Archive of Our Own ^beta

Xie Jie Liu Bo had felt the tears on his skin - not his own though. He had been sure he would not make it through his diatribe without falling to pieces entirely. His voice had become shaky, words too painful to hear spoken aloud. But he had done it. He had finally said his piece. And Zhao Jing had had no choice but to listen. And truly listen, as his vegetative state would not permit his usual calculated riposte. Xie’er could feel tears welling up in his eyes, lips trembling, and so he consoled himself by sitting on the arm of the chair occupied by his yifu. Had he been younger and lighter, he might have considered sitting right on his lap.

Wrapping an arm tenderly around the man who meant the world to him, Xie'er allowed himself a moment to imagine how things might have been had Zhao Jing placed his trust in him. Had he kept him by his side, not hidden away like some forbidden treasure. He imagined his yifu returning his embrace, and petting his hair.

The subtle press of his yifu's face against his neck and the tear that fell to his skin, tickling as it travelled downward, brought Xie'er back to reality. The only response he had imagined his yifu humoring him with was that of a resentful gaze. He had avoided eye contact for this reason. Xie'er was not happy about keeping Zhao Jing in this state, but it was a necessary evil. It felt like betrayal. He knew he had sealed his own tragic fate when he pressed the poison to his yifu's lips. But he was not willing to give him up. He knew his yifu would hate him for it. But he certainly had not expected him to shed tears.

Xie'er slowly peeled himself away from the man to look at him properly for the first time since he had finished speaking. What he saw steeped itself into his memory - Zhao Jing's bleary eyes, the crease of his furrowed brows, the tremble of his lips, and the utter misery plastered on his features.

____

Escaping his snowy confines had been the most physically exhausting thing Xie Wang had ever experienced. A significant part of that exhaustion had been attributed to his panicked state, hysterical to help his yifu who no doubt was either dead or terrified. Luckily, Xie’er had not been buried deeply, and was able to discern up from down by the brightness of his surroundings. Unable to move much, he had clawed his way to daylight. After pulling himself free, and despite his heavy breathing, he wasted no time before desperately searching for his yifu, shoveling snow with his freezing hands and shouting so loud his voice was but a rasp. The wreckage from the carriage had been completely covered, but he had done well to hold on for as long as possible before the snow tore them apart. He decided Zhao Jing could not be too far from where he emerged.

Something dark in colour caught his eye, and he raced over to find a corner of the wooden frame of the carriage jutting out from the whiteness. Instantly, he fell to his knees and dug. Had he been in a less frenzied state, he might have noticed his incessant mutterings of 'yifu' as he scratched his way deeper. Eventually, finding the door had been torn off, he drove his arm into the hardening snow until his practically unfeeling fingertips touched something. Grasping with what little grip the cold permitted him, he pulled, and shovelled and pulled, seeing Zhao Jing's clothed arm emerge.

"YIFU!" Xie'ers shout surely cut through the snow and reached his given father's ears.

Frantically clawing and pulling, Xie'er managed to mostly free Zhao Jing from his snowy confines. His eyes were shut and Xie'er feared the worst. Leveraging all of his weight, he gave one final pull, dragging his yifu's lifeless body out from the wreckage.

Xie'er had no time to think. His breathing was heavy and his limbs were numb. The adrenaline had taken a massive toll on his body, but he could not yet rest. Grasping his yifu's hand, he called to him. Leaning his cheek close to Zhao Jing's lips, he tried to feel for his breath, but the numbness of his skin didn't allow him to feel much of anything. So he resorted to violently shaking him and shouting his name. When he received nothing in turn, a moment of quiet and exhaustive despair set in, and Xie'er all but collapsed onto his yifu, holding on to him in a fraught embrace. He cried into his chest before he calmed his movements long enough to perceive the faintest heartbeat. His yifu was alive.

Relief washed over him, and he nearly passed out from the feeling. Catching his breath and focusing on his internal breathing, he managed to calm himself. Then he gathered Zhao Jing into his arms and held him tightly against his body - a futile attempt to warm his given father while simultaneously comforting himself. Looking up and taking in his surroundings for the first time since he emerged, he saw only a snowy landscape stretching on forever.

____

He had carried Zhao Jing's unconscious body for hours, a slow and heavy trudge through knee-deep snow. It was more of a crawl than anything else. He was heading in the correct direction based on the orientation of the mountain's peak, but there was no sign of any of his scorpions. When his body finally gave up, he laid with his yifu pressed close and considered how this was very likely to be how they died. Frozen corpses at the foot of the armory; a pathetic testament to their failed endeavour. Their failure to each other.

Xie'er closed his eyes and felt the cold creep into his bones. He felt oddly at peace. At least he could die alongside his yifu. At least they had each other. He smiled a bittersweet smile and rested.

____

It had been Du Pusa and several Du Xie that had managed to locate them in the snow and bring them back to Sanbai manor. Zhao Jing had slept for several days, while Xie’er had been painfully awake. Against his better judgement and the occasional concerned nagging from Du Pusa, Xie’er spent most of his days pacing between his room and Zhao Jing’s. He would wake, flounder his way out of bed, dress, and make his way to his yifu’s chambers where he would spend nearly the entirety of the day fretting over his sleeping form before returning to his room in the evening. Xie’ers body needed rest too, what with a couple of broken ribs and frost-bitten hands and feet. In some respects, he was glad his yifu was not awake to see him in such an unkempt state.

Xie’er had been by his yifu’s bedside the day he awoke. He looked gaunt, a lack of any proper sustenance over the past few days had left him in a sorrier state than before. Unpleasant-looking bruises covered his entire body, as Xie’er had discovered while changing his robes. The carriage he had occupied was responsible for both preserving his life, and battering his lithe form.

Xie’er watched as Zhao Jing slowly roused and his expression changed from peacefulness to confusion, before his mind began registering the pain. A grimace and a slow inhale as he processed the state of his body. Once Xie’er could see he was conscious enough, he rose from the cushion he had been occupying, knelt by the bed, and gingerly placed a hand on Zhao Jing’s arm. His yifu’s eyes met his, wide with a mix of alarm and disbelief. He parted his chapped lips and strained to make a sound, as though to utter Xie’ers name. But only a strangled whimper emerged.

“Do not worry, yifu. Xie’er is here”.

____

Xie'er sits at Zhao Jing's feet, the full weight of his head and crossed arms on his lap. Under no other circumstances would he ever indulge in such an act, but Zhao Jing is torpid and Xie'er is distraught. He simply doesn't care at present to bother with good manners.

The relief of surviving the avalanche alongside his yifu has faded over the past weeks, replaced by a quiet solemness. Xie'er has not lost sight of his goal of eclipsing Prince Jin, but his resolve has waned. He knows he is capable, but recent events have left him questioning his own motives. Zhao Jing had refused to fully acknowledge his potential, turning a blind eye to his yizi in favour of his own meticulous approach. Xie'er wanted to force him to see; he wanted to watch his yifu witness his own ascension, knowing he could have achieved so much more had he placed a small amount of trust in him - relinquished only a small portion of control to him.

But it all seems trivial now. As he shifts his position on his yifu's lap, he lets a sigh push past his lips.

"I didn't want to make you this way, yifu… I had no other choice."

There is no subtle shift in posture or twitch of his limbs to indicate Zhao Jing is listening. His eyes are open, staring at the empty chair a few paces in front of him.

"They would have killed you. You know that don't you?" Xie'er lifts his head to look at his yifu's face.

"Perhaps you might have preferred death to being left in my care." He replaces his head back on Zhao Jing's lap. He remains there for a silent minute.

"Are you afraid of me, yifu?" Xie'er doesn't look up to see whether he has elicited a response, but he begins to pull himself to his feet, using Zhao Jing's lame body as leverage, pushing up off his lap. He feels the give of flesh on his yifu's thighs through the layers of robes, the intimacy of the closeness making Xie'er momentarily worry if he has overstepped his bounds. He lets out an audible chuckle when he realizes the absurdity of the thought. Even now, Zhao Jing has a lingering power over him he's not sure will ever subside.

Standing straight, Xie'er continues, "Are you afraid I might kill you? Poison you? Cut your throat as you sleep?"

To Xie'ers surprise, Zhao Jing looks right at him. His eyes communicate something Xie'er isn't sure he understands. It isn't fear. It isn't anger or contempt. He looks almost sad, pitying.

"Yifu, are you asking me to kill you?"

Zhao Jing slowly closes his eyes, before drawing away and refocusing once again on nothing in particular. Xie'er knows this display. His yifu would do this whenever he wanted to convey his frustration with him. He would sigh and look away, and Xie'er would know that a lecture was coming. But now Zhao Jing cannot speak.

'So you do not want me to put an end to you', the thought settling the anxiety he hadn’t noticed welling up.

Xie'er examines his given father. His eyes trace a slow line, beginning at his meticulously kept hair, down to his neck where he pauses for a moment, wondering how warm the skin there might be, wondering what it would be like to bury his face in there and breathe in his scent. He continues down past his stooped, lazy shoulders, down his torso, to the lap he had just been casually resting against. And then down to his feet, haphazardly arranged on the wooden floor. He brings his eyes back up to Zhao Jing's face, still passively staring into the distance. He considers returning to his lap, this time in a less dignified fashion, straddling his yifu's sitting form, just to see something of Zhao Jing's past self bubble to the surface - just to light a fire of indignation in his eyes. But he doesn't.

In this state, his yifu is no longer that - he may be his given father in title, but the man in front of him is a shell of his former self. And despite the former version of Zhao Jing being the source of all his anguish, it was that confident and ambitious man that Xie'er had grown with. The man a younger Xie'er had clung to when he was afraid. That had taught him, and played with him. Given him the opportunity to lead a successful organization. Given him his life. The man Xie'er had revered and admired.

The man Xie'er had loved with all his heart.

Now, Zhao Jing is none of those things. He seems apathetic, void of the light that used to shine in his eyes.

Stepping closer, Xie'er repositions his yifu's arm, then lowers himself onto the chair’s armrest, half sitting on the man's lap. It's a position he's grown accustomed to. Zhao Jing seems to have gotten used to it too, no longer staring at Xie'er in shock and mild horror.

Wrapping his arms around Zhao Jing's neck, Xie'er nearly indulges his earlier impulse to press his face to his neck, but instead rests his head against his shoulder.

"I miss you, yifu".

Xie'ers voice is gentler than he intended.

"I wanted to be by your side; I wanted to realize your goals with you. But you used me. You hurt me". Xie'er practically chokes out the last words, trying to keep himself composed.

"However, this…", he lifts his head from Zhao Jing's shoulder and brings his hand to his chest, patting it lightly, "...this hurts me more, yifu… keeping you like this. I needed to protect myself because I do not have the strength to endure more of your lies. But after everything, I would rather die by your words than suffer seeing you so broken".

He examines his yifu's face. His expression is a mixture of deep contemplation and distress. Xie'er has no way of knowing which of his words Zhao Jing is reacting to. Likely it's the reminder that he was made into this helpless state at his given son's hands. A shameful failure.

Xie’er continues to regard his yifu, brushing the back of his hand lightly down the side of his face, relishing the ability to touch him in this way; punctuating his verbal confessions with thoughtful caresses. Surely Zhao Jing could not mistake this for anything other than love. Xie’er hopes he understands, but decides not to think much more on it.

“Yifu, will you wait for Xie’er?” He stares at Zhao Jing for a moment, as though waiting for a response. Then Xie’ers body moves before he has time to care about the recklessness of his action, leaning down and bringing his lips to his yifu’s cheekbone in a gentle kiss. One more indulgence. His last.

Zhao Jing watches as Xie’er pulls away and stands upright. His expression stunned, but not sickened, eyes never leaving his yizi’s. Xie’er struggles to look away, but eventually does when he feels tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“Xie’er will not abandon you”.

Then he turns on his heel, and leaves. He does not look back at the pitiable man behind him. He will not endure his despondent gaze any longer.

____

It takes Xie’er three days to concoct the antidote. Without adequate means to test its efficacy, Xie’er can only hypothesize about its potency. He errs on the side of caution, adding in a smaller volume of Da Huo Xue. He will have to closely monitor Zhao Jing after the medicine is administered to ensure any adverse effects are dealt with quickly. Xie’er had left Zhao Jing in the hands of his servants and godsons for the past few days. Working on the antidote at Huzhou, Xie’er had at times found it hard to concentrate - the image of his yifu’s sorrowful face, straining to convey something to Xie’er before he left him in that room, burned into his mind’s eye. With any luck, Zhao Jing will soon be able to put words to those thoughts, a prospect to which Xie’er has spent countless nights steeling himself. He knows that just as quieting his yifu had been the man’s undoing, giving him back his greatest weapon may very well spell death for Xie Jie Liu Bo. But this he is prepared for. It’s too late now anyways.

Xie’er arrives to find Zhao Jing dozing in his chair. He remains near the door and watches for a while, unable to help himself; seeing his yifu like this fills him with a warm sadness. He had been one of only a few people in Zhao Jing’s life who had the privilege of seeing him in such an open and vulnerable state. Xie’er finds there is something childlike and sweet about him here, the way his face looks so innocent and serene, neck slightly crooked to the side, chin tucked down, hands lazily resting on his lap. Xie’er smiles to himself when he considers the most accurate word to describe the spectacle - “endearing”.

But as much as he enjoys seeing his yifu so peaceful, he can’t ignore the suffocating pain of knowing he is responsible for delivering him this torment, making him live each day confined to a chair, unable to tend to his most basic needs without the aid of others. Truely, the cruelest fate to inflict on one as despotic and self-serving as Zhao Jing. No small part of Xie’er knows he deserves this. He will not pretend otherwise. But just as Xie’er had been fully conscious of the ever-present manipulation and lies, choosing to remain by Zhao Jing’s side regardless, so too will he endure whatever tragic fate befalls him when he restores his body and voice. This is not a moment of weakness for Xie Jie Liu Bo. It is expressly a testament to his strength.

Approaching him slowly, Xie’er stops but a foot away before gently calling to him.

“Yifu”. Zhao Jing awakens in a bit of a daze. Then he notices his yizi, turning to face him with a look of surprised delight. Xie’er smiles at the warm reception.

“Xie’er promised he would return,” Xie’er states as he takes up his usual spot on the side of the chair. The fond look he receives from Zhao Jing encourages him. Pulling out a small metal container from his robes, he watches as his yifu’s eyes follow his hands, the pleasant expression dropping from his face, eyes widening in trepidation. Overturning the container, Xie’er produces a dark pill. He sees the horror, the confusion, playing across Zhao Jing’s face, lips drawing into a tight line, his gaze fixed on the small, black pill.

Without saying anything, Xie'er brings it to Zhao Jing's mouth, pressing it gently to his lips. But he does not take it. He stares at Xie'er in confusion.

"It is not poison".

But the clarification does nothing to erase the worry on his face.

"It will heal you…"

Lips still tightly shut, his expression changes to something like… conviction. This makes no sense to Xie'er, who begins pressing more insistently against his mouth.

"Yifu, please"

But Zhao Jing just continues to stare. A calm, resolute gaze.

Xie'er slowly drops his hand away from his yifu's lips, eyes welling with his desperation. Does his yifu wish to stay lame and mute? Perhaps this is his one last triumph, refusing to give Xie'er back what he has taken. A showcase of his power; how his yifu can hurt him, even in this state.

He falls forward, letting the weight of his upper body rest on the man. He grabs the sleeve of Zhao Jing's arm and presses his forehead to his shoulder.

"...please". It sounds strained.

A few breaths against his yifu, and Xie'er pushes away. One last try.

He brings the pill to his yifu's lips again, a silent plea in his eyes which are locked with his given father’s. A look of understanding and then resignation from Zhao Jing, and then he parts his lips and takes it in.

A few painstaking minutes pass before Xie'er realizes he has been holding his breath. He breathes, but only lightly - silently, as though waiting for some auditory que to let him know the medicine is working. More time passes, and then -

A deep and sudden inhale, followed by the twitching of fingers; the first sign the drug is working. The blockages in Zhao Jing's meridians are releasing, a rush of Qi flowing to his weakened limbs. Xie'er worries momentarily that the effects are too rapid, potentially damaging his body more than healing it.

"Yifu, does it hurt?" He presses the palm of his hand against Zhao Jing's sternum, trying to quell the flow with his own energy.

Zhao Jing lets out a muffled sound which Xie’er registers as a cry of pain as he concerns himself with tempering the strength of the Qi rushing through his weakened body. More movement, this time Zhao Jing’s arm moves from its position on the arm of the chair. The fingers on both of his hands are beginning to flex, hands trembling; Xie’er isn’t sure if this is voluntary or involuntary muscle contraction. Instinctively, he grabs one of his yifu’s hands to try to calm him, finding it has a similar effect on himself. Potency is one thing, but absorption rate into the bloodstream is another. In his haste to unburden his yifu, he had not fleshed out a plan to address the latter scenario. Zhao Jing always used to scold him for being impetuous. Xie’er knows it is a lesson he ought to have learned by now. Another sound from his yifu snaps him back to the present.

“...Er-”. Channeling his own spiritual energy, Xie’er closes his eyes to focus once again on quelling Zhao Jing’s Qi at the centre of his chest.

“-I...er”. He begins to feel the flow become less erratic. He notices his yifu’s trembling hand has steadied considerably under his own.

“...Xie...er”. Xie’ers eyes snap open and dart upwards toward Zhao Jing’s face. Zhao Jing returns his gaze, eyes locked with Xie’ers and brows furrowed in a look of utter concentration.

“Xie…er”.

Disbelief washes over Xie’er before it’s quickly replaced with excitement as he surges forward and grasps his upper arm.

“Yifu! Yifu, you can speak!” Had Xie’er any self awareness in that moment, he might have recognized how much he sounded like a child seeing snow for the first time.

He watches intently as Zhao Jing closes his eyes and begins to regulate his breath, a look of meditative focus painted on his features. After some time, his eyes are upon Xie’er again with an intensity he has not witnessed in so long. Then he begins to push himself up and off the chair, leaning into Xie’ers hands and steadying himself with the chair.

“Yifu- you shouldn’t- it’s too soon” Xie’er stammers as he tries to guide his given father back into the chair. Instead, Zhao Jing grips onto one of Xie’ers forearms, and continues to right himself. When at last the man is nearly standing, most of his weight is on Xie’er, who is struggling to keep the two of them upright. Then altogether everything stops. Xie’er stops. The heaviness of the only recently immobilized man weighing Xie’er down changes into a warm, reassuring weight he wishes would never abandon him as Zhao Jing brings him into an embrace.

“Xie’er… I was wrong”.

Xie’ers head is spinning. Only minutes ago his given father was inert, and now they are in each other's arms, a familiar voice speaking so gently into Xie’ers ear and a weight, a body, a presence wrapping him up. It is all too much. So he takes a step toward the chair, carefully guiding his yifu’s unsteady form back onto the seat. The man must be delirious, he thinks, probably from the strong herbs in the drug.

Getting straight to work, Xie’er kneels at Zhao Jing’s feet, and begins to massage his legs, encouraging blood flow. To stand on legs after weeks of disuse is not so easy.

“Xie’er?” He does not look up. He busies himself with the task. Lithe hands work muscle from behind the knee down to the ankle, applying just enough pressure. He checks to ensure there is no swelling in the ankle.

“...Xie’er…” Finishing with his left leg, Xie’er begins working on his right. Same motions, same pressure.

“Xie’er”.

He hadn’t really been conscious of the tears running down his cheeks until a cautious hand catches his wrist, startling him back to awareness. He looks at that hand. It’s larger than his own, skin smooth and fingers graceful. But strong - it is a strong hand. And it is warm. And it looks as though it would be lovely to feel against his cheek, to pet his head or braid his hair… To soothe his sobbing with reassuring pats on his back, to hold his hand and guide him away from the blood and terror and the cold of their bodies.

This is his yifu’s hand. It is yifu’s voice calling to him. And all at once Xie’er is brought to the realization of how wrong he had been - he is not prepared to hear the honeyed words, the lies, his given father will speak.

Zhao Jing brings his hand to Xie’ers chin and gently tilts his head to catch his eyes.

"Xie'er… I do not know where to begin…”

Xie’er sees the tears in his eyes and the slight trembling of his lip. Is his yifu going to cry? Is he capable of falling so gracefully into an act, having just recovered from the worst of the poison? But there is something there… something deep and heartfelt about his gaze. As though he has just lost a loved one. Xie’er wonders how he must appear - perhaps Zhao Jing thinks him dead already. But then he addresses him so softly.

“I'm sorry for what I've done to you. I let you down... I hurt you." The last few words are choked from him.

Zhao Jing lowers his head and squeezes his eyes shut in what looks to be an attempt to stifle a wave of emotion. Xie’er watches in a state of bewilderment. He feels his own grief caught in his chest, but he is in too much shock to give into it. His yifu has just offered him an apology, the words sounding foreign coming from that tongue. Xie’er can do nothing but wait, body tensed, breath held. He is waiting for what he knows will come.

Once Zhao Jing has collected himself, he regards Xie’er again. His eyes are glassy with tears not fallen, lips pressed tightly together as he tries to maintain his composure. Then his hands move to cradle Xie'ers face, stopping just shy of actually touching him. They hover mere centimeters from his cheeks as though afraid he might shatter the young man kneeling before him with even a feather-light caress.

“You’ve allowed me to speak once again, and so I will,” his eyes search his yizi’s face. “I understand what is at stake for you, Xie’er”.

Xie’er readies himself. Zhao Jing will speak his piece, with full awareness of the power he now holds. Xie’er feels his chest tighten and his heart ache.

Several silent minutes pass, Zhao Jing allowing himself a bit more time to recover from the state he had been in. His brow is knit together in concentration, eyes closed. And then, after some time and with a deep inhale, he begins.

“I had nothing in my youth. I learned from a very young age that my existence was inconsequential. But I was made to watch as my peers excelled under the attention and love of their parents and teachers. Over time, I came to understand that I would have to go to great lengths to receive even a fraction of the recognition they received”.

Xie’er listens intently, silently. Zhao Jing has shared many stories of his past, but never quite so candidly.

“I committed crimes and learned to lie. If I could not be great, I would at least make them believe I was. It was hard. I worked endlessly to establish bonds with the right people, taking from them whatever they were willing to give me. I lived like a cuckoo in a magpie’s nest... Until that day I successfully orchestrated the death of master Zhao's son; I had never taken a life before and the experience had taught me that I am ill-suited to spilling the blood of another. I spent the next many days consoling master Zhao, effectively replacing his son. Eventually, he took notice of me, and I was afforded the greatest opportunity yet - to earn his favour”.

Seeming to remember something unpleasant, Zhao Jing stops, gaze shifting away from Xie’er for a brief moment of contemplation, before returning to him and continuing.

“I worked to gain his trust, and took care of him when he no longer could,” he gives Xie’er a meager smile, “all in an effort to earn the right to call myself a member of the main Zhao family. And then to earn the title of head of the Tai Hu Sect and establish myself as one as worthy as my ‘brothers’”.

Another pause.

“I did every bad deed, Xie’er. I used anyone I could. I lied, and I killed…” He casts Xie’er a pitiful look.

“You must understand - how could I possibly trust anyone when I know how easy it is to be untrustworthy? When I have experienced what manipulation and deception can accomplish, how can I have faith others will not do the same to me?"

Zhao Jing looks at him as though he is dangerously close to falling apart. A pathetic look Xie'er thinks is not suited to his yifu.

"I've never trusted anyone in my entire life, Xie’er. Not even you”.

A wince of pain crosses Xie’ers face. Hearing his yifu say the words he has known to be true for so long shouldn't hurt as much. But the pain is partly dulled by the relief he feels knowing that his given father is, for perhaps the first time, being honest with him.

He notices he has been slowly leaning closer to the man, his hands tangled in the fabric that hangs from his knees. Looking up, he can see his yifu is deeply lost in thought. It takes a moment for Zhao Jing to collect himself, but then his eyes are drawn to Xie’er and an empathetic expression forms on his face.

“I was aware of how desperately you wanted to show me what you were capable of - the lengths you would go to for me. I knew you were dissatisfied with my methods and the menial tasks I asked you to perform. I could see the hunger in your eyes for more. But I could not allow it. What if you became cognizant of the extent of your own power…?"

Xie’ers gaze drops.

“What if I knew that my abilities surpassed yours? What if I turned against you?” The words leave Xie’ers lips in a hushed tone, speaking more to himself than to Zhao Jing.

“...Yes.”

“So you stifled my growth because you feared my potential, and did not trust me to do you no harm…”

“Yes”.

A silence settles in. Xie’er stares at the light that gently reflects from the silk of the robes still twisted in his fingers. He lets it go and momentarily wonders where to place his hands before he settles for idley fidgeting with his ring.

Xie’er can’t help but muse over the irony of how the coldness of Zhao Jing’s words ought to push him further away, but instead seem to bring him closer to his yifu. Zhao Jing has not offered Xie’er anything he hasn’t already considered - this in itself is remarkable, as he had expected another one of his carefully crafted narratives, meant to elude him and cast doubt on his beliefs. But despite the bitter message being conveyed, Xie’er feels a warmth growing inside him at the thought that his yifu is willingly displaying his vulnerability. That he is finally speaking sincerely about his exploits and acknowledging Xie'ers past hopes. That they are both seeing and hearing each other.

He’s pulled from his reverie by his yifu’s voice.

"It wasn't until it was too late that I finally understood the depth of your devotion. In this I have failed you, Xie’er”.

He feels a touch against his skin, and looks up to see Zhao Jing cupping a hand to his cheek like he has done many times before. Xie’er indulgently presses the side of his face into the warm palm. The scene feels sickeningly familiar to him, reminiscent of Zhao Jing's past lies and performances - always through gentle touches and carefully selected words. The memory evokes a feeling of unease in Xie'er, and he pulls away from the hand he had been relaxing into. Upon seeing this, Zhao Jing's disposition changes from sorrow to guilt. Dropping his hands away from his yizi, he stares into the distance before speaking.

“You said you had no interest in my goals - that they were not as ambitious as they could possibly be. But I have only ever relied on myself, and I knew I could not dream of more. Perhaps if I had had the courage to lean on you, I could have afforded to dream bigger. Perhaps we could have both realized happiness".

At this Xie’er can no longer hold back the grief. A sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, chokes out of him as a flood of emotion overcomes him: anger that his given father had not recognized this sooner; pain at the loss of what could have been; and a fondness toward his yifu for acknowledging the thing Xie’er wanted to convey most.

Zhao Jing pulls his yizi's head to his lap, leaning over him and gathering him closer, arms encircling his shoulders. Xie'er can feel the trembling of the hand pressed to the back of his head, telling him that his yifu's embrace is as much to reassure himself as it is to soothe Xie'er. He breathes in his scent and welcomes the warmth he is being drawn into. After a moment, Xie’er calms himself. Pulling back, he sees the small damp spot he has left on his yifu’s robes, fabric darkened with his tears. It reminds him of the sage-coloured robes his yifu wore on the day they trekked to the armory. The day their lives nearly ended.

He releases himself from Zhao Jing’s arms, looking up at him. Zhao Jing meets Xie’ers gaze with tired eyes.

"Yifu… during the avalanche… you tried to save me… you told me to run". Xie'er stops, unsure of what it is he wants to ask.

"I failed you in this life, Xie'er. It was all I could do to leave you without questions - I wanted you to know I loved you".

Xie'er feels the tears stinging his eyes again. He had found himself wanting to believe this to be true for the many days since the event. But he had also tried to conceive of other motives - perhaps Zhao Jing had wanted Xie'er to believe he had wrongly condemned him, and tried to scourge Xie'er with guilt and regret. One last, cruel parting gift. But he had struggled to accept this explanation; the look in his yifu's eyes at that final moment was too veritably desperate to be fabricated, especially under those conditions.

But Zhao Jing had wagered his life before, as he had discovered from Liu Qianqiao.

Xie'er pauses before pressing further, trying to organize his muddled thoughts.

"You told Duan Pengju you would kill me. I believe you would have tried to bring me into better standing in his eyes over time, to preserve my life. But…"

Xie'er feels the words caught in his throat.

"...but if he had insisted - if there was no other way, would you have done it?"

He feels his entire body seize, blood rushing to pound in his ears. He wants to know the truth, but he does not want to hear it spoken. He doesn’t want to see the calculating expression on his yifu's face. But he looks anyway. Thankfully Zhao Jing is not looking at him - his eyes are fixed on some distant object, lips drawn tightly together.

"I have killed my brothers and my lovers. I have always been willing to do what was necessary to advance. Duan Pengju was not the first to ask for your death - Mo Huaiyang had also insisted on it, after your siege of the Qing Feng Sword Sect. I tried to dissuade him, but he insisted… in the end I told him I would do it once everything was over and the armory was opened”.

Xie’er involuntarily grimaces - the words striking him like knives.

“But Xie’er, you know better than anyone - I will not be played by others. I had every intention of doing away with him once all was said and done. I even acknowledged you, Zhao Xie, as my son to him and everyone else attending that celebratory banquet”.

He had found it odd that his yifu would invite the leader of the Sect he had ravaged to the banquet. He had assumed some deal had been struck between the two.

“However, you asked me if I would have killed you if all I had worked towards was at stake…”

Xie’er fixes his gaze on the man above him, waiting. Zhao Jing seems to be studying his face, much in the way he used to before offering up one of his convincing tales.

“I considered it… Xie’er. I considered all of the other crimes I had committed to make it as far as I had. I tried to imagine taking my sword to your throat, watching your skin split against cold metal, your blood spilling... but that was too much for me. So I contemplated getting someone else to do it. But that hurt more - knowing how utterly forsaken you would have felt”.

Zhao Jing draws in a shaky breath.

“I even… considered asking you to kill yourself”.

Xie’er can’t hold back the tremoring of his body. Never has he felt so alone - so used and discarded. It is not that the message has come as a surprise. Rather, he had not expected the grave detail recounted by his given father; the way Zhao Jing’s usual methodical thought process had been applied to Xie’ers very mortality as though he were but one more obstacle to overcome. Never a son, and certainly not of great value.

“In every scenario, it ended the same. I would rid of you, and then myself”.

Xie’ers tear-filled eyes dart upwards, meeting Zhao Jing’s gaze.

"How could I-?" The words are but a croak.

Then his yifu turns away. A meager attempt to preserve some dignity as his face obscures into what appears to be anguish. Xie’er watches the tears stream one by one down his cheek. He remembers to breathe again.

They remain like this, frozen in time. Xie’er feels as though he is now the paralyzed one. His mind feels divided; thoughts and memories rush about while his brain tries to make sense of the words just spoken, and yet he feels strangely calm as he watches his yifu. It’s his own strong heartbeat that shakes him from the state. He swallows, but it does nothing to soothe his dry throat. It seems an eternity has passed before Zhao Jing turns back to face him with reddened eyes and wet cheeks.

“Xie’er,” Zhao Jing strains to say his name, “you are the only one who has ever truly known me. You have seen my cruelty first-hand. You have seen me drunk with the desire for power. You have seen me pander to my brothers’ desires. You have seen me at my weakest, and my strongest. I have confided in you my ambitions and my fears. You know the malevolence I am capable of - you have felt it yourself. And despite all this, you remain by my side. Never have I had such a person in my life. I watched you grow, I watched you excel. After all these years, how am I to enjoy my glory without you? There’s no meaning in it”.

Xie’er is distraught. He feels a war being waged in his heart and what is left of his mental strength dwindling. He grasps at his chest, the neat fabric creasing in his fingers. The overwhelming urge to give up, to just fall gracelessly into his yifu’s lap and cry, consumes his mind. How easy it would be to believe those words, to believe that their time together could possibly mean more to Zhao Jing than Xie’ers usefulness as a tool. But he feels the familiar apprehension rising in his chest, his heart aching at the memories of his previous let-downs. He won’t survive the revelation of another lie.

"Yifu… you kept a token for everyone you used. Luo Fengming had said as much, and then I saw it for myself - that hidden room, all of those memorial tablets… you gave me a token too - Liulijia. You intended for me to join them, didn’t you?” Xie’er lets out a melancholic chuckle. “How thrilling it must have been for you, keeping me so near for all of these years, making me believe you loved me, watching me covet your attention. Do not tell me I meant more to you than your ambition”. His voice is shaky, breathing hastened, but not so much that it veils his conviction.

Zhao Jing stares at his yizi in shock. He opens his mouth as though he is about to issue a stern rebuttal, but stops. His gaze drifts slightly, face pensive, before his expression shifts to something more aware.

“I gave you that piece of Liulijia in part to quell your tenacity. You were so keen to demonstrate your abilities, but your methods were too reckless. It was the smallest thing I could do to give you a greater sense of worth under those circumstances''.

Xie’er does not make a sound.

“...But I also knew how placing my most treasured possession in your care would reinforce your devotion, and give me increased security that you would not betray me. In this regard, it is true my motive was not so benevolent. But you are more valuable to me than that trivial thing you wore around your neck. Never did I mean for you to join them”.

Zhao Jing extends a hand, but Xie’er turns away, eyes screwed shut. He feels it - the resolve waiving, the last of his strength falling away. He had prepared for the insidious lies and accompanying pain, but he hadn’t anticipated his yifu would be so apparently forthwrite with him.

“Xie’er”.

"No… don't. No more".

“Xie’er, now it is you who cannot trust me. I don’t blame you... But what do I have to gain by lying to you now? It’s over for me. I’ve already lost everything”.

Xie'ers vision is fixed on the floor in front of him. The fingers clutching at the fabric of his robes are becoming numb from the force of his grip. He inhales sharply after his body reminds him yet again of the need for oxygen. Then there is movement in front of him and squeezes his eyes closed, waiting for Zhao Jing to speak; the closest he can get to shutting out his yifu’s voice comes from the thrum of blood pulsing in his ears.

But it is only his yifu’s hand brushing ever so lightly down the side of his face. His finger hooks under Xie’ers chin and slowly guides his head back up, thumb brushing away traces of tears. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, but does not meet his yifu’s gaze. Zhao Jing removes his hand from his chin, only to delicately rest it atop his head. He does not say anything, and Xie’er uses the quiet moment to take a few shaky breaths. Then his eyes flit up to Zhao Jing’s with a sudden and apparent resoluteness.

"I healed you, fully prepared to die. I did not think you deserved another chance to speak; it was more for myself - I wanted to see my yifu again, one last time. If your words don’t kill me, I ask that you do".

The hand on Xie’ers head presses down a little more firmly, and gives him a paltry shake.

"Xie’er, that’s enough. I told you, did I not? I know what is at stake. I have seen it already - the weariness in your eyes when you would sit with me, the fragility in your voice when you spoke. The young man who visited me every day was not the Xie’er I have known. I broke you, and you did your best to piece yourself back together".

Xie'ers hands dart forward to clutch his yifu's knees, steadying himself as though a blow had been dealt. His eyes hurt. His throat hurts. The tears burn his face. But he can't hold back the sobs wracking his body. Is he dying? Is he healing? It's indistinguishable. The only thing he is certain of is the need in his body as he latches onto one of Zhao Jing's arms and buries his face against it, pulling the man closer. He wants to climb into his lap and be held together by him. He feels his yifu bend forward and wrap his other arm around his back, seemingly commiserating Xie’ers pain. His warm breath tickles his ear as his cheekbone presses firmly against his temple. And in the safety of this embrace, Xie’er cries. The sound of his lamentation is pitiful, but there is something cathartic about it; with every howl he feels the agony subside.

He does not know how long they remain like that. Xie’er feels the exhaustion settling in long before he is ready to yield. But, slowly, his crying turns into muffled sobs, and then to shuddering breaths. His yifu’s hand patting his back helps to calm him. Extricating himself from Zhao Jing’s arms, he sits back, wiping his wet eyes and running nose on the hem of his sleeve.

“Yifu,” his voice is hoarse and low. Looking up, he is met with the sympathetic gaze of his given father.

“I did not betray you… I only meant to end the deception”.

Zhao Jing shakes his head.

“You have always been by my side, supporting me… loving me. You never abandoned me, even when the truth was revealed - how easily you could have ended me. But you didn’t. You trapped me in my own body and cared for me. I wanted so badly to tell you ‘I understand’ but I could not. You took away my voice and only then did I listen - I could no longer drown out the despair with self-fulfilling lies”.

Xie’er rises to his feet unsteadily, finding it hard to balance after so long kneeling on the ground. He glances at his yifu’s lap, but decides it best to take up his usual position on the arm of the chair. Zhao Jing moves his arm to accommodate him, but then grabs his knees and brings his legs over his own in such a way that Xie’er is half-sitting on his lap. Xie’er smiles wearily and wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders, bringing his head to rest on them. He contemplates his yifu’s words. If the assertions and emotions were feigned, what would he achieve by appealing to him like this, with nowhere to go and nothing to accomplish? He has lost the respect of the martial world - there is nothing beyond the gates of Sanbai manor for him.

As though reading his mind, Zhao Jing offers him a reason.

“I love you Xie’er... I need you”.

Xie’er is too worn out to cry, so he comforts himself by pushing his face closer into the crook of his yifu’s neck and breathes deeply. Beyond the apologies and the proclaimed truths, the notion that his given father fears being left alone by the only person he has ever cared about is the most impelling thing he has said so far. Xie’er smiles to himself, thinking that for once Zhao Jing’s selfish desire is not so sinister.

Neither of them hurry to part for some time. Xie’er revels in the presence of the assuring arms encircling his waist. He can feel his yifu’s heartbeat against his chest and hear his steady breathing. Eventually, he feels Zhao Jing shift slightly so he lifts his head. But he isn’t able to fully face him before he feels his yifu pressing his warm lips to his temple in the very way Xie’er had kissed him three days ago.

When he parts, Xie’er sits back the rest of the way. He regards his yifu with a nostalgic look in his eyes.

"I’ve often wondered what it might have been like if you had never rescued me. Where would I have ended up, what would I be doing…”

Zhao Jing responds with a rueful expression.

"...but if I could choose, I would still choose this life. I have experienced love, happiness. I’ve achieved many things. Even though it is painful at times, this life is worthwhile. I have no regrets".

Zhao Jing gives him an endearing smile before pulling him back into a tender hug.

“You always say that I saved you… Xie'er, don't you understand? It is you who saved me”.

Xie’er decides the aching feeling permeating through his body is his heart mending.

“...And as long as you will have me, I promise you - it’s not going to hurt anymore”.

//END