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When he woke, it was to the gentle strum of a guqin. Wang Yibo could feel the gentle breeze from an open window somewhere, the warmth of sun on his skin, the faint smell of incense lingering in the air.
“Where…”
The last thing he remembered was the iron stench of blood, the shouts and screams of dying soldiers ringing in his ears as he’d left his injured horse to fight on foot, sword drawn as enemy troops converged on him, steeling his heart to at least take out as many of the Northern Qi troops before he died.
Wang Yibo’s entire body hurt when he sat up, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.
The guqin music stopped and Wang Yibo heard a soft man’s voice. “Don’t move. You’re still badly injured.”
A slim man was sitting before a guqin placed on a low table in the middle of the room. Dressed in all black robes, the strangest thing about him was the weimao veil hat, black gauze obscuring his face.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Wang Yibo said, clenching his teeth as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “The battle—”
“I found you half-dead in the mountains,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Wang Yibo said.
The overpass where they had been fighting had been chosen because it was out of the way of the small borderland villages. These past few months, there had been too much rain, rivers and streams bloated to flooding, fields left rotted from the water, wood rotting and houses leaking that Wang Yibo and his generals tried to keep battles as far from civilians as possible—there would already be enough problems when the cooler weather came in a few months that they didn’t need to make things worse. So if this man had found him out in that overpass in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t be ordinary.
“Who are you?” Wang Yibo said when the man didn’t reply and coughed, throat dry and voice raspy.
The man sighed and clapped his hands. A moment later, a knock came on the door and a doctor walked in, bringing with him a tray with a bowl of medicinal soup so pungent that Wang Yibo could smell it from the bed.
“Doctor Li,” the man in the weimao said. “Please.”
The doctor inclined his head to the man. “Sect leader,” he said politely and put the tray down on the bed beside Wang Yibo. “May I?” He held out his hand.
Wang Yibo looked at the doctor, and then at the man in the weimao again. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“Why are Great Liang soldiers this far north?” the man in the weimao said lightly.
Wang Yibo understood the implication and stopped asking questions, because he, the fourth prince of Great Liang, should not be in Northern Qi territory at all.
Six years ago, he’d taken his troops, the small army he’d been granted to train for defense of the southern border, and gone against orders to ride to the northern border when all pleas to the emperor to send help to the Xiao army, to at least send people to retrieve the bodies, had fallen in deaf ears. For six years, he’d stayed out in the northern borderlands, first fighting to win back the territory that the Xiao army had lost in that fateful campaign, and once that had been done, adopting a raider style tactic, using multiple small squads of soldiers to take out the weakest of the Northern Qi outposts, slowly expanding Great Liang territory. Maybe because of his success or maybe because if word got out that Wang Yibo had gone against orders and the emperor would lose face, he hadn’t been called back to the capitol. So long as he didn’t home, didn’t request backup troops or supplies, his father would turn a blind eye.
But if Northern Qi were ever to capture him, all of Great Liang would be in trouble. Though Wang Yibo didn’t agree with the emperor on a lot of things, he would not bring trouble to his country. And so, even if this man was his savior, he could never find out that he had, in his hands, the fourth prince of Great Liang.
“Let Doctor Li check your condition,” the man said.
This time, Wang Yibo thrust out his hand for the doctor who put two fingers on Wang Yibo’s wrist, feeling for his pulse.
“How long before I can leave?” Wang Yibo said when the doctor lifted his hand away again.
The doctor frowned. “You have severe internal injuries, three burst acupoints, and fluctuating qi,” he said. “It’ll take at least three months of recuperation, young master.”
“Ridiculous,” Wang Yibo snapped. “I don’t have months.” He cursed and struggled to get out of bed only to slip, nearly falling straight to the ground if not for the man in the weimao.
The man moved quickly, already by Wang Yibo’s bedside before his legs collapsed, and catching him easily. He was someone practiced in martial arts then, Wang Yibo thought.
“Are you all right?” the man asked as he pushed him back onto the bed.
Wang Yibo could smell the faint trace of something spicy and a little herbal on his clothes, like medicine.
He narrowed his eyes and reached for the man’s black veil.
The man immediately let go of him and backed up several steps. “Don’t,” he said.
Wang Yibo wanted to ask who he was again, tell him to take off that weimao and let him see his face.
“Young master, if you try to push yourself now, it won’t just be three months,” Doctor Li scolded, interrupting Wang Yibo’s train of thought.
“It doesn’t matter. I need to go back. Just tell me where we are,” Wang Yibo said. He had to see how the rest of his army was doing, and more importantly, show himself to be alive. If he didn’t return from that battle and they thought he was dead… “I’ll take care of myself.”
“Young master—” the doctor began to say.
“Leave us, doctor,” the man in the weimao said.
“Sect leader…”
“Leave us,” the man repeated.
The doctor sighed and got to his feet. “Sect leader, the medicine must be drunk once every three hours,” he said. “I will come back then.”
The man in the weimao nodded.
As soon as the doctor had left, Wang Yibo tried struggling to his feet again. “Lend me a horse. I’ll make sure you’re properly compensated.”
“Calm down,” the sect leader said. “In your current condition, you can barely stand much less ride. I didn’t save you just to have you send yourself into death again.”
“Why did you save me?” Wang Yibo asked, and then, “Were there any others…”
The man shook his head. “You were the only survivor,” he said.
Wang Yibo only had a dozen soldiers with him for that battle. For this particular battle, they had targeted an overpass where they knew Northern Qi soldiers were bringing in a shipment of supplies to one of their cities where Wang Yibo’s main troops were laying siege. The plan was to take two smaller raider squads to this overpass to ambush them—Wang Yibo, leading the main squad would cut them off from behind, while a second squad would meet them at the exit of the overpass to kill off anyone who tried to leave.
But luck was against them. Northern Qi had somehow figured out Wang Yibo planned to attack them at the overpass and their own backup troops had surrounded Wang Yibo’s small squad. It ended in slaughter. By now, the Northern Qi troops would have made it to the city with their supplies, and Wang Yibo could only hope that someone from the second squad had somehow survived to warn his troops stationed there.
“I’ve sent men to listen for news,” the sect leader said as though knowing what Wang Yibo was concerned about.
“Thank you,” Wang Yibo said finally.
“If you want to thank me, then drink your medicine and rest,” the man said. “There is nothing you can do in your current condition.”
Despite Wang Yibo’s words, there was also a limit to his physical capability and with the amount of injuries he had, he really didn’t have the energy to do much other than force down the bitter medicine once every three hours and sleep to the sound of the guqin.
That was how Wang Yibo figured out who his savior was.
About four years ago, whispers began in the pugilist world, about a new sect that had popped up—a demonic cultivation sect. Though the imperial court and the pugilist world typically coexisted peacefully, this new demonic cultivation sect had been concerning to all martial arts practitioners. This type of cultivation had long ago been outlawed by the imperial court for unnatural practices and unethical means of gaining spiritual power—the worst being the famed Qi Sucking Hand—a forbidden technique that would suck out another person’s qi into the cultivator’s own body to use. The victim could lose a lifetime’s worth of cultivated qi.
The concern was so great that it had even reached Wang Yibo’s ears where he was on the borderlands where any news took a long time coming.
The rumors of the new demonic cultivation sect leader, though, had only described two things about him. First was that he had developed a technique using music to dissolve a person’s qi. Second was that he was hideous—so deformed and terrifying to look at that he hid his face beneath a weimao veil hat.
With Wang Yibo’s injuries, naturally, the demonic cultivation sect leader couldn’t really make things worse for him, but the strange thing was, when he played the guqin, Wang Yibo felt better as though the qi in him was calming and repairing itself.
“Why do I feel better every time I listen to you play?” Wang Yibo asked two days in when he finally had the energy to stay awake longer than a few minutes after he drank the medicine.
The sect leader paused. “The music is helping adjust your qi,” he said. “Your qi is in disarray from the battle and your burst acupoints. If you can stay awake for longer, meditate and cultivate with the music and you’ll heal faster.” He put his hands back on the strings of the guqin.
“I never thought demonic cultivation could be used like this,” Wang Yibo said.
The man paused again. “So you know who I am?”
“You’re the demonic cultivation sect leader,” Wang Yibo said. “What’s your name?”
That was the strange thing about the rumors was that there was never a name attached to the sect or the sect leader’s name.
“Is it important?” the sect leader said lightly. “I don’t know yours.”
“Then I’ll make one up for you?” Wang Yibo said.
He heard a light chuckle come from behind the veil. “Do as you wish.”
“You found me in battle,” Wang Yibo said. “So why don’t I call you Zhan—Zhan-ge.”
The man didn’t seem to have any reaction to the name. “How do you know I’m older than you?” he asked.
Wang Yibo shrugged. “Intuition,” he said. “It was my twenty-third birthday that day you found me.”
He heard a light laugh come from beneath the hat. “Then you are younger,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
“Why did the demonic cultivation sect come to save a random soldier?” Wang Yibo asked a question that had been bothering him since he woke. “Your sect has got nothing to do with political affairs.”
“Hmm...if I told you I overheard Northern Qi conspiring to overwhelm a small band of soldiers and thought it was underhanded, would you believe me?” the sect leader said.
“No,” Wang Yibo answered. “There’s no reason for someone uninvolved in politics to want to join.”
“Then if I told you I had a grudge against Northern Qi and wanted to wipe out their entire army?” the sect leader said.
“That I would believe,” Wang Yibo said. “Did you?”
“Wipe out their army?” the sect leader said. “Yes.”
A tingle went down Wang Yibo’s spine. He’d heard the rumors but this confirmed this demonic cultivation sect was powerful and dangerous. There had been at least four hundred Northern Qi troops there that he estimated—enough not just to protect those supplies but to serve as reinforcements to that city.
“Then the rest of Great Liang’s soldiers…” Wang Yibo said.
“Last I heard, they were planning to send scouts to find out what happened to the raider squads and the Northern Qi shipment,” the man said.
Wang Yibo exhaled. “Is there any way to send word to them that I’m safe?” he asked.
“Is that what you want?” the man beneath the weimao asked. “You don’t think it strange that Northern Qi knew exactly where your party would be? That they brought four hundred troops to take out a squad of a dozen soldiers? That they caused a landslide to stop your second squad from joining up?”
Wang Yibo frowned. “You think there’s a traitor,” he said.
“I think it would be wise to wait and see what happens next,” the sect leader said and put his hands down on the guqin again to begin playing.
“Zhan-ge…” Wang Yibo said.
“Hm?” The sect leader paused in his playing.
“Thank you,” Wang Yibo said. “For saving me.”
As Wang Yibo drifted back to sleep, the taste of bitter herbs on his tongue and the sound of the guqin in his ear, he recalled another man with the given name Zhan, who was the true reason he had been on the borderland, fighting to take over Northern Qi these past six years.
When Wang Yibo was growing up, the emperor’s right hand man was the great General Xiao. It was said that when the emperor took the throne, there had been unrest—the emperor’s siblings contesting his right to the throne, and it was in large part thanks to General Xiao’s support that Wang Yibo’s father had become the emperor.
Xiao Zhan was the only son and heir of the Xiao family, and a six year older brother who Wang Yibo had run after since the time he could walk. His mother used to tease him, saying Wang Yibo was Zhanzhan’s little copycat, following him around everywhere, and trying to give Xiao Zhan all of his things from toys to food.
Most of the kids Xiao Zhan’s age didn’t bother with someone as young as Wang Yibo, but Xiao Zhan had a gentle temperament and a mischievous streak as bad as Wang Yibo’s, and the two of them—one big and one small—could be seen running all over the palace grounds. When Wang Yibo got in trouble for breaking into Concubine Jing’s garden to steal peaches, Xiao Zhan would speak on his behalf that they should be proud that a six-year-old had such good martial arts at such a young age that he could scale a wall that high. With his big eyes and sweet smile and silver tongue, charm the woman into giving them the peaches that they’d split together.
When Wang Yibo got a little older, Xiao Zhan, an accomplished young man in the six gentlemanly arts, became his tutor when none of the other palace teachers could get Wang Yibo to sit still for his lessons. When they grew into young men, people began to say that should Wang Yibo want to compete for the throne with the crown prince, he’d have a good chance of it with the favor of the Xiao family behind him.
Then, six years ago, the Xiao army had been sent to the borderlands in a military campaign against Northern Qi. They had never returned.
By the end of the first week, Wang Yibo had regained at least physical movement of his body, and had Doctor Li marveling at how fast he was recovering.
“The young master really is a martial arts talent,” Doctor Li said, shaking his head when he finished feeling Wang Yibo’s pulse. “Don’t get happy too early. You still have a long way to go. If you start cultivating too quickly, you’ll burst your healing acupoints again and make things worse.”
“All right, all right,” Wang Yibo said.
“Medicine,” the doctor said, pointing to the bowl of medicine he’d brought in along with a bowl of plain rice and a plate with some limp, boiled vegetables. “And then eat your meal. You didn’t finish it all yesterday.”
Wang Yibo grimaced. “Because it tastes terrible. Is there any way you can make this taste better?” he said. “Flavor the food at least?”
The medicine was unbelievably bitter, and the food that he had been made to eat three times a day was basically monk’s food without even salt to flavor it.
Doctor Li frowned. “You’re recovering. I’ve instructed Mrs. Tang not to give you anything heavy—it’ll only hinder your recovery.”
“What about meat then?” Wang Yibo said.
“What did I just say?” Doctor Li demanded. “Do you want to ruin all your progress?”
Wang Yibo sighed loudly. “Then at the very least can you not have Zhan-ge eat at the same time as me?”
He heard a laugh come from beneath the weimao where the sect leader had also been brought his meal consisting of rice, roast chicken, and vegetables flecked with red pepper. It smelled amazing.
“I can’t leave,” the sect leader said. “I have to play the guqin for you. You should be grateful I spend so much time here to help your recovery.”
“Yes, yes, so grateful to see you eating your chicken in front of me,” Wang Yibo said.
In truth, he had been looking forward to the first time he saw the sect leader eat in front of him because he had hoped the man would have to lift his veil to eat. He was disappointed when the sect leader just lifted the bowl up beneath the veil, the hat’s brim wide enough that apparently it didn’t hinder his eating.
“Doctor, how long before I can go outside?” Wang Yibo asked. “It’s so boring in here.”
“Recovery isn’t supposed to be fun. If you’ve got the energy, spend more time meditating and cultivating,” Doctor Li scolded and shook his head. “You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
“You’re the worst doctor I’ve ever had,” Wang Yibo answered.
The sect leader laughed harder, the veil trembling along with his shoulders. “If the young master feels up for it, maybe we can take a short walk in the afternoon,” he said. “After we’ve finished eating.”
Wang Yibo brightened. “Yes, definitely,” he said. “I’m eating right now!” He lifted the bowl of medicine to his lips, making the sect leader laugh again.
And so that afternoon, for the first time since being rescued, Wang Yibo finally got to leave the small room he’d been spending all his time in and went outside.
The rest of the sect headquarters wasn’t at all what he expected.
Rumors said that the demonic cultivation sect had begun out at the borderlands, and everyone knew that there were no big cities in the borderlands—the territory changed hands too often between Great Liang and Northern Qi, there were too many brigands this far out from the imperial strongholds that no large cities could survive out here.
Still, this was the demonic cultivation sect headquarters. Usual sect headquarters were large in size, massive compound houses because they had to encompass not just the sect disciples and all the space they needed to practice their sect techniques and martial arts, but also enough space to house the servants. When they left the room Wang Yibo had been staying at though, he found that they were in the smallest siheyuan house he’d ever seen. There was technically a tiny courtyard in the middle of four buildings, but the courtyard contained a small garden and reading pavilion, leaving no space at all for martial arts practice.
“Where do your disciples stay?” Wang Yibo asked, staring. He could see the old cook who brought them meals, Mrs. Tang, sitting on a stool outside one of the buildings, soaking beans, and she waved at them. He’d only ever seen Doctor Li and Mrs. Tang regularly at the house. Apart from them, there would be an ever rotating cycle of people—rarely the same—who came in to make reports to the sect leader.
“Disciples?” the sect leader said. “I don’t have disciples.”
Wang Yibo frowned. “But you’re the sect leader,” he said. “What kind of a sect leader doesn’t have disciples?”
He heard a laugh come from behind the veil. “There are other demonic cultivators in my sect, but I’ve never taken a disciple,” he said. “They’re all my sect brothers or sisters, and they’ve got their own tasks.”
Wang Yibo frowned. “Then who taught you? How are you keeping your sect running without disciples?”
The sect leader sighed and the veil fluttered out a little. “Our sect didn’t used to practice demonic cultivation,” he said. “We had a manual of forbidden techniques handed down that we were to keep secret, but our sect was wiped out some time ago. The...former sect leader died. So did most of the other cultivators. The rest of us were injured so badly, Doctor Li only saved us using those forbidden techniques. After that, we weren’t able to practice cultivation normally.”
“So demonic cultivation...do you really suck out other people’s qi to use?” Wang Yibo asked.
The man nodded. “Are you scared?” he asked after a moment.
“Did you suck out all the qi of those Northern Qi soldiers?” Wang Yibo asked.
“Yes,” the sect leader said.
“Good,” Wang Yibo said.
He could see the way the sect leader tilted his head to look at him, and the laugh that came from beneath the veil. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll show you the town.”
It turned out that the small siheyuan was located in the middle of a small town. For a sect practicing demonic cultivation, Wang Yibo had expected a mysterious hidden compound somewhere in the mountains—not a plain house in a small town with vegetable sellers squatting outside their front gate who happily greeted the sect leader and tried to sell him on a bargain of carrots.
“Look how fat these are, sect leader,” one young man said, waving a bunch of carrots at him. “Treat your guest to fresh carrots tonight!”
“My guest doesn’t like carrots, but thank you,” the sect leader said.
“Where are we?” Wang Yibo asked as they walked.
Everywhere they went, no one seemed to be intimidated by the sect leader, but waved to him, chatted to him like he was a regular villager.
“Ah, wait here,” the sect leader said outside a small apothecary. “I need to pick up a few things.”
Wang Yibo raised an eyebrow but waited as the man went inside.
A young woman stood at a booth nearby selling what looked like toys for children—paper fans, little drum rattles, and straw dolls. She glanced a few times over at Wang Yibo, and though Wang Yibo hoped she wouldn’t, she sidled over to him a moment later.
“Young master, you’re the one staying with the sect leader?” she asked.
Wang Yibo nodded.
“You’re really handsome,” she said.
“Thank you,” Wang Yibo said stiffly.
“You've seen under his veil right?” she asked, eyes shining. “Is he really that ugly?”
So she was here for gossip, Wang Yibo thought, and shook his head. "He isn't ugly," he said.
"You've really seen him then?" she asked. "What does he look like?"
“I haven’t seen his face,” Wang Yibo said.
The toy seller looked disappointed. “Then how do you know he isn't ugly? Why else would he keep his face covered?" She sighed. “I mean he’s so nice,” she said. “My little brother was here throwing a tantrum last time because I wouldn’t let him play with my wares—I mean, how am I supposed to sell toys he’s already played with, right? And the sect leader actually bought one for him. Yibao hasn’t stopped talking about him since. It’s a shame he’s so poor and hideous or I’m sure he’d have a lot of marriage offers.”
“Your brother’s name is Yibao?” Wang Yibo asked.
She nodded. “He’s a little brat but the only boy in our family so he’s everyone’s treasure,” she said.
“The sect leader is poor?” Wang Yibo asked.
The girl nodded. “He won’t teach anyone else demonic cultivation or he could really be rich.”
Most cultivation sects made their money from the tuition of disciples they’d accept and train in their techniques. Most of the generals in the imperial court were sons of established families who had been sent to train at one of these cultivation sects in the martial arts before returning to court for a position. These sects would typically be paid a stipend of their former disciples’ wages so cultivation sects were always fighting over noble families whose children they knew would go on into good positions to make good money.
A handful of noble families also ran their own cultivation sects though not many—typically sect leaders were too busy to handle court affairs and vice versa. But the Xiao family had been one of these cultivation sect families with martial arts techniques that had been passed down over generations. So one of the reasons the Xiao army had been so large and popular was because it comprised entirely of disciples of their sect.
When Wang Yibo was four and supposed to begin training in martial arts, he had thrown a fit when his father wouldn’t let him apprentice to the Xiao family, kicking his legs and yelling that he wanted to train with his Zhan-gege. He’d gotten a full lecture while kneeling about the responsibilities of a royal prince and how they were above the pugilist world and cultivation sects, and that he would learn from specially picked martial arts masters who were loyal to the court, and no matter how Wang Yibo argued that General Xiao was loyal, his father wouldn’t concede.
Wang Yibo had refused to learn martial arts until Xiao Zhan came and coaxed him, promising he’d teach Wang Yibo a few techniques but only in secret and only if Wang Yibo behaved and listened to the emperor.
“Where do the other cultivators stay if not with the sect leader?” Wang Yibo asked.
The girl shrugged. “They do stay at the house when they’re here—they’re just not often here or just stay a night and leave again,” she said. “They’re usually busy off following the sect leader’s orders like the other townspeople they hired.”
“Help with what?” Wang Yibo asked.
“Spying,” the girl said. “My older cousin got paid to go work at the imperial city at the docks.”
The Great Liang imperial city was over a week’s ride on horseback from the borderlands and that was at the fastest pace of travel. If it had been a larger sect, it wouldn’t be strange for them to have spies to send them news of the goings-on of court—after all, the events of the court could affect the pugilist world as much as vice versa. But it sounded like the demonic sect didn’t often leave the village and even less so had anything to do with court affairs.
“And there are a lot of them?” Wang Yibo asked.
The girl nodded. “I even wanted to go—they say the imperial city is so much fun,” she said. “But my parents said I shouldn’t get tangled up in sect affairs even though all the brigands stopped trying to raid our town since they came to live here, and they used to raid us every autumn so we’d barely be able to survive the winter.” She leaned in to whisper. “That’s why Mrs. Tang works for them basically for free,” she said. “The brigands killed her son before so when the sect leader came and killed half the brigands when they tried to raid us, she pledged loyalty to him right then and there.”
“What are you two talking about?”
The girl jumped at the voice behind them though Wang Yibo had long since heard the sound of quiet footsteps approaching.
“Nothing, sect leader! Just meeting your new guest!” the girl said with a grin. “He’s very handsome!”
Wang Yibo heard a quiet laugh come from beneath the weimao. “He is, isn’t he.”
“xiao-Bao says he wants you to visit us,” the girl said.
The sect leader nodded. “I’ll come by sometime,” he said. “Tell your parents hello.”
The girl nodded and scurried back to her stall. “Come visit again too, Handsome-gege,” she called to Wang Yibo.
“Popular, aren’t you?” The sect leader said, laughing. “Shall we go back?”
“Is that for me?” Wang Yibo asked, gesturing to the packet of medicine the sect leader was holding as they began walking back the way they’d come.
“For me,” the sect leader said and tucked the packet of herbs into his robes.
After that, Wang Yibo’s life settled into a routine. Most of the day, he still spent meditating and cultivating with the sect leader, listening to the sound of the guqin to guide his qi. But he no longer felt the need to sleep three quarters of the day as his body healed, and walks outdoors became a daily thing. Sometimes, the sect leader would take Wang Yibo with him into the mountains nearby to forage for hard-to-come-by herbs that would speed up his healing and strengthen his spiritual energy. Sometimes, they would go to the market and bring back groceries for the cook who would scold them for paying too much for white radishes, and refuse to season any of Wang Yibo’s food.
And Wang Yibo found himself strangely relaxing in this small mountain village.
His entire life, all he’d known was the imperial court until six years ago, when, at the age of seventeen, his entire life had then been dedicated to fighting on the borderlands. This was the first time he could remember that there wasn’t the heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and because he really couldn’t go anywhere yet, because he really did have to recuperate, he could put down his burdens and rest.
The sect leader, he found, also had a strange, slightly sadistic sense of humor.
When Wang Yibo complained of boredom once and harassed Doctor Li about speeding up his recuperation, the sect leader had the cook pack them a lunch and made Wang Yibo hike with him two incense worth of time up the mountain to a cold spring.
“It’s pretty, I guess, but was it worth the hike?” Wang Yibo said, looking at the small waterfall. “We could have picnicked closer to the village, couldn’t we?” It was the farthest he’d walked in weeks and it was a little embarrassing the way he was panting when the sect leader wasn’t even breathing hard yet.
“The food’s for me,” the sect leader said and pointed at the pool. “That’s for you. Go cultivate.”
Wang Yibo looked over at him.
“What? You’re the one impatient about recovery,” the sect leader said. “This is the place with the best fengshui in this area. People even say this is a magical healing pool. It’ll help you recover at three times the rate.” He gave Wang Yibo a little nudge. “Go on. Who’s the impatient one?”
And because Wang Yibo couldn’t deny it, he had no choice but to strip down to his inner robes and stride into freezing cold mountain spring water.
He heard the sect leader laugh behind him. “Dunk yourself in. You’ll adjust faster,” he said.
“You’re a monster,” Wang Yibo said.
The sect leader laughed louder. “Stand under the waterfall,” he said. “That’s the best place to cultivate or is the young master scared?”
And because Wang Yibo wouldn’t admit to losing, he forced himself under the waterfall, all the breath rushing out of him at how cold the water was, glaring at the sect leader who sat down on a rock by the pool, unpacked the lunch and ate, describing how delicious the food was to Wang Yibo.
There was only one time Wang Yibo came close to seeing the sect leader’s face.
The sect leader bathed far more often than normal people did, once every other day—and so rather than bringing a tub into the room every time to do it, one of the courtyard house’s rooms was a dedicated bathing room with just a screen for privacy and a big wooden tub that needed to be filled with hot water from the kitchen every other day.
The sect leader was very particular about his baths, insisting on absolute privacy, only going in when everything was fully prepared.
Usually, it was Mrs. Tang who prepared everything, but that evening, she discovered a mouse in the storeroom, and went on a cleaning spree, checking every jar and every basket, piling their rice and salt and dried meats outside to inspect every corner by lantern light. Wang Yibo was helping her with nothing better to do, waiting for the sect leader to finish his bath so they could meditate later in the evening, when she suddenly jolted upright.
“I’ve forgotten the sect leader’s robes,” she said. “I was so busy with that dratted mouse—”
“I’ll go,” Wang Yibo said.
“They’re just outside on the stool,” the cook said. “Hurry before he finishes bathing.”
Wang Yibo found the robes easily enough, bringing them over to the bathing room and pushing the door open.
Inside, the room was lit by the warm glow of lanterns. He didn’t think the sect leader had heard the door open because he could hear the sound of quiet humming coming from behind the privacy screen. The entire room smelled strongly of herbs.
Wang Yibo quietly slung the robes over the top of the privacy screen, leaving them there for the sect leader when he finished. He intended to leave right after, except that was when the humming turned into words, and the sect leader began to sing in a clear, soft voice. Wang Yibo couldn’t resist his curiosity and he peeked behind the screen.
It took a moment for Wang Yibo’s eyes to focus in the dim lamplight, and then he saw the man in the wooden tub, back faced to Wang Yibo. Long black hair pooled down over his back, leaving only his pale shoulders visible, but the skin looked strange—shiny smooth in some places and bumpy in others—scars, Wang Yibo realized. The sect leader continued to sing, sounding happy, as he bathed, and when he moved, some of his hair slipped forward, giving Wang Yibo a better glimpse of his back, white as snow and marked with what he, as a long time veteran now, recognized as arrow and sword scars.
The sect leader began to turn in the tub as though looking for something, and Wang Yibo caught a glimpse of just a silhouette before he quickly ducked behind the privacy screen again.
Heart pounding, Wang Yibo left the room.
It took three weeks for the first news to get to them about the fourth prince’s death.
“Then the rest of the Wang army?” Wang Yibo asked the messenger. “Are they still holding steady?”
The messenger, a worn-looking cultivator, shook his head. “The emperor has recalled them,” he said. “The king of Northern Qi is sending ambassadors in a week’s time to discuss the terms of treaty.”
Wang Yibo frowned. “A treaty?” He clenched his hands into fists. “It took one defeat for the emperor to give up the northern border after six years of fighting?” He turned to the messenger. “Any news on the Xiao Memorial? They can’t return it to Northern Qi.”
“The Xiao Memorial is only a small area,” the sect leader said.
“If he returns the Xiao Memorial, I’ll never forgive him,” Wang Yibo said.
“Young master, remember your place!” the sect leader said sharply. “Lin-xiong, get some rest. I’ll have Mrs. Tang bring you dinner,” he said to the cultivator who bowed and left the room.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone—not even here,” the sect leader said once the cultivator had left. “The Xiao Memorial is on Northern Qi territory that Prince Wang took,” he said. “If, in the talks of the treaty, it’s given back…”
“It can’t be given back,” Wang Yibo said. “Anything but that. I’ve stayed away for too long. Zhan-ge, lend me a horse.”
“Will you stop being so impulsive!” the sect leader snapped, the loudest he’d raised his voice to Wang Yibo in these few weeks. It was enough to shock Wang Yibo into listening. “Sit down and be rational. If the fourth prince suddenly appears in the capitol now when the ambassadors come, do you think the emperor will take kindly to your presence? This is probably what he wanted all along! Why else would he never send you reinforcements for six years.”
Wang Yibo stopped and turned to look at the sect leader. “You know who I am.”
“Of course I do!” the sect leader said. “Fourth Prince Wang Yibo, son of the Concubine Wang, least favored prince for the throne thanks to your rebellion six years ago when you took your army without permission to the northern borders.”
Wang Yibo exhaled. “Then you know why I can’t give them the Xiao Memorial.”
The Xiao Memorial was the small shrine Wang Yibo had erected at the mass grave of the Xiao army. By the time he’d arrived with his army that spring after hearing about the defeat of the Xiao army, there had been nothing left. Wild animals and the elements had left not one body intact or recognizable, and all Wang Yibo could do was bury them all in a mass grave. He had never found any trace of Xiao Zhan—one body in thousands. And in the end, he’d constructed a shrine there, hoping that it would help their spirits rest in peace as he continued to fight Northern Qi, determined to take the entire country in vengeance for the Xiao army or die trying.
“It’s been six years since the Xiao army was defeated,” the sect leader said and sighed. “Why do you still fight so hard?”
It was a question Wang Yibo had been asked many times these past years. First by his father when he knelt in front of the court for six days without eating or sleeping, begging for permission never granted to take his army to the borderlands to retrieve the bodies. When he’d taken his army out to the borderlands anyway, it had been asked by his generals and his soldiers the longer they stayed and the more their numbers slowly dwindled without reinforcements and without ever returning to the imperial city all these years.
“He was my fiance,” Wang Yibo said out loud for the first time in six years. He’d never told the emperor, never told his generals or soldiers. “General Xiao’s son—Xiao Zhan.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Your fiance? The emperor allowed…”
Wang Yibo shook his head. “I never had a chance to ask the emperor before the news came, but Xiao Zhan agreed. We made a promise.”
The year Wang Yibo turned seventeen and was granted his own household by his father, a plain but nice compound, he invited Xiao Zhan over to his new house, proudly showing off everything from the main hall to the servants quarters to the big courtyard to practice martial arts to study full of books and art that he knew Xiao Zhan would love.
“It’s yours. It’s all yours,” Wang Yibo had said when he finished, spreading his arms wide as he looked hopefully at Xiao Zhan.
By then, Xiao Zhan had already grown into a young man of 22, considered one of the top beauties in the imperial city, and he had been receiving a steady stream of proposals, all sorts of court officials trying to marry off their daughters into the Xiao family. Every time Xiao Zhan rejected another proposal, Wang Yibo would feel the fist around his heart loosen until the next proposal came. He’d been pestering his father to grant him his own household, and now that he had it, his first action was to offer it all to Xiao Zhan in the hopes that his favorite Zhan-ge would accept.
Xiao Zhan laughed. “You silly child, what are you doing giving away the emperor’s gift?”
“I mean it,” Wang Yibo said with all the stubbornness of a seventeen-year-old youth. “If you’ll marry me—”
Xiao Zhan laughed again which was hardly encouraging. “That’s impossible,” he said. “You’re a prince. You’ll be expected to take a proper prince consort from a good family, maybe a few concubines. I’m sure the emperor is already thinking about a suitable marriage.”
“I don’t want one. I want you to be my prince consort,” Wang Yibo had said, panicked. “I have my own household now. I want to marry you.”
Xiao Zhan had gone gentle the way he did when Wang Yibo got really worked up and walked over to him. He was still half a head taller than Wang Yibo, broader and stronger, while Wang Yibo was just a gangly sapling.
“You’re just turned seventeen, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan said. “In a few years, you’ll have changed your mind.”
“I won’t,” Wang Yibo said, more stubborn than ever. “What I want now, I’ll want forever. I’ll be eighty-one and I’ll still want you.”
“This child,” Xiao Zhan said with a sigh and smiled. “The laws…”
“I’ll ask Father to change them,” Wang Yibo said, making Xiao Zhan laugh again.
“Don’t get yourself in trouble. Don’t you have any ambition for the throne?” Xiao Zhan said.
“I’m not the crown prince, and even if I was, I would only want it if you’re the one by my side,” Wang Yibo said. “I mean it.”
“So stubborn,” Xiao Zhan said with another smile.
“Zhan-ge…” Wang Yibo began to whine.
Xiao Zhan laughed. “Goodness, what kind of prince whines like you?” he said, but Wang Yibo could tell he was winning from the way Xiao Zhan’s smile was going soft. “All right, all right, if the laws change, once you’re...hm, once you’re my age and you’re still sure about it, I’ll consider it,” he said, reaching out to pat Wang Yibo’s head.
Wang Yibo frowned. “What if you get married before that?”
Xiao Zhan laughed. “Silly, I’m going with my father to the borderlands. How will I get married while fighting?” he said.
Wang Yibo had thought that skirmish on the border would mean a short reprieve of people trying to marry his Xiao Zhan.
Six years had passed since then. Xiao Zhan had died in that battle with his father, never to return.
“He said he’d marry me if I turned 22 and still wanted him,” Wang Yibo said and looked down at the ground, an ironic smile on his lips. “I turned 23 that day you found me half-dead.”
“It’s been six years,” the sect leader said. “You haven’t changed your mind?”
Wang Yibo smiled. “I told him then I could be 81 and I wouldn’t change my mind,” he said.
“He’s dead,” the man said. “He’s been dead for six years.”
“Even in death,” Wang Yibo said, even more stubborn. “He’s the only one I’ll ever want.”
He heard the sect leader sigh. “This child,” he said. “You need to finish recuperating.”
“I—”
The sect leader held up a hand. “My people are keeping an eye on the situation, but you’re of no good to anyone as weak as you are now,” he said. “Be patient. We need to know what comes of the treaty before we do anything.”
***
As they waited, Wang Yibo, determined to get back to full strength by the time news came, started getting up early in the morning to go out to the little garden to stretch and practice martial arts forms, getting his unused muscles back into shape.
It was how he found out where the sect leader had been sleeping all this time. Before this, Wang Yibo always fell asleep to the sound of the guqin and usually woke to the sound of it as well, so he’d assumed that the sect leader left to go to his own room at night and came back in the morning.
That first time he woke early, intending to go out and practice martial arts, he found the sect leader was stretched out on a straw mat on the ground, the weimao off his head but placed over his face and a thin blanket over his form, still fully dressed.
Wang Yibo frowned and crouched down beside him. It would be easy now to lift up that weimao and see that face beneath. But in the end, Wang Yibo reached for the man’s shoulder instead.
“Zhan-ge,” he said. “Zhan-ge, don’t sleep here.”
“Mm, Yibo?” he heard the sect leader mumble and it felt like his heart had suddenly been squeezed.
It had been so long since he’d been back home in the court that it felt like it had been ages since he last heard anyone call him by his given name and not “Prince Wang” or “Fourth Prince” or “your highness.”
“Have you been sleeping here every night?” Wang Yibo asked.
The sect leader sounded half-asleep, mumbling his answers. “Have to protect Yibo…he’s hurt...” He trailed off again, apparently having fallen asleep.
Wang Yibo frowned and crouched, sliding his arms beneath the sect leader and slowly picking him up, his arms screaming from lack of use these last few weeks. It took all his strength and control to be careful not to disturb the weimao on the man’s face, and carry him to the bed.
The sect leader stirred but didn’t wake, and for someone so tall, he felt too thin—frail in a way that wasn’t natural.
Wang Yibo found out why from the cook later that morning. Mrs. Tang came out about an hour into his practice, and when he saw her struggling to bring a large bucket of water to the kitchen, jogged over to help. From there, he found himself carrying over two more buckets of water and then recruited into helping her snap the ends off a pile of green beans.
“This is going much faster with you, young master,” Mrs. Tang said cheerfully. “Here, help me watch this broth so it doesn’t boil over,” she said, gesturing to a clay pot that she had set up. “I’ve got to add a bit more ginger…”
She went into the kitchen and came back out again with several pieces of ginger that she dropped into the broth. “There, that ought to help the sect leader feel better.”
“Is he ill?” Wang Yibo asked.
“Not ill—weak,” Mrs. Tang said. “Better now, but he still needs to drink the medicinal broth every day and take his medicinal bath every other day. Goodness, that winter they first came, we really didn’t think they’d survive. I was feeding them the good doctor’s broth once an hour, and we had to keep the fire going in their rooms all day. I don’t know how we found enough firewood to keep them alive that winter.”
“Him and the other cultivators?” Wang Yibo asked as he snapped the ends off another bean.
She nodded. “Frostbitten all over, delirious with fever, so many wounds—worse than you,” she said, giving Wang Yibo a pointed look. “Two of them died anyway, but you can barely tell how weak the sect leader’s constitution is now, can you?” she said proudly. “That’s thanks to my good nursing, but I always said anyone who could avenge my son’s death, I’d bow down to them as master.”
Just then, the door burst open and the sect leader stumbled outside in a hurry, robes in disarray and weimao crooked on his head. “Yibo?”
“I’m here,” Wang Yibo said, raising a hand from the stool where he was sitting.
“Did you...did you see my face?” the man asked.
“No,” Wang Yibo said. “But you shouldn’t sleep on the floor. It can’t be good for your health.”
The sect leader exhaled, shoulders slumping, and then turned to the cook. “Mrs. Tang, what are you telling him?” he said. “I’m perfectly healthy!”
“Goodness, if that’s what you call healthy,” Mrs. Tang said, launching into a round of scolding.
After that, Wang Yibo always carried the sect leader to bed after he woke.
A week later, when the news reached their tiny village in the borderlands, Wang Yibo was listening to the sect leader play his guqin when the messenger came.
Wang Yibo politely stood, walking to the other side of the room and turning away to let the messenger speak in low tones to the sect leader.
“I understand,” the sect leader said after a long discussion. “You may go.”
The messenger gave Wang Yibo an indescribable look before he left.
“Did he have news of the treaty? The ambassadors have arrived, right?” Wang Yibo asked once the messenger had shut the door behind him.
The sect leader was silent a moment. “The treaty was concluded in half a day,” he said.
Wang Yibo frowned. “Impossible.”
The court officials couldn’t agree on anything even on the most trivial of topics. A treaty with Northern Qi would be even more complex—he expected back and forth discussions, at least a few days to talk things over and come to an agreement. If one couldn’t be reached, there might even be some back and forth of the ambassadors taking Great Liang’s terms back to Northern Qi to discuss. It was unheard of for it to be concluded in half a day.
“What were the terms of the treaty?” Wang Yibo asked. “Did he say?”
The sect leader was silent for even longer before he spoke. “It’s about your wife,” he said. “The prince consort.”
“What prince consort?” Wang Yibo said. “Are you talking about one of my brothers?”
Of the seven princes of Great Liang, Wang Yibo was the only one who did not yet have a prince consort or any concubines, in large part because he’d run off to the borderlands when he was only seventeen.
“No, you,” the sect leader said, his white hands pressed against guqin strings. “It seems the terms of truce with Northern Qi is to join the two royal families—they intend to marry the grand princess to you as prince consort.”
“But I’m…the emperor thinks I’m dead,” Wang Yibo said.
The sect leader nodded. “That’s why both sides agreed—Northern Qi because the grand princess will control your entire household, and your father because she can bear no proper heirs to the throne.”
“Then the Xiao Memorial?” Wang Yibo said.
“Does that matter anymore?” the sect leader said. “The two countries will become one.”
Wang Yibo took a deep breath. Of all things, this wasn’t what he’d imagined. He’d hoped for days if not weeks of discussions, of his brothers, of the court officials offering their views of what should be done. He expected troops to be sent out to recover the bodies, and then the lost territory.
But then again, before treaty talks had even begun, Wang Yibo’s remaining troops had already been recalled. And if the discussions had been concluded in half a day and with these results meant both kings long knew what they wanted.
“Then it’s true,” Wang Yibo said. “The emperor always wanted this conclusion,” he said. “I’ve been fighting all these years against his orders for this.” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Why didn’t he just kill me six years ago? Why go through the farce?”
The sect leader sighed. “He’s still your father,” he said. “He didn’t want to kill you.”
“No, he just waited for me to die,” Wang Yibo said. “I had him waiting long.” He swallowed. “Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t let the Xiao massacre go,” the sect leader said.
“He had a hand in that too then?” Wang Yibo said. He remembered when news first came of General Xiao’s defeat that it had been surprising—General Xiao had an unblemished record and a strong army, and they had only been gone a month. Given the time to travel to the borderlands with such a large army, they couldn’t have been fighting more than a few days, and yet the thousands-strong army had been massacred in record time. “Did he have them killed?”
“I don’t know,” the sect leader said.
“General Xiao was loyal! Why conspire with Northern Qi to kill them? Why kill me? What do we have to gain by joining them?” Wang Yibo said.
“I don’t know! I have eyes and ears everywhere and I still haven’t been able to find anything,” the sect leader snapped. “I hoped that at least the emperor would spare his own son, but—” He took a deep breath. “What do you intend to do?”
Wang Yibo didn’t know. He’d left the court six years ago to come to the borderlands to fight the battle that the Xiao army had lost, to finish what they came to do in their memory. As soon as the emperor heard Wang Yibo was dead, he took the opportunity to sign a truce with Northern Qi, to tie their families together in marriage. This affair was not as simple as it seemed.
“If you leave now, you can still make it back to the imperial city before the grand princess arrives,” the sect leader said. “If you don’t want to marry her, you’ll have enough time to return and make your case.”
Wang Yibo shook his head. “My father would never let me,” he said. “He’d rather I died in the battlefield than stop this marriage.”
The emperor was the emperor before he was Wang Yibo’s father. If this was important enough that he had had the Xiao army wiped out, that he’d waited for Wang Yibo to die to do this, then Wang Yibo’s return wouldn’t be enough to stop it.
The sect leader took a deep breath. “No one would blame you if you never went back,” he said.
Wang Yibo looked sharply up at him.
“You’ve fought for the Xiao family for six years,” the sect leader continued. “That’s long enough. You don’t have to be tied to the politics of the court anymore. No one knows you’re alive.” He paused. “You’ve been happy here, haven’t you?”
Wang Yibo had never even considered not returning until now. When he was still a child, chasing after Xiao Zhan, they’d once daydreamed of the adventures they could have traveling the pugilist world. Instead of the endless, tiresome politics, keeping track of who to please to get things done, they could live simply, do the things they wanted. Even that impossible daydream had died with Xiao Zhan six years ago, and now it was being handed to him—his chance to truly cut ties with that world.
“If you can let go of the Xiao case, you should go and be free,” the sect leader said. “Forget everything about your past. Marry well, start a family, a life somewhere far away from the imperial court.”
“Stay here?” Wang Yibo asked.
“If you’d like,” the man said.
It was tempting. These past few weeks of recovery, far away from everything in the complex court life and the battlefield were the most peaceful weeks Wang Yibo had ever had in his life up until now. He could browse the streets with the sect leader, go foraging in the mountains, practice martial arts and cultivate, snap the ends off green beans with the cook, argue with the doctor. But when Wang Yibo had told the sect leader he would love Xiao Zhan forever, it wasn’t just a promise—Wang Yibo could not stop it even if he had the will. For as long as he was alive, he could never let him go.
Wang Yibo shut his eyes and opened them again, looking steadily at the sect leader. “And if I can’t?” he said.
“Then…” the man said and stood up from the guqin. He lifted one pale hand to the black veil of the weimao he had never taken off in Wang Yibo’s presence all these weeks.
In one graceful motion, that hand slowly lifted up the veil, uncovering bit by bit, a face that Wang Yibo had dreamed of these past six years.
His eyes were bigger than Wang Yibo remembered, face thinner and cheekbones sharper, and the smile on his lips more tentative—long eyelashes fluttering as he searched Wang Yibo’s eyes as though afraid of his reaction.
“Xiao Zhan…” Wang Yibo said, barely daring to breath for fear one movement would make this all dissolve before his eyes again.
“How long have you known?” Xiao Zhan asked, voice small.
“From the moment I woke,” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan’s eyes widened. “How? Even my voice is different after the injuries.”
“I just knew,” Wang Yibo said. He took a step forward, and then another and another until he was right in front of Xiao Zhan.
The last time he’d seen him, Xiao Zhan was still a head taller, and now they were nearly the same height.
All these weeks, Wang Yibo had hoped his instinct was right again the way it had been all those years ago when he’d seen Xiao Zhan for the first time as a child and known in his tiny heart that this was the only one he’d ever love for the rest of his life. It was the same instinct that had sent him out to the northern borderlands for six years searching for someone he knew was dead but couldn’t believe. It was the same instinct that had told him not to ever return to the imperial court.
“You didn’t suspect when I asked to call you Zhan-ge?” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan glanced up at him. “I...I thought it couldn’t be possible. It’s been six years.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Wang Yibo asked.
Xiao Zhan bit his lips. “I had to be sure,” he said. “That day we reached the borderlands, the Northern Qi troops were waiting for us,” he said. “All of them—tens of thousands of soldiers. We never had a chance. It was a trap laid for us.”
“What happened?” Wang Yibo asked.
Xiao Zhan shook his head. “My father knocked me unconscious. When I woke, I was buried beneath corpses—Doctor Li says I was unconscious for a year, and then it took so long to recover, and I just wanted to know why Great Liang betrayed us.” He looked down. “This marriage means Northern Qi and Great Liang were always planning for this, but there must be a lot of others in the court who aren’t happy with this decision,” he said. “If there was ever a chance to find out the truth, it’s now.” He looked back up at Wang Yibo and took a step forward. “Yibo, if you want to stay here and forget everything, that’s fine. That would be best—”
“Xiao Zhan,” Wang Yibo interrupted and reached out to take Xiao Zhan’s hand. He had been patient all these weeks since he came, doing what he could do assure Xiao Zhan of his loyalty.
Six years ago, that hand had been bigger when it wrapped around his, showing him the proper way to notch a bow and hold a calligraphy brush. Now, it felt small and fragile, enveloped in his.
“I’m twenty-three,” Wang Yibo said.
Xiao Zhan stared at him for a moment and then a beautiful pink blush began to spread across his face.
“The fourth prince is going to return to the imperial city,” Wang Yibo said, holding that hand tight. “And he will already have a prince consort.”
When the Fourth Prince Wang of Great Liang died defending the northern border, unrest spread through the country as people wondered if this would mean formal war again between Great Liang and Northern Qi.
But a month later, Great Liang prepared for not a funeral but a wedding to welcome over the grand princess of Northern Qi as the ghost bride of the fourth prince, forever to tie the two kingdoms together and ensure peace.
Three days before the wedding, a commotion broke out at the gates of the imperial city when a wedding procession came through the gates, turning heads as civilians wondered which court official had a son or daughter getting married, and so soon before the fourth prince’s wedding festivities.
Immediately, whispers broke out when they saw the groom’s face.
“The fourth prince! He’s alive! Prince Wang is alive!”
Shouts rang out across the imperial city.
The prince did not head to the palace gates to see the emperor as decorum demanded, but led his wedding procession to the small manor he hadn’t set foot in for six years.
The crowds gathered heavy around him when he lifted the curtain of the sedan and helped his bride down, but no one could see her either, except that instead of a veil, she was wearing a weimao hat as the fourth prince helped her inside and shut the gates.
“Yibo, you sadist,” Xiao Zhan said as Wang Yibo set him down on the bed. “You’re going to give the entire imperial court a heart attack returning with a wedding procession.”
Wang Yibo grinned as he went to bar the door. “That way no one can deny I married you,” he said. “Ah, I mean the demonic cultivation sect leader who saved my life.” He lifted Xiao Zhan’s hand to his lips. “We’ll find out what happened six years ago,” he vowed. “You and me together.” He lifted Xiao Zhan’s veil and saw the way Xiao Zhan’s eyes curved as he smiled when Wang Yibo kissed him.
“Forever.”