Work Text:
1
A puff of hot air comes from the little boy’s mouth as he exhales, his blue eyes tracing the little ice crystals falling from the sky. He adjusts the straps of the carrier on his back, making his clothes cling tighter to his skin. The firewood he carries feels a little bit heavy, and he figures he should get back home before the snow starts to fall harder. This boy is named Xue Yang, and he pops his last candy onto his mouth before moving forward.
He walks as fast as his short legs allow him, when a small cough catches his attention. It makes him turn into the direction of a dead end alleyway. He follows the sound of a whimper until he stops in front of a small figure, pale and shivering on the ground.
The snow starts to come down harder.
Xue Yang crouches down, checking on the figure. It opens its eyes, and their gazes meet. His breath hitches. The figure manages to utter a low help before completely fading into unconsciousness.
-
“Xiao daozhang! Song daozhang!” Xue Yang calls as loud as he can as soon as he crosses the entrance of their rickety home, an abandoned coffin house at the edge of the town, a place they were planning to renovate in the near future.
A tall, beautiful man, wearing robes as white as snow, looking as ethereal as they come, steps out. His steps are light, as if floating, his calm demeanour never leaving off his face.
“What’s the rush, A-Yang?” Xiao Xingchen replies as he meets the boy. He inspects Xue Yang up and down, noting the younger’s shortness of breath, beads of sweat trickling down his face, the carrier on his front and a little boy almost his size on his back. He meets the younger’s worried gaze.
“Xiao daozhang, I found him on the streets,” he says as clearly as he can, catching his breath. “he looks moments away from…” he trails off.
“Zichen!” He calls.
This time, a man clad in black, gaze as cold as ice, steps out. He looks intimidating, except for the fact that he is carrying a toddler in his arms. “What is it, Xingchen?”
Xiao Xingchen’s gaze visibly softens, and he makes a request, “would you get all the blankets we own?”
Song Lan’s gaze fleets on the boy on Xue Yang’s back, and immediately understands. He gives Xiao Xingchen a nod and steps back inside the house.
“A-Yang,” Xiao Xingchen says as he takes the wood carrier, “would you change that boy’s clothes and lay him down for me? I’ll be inside shortly.”
The boy nods, “yes, daozhang.”
-
The boy opens his eyes, lashes fluttering on his cheeks and perhaps Xue Yang thinks he’s beautiful.
Xiao Xingchen was at his bedside, dabbing his face with a cloth damp with warm water. He supports the boy when he attempts to sit up thru the pile of blankets laid on top of him. The boy blinks at them with wide, confused eyes. He doesn’t speak.
Xiao Xingchen takes the initiative, “A-Yang,” he gestures to Xue Yang, “found you and brought you here.”
The boy nods, accepts the hot tea being offered to him.
“What’s your name?”
“…Mo Xuanyu.”
2
Spring, as what Xue Yang had come to know, was the time for lantern festivals. He can feel the buzz and excitement in the air, and the general festive mood of the people. He sits out on the area in front of their home and watches the busy crowd, scurrying here and there and hanging lanterns by their homes. He sees his favourite candy vendor pass by and he waves at him.
A presence sits itself beside Xue Yang, and he tilts his head to look that it was the boy he had saved last winter, Mo Xuanyu.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“The Lantern Festival,” he replies.
“Oh.”
Xue Yang was certain that he won’t get anything else from the boy in the meantime, so he talks. He talks, rather animatedly, about the lantern festival and how it happens every year, how at nigh he and the daozhangs will go to town, gaze at the beautifully lit lanterns, about how they light one themselves. He talks about the wishes he’d made before letting his lantern go. He talks about the delicious food, the toys the daozhangs sometimes get him. He talks about how they found the baby, which they had named A-Qing, around this time too. Lastly, he talks about the candy, one of his favourites, that only comes with the festival.
“That’s him!” he exclaims and points when he sees the vendor round again.
He sees Mo Xuanyu’s eyes practically sparkle, and it doesn’t take a smart man to figure out that he wants one.
So he takes Mo Xuanyu’s hand and drags him inside to Song Lan, who is currently tending to a sleepy A-Qing.
“Song daozhang,” he starts.
The older one grunts as an affirmation that he’s heard him.
“Can we go to the festival a bit earlier? I wanna show Xuanyu around.”
The daozhang gives him a short silence and then answers, “Let’s wait for Xingchen.”
Not being granted permission, Mo Xuanyu’s face falls visibly, and Xue Yang drags him outside again.
“Cheer up,” Xue Yang says, when they stop by the candy vendor.
Mo Xuanyu doesn’t look up, until a round thing impaled by a wood was shoved in front of his face. He takes it in shock, looking at Xue Yang in question.
“You wanted one, right?” Xue Yang says as he licks his own candy, and upon seeing the confused expression on Mo Xuanyu, shows him a mischievous grin.
He dangles Song Lan’s money pouch in front of him, and for the first time, Mo Xuanyu laughs.
3
Xue Yang had been begged by A-Qing to “please find Xuanyu-ge before they give me my sword” to which he, without her specific instruction, had every intention to do so. The two had grown incredibly close over the years, and the pair of them will now become a trio, now that A-Qing is finally going to get her sword.
He ventures just outside the city, because he had heard Xuanyu saying something about going beyond the city gates.
What he sees slowly grips his heart and he feels his breath getting cut short.
Mo Xuanyu, encircled by a bunch of punks from a nearby sect, fighting his ground, sword not in hand. He does not look like he’s losing (of course), but fighting that many people alone sure is exhausting. Noting this, Xue Yang immediately scans for pingjing, Mo Xuanyu’s sword. He sees it being held by two of the punks, preventing it from being summoned by its owner.
Internally, he praises it, for it to take two cultivators to be contained, that sword must be pretty good.
Though, he already knew this. Mo Xuanyu is a man of talents, after all.
Xue Yang throws his sword, jiangzai, along with its scabbard, towards pingjing. The barrier containing it breaks immediately, the sword flying back to its owner.
“Ganging up on one person is veeeery dirty,” Xue Yang drawls out. He catches jiangzai as he takes steps towards the circle, taking advantage of the pause in the commotion, towards Mo Xuanyu. “Is this how they teach you in your sect? Have you no manners at all?”
The perpetrators are enraged.
“Ha! How dare you speak to us like that! Who do you think you are?!” says one.
“Ptui! You’re just from an upstart sect, and you dare to be this proud?!” says another.
With these statements, Xue Yang had come into a conclusion that news about their sect being established soon and opening to prospect disciples had already travelled far and wide, as their masters have established quite a reputation for themselves. They were Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan. The entitled “bright moon, gentle breeze” and “distant snow, cold frost”, after all.
“This is a lesson to teach you who’s superior!”
Xue Yang laughs at utter ridiculousness.
“A-Yang, why are you here?” Mo Xuanyu had been meaning to ask.
“I’ve come to fetch you,” Xue Yang replies, “You know how impatient A-Qing is.”
Mo Xuanyu chuckles, “I see.”
“You dare ignore us!” another person shouts, and comes at Mo Xuanyu to attack.
Mo Xuanyu raises pingjing the same time Xue Yang unsheathes jiangzai. They fend of attacks from both sides, the clanging of their swords echo loud and clear. The fighting techniques of these two disciples are really so exquisite, as it was infused by both grace and power. It was as if they were dancing along with the wind, ever so gentle in appearance, but the impact and damage inflicted to their enemies proves otherwise.
It did not take a long time to determine who the winners were.
“Ahhh, I’m so tired!” Mo Xuanyu announces, falling heavily on his backside. He gazes at the bodies strewn about around them, all curled up and in pain.
“Teach us who’s superior, you say?!” He shouts loudly, mockery dripping from his voice. “Scram! Don’t ever bother us again!”
“Let’s go,” Xue Yang says as he stabilizes his own energy, watching the bastards actually scram.
Mo Xuanyu does not answer.
“Xue Yang, “What’s wrong?”
Mo Xuanyu sheepishly answers, “I don’t think I can stand.”
Xue Yang sighs heavily and goes by his side, draping the other’s arm over his shoulders, helping him stand. They start to walk. Xue Yang also transfers spiritual energy by the hand he’s holding.
Xue Yang nags at him, annoyed. “Are you sure you really have a golden core? Ain’t that just a malfunctioning blackhole? You can almost store an abundant amount of spiritual energy, but you drain them just as fast! You tire out too easily! Next time, I’m going to leave you to die—“
He gets cut off with the tip of pingjing’s handle pressed on his mouth.
Mo Xuanyu, “shut up, shut up.”
He lowers the sword then, “You went to fetch me because of A-Qing. Let me just say my thanks.”
Xue Yang turns his nose up, “Hmp. What did you venture out for anyway?”
Mo Xuanyu hums, “I thought I’d buy our meimei something nice, a little congratulations for getting her sword. But then as I was on my way back, those bastards from whatever sect they came from just suddenly appeared and ganged up on me,” he rants with a pout. “Apparently they were threatened by our upstart sect,” he adds, making absurd and exaggerated gestures.
Xue Yang laughs at this, “So what did you get her?”
Mo Xuanyu dangles a pouch made of fine green silk, its jade-like color catching the sun’s setting rays and making it looks like it glimmers. It has vines the color of gold hugging around, seemingly crawling to one direction that is connected with the seal.
“A qiankun pouch,” Xue Yang says, “the quality is good too. Are those worms?”
“They’re vines!” Mo Xuanyu exclaims, offended. “So? Pretty, right? Befitting of a lady,” he adds, proud.
Xue Yang snorts, “what lady?”
They were already close then at the entrance of their home, and thus Mo Xuanyu’s prior exclamation alerts the one waiting for them the most.
“What took you so long!” A-Qing says, pout evident in her voice. “Song daozhang already gave me my sword—wait! Did you two get in a fight?”
They recount stories after dinner and A-Qing marvels at Mo Xuanyu’s gift, giving him a big, tight hug in thanks. She then demands a gift from Xue Yang, because everyone had already given her a gift except him. Xue Yang huffs and says he has none for such a rowdy girl like her.
(Later, when everyone else is asleep, Xue Yang secretly slips his gift beside the qiankun pouch, a hair ornament with a flower as decoration, red as the color of the sun before it completely sets.
The next morning, A-Qing bugs him about it.
“So you can act more like a maiden instead of a burly man,” Xue Yang mocks.
A-Qing, completely offended, “What burly man! I’m the prettiest girl in this town!”
Xue Yang sticks his tongue out, “Whatever, ugly. No one is gonna take you as their wife.”
He gets kanqing bonked on his head and he exclaims, “Hey! Is that how you use a sword? I’ll tell Song daozhang so he’ll take it back!”)
4
The daozhangs had received a request for their attendance in a conference, an attempt to socialize and affiliate with other sects around Shudong. They were instructed to send their best disciples in a night hunt, while the sect leaders will be talking about general, civil matters and the like.
“This is such a sham,” A-Qing says as she kicks a rock on her way, “I’m sure this is just a fake attempt in association because those old sects are actually intimidated by us.” She walks ahead, leading their little trio.
Mo Xuanyu laughs at this, “They’re probably trying to gauge our potentials or something like that.”
“Whatever,” A-Qing says, proud, “We can beat them all anyway.”
Mo Xuanyu snorts, “So confident.”
Xue Yang breaks his silence; “By the way,” he starts. “I’m sure you’ve already noticed,” he continues.
As soon as Xue Yang finishes this sentence, A-Qing unsheathes kanqing and throws it at the direction of a tree, ten steps ahead. A cultivator with grey robes falls rather clumsily. Around them, cultivators of different coloured robes descend from trees.
“Ah, we’ve been found out,” a cultivator says, his face sporting a menacing look.
“It’s not that hard,” Mo Xuanyu says, checking his nails out. “All of you suck at stealth. Even a beginner can recognize what all of you are trying to do.”
“You think you can provoke us?” Another cultivator says, his voice dripping with mockery.
The three doesn’t answer.
Instead, they disappear.
The cultivators panic. They disperse, fully on their guard.
“Aren’t you one of those who had attacked us last summer?” Xue Yang says, reappearing behind the one who spoke earlier. Jiangzai is bared against his neck. “Haven’t you learned your lesson?”
The cultivator in question doesn’t answer.
Xue Yang feels it before he sees it, and it takes him a second too late to react. Four other cultivators close in on him. Two on both sides, one from his back and one from above. They had anticipated that he would swing his sword to the right, along with letting go of his hostage. Xue Yang clicks his tongue at this, because as much as he wants to kill this bastard causing them unnecessary and much unwanted trouble, he can’t. He won’t.
Jiangzai gets shot out of his hand, Xue Yang is confident that he can escape from these bastards with or without his sword, but at the moment, there’s a reputation he had to maintain at hand. But as he tries to hold his ground without a sword, more and more of them seems to come at him. In the end he makes a stupid mistake and he gets his hands tied by a rope that seals off his spiritual energy.
He gets taken to a cave-like place, and was tossed unceremoniously inside. He hears the laughter of the perpetrators before they close the entrance with a bunch of boulders and everything goes quiet.
He hears someone panting heavily.
“Mo Xuanyu?” he calls.
“Xue Yang,” the other answers.
It’s dark. Xue Yang maneuvers his body to bring his hands in front. He feels around for a talisman and lights it. Then he sees Mo Xuanyu sitting against the wall, hands also tied. He's bleeding.
The sight sparks an unknown feeling to Xue Yang. He sits beside him.
“Where’s A-Qing?”
“Escaped. I made an opening with pingjing for her. She’s probably on her way to the daozhangs now.”
Xue Yang hums, “So that’s how you got caught.”
Mo Xuanyu chuckles at that, “Yeah, but I think it’s worth it. She’s fast, after all.”
Xue Yang observes his face, and he knows that the other is tired.
At that moment, Xue Yang feels a surge of strength as his spiritual energy comes back. As expected, those cheap bastards can’t afford properly functioning binding ropes. He helps Mo Xuanyu break his.
“So we wait now, huh,” he says in a wondering tone. He tends to Mo Xuanyu’s wound.
They were silent for quite a long time, until Xue Yang exclaims an idea in an exciting, childlike manner.
“Ah, shixiong, I know a way to transfer spiritual energy faster and more efficiently,” Xue Yang says with a light voice, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
Mo Xuanyu narrows his eyes, “You, calling me shixiong had always been suspicious, and you’re always planning something bad whenever you do that.”
Xue Yang gives a dramatic gasp, eyes now wide and innocent, “Eh, but you always pestered me to call you that! This shidi just wants to help.”
Mo Xuanyu, with all his apprehension, finally gives, feeling lightheaded because of wound, even though it had already ceased bleeding.
“Okay, what’s it?”
He blinks, and a second more, he sees Xue Yang closing in on him, and the next thing he knew, he feels a pair of lips on his.
Mo Xuanyu stiffens, grips Xue Yang’s shoulders tight. He pushes him abruptly, but only at arm’s length.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
Xue Yang, “transferring spiritual energy.”
“…”
“What’s with the face? You don’t trust this shidi?” Xue Yang says with wide, “innocent” eyes. His tone is completely teasing.
With that face, I really don’t, Mo Xuanyu thinks to himself.
Seeing as Mo Xuanyu continues to regard him with hesitant silence, Xue Yang changes his tone and approach.
“I’m telling you the truth. I promise you’ll feel better after this.”
Mo Xuanyu, a lot more doubtful now, feels the wound in his arm throb. He gives a minute nod.
With the consent, Xue Yang approaches slowly, kisses him some more. He places his thumb below Mo Xuanyu’s lips and presses lightly, “Open your mouth, shixiong”.
A visible shiver runs through Mo Xuanyu, shaking him to the core. He complies anyway. He lets this sly shidi of his take, take and take, exploring his mouth as he pleases, guiding the kiss slowly, and as gentle as he can. He feels Xue Yang’s tongue lick at his lips, and Mo Xuanyu is positive he’s feeling weaker than before.
They break for air, panting into each other’s spaces. Mo Xuanyu finds himself on Xue Yang’s lap.
Mo Xuanyu, “You said you’re transferring spiritual energy,” he says in an accusatory tone.
Xue Yang, “Did I not?”
The teasing question makes Mo Xuanyu take a pause, because even though Xue Yang looks like he doesn’t mean well, he never exaggerates anything and only says what is true. He checks his dantian, and finds that his spiritual energy is indeed a bit replenished and a lot more stable than before.
Mo Xuanyu blushes hard and Xue Yang smirks, triumphant.
“Do you want more?”
Later, after A-Qing and the daozhangs locate them thru jiangzai and pingjing poking out the stones at the entrance, Mo Xuanyu asks Xue Yang in a hushed whisper.
“Why are you so good at that?”
“Good at what?”
“At k-k-k-“ he stops, embarrassed. “Mn.”
To which Xue Yang stares at him for a moment, chuckles and leans on his ear to reply, “It’s a secret.”
[At the conference of the leaders, later on:
“We do not wish to associate with people who put our disciples in trouble without proper reason,” Xiao Xingchen says. His tone is as gentle as ever, but the expression on his face says otherwise.
The meeting was nothing so grand, and it was made of less than fifteen sects. Nonetheless, every sect leader present is cowering under the presence of these two.. No one answers them, because they have learned that each of their disciples had collaborated on the ambush, except from one small sect. Guilty as charged, they could not defend themselves. With one last salute to the sect leader in mahogany-coloured robes, who politely returns it, they dismiss themselves.
“We will not tolerate anything like this again. Keep that in mind,” Song Lan reiterates, his words short and curt. Everyone shivers as the door gets slammed shut.]
[Much, much later, chaos bursts out from the sects involved as each and every one of the disciples present in that night hunt gets hit with a curse, something that would keep them awake at night and will make them suffer for seven days in the least.]
5
Utter frustration is an understatement for what Xue Yang is currently feeling.
Surely, Mo Xuanyu is far from stupid. His constitution is not among what is considered to be normal, but it gets stronger as time passes by.
And yet, why?
Why was he stuck in this very ridiculous situation?
Moments ago, they were leisurely strolling at the forest nearby, looking for medicinal herbs that Xiao daozhang had said that only grows in winter. Mo Xuanyu had climbed this one tree because he wants to see the horizon, or whatever it was. Xue Yang was amused, gazing at the giddy face of the one on the tree branch.
Until Mo Xuanyu gets down and lands wrongly.
Xue Yang slaps his own forehead.
“You’re so stupid,” he says at the one on the ground.
“It’s because you didn’t catch me!” Mo Xuanyu replies, petulant.
“You didn’t say I should catch you!”
“Nevermind! It doesn’t hurt anyway.”
Xue Yang grins at him, “Really?” He proceeds to poke the damaged foot with his sword.
Mo Xuanyu cries out in pain, “fuck you!”
Xue Yang gasps, delighted, “Shixiong! I didn’t know you were this shameless!”
Mo Xuanyu turns red, and he does not answer, opting to shut up. He knows any more attempt at saying anything will be used against him.
Xue Yang turns serious, and goes in front of Mo Xuanyu, “Here, get on my back.”
Mo Xuanyu pauses, because that was a bit unexpected. He gets on Xue Yang’s back.
And, for a moment, he’s back at that one winter many years ago, again on the back of the same person who had radiated such warmth. The same person who he now holds a little bit more dear.
“…Don’t be afraid to fall.” Xue Yang says, so soft that if Mo Xuanyu wasn’t on his back, he would not probably hear it. The footprints leave a trail on the fallen snow.
“Huh?”
Mo Xuanyu does not see it, but he feels the warmth coming from Xue Yang’s face. Knows enough to see his ears turning red.
“Don’t be afraid to fall. Because no matter how many times you do, I’ll always be here to carry you. Back home. I will do it again and again, so don’t be afraid.”
Silence passes between them.
“That was so cheesy it was borderline disgusting,” A-Qing says as a way to announce her presence. She was sitting on her floating sword, maneuvering it slowly as to match Xue Yang’s walking pace. Mo Xuanyu shouts. Xue Yang attempts to kick her off her sword.
(She helps them by offering to carry their swords anyway. She congratulates them for finally getting their shit together. She also asks if they have already kissed, to which both men does not answer, but the expressions and redness of their faces say more than enough.)
+1
Being a cultivator does not only require to be good at handling a sword, but to be also good at the six arts: ritual, music, archery, chariot-riding, calligraphy and mathematics.
Xue Yang, Xue Chengmei, someone who prides himself as someone who learns easily and executes well, is currently in the process of trying to control himself from breaking his writing tool.
He sucks. This, he is willing to admit. Even a chicken scratch would look better than whatever trash his handwriting is.
Song Lan, when he had first seen it, had barely stopped his facial expressions from contorting into something akin to disgust. Even the nicest of them all in Xue Yang’s eyes, Xiao Xingchen, had been silent for a long time when he had first seen it. The daozhang had struggled for words to comfort him after. Even A-Qing, the stingy brat, does it better than him.
It hasn’t really improved over the years, and he didn’t pay it no mind. However, now that he is about to be sent somewhere else to study, for additional experience and building connections, Xiao daozhang had said when he’d opposed to it, at a mountain somewhere up far east, he knows he actually had to do something about it. He doesn’t dare lose face for the daozhangs, and for their newly starting sect. After all these years of hard work, they’ve finally managed to convert the abandoned coffin house into a more suitable temple, and had finally started accepting disciples two years ago. And because of these sentiments, Xue Yang is in his study, poring and bemoaning his wretched calligraphy.
Frustration gets the best of him and he stands up, making up his mind to march through Mo Xuanyu’s door and demand him to teach him calligraphy.
He opens Mo Xuanyu’s door with a loud bang, startling its owner who is currently cleaning his sword.
“Mo Xuanyu,” he says, words condescending.
“What do you need,” Mo Xuanyu replies, visibly annoyed.
Silence ensues, and Mo Xuanyu looks up. He sees Xue Yang fidgeting, notes and papers in hand. He finishes cleaning pingjing and sheathes it, turning his full attention to the younger. He waits for him to speak.
“Teach me calligraphy,” Xue Yang says lowly, adding “please” as an afterthought.
Hearing this, Mo Xuanyu is amused. “You have something you’re not good at? The great Xue Chengmei?”
Xue Yang does not say anything and proceeds to slam his notes on Mo Xuanyu’s desk, to which the latter approaches and inspects it.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Wow,” Mo Xuanyu says, for lack of better words, “you suck.”
“I know!” Xue Yang exclaims, defensive.
“The teachers in Gusu will kick you out.”
“If they do, I’m going to drag you out with me.”
“If you do, I’m going to tell Xiao daozhang you caused trouble, so you won’t have candies for a week.”
“You--!!”
They start play-fighting, throwing kicks and punches which the other dodges so easily. It only stops when Xue Yang steps back and slips, right when Mo Xuanyu was stepping to his space throwing a punch. They end up a mess sitting on the floor, with Mo Xuanyu between Xue Yang’s legs. They stare at each other’s eyes, panting.
There’s a knock on the door, and it opens widely, revealing their fourth shidi.
“Da-shixiong! Qing-shijie says that you should drag Er-shixiong out to—“ he stops as soon as he sees them in this position, and his face goes red. He stammers out an apology for “interrupting” and “please continue” before running off in embarrassment.
Seeing this reaction, both of them laughed until there were tears in their eyes.
“Looks like I’m needed outside,” Mo Xuanyu says as he wipes a tear away. He stands and goes at his table, opening drawers and taking scriptures out. He places them beside Xue Yang’s notes.
“Here, start with the simplest characters first. Try to copy them as accurately as you can.”
Xue Yang follows suit, placing a hand to lean on the table and hums.
“I’ll check on you later, so finish what you can. You just have to be patient. I’ll tell A-Qing you’re busy for today,” Mo Xuanyu says and picks up his sword, on his way to the door.
“Won’t Da-shixiong give me a goodbye kiss?” Xue Yang drawls out, his sentence full of intention to tease.
At this, Mo Xuanyu stops in his tracks and gives him a small smile. “Come here.”
Xue Yang’s eyes widen with the unexpected agreement, but he steps forward to happily get his kiss.