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Zhou Zishu was the gravest ten-year-old in the world when his shifu arrived at the manor one day with a shivering bundle of white clothes in his arms. It took him a few moments to realise that the bundle was actually a small boy, a few years younger than Zishu himself. He heard snatches of whispered conversation between his shifu, shimu, and Uncle Bi, “Divine couple—”, “ghost valley”, “key to the armoury”, none of which made any sense to him. But the last phrase impressed itself on his mind, “… not safe….”
After depositing the little boy in the medical room, shifu came out and grasped Zhou Zishu by the shoulders. “Zishu, you are my most promising disciple. I’m going to entrust you with something very important.”
His shifu had never sounded so serious before. Zhou Zishu drew himself up with all the dignity a ten-year-old could muster. “This disciple is honoured, shifu. Please tell me what this one must do.”
Shifu turned back towards the unconscious boy in the hospital bed, who was being fussed over by the physician, and Zhou Zishu saw a look of unimaginable pain flit across his countenance. Then he looked back at Zishu.
“That boy is a new addition to Four Seasons Manor. He will be your er-shidi, and I want you to take care of him, to play with him, and when he is ready, assist him in learning martial arts.”
Zhou Zishu nodded firmly.
“Good boy,” Shifu patted his head with a weary smile and was about to leave when Zhou Zishu realised something was missing.
“Shifu, what’s his name?”
“Zhen —” Shifu stopped abruptly and inhaled deeply. “Wen. Wen Kexing.”
“Zhen—?” The word escaped Zhou Zishu’s lips before he realised it. Of course, his shifu had a reason for everything he said or did, and it wasn’t Zhou Zishu’s place to question him. He bowed immediately. “This disciple misspoke, shifu. This disciple begs your pardon.”
Shifu exhaled again, and touched his elbows lightly to raise him from his low bow. “It’s alright, Zishu. Just — just don’t mention it to anyone. Least of all to A-Xing.”
Zhou Zishu nodded solemnly. “Zishu swears to protect A-Xing.”
Qin Huaizhang drew his first disciple close in a rare, unexpected embrace — rare only because Zishu always looked too serious and too grown-up to appreciate hugs, no matter how badly his shifu wished to ruffle his hair and treat him like the child he should be.
…
Three days passed, and Wen Ke Xing was still unconscious. Zhou Zishu knew, for he visited his shidi every morning before commencing his training, and every evening after completing all his tasks. The physician allowed him to sit beside the younger boy for a while.
“You can talk to him if you like, he can hear you even if he doesn’t respond.”
Zhou Zishu blinked at the physician. “Why doesn’t he wake up? Is he going to die?”
The physician sighed at the direct question. “Hopefully not. His injuries are healed, and his fever has broken. But perhaps his mind is tired and needs to rest longer. Or perhaps he’s lost, and doesn’t know how to come back to us. If you talk to him, maybe he can find his way back.”
Zhou Zishu cocked his head to the right and gazed at his shidi, then cocked his head to the left and glanced up at the physician. His nose was scrunched up in a completely un-self-conscious way. The physician had a sudden, unprofessional urge to squeeze his chubby cheeks.
“Can I hold his hand?” Zhou Zishu asked severely.
The physician shuddered inwardly and was glad he had not acted on his impulse. There was something uncannily dissonant about the first disciple’s adorable appearance and his demeanour, which was closer to that of an eighty-year-old man.
“That… would probably be a good idea.” He rasped out and fled.
Zhou Zishu nodded gravely and took his shidi’s pale, thin hand in his. Then he proceeded to introduce himself to the unconscious boy.
It was on the third day that his shimu found him there as she passed by, rocking baby Jiuxiao. She paused for a few moments outside, listening. Zhou Zishu was aware of a presence at the doorway, but he finished his sentence before turning. Seeing his shimu, he carefully placed his shidi’s hand down on the quilt covering him, and rose to bow low to salute her.
“Zishu,” Shimu asked in a slightly choked voice, “Are you reciting portions from our sect’s martial arts manual to your unconscious shidi?”
Zhou Zishu nodded, pleased that his efforts were being acknowledged. “Yes, shimu. Er-shidi has been unconscious for so long. He will need to catch up quickly. Daifu said he can hear me, so he can progress directly to the next lesson when he wakes up.”
His shimu made a rather strangled noise. “Oh, of course. How — clever of you, Zishu.”
Zhou Zishu bowed once more in thanks. With another strangled noise, shimu swept off in what looked awfully like a hurry, the way some of his shidis ran away after making mischief in class, invariably before turning a corner and bursting into peals of giggles. Zhou Zishu shrugged. Every day, he thought he was getting closer and closer to understanding grown-ups, but then they did something inexplicable like this, and he wondered if they were a different species.
When he turned back to Wen Kexing, the boy’s eyes were wide open and staring at him.
“Hello,” Zhou Zishu rose briskly and saluted him, repeating the very first words he had spoken to the other boy two days ago, “I’m your da-shixiong, Zhou Zishu. You are my er-shidi, Wen Kexing, and I’m going to protect you forever.”
“Yes,” the boy’s voice sounded much softer than he expected from one waking from such a long slumber, “I heard you the first time.”
Zhou Zishu smiled, wider than usual, but his er-shidi waking up was after all a special occasion, and he was overjoyed that his efforts at furthering his shidi’s education had not been in vain.
The little boy blinked a few times rapidly, and his mouth fell slightly open. He looked like someone dazzled by bright sunlight, though the room wasn’t really all that bright. Zhou Zishu guessed even the lamplight would seem overly bright to someone who had had his eyes closed for so long.
He couldn’t wait to take his shidi out into the sunny meadows outside the manor. He smiled again in excitement.
“Just wait here, I’ll fetch daifu,” he told the other boy before rushing off, unaware how the younger boy’s wide eyes lingered on him.
…
“So the boy has lost his memories?” Qin Huaizhang asked his physician.
“It would seem so. Either the fever has caused a complete memory loss, or the painful events he witnessed have wreaked havoc in his mind. Either way, he remembers nothing except what Zhou-gongzi has been telling him while he was unconscious. Thus, he knows his name, he knows where he is, and not much else.”
A silence greeted his words. Before it could stretch on too much, Qin-furen asked, “Could it have been something else? Something — unnatural?”
Qin Huaizhang raised his eyebrows. “Furen has something in mind?”
“You mentioned,” she cast her eyes around to make sure none of the disciples were around, “that Ghost Valley was involved. Would they have fed him Meng Po soup to erase his memories?”
“Why would they do that?”
Qin-furen shrugged. “I don’t know. But if it’s something like that, would it affect him in any unexpected way?”
The physician sighed and passed a hand across his brow. “I would hate to hazard a guess, but whether his mind is shielding him from those painful memories or it is indeed the effect of Meng Po soup, he seems healthy enough now. If those memories resurface later, it’s not something we can anticipate or prevent. All we can do is help him move on with his life.”
Qin Huaizhang looked out into the distance, towards the noises of practising disciples. “And equip him as well as possible to face those memories some day.”
He did not say it out, but all of them were thinking it… “and those who might yet seek him out in order to do him harm.”
…
Immediately after the physician’s examination, Wen Kexing was fed a bowl of soup, bathed and swaddled in soft clothes and blankets and put back into bed. As soon as his attendants left, Zhou Zishu immediately made his appearance.
“Hello, shidi,” he smiled.
The younger boy looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, and a smile that reflected his own. “Shixiong.”
Something pressed against his heart and Zhou Zishu felt slightly choked. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take care of his shidi, and to protect him with his life. Since that was exactly what his shifu had instructed him to do, he felt quite satisfied.
“Let’s continue our lessons, shidi,” he said cheerfully and perched on the bedside. He flourished the martial arts manual he had borrowed from the library. “Here, you can look at it as I read aloud.”
“Wh-what is this?” Wen Kexing squirmed a bit, causing the heaped blankets to fall off slightly. Zhou Zishu absently righted those and tucked him in with one hand, even as he leafed through the thick volume with the other.
“The martial arts rules of our sect, shidi. You heard me reading those out while you slept. Let’s continue where I left off before you woke up.”
“Now?” Wen Kexing squealed, surprising Zhou Zishu.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“But but but —” The younger boy looked around, frantic, but there was nobody to rescue him. “But daifu told me to rest.”
“You’ve been sleeping for three days,” Zhou Zishu pointed out reasonably. “You’re already behind, though I’ve been reading out to you every day. You need to catch up quickly. Besides,” he smiled gently as if offering a treat, “If you’re feeling better tomorrow, I’ll take you for training.”
Satisfied at this thought, Zhou Zishu turned back to the book, completely missing Wen Kexing’s horrified expression. He read diligently for a while until he heard a soft snore. When he looked up again, the other boy was fast asleep.
If Zhou Zishu snapped the book shut with some measure of irritation, nobody saw it.
…
Training his shidi wasn’t as simple as Zhou Zishu expected. First of all, the boy somehow prevailed on shimu to let him rest for another week. He was always sleeping when Zhou Zishu visited him, which worried the older boy until he heard the other disciples laughing about some prank or the other played by “A-Xing”. Zhou Zishu resolved to drag the younger boy out for training the moment shimu approved it.
“He’s still weak,” Shifu cautioned, “Take him out for a stroll in the meadows first.”
Zhou Zishu complied obediently. Wen Kexing seemed a bit apprehensive about going out with the severe-looking senior, but relaxed as soon as they neared the meadow blooming with flowers. Forsaking his invalid persona, Wen Kexing ran around, laughing and plucking flowers while Zhou Zishu followed at a more sedate pace. After exhausting himself plucking more flowers, climbing up a thick vine (from which Zhou Zishu had to disentangle him), harassing a cow (from whom Zhou Zishu had to rescue him), almost tumbling into a pond (Zhou Zishu had to bodily uproot him and march him over to less dangerous territory) and plucking even more wildflowers, the younger boy finally deigned to flop down on a grassy patch, flowers and vines strewn all around him.
Zhou Zishu settled down in front of him, cross-legged. He pulled out a book from his sleeve.
Wen Kexing leapt up into a sitting position, looking positively betrayed. “What’s that?”
“The junior-most disciples’ training manual,” Zhou Zishu explained nonchalantly, “We will start with some of these training exercises.”
“But but but…” Wen Kexing looked up at him with his eyes wide and sorrowful, “But shixiong, I thought we came out to play!”
“Don’t whine,” Zhou Zishu furrowed his brows. “You’ve played enough. Now sit up straight and do the breathing exercise I taught you.”
“When did you teach me?” Wen Kexing’s voice rose in pitch, “I was sleeping.”
“But you heard me,” Zhou Zishu stared back at him calmly. “I’m waiting.”
Wen Kexing scrunched up his face and looked away, arms folded in the universal sign of obstinacy. Zhou Zishu thought he looked like an adorable kitten, and immediately blinked that thought away.
“Shidi,” he tried to calm his voice down, to imitate his Shifu’s patient tone, “You need to start learning all this.”
“Why?” Wen Kexing squirmed in place, “Can’t I just play for one more day? Tomorrow I’ll start learning.”
“You’ve been saying that for more than a week now.”
The little boy bounced up onto his knees and lifted his hand in a promise, “I swear I’ll start training tomorrow, shixiong. For today, please play with me.”
He cocked his head and widened his eyes again, lips drooping. Zhou Zishu wondered who had taught him that look. It was, he was sorry to discover, quite effective. He resolved never to let Wen Kexing realise how effective it was on Zhou Zishu.
If he slammed the book down a bit savagely, he thought he could be forgiven for it. “Fine then, look at me and learn how to do this breathing exercise.”
First, he diligently explained the steps as he demonstrated. Then he asked Wen Kexing to watch carefully and join in when he felt ready. He closed his eyes and started the exercise. After a few rounds, he felt himself relaxing and slowly slipping into a more meditative mood. Suddenly, he felt something soft drop down onto his forehead. He jolted back into awareness, his fingers gripping Wen Kexing’s outstretched hand, making the other boy squeak in surprise.
Then the thing on his forehead dropped down to cover his eyes.
“What the hell is this?” Zhou Zishu scrambled back, grabbing and tearing at the thing covering his eyes. Wen Kexing started giggling. Zhou Zishu exhaled with relief when he wrenched off the misshapen flower crown that the younger boy had placed on his head while he was meditating.
“What the hell is this?” He asked again, this time in a tone of disgust, tossing it aside.
“It’s a flower crown for you, shixiong,” the younger boy piped up with an utterly besotted look that boded trouble for Zhou Zishu.
“It looks like a dead snake,” Zhou Zishu spat out. Felt like a dead snake too, but he didn’t think it necessary to mention it.
Wen Kexing pouted.
His cheeks puffed out and his lips pursed up. He looked like a tiny, disgruntled kitten. Zhou Zishu wanted to shake him. Maybe. Or squeeze him. He wasn’t sure.
“I did my best,” the younger boy sniffled, “for shixiong.” He peeked up from below his eyelashes.
Zhou Zishu glared at him for one second before he folded.
“Give those here,” he gestured at the remaining flowers and vines, “I’ll teach you how to make a proper flower crown. Honestly!”
He continued grumbling as he wove the flowers deftly into the vines. Focusing on his task, he did not notice the soft light in Wen Kexing’s eyes as he gazed adoringly at his shixiong.
…
Much to Zhou Zishu’s grim satisfaction, Wen Kexing did not manage to escape training for long. Qin Huaizhang took upon himself the task of readying the boy for the training classes that Zhou Zishu usually led. Zhou Zishu was slightly disgruntled at not getting to hone his shidi’s skills, but he couldn’t really resent his shifu for stepping in, could he? Shifu was infinitely more patient than Zishu could ever hope to be, always telling him to be gentler and less strict with the disciples. Shimu, on the other hand, patently approved of Zhou Zishu, rolling her eyes at her husband’s pronouncements on the importance of balancing work and play.
“Those kids would play all day long if you let them,” she would scold, her voice sharp, but with a slight curve to her lips, “And you would play along with them!”
Qin Huaizhang laughed and went back to teaching Wen Kexing basic forms.
Zhou Zishu stopped to watch them when he could. Wen Kexing, for all his whining, was surprisingly agile and flexible, and though he would never be diligent and hardworking, he had a manic energy that could be channelised into his training. He was also sharp enough to pick up techniques very quickly, and had a rather disturbing tendency to mix them up in really unconventional but, Zhou Zishu thought grudgingly, effective ways.
One day, Shifu popped his head into the hall where Zhou Zishu was supervising a set of shidis and shimeis, including Wen Kexing, who was deemed ready to enter training with the other disciples after a few sessions with shifu.
“Zishu! A-Xing!” Shifu called out, low and urgent, “Quick, I need your help!”
Zishu jumped up with alacrity and ran out, ensuring with a quick glance over his shoulder that Wen Kexing was following.
“What happened, shifu?” He asked, grasping his training sword and looking around for threats.
“Leave that aside,” Shifu plucked the wooden sword from his hands and shooed them both into the backyard. “See the chaos here!”
And indeed it was chaos. The chickens had somehow got out of the coop and were running around. A couple of intrepid maids were attempting to capture them, but they screamed and ran back when a rooster suddenly rose into the air, flapping his wings majestically and crowing at them in a scolding tone.
“Shifu?” Zhou Zishu had a really bad feeling about this.
“What are you waiting for? Catch hold of them before they run off! Get to work!” Shifu continued to shoo them towards the yard as if they were a couple of chickens themselves.
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. Behind him, Wen Kexing let out a squeal and rushed headlong into the storm of feathers.
“Not like that!” Zhou Zishu roared, “You’re scattering them further! Corral them together!”
A chicken flew at his face. Zhou Zishu caught it up instinctively and then struggled to get its claws away from his eyes. He passed it over to a waiting maid.
“Shixiong! I’ll drive them towards you! Catch them, catch them!” Wen Kexing tore through the yard like a mad thing, thin arms windmilling. Chickens cannonballed towards Zhou Zishu, and it was all he could do to catch each one and throw them towards a waiting attendant who would then deftly shut them back inside the coop.
“Wait, you menace!” He shouted in despair as Wen Kexing did a kind of complicated somersault to capture the recalcitrant rooster. Any moment, he expected to hear a sickening crack of his shidi’s bones — or, heaven forbid, his skull.
“Shixiong, shixiong, look at me!”
Zhou Zishu looked over with a gasp of relief. Wen Kexing stood victorious, the rooster imprisoned in his arms and raised aloft like a prize. Wen Kexing made a clucking noise, shaking the rooster up and down. The rooster looked extremely disgruntled at this undignified treatment. Zhou Zishu rather sympathised with the rooster.
Once the rooster was dispensed with, Zhou Zishu marched over to Wen Kexing and gave him a hard shove. “What do you think you’re playing at?” He hissed, “You could’ve got seriously hurt.”
Surprisingly, the smaller boy barely rocked back, grinning up at him instead. Zhou Zishu touched his shoulders lightly and observed the circulation of his qi. The exercise seemed to have invigorated Wen Kexing’s meridians, bringing a healthy flush into his cheeks and a brightness to his eyes that the routine training drills had never managed to achieve. The only time Zhou Zishu had seen him close to this healthy — and happy, a soft voice whispered within him — was while goofing around in the sunny meadow.
Before he could say anything, he found himself with an armful of warm, sweaty, but still somehow sweet-smelling shidi. As the boy clung to him, Zhou Zishu’s hand instinctively went to twist his ears in punishment, but somehow ended up ruffling his hair instead.
He threw a betrayed glance at his shifu who stood leaning against the kitchen wall with a soft smile.
…
A few days later, shifu called Zhou Zishu aside after training. Wen Kexing tried to follow him, but he was hustled off into the kitchen by shimu and, as usual, tasked with holding baby Jiuxiao while shimu supervised the cooking.
“Zishu,” Shifu sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I need you to do something.”
Zhou Zishu waited expectantly.
Shifu cleared his throat again and said, “It’s regarding A-Xing,” and Zishu’s attention intensified.
“As you know, A-Xing has been staying with the other junior disciples.”
Zhou Zishu did indeed know this. All the junior disciples stayed in shared rooms, and it was only Zhou Zishu who got a room for himself. Ostensibly, this was because of his status as first disciple, but Zhou Zishu knew it was at least partly due to the number of pillow fights and midnight feasts he had broken up like a lone crusader for rules and decorum. He didn’t mind. He liked sleeping alone.
“The thing is, A-Xing has been facing some difficulties there.” Qin Huaizhang rubbed his temples.
Zhou Zishu’s nostrils flared, “Are they being mean to him?”
“No, no,” his master hastened to assure him, “Nothing like that. Just that A-Xing has been waking up with nightmares ever since he came. The other disciples tried to comfort him, but to no avail. And it’s affecting their sleep as well.”
Zhou Zishu realises that he had noticed the juniors being crankier than usual these mornings.
“Can A-Xing sleep in my room?” He asked.
Shifu beamed at him, “I was hoping you would say that. I think he will be comfortable with you.”
Zhou Zishu bowed in silent acceptance, but his insides felt strangely, pleasantly warm.
…
Wen Kexing turned up at his door, clutching a rolled-up mattress that obscured him almost completely, except for his bright, wide eyes, and the little bun of his hair pinned in place with his usual jade hairpin.
“Shixiong!” He cried happily, his voice slightly muffled by the mattress, “I’m here! I’m here!”
Zhou Zishu sighed. “I can see that. Now go unroll your mattress in that corner. And give me your things.”
The little boy complied, thrusting a small bundle of clothes at Zhou Zishu’s chest. Something inside him cracked a little at the sight of the pitiful little bundle that contained all of Wen Kexing’s worldly possessions, and the ease with which he had entrusted it to his senior.
For a few nights, Wen Kexing slept peacefully, though Zhou Zishu felt peace was hard-won, since he had to put up with the other boy’s constant requests for bedtime stories. The first time Zhou Zishu stumblingly tried to oblige, the younger boy laughed in his face and teased him about how bad the story was. A disgruntled Zhou Zishu determined never to tell another bedtime story in his life, even if he grew up to become a grandfather. But Wen Kexing never ceased his demands for songs and stories.
At least he no longer had nightmares, and Zhou Zishu had started feeling rather smug about it, though he knew he really hadn’t done anything to deserve credit for it.
But then one night he woke up to a piercing scream.
It took him a moment to remember that Wen Kexing was in his room, and to realise the screams came from him. With a flick of his fingers, he sent his qi to light the lamp, and immediately approached his shidi. The younger boy was thrashing on his mattress, screaming, “A-die! A-niang!”
Zhou Zishu hushed and patted him. The screams stopped, but Wen Kexing was still tossing and turning on the mattress, tears and sweat slicking his face, small whimpers escaping his clenched lips. Zhou Zishu wiped off his face with his own sleeve and gathered the younger boy into his arms.
“Shhh,” he whispered, rocking Wen Kexing, “Don’t cry, shixiong is here. Don’t cry, shidi. I’ll always protect you.”
Slowly, the sobs died down, and Wen Kexing’s face smoothed out as his heartbeats calmed. Zhou Zishu sat with him for a while, stroking his hair and patting his chest, then he sighed and went back to his bed.
The next night, Wen Kexing had another nightmare. Zhou Zishu comforted him in the same way, then dragged his own mattress over so that he could hold his shidi’s hand as they slept. By early morning, Wen Kexing had rolled over to clutch him with all four limbs like a baby koala, his face snuggled into Zhou Zishu’s neck, drooling slightly on Zhou Zishu’s shirt. He felt warm and soft, and the crack in Zhou Zishu’s heart widened slightly at this display of open trust.
Zhou Zishu sighed and gathered him a little closer, then closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to linger in that warmth for a brief while longer.
In the morning, he brushed Wen Kexing’s hair until it shone, bright and silken, twisted it up in a bun, and pinned it with the jade hairpin that was Wen Kexing’s sole ornament. The sunlight streaming in through the window caught his shidi’s luminous eyes in the mirror.
Wen Kexing continued to have nightmares once in a while, crying out for his mother and father, but Zhou Zishu was always near him, and a touch from the older boy usually calmed the younger one down immediately. They invariably ended up tangled together, and the curve of Zhou Zishu’s neck became Wen Kexing’s safe place. Zhou Zishu had expected sleeping with another person in the room to be a tedious chore he had to endure for duty’s sake. But strangely, he felt he himself slept better with his shidi cuddled in his arms.
…
It took a while longer for Zhou Zishu to gather up the courage to face his shifu as he worked in his study, and ask him about Wen Kexing’s parents. Shifu sighed, his youthful face looking far older than Zhou Zishu had ever seen him look.
“What I am about to tell you must never reach the children,” Shifu warned, and Zhou Zishu felt a small nudge of pride at the thought that shifu didn’t count him one among the children. He nodded as seriously as he could.
Shifu sighed again, “It’s a long story, Zishu. You might as well sit down.”
Zhou Zishu complied.
“Have you heard of a martial arts master named Rong Xuan?”
…
“Do you think it was the right decision?” Qin-furen asked her husband that night, her brows furrowed, “I know Zishu acts like an adult, but he’s actually just ten years old. Can he bear the burden of this knowledge?”
Qin Huaizhang sighed, “I trust Zishu with all our lives, as you know.”
Qin-furen pulled her husband closer, “I wasn’t thinking about trust, or danger. But he’s still a child himself, and Zhen — A-Xing’s past is a terrible story.”
“I don’t know,” The lord of Four Seasons manor curled sleepily around his wife, “But he’s devoted to A-Xing, and A-Xing worships his Shixiong. Hopefully, they can help each other.”
…
Zhou Zishu lay awake for a long time, a gently snoring Wen Kexing clutched close to his racing heart. He had been trying not to show it, but he had been greatly shaken by his shifu’s story. He had guessed that some tragedy had befallen Wen Kexing’s parents, but he could never have imagined the kind of things his shifu had told him. In all of his short life, Zhou Zishu had been impatient to grow up, to become an intrepid martial artist who would bring fame and praise to his manor, and whose name would be revered all over jianghu. Grown-ups were strong and courageous, knowledgeable and righteous, like his shifu or uncle Bi.
What was the point of becoming a great martial artist if only to end up like Rong Xuan qianbei, lost to his lust for power and becoming a hunted animal?
Wen Kexing’s parents had been righteous. But their brothers, who should have stood by them and protected them, had betrayed them.
What was the point of brotherhood…?
Wen Kexing made a small, snuffling noise and snuggled deeper into Zhou Zishu’s chest. Zhou Zishu’s hands absently carded through his shidi’s locks.
Zhou Zishu sighed. He didn’t understand grown-ups, and he couldn’t imagine a time when he would be grown-up enough to understand them. For now, he would let shifu and uncle Bi handle those weighty questions of friendship and betrayal, of forbidden martial arts and hidden armouries. His duty was clear — to grow strong enough to protect his shidi, and to help him become stronger. And if, some day, when Wen Kexing was grown up, he wanted to find out the truth about his past, Zhou Zishu would stand by him and walk by his side every step of the way, all the way to Ghost Valley if need be, and bring all those who hurt him to justice.
…
Laughter rang across the meadow like chimes blowing lightly in the wind. The smaller boy lay in a bed of wildflowers, his eyes closed.
“Can I open my eyes now, shixiong?” He called out, excitement in his tone.
“Wait a moment,” the bigger boy approached, clutching something small and fluffy in his arms, then swiftly depositing it on the younger boy’s chest.
Wen Kexing squealed, eyes flying open and widening comically at the sight of the small puppy trying to nose at his chin. His mouth made a perfect round O. Then he squealed again, this time in glee, and showered the tiny animal with kisses.
Zhou Zishu watched him with a soft glow in his eyes. Presently, Wen Kexing sat up, still cuddling the dog, and asked, “What’s his name?”
Zhou Zishu teased him, “What do you think his name is?”
Wen Kexing pouted adorably. “I want shixiong to name him.”
Zhou Zishu laughed, ruffling his shidi’s hair, “Alright, you little ruffian. Stop pouting. I’ll name him. Hmmm… what about Yiguo?”
“Yiguo?” The younger boy’s eyes shone, and his cheeks glowed. His gaze fell from his shixiong’s face down to the little bundle of fur in his arms, and the brightness in his eyes softened to a warm glow. He whispered, “Hello, Yiguo.”
Zhou Zishu placed his arm on Wen Kexing’s shoulder. “A-Xing.”
Wen Kexing looked up. There was something rather strange about his shixiong’s voice. It sounded slightly choked. The sunlight glittered off Zhou Zishu’s eyes.
“A-Xing, I just want you to know. I don’t know what our future holds. I don’t know what you’ll have to face in your life. But, whatever it may be, I want you to know that shixiong will always be there for you. Forever.”
Wen Kexing smiled, and the entire day brightened. He flung his arms around Zhou Zishu, careful not to squeeze Yiguo between them. He closed his eyes and clung to the familiar warmth of his shixiong. “I know,” he whispered, “I know.”
…
As the honeyed sunlight dripped lower, the meadow rang with the sound of stones skipping over a lake, the laughter of two children and the soft barks of a puppy.
[The End]