at every turn.

“The next time you’re trying to probe for information, just ask directly,” Zhou Zishu says, as if he’s merely amused at the weak attempt at information gathering, and ignores the flash of irritation his words provoke in Wen Kexing’s eyes. A proud man, turned into a slave. “The younger agents are competent, but they’re still learning. And I owe all of them.” Even better for Wen Kexing to learn to trust Zhou Zishu bit by bit, by only telling the truth. “It does also mean that whatever the younger agents do, there’s a more experienced agent looking out for them, so don’t try to do anything that would compromise our safety.”

“I would never, master,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes once again hidden beneath his bowed head. Zhou Zishu sighs silently.

“Alright, let’s move on to more important matters,” Zhou Zishu says. “Come over and sit up properly, facing away from me.” He doesn’t miss the way Wen Kexing’s body tenses even as he obeys.

Pitching his voice softer, Zhou Zishu says, “I am going to put my hands on your back. You know your own body the best; assess your meridians and guide me through unblocking them.” This close, Zhou Zishu can actually feel Wen Kexing startle at his last sentence, the heat rising from his body shifting in the scant space between them. He hasn’t been this close to another human being in a while.

Gently, Zhou Zishu brushes Wen Kexing’s hair to the side and presses his palms against Wen Kexing’s stiff back, ignoring the heat spreading through the silk, the sensation of too-apparent ribs. He feeds his internal energy into Wen Kexing’s meridians cautiously, quickly encountering resistance.

“Well?” Zhou Zishu asks quietly. After a long pause, Wen Kexing begins relaying his opinions on how best to unblock his meridians.

It takes nearly a shichen. By the end of it, both Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu are sweating profusely, their robes clinging damply to their skin. Zhou Zishu lifts his hands from Wen Kexing’s back, twisting his wrists in circles to relax his now rigid muscles.

“How do you feel?” he asks Wen Kexing, who has been sitting extremely still since they finished.

“You–” Wen Kexing cuts himself off. Zhou Zishu cannot decide if Wen Kexing’s tone is tinged with suspicion or incredulity.

“Would you like me to ask for some water or tea?” Zhou Zishu tries again.

Wen Kexing’s curtain of hair sways as he tilts his head minutely. Then, his so-far delicate and malleable body straightens into strong graceful lines, power coiled into his form. He unfolds his legs and stands up in a smooth move, and Zhou Zishu follows. Wen Kexing turns around to face him, and there is a wild glint in his eyes that both alarms and comforts Zhou Zishu.

Was his previous docility the blocked meridians, or a disguise? Idly, Zhou Zishu wonders if he has just slid his doors open for a wolf.

“You must want me to be able to fight back, after all,” Wen Kexing jests, gaze steady and piercing as he looks straight at Zhou Zishu, evidently insistent on ignoring his questions now that he has regained the ability to protect himself.

Rage rises from Zhou Zishu’s gut at the echo of Zhao Jing’s words. He presses his lips together, and once certain he’s in control of his tone, replies lightly, “I do want you to be able to fight, actually. Will you tell me what your preferred weapon is? One subtle enough that others will not question its presence.”

Wen Kexing’s entire face twitches in surprise, and Zhou Zishu feels vicious satisfaction roll through him now that the man is not putting too much effort into hiding his expressions. He can only hope to continue making Wen Kexing feel increasingly secure in his safety with him.

Slowly, Wen Kexing says, “You must be joking.” He stares at Zhou Zishu the entire time. Incredulity, Zhou Zishu decides.

“I am not,” he replies calmly. “What is your preferred weapon?”

Wen Kexing’s head dips down again, brown eyes hidden, and Zhou Zishu ignores the pang of loss that he feels in his chest. By the time Wen Kexing draws his head back up, he has blossomed into a cheerful young man, a wide grin stretching his cheeks. Despite the openness to Wen Kexing’s body language, Zhou Zishu cannot help but feel like there’s a newly erected barrier between them. Perhaps it’s the incongruity between the way Wen Kexing is holding himself and the coldness and mistrust more visible in his gaze.

“I am proficient with a fan, master,” Wen Kexing says sweetly. Zhou Zishu has to fight back a shudder; it is all too much, Wen Kexing’s new persona and the sickening form of address and Zhou Zishu’s desire for his meeting with this beautiful man to have happened in another way at another time.

“Stop calling me master,” Zhou Zishu barks out before he can reconsider.

“Ah, but master, even though you have become so intimately acquainted with my body, I still do not know your name. What else am I to call you?” Wen Kexing shoots back brightly, lips curved.

Distractedly, Zhou Zishu works through the implications of that. Has Zhao Jing not told him who Zhou Zishu is? How aware is he of jianghu politics? Is he lying?

Or at least, that’s the excuse Zhou Zishu gives himself in a rare lapse of self-discipline when he realises he’s given Wen Kexing his ming instead of his courtesy name.

“Zhou Xu, huh?” Wen Kexing says, satisfaction ringing loud and clear through his voice.

And finally, as if perfectly timed to save Zhou Zishu from himself, Xingming’s voice comes from outside his study.

Chapter Text

“Shouling, Wen-gongzi. The guest quarters are ready.”

“Thank you, Xingming,” Zhou Zishu says, walking across the room to the doors. Wen Kexing trails after him, his smugness at learning Zhou Zishu’s name abruptly muted.

As Xingming leads the way to Wen Kexing’s quarters, Zhou Zishu says, as offhandedly as he can, “Xingming, ask Luo-shu and Luo Haoning to make a new battle fan. One customised for stealth and disguise, and for Wen Kexing’s hand size.” He turns his head slightly in Wen Kexing’s direction. “Do you have any specifications you would like to add for the fan?”

Wen Kexing stays quiet until they are about to enter the guest wing of the manor. “Thank you,” he says easily, as if he had not lapsed into silence for too long. “I do not have any additional requests.”

By the time they arrive at the doors to Wen Kexing’s new rooms, he has regained his previous cheer, nearly skipping next to Zhou Zishu and swaying into his side.

“You look so strong and sturdy, Zhou-shouling,” Wen Kexing teases, somehow looking at Zhou Zishu through the sweep of his lashes despite his height advantage. “I bet you can pick me up with just one arm.”

Zhou Zishu suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “And you are probably much heavier than you look, you twig,” he huffs, then turns away from Wen Kexing’s too-pretty face. Wen Kexing is a death trap, he reminds himself. He cannot trust him, and he should not be tempted into unguarded banter with the man. “Alright. Xingming, remember the fan, and to give Wen Kexing a tour of the manor and make sure he knows which areas are off limits. Wen Kexing, I apologise, but you’ll have to keep the collar on for the time being, in case Duxie has eyes on us. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable,” Zhou Zishu says, prompting a slight frown from Wen Kexing, “Just ask Xingming or Bi-shu if you need anything.” He begins walking back towards his own quarters, but is stopped by Wen Kexing clutching at his sleeve.

“Ah, Zhou-shouling, why are you leaving so soon?” Wen Kexing smiles lazily, honey-sweet. “Come into my room and have some tea. You have to let me perform my duties!” he says. The tip of his tongue darts out between his soft lips, sending a rush of desire to Zhou Zishu’s gut. He wonders where Wen Kexing learned to do that; whether he practised the move in front of a mirror.

“No,” Zhou Zishu says firmly, looking straight into Wen Kexing’s eyes. “I will not step foot into your rooms unless there is danger.” It is only because Zhou Zishu is already looking that he sees something unreadable flash across Wen Kexing’s half-lidded eyes, before the man reverts back to his sunny demeanour.

Wen Kexing makes a needy sound not unlike a whine, sending Zhou Zishu’s instincts into discord between escaping from this situation and touching Wen Kexing. “But then, how may this one serve A’Xu?”

At the nickname, Zhou Zishu’s instincts tilt decidedly towards running away. He manages to gather himself enough that his voice is unaffected when he says, “I will make this clear here and now. I do not expect you to ‘serve’ me, or to do anything at all. I promise you will not be hurt, nor do you have to have to earn your keep. We do not have slaves at Siji Manor.” Distrust leaks into Wen Kexing’s stiffening stance, so Zhou Zishu lets his tone turn dry and amused and continues, “But if you really want to do me a favour, stick to your quarters so that I do not have to worry about you being Zhao Jing’s spy and sabotaging our operations.”

Wen Kexing sighs dramatically, bursting into motion again. “So cruel, A’Xu. And so careless with your words and actions. You must handle potential spy situations with much more delicacy than this!” he admonishes, leaning towards Zhou Zishu again.

“Bi-shu and Xingming will be tailing you. I trust them to handle this.”

Wen Kexing tuts, grin firmly in place. “Well then, have a good day, A’Xu. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Shaking his head, Zhou Zishu leaves.

The next morning, Zhou Zishu is shocked awake by Wen Kexing loudly proclaiming his presence in Zhou Zishu’s bedroom.

“Good morning, A’Xu! You have forbidden yourself from entering my rooms, but you have not forbidden me from entering yours, so here I am.” Wen Kexing says airily, unaware of or more likely ignoring the way Zhou Zishu’s palm is wrapped tightly around the hilt of the dagger tucked under his pillow.

Zhou Zishu directs a harsh look at Bi-shu, who is lingering outside the open doors. In response, Bi-shu just makes a resigned and apologetic gesture. He must not have judged Wen Kexing to be posing too much of a threat to Zhou Zishu.

“Come now, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing continues, arms sweeping around in a flurry of new pink robes. “If you will not let me perform any other duties, you must at least let me dress you and prepare you for the day. After all, I am still eating your food and sleeping under your roof and dressing in clothes you provide.”

“Get out of my quarters, Wen Kexing,” Zhou Zishu growls. He had worked late into the night yesterday, and has only been sleeping for a shichen.

“I will not!” Wen Kexing says happily, and plops himself down on Zhou Zishu’s bed, right beside Zhou Zishu’s waist. Zhou Zishu cannot help but tense up at how exposed his vulnerable body parts are.

Suddenly, Wen Kexing leans forwards and reaches a hand towards Zhou Zishu’s face. Zhou Zishu seizes his wrist in a tight grip, and they both still.

The light in Wen Kexing’s eyes dances even as he freezes. Zhou Zishu takes a deep breath.

“You,” he hisses, “are insufferable.”

“Ah, and I will continue to be!” Wen Kexing exclaims merrily. The corners of his eyes are tight.

Zhou Zishu holds his gaze, for a while. Wen Kexing doesn’t try to struggle or squirm out of his grip.

Finally, Zhou Zishu opens his mouth. “You do not have to keep pushing and testing at boundaries. I do not break my word. You will not be hurt here, as long as you do not hurt my people in return.”

“I am not pushing,” Wen Kexing huffs, lightly tugging his arm out of Zhou Zishu’s hold to gesture around vaguely. “This is how I am.”

Zhou Zishu presses his lips together. “Fine,” he sighs. “Alright.” He lets go of the dagger to rub at his throbbing temples.

“Now, A’Xu, are you getting out of bed, or should I come back later?” Wen Kexing says, obnoxiously cheerful and much too awake.

All at once, Zhou Zishu realises his mistake in unblocking Wen Kexing’s meridians – he cannot force Wen Kexing to leave without hurting either of them in the process. He shoots another look in the direction of the doors, but Bi-shu has already disappeared from view.

Zhou Zishu gives up.

“Fine,” he grunts at Wen Kexing, who immediately brightens up. “Get me dressed in a set of robes from that trunk over there.”

Wen Kexing is surprisingly adept at helping another person dress. Quick and efficient, with the least interference to the person being dressed. Who did Wen Kexing practise this on?

“There you go,” Wen Kexing says, and with a sly look at Zhou Zishu, smooths a hand down the front of his expertly tied robes. Zhou Zishu bats his wandering hand away. Wen Kexing laughs, and says, “Now it’s time for your hair!”

Resigned, Zhou Zishu sits down in front of his mirror.

Once again, Wen Kexing combs and twists his hair into a respectable knot with a few quick tugs. Then in the mirror Zhou Zishu sees him lift his hand up high in an unexpected move, making Zhou Zishu duck instinctively to the side, almost ruining Wen Kexing’s work.

“Relax, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing says, sounding amused. He pulls a jade hairpin out from his own hair, and slides it carefully into Zhou Zishu’s hair. “I belong to you, after all,” he says, smiling at Zhou Zishu through the mirror.

Zhou Zishu sighs again. He’s sighed too many times for one morning, he thinks. “Wen Kexing, you only belong to me when we’re outside Siji Manor, when we have to keep up pretences. I know you do not have any reason to believe me yet, but no one in Tianchuang has or wants slaves, including myself.” The mirror does not allow Zhou Zishu to read the emotions on Wen Kexing’s face accurately. “Moreover, even if the manor is actually being surveilled, them seeing you with the collar is enough. And finally,” Zhou Zishu says, turning around to face Wen Kexing with an exaggeratedly stony face, “I am not your wife, Wen Kexing.”

A light laugh escapes from Wen Kexing’s mouth, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “You might not be my wife, but I am your person.”

“Well, if we’re going to be accurate about this, then you should be the one wearing my hairpin instead,” Zhou Zishu retaliates.

Wen Kexing pouts, and Zhou Zishu tenses his muscles against the heady rush of emotions that prompts. “But you’re not going to get me a hairpin,” Wen Kexing complains.

Zhou Zishu stares. Has this all been a risky attempt at alerting Zhou Zishu to the fact that he has neglected to provide Wen Kexing with supplies beyond the necessities? But not even a full day has passed, and he has made it very clear that Wen Kexing can ask Bi-shu and Xingming for things. No, this must be something else that Zhou Zishu does not have the necessary information to understand yet.

Sliding Wen Kexing’s hairpin out from his hair, Zhou Zishu replaces it with his usual guan and hairpin, then presses the jade hairpin back into Wen Kexing’s palm. “Keep your hairpin, Wen Kexing. And if you need more, ask Bi-shu and Xingming. Now scram, I have work to do.”

With a mischievous glint to his eyes, Wen Kexing slowly and deliberately drops into a little curtsy, bobbing his head. “Yes, A’Xu,” he says, raising his voice a few pitches higher.

Before Zhou Zishu can react to his ridiculousness, Wen Kexing jogs out of the room with a cheerful wave. Zhou Zishu listens as his footsteps are joined by Bi-shu’s, heading away.

Chapter Text

The next few months pass by too slowly and too quickly. Wen Kexing makes a habit out of loudly barging into Zhou Zishu’s room and dressing him every morning, and the sequence of actions consisting of Wen Kexing giving his hairpin to Zhou Zishu and Zhou Zishu returning it becomes a well-rehearsed performance. When Zhou Zishu tries to demur one day by saying that jade is too precious, Wen Kexing returns the next day with a wooden hairpin, saying “We will work up to it, then. I’ll wear you down,” with a sly smile. Zhou Zishu lets it happen.

Wen Kexing also gets his battle fan. He starts quietly practising with it in the same training area as the juniors, who automatically leave enough space and a target dummy for him. Zhou Zishu stops by to supervise them more often than he used to, at first because he’s wary about Wen Kexing, and later because, well.

The way Wen Kexing fights reminds Zhou Zishu of a hawk, often. Beautiful. Deadly. Too far away to see, then right next to your arteries.

A hawk, chained within the four walls of Siji Manor.

In the meantime, Tianchuang’s agents turn up with absolutely zero information on Wen Kexing. No family, no shifu who taught him all these moves, no trace of a previous master, which Zhou Zishu’s instincts had been so sure about. No rumours about the man himself, either. It’s like Wen Kexing is a literal ghost.

“Maybe he’s from Ghost Valley?” Jiuxiao suggests one day, the two of them just finished with discussing their surveillance on the ghosts in Zhou Zishu’s study. “And he left when the ghosts scattered back into the jianghu.”

“Possible,” Zhou Zishu replies, frowning, “But ghosts with his level of combat capabilities would have made a name for themselves in the jianghu before being banished to Ghost Valley, and we would have been able to track that. Even if he learned his skills within Ghost Valley, we should still be able to find traces of who he was before.”

“I know, shixiong,” Jiuxiao says glumly, tilting his head into his palm. Zhou Zishu refrains from ruffling his hair. “But what other explanation is there? We aren’t so incompetent as to not be able to find a single thing at all.”

“Someone was prepared for us and wiped all traces of him. Duxie, probably. I’ll ask Han Ying to follow up on this. But you should tell your agents to continue keeping an ear out for anything that seems even remotely like it’s about Wen Kexing.”

And that’s that. Zhou Zishu is not too concerned about Wen Kexing’s intentions. Given how quickly Wen Kexing has managed to ingratiate himself with everyone at the manor, Zhou Zishu is half-inclined to think that he’s Zhao Jing’s spy, which they are guarding against already, and half-tempted to believe that the man is just trying to protect himself and make the best out of a bad situation, which poses no threat to Tianchuang.

In the short span of a few months, Wen Kexing has managed to charm literally everyone with his shameless eloquence, underlying respect, and freely-given smiles. They’ve started displaying their discomfort with the collar on Wen Kexing’s neck so blatantly that Zhou Zishu just tells Wen Kexing to stop wearing it. Zhou Zishu’s people are too well-trained to actually trust Wen Kexing, obviously. But Wen Kexing steps into the kitchen to bat his eyelashes for snacks whenever he wants to now, even as the aunties refuse his help with preparing food. The juniors go starry-eyed when he turns up at the training grounds, and listen attentively to his off-hand remarks about their stance. Even Bi-shu has a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he attempts to bar Wen Kexing from Zhou Zishu’s rooms every morning, rather than the guarded caution from the first few weeks. At some point Zhou Zishu gives in and asks Bi-shu to just let the man in, telling himself it’s so that Wen Kexing will stop attempting to wake the entire manor with his racket.

Zhou Zishu bites back the urge to sigh, which has become as familiar to him as the persistent wisp of desire he feels for Wen Kexing.

Truly, if the upper beam is placed aslant, the one below will be crooked as well. The only person he can blame is himself.

Regardless, it looks as if Wen Kexing has taken to life with Tianchuang very well. Zhou Zishu can tell that he’s been getting healthier and even stronger, likely due to his unlimited access to food and uninterrupted training. Apart from their early morning ritual, Wen Kexing has not been acting like he expects himself to act in the capacity of a servant, let alone a slave.

The only apparent hiccup with Wen Kexing settling in happened in the first few weeks. Xingming had come to Zhou Zishu one day, unexpectedly hesitant.

“Wen-gongzi… He…”

Zhou Zishu raises his eyes from the documents in his hands. “Is he causing trouble?”

“No, not at all.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s just that he has nightmares, sometimes. Often.”

Zhou Zishu puts down his brush and sits back. “And they’re bad enough that you thought to mention them to me.”

“I… Yes. It can’t be pleasant, and Wen-gongzi isn’t getting enough sleep. He even has severe headaches, sometimes. He tries to hide them, but both shifu and myself noticed them.”

Zhou Zishu brings it up the next morning, when Wen Kexing cannot worm his way out of the conversation without failing to fulfil his self-proclaimed duty of dressing Zhou Zishu.

“Xingming tells me you’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Wen Kexing’s fingers pause for a moment before continuing their ministrations on Zhou Zishu’s robes. “Is that so?” He’s not looking at Zhou Zishu.

“Tianchuang has a few different herbs and medicinal soups that might help. But I personally think Drunk Like A Dream would be most effective in dispelling nightmares, at least, if you take a small enough dose. You’d have to go to the agent in charge of the apothecary for any of these; Bi-shu and Xingming should have told you where that is.”

“And you’re comfortable giving me access to Tianchuang’s secret weapon?” Wen Kexing pats his robes down and smooths them out under his belt. Zhou Zishu tries to push down the frisson of fear and desire that he feels when Wen Kexing pointedly drifts his hand across a vulnerable pressure point in the small of his back.

“You’re the one who keeps insisting that you’re my person,” Zhou Zishu tries to make light of the situation. He’s not sure if he’s doing the right thing for Tianchuang, either.

Bi-shu and Xingming later tell him that Wen Kexing has started taking tiny doses of Drunk Like A Dream before he sleeps. According to them, Wen Kexing’s sleep problems and headaches gradually lessen, although retrospectively, they’ve also noted an unusual coincidence – the morning after Wen Kexing’s sleep problems seem to have disappeared entirely, the man had gotten blindingly drunk and hidden away in his bedroom the entire day. It was also the only time he had failed to show up for his morning ritual with Zhou Zishu. The next morning, Wen Kexing starts an extremely cryptic conversation about Zhou Zishu’s thoughts on the responsibilities and crimes that lay on children’s shoulders.

“Children are almost never responsible for the situations that they find themselves in,” Zhou Zishu tries his best to reply as objectively as he can. “And the methods that they choose to handle these situations reflect less on themselves and more on the adults that surround them.” This doesn’t apply to himself, of course – Shifu passed away when he was already grown. It’s another story for Jiuxiao, though.

“Ignorance is not an excuse, though.” Wen Kexing is quiet, too quiet, and it alarms Zhou Zishu. He tries not to show it.

“Is it ignorance or innocence when you have not had the time and opportunity to learn better, when you’ve only become aware of yourself and your surroundings for a scant few years?” Zhou Zishu says, and Wen Kexing falls silent entirely.

However, after that Wen Kexing reverts back to normal, so Zhou Zishu decides not to pry. Everyone has a past that they’re trying to run from. Moreover, since then, Wen Kexing ’s teasing has lost its sharp edge, which Zhou Zishu is hopeful about – if he’s going to figure out a way to free Wen Kexing, it would be much easier with the man’s full trust and cooperation. But he can’t do that yet. For one, Beiyuan and Wu Xi still haven’t arrived, though Ping’an tells him they’re close. The other issue is that with everything that’s happening in the jianghu, Zhou Zishu is reluctant to step out from the sidelines, too afraid for his people.

For how much is going on, the situation is progressing in a relatively stable manner. Zhou Zishu has to applaud Zhao Jing – the man knows how to keep his affairs running smoothly. Duxie is definitely collaborating with Ghost Valley, and despite this being an open secret now, the bigger sects within the jianghu are still listening to Zhao Jing, probably due to the rumour that he has recently successfully gathered all five liuli shards, and the plausible deniability they have about how Zhao Jing has no relations with Duxie and Ghost Valley, really.

Soon enough, the rumours are confirmed when Zhao Jing sends an invitation to all his “allies”. A feast, to celebrate the imminent opening of the Armoury. It is strongly hinted that they should each bring the slaves that Zhao Jing has gifted them, as a visual token of their continued cooperation.

When Zhou Zishu reluctantly breaks the news to Wen Kexing, he merely dips his head downwards for a moment, and resurfaces with a bright grin.

“This will be fun,” Wen Kexing says, mischief glinting in his eyes.

Chapter Text

The night before the feast, Wen Kexing saunters into Zhou Zishu’s room.

“A’Xu,” Wen Kexing bats his eyelashes, “How do you want me tomorrow?”

Horror races down Zhou Zishu’s spine and he sputters, “It’s not… I won’t make you do that!”

“Of course not, silly,” Wen Kexing smirks, and drops down to sit on the floor in a flutter of dark green robes. “I meant what kind of persona you think would be appropriate for tomorrow. A wide-eyed deflowered thing too innocent to understand its own deflowering? Or a fox spirit, all charm until your world crashes down around your ears?”

Zhou Zishu breathes in deeply against the simmering frustration in his chest, pained at the reminder of the roles they will have to play. “Whatever is most realistic. Whatever Zhao Jing will believe most.”

“Those aren’t quite the same things, A’Xu. But alright. Resentful and chafing at the bit it is.” Absolutely devastating. “I’ll put on such a show tomorrow, A’Xu, just you wait and see,” Wen Kexing grins.

They have a shichen until they have to leave for the feast. Zhou Zishu got ready too early, and is now just pacing around his room, carefully smoothing down his immaculate outfit and trying not to fiddle with his silver guan and hairpin. He would sit still and meditate, but he knows that if he does not find some way to shake off the jitters boiling up in him, he might not be able to keep a handle on his temper later. He’s out of practice with being under the thumb of a person who presents an actual threat to him and his people, which he supposes is both a good thing and a bad thing.

Without any warning, Wen Kexing sweeps into his room, the way he has taken to doing more and more frequently. He throws a small item at Zhou Zishu, then walks over to Zhou Zishu’s seat in front of the mirror and sits down without breaking his stride at all.

When Zhou Zishu looks down at the item in his hands, he realises it’s the collar that Wen Kexing came to the manor with.

He doesn’t move for so long that Wen Kexing twists around to raise an eyebrow at Zhou Zishu. “It’s going on my neck whether you like it or not. And it’s inconvenient to put it on myself, because I do not have eyes growing on the back of my head.”

“You would prefer it if I were the one to put it on you?” Zhou Zishu asks tightly, fingers clenching hard around the strip of leather.

“Yes, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing rolls his eyes, “Now get on with it,” he says and sweeps his waterfall of hair to the side.

Zhou Zishu takes a steadying breath. When his fingers loop the collar around Wen Kexing’s neck, they do not tremble. He can feel the heat rising off Wen Kexing’s skin as he fastens the collar.

As soon as he’s done, he steps away. Wen Kexing turns his head from side to side, peering at his reflection in the mirror and adjusting the position of the collar against his throat.

Zhou Zishu swallows. “Go get dressed, Wen Kexing.”

Stepping down from the carriage, Zhou Zishu has to make himself imagine putting on yet another human skin mask, affecting yet another disguise. Slave owner Zhou Zishu.

There’s low chatter humming through the main hall, the scent of alcohol hanging thick in the air, with nearly all sect leaders present, and a person Zhou Zishu does not recognise on sight sitting on the first table to the right of Zhao Jing’s central position. Wen Kexing’s eyes had hardened when he caught sight of the man smirking at him, though his movements were as fluid as always as he trailed after Zhou Zishu.

They are led to their table, which Wen Kexing kneels to the side of, dazzling in a crimson silk outfit that he must have specifically requested for this occasion. There is a simmering pot of tea kept warm above a small stove, and Wen Kexing picks it up with a well-mannered movement that somehow subtly radiates discontent. He elegantly draws his sleeve up his arm as he pours tea into Zhou Zishu’s cup, exposing the delicate bone of his wrist, and a circlet of pale skin.

A circlet of pale skin, marred with a ring of mottled purple bruises. Zhou Zishu nearly shuts his eyes at the sight. His mouth is dry.

Soon afterwards, the feast is in full swing, and Zhao Jing announces his intention to open the Armoury with everyone present who is able to accompany him. The knowledge gained from the Armoury will be shared, Zhao Jing claims, to the enthusiastic cheers that soar into the tall ceilings of the hall. From then on, the gathering descends into drunken celebration. Idiots.

A servant bumps into Wen Kexing as they walk past, and Zhou Zishu immediately turns sharp eyes on him, searching. Wen Kexing shakes his head nearly imperceptibly, and the corner of his lips ticks up in a small smile. I’m okay.

Only a few minutes later, Zhao Jing turns towards them. “Zhou-shouling, have you unblocked your slave’s meridians?” he says with a faint air of surprise. “Your slave is very skilled at martial arts, I believe.”

Titters rise from the crowd, most conveying shock at Zhou Zishu’s decision to let his slave retain his ability to fight. Some begin eyeing Zhou Zishu with suspicion.

“I have, Zhao-zhangmen. I find the poison that you so generously provided more than enough to keep him in line,” Zhou Zishu replies, looking straight at Zhao Jing, palms firmly laid on his lap. The whispers around them turn confused. Good. Let them wonder.

“All the same, Zhou-shouling, while many of us are strong enough to defend ourselves against your slave should an unfortunate occasion arise, many others cannot. For the comfort of my other guests, perhaps you could restrain your pet?”

Zhou Zishu burns. “The man is very much restrained, Zhao-zhangmen,” Zhou Zishu says, fingers now digging hard into his thighs. By you, he almost adds. He feels a faint tug, and realises Wen Kexing is pulling at the hem of his robes, out of sight. He’s right, Zhou Zishu knows. He needs to get himself under control.

“But I will, of course, honour your request,” Zhou Zishu continues levelly.

He beckons for Wen Kexing to turn so that his back faces Zhou Zishu. He unfastens the collar from Wen Kexing’s neck, slipping it out through his soft flow of hair, then picks up Wen Kexing’s wrists and presses them together at the small of Wen Kexing’s back. His skin is warm under Zhou Zishu’s fingers.

“As we all know, slave collars are woven using leather and various strong, resistant materials, designed specifically not to tear even under the hands of martial artists,” Zhou Zishu says to the hall at large while he loops the collar around Wen Kexing’s wrists, tying it off.

“A slave as skilled as yours would still be able to do much damage with his hands restrained, Zhou-shouling,” the unnamed man to Zhao Jing’s right interjects.

“Of course,” Zhou Zishu smiles evenly. He reaches around Wen Kexing’s torso and unties his belt, letting his crimson outer robes hang open indecently. A humiliation. Then he settles the strip of cloth over Wen Kexing’s eyes and blindfolds him with it, tying it as loosely as he dares.

“I must admit, Zhao-zhangmen, that even I would be hard pressed to attack anyone in these restraints,” Zhou Zishu says, still smiling through the hall’s nervous laughter.

“Thank you, Zhou-shouling. I am glad that we can all have some peace of mind, knowing that,” Zhao Jing replies courteously, unable to hide the greedy glint in his eye at Zhou Zishu hinting at his limits.

Zhou Zishu’s firm hands guide Wen Kexing to kneel facing the hall again, even though he doesn’t need his help. Like this, they’re showing off the contrast of the exquisitely embroidered belt against Wen Kexing’s ivory skin. It matches the blood-red that Wen Kexing chose to paint his lips in.

But Wen Kexing isn’t the kind of man who would look any less dangerous just because he is bound and robbed of his sight. With this in mind, Zhou Zishu presses at the side of Wen Kexing’s neck until he is leaning his head against the outside of Zhou Zishu’s thigh. He strokes the bare skin at the nape of Wen Kexing’s neck where the collar had laid, once, twice, until Wen Kexing relaxes like a pliant, obedient creature and lets his body melt into Zhou Zishu’s legs. He also drapes his arm over Zhou Zishu’s knee, his sleeve slipping away to put his bruises on display.

They make a very pretty sight, Zhou Zishu knows.

Zhou Zishu’s heart aches with the weight of Wen Kexing’s body against him. Does Wen Kexing trust him to keep him safe? Perhaps he shouldn’t, knowing how many people have sworn their bodies and souls to Zhou Zishu and ended up dead.

They sit like this for the rest of the feast, and the only time Wen Kexing even shifts in his position is when they overhear a drunkenly loud conversation somewhere behind them. Apparently, Zhao Jing got the final liuli shard from one of the Zhang family’s sons, but there are rumours that the boy had run away immediately after he handed it over, aided by an unknown girl and a member of the sects. This information is dismissed as outrageously untrue gossip by the person’s conversation partner, but Zhou Zishu can feel how Wen Kexing tenses for a second. If it weren’t for the angle and the blindfold over Wen Kexing’s face, Zhou Zishu might even hesitantly label the expression that flits across Wen Kexing’s face as cautiously hopeful.

Once they’re in the carriage and have set off without incident, Zhou Zishu releases Wen Kexing from his improvised bondage, murmuring an apology that Wen Kexing brushes off with a soft laugh. By the time they reach home, weariness has sunk into Zhou Zishu’s bones. He wants to sink into a scalding hot tub of water and scrub tonight’s filth off his face.

Instead, he walks Wen Kexing back to his quarters, and bids him goodnight with a final quiet apology.

Chapter Text

“A’Xu, Wen Kexing says the next morning as he arrives to dress Zhou Zishu, unusually somber. “There is a matter that I must tend to.”

“You must go yourself?”

“Yes,” Wen Kexing says seriously.

“What do you need, then?”

A hesitant pause. Zhou Zishu wonders if Wen Kexing’s demeanour today has anything to do with what happened last night. At last, Wen Kexing answers, “It would be best for the both of us if you travelled with me as my master. People recognise us, now.”

“I could just put you in a disguise,” Zhou Zishu suggests.

“Ah,” a smile ghosts over Wen Kexing’s lips, “It would be easier if I were recognisable as myself. And what will you do when Zhao Jing inevitably hears from someone that I haven’t been flitting around your courtyards and comes to visit you?”

Even though Zhou Zishu believes that Wen Kexing would have already gone through the same thought process and likely wouldn’t take Zhou Zishu away from Tianchuang unless it really was the best option, Zhou Zishu still mentally flips through the several possibilities. As expected, he comes to the conclusion that Wen Kexing is right.

“Fine,” Zhou Zishu sighs. “Don’t get me killed. Where are we going?”

And finally, Wen Kexing’s face lights up with a wide grin.

The moment that Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing finally track down a boy, a girl, and a young man who Zhou Zishu vaguely places as Cao Weining from Qingfeng Sword Sect on a rarely trodden forest path, Zhou Zishu is blocking a vicious hit from the girl’s whip, and Wen Kexing has his fan open against Cao Weining’s throat.

“Release her,” Wen Kexing growls, almost shaking with barely leashed violence, all pretence of the gentleman gone. This is when Zhou Zishu notices the collar circling the girl’s neck.

“Master!” the girl exclaims, and Zhou Zishu is surprised to find it directed at Wen Kexing rather than Cao Weining. “Why are you letting that bastard bully you? And get your hands off of Cao-dage, the collar is just so that people don’t bother us.”

“Are you sure, A’Xiang?” Wen Kexing asks, a weight to his words that Zhou Zishu doesn’t quite know how to interpret.

“Yes, he was the one who helped us escape from that Zhao bastard, now put away your fan!”

Wen Kexing snaps his fan shut and immediately transforms back into a courteous gentleman. “Excuse me, Cao-gongzi, that was terribly impolite of me. Although, I hope you have been taking care of our A’Xiang very well, hm?” a dangerous edge to his voice that only an idiot would ignore.

Before Cao Weining can stammer out a reply, A’Xiang barges back into the conversation, glaring daggers between Wen Kexing’s collar and Zhou Zishu. “Master, why on earth are you still wearing that horrible thing?”

“Ah!” Wen Kexing’s face transforms as he grins impishly with delight, and proceeds to drape himself over Zhou Zishu’s back and curl an arm over his collarbones. Zhou Zishu stands stock still under the foreign contact, highly aware that the potential choke hold is the only thing keeping A’Xiang from lashing out at him again, even if he could easily take her down. She is important to Wen Kexing; that much is evident. “That is because I belong to him!” Wen Kexing continues cheerfully, and a stunned moment later Zhou Zishu gives in to the urge to roll his eyes.

“Um!” the boy squeaks from where he has hidden himself behind a tree, and all four of them turn to look at him. “I think there might be other people coming?”

After they relocate to a more secure location, A’Xiang, who is apparently something like Wen Kexing’s ward, explains what happened to the three of them. On the night of Zhao Jing’s feast, Cao Weining had wanted to take a break from the crowd and went wandering. He accidentally stumbled upon two prisoners, A’Xiang, and Zhang Chengling, who turns out to be Zhang Yusen’s only surviving son. With his help, they escaped from Zhao Jing, and have been in hiding ever since.

“And you didn’t even think of the consequences of not being able to receive the monthly antidote for your poison?” Wen Kexing demands, and Zhou Zishu knows the anger in his voice to be masking his fear.

“Oh. Oops…?” A’Xiang turns widened eyes on Zhang Chengling. “We kind of just forgot about that once Cao-dage said he could help us get out.”

So both A’Xiang and Chengling are poisoned as well. Given how powerful Wen Kexing is, Zhao Jing must have got his hands on A’Xiang first and used her to threaten Wen Kexing into submission. But they’re both away from Zhao Jing now; the only thing left between them and their freedom is the antidote.

Carefully avoiding thinking about how easily Wen Kexing brought him on this trip to find A’Xiang, who might be his sole vulnerability, Zhou Zishu turns towards Zhang Chengling and asks, “Did Zhao Jing promise to give you a permanent antidote once you handed over your liuli shard?”

“He did, but then we overheard some of the guards mentioning plans for a marriage between me and Xiaolian-jie, and since I’d already given him the liuli shard in exchange for my freedom and Xiaolian-jie is already engaged to Deng Kuan-ge, the poison is really the only thing that would make both of us stay and marry each other,” Zhang Chengling rattles off, and his voice gets smaller as he continues, “At least, that’s what Gu Xiang-jiejie thinks.”

While Wen Kexing scrunches his brows at Chengling’s direction, Zhou Zishu turns to Cao Weining instead. “And you, Cao-gongzi? What are your thoughts on all this?”

“I…” Cao Weining lowers his head. “I didn’t want to believe any of it at first. But Shifu has been acting strange the last few months. Shishu has disappeared. And I managed to talk privately to the slave that Zhao-zhangmen gave Shifu, and… she told me… well, a lot of things I didn’t want to believe. And then I talked to A’Xiang and Chengling at the feast, and it wasn’t up to me whether I wanted to believe it or not anymore. Zhao-zhangmen is not a good man, and Shifu,” Cao Weining’s voice breaks, “Shifu is not a good man either. I’ve snuck into his study and read his private correspondence, even though I couldn’t make sense of it at the time. He’s making preparations to take whatever is in the Armoury for himself once Zhao-zhangmen opens the doors, and kill or intimidate everyone else.”

A’Xiang laughs shrilly, “Yeah, as if the Zhao bastard and Wuchang-gui are not each planning the exact same thing.”

Wuchang-gui, Zhou Zishu thinks. The new valley master who made the decision to have the ghosts return to the jianghu after disposing of the previous valley master, according to Jiuxiao’s network. He must be the man who sat in the position of Zhao Jing’s most honoured guest at the feast; the best place to hide is under the light. And Wen Kexing and the man recognised each other on sight.

“Let them kill each other,” Wen Kexing says in a low voice, then turns to Zhou Zishu, eyes searching. “A’Xu, those two people you asked to help you with the poison. You trust that they can do it?”

“Yes,” Zhou Zishu says, hoping his conviction comes through.

Wen Kexing closes his eyes in a rare show of weakness, and Zhou Zishu’s own gaze unconsciously fixes on his unguarded face. When Wen Kexing opens his eyes again, he says firmly to the three kids, “Then the three of you are coming back home with us. We will figure out the issue with the poison. You will be safe.”

And this is how Zhou Zishu ends up harbouring three more fugitives at Siji Manor.

Chapter Text

Wen Kexing lands softly on the rooftop next to Zhou Zishu, who is just drunk enough to snatch the alcohol out of Wen Kexing’s hands without a hint of guilt.

“Just in time, hm?” Zhou Zishu drawls. “Here I thought I’d have to make it through the rest of the night without any more wine.”

Wen Kexing just lies down next to him and settles in quietly.

“Lao-Wen, why did you come today?” Zhou Zishu asks, not actually expecting an answer.

Ever since they left Jin-wang, Tianchuang has practised Qingming the way Siji Manor used to. Disciples pay respects to their own families in the morning, before joining the mass rite in the afternoon. As the current head of Tianchuang, Zhou Zishu leads them in paying respects to the elders of the sect first, including his shifu. Then others of the sect who had passed away. Of the eighty-one people who followed him to Tianchuang, only forty-three remain. (It would have been forty-two, if Zhou Zishu hadn’t managed to kill Duan Pengju just as the man was about to murder Jiuxiao for bringing to light Jin-wang’s plans for them.) This afternoon, Zhou Zishu spent more than a shichen just lighting incense, pouring wine, and bowing. The smoke from the burning joss paper and offerings had painted the sky a blurry grey.

Wen Kexing had shown up, to everyone’s surprise.

“You’re thinking about changing the name of Tianchuang back to Siji Manor, aren’t you?” Wen Kexing says, brushing off Zhou Zishu’s question.

Zhou Zishu snorts. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me, yes,” Wen Kexing replies, oddly solemn. He’s been awfully quiet today. Zhou Zishu wonders if he has anyone to mourn, if Zhou Zishu should have asked if he needed memorial plaques made. What happened to Wen Kexing that made him enter Ghost Valley and then become valley master?

Zhou Zishu throws back more wine.

“You want to change the name, but you fear for your people,” Wen Kexing continues quietly.

There is nothing Zhou Zishu can do but nod. Tianchuang still clings tenuously to its reputation as a powerful spy and assassin organisation, after all, while Siji Manor is just another fallen jianghu sect. And Tianchuang is already in a precarious position now. Zhou Zishu cannot lose anyone else.

But he knelt at his shifu’s tomb today, with disciples kneeling behind him who are learning the martial arts of Siji Manor, and others who are originally from Siji Manor. It makes a man think too deeply on thoughts long buried.

If he chose to change the name, everyone would welcome it. Han Ying would be secretly ecstatic. Jiuxiao might even cry. No one would think to bring up how Zhou Zishu should never have the honour of claiming the role of sect leader of Siji Manor, he who had led the last of Siji Manor to their deaths.

Would Shifu be disappointed in him? Shifu would understand, probably, that Zhou Zishu had already done the best he could under those circumstances. But their deaths are still his responsibility.

“A’Xu,” Wen Kexing calls softly. Zhou Zishu glances over and meets eyes filled with too much knowing. He twists away and tips back the jar of alcohol for a long minute, until he has swallowed the last dregs of it.

“Lao-Wen,” he finally says, looking up into the sliver of moon hanging above. “Sometimes… I just feel so tired.”

“I know. I do too.”

They lie there, just staring into the night sky in silence. At some point, Zhou Zishu feels himself starting to nod off, and his wine-soaked brain barely registers it as something stops him from rolling off the roof.

When Zhou Zishu wakes up again, the sky is still dark, though he can smell the sweet scent of dew on grass. He is tucked into his bed, his outer robes neatly folded beside him, with the jade hairpin laid on top.

Chapter Text

Beiyuan and Wu Xi finally arrive, and it is a welcome change of pace to have someone near him with things to hide that do not actually concern Zhou Zishu.

“Qiye, Dawu, thank you for coming,” Zhou Zishu greets, not bothering to disguise the sheer relief in his voice.

Beiyuan raises an eyebrow at his display of emotion, and says gently, “Of course we came, Zishu. Have you been well?”

A brittle smile alights on Zhou Zishu’s face. “Better than I was before,” he only murmurs, grateful that Beiyuan isn’t the type of person to say I told you so, then turns around to introduce his guests to each other.

Wen Kexing’s eyes have been boring holes into the back of his head since he started speaking to Beiyuan and Wu Xi. Zhou Zishu tries his best to ignore it, explaining how they came across two more kids who also require antidotes. “If Zhao Jing does not suspect us for harbouring the three of them, which should be the case, the monthly antidote for Wen Kexing will arrive in two days. You will have one and a half weeks to use it to figure out a permanent antidote for Gu-guniang and Zhang-gongzi, which is when their monthly deadline comes up. I’ll bring you to your rooms so you can settle in first, and we can start with basic body checkups for the three of them tomorrow.”

Beiyuan’s lips quirk with amusement that Zhou Zishu does not know the reason for. “Lead the way, Zishu,” he drawls.

“You have very good connections,” Wen Kexing remarks casually the next morning as he pins Zhou Zishu’s hair in place with the jade hairpin.

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu replies, holding still for Wen Kexing and staring intently at his own reflection. “I met them at court, many years ago now.”

“Now that I know the Wu Xi in your letter is the Dawu of Nanjiang, I do feel much less worried for A’Xiang,” Wen Kexing concludes his ministrations with a soft brush of his hand, smoothing down Zhou Zishu’s stray hairs.

Unlike other mornings, Wen Kexing does not immediately leave and scamper off to the kitchens to steal the red bean cakes that the aunties have taken to preparing especially for him. When Zhou Zishu looks at him with a question on his face, he only says, “Best to get started with the body checks as soon as possible.”

When Wen Kexing’s monthly antidote arrives, Wu Xi collects all sorts of data from it, and investigates the pain and nausea that starts to emanate from Wen Kexing’s gut, before letting Wen Kexing take the pill.

“It’s a rarer sort of gu worm,” Wu Xi concludes from the last two days’ of information. “The pill inhibits its effects, but wears off every month. Without the pill, the person poisoned will die within a day.”

“No wonder Tianchuang couldn’t figure out what it was,” Beiyuan says softly, for Zhou Zishu’s ears only. He knows Beiyuan is trying to relieve him of his feelings of guilt, and it works, a little.

“There are two solutions that I am confident I can execute well at the moment,” Wu Xi continues. “The safer option is to create and ingest a pill that kills the gu worm. However, that leaves the worm’s corpse within the body, which may possibly create future complications and affect the balance of your internal energy. The riskier option is to remove the worm from the body through an operation, but the operation will be dangerous, and afterwards there will be a relatively long healing period before your body returns to peak form.”

All three of them choose to have the operation done, with Wen Kexing insisting that he goes first, claiming that he’s the most visible one and will need to be able to have healed enough to show his face earliest. Both Zhou Zishu and Beiyuan duck their heads to hide their smiles at how transparent Wen Kexing’s worry for Gu Xiang is, and even Wu Xi’s eyes crease at the corners.

The operation takes an entire day and night. Zhou Zishu would not admit it to Wen Kexing afterwards, but he hovers outside the doors the entire time, even after Wu Xi has banished him from the room for being too distracting. He only retreats to his own quarters after he is allowed to see Wen Kexing, pale and asleep after the successful operation. There is a speck of blood on his too-white lips that Zhou Zishu wipes away gently with a handkerchief.

Wu Xi has requested that the gu worms’ corpses be handed to him for further study, but Zhou Zishu still swipes this one away and burns it in his personal courtyard. When Wu Xi raises an eyebrow at him the next day, dark circles around both of their eyes, Zhou Zishu just shrugs lightly and says, “There will be two more for you soon enough.”

One and a half weeks is neither a short time nor a long time. By the end of it, both Gu Xiang and Zhang Chengling have had their operations successfully carried out and are on bed rest, just like Wen Kexing. Another week after that, Wen Kexing is back to his loud, bouncy self, following Zhou Zishu around the manor with only an occasional pained grimace. Zhou Zishu complains about Wen Kexing’s annoying presence and how he’s been ruining the rare quiet moments that he gets to relax and play chess with Beiyuan, but silently lets out the breath that has been lodged in his throat for the past weeks.

There is a feeling in his chest that Zhou Zishu cannot name. Both Beiyuan and Wu Xi are looking at him with too much knowing in their eyes, and Gu Xiang has taken to calling him Zishu-ge. As a joke, of course.

He busies himself with affairs of Tianchuang, and soon enough even that is not needed, because Zhao Jing sends out another invitation. All of Zhao Jing’s allies will be gathering at his manor in five days’ time, before heading for the Armoury.

Chapter Text

For a brief moment Zhou Zishu considers not attending at all, then his senses return to him and he realises that doing so will just draw a bigger target on Tianchuang’s back.

“It will be much more dangerous this time,” he says when he tells Wen Kexing the news. “You haven’t healed fully; you should stay at the Manor.”

“And invite Zhao Jing’s suspicion?” Wen Kexing scoffs. “What is this nonsense, A’Xu? This is exactly why I wanted my operation to be done first.”

He’s right; Zhou Zishu just wanted another person to confirm that it is the only choice for Tianchuang.

“You’re not tied to him anymore, though. The gu worm has been dealt with, and Gu Xiang being in his hands was the only thing keeping you from acting against Zhao Jing, wasn’t it?” Zhou Zishu tries in a last ditch attempt.

Wen Kexing’s eyes darken ominously in an instant. “Who do you take me for, A’Xu?” he says uncharacteristically softly.

Zhou Zishu presses his lips together, and stops talking.

He ends up writing a reply to Zhao Jing in advance, explaining that due to recent health issues, he will regretfully not be able to accompany everyone north to the Armoury, but is extremely honoured to still attend the gathering prior to the journey. Hopefully that will sooth Zhao Jing’s suspicions if he has heard that Wu Xi is at Siji Manor, and leave the impression that Zhou Zishu is still interested in the treasures of the Armoury.

When they enter the hall this time around, Zhou Zishu is wrapped in a cloak, pretending to put weight on Wen Kexing’s outstretched arm when in fact Wen Kexing is leaning on him. They both have makeup on their skin, making one look sickly and the other healthy. When Zhao Jing lays his eyes on Zhou Zishu, a satisfied glint crosses his eyes, and he shoots an approving look at Wen Kexing, there and gone. Wen Kexing just glances away, murderous, before he appears to wrestle himself under control.

Zhao Jing had wanted Wen Kexing to take him down, Zhou Zishu surmises, achieved through holding Gu Xiang hostage and forcing Wen Kexing to become Zhou Zishu’s slave. Slaves always have a way of getting too close, just like Zhou Zishu had with Jin-wang. It was likely also a friendly gesture for Wuchang-gui, who seems to be sticking to the theme of wanting Wen Kexing humiliated. Even now, the new valley master is smiling at the pair of them, self-satisfaction evident on his face.

Zhou Zishu wonders how many others were already dealt with by the slaves that Zhao Jing had gifted them, or via other methods. There are a number of faces missing from this informal gathering, and Zhou Zishu is almost certain it isn’t because they suddenly decided the endeavour was too risky.

Throughout the entire reception, Zhou Zishu touches none of the food, tea, and wine on their table, instead employing a few sleight-of-hand tricks to seem as if he had. It wouldn’t be enough to fool anyone with enough observation skills, but hopefully people are getting drunk enough to not care about what he’s doing. Zhou Zishu suspects that at least one person’s inebriation is unnatural – Duxie is notorious for using poisons, after all.

As proven numerous times, however, nothing ever goes right for him. Towards the end of the gathering Wuchang-gui addresses him directly, nodding at his table and its contents. “Zhou-shouling, are you not enjoying Zhao-zhangmen’s hospitality? You have eaten so little.”

“Not at all, Gongzi,” Zhou Zishu replies levelly. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Come, then!” Wuchang-gui stands with his cup in hand, waving his slave over to Zhou Zishu’s table with a pitcher of alcohol. “Let us toast to Zhao-zhangmen, for his leadership in our efforts towards opening the Armoury!”

Zhou Zishu’s brain begins racing, trying to figure out a way he can avoid actually drinking the wine without bringing too much suspicion on himself. Before he can react, though, slim fingers press into the inside of his wrist, making him still in place. Wen Kexing stands up, drawing the eyes of most of the hall’s recipients.

“Gongzi,” Wen Kexing greets Wuchang-gui with a low bow. “Unfortunately, my master has found himself in ill health, and his doctor has advised refraining from alcohol entirely.” Wen Kexing grabs the cup that Wuchang-gui’s slave had poured for Zhou Zishu. “I will drink this cup of wine for my master.”

With a smooth move, Wen Kexing throws his head back and tips all of the cup’s content into his mouth. He swallows audibly, then turns the cup outwards with a delicate twist of his wrist, to show the hall that the cup is empty.

Zhou Zishu’s heart is beating too quickly.

“I apologise for the breach in decorum,” Zhou Zishu says, nearly breaking cover with how quickly he stands as well. “I will see to it that my slave is punished accordingly. However, it is true that I am in ill health, and must return to my residence. This one thanks Zhao-zhangmen for his continued hospitality, and thanks this gongzi for his kindness and care,” he bows towards them respectively, and finally towards the hall. “I will see you all soon,” he finishes, then drags Wen Kexing out of that cursed hall.

Once they’ve scrambled onto their carriage, Zhou Zishu shouts at Bi-shu to drive as fast as he can, and shoves a skin of water at Wen Kexing. “Drink, and then make yourself throw up the wine! Now!”

Wen Kexing obeys, coughing and sputtering until he throws up a stream of liquid out of the carriage window. Zhou Zishu pats his back frantically the whole time, saying too many words in too rapid a pace, “Why the fuck did you do that, you idiot? You should have just let me drink it! Now you’ve raised their suspicions and for what? Did you forget that you’re the one who’s sick, not me? You don’t even know what he put in there!”

Wen Kexing recovers from his coughing fit, and turns red-rimmed eyes on Zhou Zishu. “Then why did you rush us out so quickly? Are you not also raising suspicions? I already drank the wine and we can’t change that; the best course of action is to stay, at least for a while. And all of us know what’s happening under the surface, it’s plausible that whatever they think I’ve been doing to you can be nullified by drugged alcohol.”

“You’re the one who’s sick,” Zhou Zishu can only repeat, shaking with something that is almost anger. “If you won’t think for yourself then will you at least think for Gu Xiang? What will she do if you fucking die, huh?”

Ice flashes across Wen Kexing’s eyes. “I could say the same for you, Zhou-shouling. If you won’t think for yourself, then what about everyone who cares for you, who depends on you? What about–” he cuts off with a grimace, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s starting to set in,” he says instead, sounding noticeably weaker than before.

Panic seizing his lungs, Zhou Zishu bangs on the carriage walls and yells, “If we don’t get home soon I’m skinning you alive!” The whip cracks and the horses neigh, and the carriage jolts around as they pick up even more speed.

“I’ll be fine after I rest for a bit. Don’t worry, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing murmurs, eyelids fluttering with every bump of the road.

“Goddammit, Lao-Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, opening another skin of water and lifting it to Wen Kexing’s mouth. He puts a hand on the back of Wen Kexing’s neck and says, “Work with me here, you need more water,” before slowly tipping the skin so that a trickle slides through Wen Kexing’s too-red lips, steady in the rocking carriage, hurtling down the road.

At some point, Wen Kexing pushes the water away. His cheeks are flushed. “Just let me rest, A’Xu,” he whines, then drops his head into the hollow between Zhou Zishu’s neck and shoulder. His forehead is burning against Zhou Zishu’s skin.

Zhou Zishu keeps his fingers on Wen Kexing’s pulse for the eternity that it takes to arrive back at Siji Manor. He doesn’t wait for the carriage to stop completely before he just picks up Wen Kexing and jumps out, yelling for Wu Xi as he runs inside.

“What happened?” Beiyuan asks, appearing along with Wu Xi, both eyeing the way Wen Kexing lies curled in Zhou Zishu’s arms, eyes shut tight and keening lowly.

“He had drugged wine,” Zhou Zishu says flatly, jogging towards Wen Kexing’s quarters.

With a quick look at Wu Xi, Beiyuan briskly says, “I’ll go grab your kit,” before disappearing back into his and Wu Xi’s rooms.

“Report,” Wu Xi prompts as they run, tone calm, settling the haze that is clouding Zhou Zishu’s mind.

“He had one cup, and was able to throw up after it. He was lucid at the beginning, but soon weakened, as if tired. He started burning up, and the speed of his heartbeat has been increasing the entire journey back,” Zhou Zishu rattles off, and then they finally reach Wen Kexing’s bedroom.

He slowly stoops down, laying Wen Kexing on the bed carefully. The moment Zhou Zishu lets go and steps aside for Wu Xi to examine him, Wen Kexing starts gasping with obvious pain. His eyes are screwed tight.

“Any idea who did this to him and why?” Wu Xi asks as he works. Wen Kexing quiets down slightly when Wu Xi checks his pulse.

“It was most likely meant for me. No one would have expected him to drink it in my place. Wuchang-gui delivered it; he might just want me dead, but I do not have any previous history with him. But it also doesn’t make sense if it was Zhao Jing, if the entire point was for Wen Kexing to kill me in his place so that his hands are clean.”

There is something odd to the inflection of Wu Xi’s voice when he follows up with, “And what is the relationship between Wuchang-gui and Wen Kexing?”

“Antagonistic,” Zhou Zishu frowns. “He seems to enjoy it when Wen Kexing is humiliated.”

“Ah,” Wu Xi says, “Then this checks out. The drug is an advanced aphrodisiac. The recipient experiences physical pain and emotional distress which can only be alleviated by sexual contact. At the moment I speculate that the effects of the drug last anywhere between one to three days.”

Zhou Zishu’s head spins with this information. Wuchang-gui wanted him to rape Wen Kexing. While it might have presented a nice window of opportunity for Wen Kexing to get close and harm Zhou Zishu further, it would have been much too risky. The new valley master is an incompetent idiot who would compromise a mission for his own perverse desires. No wonder he has to submit to Zhao Jing.

He pulls himself back from his helpless rage. “What can you do to help?” he asks Wu Xi.

“Acupuncture, for now, to regulate his internal energy. His body was already weak from the operation, which is why he is unresponsive right now; normally the dosage would have been calculated for the recipient to still be able to actively seek out sexual contact. I can also give you a prescription for a potion that should hopefully cushion him from the most harmful effects of it, but there’s not much else I can do without figuring out what exactly was in the drug. Now,” Wu Xi says firmly, “Sit down and transcribe the prescription.”

Zhou Zishu has only started writing down the list of medicinal ingredients and how to boil them when Beiyuan bursts into the room with Wu Xi’s medical tools. Wu Xi immediately begins the acupuncture process even as he talks, and gradually Wen Kexing’s heaving chokes die down to laboured breathing.

Several shichen later, Wu Xi has done all he can with his needles, and Zhou Zishu has fed Wen Kexing the potion that he watched his agent cook from start to finish, staring like a hawk. Wen Kexing is mostly quiet except for the occasional whimper, even though he still seems to be wavering around the edge of unconsciousness.

“There’s nothing more we can do at the moment,” Wu Xi finally stands up, stretching his back slightly. “He will regain awareness when his body processes through some of the drug’s effects. Come get me when he’s awake.”

Soon afterwards, Zhou Zishu is left alone in Wen Kexing’s room.

Chapter Text

At night, the moon is visible from Wen Kexing’s room. Silver beams shine through the windows and puddle on the wooden floor, soft.

When Zhou Zishu was still a young boy, Shifu used to tell him this.

If it’s black, it’s mud; if it’s white, it’s stone; if it shines, it’s water.

Be careful where you step at night.

In the moonlight Wen Kexing is reduced to shades of ivory and ash, a finely detailed but washed out ink painting. His chest rises and falls with every breath, and sometimes his brows furrow with pain, lines stark with shadows. Zhou Zishu wants to smooth them out with his fingers. Wen Kexing should not be suffering.

And this is it, Zhou Zishu knows. Wen Kexing could still be a trap laid by Zhao Jing – for all Zhou Zishu cares, he will still willingly step into it. If Wen Kexing asks it of him, Zhou Zishu will crack his body open and let Wen Kexing suck the marrow from his bones. He can imagine the terrible softness in his own eyes, watching Wen Kexing in his fitful sleep. Foolish. Entirely too foolish.

At the end of the day, Zhou Zishu thinks curiously, I have made a slave of myself.

Wen Kexing stirs in the early hours of the morning, shivering. It is not from the cool night air; Zhou Zishu himself has stripped down to his inner robes. When Zhou Zishu puts a palm to his forehead, Wen Kexing is still burning up.

Still asleep as well, Zhou Zishu also realises with a sigh, and sits back down in the chair he had moved over to Wen Kexing’s bedside. He’s contemplating whether he should disturb Wu Xi’s rest and alert him to this change when Wen Kexing starts tossing and turning in his bed.

The nightmares, Zhou Zishu recalls abruptly. Even Drunk Like A Dream cannot eliminate nightmares forever. He tries to rouse Wen Kexing gently, but it doesn’t work, and he hesitates to disturb Wen Kexing further.

Over the next shichen, Wen Kexing calls out, sometimes. For his father, his mother. Someone called Luo-yi, and A’Xiang. Zhou Zishu, once. And A’Xu, A’Xu, A’Xu.

It would have been flattering under different circumstances. Still, Zhou Zishu cannot help but be shaken by the way Wen Kexing calls for him. He sounds so young.

Until suddenly, Wen Kexing blinks awake, eyes shining in the dark.

The moment he lays his eyes on Zhou Zishu, Wen Kexing lets out a high and needy whine. There is something wild to his eyes that rings alarm bells in Zhou Zishu’s head, making him stand and take half a step backwards.

In response, Wen Kexing struggles to prop himself up on his side to face Zhou Zishu, but collapses on his back when his arm gives out under him. He displaces one side of his robes in the process, sharp shoulder and collarbone showing distinctly, the hint of his nipple a dark smudge on the edge of the robes that Zhou Zishu himself had put back on him after Wu Xi finished his acupuncture. Wen Kexing looks debauched. Indecent. Obscene. Zhou Zishu looks away, but a desperate whimper turns his head back towards Wen Kexing.

“A’Xu, A’Xu please, I need– I need you, please master, I’ll be so good, please, Zishu-gege, Shixiong, my good A’Xu, I’ll be good for you–”

Zhou Zishu shuts all of these words out of his mind and steels his voice with his fear. His fists are trembling, clenched behind his back. “Wen Kexing, stop.”

Wen Kexing clamps his lips tightly together and bursts into silent tears instead, clear rivers streaming from his reddened eyes down his violently flushed face. His body quivers with the effort of holding himself unmoving on the bed.

Please, his wide eyes still beg. Please.

“I need you to stay here while I get the doctor,” Zhou Zishu injects his voice with as much authority as he can, ignoring the pain tearing through his chest. “Can you do that?”

Once Wen Kexing nods, teary, Zhou Zishu immediately darts out of the door.

He doesn’t actually go far. Xingming is standing guard at the end of the corridor, and instantly sets off to get Wu Xi when he sees Zhou Zishu emerge from the doors. Leaning back against the papered panels, Zhou Zishu slides down to the floor and buries his face in his hands.

He’s trying not to think of Wen Kexing’s words, his plaintive tone. He’s trying not to think of his own reaction to the sight of Wen Kexing’s half-bared chest. He’s trying not to think at all.

Wu Xi arrives and spares only a glance for Zhou Zishu sitting there before he breezes into the room. Zhou Zishu sits silently and listens to the sounds of Wu Xi and Wen Kexing talking, muffled through the door.

It takes a while. When Wu Xi comes out again, Zhou Zishu lifts his head in anticipation. It feels like an unwanted reprise of the day of Wen Kexing’s operation.

“I checked him over again, and did another acupuncture session. We agreed on putting him under using Drunk Like A Dream,” Wu Xi tells him. “Would you like to talk to him before I come back with the drug?”

“Will he be alright?” Zhou Zishu just asks.

“Yes, he’ll be fine after tomorrow.”

“Then…” Zhou Zishu pauses, then just shakes his head. “Thank you so much, Wu Xi.”

Wu Xi nods, and sets off. After a moment, Zhou Zishu manages to get up. He’ll let Gu Xiang know about Wen Kexing’s condition after he is knocked out; no need to scare her too much now. She must have snuck over to chat with Cao Weining then fell asleep again, if she didn’t hear the commotion from her quarters right next to Wen Kexing’s.

It’s always easier when you’re young.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Zhou Zishu hears second-hand reports on Wen Kexing’s recovery through Xingming. He woke up late at night the day after the incident, and has since been put on bed rest by Wu Xi. Wu Xi says there shouldn’t be any danger at all now, despite the distinct lack of sexual contact that Wen Kexing has received. It’s a good thing they are at Tianchuang, with Drunk Like A Dream on hand.

Wen Kexing asked where Zhou Zishu was once, Xingming says. Zhou Zishu tells him to pass on the message that he’s busy handling complications that have arisen with Zhao Jing and the Armoury, and it’s not even a lie.

He’s absolutely not avoiding Wen Kexing like the plague, no.

Apparently, when Zhao Jing and his party arrived, the liuli shards fit into the door, but they discovered that they are not the key to the door, and are instead the device that activates the keyhole. Another key is required to open the lock.

In the resulting atmosphere of discontent and mistrust over the next few days, Duxie had dug up decades-old rumours that Ghost Valley held the key to the Armoury. Once Zhao Jing revealed that Wuchang-gui was in fact the valley master, Wuchang-gui claimed that he had no knowledge of the key, sparking a battle between the jianghu sects backing Zhao Jing, and the ghosts. Most likely all directed in the shadows by Zhao Jing. Duxie’s forces have not been impacted at all.

The next target Zhao Jing would be coming for is Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu knows. He’s been recalling most of their agents from the field, leaving Luo-shu and Han Ying to coordinate external information gathering and covert action while he and Bi-shu direct internal defences.

“Sorry to get you two caught up in all this,” Zhou Zishu smiles wanly at Beiyuan and Wu Xi.

“We’re happy to help,” Beiyuan shrugs. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Wu Xi fight for real,” he says with a smirk at his partner. There’s a pang in Zhou Zishu’s chest as he averts his gaze.

There is only half a shichen of warning from Han Ying when Zhao Jing attacks. Zhou Zishu has been wondering why Zhao Jing was letting them prepare for so long, and it turns out it’s because it isn’t just Duxie’s forces that arrive at the doors to Siji Manor.

It is a tsunami of drug men as well.

Soon, Zhou Zishu is embroiled in commanding Tianchuang forces in the battle. It starts off well at first, Luo-shu and Han Ying’s hit-and-run tactics coordinating with the mechanical defences built into the manor. But this is why Zhao Jing waited to transport the drug men – their bodies just pile up and up against the manor walls, until they’re able to climb up the stack and over the walls, falling into the manor. And this is where the real fight begins.

Wu Xi and Beiyuan are running search and rescue with the kids’ assistance, and Wen Kexing has seen fit to join in the fighting, guarding Zhou Zishu’s back while he assesses the situation and rattles off orders. Zhou Zishu doesn’t bother to question his presence, because Wu Xi did clear him for strenuous activity the day before, and because he is simply too wrapped up in the battle. There’s an arrow stuck in his shoulder from when Zhou Zishu chose to help out Jiuxiao instead of dodging Duxie’s archers. At this point, Zhou Zishu recognises that Wen Kexing’s protection is crucial and even necessary for his continued leadership on the battlefield – they fight together seamlessly, with Wen Kexing anticipating his next moves and eliminating relevant threats beforehand.

There’s a ringing in his ears, a cacophony of yells and screams and fire and clashing weapons. Blood-splattered faces stare emptily into space all around the manor grounds, and even the grass smells metallic. Zhou Zishu tries to block it all out, focus on survival and protecting those who remain – and out of the corner of his eye something thin and glinting clatters onto the ground from the folds of Wen Kexing’s robes, quickly lost in the carnage. When Zhou Zishu turns his head, whatever it is is gone already.

He forgets about this as soon as Wu Xi comes up with the frankly inspired idea to control the drug men with musical instruments. Zhou Zishu is extremely grateful for his competence in understanding more foreign drugs and techniques, because soon enough Duxie’s forces start to withdraw. They’re in the end game now.

Zhou Zishu signals for Luo-shu and Han Ying to chase the remaining attackers away from the manor, while they work on subduing the drug men. The men outside report that they’ve spotted Zhao Jing and his boy in the distance, and Zhou Zishu is about to rush out an order for them not to pursue when he is consumed by a coughing fit.

With one look at Zhou Zishu bent at his waist, Wen Kexing takes over. “Do not pursue, I repeat, do not pursue. Preserve our forces and get our injured men back,” he tells the agent facilitating communications firmly. When the agent looks towards Zhou Zishu for confirmation, Zhou Zishu just nods. Wen Kexing’s words are plucked straight from his own mind.

There is something almost like helplessness surging in Zhou Zishu’s chest – who is this man of his dreams, heart of his heart, to walk into his life but who Zhou Zishu will never get to keep? Wen Kexing is not blind nor is he an idiot, no doubt he sees the way Zhou Zishu looks at him for too long, knows the black, yearning hole in Zhou Zishu’s stomach that reaches for him. Zhou Zishu had seen the same thing in Jin-wang, once. He had destroyed the man for it.

It builds, and builds, and suddenly Zhou Zishu realises that his vision is blurring as his body sways. The last thing he sees is Wen Kexing turning around in alarm, before darkness overtakes him.

Chapter Text

When he wakes up again, he is lying in his own bed, with Wu Xi leaning over him.

“There you are!” Beiyuan exclaims brightly behind Wu Xi. The three kids are piled up behind Beiyuan, peering intently at Zhou Zishu, and next to them Jiuxiao is doing a pretty convincing imitation of the puppy eyes he used to employ on Zhou Zishu when they were children. Han Ying is standing by the door, making an admirable effort not to sigh with relief as Zhou Zishu slowly sits up.

He can’t tell if it’s the rush of blood at the movement or not, but he feels a lurch in his stomach when he realises Wen Kexing is nowhere to be seen, even though Gu Xiang is here.

“Wen Kexing hared off to who-knows-where after clean-up, saying that he had important business to attend to,” Beiyuan says, laughter in his eyes.

“You’d been out for two days,” Wu Xi says. “Blunt force trauma to your head and sternum coupled with blood loss from the wound in your shoulder. You would have woken up sooner, but your body has been through an extended period of stress prior to this.”

Zhou Zishu nods his thanks, then looks towards Han Ying. “Seventeen dead, sixty-four injured,” Han Ying says. “Everyone is accounted for. Clean-up has been handled.”

Zhou Zishu closes his eyes at the numbers. Seventeen. It’s a surprisingly small number for what had happened, minuscule even, but it is still enough to drop an unbearable rock of guilt on Zhou Zishu’s shoulders.

“Drink your medicine, and then everyone has to leave to let him sleep,” Wu Xi orders the room at large. Zhou Zishu tries to protest, thinking of the entire mess with Zhao Jing and the Armoury, but Wu Xi just shoots him a sharp look.

“Tianchuang has not fallen apart in your absence,” Beiyuan smiles indulgently. “Your subordinates are competent enough to handle the situation, Zhou-shouling. Rest.”

So he does.

On Wu Xi’s orders, Zhou Zishu is only allowed light exercise this week, so he’s working through a set of uncomplicated katas in his courtyard when Wen Kexing flits down from the skies and lands in front of him.

“You came back,” Zhou Zishu says, stunned, and then immediately feels silly for it. Gu Xiang is still here, after all.

“Of course I did, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing affects an injured look. “Now, how are you? Are you even allowed to exercise?” he frowns at the sheen of sweat on Zhou Zishu’s forehead.

“Yes, so keep your claws off of me,” Zhou Zishu says, but still allows Wen Kexing to push the collar of his robes aside and inspect the clean bandages on his shoulder. Wen Kexing’s face is hovering so close to his neck that Zhou Zishu can feel his breath ghosting across his collarbones.

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re alright.” Wen Kexing’s fingers deftly arrange Zhou Zishu’s robes back into the very picture of neatness, the way he has not been present to do the past few days. “Ah, A’Xu, I’m sure you’ll hear the news from one of your minions soon, but I have something exciting to tell you!” Wen Kexing says, eyes bright as a child’s.

Zhou Zishu can’t help the way his lips quirk. He tilts his head, waiting for Wen Kexing to continue.

“So, you know how I went on a little trip? I may or may not have watched from afar when Zhao Jing’s fake Armoury key triggered an avalanche, and then picked off the little scorpions that tried to crawl out of the snow over the next three days.” A layer of cold slowly frosts over Wen Kexing’s face as he speaks, even though his smile is still firmly pasted on his face; Zhou Zishu is not even sure Wen Kexing himself is aware of it.

Carefully, Zhou Zishu puts a hand on Wen Kexing’s shoulder and squeezes. “Good,” he just says.

Zhou Zishu may not have loved and lost the same way others have, but he knows what it means to set things down easily. Where Wen Kexing wants to go next is none of his business – Zhou Zishu’s responsibilities lie with Tianchuang. It is also the least important part of this entire business, and Zhou Zishu’s feelings have no bearing on the sheer weight of Wen Kexing’s revenge, nor the rearrangement of jianghu politics now that Duxie, Ghost Valley, and the Wuhu Alliance are decimated.

“You can rest now,” Zhou Zishu says quietly, and watches as Wen Kexing’s face finally softens with his words.

But Wen Kexing stays, and stays, and stays. In another life Zhou Zishu might have wondered if it is penance for waiting until seventeen people have died to drop the fake armoury key, but he knows Wen Kexing, and they both know it was necessary to convince Zhao Jing that the key was real, especially since Wen Kexing was indisposed before and had no better choice. He hates himself a little more for it, but cannot bring himself to resent Wen Kexing, bright light that he is, despite the shadows lingering in his eyes. Wen Kexing has made himself the juniors’ favourite teacher, even though he runs them into the ground every day. The kitchen staff bustle past Zhou Zishu with a cheerful nod and a polite greeting, before excitedly telling their companion that they just bought the ingredients for another sweet snack they want Wen Kexing to try, and, well.

Maybe Zhou Zishu had been a good man, once, in the summer-sweet early years of his life, cocooned by a chorus of cicadas. Zhou Zishu is not a good man now. He wants and wants, and it is a deep yawning pit within him that only knows how to take. A snowstorm burying everything in its path.

He breaks the carefully maintained balance between them one morning.

“You’re blind if you trust me,” Zhou Zishu says, staring straight at his own reflection as Wen Kexing skillfully slides his jade hairpin into Zhou Zishu’s hair, even more efficient than he used to be with practice.

Wen Kexing’s fingers still, and he waits until Zhou Zishu gives in and meets his eyes through the mirror. “I didn’t trust you at first,” he says, tone light, gaze heavy. “I thought you might have specifically asked for me from Zhao Jing and Wuchang-gui, or that you were after the Armoury key. You proved me wrong.”

Zhou Zishu shakes free of Wen Kexing’s hands and turns around. In the process the hairpin slips out of his hair, but Wen Kexing scoops it out of the air before it can clatter onto the floor. “You’re unsafe here,” Zhou Zishu says, grave, hoping that Wen Kexing comprehends the severity of his warning.

But Wen Kexing just laughs lightly. “You say I’m blind, but you’re the one who must open your eyes. When have you ever acted on your hunger for me? Do you not see the same hunger in me, too?” Through the hollow ringing that slowly builds in his ears Zhou Zishu hears him continue, inevitable, inexorable, “You see it. You know me to the pits of my soul. Who do you think you’re fooling, A’Xu?”

It comes over him like tumbling down a gentle slope of a grassy hill, like setting off a red flare into a black night. He thinks about the weights of two different jade hairpins in his palm, the way Wen Kexing wraps his tongue around the word ‘home’, the fragile circle of the neck of a wine jar between his fingers, still warm with Wen Kexing’s touch. He’s struck silent, and Wen Kexing takes the opportunity to redo his hair, deliberate in his movements.

“We’re responsible for each other now, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing says softly as he eases his real hairpin into Zhou Zishu’s hair again. Like he’s been doing for the past months, since that dew-dropped dawn that Wen Kexing had tucked him into bed for.

There’s a fish bone lodged in Zhou Zishu’s throat when he hums his agreement, burning. Their eyes lock together, and Zhou Zishu reaches out to grip Wen Kexing’s hand tightly. Wen Kexing squeezes back so hard that it hurts, grinning like the smug cat that he is, eyes squeezed into crescent moons, heat and internal energy thrumming through the points of contact between their skin – and for once, Zhou Zishu feels impatiently, impossibly, alive.

Chapter Text

“A’Xu.”

“Mn.”

“Zhou-shouling.”

“Mn?”

“Zishu-gege.”

Zhou Zishu sighs. “What are you doing, Lao-Wen?”

“Trying to figure out what to call you from now on!” Wen Kexing exclaims, then pouts prettily. “Why am I Lao-Wen, anyway?”

“Because you’re annoying,” Zhou Zishu scoffs, and goes back to focusing on his work. There’s a stack of rolled-up bamboo and wooden strips on his desk that Wen Kexing is supposed to be helping him get through.

“Niangziiii–”

“Fuck off, Lao-Wen.”

Then in a smaller voice, Wen Kexing says, “Shixiong.”

Zhou Zishu looks up sharply at that. There is something swimming in the dark of Wen Kexing’s eyes, and Zhou Zishu is abruptly transported back to the night that Wen Kexing had spent drugged, pupils blown wide, the only instance he had actually been vulnerable this entire time. Zhou Zishu thinks he might have called him the same thing then; he had discounted Wen Kexing’s words as coerced ramblings, but he isn’t so sure now.

He studies Wen Kexing’s face tentatively, trying to look past the beauty that had struck him breathless at first sight, and slowly, slowly, thinks, no, it can’t be.

“What, exactly, are you trying to tell me?” Zhou Zishu asks carefully. He’s trying very hard not to get his hopes up. It’ll be Chongyang in two weeks, and Zhou Zishu had told Wen Kexing to let Luo-shu know if he wanted any memorial plaques made. Due to Zhen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao’s sensitive position within, or rather outside, the jianghu, he had never got around to making their plaques. Shifu would have wanted him to, but he has had a busy few years. It’s not an appropriate excuse though, he knows.

“My father’s surname was Wen, before he changed it for his shifu,” Wen Kexing says. All of a sudden Zhou Zishu is hit by the sense that Wen Kexing looks…fragile.

“Do you want his plaque to say Zhen or Wen, then?” Zhou Zishu asks softly, and Wen Kexing closes his eyes, and makes a small, choked sound.

Weeks later Zhou Zishu finds himself sneaking out of their bed to the ancestral temple late at night. He kneels in front of Zhen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao’s plaques, and pours some alcohol for them.

He bows until his forehead meets wood, then slowly straightens back up. Voice rasping quietly through the empty hall, he says, “Zishu was neither loyal nor filially pious, and was unable to take care of Kexing in the years that you’ve been gone. I have made too many mistakes and I cannot ask for forgiveness, but I would like to ask for your permission to take care of Kexing for the rest of our lives.”

The warm flames from the candles at the edge of his vision flicker, too abrupt to be natural, and Zhou Zishu’s cheeks flush as he realises he’s not alone after all. He holds his ground until he senses Wen Kexing settling on his knees next to him.

“Come to visit your gonggong and popo, Niangzi?” At least Wen Kexing sounds more amused than sad.

“My yuefu and yuemu, Niangzi.”

“If you say so, Fujun,” Wen Kexing all but purrs, and Zhou Zishu realises the sheer extent of his miscalculation when he feels his face heat up even more.

“We’re right in front of your parents!” Zhou Zishu hisses, swatting at Wen Kexing’s shoulder. The evil bastard is just chuckling, damn him.

Laughter still bright in his eyes, Wen Kexing turns towards him and says, “Let’s do it, A’Xu. Let’s make it real. We’ll come back tomorrow in red robes, just the two of us; put our parents plaques together and do the whole ceremony. I’ll even wear a veil if you want.”

Zhou Zishu grins back at him, cheeks stretched wide, aching sweetly.

“Anything you want.”

Anything at all.