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Wen Kexing had already been having a bad time of it. A few days past Zhou Zishu had found out about his scheme to duplicate the glazed armor shards. Harsh words had been exchanged, and at the end of it Zhou Zishu had walked away. Wen Kexing had dealt with this in what he thought was a very reasonable manner: by getting mind-numbingly drunk on the best wine money could buy.
He’d emerged from his tour of the local winehouses with a splitting headache and a heart no less bruised than it had been before he’d started drinking. For lack of anything else to do, he’d decided to start on the next stage of his plot, perhaps taking some of his angst out on his subordinates in the process.
Which led him to his current situation. He had gone to all the trouble of getting back into character and summoning his ghosts, and then three of them had had the temerity to be late.
This presented somewhat of a conundrum. He hardly wanted to wait for Wu Chang Gui and his two lackeys to show up. For one, it gave the impression that he waited on their leisure; that they were somehow important enough that his plans could not go forward without their presence. For another, after the past few days, he wanted nothing more than to explain the next few moves of his scheme, perhaps smash a few heads, and then retreat from the prying eyes of his subordinates to his chambers, where he could get back to the very important task of drowning his sorrows alone. Not that he was moping.
But on the other hand, if he got started without his missing ghosts, he’d have to repeat himself when they did arrive. And that would mean even more time spent wearing this particular mask and suffering the company of fools.
So he waited. The hush of the room was stifling, broken only by the steady drum of his fingers against the arm of his chair. Xi Sang Gui and Liu Qian Qiao knelt in stiff-lipped silence before him, not daring to meet his eyes. They were perceptive; they must have sensed that a flippant remark or an attempt at small talk would go poorly.
So they sat. And waited.
In the background, Kai Xin Gui giggled nervously. Everyone ignored him.
A few moments later, at which Wen Kexing’s temper had well and truly begun to boil over the edge of the proverbial pot, he heard voices heading towards the entrance of the manse. He tensed, listening more carefully. Intruders?
“—let’s just go in, see what he has to say.”
Wen Kexing relaxed against the back of his chair as soon as he recognized the voices. Not intruders at all, but his tardy ghosts: Wu Chang Gui and company. Good for him, very bad for them. He let a smile stretch across his face, the one that usually meant someone was going to be very sorry very soon.
The doors of the manse buckled open, revealing Wu Chang Gui, Hei Wu Chang, and Bai Wu Chang. The latter two were dragging something between them, a sack of some kind. Rice, perhaps.
“Greetings!” Wu Chang Gui crowed. “We beg forgiveness for our tardiness…”
Wen Kexing rather abruptly stopped paying attention to whatever flimsy excuses Wu Chang Gui was attempting to peddle, because as the sorry little band stepped through the doors and out of the sunlight it became rather obvious that what the other two ghosts were dragging was not a sack of rice at all, but a body, bound and bloodied.
The man’s head was bowed, lolling forward against his chest so that his face was hidden from view. But even so, Wen Kexing would recognize those graceful limbs anywhere.
It was his Ah-Xu.
Wu Chang Gui was still speaking, but all Wen Kexing could do was stare. There was a horrible rushing in his ears, and his stomach felt as if he had just taken a dagger to the gut. Zhou Zishu was here; Zhou Zishu was hurt. He was still, oh so still in the ghosts’ grasp. He neither struggled nor spoke, just hung there limply, like a discarded child’s toy. A terrible question emerged in Wen Kexing’s mind, one he shied away from confronting head on. Was Zhou Zishu—? Was he—?
Luckily for the three ghosts’ odds at remaining among the living, Zhou Zishu picked that moment to cough weakly.
Relief hit Wen Kexing like a wave. Alive. He was alive. That was all that mattered.
Wen Kexing exhaled slowly and took a moment to examine Zhou Zishu, now that he knew he was still breathing. There was blood dripping from a cut on his cheek, and more staining the hems of his sleeves. His robe had slipped over his shoulder, showcasing a sharp collarbone. How many nights had Wen Kexing lain awake, fantasizing about those collarbones?
He swallowed, belatedly realizing that Wu Chang Gui, possessing some inkling of sense, had finally fallen silent. Right then. He needed to speak, to take control of the situation. And most importantly, he needed to make sure that under no circumstances did anyone in the room know that they were in the presence of the one man alive that Wen Kexing would die to protect.
And so he tilted his head, offering Wu Chang Gui a wintry smile. “I don’t recall giving you leave to invite a guest to this meeting.”
Nervous sweat had begun to bead on Wu Chang Gui’s brow, which brought Wen Kexing some small measure of satisfaction. “He was hardly invited, my lord. We caught him snooping around the perimeter as we were on our way here and figured you’d want to know. Fought like a demon too.”
Wen Kexing made a show of examining his fingernails. “How did you manage to take him down, then?”
“It was a near thing; it took all three of us. We’d thought to just kill him then and there, but figured—my lord?”
Wen Kexing realized belatedly that he’d gripped the arm of his chair hard enough that the wood had splintered beneath his fingers. “Continue.”
“I, uh, that is to say—we thought it would be better to bring him to you, my lord.”
Wen Kexing let the words hang in the air for a moment in order to impress upon Wu Chang Gui and the other assembled ghosts that it was not their job to think. “Put him down,” he said.
The ghosts let go of Zhou Zishu’s arms, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. It took everything Wen Kexing had not to rise up, go to him, cradle him tenderly against his breast and take stock of his hurts. But no; he couldn’t. For both their sakes.
With a shudder, Zhou Zishu stirred. He moved one shaking arm, as if to press himself up from the floor. With a chuckle, Wu Chang Gui aimed a swift kick at his arm, sending him back into a sprawling heap.
Wen Kexing bit down on the side of his cheek to keep from screaming. “Now, now,” he said, before Wu Chang Gui could kick him again. “That’s hardly the way to treat a guest.”
He saw it, the moment Zhou Zishu recognized his voice. His entire body stiffened, and then he was whipping his head up to stare at Wen Kexing, eyes wide. With shock, perhaps. Or maybe horror.
He wanted to look away, but he was helpless to do anything but be pinned by the weight of Zhou Zishu’s gaze. Ah, why was he always so defenseless when it came to Zhou Zishu? No matter how many men he killed or how much power he amassed, one look, one touch, and he fell apart.
What did Zhou Zishu see? Could he tell how much Wen Kexing was aching? How much he hurt? How naked he felt to be seen so completely?
Wu Chang Gui coughed, and Wen Kexing realized he’d been staring at Zhou Zishu while the other ghosts sat in uncomfortable silence around them.
“Shall we kill him, then?” Wu Chang Gui asked, his tone deceptively light.
“No,” he answered a bit too quickly. He saw Xi Sang Gui raise a brow out of the corner of his eye, but luckily the others hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss.
“Showing mercy, my lord?”
Wen Kexing chuckled. “Hardly. I have a use in mind for him.”
Wu Chang Gui tilted his head. “What do you want him for?”
The impertinence! It was on the tip of his mouth to say that it was none of his business. But a quick perusal of the room showed more than a few furrowed brows, and there was little he wanted less than for any of the ghosts to develop curious thoughts about the nature of his relationship with Zhou Zishu.
“If you must know,” he finally said, leaning back into his chair, “I like how his mouth looks.”
Stunned silence, and then half the ghosts erupted into guffaws.
“Oh, but he does have a pretty mouth,” Wu Chang Gui crowed with a lascivious grin. “And he looks so good on his knees!”
Ji Se Gui was licking his lips, fingers flexing as if he wanted nothing more than to rake them over Zhou Zishu’s alabaster skin. “Shall we break him in for you?”
Wen Kexing saw red as the urge to tear Ji Se Gui washed over him like a bloody wave. He shuddered, forcing the feeling down. He had to be calm. For Zhou Zishu. “No thank you,” he said, retreating to the refuge of icy politeness. “Why on earth would you think I’d want your sloppy seconds?”
Before Ji Se Gui could answer that, or heavens forbid, make a lecherous comment about how Zhou Zishu would look after being used hard and put away wet, Wen Kexing turned to Xi Sang Gui and Liu Qian Qiao. “Have him cleaned up and brought to my chambers,” he said with a wave of his hand.
The two women shared a glance, and then they were getting to their feet and taking Zhou Zishu by both arms, leading him carefully out of the room.
Wen Kexing didn’t watch him go, and tried to ignore the lump in his throat.
***
Wen Kexing forced himself to attend to the rest of the meeting, but it dragged terribly. He berated the remaining ghosts for their incompetence, ineptitude, and lack of respect. He baited Wu Chang Gui, taking some small pleasure in his rigid affect as he was forced to grin and bear the abuse. He strung up one of the others from the rafters by his neck and let him twist in the air until he went still, partly as a warning to Wu Chang Gui and partly because of the way Zhou Zishu had cried out when the ghost had dropped him.
Finally, there was no one left to cow, and Wen Kexing dismissed his suitably terrified underlings.
Right, then. It was time to go to his chambers. To Zhou Zishu.
As he prowled through the manse, he found himself of two wildly opposite minds: one half of him wanted nothing more than to rush to Zhou Zishu’s side, see for himself that he was whole and unharmed. The other part of him wanted to delay the confrontation as long as possible, because he couldn’t bear to hear disgust and betrayal from Zhou Zishu’s lips.
He wanted to get it over with. He wanted to put it off as long as possible. He wanted to be by Zhou Zishu’s side. He wanted to be anywhere but there. Above all, he wanted a drink.
He’d worked himself into something of a state by the time he reached his chambers. Xi Sang Gui was standing in front of the door, hands clasped and head bowed. “My lord.”
He gave a terse nod. “Is my…”Prisoner? Catamite? Soulmate? “…guest within?”
She did not look up. “He is. As you instructed.” She fell silent. And yet she did not move away from the door.
Wen Kexing resisted the urge to fidget. “Is there something else you wished to say?”
Finally, she looked up. There was something strange in her eyes that he shied away from naming. “Merely that I would not have expected this of you,” She murmured. The words “this is beneath you” were unsaid, but Wen Kexing could hear them all the same.
He forced a smile. “Have you developed a conscience of late? They’re inconvenient things to have.”
She just looked at him.
“Come now,” he bit out. “You’ve killed at my order before.”
“This isn’t killing.”
Ah, but he knew that, why was she rubbing it in? “Are you criticizing me?” he asked, voice light. She hadn’t been in the room when he’d killed Wu Chang Gui’s lackey, but she might have heard the noises he’d made as he choked. That should have served as a warning to her and the others. It was more warning than Wen Kexing usually saw fit to give.
She looked away. “Of course not, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of it.” There was a mocking edge to her voice, and as she swept past him into the hallway, he was finally able to place the strange look in her eyes. Disappointment.
***
He spent a moment longer standing in the dark before the closed door, willing himself to be brave. It was only a single man’s judgment; he had faced worse and come out unscathed.
But it wasn’t just any man, was it? It was his Ah-Xu. A single harsh word would feel like a dagger between his ribs, and after the day they’d had, Zhou Zishu might well have more than one unkind thing to say.
Well, if that were the case, it was the least Wen Kexing could do to provide him a target. He deserved whatever Zhou Zishu said to him. In truth, he deserved far worse.
Mind made up, he slid the door open.
Xi Sang Gui’s maids knew their craft well; the room had been cast in warm light by lanterns and sweetly scented braziers. Everything was set up for a dalliance; Wen Kexing suspected that if he checked, there would be a bottle of oil left for him on the table beside the bed. Curses, he shouldn’t be thinking about that, about what everyone was expecting him to do with his new toy…
Blinking quickly in a futile attempt to derail that particular line of thought, he stepped inside. The bed was behind a painted screen, and as Wen Kexing walked over to it he found himself hoping and dreading that the bed would be empty, that Zhou Zishu would not be there, that he had already escaped into the night. It would mean he was hale enough to run. It would mean Wen Kexing couldn’t see to his hurts. It would mean Wen Kexing wouldn’t get to see him. It would mean Wen Kexing wouldn’t have to confront him.
Was this what going mad felt like?
And then he was past the screen and the realization hit him like a saber to the gut: no, this was a sight that would make one go mad.
Because Zhou Zishu was waiting for him on the center of the bed.
Bound with cherry-red robe, wrists to ankles and legs apart. The rope had been looped around his neck and pulled taut down his back to fasten at his ankles, the effect was his back was arched in a painful arc, chest pressed foreward and neck stretched in a pale column of flesh, showcasing his muscles to their best effect. Minute trembles from the strain of holding the position. Hair had been washed and brushed until it fell behind him like a waterfall on a night with no moon.
The effect is a terrible kind of stunning. Kneeling, legs pulled wide and lewd to show off…
Wen Kexing felt his cheeks burning. It took everything in him, but he managed to avoid looking at… certain things. His face, yes, Wen Kexing could look at his face. Zhou Zishu had a lovely face. Although…
Frowning, Wen Kexing peered closer to see that Zhou Zishu’s Pupils were dilated and his cheeks were flushed with color. They must have given him a drug to make him docile, tractable. Wen Kexing wanted to break the fingers of whatever handmaiden had held the bottle to his lips.
Zhou Zishu, meanwhile, stared serenely back, his eyes giving away nothing at all of what he was thinking.
Right, he should say something. He wiped his damp palms against the fabric of his robes. “Are you cold?” It was the most innocuous thing he could think to ask. There were a bevy of serious questions looming over them both, but he was far too much of a coward to give voice to any of them.
Zhou Zishu raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been warmer.”
Wen Kexing could have kicked himself. Of course he had; he was naked and arranged like a party favor in another man’s bed.
Coming to his senses, he pulled a dagger from his pocket and got to work slicing the ropes away from Zhou Zishu’s body. Zhou Zishu held still as he worked, although Wen Kexing was very aware that he could have easily attacked him and stolen the knife if he’d had a wish to.
The ropes left behind red imprints of where the bindings had dug, and Wen Kexing wanted nothing more than to massage them. He didn’t dare. Still, here and there his fingers brushed against Zhou Zishu’s skin as he went after the rope—how warm it was! How it might feel to touch in truth, with his hands, with his mouth…
Focus. He needed to focus. “I know very well you could’ve gotten out of all of this on your own,” he said as he cut the last rope, breaking the silence.
Zhou Zishu looked up at him. “Could’ve.”
“And yet you didn’t escape.”
That got a shrug. “Was waiting for you.”
Wen Kexing supposed he should feel flattered. “To kill me, you mean?”
“To talk.”
“We’re talking now,” he felt compelled to point out.
“So we are.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Kexing—”
“Hush,” Wen Kexing said, because he was a coward and was going to avoid this particular conversation for as long as he possibly could. “Let me at least see to your hurts first.”
Zhou Zishu snorted. “If you’d like.”
Wen Kexing looked away from those too-knowing eyes and busied himself with a cursory examination of Zhou Zishu’s limbs. But it was odd, other than a few odd-looking scars on his chest, Zhou Zishu seemed remarkably unscathed. It was almost as if—
“You let them catch you,” he said bluntly. It wasn’t a question, because he was suddenly sure it was true; there was no way those three fools could have taken Zhou Zishu down unless Zishu himself had had a hand in it.
Zhou Zishu shrugged; whatever drugs were in his system rendered the motion lazy, indolent. “It seemed the easiest way to find out what was going on with you.”
Wen Kexing couldn’t help the stab of anger he felt at that. Oh, but he wanted to hit someone, tear someone apart—not Zhou Zishu, never Zhou Zishu—but whoever had let him learn to be so cavalier with his own life, perhaps. “You could have been hurt. You could’ve been killed.”
Zhou Zishu raised a hand to his mouth, muffling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You think they could have killed me?”
Of all the… “That’s not the point!” Wen Kexing hissed.
“Would it have upset you? If they had?”
And really, what kind of question was that? “Of course!” he roared, loud enough that his ghosts probably could have heard him from wherever they were trying to eavesdrop. “Why would you—how could you think—and anyway, regardless of what I think, it should matter to you; you should care whether you live or die!”
Zhou Zishu blinked up at him, and he had the vaguely unsettling feeling that he’d actually surprised the man. “I… see.”
Wen Kexing sat down heavily on the bed. He was only inches from the most beautiful man in the world—who was naked, to boot—and he was too overwrought to even appreciate it. “Just… why did you do this?” he asked softly.
Suddenly there was a warm hand resting on his shoulder. As if he, the terrifying Wen Kexing, was the one that needed comforting. “You wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I was… worried about what you were involved in. I was worried about you.”
“And now you know,” Zhou Zishu said with a bitter laugh. “Is it worse than you feared?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“You were tied up until very recently,” Wen Kexing felt compelled to point out.
“Ah, but I know my way around a bit of rope,” Zhou Zishu said. And winked.
And really, that was unfair. Wen Kexing felt his cheeks heat up again as he was once again reminded that Zishu was naked, and in Wen Kexing’s bed, and could have left but had stayed.
Zhou Zishu had trusted him. Surely Wen Kexing could return a bit of that trust?
He took a deep breath. Forced himself to meet Zhou Zishu’s eyes. “Very well. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. But not tonight.”
Zhou Zishu raised an eyebrow. “Because…?”
“Because you are drugged and naked and cold, and so far I have been a terrible host,” Wen Kexing said, not adding that that on the off chance that any of his ghosts had been stupid enough to attempt to eavesdrop, there were things he really did not want them hearing about. “We’ll talk tomorrow. But tonight, I’m going to give you something to wear and tuck you in, and you’re going to get a proper night’s rest.”
Zhou Zishu considered this, and Wen Kexing realized that he was holding his breath as he waited for a reply, because what if Zhou Zishu rebuffed his peace offering? But then Zishu was smiling and looking at him with immeasurable fondness. “As long as you tuck me in, I suppose.”
Wen Kexing couldn’t help the smile on his lips. He rose from the bed to go fetch a sleep robe. But it was with a light heart, because he knew that his Ah-Xu would be there for him when he returned.