Chapter Text
Nimble fingers pick up the chess piece.
Seconds pass as her opponent rolls the wooden flat disk in her palm; then swiftly places it several points away, capturing her piece, the elephant.
And there it goes, it’s tossed to the side. Off the board.
Yuqi wears her trademark pesky grin, mocking her. “Your move.”
Miyeon doesn’t even want to look at the board when she knows she will lose in precisely five turns. Yuqi’s intellect far surpasses any of the Celestial Immortals, she is famed for her wisdom, her reasoning abilities.
No Celestial Immortal would dare play against Yuqi in fear of their egos kicked and wounded to the point of no return. Her peers aptly describe the experience as being thrown down a well as a mortal.
Humans can’t fly. In other words, playing chess against Yuqi is not fun.
Miyeon reluctantly moves her general one point to the left, readying herself to embrace the incoming teasing.
“How strategic of you, Miyeon.”
She sighs and wonders how Yuqi can tread the fine line between naive honesty and outright ridiculing so well. It must be an innate skill, one which Miyeon has never properly learned. “Please finish this faster.”
“If you insist, but I beg to differ. Something tells me you wish to prolong our match,” says Yuqi. Never subtle in her approach. Almost gloating. “I sensed a hidden agenda attached to your earlier invitation. You wish to converse with me over matters of the mind.”
Continuing on with her unsolicited soliloquy. “And who am I to refuse sharing wisdom with my dear, troubled friend?”
Yuqi deserves to be knocked down to the Mortal Realm to learn humility.
Miyeon snorts. Listening to such an arrogant deduction irks her like no other. Though it is because said deduction is always accurate.
Flying true to its target. “Not everyone wishes to hear your wisdom,” Miyeon counters.
“And not everyone willingly wishes to play a match against me.” Yuqi moves her chariot to the side and effectively corners Miyeon’s final piece, causing her to curse internally.
“Checkmate.”
Forget five turns. Her loss is upon her in one turn.
“Though I would ask what is troubling you, I already have an idea,” says Yuqi, clearing away the chess pieces. Putting them into an ornate black box.
“Soyeon has agreed to host the Empress of the Underworld for two nights in celebration of the new year. And you question whether you should ask the Empress on Shuhua’s well-being.”
Would knowing how Shuhua is doing make her feel better? She highly doubts it.
Knowledge of Shuhua festering in an underground prison, battered and bruised, would not ease her mind. Confirmation of her assumptions would not change anything. The status quo stands.
Miyeon would never dare go against a set judgement.
Nevertheless, more than a thousand years have gone by, yet this amount of time has passed within a blink of the eye. For the other Celestial Immortals that is.
Time trailed slowly for Miyeon, dripping like melting candle wax under the dullest flicker of a flame. She had been able to make astute observations of the changing seasons. She noted how they ceased to blend together following Shuhua’s banishment.
If this continues any longer, Miyeon may usurp Soyeon’s role as the resident poet.
“Is it time for me to move on? Shall I give my state of mind a reprieve?” Miyeon asks. Giving in. She might as well discuss this with Yuqi and take advantage of her sage advice.
It is remarkable how little intellect she herself seems to possess. Granted that Miyeon did court Shuhua who proved to be a black thorn to the Celestial Realm’s laws.
And she was not ignorant of Shuhua’s fate either. She had blindly forged onward without a care for the path Shuhua was doomed to tread.
“My sources tell me you will have your reprieve tonight at the banquet.” Yuqi carries the box under her arm, standing. A sympathetic gaze meets her eyes.
“I advise you to prepare yourself in advance.”
----
“I will take care of her.”
Promised a lifetime ago, even those with failing eyes can see Shuhua was evidently well-taken care of.
Miyeon can feel her throat constricting with every step Shuhua takes. With each step, it’s a bit harder to breathe and she knows she’s not dreaming.
Soojin leads her delegation, captivating attention with her elegant walk down the Great Hall. And beside her as her equal?
The gold phoenix hairpin gives her identity away. Consort of the Empress.
In matching crimson robes, a sleeve cut at the shoulder, baring her arm, the girl is as beautiful as Miyeon remembers. Silken black hair flows below her shoulders. She casts an inescapable allure to her gait–while pulling at her heart in a way she thought she would never come across again.
Shuhua.
Shuhua who bows together with Soojin, lowering herself with utmost grace.
“You may rise,” says Soyeon. Her voice projects through the hall and Soyeon signals their esteemed guests to take a seat at the long table.
Miyeon isn’t the only one who is baffled at the turn of events, what has transpired the past thousand years. Hushed fervent murmurings erupt around her, distrustful glances are directed at Shuhua.
She can’t blame them.
A criminal who was exiled from the Celestial Realm—sitting in the Great Hall.
This is unheard of.
The dark blues and violets swirling around Shuhua’s left arm have remained. Withering smoke is still curling in wisps. To her fellow Celestial Immortals, this was akin to a slap in the face.
Corrupted energy radiates from Shuhua in spades, stronger than it was previously. But Miyeon can tell it has been fairly subdued.
The user is in complete control.
“Silence!” Soyeon slams her fist on the table. Extinguishing the murmurs.
“Is this how we treat our guests?” says Soyeon, her voice slightly cracking. Miyeon guesses Soyeon did not envisage this new development concerning Shuhua.
The tension does not dissipate.
When the feast officially commences, several Celestial Immortals rise from their seats. They choose to skip this part of the night altogether. Walking out without acknowledging the foreign delegation.
Her stomach is flipping, she has long lost her appetite.
Miyeon stands and joins them.
----
The door swings open, closing promptly.
She turns around, prepared to scold the unlucky soul who has entered her chambers without permission. Only to grasp the table behind her.
Weakly staggering to her feet. Mute.
“It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” Shuhua murmurs, slowly coming towards her. “I trust the years have been kind to you.”
She abandons her thoughts of reconciliation. Upon hearing those words, blinding fury engulfs her rationality. Erasing her remaining doubts all at once.
Contempt guides Miyeon to speak. “I can say the same for you.”
She’s met with lost eyes. Miyeon laughs in disbelief, a wretched broken sound escapes. So she digs deeper, intending to hurt.
“I can see you were well taken care of. What was it like, warming Soojin’s bed every night? Taming the Empress with your body?”
There it is.
The reaction she’s looking for. Lips pressed together, the stiffness. The onset of rage.
Miyeon watches Shuhua’s every move. Memorizing how anger takes form upon her face, how the tainted energy around her arm threatens to break free from its invisible seal. On the brink of release.
Shuhua must be seconds from losing control.
“Go on,” Miyeon goads.
She doesn’t expect the sharp edge of a hairpin upon her throat. Pressing lightly.
Distance between them closed, breaths mingling in the air. Shuhua’s other hand grips her shoulder tightly. Squeezing hard to crush.
“You don’t know what I have gone through,” snarls Shuhua.
Skin breaking, a drop of blood is drawn.
The pressure on her shoulders lessens. Miyeon can feel a hand shifting to her collarbones, gradually trailing up her neck.
The burning sensation left behind in its trail is nothing gentle.
The touch of blackened fire collides with her nature, staying, prolonging the smoldering pain. Miyeon is divinity, she has never known the taste of corrupted magic. Its hunger to devour her entire being is her latest surprise.
Miyeon’s eyes widen slightly, but she does not flinch. Not in front of Shuhua.
Never in front of Shuhua.
The hairpin is retracted and Miyeon holds her breath in wait.
She’s roughly pulled forward, lips upon her own.
Impatient.
Needy.
Aggressive unlike anything else, clawing at the front of her robes, Shuhua presses into her. Miyeon returns to her senses. Closing her eyes, she reciprocates in full, fighting back with the fire she was given.
Raking the girl’s back in her frustration. Wanting to see red.
Miyeon relents to the fact the girl she loved has slipped away from her.