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The first thing Leo notices when he steps ashore is the air. One can tell a lot about a place from the air. The smells, the sounds, the general atmosphere. After several years of being in his trade, he has taught himself to read the air like a book,painted before him like an intricate landscape only he can understand.
The air of Shanghai is humid. It holds a certain tension to it, as if warning Leo not to proceed. The scents are many and confusing, smelling of spices and unfamiliar foods, crowds of animals and people.. And then there’s the drugs: he sweet , nauseating smell of opium. Leo hasn’t had any himself in months, but as the aroma hits his nose, he can feel himself wanting it. He shakes his head to clear it . Drugs are not his reason for the trip. Ending up stoned in a den somewhere would be a bad use of his time.
The ground feels good underneath his feet. As much as Leo loves the sea and the sky, there is nothing quite like setting foot upon new ground. The promise of adventure and treasure lure him onto land, lying hidden in the soil, a tempting sensation that is slightly different from place to place. He lives for the difference. So far, no place has managed to seduce him long enough to make him stay. He is a vagabond, always on his way to elsewhere.
The crew of the ship he came with is busy unloading goods. Nothing of interest. The things these kind of ships carry are rarely anything compared to the treasures Leo seek s . Drugs, spices, precious metals; they all turn bland in comparison of what he is after. No, he is far more refined than the sleazy merchants whose only interest is the money. He craves the sound of machine parts and steam, the feel of metal beneath his hands.
Of course, that doesn’t mean Leo isn’t in need of the money. What makes him different is the reason. He has a strict policy when it comes to money. He only spends enough to keep himself alive while on land and saves the rest for travelling. Always moving, never looking back. If he visit s the same place twice, he makes sure to take on a different identity. It is , however, a rare occurrence. Every now and then he will return to Thailand to visit Phichit, one of the few people in the world he actually considers a friend , but apart from that, he always keeps his eyes on the next adventure.
Still, he has to admit , Shanghai does have a charm to it. His senses are flooded with vivid colours: people dressed in beautiful garments, patterns spun in silk, so much more elegant than the plain shirt and vest he is used to. He smiles modestly at the people he passes, eyes alway scanning for signs. After all, there is a reason for his visit. If the rumours are true, he might earn enough to build his own vessel of transport. He has had his eyes on a sketch for years, worked for questionable employers and followed dead-end rumours in order to gain the means to create it. He is willing to wait for the right opportunity to come around. Since Phichit is the one who tipped him off this time, he trusts the information to be reliable.
His first stop is at a shady trading post. The men there are the kind Leo would never trust to have his back. They barter in quickly spoken words, exchanging their items with gritty smiles and greedy eyes. Leo makes sure to always have a wall behind him, lest someone sneak up behind his back. He is skilled in making his interest known without revealing too much, hiding his true desires with empty talk. No one takes much notice of him, too busy with their own conversations.
Leo’s ears are trained on every word uttered. His mandarin comprehension isn’t the best, but he knows just enough to discern who is and who is not worth checking out later. One word, or a subtle gesture is enough. It is a general rule he lives by. No matter where you go, you will always find the same people. He has all the types saved in his mind, so he knows what to look for. After a few minutes, he has his eyes on three of the men.
The first one, an elderly man with a carefully groomed beard, he subtly tips as he passes him. He receives a small not e written in elegant script in return. An address, if he is not mistaken.
The second one is a bit trickier. He sits on a rickety chair in a corner, fidgeting with a mechanical puzzle. Leo is familiar with the type. Prideful, with a penchant for watching others suffer. It isn’t hard coaxing him into a bet by playing dumb. He ignores the scornful laughter as he picks up the puzzle and starts to fidget with it, taking his time on purpose to indulge the man. He keeps up his charade for just long enough to be sure the man won’t go back on his word. Leo has to keep himself from smirking as the puzzle box clicks open. The man is reluctant at first, but gives in and whispers a rumour into Leo’s ear with a voice like greasy cogs grinding together.
The third one is a young man with wary eyes. His silhouette bleeds into the shadows, always gone before Leo can get ahold of him. Cao Bin, one of the merchants tells him. Known for his vast knowledge of the inner workings of the city, but as elusive as a mythical creature, lurking in the gutters of the night. It takes Leo three days to track him down and corner him in an alley. Another hour to coax the wanted information out of him, in exchange for a particularly rare scroll Leo came over in his travels with Otabek.
By the end of his first week in Shanghai, Leo knows where to strike.
Maybe fate wants it that way. Leo isn’t quite sure if he believes in such, but for a moment he wants to. What catches his eye first, isn’t the boy himself. He usually doesn’t think much about people’s appearances. He barely bats an eye when a group of older men, clearly under the effects of drugs, leer at the young boy. He is short of stature, his body slender and petite like a little girl’s. Objectively speaking, Leo would say he is what could be considered a beauty.
Leo has seen many beauties during his travels. Men and women whose looks alone could earn them the world at their feet and then some. Too often, they are unfortunate souls; caught in the endless turn of the world, like cogs forced to keep the clockwork running. Leo doesn’t get involved with them. It only means unnecessary trouble without any gain. Which is why he believes fate must have played its part.
Maybe he is a bad person ; he doesn’t dwell over it. Over the years, words like good and bad become meaningless. They blur into each other, leaving only a spectre of actions that cannot be justified no matter what you believe in. It doesn’t mean he isn’t aware of his sins. He doesn’t deny them. They are far too many. However, if anyone were to ask him what caught his attention when he first saw the boy he later came to know as Guang-Hong, he will never admit it was the glimmer of metal.
It is faint at first, subtle enough that Leo thinks he might have been mistaken. Still, he falter s in his step, eyes settling on the smooth movements of the boy. He is lost in concentration as he engages his body in a complicated dance. He glides across the ground, his aura radiating the pure innocence of a child yet the calm strength of a dragon. His loose changshan billow s around him, giving Leo a glimpse of the boy’s leg.
He feels a spark of interest surge through him as his suspicions are confirmed; steam powered prosthetics are nothing new. Leo has seen his fair share, having traveled through all sorts of war ridden places. The masterpiece in front of him , however, is far from anything he has ever seen before. It takes him a moment to realize it is not a prosthetic. Rather, it is a thin metal frame, encasing the boy’s leg. Leo has to wind his hands into the red sash at his hip to keep himself from reaching out to touch it.
The boy meets his eyes, mouth slightly open in surprise as if he didn’t realise he was being watched. Behind him, Leo can hear the drug-affected men whisper among themselves. Leo can't hear exactly what , but he doubts they are nice things. One of them points towards the boy with a sneer, while the others laugh. It is like he is struck by a sudden sense of compassion towards the boy, despite not having met him before. The boy’s hand is in his, dragging him away before he has the chance to protest.
It feels nice to run. The weary houses of the rural district fly by as their feet fly across the ground. The soft light of a fading day caresses their skin, illuminating their faces while casting harsh shadows on their backs. It isn’t until they come to a halt outside a small market that sells vegetables that Leo notices the mix ture of confusion and fear on the boy’s face. He mutters out an apology, letting go of the boy’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” he starts. Leo steps back. He bites the inside of his cheek, scolding himself for having broken one of his most important rules as a traveller. Do not meddle. As hard as it is to turn a blind eye to the horrors of the world, he is no hero. He cares too much for his own selfish motives. He has long since ridden himself of any guilt. Leaving the boy to the men should not have been a problem. Except it was, and now he is standing with him in a deserted street without knowing what to do.
“I’m not supposed to run,” the boy mutters. His E nglish is slightly broken, tongue not quite used to forming the words.
“I’m sorry?”
“My leg .” The boy pulls up the hem of his pant leg, revealing the intricate machinery underneath. Leo can immediately tell something is wrong. It doesn’t prevent him from staring at the contraption in awe, his mouth slightly agape.
“I can’t walk. I need it fixed.”
Leo could have done the smart thing and run. Leave the boy before the situation could escalate any further. It didn’t work out that way. Maybe it was the technology. He will blame it on that in the future ; god forbid he had any feelings for a stranger.
Still, he kneels down beside the boy and starts studying the metal cage affixed to the boy’s foot. Leo considers himself a skilled mechanic, but the contraption in front of him is beyond his understanding. He tries to pry gently at the small pieces of metal. They don’t budge at all. He could try to remove it, but one look at the boy’s deformed leg is enough to make him forget that option.
“Where do you live?”
The boy stares wide - eyed at him. Leo curses himself for the phrasing. He is better at digging his own grave than he initially thought. At this rate, it might come in handy, since he keeps breaking his survival rules.
“Look. I only wish to help you. The sooner we can get you home, the sooner I can get back to my job, so if you just tell me where you live I can carry you there.”
The soft blush on the boy’s face deepens, but he nods in agreement, letting Leo help him up on his back. The boy is heavier than Leo expected, but still not too heavy for him to carry, even if he should happen to live at the other side of Shanghai. They can always stop and rest if needed.
“This is probably rude of me but I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Leo.”
“Guang-Hong,” the boy replies. Fitting, Leo thinks. Of course the boy would have a beautiful name.
Guang-Hong’s house is different from what Leo imagined. In contrast to the places Leo has stayed so far, the building is an interesting mix between a commoner’s home and a workshop. Steam - powered gadgets are everywhere, covering every vacant space on the floor. Various pipes protrude from the walls, disappearing into the roof or the floor. The gentle earth tones chosen for the walls gives the place a calm atmosphere , despite all the apparent chaos.
Guang-Hong pulls at a string by the door, causing a variety of gears to turn in the framework mounted on the wall. Steam hisses from vents in the many copper pipes. Leo wants to dissect the entire building. Whoever made it was clearly a genius.
An elderly man eventually staggers into the room. His hair is peppered with grey, his face as wrinkled as a shirt that has spent the last century at the bottom of a trunk. He shouts something at Guang-Hong, to which the boy replies quietly. The man shakes his head, then meets Leo’s eyes.
It feels a bit like what Leo imagines looking a dragon in the eye would feel like. He fights the urge to look away, straightening his back and mentally swathing himself in an invisible layer of armour. Guang-Hong whispers something to the man, who nods slowly, never taking his eyes off Leo. It is as if he can see right through him.
Con man. Traitor. Liar.
Guang-Hong whispers something else to the man, then he points to Leo. The man walks over to him, hands reaching out for his watch.
It is a construction of his own, although the design is not his. It is the type of watch young inventors are asked to make at apprentice exams. Leo never had the money or the patience to attend a real school. His skills with clockwork is a result of trial and error, and to some degree his past adventures with Otabek : An inventor’s son, with a love for a fast - paced lifestyle. Unfortunately, he also happened to have a fondness of the law.
The man opens the back of the watch, eyes staring intently at the small cogs turning rhythmically. Leo feels like he’s being dissected, his insides taken out for examination, without the man needing to lift a single finger.
“This is an excellent forgery,” he says. Even his voice sounds like words on parchment, ink dry but stark despite the age.
“What makes you think it’s a forgery , sir?”
Guang-Hong shakes his head, eyes begging him not to challenge the old man.
“Would you think it shameful if someone copied your work and claimed it as their own?”
Leo falters. He knows he’s been exposed, but keeps pushing forward. There has never been any other way for him. He doesn’t owe the past; cannot quite stop from grasping at the future. He only exists in the now and the will be , his was crumbling behind him, just a trail of machine oil and rusty parts.
“Is it that hard to believe the same idea might occur twice in the same reality ? ”
“Who’s your teacher?”
“I’m self-taught.”
A coin is pushed into Leo’s hand. It is attached to a rusty chain, the writings on it ancient, impossible to decipher for Leo’s eyes. The message is evident either way.
“Really?”
The man nods. He says something to Guang-Hong again, then starts to assemble a set of tools. Guang-Hong picks up a cane from a rack on the wall, then nods for Leo to follow him. His feet move of their own accord, his body an automaton programmed to obey orders. It feels a bit like being swallowed, the house a vast monster, and Guang-Hong the lure guiding him to his doom.
He follows willingly.
The coin hangs heavy in its chain around Leo’s neck, the worn bronze glistening in the light of the hearth. The heat is unbearable, but he doesn’t let it faze him. Not when the heavy eyes of Guang-Hong’s father rests upon him as he works.
It has been two months since he came to S hanghai, the rumours just shadows lagging behind him, cast upon his uneven footprints left behind on the dusty roads. He doesn’t need them anymore. He could have discarded them the first day he set foot in the Ji household. The artefact he’s looking for is under their roof, he has no doubt. Attaining it is the hard part.
So he listens to the rumours. Some claim it is a big contraption, others that it could fit neatly into your pocket. Ji Yan-Ming keeps his personal life close to his chest and his inventions even closer. Even the things he teaches Leo are obviously only pieces of the puzzle, small fragments handed to him with the expectation of a finished picture.
It doesn’t take Leo long to understand that he won’t find anything if he hopes for Yan-Ming to reveal something. Instead, he takes interest in Guang-Hong.
The boy is the inventor ’ s only son, leg permanently deformed from polio. It is a grotesque sight when removed from its golden cage. Pale and twisted, as if someone deliberately broke it by sheer force. It stands in contrast to the rest of the boy. Only two years younger than Leo himself, but radiating a n innocence Leo hasn’t known since he was a toddler.
It intrigues Leo how Guang-Hong, so different from himself, defies all adversity. A genius like his father, but a dreamer at heart. If Leo could make it possible for him to dance unhibited, he would.
Guang-Hong likes to talk about dancing. About fantastic stories, and elaborate costumes. It hurts him to do more than walk. The broken leg is , and will always be , the stick in his wheel. And still it turns.
Yan-Ming makes sure to give his son enough to work with, hoping the scent of oil and machinery will make him forget. He never does.
There is something about the way Guang-Hong interprets the world that fascinates Leo. Even something as simple as a trip down to the market to get parts for his father’s inventions can be turned into a treasured memory.
Guang-Hong sees the world through a different lense. Rather than people , he sees stories. It surprises Leo at first just how well the younger boy reads him. He flicks through Leo like a good book, slowly unravelling his secrets, never exceeding his own calculated pace. Guang-Hong always has time on pause, the world stopping so he can catch up and watch it.
Leo stops and watches Guang-Hong.
It makes him forget his real goal. Everytime he tries to direct their conversation towards the artefact, it trails off. If it is intentionally, Guang-Hong is extremely good at hiding it. It should frustrate Leo, he’s not a patient person, but fascination is a dangerous thing.
He’s not only involved with him. They’re hopelessly entangled, every word he speaks razing another of Leo’s rules. They crumble and fall like towers, until he sits on bare ground with the rubble surrounding him.
He knows he’s taking too long. Phichit sends him a letter after three months, a simple scroll that had undoubtedly been skimmed through by countless sets of greedy eyes before it reached him. Leo has to keep from smiling as his eyes take in the information on the paper, cleverly encrypted in poor jokes about the state of the underground market. Someone has added a snarky remark in the margin, so someone must have found it somewhat provocative at least.
Leo, unlike the eavesdropper, knows what Phichit is trying to tell him. He’s not the only one after the artefact. Time is running out.
He needs more information. The rumours picked up in stray conversations at the market aren’t enough to satisfy him. They’re like eating a meal without feeling full afterwards. He hungers for more, so he digs deeper.
It isn’t hard to disappear without Yan-Ming noticing these days; even geniuses can’t stay away from the drugs. Leo can hear him mutter to himself whenever the withdrawal symptoms start to kick in. The crude words that come out of his mouth are nothing like the soft spoken instructions he gives while they work on the steam engines. They are sharp and angry, a glowing hot blade ready to wedge itself between your ribs.
It pains Leo to leave Guang-Hong alone with him when he’s like this, so he waits. There are only so many days Yan-Ming can go without heading down to the closest den. Leo prefers not to think about his tutor hanging out with the unsavoury types down there. The kind that would assault his son and leave him to die in a ditch afterwards.
The streets feel like they’re watching him when he slips out of the house one night. Shanghai is unnervingly silent at this time, but not any less awake. Night dwellers are tactful. They blend into the dark and move soundlessly like a breath of wind, so unlike their daytime counterparts. They live in the liminal spaces, tethering on the in - betweens. Some of them spring forth like flowers, empowered by the low light.
The black market is one of these places. It is loud and bursting with energy, when everything else is recharging. A good place to strike up a conversation. Leo fits in seamlessly, intentions hidden behind a smug mask and clever words. This is the sea he can navigate blindly, a dance he knows every step to.
He chats mindlessly with the many strangers, bets and loses money, and occasionally wins a valuable piece of information. He trades a few of his recent contraptions for more valuable items. With some tweaking, they will earn him a great sum.
The rumours about Yan-Ming are even more interesting in the underworld. Few seem to know anything about the artefact Leo is after, but he picks up on some surprising tidbits.
He’s not sure if he believes the one about being a B ritish spy, but the story about how he supposedly killed his wife, and how he is actually a former member of the court, has Leo reeling with questions.
Maybe the mood is getting to him, or it is the disappointment of not finding anything. Or he’s simply tired of chasing after his dream. For the first time in years, he lets himself get lost in the pleasant buzz of alcohol. After a few drinks too many, the world starts to make less sense, and his words become more testy. He’s never been the kind to keep his mouth shut when it comes to his opinions, but he has learned to at least filter what he says. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened on his last adventure with Phichit.
He somehow manages to piss someone off anyway. It is a small man, possibly a merchant, or for all Leo knows, he could be a government official. The only thing he knows is that despite his small stature and weak appearance, he knows how to kick. Leo is sent sprawling, a stool breaking underneath his weight.
His surroundings grow hazy, the bar a foggy blur of dim colours and heat. The people turn into faceless silhouettes, all grinning grotesquely down at him. There is shouting, and Leo can sense someone picking him up and punching him. The pain washes over him, numbing. He doesn’t really feel anymore. Hasn’t been this drunk since he left Otabek behind in the Ottoman empire.
For a moment, the pain seems well deserved. It is a karmic force that has been waiting to pay retribution ever since he betrayed his friend. He doesn’t fight it when a fist yet again connects with his jaw. There is a pause and a lot of shouting above him.
Leo can see people flocking around him, or rather, they’re flocking around the person standing above him. The person yells, voice quivering, a deer in the lion’s den. Someone is laughing mockingly. He can feel someone kick him lightly in the back to a new round of laughter. The small person shouts angrily.
Leo expects another hit, but instead, there is blood. Not his, Leo realises after a panicked moment. One of the men above him crumples, blood seeping out of the corners of his mouth.
The place erupts in chaos.
Someone grabs Leo’s hand and drags him out of the dim marketplace. There is shouting behind them, but it barely registers before they’re out in fresh air and Leo’s mind has the chance to clear. Leo blinks up at the person dragging him along, mind still an overheated steam engine. They move unevenly, brown hair falling into their eyes. The light dust of freckles across the face creating a sky on its own, constellations creating stunning art before him.
Guang-Hong drags Leo onto the main street. There are a few people outside, but none seem to question the odd pair.
“What are you doing here ? ”
“You shouldn’t listen to them, they know nothing.” Guang-Hong’s knuckles are white where they clutch the top of his cane, a dragon’s head carved out of gold. Blood is coating his fingers. He is shivering, although Leo can’t tell whether it is from cold or from the incident at the black market. He slumps against a wall, fingers burying themselves in his hair, letting the cane clatter to the ground.
A sword cane , Leo realises. Guang-Hong just killed someone with a sword cane. Leo knows it was fatal, the blank look in the boy’s eyes makes it evident.
“You shouldn’t be here, “ Leo mutters.
“He didn’t kill my mother,” Guang-Hong stops, eyes flickering nervously around them. The street is suddenly empty, hauntingly so.
Leo tries to comprehend what is happening.
“Quickly,” Guang-Hong whispers. His deformed foot is lagging, the machinery doing its best to keep up with the sharp movements.
He shouldn’t be running , Leo thinks.
Yan-Ming is still not back when they return.
They pretend after that. Leo never got in trouble with the locals, and Guang-Hong didn’t kill anyone. Whoever it was, he can’t have been too important, or the underground community is too afraid to say anything. There are few who aren’t in danger of getting in trouble with the officials. Even with all the witnesses, they hear nothing more about it.
Leo still doesn’t return to the black market, the blood of the man just as much on his hands as on Guang-Hong’s. The following weeks, they barely interact at all. Leo is no closer to acquiring his desired artefact and Yan-Ming’s health is not getting any better.
He receives another letter from Phichit.
“ Rumours say there’s been a new dispute between the lion and the dragon. Flee while you still can.”
The creak of the door is not what rouses Leo. Maybe he never slept. Sleepless nights are close friends of his, a loyal companion on lonely nights spent at sea. Still, he pretends to sleep, even as light footsteps can be heard from behind him.
“I know you’re awake.”
“How?” Leo squints at the doorway. He can only make out a small silhouette. It takes a step into the room, the weak rays of light from his window illuminating the figure.
“You’re always awake at this time of the night,” Guang-Hong states. A simple fact, as true as the sun rising in the sky.
Leo sits up in his bed. Guang-Hong looks pale in the moonlight. His small stature combined with his deformed leg and hands tightly clutched on his sword cane makes him seem sickly, yet ethereal, as if some immortal spirit possessed him in that moment. Leo doesn’t ask how Guang-Hong knows about his sleep patterns.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep ? ” Leo asks instead. He knows Yan-Ming has been keeping a close eye on them lately. Leo is certain he is fully aware that his son is indeed a sight to behold. He doubts the old man would like if the boy ended up with a vagabond like himself.
Guang-Hong’s eyes look like bottomless pools of stagnant water. He hobbles over to Leo’s bed on unsteady legs. Even with his handicap, his movements are fluid and graceful. There is something almost mocking about how everything about him is such a picture of perfection ruined by the harsh hand of reality.
“He doesn’t need to know.”
Leo doesn’t question who “he” is. They’ve been skirting around each other for long enough to understand the rules of the game, always throwing glances over their shoulders. Whatever their relation is, it is made in the dark, a nocturnal flower blooming only when the sun turns its back to the earth.
Guang-Hong settles on the bed next to Leo. They just sit there for a few minutes, staring out the window. They can see the river from it, the water dirty from the industrial waste. It is the perfect scene for a murder; the image of a body washing up on the shore, chemicals eating the skin away until it is unrecognisable, fitting for the grim setting. Leo wonders if it looked more alive before humans killed it. Polluted it with their grimy hands and tainted ambitions.
“Are you scared?” Guang-Hong asks. His hands are tracing the dragon shaped head of his cane. It is fitting , Leo thinks. Much like Guang-Hong, the sword cane hides a deadly blade behind an outer shell of beauty. Does Guang-Hong regret killing the man? Would his hands still be untainted if Leo hadn’t stumbled into his life?
“I’m more worried about you,” Leo confesses. Guang-Hong laughs humorlessly. The sound sends shivers down Leo’s spine.
“He’s down at the den again.”
“You’re worried.”
“No. Not anymore. I don’t need him. He was never a very caring parent anyway so,” Guang-Hong lets the sentence trail off. Leo lets the lie pass. Yan-Ming has become more and more irritable lately. Neither Guang-Hong nor Leo needs to question why. Guang-Hong looks up at Leo, eyes sad, yet hopeful. Leo knows he should end it here, stop before the boy gets any false hopes. He’s a traveller, always on the run. Leo de la Iglesia was never meant to meet Ji Guang-Hong.
He falls like a wingless bird, fast and uncontrolled.
The taste of Guang-Hong’s mouth on his reminds him of long nights spent in frustration behind the bars of a jail cell. There is an insistence to the kiss, as if Guang-Hong losing himself in the action will break his mind free from the constraint of his body. Leo can taste the salty tang of tears on his lips.
“I want it to be over,” Guang-Hong whispers as he pulls away.
Leo doesn’t have a reply. He feels like no matter what, his words would be meaningless. He knows how cruel the world leaders can be. They won’t cease the trade just because an inventor’s son shed a tear.
And then there’s him. He lets Guang-Hong climb into his lap. The boy clings to him like there is no tomorrow, weak sobs muffled against his neck. Would he forgive himself for breaking an already broken boy?
The question hangs above his head like a death sentence, but remains unanswered. For now, he just wants to avoid the inevitable for a little longer.
Phichit’s predictions come true soon enough. There is a period of unrest, then the government puts a ban on the opium. Leo tries not to notice when people he’s known for some time suddenly disappear, sentenced to death for dealing the drug.
Guang-Hong doesn’t accompany him to the market anymore. Maybe it is the fear of being associated with the drugs. It is no secret that Yan-Ming has been a regular customer at the den. More likely, is probably his leg not allowing it. With the abstinence, it becomes rare to see the old man in the workshop unless he’s working on commissions. No one maintains the complicated mechanisms of the leg brace anymore. Leo doesn’t offer to help, afraid that he will make it worse. It is painful enough to watch Guang-hong hobble around as it is.
The variety of items of the market has begun to become scarce as a result of the tense relation between England and China. Leo often returns empty handed, or bribes someone into checking the black market for him. Several of the vendors are getting desperate, the sheen of metal and greasy oil the foundation their lives were built on. Some have even begun to move on from the steam engine business, seeking a new way to profit through the new branches of science. He can’t really blame them. Even the age of steam has an end, although Leo would prefer if it didn’t happen in his lifetime.
He finds comfort in loitering down at the docks, a chaotic place now more than ever, but calming despite its rough nature. Most importantly, it is a paradise for the exchange of technology. It has been a while since he last felt the itch to run away, but as he watches the ships leave the port, the wanderlust starts to settle within him.
There is a certain energy that you can’t find anywhere but in a moving vessel. Tinkering with the contraptions in Yan-Ming’s forge can no longer satisfy him. For now however, he will manage with just watching.
“Planning on boarding as a stowaway?”
Leo flinches at the familiar voice. He hasn’t heard it in ages. Long ago, he might have found comfort in those soft spoken syllables, but now they dredge up memories of a cold stone floor in the Moscow prison. Leo turns around, a fake smile teasing the edges of his lips.
“Your faith in me is astounding , Altin. I have no bad intentions towards any of the sailors here.”
“I’m not here to fight you,” Otabek says. His voice is even as usual; like his face a blank surface of a lake, untouchable by outer forces.
Leo chuckles bitterly. “The last time we spoke you left me to rot in a jail cell in Moscow. Is it that hard to believe I would eventually settle somewhere ? ”
“I wanted to set you right. You were meddling in places you shouldn’t have been.”
“If you say so.”
Otabek hums, not scared off by Leo’s hostile tone. He looks more or less the same as he did five years ago : Handsome features with a soft edge and kind eyes shrouded by a cold outer shell. Once Leo might have fallen for the charms. His mind flickers to Guang-Hong, the polar opposite of the sturdy rock in front of him. Beauty can be many things, but it is always trouble.
“So, what are you doing here?” Otabek asks, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. Even after all these years, Leo is still able to discern the subtle changes in his body language and inflection in order to read his emotions. Maybe in a different universe, they might have been a good pair. Despite himself, Leo hopes the other man finds someone who can read him just as well as Leo can.
“Would you believe me if I said it was legal business?” To Leo’s surprise Otabek chuckles. It is a soft earthy sound. He is yet again struck by just how different his past friend is in comparison to Guang-Hong. If Otabek was the ground Leo had stood upon as a teen, Guang-Hong would be the wind carrying him away.
“You’re never not planning something. Your soul is too restless.”
“Who said I wasn’t planning anything legally?”
Otabek shrugs. He pulls out a small bag, offering it to Leo. It is filled with rock candy, a small luxury Leo rarely indulges in. It seems out of character to Leo that a controlled person like Otabek would waste money on something so trivial. The other man has never been one to devote his life to short sighted pleasures, content to wait for the bigger fruits.
“I haven’t poisoned them. Consider it a peace offering. Although I’ll have to warn you, they’re quite addictive.”
Leo pops one into his mouth, the sweet taste of sugar almost sickening against his palate. He forces himself not to chew on the crystallised sugar, settling for lazily turning it over in his mouth. Otabek absentmindedly indulges in a piece of candy himself.
“Did the Nikiforovs send you?” Leo asks.
“I'm not after you. This trip is merely about an artefact. Anything you would happen to know something about?”
Leo tenses, sugar crunching between his teeth. “There are many curiosities here. You would have to specify.”
Otabek turns towards him, fishing out a piece of paper. There's a hasty scrawl made on the surface. At first just an ambiguous doodle, then it becomes painfully evident. If Leo hadn't seen it before, he might not have thought much of it. Now , he’s overcome with the feeling of having been played the whole time.
“What does it do?”
“Why do you ask? Do you know it?” Otabek rolls the paper together into a neat scroll. It doesn’t matter. Leo doesn’t need to look longer to be sure.
“Just tell me,” he demands. Otabek sizes him up with wary eyes, considering whether he will get his ends of the deal if he betrays the information to Leo. He relents. Of course he does, Leo thinks. Even after all their time apart, it isn’t in Otabek’s nature to deny him.
“It’s a compass,” Otabek begins. His eyes flicker cautiously around them, the tension in his body betraying his mistrust to the workers around them. “Supposedly, it should be able to locate places in dreams by being attached to the user. It is rumoured to be the first successful attempt at combining clockwork and biological matter.”
“So it is true,” Leo mutters. He had known the artefact he was after could be merged with the user, and therefore held great value, but he had never known what he was looking for. Unbeknownst of his actions, Otabek had brought the answer straight to his open arms.
“You know of it,” his old friend stated, not meeting his eyes. “I guess this means I’ll go back empty handed.”
“You know it has to be this way. Unless you changed your mind?”
Otabek chuckles, pushing his hat up from where it had slipped over his eyes. “I am no corsair like you. My employers will be satisfied with me landing them a trade deal while I am here. You on the other hand. I’m surprised you have stayed in one place for so long.”
“I-” Leo hesitates. The gnawing sensation of unrest is tearing at him again. A slithering snake snapping for the back of his heels whenever he stops running. He glances at the ships again. Wasn’t all he’s ever worked for a step on the way to true freedom? The end feels infuriatingly close.
Otabek rises, tossing the bag of sweets to Leo. He gathers up his coat, bowing politely. “If you ever need a place to stay, should you grow tired of your ways, Moscow is really nice this time of year.”
Leo nods. They don’t say anything else. When their paths have crossed, they don’t meet again.
The next few weeks, it is difficult for Leo to keep himself focused. Yan-Ming is just as secretive as before, and even though Leo catches a glimpse of the little golden compass hanging from a chain in Yan-Ming’s belt, he doesn’t try to approach the matter.
It feels wrong just stealing the compass. A past Leo wouldn’t have hesitated in cutting the old man down in order to get it; his ship the only thing of worth in his world. Now, he does his best to deal with the guilt, and spends his days trying figure out how to discreetly bring it up in conversation.
Progress comes when he least expects it. He’s in Yan-Ming’s forge, assembling pieces of metal into a small automaton. It bears the resemblance of a dragon crossbred with a flower. Leo has yet to find a use for it, which is unusual. He rarely has any problems coming up with useful inventions, but today he’s only thinking about artistry. Guang-Hong is resting with his back against the wall, his eyes lazily trailing a moth circling above them while his father, after finding his son on the floor outside his bedroom door, finally tweaks at the leg brace.
If Leo didn’t know better, he’d believe this was what belonging somewhere felt like. A pang of longing runs through him, frayed thoughts of his mother resurfacing. Would she be proud of him? Does he even miss her? Would he be sad if he found out she was dead ? He certainly doesn’t want to return.
He glances over at Guang-Hong. Although the boy might deny it, there is obviously some kind of bond between him and his father; an invisible thread tying them together through genes and shared experiences.
Yan-Ming makes a joke, and Guang-Hong laughs. It pulls at Leo’s heart. His mother never told jokes. Leo pushes his goggles up on his head, eyes meeting Guang-Hong’s. He smiles solemnly, then shoves the little automaton into the trash pile. He feels drained.
Guang-Hong finds him in his room later. He’s not wearing his brace, the cruel image of his broken leg demanding for Leo’s eyes to stare. The long graceful digits of Guang-Hong’s fingers holds his cane in a tight grip. If he wanted to murder Leo, it would be over in a second.
“You’ve not been yourself lately.”
Guang-Hong hasn’t been either. Maybe neither of them ever were. Leo feels like he’s been putting on a charade for the younger boy ever since he first met him. It was stupid of him. He should have removed himself before it became too painful to leave. He’s seen it happen before. Getting involved with the beauties never leads to anything good.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”
Leo doesn’t want to meet Guang-Hong’s eyes , t he colour of dark wood with small flecks of sunlight illuminating the irises.
“Do you want to leave?” There is a stiffness to Guang-Hong’s voice, unnaturally plain to hide his true emotions.
“I don't know,” Leo snaps. “I don't know anything anymore.” He hides his face in his hands. Guang-Hong grows silent. Outside, birds are chirping, stirred by the first rays of sun. It is a harsh reminder that the world does still turn, regardless of what they suffer through.
“Why did you come here ? ” Guang-Hong eventually whispers. “I wasn’t going to ask. I thought it couldn’t have been that important if you took father’s offer for an apprenticeship without hesitating, but that isn’t enough anymore, is it? Why?”
“You wouldn’t like the answer.”
Leo grits his teeth bitterly, refusing to show Guang-Hong his tears. He is not the one with a broken leg and a deluded father. His tears aren’t worth shedding. It would feel like an insult to Guang-Hong’s hardships.
Metal clatters to the ground. Guang-Hong is standing above him, the little dragon automaton between them on the floor. The gears that makes it turn shifts lazily, forced into action by the little wind-up key on the side.
“You need to stop pitying me,” Guang-Hong whispers. “Whatever you have to say, say it. I didn’t think I’d need to prove that I am functioning to you. I’m not one of your broken wind-up toys, so please just tell me.”
“Your leg,” Leo grinds out. He can see now that Guang-Hong is closer where the metal dug into the pale flesh. In some places, there are scars from where the skin has been pierced. In some ways it is sickening, with a humid desperate air about it. The pieces falls into place. “You father has been trying to find a way for you to regain mobility.”
It is a statement. Guang-Hong opens his mouth to answer it like a question. He stares defiantly at Leo.
“You’re saying it like it is a bad thing.”
“He’s been testing unfinished technology on you. Is it true? Has he succeeded, or are all the rumours just a load of drivel.”
“He’s going to fix me,” Guang-Hong whispers. Tears are starting to gather in his eyes. For the first time, Leo notes, Guang-Hong actually acts like his handicaps is a hinder to him. It becomes clear to Leo that while he was too busy looking at the broken leg, he didn’t see just how strong Guang-Hong had been the whole time, admitting only now that it is an inconvenience.
“So there is no artefact.”
“What?”
“The thing I came here for. An artefact that combines technology with the living.” Leo shakes his head. It feels like a sick joke. As if the past months of feeling he belonged somewhere was not only a ruse to throw him off his trail, but a fruitless one too.
“You’re wrong.” Guang-Hong turns his cane over in his hands. His eyes are focused on the beautifully shaped figure head. “His compass works. Maybe a little too well.”
“What do you mean?” Leo is tired. He doesn’t feel like searching for truth in a handful of vague riddles.
“Man doesn’t know that what he wants is often not what he needs. The artefact has lead more than one good man to his death.”
“So it works.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” For the first time since they met, Leo can trace anger in Guang-Hong’s voice. His normal shyness is replaced with panicked desperation, pushing to the surface a side Leo doesn’t know how to relate to.
“If I show it to you. Will you leave it be? Stay here? Father might not admit it, but it is good for him to have you around. It is good for me.”
“Please.” There is no explicit lie, but it feels like one. Leo knows once he has the compass in his hands, he will have no choice but to run as fast as he can. Run before he can get even more stuck in Guang-Hong’s thorny branches.
Maybe the scent of roses fooled him once. He will not let it ground him in one place again.
The workshop is empty when they find their way back. There is a faint scent of smoke drifting through the air, like a sick green veil floating through the air. Yan-Ming must have gone to find some release for his frustration and abstinence symptoms.
It suits them well.
Guang-Hong leads them over to the wall which is crowded with drawers. Most of them contain various machine parts, while others are empty. Leo has searched through them all, never finding anything of interest.
It takes Guang-Hong some time to locate the right drawer, but when he does, he removes it without problems, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall behind.
“Over here,” Guang-Hong whispers. His hands carefully extract a small box. Leo looks over his shoulder to see what’s in the box. He is surprised to see that nestled on a pillow of red, is not the golden compass. Instead, his eyes are met with the sight of a bronze key.
Its design is simple; soft arching shapes bending and twisting into each other. Whoever made it obviously put great care into the design. It is however, not at all what Leo expected Guang-Hong to show him.
“This is not the compass.”
“He never lets the compass out of sight. What I’m going to show you is much more impressive.”
Guang-Hong shifts his weight awkwardly, a faint blush painting the ridge of his nose. Still, Leo is sure he has never seen him this serious before. “You cannot tell anyone of this, but it should be enough to convince you not to seek this technology.”
Guang-Hong takes his hand, his grip lingering, unsure until Leo clutches it tightly in his. They venture into a part of the house Leo has never been to before. He almost trips as Guang-Hong leads him down a steep set of stairs, taking him underneath the house. The gleaming copper pipes that can be found everywhere else in the house give way to beautifully decorated walls. The colours are soft, the pictures telling a myriad of different stories.
A soft smile blossoms on Guang-Hong’s lips as Leo takes in the sight before them. It doesn’t register that they have come to a stop before a door until Guang-Hong coughs gently, nudging Leo in the shoulder.
“We’re here,” he whispers. He extracts the little key from the folds of his clothing, shoving it into the lock in the door. The keyhole is shaped to resemble a lion’s mouth. The key makes a barely audible click as the door swings inwards.
The room on the other side is, unlike the hallways, almost completely devoid of light. Guang-Hong makes a gesture to tell Leo to remain silent, and then steps into the room on light feet. He picks up a match, lighting it quickly. Tentatively, Leo follows Guang-Hong into the room, eyes straining to see in the dark.
The layout of the room is simple. A few chairs are lined up by the walls, various pieces of art placed with random intervals between them. The floor is covered with a beautiful woven rug, vertiginous details bleeding into each other, giving Leo the impression of standing on top of a gaping hole. What takes up most of the room is an elevated dais. Leo squints, watching Guang-Hong light a set of lanterns suspended above it.
It feels like all his breath has left him when Leo understands what is in front of him. Guang-Hong sinks to his knees, reaching out to the motionless arm hanging over the edge of the dais.
The woman lying on the table holds an uncanny resemblance to Guang-Hong, her delicate features and soft brown hair familiar.
Leo doesn't linger on that for long. What draws his attention is located a little further down from her face. Her chest is cut open, giving clear view of her heart; her still - beating heart.
An array of tubes and intricate pieces of clockwork connects her internal organs to a contraption on her chest, forcing the heart to keep beating. Leo staggers, feeling slightly sick. Everything about the grotesque picture in front of him screams wrong.
“She fell ill at the same time as I did. The doctors couldn't do anything to save her, so my dad decided to take drastic measures. His technology was still not fully developed at the time. He keeps her alive here, sleeping, waiting for a day when he will have the means to save her.”
“So those nights where he didn't sleep wasn't for you?”
A shiver runs down Leo’s spine at the bitter laugh that escapes Guang-Hong. It is like seeing the gentle flower of a boy bloom into something venomous.
“He never cared for me as much as he did for her. My leg was always just a hinder in his progress. I think he would have loved nothing more than to just let me die a cripple, but her last wish was for him to take care of me, so here we are.”
Leo nods, glancing at the woman. He has to grip his own arm tightly in order to hold himself together. Inside him, his stomach is threatening to spill its contents. Guang-Hong watches him with sympathy, letting go of his mother’s hand, whispering something in her ear before crawling over to where Leo is slumped at the end of the dais.
“I don’t know why you were looking for this, but believe me when I say this technology is no good.”
Leo shakes his head, shutting his eyes to block the view. He can see flashes of his own mother projected on the insides of his eyelids. What a demon she would be had she gone to the same fate.
“I never wanted it for myself,” he can hear himself mumble, his voice trembling slightly. Everything sounds distant. A pair of hands touches his face hesitantly. “I don’t care about this tech. All I want is to keep moving.”
He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Guang-Hong is making a pained grimace. Any mention of him leaving has been enough to make the younger boy switch the topic of the conversation.
They sit in the dark, embracing each other for a long time, Leo’s breath slowing down as he works himself through the initial shock. They linger at the edge of each other’s spaces, their breaths mingling hesitantly. Leo doesn’t know who initiates it, but when Guang-Hong’s lips meet his, he doesn’t protest. He can almost taste the plea for him not to leave. It is in moments like this Leo can see the appeal in standing still for a while, suspending himself in a single moment until the dull ache from planting roots subsides.
Leo doesn’t believe in fate when he speaks with others, but when the two of them are ripped from each other, there is no way it can be anything but a sign. Leo isn’t sure what pains him the most, the disappointment in Yan-Ming’s face or the way Guang-Hong shies away from him.
Leo doesn’t need to understand Chinese to see that they’ve obviously trespassed just by being in the tomb-like room. Yan-Ming shouts angrily, hands gesturing. Leo wants to say something, but can’t find the words. Behind them, the still body of Guang-Hong’s mother lies unanimated, her heart forced to beat in sickening thuds. Whatever force that holds Leo frozen breaks as Guang-Hong is sent to the floor from a slap. He doesn’t rise again, his body shuddering with sobs. It looks like Yan-Ming might start to cry from frustration as well, but he reins himself in and directs his attention to Leo.
“I should have known from the start you were only after this. Are you satisfied?”
Leo bites his lip, unable to form a response that won’t aggravate Yan-Ming further. He wishes he could bend down and help Guang-Hong up, but Yan-Ming blocks his way, eyes ablaze with fury. Leo doesn’t think he’s seen the man this angry before, not even within the clutches of withdrawal.
“I didn’t wish to anger you. Please accept my apology. I had no intention to-”
“Get out. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at my son. I didn’t take you in so you could lust shamelessly after him like some dog. I have taught you what I could. It was about time you left.” The words are sharp, although they lack the earlier burst of anger. It is a way out, one Leo has waited for since he came.
Behind Yan-Ming, Guang-Hong is soundlessly begging him to stay. If only I could take you with me. It is a futile dream. He wouldn’t last a week, helpless like a flower wilting after being picked. Your soul is too restless . Leo can feel the fragile roots he has planted start to let go, and they’re ripped out of his flesh like hooks pulled taut beneath his skin.
When he turns he doesn’t look back.
The streets are colder than Leo remember s . When he arrived in Shanghai, it had been the same time of year as it is now. However, the weather feels more hostile, rain soaking his clod clothes, making his skin feel like it is burning. He imagines blue flames licking up the sides of his arms, unperturbed by the rain.
There are few people out on the streets, but they shy away from him as if he’s infected with a contagious disease. Maybe he is. If homelessness was a sickness, he’d be a chronic patient.
Leo finds a space between a couple of moldy crates down at the docks. The sound of workers loading and unloading boats slowly halts as the day bleeds into night. Even so, it is hard for him to rest. The cold ground bites into him, numbing his limbs and lulling his mind into a hazy state. He doesn’t know how long he lies there. Maybe it is a night, maybe it is several days.
All he knows is that he’s tired of living.
He can't bring himself to leave Shanghai once and for all before he receives a letter from Seung-Gil, a friend of Phichit. It is short and to the point like it usually is with the lawyer-in-training, awkwardly asking him to bust Phichit out of yet another predicament.
He smiles for the first time in ages, glad to have something else to focus on.
The sea has always been Leo’s only constant in life. He craves the feeling of waves rocking the boat. The smell of saltwater and damp wood. The feeling of coarse rope in his hands as he unfurls the huge sails, watching the wind fill them, guiding him to his next stop. He could never have imagined he would want to be somewhere else.
The sight of Shanghai growing smaller and smaller in the horizon doesn’t calm him in the slightest, a painful contrast to what he imagined it would be like. The ache is, however, easy to ignore once he puts himself into work.
He stays with Phichit for some time. Neither of them mention Shanghai. Instead, they simply plan Leo’s next adventure. Phichit uses his contacts to find new assignments for Leo. Most of them with only a small reward, but enough to keep him saving up towards his steamship.
The nights he spends by the drawing table, ignoring Phichit’s annoyed huffs and remarks about forcing him to sleep if he doesn’t go to bed soon. After a while it becomes a rare occasion, something Leo is almost certain has something to do with a certain dubious law student.
He starts assembling his collection of parts after about a year, Yan-Ming’s techniques still ingrained in him. He pretends it doesn’t make him restless. It almost works. It is easy to tell Phichit he doesn’t want to go back to Shanghai ever again, a little less easy to admit it to himself. He copes the best he can.
Somehow, he manages to keep himself in line until his craft is finished.
Somehow Seung-Gil doesn’t have him tried for getting smashed at the local bar, drunkenly attempting to seduce Phichit. Phichit claims it is because Seung-Gil is experienced in pining himself. Leo claims he doesn’t pine.
Still, he finds himself in a dim bar, surrounded by merchants and thugs and generally shady people. The kind you would expect to find at the Shanghai black market. There is smoke clouding the air, making it hard to think. It suits him well; he’s been doing too much thinking lately.
His attention drifts to the front of the room where a band is coaxing soft tones out of their instruments. The melody is vaguely familiar, like a faded memory lingering at the edges of his subconscious. He hums quietly to himself, trying to anticipate the flow of the song.
In front of the band, a lone figure is dancing. Their bare feet glide soundlessly across the floor, or maybe they’re simply drowned out by the chatter of the bar. That is not what catches Leo’s attention. It feels like an entire bucket of ice water has been dumped on him. The man beside him flinches as Leo abruptly rises from his stool.
He fights his way through the crowd, the people flocking around the display like looming trees, tight like thickets. By the time Leo has fought his way to the front, the person is already disappearing. Still, there is no mistake.
“Hey!” he calls out. The person turns, eyes widening at the sight of Leo, his weight light on his toes, on the verge of tipping over into flight. Leo stops in front of the shorter figure, regaining his breath. Whatever effects the alcohol had on him is gone now.
“Leo,” Guang-Hong says. His voice is a tad deeper than last time they met, but otherwise, he is more or less still the same. Except for one thing.
“Your leg,” Leo whispers. It feels like his lungs are trying to choke him. Where Guang-Hong’s leg used to be, is now just a massive chunk of metal framework, packed with a variety of mobile machine parts. It is nothing like the graceful brace he was fitted with in his youth.
“Hydraulics,” Guang-Hong replies. He pries open a panel to show Leo the inside of the prosthetic. There is no clockwork or cogs cleverly arranged in order to make the parts move. Just a metal cylinder crafted from an alloy Leo is unable to identify. “It was inconvenient. I managed to get my father’s notes before I left, then I improved them. It is almost as good as a real leg. Biological matter and technology in perfect sync.”
Leo gapes, hand stretching out to touch the cool metal surface. “Did it hurt?”
“It was bearable.”
They stare at each other. The dingy air and the smell of sweat and old wounds would have made Guang-Hong stand out before. Now he looks at home in it all, still delicate, but rougher around the edges.
“Yan-Ming- my father, he died from lung disease. I detached mum from the device shortly after.” Guang-Hong falters, suddenly unsure. His eyes flicker to his lightly freckled hands.
“And you?” Leo asks. He isn’t sure quite what it is he wants out from the conversation. Forgiveness? Apologies? They’re both at fault in different ways.
“I’ve travelled. I always loved your stories; thought I’d experience something for myself. It was...different from what I would have thought.”
Leo nods awkwardly. They both watch as the bar is starting to empty for the night, the flow of people taking them to the doors.
“So what do you plan to do now?” Leo asks. He glances over at Guang-Hong, whose eyes glimmer with determination.
“I don’t know. That’s what’s exciting don’t you think. I think I get it now. Once you have started travelling you don’t get rid of the restlessness.”
Leo allows Guang-Hong to take his hand as they step out into the night.
“I couldn’t wish for it to be different.”