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The fire in the once-grand hunting palace has died down to embers. In the early morning darkness, the wind sets sparks flying like dying fireflies, landing in the snow and extinguishing their light.
There are bodies everywhere: some burned, most bloody, and some - wearing armor with no identifying marks - bearing distinctively curved, sliced wounds.
Lu Liang’s eyes narrow, and he gives his subordinates a silent sign. They fan out, searching as quickly as possible. Despite his rank, Lu Liang begins walking through the wreckage as well. Time is short before the authorities come to investigate.
In a once-pristine side courtyard, Lu Liang finds a bloody scarlet halo spattered across the silver snow, a circle of corpses, and a boy kneeling in the center.
Costly golden silks are singed by fire and rent by wounds. His dark hair has fallen from its jade crown, the tail straggling over his shoulder and the strands caked with dried blood. In his hand is the haft of a scythe, laid across his lap; the sickle-moon blade curls around him, crusted with gore.
The boy raises his head; soot and the spatter of old brown blood stain his cheeks. His eyes are a crystal-clear, perfect blue.
Heedless of the ring of piled corpses, Lu Liang walks toward the boy. Under his feet, the blood-soaked snow, melted by the heat of dying blood and then refrozen, cracks at each step.
The boy lifts his chin higher, weariness in his eyes, but his face remains serene. His blackened, broken nails still tighten around the shaft of his scythe.
“If I intended to kill you, son of the King of Feng, then I would call my crossbowman now and have you shot where you sit,” Lu Liang tells him.
The boy’s eyelashes flicker quickly, fanning against his cheeks. “How did you know who I am?” he croaks, voice damaged by smoke.
“Your eyes,” Lu Liang replies, drawing close with arrogant confidence. “I’ve heard rumors that the King of Feng had a child with eyes like the sky. A blue so beautiful you could drown in them.”
The boy chokes on a laugh - it comes out like a sob.
Lu Liang goes down on one knee, drawing even with the boy’s lovely eyes. “Your family is dead. By morning, your people will have to acknowledge a new king.”
“I know,” the boy grinds out, his grip on his scythe going white-knuckled. He grimaces, the filth on his face turning the expression frightening.
“Do you want revenge?” Lu Liang asks him, voice cool and a touch distant.
“Are you offering it to me?” the boy replies. His lips are cracked, and pale with cold.
“I am,” Lu Liang replies.
“How?”
“Become my shadow. Shielded by my light, you will seek out your enemies who ordered this, and they will never see your danger.”
The boy smiles. His expression is too pure for such a time and place, and Lu Liang is struck to the core, suddenly feeling less in control than he should. He hurries to cover his lapse. “I am Lu Liang, Prince of Huang.”
Still smiling, the boy bows at the waist, folding low over his scythe. “I am Guo Mingyu. I accept your offer, master.”
“Your highness, you’re thinking of him again.”
Turning away from the autumn-scarlet gardens of his personal estate, Lu Liang sends his personal doctor a disdainful, superior look. “What reason do I have to think of Guo Mingyu? He will return to me soon enough.”
The woman doesn’t protest, simply making a self-satisfied obeisance. “Forgive my error. I merely assumed. It's been so long since you’ve seen him, after all.”
Lu Liang belatedly realizes she never specified who ‘he’ was, and his own assumption had filled in the name he wished to hear. A line forms between his brows, above his amber-colored eyes.
It had been Lu Liang’s order that sent Guo Mingyu away for three years, traveling west and hiding in the Jianghu until suspicions of his survival died away. Now their appointed time of reunion has come.
Lu Liang’s closest subordinates have traveled to meet Guo Mingyu and escort Lu Liang’s promised shadow home, where he will join the prince’s household. This method of integrating Guo Mingyu into his service will raise no alarms. The imperial court knows the Prince of Huang has one foot in the Jianghu, and his eclectic collection of bodyguards will occasionally wander off and bring back new companions after a martial sojourn.
The three year disappearance and this new pretense is a necessary deception to protect his shadow. Mingyu’s weapon is too distinctive. Even in the Jianghu there are only a few scythe masters - Lu Liang himself being one of them.
The prince’s steward enters and offers his respects. “Prince Huang, your new gardener has arrived. I’ve settled him in a room beside your personal bodyguards, as ordered.”
“Gardner?” his doctor questions once the steward has gone, the corner of her mouth quirking upward with delight. She’s also one of his bodyguards recruited from the Jianghu. Though few in number, they are the most trusted of Lu Liang’s subordinates, permitted more latitude than anyone else. He might even dare to call them his friends.
“Of course. What else is a scythe for?” Lu Liang replies nonchalantly.
Over the next few days, the Prince of Huang invents several reasons to inspect his residence’s gardens and the practice courtyards, but does not catch sight of Guo Mingyu. Running out of plausible excuses, he orders the same trusted subordinates who escorted the young man home to arrange a meeting.
To limit the number of eyes watching, their reunion will occur after dark. Pretenses must be kept up. Lu Liang did not wait three years to establish a background for Guo Mingyu, only to discard it through his own impatience.
As the estate settles into nighttime slumber, the candles are lit in Lu Liang’s study, and a brazier is brought in to counter the late autumn chill. Lu Liang occupies himself by going through old accounting records, and hardly registers a single thing he’s reading. What will Mingyu look like, three years older and his boyhood shed? Lu Liang had only been a boy himself when they parted. Will Mingyu find him much changed?
The candles burn down, and Lu Liang keeps himself from rising and throwing aside these accounts only through utmost self-discipline. Finally, at the appointed hour, a low voice outside his door calls out, “Prince Huang, we have brought Young Master Mingyu. We made certain no one saw us.”
Lu Liang takes a deep breath, and tries to rid himself of the jumping feeling in his stomach. “Send him in please.”
The door is whisked open and a figure swathed in a thick, dark cloak comes forward.
Lu Liang finds himself on his feet, with no memory of putting aside his account books or getting up. “Guo Mingyu,” he breathes as pale fingers hook beneath the dark cloth and lower the hood.
Lu Liang finally beholds the crystal blue eyes from his dreams, serene and clear.
“Master,” Guo Mingyu greets him, trying to kneel.
Lu Liang catches him by the elbow before his knees touch the floor. “That isn’t necessary in private. You are my equal in rank, Mingyu, even if no one else knows it. I will have to inconvenience you - in public, you’ll have to follow protocol.”
“I’m no longer a prince of Feng country,” Guo Mingyu reminds him, but does not fight Lu Liang’s hold on his arm.
Lu Liang realizes how close their bodies are, and the chilly autumn night air suddenly feels hot as summer. Nevertheless, he does not remove his hand from where it’s curled around his shadow’s upper arm; he can feel the curve of hard muscle built from swinging a scythe underneath his fingers.
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of his neck.
The two princes study one another, taking in the changes three years have wrought. Lu Liang’s pulse beats strongly in his throat, almost like a kind of pain. Mingyu has grown to be so beautiful.
“Have you been well?” Guo Mingyu finally asks, voice a little hoarse.
“More or less. You may call me by my name.” Lu Liang’s voice is also a little hoarse.
“Lu Liang,” his shadow says, looking up at him through his long, dark eyelashes.
Lu Liang brushes those eyelashes with his thumb; Mingyu blinks, completely relaxed and trusting, only curiosity in his eyes. The feather-light touch of those lashes feels like a wing tickling his heart.
Lu Liang licks his lips, and focuses all his will on keeping his voice steady. “We’ll have to hide your face when I take you out in public. There are still people who might recognize you.”
“I’ve already taken measures,” Mingyu informs him.
Those ‘measures’ turn out to be ‘veiling his face like an upper-class beauty.’
Lu Liang almost combusts on the spot when he first sees Mingyu with his lower face hidden behind a plain silk half-veil, only those pretty eyes and slender brows visible, hinting at the beauty hidden beneath.
Mingyu’s veil exists as a permanent temptation, enticing Lu Liang into imagining how easy it would be to reach out and whisk off the little slip of fabric keeping his shadow hidden from his gaze. At the same time, it offers Guo Mingyu’s identity protection, so Lu Liang would never allow his self-control to slip - and secretly, it pleases his possessiveness that other eyes cannot look upon his shadow.
Remaining unmoved becomes even more impossible when they spar, scythe-blade against scythe-blade, and Lu Liang can see the silk of Mingyu’s veil flutter under his heavy breaths, and has only the cool ferocity of Mingyu’s gaze to content himself with.
Lu Liang doesn’t even last a day before he commissions a tailor to make more of Mingyu’s veils, made of finer materials and decorated to his specifications. Mingyu deserves better than plain undyed silk.
Mingyu doesn’t remark on his new gifts, except to thank Lu Liang, but the rest of his personal bodyguards take advantage of Lu Liang’s forbearance to grin, wiggle their eyebrows, or make exaggerated gestures. The Prince of Huang ignores them all with dignity.
When he works in the garden, Guo Mingyu wears a hat with a veil instead, which is both better and somehow worse, especially when he ties up his sleeves to show his forearms as he scythes the grass.
As autumn folds into winter, Lu Liang and Gu Mingyu continue to meet each night after dark, exchanging information and making plans until the early hours of the morning. They’re never caught. With their martial arts skills, coming and going unseen is as simple as breathing - not that anyone would dare question the Prince of Huang in his own house.
Even if some foolhardy soul were to question him, Lu Liang would never pay heed. His meetings with Mingyu are kept cupped close to his heart, as precious as the trust Mingyu gives him by going bare-faced in his company.
“Tonight reminds me of when we first met,” Guo Mingyu tells Lu Liang one evening, standing and looking out into the courtyard where the moon shines off deep snow drifts. He shivers, touching a scar on his side.
Placing his brush down, Lu Liang goes and joins him at the threshold.
“I owe you more than I can say,” Guo Mingyu says, turning away from the moonlight to look earnestly into Lu Liang’s face. “You hid me for months in your own room while my wounds healed and I lacked the strength to travel.”
His cheeks gain a faint, embarrassed pink flush. “I’m quite sure your servants thought you were keeping a lover,” he adds, laughing to show he’s making a joke.
Lu Liang does not laugh. He gazes into his shadow’s eyes and thinks of touching Mingyu - pulling up the collar of his fur cloak, placing a hand on his shoulder, his cheek, his hair.
Guo Mingyu’s next words come out as barely a whisper. “May I ask a discourteous question?”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
Guo Mingyu’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “You are of age, and a prince, yet you have no wife, no concubines, not even a single appointed bed-servant. Why?”
A faint sourness arises in Lu Liang’s throat. “A form of security for my Imperial Brother. The late emperor - my father - was long-lived. I was the last of his children, born of a low-ranking but beautiful noblewoman who was his final fascination before he died. I was still a babe in arms then, and his majesty the emperor took pity on me and raised me like he would one of his own sons. He trusts me more than his own children, in some respects, but I am not permitted anything that might threaten their inheritance. Therefore, I am not allowed a chance at legitimate heirs.”
“I see,” Guo Mingyu says, his face falling. “Forgive me for bringing up something so unpleasant.”
Lu Liang waves his hand. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t want a wife or a harem of concubines. It’s merely the reminder of my unstable position that irks me. While the emperor lives, I am secure, but if my Imperial Brother were to die…”
Guo Mingyu’s expression turns grim, understanding immediately. Without the backing of a powerful family, Lu Liang would be the first person targeted as a threat by his nephew princes in the fight for the throne. There would be almost no chance of survival.
Lu Liang takes one last look at the snowy courtyard, before going back to his half-written letter. “When the weather is good enough for travel, we’ll return to the capital.”
Guo Mingyu raises his eyes, face as calm as cold steel. Somewhere in the capital is the faction that plotted the death of his family - perhaps even in the Imperial Family itself.
“I understand,” he says, gathering his possessions so he can return to his quarters. “I’ll begin making my preparations. Sleep well, Lu Liang.”
“Mingyu,” calls the prince, just as Guo Mingyu is about to slip away. He stops, meeting Lu Liang’s eyes.
“When the servants thought you were my lover, I never disliked it.”
Guo Mingyu’s breath catches, and his face is warm in the darkness as he slips back to his room.
Two figures in dark, common clothing flash over the roofs of the Prince of Huang’s residence in the capital. Avoiding the guards, their path ends in the courtyard leading to the prince’s bedroom, where they land silently on the ground. The door slides shut soundlessly behind them as they enter unnoticed.
One of them pulls down his cowl, revealing the aloof, noble features of Lu Liang himself. “How was your harvest?”
Guo Mingyu is still taking off his disguise. “We have the necessary evidence. Minister Mu is definitely guilty of taking bribes, but he wasn’t involved in that incident.”
‘That incident’ is all the two of them need to say to understand one another. The capital has many ears listening for information. It’s better to speak nothing aloud that might betray Guo Mingyu’s real identity.
Lu Liang frowns.
“Is something wrong?” Guo Mingyu inquires, recalling their investigation tonight and trying to determine what might have been missed.
“Nothing is wrong, precisely.” The prince of Huang’s brows pull together. “Minister Mu is a more significant target than anyone else you’ve helped with so far. You’ll have to enter the Imperial City to give testimony.”
Ah, so that’s what it was. Guo Mingyu smiles at his friend and master. “You don’t need to worry for me. This is a risk I’ve chosen to take, and the disguise you helped me construct will withstand all but the most dedicated investigation.”
The crease between Lu Liang’s eyebrows doesn’t ease.
The soft, buoyant emotion in Guo Mingyu’s breast grows. It’s the same feeling he experiences every time he looks at Lu Liang.
Three years is a long time. Long enough for Guo Mingyu’s habits to change, for his accent to subtly shift, for his body to sharpen with adulthood.
It was not long enough for Guo Mingyu to forget Lu Liang.
Entering the palace holds significance for Guo Mingyu. Though his father had offered tribute to the emperor as the King of Feng, Guo Mingyu himself had been too young to serve as an envoy. Mingyu counts his visit now as a victory of his persistence, and proof of his survival, though Minister Mu’s crimes are ultimately a small matter in the governing of a nation.
After almost half a year in Lu Liang’s service, Guo Mingyu is used to the looks he receives from the guards and servants as he walks through the palace. Whether it’s the veil he wears, the color of his eyes, the loose style of his hair, the scythe on his back, or his foreign clothes, Guo Mingyu is clearly an outsider.
Standing behind Lu Liang, he receives less attention than he would otherwise. The Prince of Huang’s reputation for picking up strange people means he is simply one oddity among others. The people of the capital are willing to turn a favorable eye toward a prince who has a few eccentricities as long as he serves the emperor well.
“I must pay my respects to Imperial Brother,” Lu Liang tells Guo Mingyu, voice low enough that no one else can hear the undercurrent of apology. “Wait here, and we’ll call on the Ministry of Justice afterwards.”
Guo Mingyu kneels for less than a shichen before he hears the sound of many people approaching. He keeps his head bowed and his body patiently still even while the sounds of an argument break out.
“Here to curry favor with Imperial Uncle, brother?” accuses an arrogant voice imprinted with a permanent sneer.
“Perhaps you are here to curry favor - I simply happened to be passing by,” protests a second, weaker voice, full of fawning undertones.
“I am here to speak with our Imperial Father. You’re blocking the way,” states a third, aloof voice.
“I also need to speak with Imperial Father!” the first arrogant voice insists quickly.
“Well, I intend to offer my respects to him too, since I am passing by,” follows the fawning voice, the obsequiousness in his tone deepening.
There is a moment of silence. Guo Mingyu imagines the three princes - no one else would call Lu Liang their uncle - must be glaring at one another. How careless to speak so much in front of a servant.
“Who’s that? What a strange looking servant,” the arrogant voice says suddenly, as if hearing Guo Mingyu’s thoughts.
Footsteps circle around Guo Mingyu, and a shadow comes between him and the sun. Guo Mingyu keeps his breathing steady, and gives no outward reaction.
“He must be Imperial Uncle’s newest shadow guard,” the fawning voice says in an undertone. “I’ve heard he comes from the Jianghu like the others.”
“Is that true, servant?” the aloof voice inquires, tone disinterested.
Guo Mingyu does not raise his eyes any higher than the prince’s boots. “Answering his highness, this lowly servant is indeed from the Jianghu.”
“Why are you dressed in such a manner?”
Picking his words carefully, Guo Mingyu tells him, “Though my father was born in this country, my mother hails from beyond the westernmost border, and the customs there are diverse.”
“Do all men there veil themselves as you do?” a different voice asks, heavy with mockery.
“A custom of my mother’s people,” Mingyu answers. “They observe a period of mourning after one’s parents die.”
“Is that so?” the aloof voice drawls. The edge of a fan jerks Guo Mingyu’s chin up, biting into his jaw hard enough to bruise. “Unique eyes. What’s your name?”
Guo Mingyu looks up at the faces of the first, third, and fourth princes. “This servant is called Ming Yu.”
“What’s going on here?” demands Lu Liang’s voice, floating down from the stairs above.
The fan digs harder into Guo Mingyu’s jaw for a moment, before releasing him.
“We were just admiring your new shadow guard,” says the fourth prince. He’s the one with the arrogant, mocking voice.
“Greetings to Imperial Uncle,” says the third prince, who salutes, gestures just as fawning as his voice. “We came to offer our respects.” He was the one who claimed to be passing by. How quickly he followed the wind.
Guo Mingyu’s eyes fall on the first prince, the one who’d held him by the jaw. The first prince does nothing except watch Lu Liang with cold eyes.
“Imperial Uncle’s tastes are exotic,” laughs the fourth prince, making a rude hand gesture.
"Perhaps those blessed with the dragon eyes see worth that others overlook,” Lu Liang replies coolly, descending the stairs with crisp steps.
The fourth prince’s face twists. The dragon eyes are a rare trait belonging to descendants of the imperial bloodline. Among the four royals present, only the first prince has the same golden eyes as Lu Liang.
Lu Liang gestures to Guo Mingyu, who rises and takes his place at Lu Liang’s shoulder. “I have an appointment with the Minister of Justice. Please excuse me.”
All three princes show displeasure - one more openly than others - while Lu Liang leads Guo Mingyu away.
“Forgive me,” Lu Liang apologizes later, when they are alone and back in the prince’s residence. His touch lingers on the bruise marring Guo Mingyu’s face. “I did not think they would make trouble so swiftly.”
Even inside the Imperial City, few people have the status to detain the Prince of Huang’s servants. Lu Liang holds the emperor’s trust and favor, and that is the true currency of the capital city.
Lu Liang’s fingers return to his shadow’s jaw, smoothing ointment over the bruise. Guo Mingyu relaxes at the smell of herbs, even as he feels stung by every tiny shift of Lu Liang’s fingers against his skin.
They’re sitting very close to one another. Their gazes cross, and jump away. The air is heavy.
Lu Liang coughs, and takes back his hand. Guo Minyu can’t help leaning after him before he catches himself.
“Has the emperor given you another assignment?” Guo Mingyu asks to cover his mistake.
“Yes. He wants me to take over rebuilding efforts in the inner palace. A trivial matter, but the princes would fight if the job were given to one of them. They’re less likely to cause trouble for the emperor if I’m the one in charge.”
Since Lu Liang holds no power that does not come from the emperor himself, the emperor can trust Lu Liang will not betray him. Therefore, Lu Liang handles all sorts of important matters that require a neutral party - or a scapegoat. Unlike his own sons, who stand to gain the most from the emperor’s death, Lu Liang would likely lose everything if the emperor died.
“You taking over the rebuilding isn’t a bad thing,” Guo Mingyu replies, after a little reflection. “The rebuilding efforts will require you to enter the palace often, and I’ll be at your side. I believe the answers I seek regarding that incident can be found inside the palace.”
Lu Liang nods, even more unsettled by the thought of the risks Guo Mingyu will be taking. “As long as you’re careful. Your life is the most important thing. I haven’t saved you only to…”
Only to lose you now.
Guo Mingyu’s eyes soften, and rest warmly on Lu Liang as he bows. “This servant will obey.”
Overhearing the imperial concubines and their maidservants gossipping, Lu Liang’s footsteps pause, leaving him hidden behind a garden wall covered in green.
Naturally, it was the sound of Guo Mingyu’s assumed name that had drawn his attention. Lu Liang shoots a strict look behind him, warning his companions to remain silent.
The ladies fans’ whirr sluggishly in the late summer heat, and the clink of porcelain comes from the maids pouring cool drinks.
“Prince of Huang’s new shadow guard? Of what import is such an insignificant person?”
“It’s because he’s even more strange than the prince’s usual acquisitions! I heard he’s a foreign beauty who upholds his master’s honor in both arms and matters of the court.”
“It’s true that he’s a great warrior! The maids in the fourth prince’s palace told me about it. The fourth prince issued a challenge to his uncle, and Ming Yu defeated every single one of the fourth prince’s men! Fourth Prince was so angry they had to replace half the furniture in his palace!”
“I don’t know about that, but Prince of Huang’s shadow guard is definitely a gentleman of learning. I saw him debate against the court scholars after they doubted the Prince of Huang’s wisdom.” The woman’s voice laughs. “They don’t have any face left after being out-thought by a foreign barbarian!”
“A gentleman and a warrior? And also good-looking? Now I know it’s all an exaggeration!”
“Why does everyone think that Ming Yu is pretty? He doesn’t even show his face! Perhaps he’s ugly and scarred!”
“With those blue eyes? I’d marry him even if he had the face of a pig!”
The women titter.
Lu Liang judges this an opportune moment to come out from behind the garden wall.
The concubines sputter, suddenly white-faced when they realize Lu Liang must have heard every word.
“Prince of Huang,” one of the braver ones says, trying to salvage the situation, “you are fortunate to have such an exemplary person in your service. Truly, a good master attracts good servants.”
“Perhaps there is a fate between us,” Lu Liang replies vaguely, and after the required pleasantries, he disentangles himself from his brother’s concubines and continues with his stroll through the garden.
Once the concubines and their entourage are out of sight, Lu Liang sends away his own companions with the excuse that he'd like to stroll the gardens in peace.
As he’s wandering through a cluster of bamboo, keeping close to the outer walls of the garden, there’s an almost soundless thump behind him.
“Did you obtain what we’re looking for?” Lu Liang asks, just from the sound of the approaching footfalls.
“Yes.” Guo Mingyu sounds breathless, and particularly pleased. “With master acting as a decoy to draw attention, it was quite easy.”
Lu Liang nods, a signal that the two of them will discuss their reaped haul once they can speak in safer surroundings. Guo Mingyu takes his place at Lu Liang’s back, and they continue walking through the gardens of the inner palace.
“It seems there are quite a few rumors in the palace regarding you,” Lu Liang mentions, hands tucked behind him.
“This servant is distressed if he has behaved wrongly.”
“No, I like hearing them praise you.”
The sound of Guo Mingyu’s footsteps misses a beat.
Lu Liang’s lips curve upward, and he lifts his chin mock-arrogantly. “Doesn’t it reflect well upon this prince if his servant is outstanding?”
“As it should, your highness.” Lu Liang can hear the answering smile in his shadow’s voice. Guo Mingyu’s quiet, firm tone lowers intimately, and continues, “This lowly one is pleased that he can bring some benefit to you.”
The sun feels hot against Lu Liang’s flushed skin.
There are bodies everywhere: some feathered by crossbow bolts, while others bristle with knives, but most of the dead bear distinctively curved, sliced wounds.
No one would believe that a mere six people had wrought such carnage, yet Lu Liang and his five shadow guards had brought down this convoy and its escorts without aid.
In the early morning darkness, the wind sets the torch flames dancing and shuddering, their shadows shaking like long-limbed ghosts.
Guo Mingyu lifts his gaze from the beheaded Marquis slumped at his feet; the scythe in his hands is at once heavy as a mountain and light as a feather.
Lu Liang comes toward him alone. Even wearing the clothing of a bandit, he bears himself with the aura of a prince. The bloodied scythe in his hands had reaped more lives than anything else tonight.
In the background, the rest of Lu Liang’s shadow guards continue planting evidence that will lead the imperial court to blame this massacre on a bandit attack.
The torchlight grants a hard gold shine to Lu Liang’s eyes. “Your family will rest more easily now that the Marquis and his men are dead.”
Guo Mingyu nods, and bows his head.
When they are finished, Guo Mingyu gives one last look at the corpses of his family’s murderers, and rides into the night without regret.
They travel with speed and silence, riding hard until dawn breaks in the east. Then they rein their horses back to a walk for a short rest.
“We’re still not finished,” Guo Mingyu says to Lu Liang as they ride side-by-side. “We don’t know who was behind the Marquis - someone who wanted my family killed, but didn’t want to dirty their own hands.”
“We know it’s someone in the Imperial Palace. We’ll find them,” Lu Liang states with arrogant certainty.
Guo Mingyu believes him. The calm, patient steel that has sustained him so far will allow nothing less.
“Thank you,” he adds after a moment. “I never would have been able to come this far without your help.”
“You would have done nothing less for me.” With the dawn rising behind him, Lu Liang seems crowned by light.
Guo Mingyu’s heart contracts, full of a feeling richer than blood.
In another world, where Lu Liang was the oldest son of the emperor instead of the youngest, Lu Liang would have been a just ruler. Perhaps in that world, the two of them would have never met.
His hands tighten on his reins, the leather creaking between his fingers; then his grip relaxes, and Guo Mingyu exhales. There is no meaning in thinking about possibilities that no longer exist.
Guo Mingu guides his horse closer to Lu Liang, until their knees almost touch. “Thank you anyway,” he repeats, and the two of them ride in contented silence for the rest of the morning.
Winter in the capital is less picturesque than winter in the prince’s country manor, but a hundred times more lively. Instead of silver drifts and clean sweeps of snow, there are markets and slush and the ever-present hum of a city awake.
No matter the place, the same moon watches the nightly meetings between Lu Liang and Guo Mingyu. Tonight is a night for plum wine, because Lu Liang’s spies have uncovered the culprit who ordered the death of the King of Feng and his entire household: Lu Liang’s nephew, the fawning Third Prince.
By eliminating the neutral King of Feng, the Third Prince had hoped to replace him with his own supporter, and strengthen his chance to win the throne.
Naturally, Guo Mingyu won’t allow this ambition to succeed. An Imperial Prince is a more difficult target than a Marquis, but Guo Mingyu has time to wait for his perfect opportunity.
As they sit around a brazier in Lu Liang’s study, the two of them enjoy the relief of finding a final answer that has long eluded them.
Now and then, their eyes meet over the rim of their cups, their gazes clinging gently to each other, before lightly separating again.
Guo Mingyu pours for them both, the beaded embroidery of his veil clinking and chiming as he lifts it aside to drink. They have to be more careful in the capital, where anyone could barge in and find them together.
“What will you do when you have avenged your family?” Lu Liang dares to ask, heady from the sweet wine.
“I suppose I can’t stay here.” Guo Mingyu stares into his cup.
Shaking his head, Lu Liang swallows back another cup of wine. “You would never be safe beside me. Your identity would always leave you in danger. I won’t allow it.”
Guo Mingyu refills the empty cup, and puts a hand to his temple, feeling a bout of light-headedness.
“You must have a dream,” Lu Liang insists. “Something you always wanted to do.”
Playing with the cup in his hands, Guo Mingyu looks mesmerized by the coals flickering in the brazier. “I’ve heard there’s a Jianghu stronghold called Heaven’s Domain, deep in the southern mountains. It’s ruled by an Asura wielding a spear, a true Battle God, and a martial emperor of the fist hailed as the King of Fighting. I’d like to go there.”
The former prince glances at his master, eyes misty from the wine. “They say that in Heaven's Domain, even two men or two women can call themselves married and live together.”
Lu Liang’s throat bobs as he drinks his refilled wine in a single swallow, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “You’ll go there and marry a martial artist that pleases you?”
The beads hanging from Guo Mingyu’s veil clink as he shakes his head. “No, I’d never marry. None of the people there would please me enough. I just think...it would be better to live in the Jianghu. No one would look for me. I’d be free.”
Just as Lu Liang forms a reply, a commotion erupts from the outer rooms. Guo Mingyu hurriedly straightens his veil, and kneels in a subservient position, taking up the wine to pour for Lu Liang.
A household messenger bursts into the study, sweating in panic. “The emperor has taken ill, and the Imperial Physicians say he is dying!”
Guo Mingyu’s gaze flies to Lu Liang in horror.
The palace servants find the Prince of Huang remarkably calm for a man with an unwritten death sentence hanging over his head.
As soon as the emperor had regained consciousness, he’d refused to see any of his children or concubines, and called for his only living brother to attend him. Lu Liang had obeyed immediately, entering the palace with Guo Mingyu beside him.
Now alone, Lu Liang follows the chief eunuch into the emperor’s chambers, heavy with the stench of incense and herbs.
The emperor is well into his fifties. Their father’s long reign meant that his brother came to the throne late in life. Under a golden coverlet embroidered with dragons, the emperor lies on his bed with sunken cheeks and deep wrinkles etched at the corners of his eyes.
“Leave us,” he orders his attendants upon seeing Lu Liang, struggling into a sitting position.
Lu Liang kneels silently by the emperor’s bedside while the gaggle of eunuchs and physicians and servants file out.
The room is quiet for nearly a hundred breaths.
“Do you resent me for tying your own life to mine?” the emperor asks.
“Not anymore.” Lu Liang is accustomed to never mincing words. The emperor had raised him that way.
Perhaps before he met Mingyu, the answer would have been yes, but Lu Liang could never regret the years spent by his shadow’s side.
“My existence was a threat to you. You could have quietly disposed of me, but you allowed me to live instead. There are people I have been able to aid who would have never received help otherwise. If this is the price of my life, then I accept it.”
Silence falls again.
“The physicians say I have a few months yet,” the emperor finally speaks again. “Do you have a boon you would like fulfilled?”
“Yes,” Lu Liang replies, and lifts his head. “I want the Prince of Huang to die.”
The third prince dies ignominiously, the victim of a slow-acting poison that draws out his agony for days before his release - a fitting end, to appease the souls he had slain.
His assassin is never caught.
Not long afterward, Lu Liang, the Prince of Huang, dies in a riding accident that badly mangles his body, and is given a lavish burial in the Imperial tombs by the ailing emperor. With no heirs and no official position to fight over, he slips quietly into the pages of history.
On a boat crossing the southern river, two martial artists with scythes across their backs stand hand-in-hand, gazing toward the mountains on the far shore.