Chapter Text
He remembered only in disjunct fragments. The pummel of unrelenting snow, too fast, too weighted to belong to that of a regular avalanche. The crescent welts he had dug into his palms as he raised two fists to his face, shielding his eyes from the blinding ice. The suddenness with which his father’s carriage had splintered and been swept away. The shouts. His. His men’s. He remembered not caring, a sentiment he struggled to comprehend given that the man he had worshipped and sought to gratify for a lifetime had been buried in front of his very eyes.
No. Xie’er brows furrowed in the darkness. He hadn’t not cared. He just hadn’t had the the capacity to.
Like a gentle wind, his next memory yawned and pulled itself across the sea of his consciousness, fleeting bliss amidst the icy chaos of the mountains.
A cloak, shades darker than the surrounding pure snow, caving him in.
An ascent. A descent. An arm wrapped around his middriff. A knife stabbing air.
At present, someone was snapping his fingers in front of his face. Xie’er’s eyes flashed open, so blinded by remnants of white he saw without seeing.
“Say, little bastard. Have you really lost it, or are you just lazy to get up?”
No one had spoken to him like that in a long time, and no one would. Perhaps his insolent captor’s hands would go first. Xie’er moved for his barbed daggers, and promptly found that he couldn’t.
“Untie me.”
“The great Scorpion King in my lair. How unnatural of me to take precautions.”
Xie’er halted, his hearing and vision finally clearing. The bedraggled, yet esteemed stature of Ye Bai Yi loomed in his periphery, along with his broadsword. Xie’er felt against the smooth ties of whatever kept him bound, before noting the jagged tear along Ye Bai Yi’s robes. At least he hadn’t been chained like some dog, or drugged. Xie’er fought the urge to struggle against his constraints. Through breathing alone, he knew his strength was sapped, his meridians frozen over. He would have to bide his time. Harvesting Ye Bai Yi’s organs would simply have to wait.
“You’re welcome.” The man must have caught the dart of his eyes to his robes.
Xie’er affixed his gaze to the cavernous roof of whatever hellhole he must have brought them to. He had so many questions, but he forced them still on his numb tongue. Ye Bai Yi was not one to reveal his motives so freely, and Xie’er was not about to compromise himself for it. So they stayed that way for a long while, Xie’er schooling a blank stare and fighting a creeping chill (he could faintly hear the howl of a storm) while Ye Bai Yi occasionally scoffed, doing whatever it was bored old men did with their sleeves. There was no light save for a small flame Ye Bai Yi had presumably conjured, and Xie’er lost track of time. He remained calm, although a seething rage was building.
It was only a matter of time before Du Pusa came for him, although this thought was accompanied by a tinkling voice, sinuous and dark. Would she? Would anyone come? Now that there was nothing he had to offer, no scheme, no treasure, what value was he of such that someone would come looking for him? For the first time since the day his father had flown into a rage, Xie’er tasted the metallic tang of his own blood. Against his will, a tremor shook through him. He fought to still the shaking of his body, jaw clenching tight.
To the side of his vision, the flame Ye Bai Yi had been nursing suddenly blazed a little brighter. There was a grunt, then a shuffle. Xie’er reared up from where he lay, pain shooting through his skull.
With a disgruntled air, Ye Bai Yi drove his torch into the sodden ground right next to him. The sudden warmth was almost too much to bear. Xie’er eyed the fire.
“I didn’t risk getting killed under that old lump of snow for you to freeze to death.”
Xie’er tilted his head. “Why?”
“Because that would be stupid?”
“Why did you risk your safety?” Xie’er stared unflinchingly at the Sword Immortal, who was now giving him his full attention, eyes narrowed. Xie’er was prepared for the man to put a price on his survival. Perhaps if no one came he would slit his throat. Xie’er wanted to laugh. It was just as well. To die on the same earth, much less the same ground as his father had always seemed to be an unattainable honour.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Ye Bai Yi sniffed. “I picked up whoever I could see, which happened to be you, rascal.”
“The key to the Armoury is not with me.”
Ye Bai Yi let out another undignified snort. “Such foolishness from such a cunning mind.”
Something hot flared within Xie’er. He raised a brow. “Pray tell.”
“While everyone is thirsting for the contents of the Armoury, I am the sole person in this world who could care less about whether that place is filled with butterflies or shit.”
The callousness with which this man spoke about the place he had sacrificed for grated on his nerves.
“Are you to say you are above our realm?”
Ye Bai Yi seemed to weigh his statement, picking his ear. After a moment, he sniffed his finger. “Yes.”
Xie’er wanted to tear his teeth out one rooted kernel at a time.
“Careful. Some might call this arrogance.”
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, narcissism keeps one alive.” Ye Bai Yi glanced at him. “Should be no problem for you then.”
Xie’er smiled with teeth.
“So you know that I have no access to the Armoury.” He bit out.
“Is the dementia setting in? You’re even more long-winded than my late grandmother.” Ye Bai Yi settled on the ground opposite him, legs crossed. After a pause, he began to pick his nails. “I saved you because for all the harm you’ve dealt to the Martial Arts world, a disciple’s disciple once told me that forgiveness is key, that bad guys have reasons behind their evil and blah blah, something along those lines.” Ye Bai Yi’s face softened. “He never had a talent for keeping his words succinct.”
“The bottom line is. I saw your ass getting crushed, and I don’t need a dead tweenie on my conscience, no matter how many deaths and guilts you are responsible for.”
“I am responsible for the havoc at Ghost Valley, for the deaths of Wen Ke Xing’s and your disciple’s loved ones.” Xie’er awaited the disgust on the Immortal’s face, the slight distaste that used to accompany his father’s pat on his back whenever he carried out his orders. He leaned forward, scanning Ye Bai Yi’s countenance. “Don’t you wish to kill me?”
“I did catch wind of your little double-crossing. And yes, I do feel the urge to rip out your glib tongue. But.” Ye Bai Yi flicked his wrists to re-adjust his sleeves. “If Wen Ke Xing and Zhou Zi Shu have moved on, I shall abstain on their behalf. Rascals that they are, I refuse to associate them with such a lowly act of vengeance. Besides, they have each other despite their losses. You’ve cut all of yours. Ask yourself what’s left.”
Xie’er smirked, tamping down the rising tides of alarm festering within him. He still tasted blood. “I require no one. When I get out of this hole, I can still make the dogs of the Martial Arts world bark at my feet.”
“Good thing Zhao Jing is dead then.” The Immortal said, amused. “You’ve made it quite sure that he can’t bark for anyone.”
“You will shut your face, you old, useless fuck!” Xie’er roared. The Immortal merely blinked.
“Why are you getting angry at me for your own actions?”
Because he was still his father. Or had he ever been? The skein of adoration, fear and hatred had never been unwound for Xie’er when it came to his father. It was absurd to think there could be love without the fear of his father’s anger; Respect without the envy for his father’s authority; Hatred without the burning need for his father's approval. Like the curved pieces of the Glazed Armour, Xie’er knew his emotions for his father were incomplete without the other, swirling within him like a circular tempest. Perhaps they had been his downfall, what kept drawing him back to servitude. Perhaps they were cause for his unshed tears even as he muted his father with a single-minded focus.
His father, his father. He was dead. Xie’er was better off cleansing the wretched phrase from his mind.
Just then, a growl cut through the tense atmosphere, loud as a shout in the silent cave. Ye Bai Yi laughed, a raucous, unexpected sound. Xie’er twisted away, scowling. He was hungry. It was a natural bodily reaction. “Shut it.”
Getting up with an exaggerated sigh, Ye Bai Yi retrieved a wooden bowl from the depths of the cave. Moving across to the small mouth of the cave blocked by a large rock, Xie’er watched as he scooped snow into the bowl through a gap. The old man shuffled back and stood before Xie’er, warming the bowl above the torch’s flame.
“No buffet here, unfortunately.” Ye Bai Yi eyed him. “Open.” He lowered the bowl to Xie’er’s mouth.
He kept his lips clamped together firmly. “Untie me. I’ll drink it myself.”
Ye Bai Yi rolled his eyes. “Little bastard, I tied you up so you wouldn’t move around and damage your qi more so than you’ve already done. You couldn’t kill me even if you tried.”
Xie’er smiled. “Shall we test that—” The edge of the bowl clanked against his bared teeth and warm water sloshed into his mouth. Outraged, he twisted his head away, sputtering.
“Fine. Be stubborn. See if I care.” Ye Bai Yi tossed the bowl at his feet and assumed his usual position, grousing under his breath about ungrateful brats.
Another growl cut through the air. Dying on an empty stomach. How mundanely comical. Xie’er turned on his side and tried not to give in to the temptation of falling into a sweet abyss.
—————————
Hours trickled past, occasionally punctuated with Xie’er’s groaning stomach and increasingly laboured breaths. He blacked out more than once, each time longer than the last. When a haze so deep claimed him savagely, it was not until two full days later that he woke up.
Ye Bai Yi was gone, along with the rock that blocked the mouth of the cave. Squinting, Xie’er saw that the snow had settled, the sky clear. He could even see the vast terrain, possibly map a way out. His hands were no longer bound. Rubbing his wrists, Xie’er contemplated his next course of action. To kill, or to flee? He scoffed. Even now, he still thought like the shadow of a hunter with options.
“The snowstorm will be back before you’re two kilometres away, give or take.” Ye Bai Yi’s gruff voice sounded from deep inside the cave. The immortal himself stepped out with a crudely crafted bow and miraculously, a quiver of arrows. Xie’er caught the weapon tossed to him, feeling the rough wood and fighting the urge to bring it to his nose. He hadn’t smelt anything other than cold, frigid air since he’d been held captive.
“What do you expect me to do with this?” Were they to spar? Perhaps the old man was itching for some action.
Ye Bai Yi rolled his eyes, marching out of the cave. Xie’er watched his back. Plunging the tip of his bow into the flesh… Would that be testing his luck? The old man might just whip around and decapitate him.
Primly, Xie’er trudged into the snow and followed the Sword Immortal. He would wait for a better opportunity.
They stopped at the base of a large boulder. Ye Bai Yi flung the quiver, which Xie’er let drop at his feet. “I assume you know how to hunt.”
Xie’er sniffed. He prided himself for the title of “Hunter” precisely because he was a deadly one, calculative and manipulative in a court of hapless men. They could be likened to animals in a pen, but that was figurative. Here, in the open terrain with no human to slaughter with honeyed but barbed words and a quick slit to the throat, Xie’er was admittedly quite out of his depth. As for his choice of weapons, a bow was the last thing he would have chosen. As a child, he had found archery impressive, but Zhao Jing had always deemed it undignified. Easy. Consequently, he’d never picked it up.
Ye Bai Yi caught on to his hesitation. Marching over, he snatched the bow, selected an arrow, pulled back in a rather exaggerated stance and let fly. The arrow whistled and struck the bark of a tree.
“Now you try.” The bow was handed back to him.
“Surely you have my daggers. Hunting would be a lot easier with my weapon of choice.”
“Don’t have them. You can either return back with your little scorpion tail between your legs and starve, or hunt and actually be able to eat tonight.”
Xie’er clenched his teeth. The word hunger seemed to trigger every nerve ending in his gut, reminding him of how vacuous, how weak his body was without sustenance. What choice did he have? Gripping the arch of the bow, he tried to imitate Ye Bai Yi’s demonstration, pulling the string taut before releasing. The arrow flew in a clumsy bounce and struck the snowy ground. Anticipating laughter, Xie’er’s face burned.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it? You just didn’t notch your arrow properly between your front fingers.” Ye Bai Yi didn’t seem to fixate on the failure of an arrow sticking out like a sore thumb in the snow. Xie’er could only mutedly watch as the old man adjusted his grip and nudged his feet wider apart.
“There. Now you look less like a quivering amateur.” Ye Bai Yi snorted, but Xie’er sensed no malice or intention to mock. He didn’t feel like a circus foal kicked for falling off its ball.
He was… simply being laughed at. The feeling was not entirely unpleasant.
He tried again. This time, the arrow flew in a streamlined trajectory forward, hitting the spot right under the Sword Immortal’s. He found himself looking to the old man, who was nodding. He caught his stare, and Xie’er dropped it immediately.
“Are you waiting for a pat on the back? Go and hunt.”
The white sun had just begun to dip down the horizon when Xie’er finally made his first kill. The past hours had consisted of pathetic attempts at shooting down sighted winter hares and foxes, each pesky animal more elusive than the last. Xie’er would have set traps, but of course, he just had his wretched bow and arrows.
He was exhausted. The blunted edge of his killer instinct was evident through the day’s events. He was sluggish. Too slow. Unlike the king who could have wrung life with an iron fist. Well. That had had always been more of Chief Wen’s style. Xie’er preferred a more fleeting approach to death. Perhaps this was why hunting animals was so damned tedious.
Plucking the arrow from the carcass of the helpless small hare, Xie’er trudged back to the cave with his catch tucked in his arms. A chill had begun to set in his bones and more than he would have liked to admit, a fire was much needed. Inside, Xie’er was stunned to see five hares and five foxes lining the ground in neat rows, all scored and ready to be burnt for consumption. Ye Bai Yi was stooped with his back to the cave entrance, using the one torch they had to cook a piece of meat.
Xie’er looked at the singular animal in his arms and felt the niggling stabs of self-loathing in the pits of his growling stomach.
“Are you going to stand there all night?”
Xie’er dropped the hare next to the immortal and absolutely did not sulk. “I only got one.”
Ye Bai Yi picked it up. “Better that than nothing. When I’m done with all these, you can eat half of my catch.”
Xie’er frowned. Was the old man pitying him? He had better not be. He wasn’t some child that needed looking after. “I’ll eat what I caught.”
Ye Bai Yi tcch-ed, raising a brow at him. “Are you really going to argue? Just take the damn meat. I can’t sleep with your stomach having conversations with itself every single night.”
The meat did smell and look appetising. Xie’er envisioned himself tearing into the lot, tongue darting out and moistening his bottom lip. His eyes gleamed. “Won’t you be hungry?”
“I’ve lived on ice and water for longer than you’ve been alive. Just eat.”
Under the old man’s watchful gaze, Xie’er slowly knelt, hesitantly taking a piece and biting into it.
Before long, Xie’er was eating like the cave was going to crumble in on them, the week-long, gnawing hunger seizing his mind completely as he lost all sense of the propriety Zhao Jing had drilled into him. Using his hands, his fingers were soon coated in grease as he dug them into the warm flesh. When he had finally stripped the last bone of its last sliver of meat, he rocked back on his heels, sated. Ye Bai Yi had finished eating as well. Curiously, Xie’er watched as he left out a good chunk of meat on the ground next to his sword in an almost ceremonial fashion. The old man was absentmindedly patting the weapon, head bowed low, lips moving.
Xie’er frowned, wiping his mouth delicately with his sleeve. “Why do you talk to that sword as though it would ever respond?”
“How do you know it doesn’t? He hears me through it, and that is enough.”
“Who?”
“Nosy now, aren’t we, little bastard?”
Xie’er licked his fingers, teeth catching the remnants of meat under his fingernails. “Indulge me.”
Ye Bai Yi scoffed and looked away, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. After a while, he spoke, words less flippant than before.
“It was someone I trusted with my life. Someone whom I would gladly have given up my immortality for.” Ye Bai Yi traced a finger over the base of the blade. Xie’er wondered if that someone’s name was engraved in the metal. “We were thick as thieves. The closest brothers one could have ever known. And yet. Well. That’s the end of it.”
“What became of him?”
“He died.”
“How?”
Ye Bai Yi cast him a withering look, lip curled. “Don’t be cruel. It really doesn’t suit you.”
Xie’er had nothing to say to that. He was the Scorpion King, what was he if not cruel? The Immortal finally settled his sword across his thighs, arms folding as he closed his eyes. Xie’er cursed him for the peace he got to enjoy. Peace was something of a luxury to him.
“A tragedy, then.”
Ye Bai Yi cracked open an eye, suddenly looking much more exhausted since the first time Xie’er had seen him at the dinner Zhao Jing had hosted.
“That makes the three of us.”
“And why am I a tragedy?” Xie’er asked, despite knowing perfectly why. A son, not bound by blood but by wishful thinking alone, spurned. The warmonger with a disgraced father, destined to wreak havoc for all eternity under his inescapable shadow.
He wanted to hear it from someone else’s lips. For solidarity.
“Because you’re young but cruel.”
An interesting answer, if plain as day. Xie’er bared his teeth, stained from the juices of red meat. “Cruelty is precisely what prevents my life from becoming a tragedy.” It protects me, Xie’er wanted to explain, but perhaps the logic would fly over the old man’s irritatingly righteous head. He was the Sword Immortal, practically nobility, while Xie’er was from the dregs of the Martial Arts world. No, not even the dregs. He was from another world altogether, a world where violence and scheming kept his crown safe. Bloodstained, yes, but secure.
“That itself is a tragedy, little bastard.” Ye Bai Yi was no longer studying him. Instead, he had lain down flat on the ground, arms cradling his head as he looked at the blackened night sky. Xie’er glanced at the streaks of white in his hair and pondered yet again the many eons of life contained within the immortal. He wondered if there had been more suffering than joy, or whether it had been the opposite way round.
“It’s not a tragedy unless I think it is.” Xie’er scorned the petulance he let leak into his voice.
“Alright, alright. You’re not a tragedy. Simply an irritating, coincidentally deadly little fool.”
Xie’er supposed that would have been an accurate description from Zhao Jing’s perspective as well. Zhao Jing had certainly played him for the naive boy he was, twisting Xie’er’s convenient penchant for murder to his bidding until they were too grotesque, too unspeakable for his polished facade. The laughable part? Xie’er had, once upon a time, apologised for it. All of it. Apologised for being the way he was, being the way Zhao Jing wanted him to be.
Once upon a time, there had seemed to be nothing he could do right.
Xie’er found himself lowering his weight to the ground as nonchalantly as he could, suddenly, desperately hiding the slick hotness gathering behind his eyes.
“You should get some sleep, little bastard.”
“Where do we go after the snowstorm lifts elsewhere?”
“You’re asking me?” Xie’er could hear the genuine confusion in his tone. “I’m going to see if Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing had the brains to survive. Then perhaps I’ll drink and eat another lifetime away. As for you… Perhaps your Scorpions are awaiting your dramatic return.”
Xie’er doubted that hugely. Only Du Pusa and Qiao Luo Han had truly devoted their loyalties to him. Them, and Qian Qiao, who had paid dearly for it despite the escape route Xie’er had granted to her. She had been a rare soul, one Xie’er did not wish to see when he eventually descended to hell.
A tear streamed into the corner of his mouth. The traitorous winds, which howled like mad wolves the past few days, were gentle, doing nothing to muffle Xie’er’s escalating chokes and sniffs. He balled the hem of his sleeve and stuffed the filthy cloth into his mouth, immediately spitting it out. There were tiny insects in the threads, surviving parasites in the harsh climate. Xie’er gagged through his tears.
“Hey, hey. What are you crying for?” Xie’er clenched his fists and swiped at his eyes as Ye Bai Yi scrambled up. A rough grip pulled his arms away from his face.
“Get the fuck away from me.” Xie’er broke out of the grip and in a flash, had the discarded bow pressed against the elder’s neck. Ye Bai Yi didn’t seem to put up a fight, instead gauging him with dull, apprehensive eyes. His sword lay peacefully a few meters away, the chunk of meat still placed resolutely near its hilt.
“Did I say something stupid? I shoot my mouth off all the time.” Xie’er wanted to laugh at the rising panic in the elder’s speech.
“I’ve slaughtered thousands. Why care for my tears?”
Ye Bai Yi shrugged. “I don’t want to feel like an asshole.”
Xie’er slid the bow’s string deeper into his neck, drawing a faint crimson line across the immortal’s skin.
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. Put the bow down before you hurt yourself.” Ye Bai Yi outstretched his palms in a sign of peace. Xie’er began to suspect that he wasn’t hurting the immortal in the slightest.
Growling, he flung the bow away, his pride smarting. What right did the immortal have to witness his moment of weakness? He had sworn to himself that no one could ever hold such an advantage over him anymore. He had learnt the hard way countless times that his own tears could be used against him. Zhao Jing had ensured that even they did not belong to him.
In a way, Zhao Jing had weaponised more than one part of Xie’er.
Ye Bai Yi was right. What did he have left?
“Stop looking at me.”
Ye Bai Yi snorted. “Stop making me sound like a lecher, little bastard. And show some respect, I just fed you your first meal in weeks.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
Ye Bai Yi chucked a bone at him. Xie’er recoiled in disgust. “You owe me your life, bastard. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
There. There it was. Mention of the price Xie’er had to pay for his life being spared. No one was so virtuous, not even the great Sword Immortal. Xie’er was a shark, and he was finally smelling blood.
“And what do you demand in exchange for my life?”
Ye Bai Yi rolled his eyes heavenward. “This again, little bastard? You’re stupidly adamant that people cannot do things just because.”
The sentiment succeeded in stemming Xie’er’s tears as he let out a laugh. “It is impossible. There is no such thing as a chess game with pawns moved arbitrarily, is there?”
“A flawed metaphor,” Ye Bai Yi interrupted, a challenge in his slanted eyes. “For those who do not know how to play.”
“Everyone plays. It is simply a matter of when they choose to turn the board to their advantage.”
“How cryptic.” Ye Bai Yi sighed sarcastically. “Well, chess or no chess, I’m not interested. What is life if not for a simple three meals and a jug of good wine to boot?”
Xie’er said nothing to this. A familiar envy had nestled in his chest, rearing its ugly head. Talking to a free spirit was just reminding him of the freedom he did not have as the Scorpion King, a position he valued. But time had passed, and Xie’er was no longer certain if the title still belonged to him, if the tides of mutiny had long since washed him ashore while he had wasted away in this cave, leaving him stranded on an isolated island with no one to rule over.
If he was no longer the Scorpion King, he could be adrift, Xie’er thought with a rising excitement. Bound only by reputation, but not duty.
He could do as he pleased under a disguise. Qian Qiao was no longer around to craft one for him, but a wide-brimmed hat and some new clothes could do the trick just as efficiently.
Could things really be so easy?
In his reverie, he did not notice the two palms pressed against his back until they were. He stiffened.
“What are you doing?” Xie’er hissed as a cool surge of energy flooded through him, his meridians flaring gently in response. The months of strain taken off his damaged system was such a relief that it was all Xie’er could do not to completely melt into the old man’s healing touch.
“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Under different circumstances, Xie’er would have wiped the smug grin he knew was there away with his own blood, but he supposed exceptions could be made. He shut his eyes.
“I owe you nothing.” He registered himself saying.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The immortal’s qi continued to pulsate through him. Minutes soon turned to hours, the immortal showing no signs of ceasing his energy transference.
“Drinking and eating a lifetime away does not seem so bad.” Xie’er found himself rasping quietly in the dark. He was thirsty.
“Are you asking to join me?” Ye Bai Yi mocked.
“You’re the last person on earth I would eat and drink with.”
“Why does that sound so familiar.” Ye Bai Yi retorted, amused.
Xie’er’s eyelids drooped as he thought of a reply. Inevitably, he eventually welcomed the darkness he drifted into, surrendering to the exhaustion that had finally come to claim him as a victim.