Work Text:
(Act One)
The thick smell of medicine and sickness sparks through his senses. Wen Kexing feels his breath stutter to a stop at the way the cool floorboards press against his brow and at hearing the soft exhalations somewhere behind him. He knows this moment and has re-lived it a million times before.
Quickly, he scrambles to his feet, eyes wide and heart sticking high in his throat at the sight of Zhou Zishu wearing the same face he did as a child, meeting his gaze with equal parts horror and fascination. Wen Kexing parts his lips to speak when Ah Xu shakes his head because right beside him, with a hand on his slender shoulder, is their Master, smiling benevolently at his new disciple.
This was the moment where Ah Xu asked, “Master, are we going back home with this younger brother?”
This was when Qin Huaizhang replied, “Yes, from now on, you’ll have a friend. You must love and care for each other. You’re the elder brother here, so take care of him. Do you get it?”
But this does not happen. It takes Wen Kexing a second to realise that Zishu is looking back at him with a strained expression that is equal amounts terror and longing. He is sure it is mirrored on his own face.
So, this isn’t a dream then. In his dreams, this child would have never looked at him like this. He drags his mind through all the possibilities that this could be; an effect of the Drunk Like a Dream? No, it can’t be. They haven’t prepared a batch that was strong enough to pull something like this out of him. The last thing he remembers is…
The cliff.
That damned gamble!
It had been something he had put into play in the hopes of catching a bigger fish. Forming an alliance with the Scorpion King and his cronies ensured that his plan was as foolproof as he could get it, but convincing Chengling to play his part in the ruse had taken less begging and more consoling than he had anticipated. The thought curls a small warmth in his chest. The depths of that child’s affections was one that could warm the coldest winters.
Does this mean it worked too well? Did he die?
The memory has his hand shooting up to his chest to feel for any of the injuries he had sustained during that farce of a trial. But all he feels is the give of his flesh and bones, and none of the muscle and sinew he had honed his body to in adulthood.
Wen Kexing turns back to Zishu’s childhood visage. Ah Xu’s face had been the last thing he had seen as he fell backwards off the cliff. He reaches out. Hand moving instinctively towards the one sure thing in this strange and unsettling reality. The motion is met with Ah Xu reaching out, sliding their hands together in a practised move that keeps Wen Kexing fast to his side.
In the cool darkness of his Ah Xu’s knowing eyes, Wen Kexing realises that his face must have been the last thing he had seen too.
“Aiya, look at them! Already so fond of your new friend, Zishu? That’s good. In the future, you have to take good care of your Shidi. You both must always love and care for one another,” Master says, his voice cutting through the buzzing of thoughts and calculations in his mind. He keeps his eyes fixed on the man, refusing to blink at the way he beams their way. Anything to keep from--
A cough sounds through the afternoon quiet. He has to muster every ounce of calmness that he does not feel to turn around. Zishu’s hands in his tighten to the point of pain as they stand pressed side by side. Together, they turn to face the sight of his mother quickly sitting on the bed’s edge to soothe his father.
The scene before him unspools as it does every time he has allowed himself to remember and bask in the golden sunshine of this moment; his father tells Ah Xu that he must not hold back in teaching his son to distinguish between right and wrong and that he must not loathe him for his missteps.
With fresh eyes, Wen Kexing makes himself hold his parents’ gazes and nods.
Mother turns her face away, grief colouring the corners of her eyes a pinched red. Wen Kexing wants to run to her. He wants to bury his face in the folds of her skirts and hold on to her and his father for just another heartbeat more. He aches, in that childish yearning way for things that are no longer his to hold onto, for just that little bit more.
Instead, he squeezes Ah Xu’s hands and they take a measured step back together as their Master moves forward to check on his father. The movement pushes them away from the focus of the situation and far enough back that they aren’t in the centre of the fray.
Wen Kexing exhales and feels Ah Xu wrapping an arm around his waist, holding on tightly.
“Do you not want to save them?”
The words fall feather-soft against his cheek.
Wen Kexing turns his body fully into Ah Xu’s, allowing himself to be held tightly. He replies, with as little inflection to his voice as possible, “They have been dead for a long time.”
Zishu merely grasps the back of his outer robe in lieu of words that would have fallen false in the face of a confession like this.
Together, they stand quietly in the corner as their Master and Wen Kexing’s parents discuss their plans to send the children back to the Four Seasons Manor. Master will set off to finish his errands in the Jianghu, then come back to this village to fetch his parents. Wen Kexing can tell that his mother is quietly reluctant to allow her son to leave her side. He also knows that if he even utters even a breath of a desire to stay, she would not hesitate to put in the word to keep him there until Qin Huaizhang is able to come for them as a family.
It would be a lie to say that there is not a small part of him that wants them to be able to see him grow up, to have them near where they will be safe from all the troubles of this horrible world. Yet, Wen Kexing has lived a life with more years where he was not their son than he has where he knew the warmth of their love and protection.
Wen Kexing makes his peace in standing on the wayside to let these events unfold
The horrible truth is, he knows that if he stays with them, any good and bright days ahead would be forever marred by the reality of what would have happened if his parents had lived. They would be hounded and hunted by those who wear the faces of the righteous as well as those who are monsters. Wen Kexing drinks in the way his mother smiles and how his father looks so gently and with so much love. He etches the way they are in this moment into the depths of his heart and feels a thread of warmth for this stolen afternoon.
As the sun begins to dip under the horizon, their Master makes the necessary arrangements in the village for a carriage to leave that night after dinner. Wen Kexing wolfs down the simple meal of rice and a few accompaniments even as his mother fondly chides him to slow down. Under the cover of twilight, his parents bundle him up in a cloak, carefully adjusting his hairpin and holding on to him for as long as it takes for the coachman to bring the carriage to the front door.
“There’s no need to be anxious. You’ll be fine,” Father says softly, smoothing a thumb over his cheek. “We will see each other soon.”
Mother crouches down and pulls Wen Kexing in to press their brows together in goodbye. Unexpectedly, he feels his chest tighten at the way he cannot hide from the childish need to have his parents with him.
But before that thought can fully materialise and solidify, Zishu is by his side and sliding their hands together. He turns just in time to see his shixiong bow politely, thanking his parents for their care and the meal they’d shared. “I promise to look after him,” He says solemnly, squeezing Wen Kexing’s palm in his. “Please don’t worry.”
Wen Kexing catches the surprise register on his parent’s faces as they look upon himself and Zishu, before it eases into something warm and fond. “We’ll take care of each other. We’ll be waiting for you at the Four Seasons Manor,” He quickly says, turning up his face earnestly.
“Good, that’s good,” Father says, reaching out to pat his head just as the carriage rumbles up the road to them. Zishu has already turned to walk back to their Master’s side, but Wen Kexing lingers for a beat, caught in indecision before he runs up to his parents, pulling them both into a tight hug.
“Thank you for being my parents,” He whispers, breathing them in. He makes himself remember this moment, pushing to the back of his mind about the choice he has made, the choices he will have to make in the future. Wen Kexing allows himself to feel just a fraction of that grief that he thought he had strangled and buried in another lifetime, and squeezes them tightly. When he lets go, he does it without turning back.
Master sits upfront with the coachman while Ah Xu and himself are hidden in the warm darkness of the interior.
If he cried himself to sleep in time with the rocking of the carriage, no one will ever know.
(Act Two)
They alight at the village at the base of the mountain without much fanfare. Master arranges for them to stay a night at the local inn, sending word ahead to the sect of their arrival, while he leaves to run the errand he had been planning to do. It doesn’t occur to Wen Kexing that this will be the first time they have been afforded a modicum of privacy until he is sitting in their room, having a simple dinner together.
What can he say in a situation like this? What should he say?
Unsurprisingly, he is saved by Ah Xu speaking up first.
“I saw you die,” He says succinctly, carefully pinching a chopstick’s worth of long beans to deposit gently on Wen Kexing’s bowl of rice. “I saw Chengling jump into the fray and the next thing I knew, you were…”
The words, spoken in his childish voice, hold a strange gravitas that makes Wen Kexing’s hair stand on end. Guilt floods his heart and he has to look down at the wood grains of the table. “I saw you jump after me,” Comes the admission a beat later.
“Senior Ye tried to save me. I shook him off.”
Pain twists the words deeper into him and the guilt tightens the noose around him. “You weren’t meant to follow me,” Wen Kexing says, setting down his chopsticks. “It was a ruse. I was meant to be fine.”
Zishu’s lashes flutter a little when he turns his face away. “And yet, here we are.” The ache of knowing he was the person who wronged his Ah Xu eats at him.
“I didn’t do it to hurt you, Ah Xu, that I can swear on my life,” Wen Kexing enunciates slowly. The solemnity of the words sounds strange coming from the mouth of a babe.
“I had planned to entrap Zhao Jing. Lure him into a sense of false comfort that I am now gone and the position as the Leader of the Five Lakes Sect was his to have and to hold. Xie-Wang was working with me-”
“Xie-Wang?” Ah Xu interjects, eyes wide. “He was in on it too?”
Wen Kexing nods, pouring Ah Xu a fresh cup of tea and himself one too. “The nature of their relationship is…complicated.” He finishes wryly. He doesn’t have to elaborate. Anyone with two eyes and who has spent half a shichen with Zhao Jing and his foster son can clearly tell that there was something more. “I hadn’t expected him to agree to an alliance, but it had come with the price that Zhao Jing was his to deal with at the end of the day.”
Ah Xu remains quiet for a beat. “And then after? What happens after you succeed?”
Smiling at the unspoken query, Wen Kexing sets his cup down gently on the table. “And when everything is said and done, I will leave these adventures on horseback behind for a peaceful life with you.”
“Flatterer,” Ah Xu scoffs. But the tips of his ears are a delicate shade of pink and the corners of his mouth twitch with barely restrained amusement. Abandoning their dinner, Wen Kexing closes the distance between them, kneeling on the floor next to him. Carefully, he pulls his hairpin out of where it is tightly pinned.
“In this life, this belongs to you too,” He says softly. “Will you accept it?”
Ah Xu’s charcoal dark eyes brim bright with an emotion that has Wen Kexing’s heart thundering in his chest. He holds that gaze, unflinching as he lays himself bare. Their old life already feels like a dream even though it has only been a few days since they both found themselves here. But Wen Kexing was certain that even if that life was nothing more than smoke and mirrors, he would still want Ah Xu with the same love and the same intensity that he had wanted his beloved in their last life.
“I already gave you an answer before,” Zishu says softly. “It’s still the same one now.”
With his heart filled to the brim with tenderness and affection, Wen Kexing leans in, gently pinning Ah Xu’s hair with his hairpin. Sitting back, he admires the sight of his Ah Xu wearing the sign of their promise. Under the soft glow of the candlelight, he smiles.
“Perfect.”
That night, they sleep facing each other. Bodies tucked tightly under the blanket, listening to the slow creaks and groans of the various guests in the inn coming and going, settling in for the night. In the slivers of the midnight moon that filter through the crack of the window, Wen Kexing whispers, “Ah Xu?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think I should formally change my name to Wen Kexing in this life, too?”
Ah Xu makes a soft pondering noise before shuffling closer to him. Shifting a hand to his cheek, Wen Kexing waits for him to speak. “It would be dangerous to live as Zhen Yan. Zhen Yan needs to die.”
“But he’s you,” Ah Xu tries to reason. “You have a chance to live as him now. Why…”
“Because there will still be people looking for Zhen Yan. People who won’t rest until they find him and control him. Changing my name will allow me to grow up with you. I can stay by your side as Wen Kexing.”
When he looks up, he catches Ah Xu on the tail end of a heavy exhale. “Silly Lao Wen,” Ah Xu murmurs around a soft amused scoff. “As if I would mind the name you wear. Wen Kexing, Zhen Yan… They’re all you and whatever you choose to call yourself, that is what I will call you too.”
That night, as they sleep, Wen Kexing does it with a smile, hand in hand with his Ah Xu.
The next day, they wake to the promise of ill weather on the horizon, though, as if pitying two weary wanderers seeking their way home, the rain only started in earnest when they were halfway up the mountain to the Four Seasons Manor. There’s an almost perceptible hesitant urgency in the way Ah Xu walks with him, step-in-step at an unrelenting pace.
Late summer rain becomes their accompaniment as the dark shadows of their destination loom through the veil of grey. “Are you ready?” Ah Xu asks over the drumming hum of raindrops on their umbrella.
“What’s there not to be ready about?” Wen Kexing replies, tucking himself closer against the taller boy’s side.
The dissonance of seeing the Four Seasons Manor in their previous lifetime and crossing the threshold in this one is one that has Wen Kexing stumbling inelegantly for a beat. He can scarcely dare close his eyes for fear that if he blinks, he could miss something. As if sensing the sensory overload he was going through, Ah Xu’s quiet huff of laughter cuts through his daze and Wen Kexing quickly wraps an arm around his side.
At the entrance, they are quickly greeted by members of the sect, who do not hide their curiosity about the young boy by the First Disciple’s side. Zishu nods politely and makes an inquiry as to where his Shiniang is, but Wen Kexing is barely paying attention to him. He looks around the entry courtyard, eyes cataloguing the way the sunlight gleams against polished wood, making the pale gravel on the ground glow like freshly driven snow.
Everything about this Four Seasons Manor matches up to all the stories Ah Xu had told Chengling and himself. It truly was magnificent beyond measure.
It isn’t hard to imagine the type of life Ah Xu originally lived here as the First Disciple of Qin Huaizhang. It is also not too far from Wen Kexing’s mind to ponder the responsibilities left over for Ah Xu to carry on his shoulders when his shelter was gone. None of that matters anymore, Wen Kexing decides, not when he is now here to bear this yoke with him.
Lost in his private musings, he fails to notice the well-dressed woman coming out of the shadows, rushing right up to them. Zishu tightens his grip on Wen Kexing’s hand and instinctively, he knows.
“Shiniang,” Ah Xu greets with a bow. Wen Kexing quickly follows suit.
Their Master’s wife smiles warmly at them.
(Act Three)
Wen Kexing formally becomes Wen Kexing on a winter’s afternoon over a game of building snowmen in the courtyard with their Master and his Ah Xu.
Uncharacteristically, his hands shake in their gloves as he utters the words, “I’d like to change my name, Master.”
“Oh?” A beat of silence pulses in the snow muffled sounds of the Manor preparing to batten down the hatches for what could be a cold night ahead. Master continues to roll and pat at the body of his snowman, smiling gently.
Ah Xu is absolutely no help when he tries to catch his eyes because he resolutely turns his back to him and busies himself with his own creation.
Just as Wen Kexing is about to explain himself further, a spiel ready on the tip of his tongue to be utilised for maximum effect, Master gently lays a hand on his head, patting softly. “Have you got a name picked out? Or do you want me to help you with it?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
Master tilts his head, going back to his snowman. “Zhen Yan, you’re a brilliant child. Your parents raised you well to be perceptive of what is happening around you. You’re no fool. I’m sure you have already factored in the possibility that whoever had levelled the village your parents were in would still be on the lookout for you.”
“I…”
“You’re a filial child,” Master continues, cutting through whatever excuses he could have to say. “You would not have said this if you didn’t have the reasons for it. And that, my dear boy, would be the strongest reason for it.”
Wen Kexing ducks his head, hiding half his face behind the folds of his scarf. “Aren’t you going to tell me ‘No’?”
“And why would I do that?” Master laughs. Ah Xu comes over with a misshapen head for their Master’s snowman. “You’ve already made up your mind. So what name did you choose?”
“Wen. Wen Kexing.”
When he meets Ah Xu’s eyes, he can’t contain the happiness and relief in his chest from suffusing the curve of his lips.
The Four Seasons Manor sect was always a private sect, so there had been no need to announce to the world at large that the Second Disciple of Qin Huaizhuang had undergone a name change. It was enough that the members themselves knew.
That first Lunar New Year Wen Kexing spent in the warmth and safety of the Manor was when their Master’s wife took ill and seemingly could not stomach any of her favourite dishes. It was quickly obvious to everyone that there would soon be a new addition to their Manor.
The years pass just like that.
Without even realising it, in a blink of an eye, Wen Kexing finds himself the same age he had been that year when he first found Ah Xiang. More and more, he dreams of her amongst the children that the old Ghost Valley Chief had taken for his dark experiments and did not survive. His mind churns with half-faded memories of her; of her at six and then at sixteen, of her hand in his as he teaches her how to wield a blade, of her pressed tightly against him for warmth and comfort on the coldest nights.
That Wen Kexing who existed just for revenge and death is no longer there. So many things have changed. Would her fate still stay the same?
The question haunts him. It eats away at him until Ah Xu corners him, shoving a peacefully sleeping Jiuxiao at him. The toddler blinks up bleary-eyed and sleep-hazed for a moment before settling back into the embrace of his Second Sect Brother. “You’ve been fretting, Lao Wen. Don’t fret. You always get us in trouble when you fret.”
“It was just the one time,” Lao Wen mulishly tries to argue even as he is helplessly smiling along at that familiar name being uttered between them. “How did I know that the embroidery that lady was doing was for her dowry chest? I just thought they would look good on you!”
“Shh!” Ah Xu jabs his finger at Jiuxiao. “If you wake him, you’re putting him down for nap time for the next month!”
“What a cruel and unusual punishment,” Lao Wen chuckles, but readjusts his hold of their younger Sect Brother. Looking up and around them, he darts in for a quick press of his lips to Ah Xu’s cheek. He tilts his head and nuzzles his nose to the corner of Ah Xu’s jaw and sighs. “I missed you.”
“Well, one of us had to wake in time to slip out of the room and seeing that it was your room, it obviously had to be me,” Ah Xu says archly, though any thread of exasperation is thickly coiled with fondness. With an easy touch, he tucks Lao Wen’s hair over his shoulder. “And you’re avoiding the question. You’ve been distracted and distant. Don’t lie, I can tell. Why and what are you fretting about?”
Lao Wen hugs Jiuxiao closer to his chest.
“I was thinking about Ah Xiang,” He admits quietly. “This would be the year she…was brought to the Ghost Valley. The Old Chief had this belief that he could create the ultimate soldier. All he needed was the right vessel for his experiments. One that was obedient, empty, open for the correct sort of input.” He swallows tightly. “I was obviously a failure in that regard.”
“You mean…”
Lao Wen rocks the sleeping child in his arms, not offering any verbal response for a long moment that stretches into an age between them. “He always liked a blank canvas. The younger the better. As long as they survived, he didn’t care.”
Even in this life, he can still hear how Ah Xiang had cried as she survived one concoction after another, can still feel the weight of her against his chest as he held her for the first time; gathering this tiny being to him with blood-caked hands, already in love with the watery brown eyes that blink up at him with so much wide-eyed wonder. He dwells on it. Sees the way Jiuxiao’s full and bright cheeks gives way to another face he has seen almost nightly now.
“So, when do we leave?”
Lao Wen startles, quickly turning to meet the knowing tilt of Ah Xu’s head. “Oh, don’t give me that. You and I have no secrets from each other in this life, remember? Ah Xiang was important to you, is important to you. Of course, you’d want to look out for her here too.” Ah Xu laughs, reaching over to gather their sleeping martial brother into his arms, standing up. “You go check the maps and plot out our travels. I’ll give a reason to our Master.”
“You’d lie for me? To the man, you consider a Father?”
“I’ve done worse for you and this is what you find incredulous,” Ah Xu says easily, reaching up to cup his cheek, smiling softly before letting go to head towards their Master’s study.
After handing Jiuxiao back to his mother, Lao Wen quickly hurries to the records room to look for the latest maps procured by their sect. The only time he had even thought about this matter in his old life had been the singular time Ah Xiang had come to him asking if he could help her look into her origins. Aunt Luo had little to offer in terms of knowledge and the few leads they had had the possibility of leading into something more. But there had been no way of knowing for sure and Ah Xiang had decided very soon after that she was content to never know. To his shame, Lao Wen had been relieved with the quick resolution and had not pressed further beyond that point.
Drawing on every information he could remember, he narrowed down the few villages that had the most promising prospects. From that, he utilised the Four Seasons Manor’s not inconsiderable avenues of information to calculate the one with the highest likelihood of being the correct village. By the time he was done, he exhales, breathing a little easier at the tine red dot he drew on the name of the village three days ride from them.
When Ah Xu finds him a little before dusk, he offers nothing else beyond a simple, “Told him we are going out to see the sights for a month” when Lao Wen asks him how he obtained such easy permission to leave the Manor. Perhaps, if he were a little less distracted by the prospect of seeing his Ah Xiang again, he would have noticed the way Ah Xu’s flushes rather unattractively at the clanking of bottles stuffed into his satchel, or the way their Master gives them an encouraging look when he bids them farewell at the door.
But perhaps Ah Xu would have been the one most relieved had Lao Wen been the type to overlook such matters because as they ride half a day out from the Manor, Lao Wen turns to his Ah Xu, nudging his mare close to Ah Xu’s so that they’re knocking elbows every other step. As it were, Lao Wen pulls himself out of his thoughts long enough to level the love of his life with a wink and a waggle of his eyebrows when he looks over. Teasing him is enough to have his Ah Xu scoffing gently, turning away with a face going a ruddy scarlet that only comes over him when he is truly and well embarrassed. The clanking of the bottles in his satchel reveals the reason he had given to their Master even if none of the words was ever uttered between them.
Lao Wen calculates three days of riding for the journey to where he suspects Ah Xiang’s family resides. He barely casts a glance at the rolling greenery and the spectacular views that inspired the brush strokes of painters and poets. He barely engages with Ah Xu when he tries to pull him into a conversation beyond a few monosyllabic answers. So distracted is he, that when they draw up to the village he had pinpointed, all he feels is a sudden crippling trepidation.
“Is something wrong? We’re here aren’t we?”
“What if you’re right?”
“Huh?”
Lao Wen fidgets in his saddle, squinting against the sunlight. “What if you’re right?” He repeats, flicking out his sleeves in lieu of looking over to him. “About all of this. And that by us being reborn here, we have changed this place so irreparably that she would be fine. That she would be alright to grow up here, safe and sound, and--”
“Lao Wen,” Ah Xu says gently, nudging his horse closer. “Even if we find her safe and sound, fat-cheeked, well-loved, pampered and adored, I know you will be lying if you say that you don’t want to see her.”
Dark eyes meet his gaze with equal measure patience and amusement when he turns to him. He has no answer for that and has nothing still when they hitch their horses to the post just outside of the village. Should he see her? Could he? Does he even have the right to say he wants to see her? The question lingers in his mind as Ah Xu hangs back a step - a practised move from his days as an assassin - carefully watching the villagers who peer their way as they move closer to the centre of the settlement. There is wariness in their eyes and a sort of untrusting glint that comes to people who have had strangers betray their hospitality and kindness.
Lao Wen barely has time to exchange a look with Ah Xu before they hear a loud scream breaking through the sunlight. They break out in a run, hurtling instinctively towards the source of the danger. Catching a corner, they twist their bodies just as the fleeing shapes of two Ghost Valley soldiers speed ahead past them.
Ah Xu’s hand on his shoulder is the one thing that pulls him back before he can stumble unwittingly forward. Lao Wen jerks, realising quickly that if he had taken one step too far forward, it would have been right into the line of sight of the masked men slowly slithering out of the shadows of the trees. “Shit.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Ah Xu murmurs, unsheathing his sword.
It isn’t the Bai Yi blade, that one is still their Master’s and will remain so until the man leaves this mortal coil. But this blade is one that still serves its purpose and it is a sturdy one that delivers swift and decisive victories for Ah Xu. Lao Wen eyes the eaves of the roof as the men stealthily make their way to surrounding the village. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle in a knee-jerk response to the warped faces etched onto the masks and in anticipation of the Old Valley Master that he knows could be here.
A curious heady cocktail of terror and anticipation grips him by the throat. What he wouldn’t give to rip that man to pieces, what he wouldn’t give to tear him limb from limb for all the horrors he put him through. For all the retribution he had gained in his old life when he ascended to the position of Leader of the Ghost Valley, for all that this life is so different from the one that came before, Lao Wen cannot deny that there still exists a part of him that will want revenge for a life that never was.
He casts his gaze further, looking out and watching where their enemies are heading. There are enough of them to make it confusing but Lao Wen knows what they are looking for and who they have been tasked to bring back. There was only one child in this whole village who would fit that criterion, after all.
“...Lao Wen?”
He is proven right soon enough when they catch up to the soldiers and see them stalking into the courtyard of a modest dwelling. Lao Wen’s immediate reaction is to follow without a shred of hesitation, sword moving before his mind can even finish processing it, slicing through the air and drawing life and blood as he buries unyielding steel through flesh and sinew.
The bodies that crumple to the dirt and hay strewn floor only keep his attention for the moment it takes for him to confirm that they are no longer breathing. He straightens his stance, flicking out his sword. Turning to the occupants of the house, he feels the world narrows to the singular sight of Ah Xiang’s face looking back at him, pale and pinched with trepidation and fear.
No. No, it can’t be. Reason wins out narrowly and solidifies into an anchoring weight in his consciousness at the sight of the wriggling bundle that the woman is holding tightly against her breast and the man who has his arms protectively around them. Ah Xiang. His Ah Xiang.
Ah Xu’s worry is evident in the deep furrow between his brows. Lao Wen shakes his head, tongue lying thick in his mouth. It takes all of him to muster the will to speak. “We leave none of them alive. None of them here is allowed to go back to the Ghost Valley alive,” He says, the ill-concealed terror thrumming in his voice, turning slightly to face Ah Xu. “We will send every single one of them back in a box.”
Ah Xu doesn’t speak, merely looking him over before reaching up to cradle him by the cheek. The one point of contact seeps out some of the chills in his bones and he releases the caught breath in his lungs. “Ah Xu…”
“All of them in boxes, yes?” Ah Xu says, knocking his fist to the corner of his cheek. “Most kills wins?”
Lao Wen doesn’t hesitate to lean in to press their lips together in a deep kiss. “You’re on.”
The battle that ensues has them utilising every move they have studied and perfected under the tutelage of their Master, and every skill that they refined in another life. Each step and parry, every graceful deliverance of violence and death is done with an ease that flows through them with terrifying glee.
Their bodies complement each other as they decimate through the - Lao Wen is beginning to realise - meagre Ghost Valley forces that were sent to this village. With each body he cuts down, the knowledge that the Old Valley Master is not here sends a strange shiver of disappointment through him.
The realisation leaves a cold and sour taste in his mouth.
“Thank you,” Ah Xiang’s mother gasps, profusely repeating the word when they return to her, cradling her baby close to her breast.
For all his silver-tongued words, for all the flowery prose he can pull out of thin air, they all fail Lao Wen at the sight of Ah Xiang’s mother kissing her daughter in gratefulness and relief. His heart aches at the way her face is streaked with dirt and sweat, yet so obviously a mirror image of her daughter in adulthood. Lao Wen cannot look away when she watches her sleeping child with such obvious love. “Thank you, sir, thank you! I don’t know how we will ever repay you for this…”
Lao Wen has a polite refusal on his lips, one that he knows would come out tinged with longing and sorrow. He would tell them that it was alright, that they were just passing travellers who happened to be around to help. They would leave at first light and that would be the end of it. Except.
Ah Xu takes a bold step forward, jerking a thumb at Lao Wen. “Maybe you can let this guy be your daughter’s godfather?”
“Ah Xu!”
But instead of any immediate polite rejection or expression of reluctance on their faces, Ah Xiang’s parents are actually contemplating the idea. “If this kind sir wouldn’t look down on us for being poor farmers, we would be more than amenable to this.”
In a place like this village, it would be customary to divine an auspicious day for such a ceremony as the recognition of a godfather and a goddaughter. But perhaps sensing the hurry, and wanting to ensure that they do not offend the two young men who had saved them, Ah Xiang’s family opts for the closest day and hour they could reasonably conduct the ceremony. Lao Wen expresses as much of his thanks for their accommodation as he can and he is sure that Ah Xu is equally grateful as well.
Ah Xiang sleeps through the whole thing.
When the toasts have all been rung and the cheer and merriment all faded into drunken laughter and soft murmurs, Lao Wen barely manages to hold himself together as he carries her sleeping form against his chest. An exact mimic of how he would carry her and rock her to sleep in those early days when he first learnt how to care for a child that young. His heart swells at the soft coos that fill the small space between them.
He hands her back to her mother shortly afterwards, watching her walk back into the humble dwelling that was their home with Ah Xiang in her arms.
“She will grow up loved, for sure,” Ah Xu says, reaching over to slide their hands together. “All because of you.”
(Act 4)
The month after their Master’s death is difficult. With each passing day, Ah Xu handles the troubles that darken their door with grace and gravitas that befits the Leader of the Four Seasons Manor. But even with all the potential that Ah Xu shows as a burgeoning leader, there are still those who chose the option to leave. Of course, Lao Wen cannot blame them. Even with their combined experiences and foreknowledge of the things to come, they cannot fault those who seek security and better pastures.
But in that difficult first month, they too find their small measures of joy through the gloom. Shiniang catches Lao Wen sneaking out of Ah Xu’s rooms just before the first crack of dawn and gently busses his chin, telling them that it was unseemly for a grown man to be sneaking out of rooms that is not his own. Without a second word, by the end of the day, Lao Wen’s things find a home next to Ah Xu’s in the rooms that are now theirs. Everything is done with no fuss and no grand declarations. Just a quiet acceptance from those who chose to stay that they will support them in both words and actions.
From that point on, the relief of not needing to hide their love is enough to lift a small part of their burdens. It also helps to ease some of the heaviness in the days following the sight of empty rooms and empty spaces at the dining hall.
The calm is barely given any time to settle in the Manor before the golden-threaded missive from the royal court arrives, hand-delivered by a richly dressed eunuch, to invite Ah Xu and a small retinue to meet the summons of Helian Yi. Despite their best intentions in avoiding the world outside the four walls of the sect, it still forces their hand.
“Don’t go,” Lao Wen whispers into the kiss he presses to the jut of Ah Xu’s shoulder when they discuss the matter in the quiet privacy of their rooms. “We don’t need to go.”
“You know that’s not true,” Ah Xu laughs, turning in his arms to fold himself against Lao Wen. “He’ll just keep asking if we say nothing. Worse still, he might actually make the trip himself and that would be something we need to avoid in its entirety.”
“Oh, heavens forbid,” Lao Wen snorts, the sound hard and derisive. A comfortable silence wraps itself between them before Lao Wen speaks again. “Do you think we can walk right up to his face and say in no uncertain terms, no please go away and leave me alone?”
This cajoles a bark of genuine laughter out of Ah Xu. “I would love nothing more than to be a fly on the wall when someone tells him.”
Lao Wen tightens his arms around him and for the rest of the night, nothing else is spoken.
They speak their intent to their Shiniang after the 100th day memorial for their Master. Seating her down at the head of the table, they go through the rituals of tea making and wait for her to take her first sip. The moment the words leave their mouths, Shiniang merely gives them a deeply unimpressed look as she drinks her tea with an elegant twist of her wrist.
Lao Wen resists the urge to fidget in his seat, right as she delicately sets her cup on the table. “Zishu, you’re already a man and the leader of our sect. Ah Xing, as the Second Disciple of the Four Seasons Manor, you’re meant to support him and help him with his duties. What do you need my approval for?”
“Shiniang…”
“Don’t play the fool, Ah Xu, it doesn’t suit you,” She says serenely. “I’m thankful and grateful you value my opinion, but you are well within your rights to make the decisions for our sect. You don’t have to ask for my permission in this.”
Jiuxiao hears about their leaving soon enough. As if by some clockwork, they find him at their door just as they are about to fall asleep. “Take me with you,” He says, barging right into their reception hall. Grabbing Ah Xu by the hands, he earnestly gazes at them in turn. “Please, let me go with you!”
Ah Xu stiffens beside him and Lao Wen takes over the situation, gently prying his hold off Ah Xu’s hands. “It’s late and this is something we can talk about--”
“No! You guys always do this and then leave me out of this!” Jiuxiao shakes his head and immediately dives back in to grip their sleeves. “Please! Take me with you!”
Lao Wen feels Ah Xu take a staggering half step back. Jiuxiao does not notice, but Lao Wen knows the exact shade of his beloved’s thoughts at that moment. The pain and trauma of losing Jiuxiao in their original lifetime. With a swift curl of his fingers around Jiuxiao’s wrist, he deftly manoeuvres him out of their room.
“Second Martial Brother!”
“Tsk! Jiuxiao, calm down and hush!” Lao Wen takes their youngest outside. Looking back briefly to check that Ah Xu is still standing stock still in their room, he tugs him along until they are far enough.
“We’ll bring you back the best sweets and treats, alright?” Lao Wen says, threading his words with enough begging that Jiuxiao stops struggling and lets himself be brought along to a small courtyard. “And we won’t be away long. Two seasons at most!”
Jiuxiao turns his watery brown eyes on him. “That’s not a comfort, Second Martial Brother! You guys always leave me out of things, even from when I was a kid, you two always keep me at arm’s length!”
“Jiuxiao, there are many things we can’t say. Not because we don’t want to, but because we cannot,” Lao Wen tries to say around a sigh. “Please trust us.”
Their youngest brother shakes his hold off and turns away. “Second Martial Brother, please tell me. Why can’t I come with you?”
For a brief moment, Lao Wen considers lying. It would be easy. In this life, he has had the privilege of watching Jiuxiao grow up alongside Ah Xu and commands the same measure of trust and love from their youngest brother. It would be nothing to use a clever word or a timely placed phrase to convince him that staying at the Manor is the right thing to do. But just as he has the pleasure of knowing Jiuxiao, the proximity of his own affections for him has inconveniently placed Jiuxiao as someone he has no intention nor desire to manipulate or lie to.
“Jiuxiao, your First Martial Brother and I have to do something at the capital that we… It will be dangerous,” Lao Wen begins. Taking him by the shoulders, he carefully moves him to face him. “We need you here. We need you to be here at home with Shiniang, with all the brothers, right here. And when we come home, we want your face to be the first one we see.”
Cupping Jiuxiao by the cheeks, he feels his heart ache a little for Ah Xu; for the day he lost this precious person, for the night he cried as he told him of his regrets. If he could spare them all the pain of regret, guilt and loss, he will.
“Jiuxiao, please stay here with Shiniang.”
Reluctance sits rigid in the unhappy curve of Jiuxiao’s lips but Lao Wen cannot find a second of wavering in him. Especially not when holding out has their Youngest Martial Brother nodding in sulky and reluctant agreement.
The charm they find in the noise and sounds of the capital reminds him of a sun-soaked day that feels like a dream sometimes. In the hectic hustle and bustle, the city loses none of its lustre. Not even when they are summoned to the residence of an old friend of Zishu’s.
There, it doesn’t take him long to arrive at the conclusion that there was something not quite right about the man who had been introduced to him as Jing Beiyuan, the Prince of Nanning.
Oh, Lao Wen recognises the man easily. He’s stunning beyond measure and that is one face he can’t ever forget even if he wanted to. But the man that stands before him is a different creature than the man he had met in that different life.
Especially with that thread of equal parts curiosity and amusement in his eyes that is belied by a careful veneer of dreamy nonchalance. The quality is, of course, amplified by the way the man seems to carry himself with an unusual stillness that, to Lao Wen, makes it seem like he is more than accustomed to staying stationary, looming like a statue cut from the finest pale jade. It is, to say the least, unnerving.
But Ah Xu could not avoid this part of his personal history for long and as even though they have avoided the decline of their sect, Helian Yi and all he stood for as part of the events that had led Ah Xu to him was a force that could not be denied. And so, after handing over sect matters to a group of experienced senior members, they travelled to Helian Yi’s court, prepared with all the necessary arguments to avoid participating in its bloodshed this time around.
Which has now led them both to the Nanning estate where they are taking tea with Jing Beiyuan and his neighbour, Wu Xi, the Shamanet of Nanjiang. In his memories of the two, Lao Wen remembers older versions of the two where the younger was the unsmiling sort who suffered no fools but the one who had called himself Lord Seventh in their lifetime.
“Something seems to amuse you, Young Master Wen,” Jing Beiyuan says with a genial grin, filling their cups with wine. “Perhaps I could take a guess as to what it may be?”
“I doubt it is any hardship to guess,” Lao Wen replies, gaze skittering over the sun-dappled garden they’d taken to drinking in, looking over to where his Ah Xu is exchanging blows with Wu Xi. They’re both evenly matched and look for all to see like they’re having fun. Lao Wen contemplates joining them for a bout or two.
The Prince of Nanning does not answer immediately, taking a leisurely sip of his wine as he regards Lao Wen in a way that leaves him with a quick sense of being observed by someone who can see right into his soul. It is unnerving, to say the least, but Lao Wen does not flinch and gives him a smile before taking a deep drink from his cup.
“There are still things that can still surprise us, Young Master Wen,” Jing Beiyuan says, uttering each syllable as if he were some wizened sage imparting a secret of the universe. “One example could be how you and I are alike.”
“Alike?”
“Yes,” Jing Beiyuan laughs, the sound like gentle wind chimes in a summer breeze. “You and I have seen more than one life.”
The words wash over Lao Wen like an ice bath. Breathless, he immediately seeks out his Ah Xu where he is still parrying and deflecting Wu Xi’s moves. “If I’m not seeing it wrong, it seems that my husband has also realised this too.” Smacking his lips after a sip of his wine, Jing Beiyuan huffs. “And Zishu has as well.”
“How--”
“Did you think I wasn’t going to notice something different about Zishu? I’ve known him for far longer than you can fathom.”
“That--”
Jing Beiyuan laughs, not unkindly. “You have nothing to worry about on that front, Master Wen.” He waves his hand lazily, flicking off a fallen petal on his sleeve. “I think you can see where my affections lie most clearly, hm?”
Lao Wen ponders on that statement. Turns and twists the words before putting them away in a box in his mind to examine later. A rush of blows has them looking over at where Ah Xu and Da Wu are happily leaping into a tree, all the while dodging and delivering punches and kicks.
“So, what now?” Lao Wen says after their men have jumped into an adjoining courtyard. “Why have you summoned us here today?”
“Oh, Master Wen, it’s the most important matter at hand!” Jing Beiyuan says with an easy and lovely smile. The cadence of his voice loops and coils in the air between them as he declares, “We’re going to steal the throne for an Emperor.”
(Act 5)
“Well, isn’t this a familiar sight?”
Lao Wen hides his smile in a deep, savouring sip of his wine, eyes casting over the sun-soaked flagstones and the cacophony of life below their balcony. For a moment, the scene around them looks like a painting come to life. A sort of dreamscape he thought he had forgotten once he awoke.
As if knowing the well-trodden paths his mind takes, his Ah Xu clucks his tongue and pulls at his sleeve.
“Lao Wen, I’d have thought you were much more aware of your surroundings by now,” He reprimands, but the effect is ruined by the effortless fondness that etches itself to the corners of his eyes.
They really aren’t the same men they were when they first met.
The thought settles something in his heart. No, they aren’t. They have walked too different lives by now for any part of that original lifetime to ever take true root in them. Their regrets are different, their wants and needs are different now. What they keep as truths and what they know as lies are all different things. He is a Wen Kexing who never once endured the cruelties of the Ghost Valley and here is a Zhou Zishu who never led 81 members of his sect to ruin. Just as the seasons have changed since that first moment they both found themselves here and the celestial bodies in the heavens above move in their inexplicable orbits, the years here have reshaped them.
If anything, this Zhou Zishu is set to be one of the most illustrious Sect Leaders the Four Season Manor has ever had. Not only did he revive the Sect’s prestige, but he also managed to save and retrieve the Master of the Longyuan Cabinet who now lives with them at the Manor as a personal guest. Lao Wen knows that the old man would remain forever heartbroken over the tragedy of his son but with them, he is slowly healing and tinkering again.
A glint of the sunlight catching on the pale hairpin flashes as Ah Xu leans in to place bite-sized pieces of tofu and beans on Lao Wen’s plate. Giving in to the urge, he reaches up to brush away the stray lock of hair that tumbles down his shoulder.
They are different men but yet the same. In some paradoxical way, who they are now is just a mere fulfilment of what they could have been had the fates in their original lifetime been a little kinder. Now, they are but the culmination of a reality blessed with foreknowledge and tempered by the companionship of another soul that truly speaks and breathes with their own.
“I can feel your mind whirling away in there,” Ah Xu laughs, knocking their knees together under the table. “Come on. Share them with me. Let your Shixiong bear the weight of your incredible genius with you.”
“I was just thinking about how we’re different and yet the same,” Lao Wen eventually offers. Upon receiving a warm and encouraging look, he sets his cup down and jerks his chin at a beggar who has now taken up residence at the foot of the bridge, enjoying the sunshine with a carefree grin on his dirty, weather-beaten face.
“In another life, you were there where he is now and I was here. The company is different,” He smiles teasingly, sliding their hands together. “But I find that this is very much preferred.”
Ah Xu doesn’t have to reply to that shameless fishing for a compliment because Lao Wen catches the twitching of his lips that he barely manages to hide. “In another life, I was a broken man paying for the sins of my past. In this life, I have you. I think that’s a fair trade.”
“I really don’t know whether to take that as a compliment.”
“Take it however you will,” Ah Xu laughs, taking a drink of his wine. “You know my meaning well enough.”
They sit in companionable silence, watching the sunlight dance on the shifting waterways, drinking their wine. Lao Wen shifts closer until they are both pressed shoulder to shoulder. Ah Xu makes a token of protest about the propriety whilst in public but neither of them strays too far from the other. Lao Wen knows that his Ah Xu doesn’t and has never minded the public displays of affections he lavishes on him. If anything, he knows that his beloved is more than happy to be the object of his focus and attention.
Good wine, sunshine, and the prospect of fate. Lao Wen smiles into the rim of his cup.
They are about to order a fresh jug of wine when they see him. Their Chengling walks up the bridge, looking every inch the Young Master of a prominent sect who is set to live the life of ease and leisure. He talks to the beggar, offering him coins which the beggar accepts, thanking him profusely. The scene is heart-achingly familiar and if Lao Wen closes his eyes now, he can see them as they were a lifetime ago.
Lao Wen turns to his Ah Xu, sliding their hands together when he spies the absolute anticipation and heartache on his beloved’s face. Squeezing their palms together tightly, he says, “We’ll see him again soon. I promise you.”
Ah Xu inhales deeply. “But that would mean allowing him to endure all that pain…”
“Some things are inevitable,” Lao Wen murmurs, lifting their joined hands to his chest. “You know that as well as I do.”
Helplessness flickers in the darks of Ah Xu’s eyes before it evens out into resignation. “I suppose I should be thankful that your plan to bring down Zhao Jing was already in place five years ago. I should hope that we don’t have to endure all that nonsense with the Heroes Gathering.”
“If Sect Leader Gao can be relied on, I think I’ll manage to spare us a visit from that Old Toad Monster.” Lao Wen laughs softly, pouring wine into their cups. “We definitely do not need him butting into this.”
“One thing is for sure,” Lao Wen remarks. “The world will not be the same when we’re done with it.”
“I should hope it won’t be.” Ah Xu shakes his head, eyes still watching the retreating figure of their Chengling in the midst of a crowd. “I’ve got a feeling it is going to be a better one than the one we left.”
Ah Xu pulls away with a sigh, sitting back to take his own cup. Lao Wen carefully adjusts the hem of his robe for him as he goes, mindful of the way the folds of his own fall apart. Taking his own cup, he lifts it, toasting Ah Xu with a small quirk of his eyebrows. A giddy feeling bubbles in his chest at the soft smile that catches in the light of the day.
“To the world.”
The corners of Ah Xu’s lips twitch, gaze bearing nothing but deep and boundless adoration. And when he gently touches their cups together, he leans in, a smug curl now shaping his mouth around the echoing words, “To the world.”