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In retrospect, this isn’t his best disguise ever.
The plan had been “wandering drunken hobo” so that he could hang around various towns and pick up information, gossip, news, whatever, but not be noticed much. Also to hide from those who would murder him if they recognized him. The disguise is meant to make him unappealing, unapproachable.
It doesn’t work.
First there’s that sweet boy who wants to do his Good Deed for the Day by being kind to what he sees as a wretched beggar, and then that fiendish girl in amethyst with surprisingly strong martial arts.
And then there’s that grinning jackass who decides to torment him with outrageous flirting and comments about how attractive he is, when clearly he is not at all attractive in this get-up. In point of fact, he went all authentic by purchasing ragged, unwashed robes from a second-hand clothing stall and literally rubbing dirt into his hair until it looks suitable for a rat’s nest, so the disguise itches like a motherfucker.
Granted, the jackass is himself very pretty. But Zhou Zishu can’t even sit back and enjoy the prettiness on display because the jackass is such a jackass.
Things change, and the sweet boy turns out to be honestly sweet, not just Doing Good Deeds for show. The violet vixen turns out to be the disciple of the jackass. And the jackass seems like he knows that there’s something else underneath the unkempt facial hair and what the fuck and—
“Have we met before?” Zhou Zishu asks Wen Kexing, unable to keep a light snarl out of his voice, scratching at his scalp through the matted hair.
“Oh no, I would have remembered one as fetching as you,” Wen Kexing says with his usual smirk, waving his fan gently.
“Would you stop smiling all the time?” Zhou Zishu grouses. “It’s creepy.”
Turning and walking away does no good, as the jackass follows on his heels, saying smarmily, “Do you expect me to suppress my pleasure at being permitted to view such beauty?”
Zhou Zishu snorts.
“If I stop smiling, will you shave off that unflattering beard?” Wen Kexing continues.
Zhou Zishu laughs shortly. “Would you actually stop smiling if I did?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“No matter, you are lovely even so.”
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. “What do you want from me?”
Wen Kexing cocks his head slightly. “To admire you. To linger in your august presence. To know who you are, truly.”
“I am this,” he gestures at himself, “neither more nor less, and would wish that you leave me be. I’m going to walk away now. Don’t follow.”
Fat chance.
Zhou Zishu does walk away, over and over, trailed by Zhang Chengling who is desperate to become his disciple – if only the boy knew what a terrible idea that would be – yet Wen Kexing and his familiar keep showing up everywhere anyway.
For example, Zhou Zishu and Chengling are sitting on a log in a forest, mostly because he needs rest after his qi was depleted by fighting off a small troupe of Prince Jin’s spies whom they ran into entirely by accident. He raises his water gourd to his mouth. The gourd proves empty. Figures. He has fewer than three years left to live; you’d think he shouldn’t have to struggle for the basics of existence the entire time.
Sure enough, there’s Wen Kexing, dropping gracefully to his knees before Zhou Zishu and offering a wine flask.
“Go away.”
“My dear one, I know you are thirsty,” cajoles the jackass. He has walnuts, too, cracking open the shells in his hand, offering the meat inside. “And hungry. Let your devoted servant take care of you.”
Gu Xiang harrumphs. “Master, don’t kneel before Sick Dude! It’s beneath you. He’s just a weak beggar-man!”
“Hush,” Wen Kexing says mildly to Xiang, his eyes never leaving Zhou Zishu’s face.
Zhou Zishu staves off a pressing need to scratch his ass, for fear that Wen Kexing would offer to do it for him.
He’s a strange jackass, this Wen Kexing. With strange powers. There’s an air of mystery about him. Zhou Zishu can barely admit it, even to himself, but he’s beginning to feel intrigued. Who is this Wen Kexing? Zhou Zishu is the one in the disguise, right? And yet he feels as though his disguise, like the walnut shell, thick and nut-brown and wrinkled, is completely transparent to Wen Kexing. As though the mystery man already knows his true identity. As though Wen Kexing, should he so desire, could crack that walnut and reveal Zhou Zishu’s insides to the world.
So unnerving.
As a form of deflection, he grabs the wine flask and takes a deep swallow. He feels his other hand being opened, and walnut halves being dropped into his palm. He looks up and, yes, there’s Wen Kexing with that knowing smile.
Zhou Zishu hands the walnuts to Chengling, who pops them into his mouth and chews happily.
“While I’m grateful for the food and drink, we are going to get up soon and leave, and would appreciate if you do not follow.”
Wen Kexing looks sadly aggrieved. It’s just another put-on expression and Zhou Zishu is getting all too used to it, especially as Wen Kexing looks so appealing when he does it.
“You are not well,” says Wen Kexing, laying a hand on Zhou Zishu’s knee. Even a callous glare doesn’t stop him. “Why walk when you and the boy can come and travel on my comfortable boat? I will feed you well and give you fresh clothing and tend your wounds.”
“You mean I will feed them,” announces Xiang with a sniff.
Chengling looks hopeful, and Zhou Zishu is certainly tempted, but he brushes off the offer and the hand on his knee, and stands stiffly. Everything hurts, and isn’t he far too young for that?
It goes this way: Zhou Zishu and Zhang Chengling travel, they are followed, they are attacked by a Scorpion Assassin on the one hand and the Beggar sect on the other, they are rescued. And rescued again.
He's getting used to being rescued by the jackass and his sidekick. He gives up and lets them travel together. They leave Chengling in the supposed safety of Sanbai Manor, while Xiang goes off to perform a mysterious task for her master, and no one is surprised when the Drug Men attack the remaining pair. Things get fuzzy for a while after that, but what happens pretty much is that there are hallucinations and then Zhou Zishu saves Wen Kexing (or is it the other way around?) and Wen Kexing kills everyone.
It’s impressive.
Until Wen Kexing tricks him into taking a dip in the river.
That’s the end of the disguise, of course, which Zhou Zishu finds he doesn’t mind. The cleanliness alone feels wonderful. By now, Wen Kexing has saved Zhou Zishu’s life more than once, and healed him and fed him and clothed him and played the xiao for him and covered him with soft blankets so he could sleep. Wen Kexing’s touch is no longer unwelcome. When precisely did that happen? It’s getting to the point where Zhou Zishu craves that touch and allows Wen Kexing’s long fingers to caress his own, or stroke his cheek.
When they cross paths with Gu Xiang, her eyes go comically wide at Zhou Zishu’s appearance. “Oho, the filthy beggar is rather handsome!” she chortles. “Who could have known?”
There’s that ingratiating smile once again on Wen Kexing’s lips, saying I could, that’s who, and Zhou Zishu finds he likes it now. It’s still a bit creepy, but this is his own creepy jackass now.
Of a sudden, Wen Kexing strikes out with his palm and the energy pushes Xiang out of sight. Then he turns, gaze fierce on Zhou Zishu, and winds one arm around Zhou Zishu’s slender waist, against his flat stomach, their bodies facing different directions, pulling him in so that there is a line of delicious warmth between them from shoulder to hip. Wen Kexing’s strong qi pulses against and into him.
So fucking presumptuous, Zhou Zishu thinks, his momentary displeasure a mere force of habit, and he considers shoving Wen Kexing off. But he doesn’t; instead his own arm goes around the other man – yin and yang – and he relishes it for a moment, dreaming of a different life where he could have this.
Wen Kexing tilts his head down just enough (damn jackass has to be so tall) to slide soft lips across Zhou Zishu’s cheek and whisper against his ear, “Soulmate.”
Am I this to him? thinks Zhou Zishu. Yes. I am.
Pity that he has so little time to enjoy it.