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In a dimly lit room where only the candlelight and the moon’s glow were the only source of brightness, a figure stood by the large windows. Paintings and fresh new canvases, art easels, art supplies and bucket loads of paint; the room was that of a painter’s.
Leaning down towards a canvas, soft strokes of the brush, the mixing of paint, Xiao was too focused to notice a maid had come in to serve him dinner. With a few knocks on his door, she twisted the handle and let herself in.
“Young master, your meal has arrived, I was ordered by Lord Zhongli to bring it to you.” her soft gentle voice spoke, bowing her body down slightly with a hand pressed to her waist, the other holding onto a tray. “Place it on the desk, I’ll eat it later.” he answered halfheartedly, more focused on his art than on the woman.
“As you wish sir, do make sure to eat it before the food gets cold.” she says, placing the plate of steak and glass of grape juice on top of his desk, before quietly leaving, careful not to disturb the young lord. The room was quiet again, only the soft breathing of the young man, the ticking of a clock, and the distant chirp of crickets remained.
Setting the brush down gently and slightly moving backwards, Xiao glanced at his art piece in full. Letting out a huff, he once again took up the paintbrush and continued to make adjustments to the unfinished painting. He was unsatisfied with the piece, having been working on it day and night but still unable to decide it was done.
On the rare days when he would take a break from painting, having a breather in the estate’s garden, Zhongli would frequently be sitting there, enjoying the scenery and his tea. He would motion for Xiao to come and join him.
Zhongli would be the only one initiating conversation with a few hums of interest and slight nods from the other, but he did not mind. He noticed how his adoptive son would only listen absentmindedly, like his mind was elsewhere.
He didn’t know much about painting, but he was supportive of his son nonetheless; gifting him a whole room in the manor to turn into an art room the moment he showed his gift of art.
“You really are passionate about painting, aren’t you Xiao?” Zhongli would remark sometimes, smiling. Greeted with the silence he had gotten used to, he would just sit in peaceful quietness with him. Pushing a plate of muffins over and refilling his tea cup, watching as he was off in his own world.
Zhongli took notice of something about Xiao, with a few finished projects, he had one that he never seemed to able to finish. He caught sight of it once when he entered the art room by mistake, a portrait of a boy, dressed in a white and green traditional Chinese hanfu, severely detailed.
He didn’t know much about the person painted on that canvas, but he knew they were the subject of his son’s affections, and perhaps the reason of the sad distant look on his face most of the times. Zhongli never got to know who he was to Xiao, and never really wanting to pry into his past, he never did learn.
Zhongli could never say that Xiao was one to open up easily. When he and his now deceased wife — Guizhong, first met him in the streets, homeless and battered, they took pity upon him and offered him shelter. With careful reluctance, he agreed to it.
The couple took him in and raised him as their own son, along with their two daughters, Ganyu and Yanfei. He slowly grew less tense around the family, despite initially having a hard time settling in at first.
Tracing his fingers across the freshly dried paint, Xiao frowned. His paint stained hands gripped around a paintbrush, covered in a plethora of colors. Dipping the brush into some paint before dabbing at the canvas, he had a particular talent in finer details. A blessing and a curse, really.
Tired golden eyes glancing over the time displayed on the clock. “It’s getting late, I should continue this tomorrow.” he mutters to himself, placing his paintbrush down and untying his apron. He cleaned up a bit before walking over to his desk, taking a glance at the still warm food. Bringing the tray into his bedroom, he set it on a table beside his window.
He took a warm bath, scrubbing away at the dirt and paint on his body. He finished his bath, dried his body and slipped on a pair of pajamas, throwing his dirty clothes into the laundry basket at the corner of his room.
The pitter patter of bare feet on wooden floor, the soft creaking as Xiao made his way to the table near his window. Sitting down onto the pillow cushion under the table, he ate his meal, enjoying it as best as he could; it wasn’t as if the dish wasn’t good, Xiao just preferred a much simpler meal of almond tofu.
With the last piece of meat gone from the plate, the glass of juice now empty, the tray was pushed aside as the young man turned his attention onto the moon outside his window. Pushing the window open and glancing outside, the sky painted a dark blue, the stars and the moon shining in bright unison, the soft chill air caressing skin and ruffling hair.
The feeling of melancholy washed over Xiao’s tired soul. “Three hundred years… for three hundred years since you’ve gone, it’s been so lonely.” he whispered aloud to himself, almost as if he was speaking to another person. He let his voice carry through the wind, his hands were laid open on his lap, one stroking the other. A finger rubbing at the rope bracelet tied at his right wrist.
He let out a melodious hum, a familiar calming tune he had memorized to the very core of his heart. He still remembers how he first heard it; centuries ago, when he was still young and naïve.
Xiao had stumbled into a quaint little teahouse, it was a humble establishment and wasn’t as popular as the others. He was tired and worn out as usual, fighting in the ongoing war as a soldier was no easy job. The countless of deaths. Comrades and enemies all dead, it took a toll on his health. Survivor’s guilt, they called it.
When his fellow commanders — the “Yaksha” as they were called by the public, lost their lives either directly to the war itself or to the grief, he was devastated. Xiao was the only commander of their armies left. A sense of dread as he heard the news one by one, each of how the commanders fell to the hands of Death. He could never get used to death, no matter how much it surrounded him. He was terrified by it, for reasons he could not comprehend.
After a particularly nasty victory, he made his way back to town. His mind foggy as he recounted the horrendous sight of war, the bloodshed and the desperate pleas of surrender. Winning a battle was not something he celebrated, it wasn’t something to be joyful of. He carries the weight of their death in his soul.
Xiao did not know if he was glad to survive it or not, only blindly following the orders of the emperor as an army commander. He had nothing to live for, no family to return to, nobody who he loved dearly, nobody who cared about him. So he couldn’t understand why he continued to fight for his life. What was it that made him prevail even under the tip of someone’s blade, a chance to be dead?
Walking through the teahouse doors, he took a seat on the upper floor. A woman in light blue attire attended to his table, taking his orders. He asked for a simple cup of tea and a plate of almond tofu, nothing more.
Sitting lonely by himself, drowning in his thoughts, until a voice rang through the teahouse. A soft melody of an instrument following the beautiful voice. The voice calmed and soothed Xiao’s restless body, washing a sense of euphoria over him.
It piqued his curiosity who the owner of the voice was, making his way around in an effort to find the source. He found himself standing in front of a mini stage, seeing a boy around his age sat in front of a guzheng, his fingers plucking at the strings as he sang, his voice soft and smooth.
Almost in an entranced state, he took a seat in front of the performer, listening closely. In a sudden moment, everything around him melted away in a white blur, leaving only the performer and himself, a sort of peace and calm surrounding them.
With a final pluck of his instrument, he finishes his performance and takes a bow on stage. Still too distracted by the aftertaste of earlier, Xiao did not take notice to the young male making his way over to his table, pulling a chair back and taking a seat.
“Did you enjoy my performance?” the performer teased, his eyes twinkling with a smile on his lips. His smile was as gorgeous as the rest of him. Finally snapping back to reality, Xiao nodded his head silently, taking a sip of his tea in flushed embarrassment.
“Was my singing and playing of the guzheng up to par of your standards, my lord?” he asked, seemingly genuine with the question. He leaned forwards, a bit too close to Xiao’s liking, but he didn’t stop the other. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment too long. “You have really pretty eyes.” Xiao blurted out, not knowing what he had said before it set in.
When he realized what he said to the boy in front of him, he quickly pulled away. Xiao faked a cough, turning his head away to hide the blush slowly climbing onto his face and ears. The boy’s eyes were wide with shock, a tinge of pink flushing over his face as well.
Letting out a chuckle, his sleeves covering his mouth, the performer smiled fondly at the commander. “Do you really think so?” he sat back down onto his chair properly, “Why thank you, people say I have the eyes of my mother.”
Their initial interaction was quite awkward, but it eventually bloomed into a lovely friendship. Xiao learned that the boy’s name was Venti and that he was a scholar from a fairly well-known family. When he wasn’t trapped in his room studying, he would leave to town and mingle with the public. He frequented that teahouse and would perform for people there, saying how it made him happy how joyful and at peace people seemed when he did his performances.
Xiao started frequenting the teahouse as well, meeting with Venti each time. He eventually admitted to his status as a leading army commander in the war, warning him to not get too attached for if he might die like the rest.
He received a smack to the shoulder and a frown. “Don’t speak like that, you idiot.” Venti earnestly stared into his eyes, “You’ll survive, I know you will.” Xiao felt a weird warmth unknown to him, blossoming in his chest, leaving him determined to fulfill the other’s hopeful words.
“I’ll try my hardest to return from each battle.” he answered with a sentence he found to be quite uncharacteristic of himself. His companion’s frown replaced itself with a bright smile, hugging him suddenly. In that moment, they didn’t say anything and enjoyed the pleasant warmth they felt clinging to them. The wind blowing in their hair and the sun kissing their skin as they sat in solitude under a tree.
Their friendship blossomed into a romance slow and beautifully, they knew to keep it a tight secret but anyone who was not a complete fool could see that these two were in love. They shared soft gentle kisses hidden in the darkness, warm embraces that were a bit too long but remained unquestioned by witnesses, slight touches of their fingertips that they wish were more. It remained for long, and their love brewed ever strong. The war however, also brewed just as strong and long.
The war was escalating, it was getting worse. Casualties became almost a thousand evermore, the population growing ever anxious and horrified. Most had contemplated running away from their town, away to another country even. One of those people were Venti, his family in all their glory were planning their much awaiting escape.
Before the very week he was leaving, Xiao and Venti met again as usual. The air was unusually tense, and the wind was threateningly cold. “Let’s leave this place Xiao, we can run away together.” he begged, holding tightly onto Xiao’s hands, “I’ll plead to my family to let you come with us, just please.”
Xiao stared blankly at his hopeful lover, mouth closed in a tight line. There was a moment of painful silence, before words were spoken. “I’m staying, you can leave as you wish but I cannot go.” his voice was quiet, almost somber.
“Why… why can’t you come with me? We can live together peacefully like we’ve always wanted, there would be no war outside our doorstep every day, and you wouldn’t need to risk your life anymore!”
“You don’t understand, I made a promise to my friends, I can’t leave with you, no matter how much I want to.”
“Do you think your friends would want you to sacrifice your life in this war, out on that battlefield, scared and alone? Am I not important to you?” Venti sobbed, his voice cracking as he cried harder, “You told me you love me the most, so why won’t you do this for me?”
“…”
“We can just leave this all behind, it can be just us.”
Venti’s words were yet again, greeted with silence.
“Fine, be like that then. I’m leaving… with or without you, I’ve made up my mind.”
Xiao watched as he walked away, now only a silhouette in the distance, getting smaller and smaller. His heart ached, screaming at him to chase Venti back and apologize, to leave with him. However, he was stubborn. The pain of seeing Venti cry because of him hurt way more than any wound he had received before, but he decided that it was for the best; for Venti to leave and forget about him, moving onto someone who could give him a better life.
He loves him, he truly does so that is why he must do this.
Or so that’s what he thought…
The two didn’t meet up again, with Xiao wanting Venti to truly let go; and Venti wanting Xiao to chase after him. The two didn’t meet on the morning of Venti’s departure. Xiao however ordered somebody to deliver something to him. It was a beautiful charmed rope bracelet, specifically made and given to him.
Trying not to think about his leaving lover, he focused on his training. His mind was adrift no matter how he tried. A sudden gut feeling worried him. Something was not right. The sky was shrouded in darkness, the clouds raining down below, heavy and wet. The pouring rain worsened with harsh thunder and lightning.
He ran and ran, trying to catch up to Venti’s carriage. When he did reach it, the scene before him brought him to his knees. Their carriage was destroyed, torn apart and rummaged through. It was likely a bandit raid. Trying to hurry out of there, his family did not hire enough mercenary to secure their safety.
Littered on the path were corpses, the damp grass colored red with blood. He searched through the corpses until he found what he was looking for. Venti.
Hugging tight onto his lover, he bit back a scream. Salty tears mixing with rain, he stared down at the still warm body. Venti gained back a bit of his consciousness, his heavy green eyes staring right back at the other’s tear-filled golden ones. “Xiao… you made it…” he spoke slowly, coughing up blood through his forced smile.
“Please save your energy, don’t talk. I’ll look for help.” Xiao begged, frantically trying to wipe up the blood from his lips. “Are you cold?” he asked, his lips trembling, and his brows scrunched up. He cradled Venti’s body close to him, trying to share his warmth with him. He stripped out off his outerwear, covering his lover’s body with it.
As he got up to leave, there was a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw the other’s desperation, his plea for him to stay. He kneeled back down onto the wet ground, pulling Venti back onto his lap.
“I’m so sorry… Xiao… I… I’m going to leave you… behind, all afraid and alone…” Venti frowned, his face pained as he tried to muster enough strength to keep himself awake.
“I’m the one who is sorry, I’ll go anywhere you want with you, just please don’t leave me behind. I need you here.” Xiao pleaded, his voice shaky. Reaching a weak hand out to his face, Venti caressed his skin with his cold fingers. Grabbing and stabilizing it, he held onto his lover’s hand tightly, hoping that he would never let go.
Venti’s whispered words, “I love you, Xiao…” were his last words. He did not hear the pleading of Xiao when the hand on his cheek began to go limp, hear how he was desperately asking him to wake up, of how he admitted he was scared of being lonely again, his screams for someone to help them.
It was all futile, and Venti passed away right in his arms. The foundation he had worked so hard to build, his resolve were all gone at that moment. Xiao decided to let him go because that’s what he thought best, but maybe if he stayed that day, he could’ve still saved Venti. He blamed himself for even letting him get so close in the first place.
Xiao does not regret loving Venti.
In the pale dawn of the next day, Xiao was back in his art room, his body hunched over his easel, continuing with the project. A paintbrush clutched between his shaky hands, cursing at how shaken he was by the nightmare that occurred last night. All those vivid details of Venti’s death, his cold limp body on Xiao’s lap.
Working on it for hours upon hours, he was yet again unsatisfied with the results of his hard work. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he pushed the easel and watched as it fell to the floor. He crumpled onto the floor, his body shrunk into a ball. Xiao started crying after all these years of built up angst, of feelings he refused to let anyone know of.
Through his blurred vision, he viewed the painting as it was, on its side. The portrait of his lover from hundreds of years ago, his memory might’ve blurred at the details of what happened then, but not when it came to Venti. He could never forget him, would never.
Even when the details of his face were so clear in his mind, he could not replicate it on a canvas. He tried so hard and it was still nothing.
The smile on that face wasn’t the same smile the Venti in his mind had, it was too artificial. His smile was so bright and beautiful, anyone who had seen it would feel the warmth of it. His eyes were a vibrant and lively green, the beholder of so much life, swimming around. The twinkle of it was barely captured onto that canvas’ surface.
The painting looked too dead to be his Venti. His Venti was lively and bright, his solace. Nothing could resemble him, not in a million years.
All Xiao wanted was a painting of him, one last reminder of him in reality, not as just a memory that he could lose at any moment. But of course, even he couldn’t do that. He could never.
Stroking the very same rope bracelet he had given Venti as a gift, the one he took off of Venti’s corpse, he collapsed into exhaustion. The months of fatigue catching up to him, and he dreamt something sweet.
In the very dream, he was dancing among a field of flowers, Venti by his side. They were happy, and all was fine.
The immortal found peace and comfort in his gone mortal lover’s embrace, and lived in peaceful ignorant bliss for even just a minute longer.