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The leaves are falling once again. Perhaps more than the first sprouts in spring or the first frost in winter, more than any other of nature’s wonders, the falling leaves imparts the cyclical nature of time most absolutely to Xichen.
Every year, the leaves fall, heedless of the sins of men.
His broom had become too worn after years of servitude, and he had spent the last fortnight thatching a new one from straw harvested the year before. Only a day has passed since the trees threw off their summer joy and started wearing their autumn gold and rouge, and already his courtyard is blanketed with aspen leaves. Xichen must sweep if he does not want his little corner of the world buried in nature’s benefactions.
Before he commits to his task, he first places the apple he was carrying in his sleeve just outside the gates of the courtyard and then erects two incense sticks in a tiny burner before placing it on the steps of the tiny temple he protects, leaving them unlit. The knocking of a wooden fish from inside of the temple - three times, slightly too fast than it is proper, so it must have been Jingyi today - informs him that he has maybe two hours before night falls.
Time enough to sweep the small courtyard, and perhaps wash some of the outer walls too, unless his visitor comes early today.
Sweeping is a mindless task, but mindlessness is welcomed when the mind wishes to clear. The blanket of leaves underfoot gradually turns into tall mounds with Xichen’s methodical movement, and then he ushers the mounds out of the double gates of the courtyard with careful prods of his wide broom.
The western sky is matching the leaves’ rouge, and Xichen is pushing the second to last mound out of the door when he hears the pounding of hooves and spies a lone horseman making his way through the trees towards Xichen’s tiny temple.
Smiling, he waits.
“Temple master.” the rider greets him as he comes to a stop before Xichen.
“General.” He bows, unable to keep his smile from widening when the swordsman hurriedly jumps down and pulls him upright again with a gruff “Come on, no need for that.” despite immediately lowering himself in a bow as well.
His horse is a magnificent, obedient beast, and it lets the general tie it to the temple gates as it bends to bite at the apple left for it.
“You are early today.” Xichen beams as he leads the general into the courtyard. “Go on, I must sweep away this last pile of leaves.”
Ten years ago, the general had collapsed off his horse some ways away from the temple. Xichen found him in some shrubbery while gathering for next days’ meals, and carried the man back to his sanctuary. The horse had ran, which proved fortunate because there were enemies still hot on the general’s trail. They had followed the messy tracks of the horse and by the time they made their way to Xichen’s temple two days later, he had already taken out the three arrows stuck in the huge man and nursed him back to enough consciousness to be hidden within the hollowed Guanyin statue sitting in the middle of their bare temple.
“Sirs, we are humble temple carers, and as you can see, we live off of the hospitality of those that come to ask Guanyin for protection. I can assure you we do not have what you are searching for.” Xichen had tried to plead with the warriors that were ransacking what little there was of their home. It was only Jingyi’s third year as a temple keeper and the child had cried silent fat tears of fear as he huddled with Sizhui against Xichen’s legs.
Thankfully, even war hardened warriors were not fool enough to incur Guanyin’s ire, and they did not do anything to the statue beyond kowtowing once in repentance before leaving on their sleek horses.
When Xichen went to pull the strange man out from the deity’s protection, he found the man had fallen back into a fever.
On the fifth day, the warrior’s eyes opened with the eastern sun.
“Good morning- please do not move too much, your wounds are still healing- my name is Lan Xichen, one of the keepers of this temple.”
The warrior’s gaze had immediately gone to seek his sabre, which was carefully laid upon the low table close to the kang bed. His hand twitched towards it, but when he spoke, his full attention had been transferred to Xichen.
“I thought xianren do not have names.”
Xichen huffed a chuckle, and willed his face not to heat. “Such pretty words from our mysterious visitor, but I am but a humble temple carer, I cannot claim to be a celestial.”
“I thought strange men in the strange forests caring for Pu Sa’s facade have no names either.”
“And I thought men of the blade wore their monikers proudly. What is your name, stranger?”
The warrior stared at him, and then huffed gruffly. “Fair enough, Lan Xichen.”
Xichen beamed, and handed him his morning meal.
Despite being conscious, and an extremely entertaining conversationalist, the warrior’s fever made his injuries dangerous.
“Are you always this stubborn?” Xichen admonished when he found the man splitting logs behind the temple the very next day.
“Your little brat doesn’t even know how to hold an axe properly.” the warrior replied, nodding his head towards Jingyi, who was standing a safe distance away and who was making a valiant effort at looking innocent.
“Uh, I’m supervising?” Jingyi tried.
Xichen sighed “Jingyi, please resume your duties. Master warrior, I assure you Jingyi is very skilled with the axe and acting - please return to bed before you fall over.”
The warrior managed to return to bed with only one stumble. When Xichen checked his temperature again, it was to find that it had risen.
He sighed, and fetched some rags and a pail of water from the well.
His charge accepted his care easily enough, and took the bitter bowl of hot medicine from Xichen without any complaints.
“Are you a general?”
“What makes you think that?” an affirmative without actually affirming.
“Your sabre is of excellent craftsmanship, I would wager there aren't more than three weapons in the world of better quality. You are either a general under a warring wang, or a famed warrior wandering the Jianghu.”
“Oh?” the warrior grinned as he sipped the medicine Xichen spent the previous night brewing. “You are so sure I am a war horse and not a free running stallion?”
“Well,” Xichen smiled, “you would not tell me your name - rather unlike a martial artist who would lead with their moniker.”
The general gulped down the rest of the medicine. “Believe what you will.”
“On who’s side of the war do you fight?”
“Does it matter?”
Not to Xichen. It was his duty to heal and shelter all that seeks it - but -
“Most soldiers would try to convince a man of dao such as myself that they are on the right side.”
The general had looked at him with eyes that seemed a millennial in age, and Xichen is hit with the absurd need to gather this battle worn man close to his bosom.
“There are no right sides in war.” Was what his general said in answer.
“And yet you still fight it.”
“And yet I still fight it.”
Xichen hummed, and placed another damp rag onto the fevered forehead.
The general left, barely a moon’s cycle after his arrival. Xichen expected to never see him again, until, a year later, he heard the sound of hooves at dusk on the first day of the trees shedding leaves.
Each year, the general stays only until the moon beginning her downward descent, and Xichen watches the back of his general fade into the night’s fog and forces himself to admit that men of war do not easily return- this might very well be the last year -
And yet - year after year, the fall of leaves brings him a welcomed visitor.
How strange, that Xichen’s heart grows their annual shoots with the beginning of autumn.
As is their custom now, the general approaches the burner Xichen left out for him and places one of his own incense sticks in. He lights all three, the faint odour from it building coyly in the open courtyard as the man craved of violence kowtows three times, then kneels in silent meditation as he waits for Xichen to finish his duties.
They used to do this in front of the Guanyin, but in years past, Xichen had come to understand that the general prays not because he believes, but because he wishes to still place belief somewhere. The courtyard provides much more comfort for his annual visitor.
As soon as Xichen stores away his broom, the general moves out of his kneeling pose into a more comfortable sprawl on the temple steps. Xichen has the gift of his company and conversation until the moon is high before his visitor disappears again. From his travel pouch, the general takes out a block of tea and some sticky cakes that Xichen favours.
Smiling, Xichen takes his gifts and tucks them safely in his sleeves. Past years taught him that trying to coax the warrior into having the cakes with him will only result in failure and cut into their already short time, so he settles himself down beside the other man and lets himself look his fill, cataloguing the changes to the handsome man in the past year.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”
Xichen blinks at his companion in the falling dusk, “It would be rather improper of me not to, don’t you think?”
The general chuckles - “You once told me you do not believe in predestination.”
“That's true,” Xichen smiles at the memory. “you called me a ‘poor excuse of a monk’. ”
“I’m sure I worded it better than that.”
Xichen laughs. He wants to reach out and touch - but, a practiced player in the game of denial now, he keeps his hands to himself.
“The ancient masters warn us to not fight the tides of time. To live and die and to live again is of nature’s will, but our actions should be guided by nothing but our own morality. An reliance on predestination can inspire great deeds, but can also inspire great evil, and I’ve always valued moderation as the most valuable of the san bao.”
“We make an odd pair, don’t we?”
“How so?”
“A daoshi who believes in reincarnation but not that the hands of the deities guide his actions, and a man who doesn’t want to believe in the gods but do believe in the power of predestination.”
Xichen tilts his head, studies how the first drop of the moon’s gaze falls onto the general’s brows and washes over his eyes.
“And why do you believe in predestination?”
“I must. If I am not predestined for such feats, why did I lead armies when I know battle only breeds death? If I am not predestined, why do I fight so hard for an emperor that is going to have me killed?”
Xichen’s breath catches - “the emperor-”
But his general’s deep voice rolls over his own as he leans in, one hand gently coming up to thread through Xichen’s hair and cup at his nape. “If we are not predestined, how did you appear to me in my moment of need all those years ago, like a miracle?”
“Maybe your irresistible animal magnetism?” Xichen mutters, and is gratified to see his general’s expression melt into shock, then mirth, “But wait, don’t change the subject, the emperor?”
“Jin Guangyao has succeeded in his bid for the throne this past year. As the only general pledged to him, I was venerated. However, I know my time is short. Like the rulers before him, he must eradicate the power structures that hold the army and the finances and then redistribute that so he would not be overthrown while he’s footing is still precarious. I am simply waiting for the order for my head. Now that Huaisang - my brother- has defected to the Jiang’s, he’s got all the reasons he’s ever going to need.”
Xichen mules this over. The general has never given his name, but Xichen can’t really claim he hasn’t suspected his mysterious annual visitor is Chifeng Zun. Nie Mingjue is peering at him lowly, and for the first time in their convergence, with a hint of nervousness. This is the most his general has ever revealed about his life in his visits, and this sudden speech that reveals his identity must be deliberate, and now his visitor wonders what Xichen thinks of the war shen who’s name alone strikes fear into the hearts of armies.
His hand is still warm against the back of Xichen’s neck.
“Or perhaps he shall have your head because you dare to speak the Son of Heaven’s name so openly.”
The palm tightens sweetly on his neck as Mingjue barks a loud laugh. “Perhaps.”
The grip on him is so strong but so uncertain. As always, the general’s touch on him seems compelled and unplanned, bursting with profound desire and hesitance in equal parts. Xichen can count on one hand how many times the general had touched him over the past ten years, each time seared into his memory as Mingjue’s hands grip him tight with longing under the moon for a short moment before the man disappears again for another cycle.
Storing away his own trepidation, Xichen lets himself. Ten years, they’ve played this farce of a dance, and for what? They’ve denied themselves and walked their separate paths towards death, and for what? Xichen lets himself grant his own wishes, lets himself fall forward and is -
-and is caught in a strong embrace. He can feel the muscled chest pressing into him expand in a gasp of surprise. He revels. He wonders-
“Is that why you never stay?”
“I would not have Chifeng Zun’s bloody footprints dirty the doorstep of a deity for more than one night a year, daoshi.”
Xichen wants to argue. How can he believe such rot? Surely he must know how he takes Xichen’s heart with him every year - but that is not the right way forward.
“Will you stay now?”
“And risk the temple being burned to the ground when the emperor finds me hidden here? I think not.”
Xichen lets himself be held tighter. “And if you were not hidden here? Join me in caring for this temple. Jingyi is sixteen now, and his apprenticeship will soon be over and he will return to the city to aid in a bigger place of worship-”
Xichen bites at his lower lip. Even with Mingjue’s arms still tight as a promise around him, he is suddenly nervous. “-and I would appreciate another pair of hands.”
“Xichen, were you not listening? The emperor seeks my head. A mere rumour of my presence here will destroy you.”
“Have you forgotten?” Xichen smiles at his general under the moonlight. “The strange monks in the mountains have no name. If the emperor fears the power of Chifeng Zun, why would he come seeking the head of a man who’s name no one knows?”
The implication of what Xichen is suggesting seems to shock Nie Mingjue, even though, to Xichen it is the most logical next step. Give up his title and the emperor has no more need to take his head in fear of the power his title has.
Unless - of course, Nie Mingjue simply cannot give up Chifeng Zun.
It’s that thought that has him straightening up reluctantly in Nie Mingjue’s embrace so that he can look his general in the eyes. Unable to stop himself, his hand raises to tuck some loose hair behind one ear as his general stares at him with widened eyes.
If that expression is from anyone else, Xichen would have called it fear.
“Every year I come, chasing a dream, chasing the xianren that saved my life when it was surely forfeit. Every year I tear myself away, even though my riding pouch contains all I need to be happy. Every year I tell myself my duty to my emperor outweighs the life I owe to the xianren in the mountains. But in my heart of hearts I know I am only able to leave you because I know you have saved a tainted life, daoshi. More than anything, I don’t want to soil daoshi with the blood of the battlefield that will never wash from my soul.”
“-daoshi, I’ve taken too many lives. Do you not think it’s time for me to return to the capital and submit to what karma has installed for me? Is that not the right way to live in dao? Is that not what Pu Sa would have asked of me? Is that not what I should do to be reborn into a better man?”
“You-” Xichen wants to kiss him - but that too, is not the right way forward, so he says the only thing he can. “Please stay, save yourself here. Please.”
Nie Mingjue shuts his eyes, pulls Xichen back into him and lets Xichen take comfort from his strong frame.
“I will stay, until the morning.”
Xichen nod is lost within their embrace. That’s enough, for now.
Within a fortnight, the aspens have all but shed their summer time glory. After today, Xichen would not need to sweep anymore until next year. Soon the first frost will hit, and Xichen will have to start adding extra wood to the kang beds.
The sound of hooves break Xichen from his gentle sweeping meditation.
“Blessed temple, this one seeks guidance.”
The gate is not latched, Xichen pulls it open to reveal a man with a gentle smile, dressed in merchant’s silks.
“This humble temple welcomes all travellers. What is your name, honoured sir?”
The man bows back, and his smile turns secretive as he blinks his big eyes. “My name is Meng Yao.”
“Please come in, Meng xianshen. There is a fire inside.”
Meng Yao looks around himself with an unconcerned curiosity as Xichen leads him to the Guanyin statue. He offers the other man incense, and Meng Yao takes and lights them with a thanks, placing the three sticks in the burner in front of the Guanyin before settling down on the kneeling mat and kowtowing three times.
“Oh benevolent Guanyin Pu Sa, I seek guidance-”
Xichen pauses from where he is about to leave- the only people that ever speak their wishes aloud are the ones that, for whatever reason, wants the temple masters to hear.
“-my dearest friend, my brother in all but blood has disappeared just when we have defeated our enemies after fighting hand in hand for so many years. Please Guanyin, will Rulai grant me an answer to why he had taken my brother in the night with no one the wiser?”
“Perhaps he feared that brotherhood is too strong.”
Xichen is frozen under the sudden realization of who exactly is in his temple as Nie Mingjue’s voice sounds from the side entrance. Silently, his general has appeared and is leaning against the doorframe, staring warily at the prostrated figure.
Meng Yao - or rather, the emperor - remains with his forehead to the ground, but Xichen hears a huff that might have been a laugh. “Oh Guanyin is kind indeed, to provide such a clear answer in my brother’s voice. But I must ask, surely strength should be celebrated, how can a bond such as ours be too strong?”
“The stronger the steel, the more brittle. Weak metals bend, but strong ones can only break. Such is the nature of the strong, are they not?”
“And what can be stronger than the love between brothers?”
“Perhaps the love a man has for his country.” Nie Mingjue says, voice resigned.
“Or for his lover.” Xichen whispers, and it’s his voice that seems to suck the air out of the temple as the two most powerful men in the kingdom freezes, the implication of what Xichen just admitted to can topple the Emperor's court.
“-Xi- Temple master, don’t-” Mingjue hisses, takes a step forward, but freezes as the Emperor rises. The emperor turns to face Xichen who is still frozen at the main doors holding his broom, but he pivots in the opposite direction from Mingjue’s side door, making sure that the general was never within his sight.
“Is this daoshi suggesting I should surrender my brother to his lover?”
“Dao instructs us to know ourselves and live in clarity - perhaps to achieve peace offered through living with dao, your brother chooses to live a path that diverges from yours. The bond between people - be it brotherhood or as lovers- transcends sight, distance, and the material world. Thus, even if your paths diverge, do you not remain brothers? If such brotherhood is not strong, would it not bend, like a soft metal, out of dao’s grace into a parody of itself? Would a divergent path made in trust of your bond not be better than bent morals and untrue smiles?”
There’s a thoughtful tilt to the emperor’s head. Mingjue seems frozen in shock.
“The daoshi is wise indeed. Your words have given me much to think about.”
And sudden, the emperor is striding towards him. Mingjue makes as if to move forward as well, but Xichen raises one hand slightly, palm flat, parallel to the ground in a gesture for him to stay put.
The emperor stops just in front of Xichen. He’s no longer smiling, the man closes his eyes, and his expression is just on the wrong side of menacing, before it melts and Meng Yao opens his eyes to look up at Xichen.
“And is that all the daoshi will translate for the Guanyin?”
And in that moment, Xichen knows exactly what he needs to ask this man who can take or grant their liveliness, the man that holds an entire empire in the palm of his hand.
“Are you happy, Meng Yao? Will you be, out there?”
A sliver of a second, almost too short to be properly perceived, Meng Yao’s face opens in a beautiful display of shock. It is gone so fast that Xichen can only conclude it had been his own imagination.
“And if I say I cannot be happy until my lost brother is by my side again, loyal as he had ever been?”
“Then, you must first admit that you have lost your brother in the first place.”
Meng Yao laughs. Behind him, the incense sticks burn to the last cun and crumbles.
As is customary, Xichen walks his visitor to the gates. From his saddlebag, Meng Yao withdraws a small pouch and hands it to Xichen.
“A donation to the Guanyin and her sanctuary.”
Even before Xichen opens the drawstrings, he can feel the rich glide of the gold within.
“Meng xiansheng, this is too much - we cannot possibly-”
“You have some space here, I think that gold is just enough to buy the materials needed to plant a vegetable garden. Did you know? My lost brother was particularly fond of yu tou. Perhaps you would honour my donation by planting some.”
"Perhaps." Xichen agrees. This time, when he watches the thick trees swallow up the silhouette of his visitor, he lets himself think of the future.
He’s pushed to the wall as soon as he returns, Mingjue’s mouth hot on his as the other man holds him, desperately.
“Stupid man!” his general bites out between kisses. “Have you any idea- he could have - now he knows- “
“Yes.” Xichen answers, hands coming up to gentle Mingjue’s frantic eyes. “Now he knows. A lover’s promise in exchange for the power of the armies, I think even the emperor would say that is fair trade.”
"How can- Why would -" another kiss, Mingjue’s desire tasting like fire on Xichen's tongue. "The price you paid - for a old war horse like me - gods"
Xichen is so in love.
He ventures: "Every morning of this past ten days, I've asked you the same question -"
Mingjue clutches him tighter, tucks his forehead under Xichen's chin as if he is trying to sink himself into Xichen's sternum. Xichen would let him.
"Ask me again." his general whispers into the opening between his ribs - as if whispering right to his heart
"Will you stay?"
Instead of the conflicted until tomorrow morning that had been his answer until now, Mingjue holds Xichen’s face in his warm palms, and his gaze with serious eyes. "I will, until you tire of me."
Xichen smiles. "Until our next lives then."