Chapter Text
Faust couldn't say exactly when and how, but it seems that her esteemed mentor, the undoubted-great Maestro: Hong Lu- had become close with that grumpy Thumb Apprentice, Heathcliff.
To say "close" might be inaccurate, as such a term is only used when both are on equal status. Even as a retired Maestro, Hong Lu remained as a role of Ring Nursefather, a highly respected figure with countless achievements. Heathcliff, on the other hand, was just a orphan who was picked up from Backstreet by Rodion and still undergoing his training as an Apprentice. Even their age, experience or social condition were vastly different, to call them "close" would be a misjudgment of their relationship. Yet, despite much deliberation and countless discussions with her beloved Fascia about the right word, Faust could only use that description to convey the bond between the two.
Faust still remembers that day, when Maestro first brought the brown-haired intruder into their gallery. While the word "intruder" might be a bit harsh, considering they were essentially living under the same "house," Faust still harbored a certain aversion to those who didn't understand the art that her mentor had instilled in Faust. Hong Lu, however, always hoped that one day he could make others in the "house" appreciate the beauty of contorted flesh and sculpted bones. His excitement sometimes was so overflowed that prompted Hong Lu to grab anyone passing by to admire his newly completed masterpiece. Regardless of the potential negative reactions, that soul of an artist in him was always happy to seek out more viewers.
Faust had expected today to be another such day, Heathcliff may unintentionally catching Hong Lu's sight and being led to his precious gallery. However, the previous incident where Rodion had accidentally broken against one of Hong Lu's works, causing Maestro a week of grief had left Faust mentally prepared to stop Heathcliff immediately if he dared disrespect her mentor as his mentor did.
But contrary to Faust's expectations, Hong Lu didn't drag him to the exhibition of his newly completed piece of artwork, nor did he excitedly showing his creative inspirations. Instead, the Maestro led Heathcliff to an empty pedestal, which was ready to place a lifeless form but not a living creature still warm and alive, upon it.
"It's alright, Heath. Just lie down," Hong Lu whispered in Heathcliff's ear in a remarkably gentle voice, tinged with a strange concern Faust hadn't imagined her mentor would show to anyone other than the artwork he treasured so much.
Only then did Faust notice Heathcliff's arm bleeding profusely with each step, the wound terrible enough she could even see white bone revealed. His face was pale with pain, yet Heathcliff still gritted his teeth without uttering a sound. Just as Faust thought that perhaps that brown-haired man had awakened to a new truth and willingly stepped onto the pedestal to become Hong Lu’s new masterpiece, and that poverty was not a barrier to appreciating art... Hong Lu suddenly glanced at her. That jade hue usually so calm and carefree, was now clouded with the dust of an unnamed anxiety Faust had never encountered before, nor had any information to react to. That anxiety only faded slightly after Heathcliff obeyed and lay down on the pedestal.
"I feel like you're about to dissect me."
Heathcliff murmured softly, yet it could still be heard in this almost enclosed, silent space. Faust felt that his audacity in describing it that way showed no respect for her Maestro. How could he describe Hong Lu's ornate techniques compared to that purely symbolic act of "dissection"?
Moreover, no one on such a pedestal had ever been able to comment on Hong Lu's actions as Heathcliff had.
"If it hurts, you can scream out for me to know."
Thi unexpected reassurance somehow made Heathcliff relax. And Faust was genuinely surprised. Although she had seen Hong Lu mold and sculpt many times, she had never seen him “fixed” fresh flesh and blood. Unlike how tendons were tightly interwoven or the muscle tissues of different individuals were joined together to form a single entity, what Hong Lu doing now was precisely sewing up Heathcliff's torn flesh, stopping the bleeding from the wound and concealing the stark white cut surfaces.
It was like fixing a worned teddy bear with a lots of torn seam that had the stuffing spilling out.
Faust couldn't remember exactly how that day ended, perhaps some of that memories were stored in the part of her brain she'd cut out to share with her beloved Fascia. But it seemed that in the days that followed, Heathcliff had become more accustomed to entering the gallery. Unlike the first day of always looking down and muttering softly, it turned out that Thumb Apprentice was even noisier than Faust had imagined. He acted as if the Maestro were his personal doctor, occasionally yelling loudly if Hong Lu accidentally hurt him, or sometimes just sitting idly by watching Hong Lu sculpt. (One positive quality that made Faust appreciate Heathcliff more than his Nursefather was that, at least, this man didn't criticize or damage hermentor's pieces).
Despite that, Faust felt there was no reason to stop Heathcliff from entering the gallery. After all, Hong Lu always seemed very happy whenever Heathcliff appeared, or whenever Faust caught them walking together. Hong Lu's happiness was so different from when he was creating a work, or when Faust saw Ishmael gleefully reading the colorful books in her hands, or such happiness of Don Quixote whenever she being patted on the head. Perhaps it was similar to when Faust touched Fascia and felt her rhythm, but there seemed to be a subtle difference that Faust couldn't quite explain.
The bond between siblings, parents and children, teacher and student, master and pet... Every relationship has its own unique characteristics and boundaries. Something friends can easily discuss to each other, yet they can’t even say that to their own parents freely. Some things a teacher and student can do together don't mean that behavior is acceptable in a superior-subordinate relationship. Faust could spend hours in Hong Lu's gallery, sculpting Fascia while gazing at Hong Lu's Tibia as an endless source of inspiration. But she would never set foot in his always-locked bedroom, nor would she ever be looked upon by Hong Lu as his most precious possession—the way Hong Lu is looking at Heathcliff now.
...Hmm, perhaps after finishing her beloved Fascia, Faust might consider creating a pair of sculptures.
Heathcliff's frequent appearances at the gallery had become so commonplace that Faust took it for granted. So commonplace that she even wondered why Rodion had suddenly decided to visit today.
"Textbook, so you've been hiding here, haven't you?"
Only then did Faust realize that Heathcliff's mentor was the person in front of her, not Hong Lu nor Ring themselves. And because Hong Lu wasn't here right now, Faust couldn't even say a word when Rodion dragged Heathcliff away.
"Is that so..."
Upon returning and hearing Faust's report, Hong Lu only uttered a soft exclamation. Then her teacher picked up Tibia, left the gallery, then never returned.
...Until the next morning.
Hong Lu returned in his usual attire, only a few bloodstains and burn marks on his shirt, the distinctive white of Ring making those marks stand out painfully. Weariness was evident on his otherwise flawless face, and Faust could even faintly smell a strange alcohol scent on him. Add to that the locks of hair that had clearly been brutally cut, completely out of Hong Lu's aesthetic sense.
Faust didn't want to ask what had happened; unnecessary words. Faust only knew that after that, whenever they needed to go out, Hong Lu would always carefully instruct her not to let Rodion into the gallery.
"I'm sorry, Faust... This shouldn't need mentioning, but please make sure not to let Rodion, that drunkard, take a single step into my gallery."
What Hong Lu wanted to keep from Rodion's reach was no longer simply his masterpieces.
And coincidentally, Faust had no reason to refuse.