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Sha Wu Sheng had learned many things in his nearly thirty years of life—how to play the flute, how to start a campfire, how to sever a man's head from his shoulders in one clean slice of his blade. But he had never learned how to hold another person's hand.
It should have been a simple task, but as the throngs of people at the night market threatened to separate him from his companion, it felt as if an invisible force were clamped around his arm, holding him back from reaching out and grabbing onto Shang Bu Huan's left hand.
Shang Bu Huan hadn't yet noticed that Wu Sheng had fallen slightly behind. It was Wu Sheng's own fault for letting himself get distracted by one of the street-side stalls he passed. He had slowed down without thinking and neglected to tell Shang that he wanted to pause to browse. In a brief moment of carelessness, a gap had widened between the two of them, and enough people flowed in to fill the space that Wu Sheng struggled to make his way back to Shang.
In the past, he might have shoved past the people in his way. Or, more likely, they would have parted and fled at the mere sight of him. But he was no longer the Screaming Phoenix Killer of old. He had changed his ways and altered his appearance enough that nobody spared him a second glance when he passed. With his temper under control and his commitment to minimizing harm to others always at the back of his mind, he could only meekly murmur "excuse me" left and right as he did his best to thread through the narrow spaces that opened up in the flow of human bodies around him without jostling anyone too harshly.
Shang eventually noticed Wu Sheng's absence and stopped to turn around and cast about. Once his gaze found Wu Sheng's, Wu Sheng felt some of the tension release from his body. He jogged the last few steps to catch up with Shang, who drew a few disgruntled looks for standing in the middle of such a crowded throughway.
"Sorry," Wu Sheng said with a grimace. "I didn't tell you I was interested in something back there."
"No, I should have been paying closer attention to you since we're together and all."
Together. The word made Wu Sheng's heart skip a beat. It was such an innocent word yet so loaded with meaning for him. Even knowing that Shang didn't mean anything by it, Wu Sheng couldn't help but cling to and savor the feeling it stirred in him. To be together was to not be alone. To be part of something bigger than himself. To be, in this case, one of a pair, with Shang Bu Huan. Or, at least, that was what he hoped for.
These little twinges of longing had been plaguing Wu Sheng for a while now, but he hadn't fully understood their significance until very recently. Now that he knew what his heart wanted, he was at a loss as to how to obtain it. Shang Bu Huan was right beside him, spending day after day with him, and yet Wu Sheng felt a wall growing between them, built from all the words he wished to speak but couldn't bring himself to give voice to.
"—you okay?"
Wu Sheng realized with a jolt that he had spaced out. Shang was staring at him quizzically, thick brows knitted into a look of concern.
"Sorry." Apologizing again. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.
"No need to apologize. You just seemed very out of it. I was saying that it's been a while since we had lunch, so why don't we get some food?"
“Alright.” As if expressing its agreement, his stomach growled loudly enough for Shang to hear. It was a completely normal thing for a person’s body to do, yet this noise mortified Wu Sheng.
Shang laughed. “Sounds like we definitely need to find some food,” he said, giving Wu Sheng a friendly pat on the shoulder. Wu Sheng ducked his head in hopes that Shang wouldn’t notice how much the casual contact unbalanced him emotionally.
The two of them continued down the street while keeping their eyes peeled for delicious snacks to pick up. As they strolled along, Wu Sheng mentioned to Shang with a bit of chagrin that it was his first time at a night market. He’d never had the luxury of mingling with crowds of common people in public spaces during his years as a notorious assassin.
The admission clearly surprised Shang, but he took it in stride. “I guess this means I need to make sure you get to try all of the things you can,” he said while scratching his stubbled chin thoughtfully.
True to his word, he indulged Wu Sheng’s every culinary curiosity and eagerly introduced him to some of his own favorite night market foods. They fell into a pattern where they would approach a cart or stall, Shang would order after some consultation with Wu Sheng, and Wu Sheng would hand over the money from the small sack of coins Shang had pushed into his hands.
Soon enough, they had amassed a few items that they carried between them in waxed paper wrappers: a large scallion pancake sliced into several wedge-shaped pieces, skewers of grilled chicken seasoned generously with spices, and two steaming hot mantou fried a mouthwatering golden brown.
They ate as they walked until they found a stall serving dishes that couldn’t be carried. At the stall owner’s behest, Shang sat down at one of the square tables surrounding the stand. Wu Sheng claimed the bench on the side of the table to Shang’s left.
After listening to the stall owner rattle off a list of what he had to offer, the pair ordered two bowls of oyster noodles, the local specialty of this seaside town they were passing through. The night market wasn’t too far off from the docks, and even with the layers of food aromas hanging in the air, Wu Sheng could still faintly detect the briny scent of the ocean underneath it all.
When their noodles were served, they had to wait a bit before digging in because of how hot the broth was. Visible clouds of steam floated up from the bowls, dissipating into the night.
In the end, Shang was the first to take the plunge and test his tongue against the heat. Using his soup spoon, he ladled out a bit of the broth and brought it to his lips, blowing on it before slurping. Based on the way he winced, Wu Sheng gathered that Shang had scalded his tongue. However, the older man remained undeterred and sipped the rest of the broth.
"Not bad. They didn't skimp on the seasoning," he said in an appraising tone. Next, he picked up a few strands of noodle with his chopsticks and sucked them into his mouth. Wu Sheng watched as he chewed thoroughly and then swallowed.
"Well?" Without realizing it, Wu Sheng had leaned closer to his companion. He straightened sheepishly.
Shang grinned. "Instead of asking me, why don't you try it yourself?" He gestured at Wu Sheng's bowl with the nod of his chin. "If you're not mindful, your noodles will go cold."
Wu Sheng lifted his chopsticks and began to eat. The thin reddish wheat noodles had been cooked so they retained a springy texture when he bit into them. A single noodle by itself barely registered in his senses, but in clumps they produced a pleasant feeling against his tongue and teeth.
"These are good," he said after swallowing.
"Right?" Shang's response came between bites of his own serving of noodles. "Don't forget the oysters though. Those are the real delicacy."
Wu Sheng fished out an oyster from the bowl, blew on it, and popped it into his mouth. It had been a while since he had last eaten oyster, so he had nearly forgotten how slippery they could be. It took longer than expected for him to process that mouthful, but it wasn't a bad thing. Not too long ago, food had been mere sustenance, a means to an end that brought him no joy. Reawakening his palate to the world of delectable flavors and textures he had neglected was more satisfying than he could have imagined. He worked his way through the oyster noodles with gusto, savoring each bite.
When Wu Sheng finally drained the last bit of soup in his bowl, he realized that Shang was looking at him, chin braced against his right palm with his right elbow resting on the table.
"Is there something on my face?" He could feel himself flushing from the attention.
"No, I was just thinking back to our first time talking to each other. We were sitting on opposite sides of a table, and I was afraid you'd take off my head if I looked at you the wrong way. If someone had told me back then that we'd be enjoying a meal together like this barely two months later, I wouldn't have believed them."
Wu Sheng could still recall that encounter quite vividly. At the time, trial by sword to determine victory and loss, life and death, constituted his core philosophy. During their conversation in the garden, Shang Bu Huan had managed to confound his reading of the outcome of their match-up, but Wu Sheng had still underestimated him because of his reluctance to fight, thinking him a coward. Little had he known that Shang would be the one to disarm him, both literally and figuratively, and set him upon his current path to redeem himself and reclaim a sense of purpose outside of the cycle of violence he had trapped himself into.
Now, rather than thinking about ways to sever Shang's head from his shoulders, Wu Sheng found himself wondering how he might capture that man's lips with his own, how it might feel to brush his cheek against that stubbled jaw. But such a feat was even more impossible for Wu Sheng than trying to kill Shang. The mere thought of acting on that desire made him feel as if he would combust on the spot. "I wouldn't have believed them either," Wu Sheng agreed. His voice sounded distant to himself.
"The world is full of surprises,” Shang said with a crooked smile. “I'm glad that things turned out this way."
Just then, the food stand owner came by to solicit payment, sparing Wu Sheng the need to respond. He counted out the coins required to cover their bill while trying not to overthink Shang's words. Though their relationship had obviously improved significantly since that tense confrontation in the garden, Wu Sheng wondered if Shang considered him a friend. He couldn't bring himself to ask, feeling awkward about the whole affair. Moreover, he wasn't sure he could weather the potential humiliation and heartbreak of hearing that he was just a person Shang humored out of moral obligation and nothing more.
After Lin Xue Ya had betrayed him, Wu Sheng had given up hope of ever finding true friendship. Even though revenge no longer drove him, the trauma of that betrayal lingered and colored every interaction he had with other people. Shang was no exception. Although Shang's presence was a comforting one to him, there was still a part of Wu Sheng that was afraid of that comfort morphing into pain if he became too greedy. It was safer to maintain their current relationship, whatever that might be.
With the tab paid, the two companions rose from their seats. Shang looked at Wu Sheng and said, "I know you wanted to browse earlier, but I ended up focusing on food instead. Do you want to go back to the stall you were looking at before we got separated?"
Wu Sheng nodded.
It took a bit of backtracking to locate, but eventually they reached the stand where Wu Sheng had paused and gotten separated from Shang. The stand sold an array of trinkets with a mixture of practical and aesthetic value. The piece that had caught his eye earlier was a polished wooden comb with a lotus carved into the handle. As he picked it up to examine it, he wondered if it was too materialistic of him to buy it. He had sold his jewelry and accessories right before joining Shang on his travels, and currently, his hair and clothes were unadorned with the exception of the feathers he wore hanging from his ponytail, the sole relic of his past that he held onto. It felt wrong to be indulging any sense of vanity when his pride was a key part of what sent him down the path of darkness.
Just as he was about to set the comb down and forget about it, he heard Shang say, "How much?" The vendor named his price and Shang reached across the stand to hand over the requisite coins. Wu Sheng looked at Shang in surprise.
The vendor wrapped the comb in a plain white square of cloth and presented it to Shang, perhaps because he had paid for it. Shang accepted the comb and motioned for Wu Sheng to follow him as he walked away from the stand.
The two continued down the length of the street constituting the main branch of the night market. While they ambled along, Shang passed the wrapped comb to Wu Sheng, who murmured his thanks, cheeks flushed with pleasure. "You didn't have to do that," he said.
"You were looking at it with so much longing that I felt compelled to get it for you," Shang explained. He rubbed his nose in a gesture that Wu Sheng had grown familiar with during their many weeks together. He always did that in moments of awkwardness.
Wu Sheng, for his part, was also too embarrassed to say that he would treasure the comb. It was the first gift he could recall receiving in his life. Lin Xue Ya had bought things for him before, but he had been Wu Sheng's employer at the time, so the circumstances had been different. Not to mention that in retrospect, all of those "gifts" must have been part of his grand ploy to win Wu Sheng's trust so he could crush his spirit later on.
As far as Wu Sheng could tell, Shang had no such machinations. It was clear he'd acted impulsively, and this made Wu Sheng feel that the gesture was genuine. He tucked the comb away in his robes for safekeeping.
Eventually the two came upon a drinking establishment that claimed to serve the best wine in town. Judging by how busy it was, there was some truth to the claim. Shang suggested that they investigate, and Wu Sheng agreed. They managed to nab a small table for two in a corner. After Shang ordered a jar of their signature wine, the server bustled off, leaving the two of them alone. Sitting opposite Shang, Wu Sheng realized that they were quite close to each other. Even with the din of the other patrons around them, it felt a little intimate.
“I haven’t really seen you drink much during our time together,” Shang commented.
“I don’t really like the taste much,” Wu Sheng replied. This was true, but it wasn’t the whole story. In his early adulthood, he had largely avoided wine. The first taste of alcohol he’d snuck out of curiosity during his days as a disciple at Tie Di Xian’s dojo had put him off of it for a while. Years later, he’d taken to drinking to keep the loneliness at bay when night arrived and he became plagued by an unshakable melancholy. Then, with Lin Xue Ya, he’d found himself enjoying the frivolous and at times nonsensical chatter they’d shared over drinks. After Lin Xue Ya’s betrayal, he had returned to using alcohol to drown out the misery clamoring in his heart. Wine had never been a drink he consumed for its own sake.
Wu Sheng’s contemplative silence was broken when the server returned with their order. Breaking open the seal, Shang lifted the flask to smell the contents. “Mmm, very nice.”
“Enjoy.” The server left again.
“So are you going to try some? It doesn’t seem right to have you sit here and watch me drink,” Shang said as he poured a cup for himself.
“I guess I can have a bit.”
Shang filled the other cup on the table and handed it to Wu Sheng. When he brought it close to his face, he detected a fruity scent to the wine. Taking a sip, he tasted the sour flavor of plum. He must have betrayed a slight grimace, for Shang chuckled.
“It’s strong, isn’t it?”
Wu Sheng nodded and drank the rest. It burned a little going down, and the taste of plum lingered on his tongue. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’ll probably enjoy it more as I have more.”
Shang waved a hand at him. “No need to force yourself if you don’t like it. I’d be fine drinking this entire flask myself. I do rather like the taste of this. It’s one of the better plum wines I’ve had.”
Wu Sheng did not doubt this was high praise coming from someone like Shang Bu Huan. Though Wu Sheng had been around quite a bit of Dong Li for the purpose of his commissions in the past, Shang Bu Huan was even more well-traveled, having explored every corner of Xi You for the sake of his sword-seeking quests and even crossed the infamous Wasteland of Spirits into Dong Li. As much as he seemed to like drinking, he’d definitely tried a countless number of different brews in his years.
“What kinds of wines do they have in Xi You?” Wu Sheng asked, trying to be conversational.
“Pretty much the same kinds you’ll find here in Dong Li. The two used to be one nation after all.”
“Ah, good point.” Wu Sheng reached for the flask, but instead of meeting cold, smooth ceramic, his fingers touched something warm and callused—Shang’s hand, which had also gone for the flask at the same time. There was a moment where his brain was slow to process what had happened. Then, as if scalded, Wu Sheng snatched his hand back. “Go ahead,” he mumbled. He fervently hoped the blush on his face wasn’t too obvious.
Shang cleared his throat and refilled his cup before setting the flask down on Wu Sheng’s side of the table. Wu Sheng poured himself a second cup of the wine and gulped it down a little too quickly. But even the overpowering taste of the liquor couldn’t drown out the emotions rising like a tide inside him. He wanted to hold Shang’s hand, to feel the soft flesh of his palm, to run his fingers over every callus and wrinkle on the older man’s sun-browned skin. But even more than that, he wanted to tell Shang how much he cherished his camaraderie.
But the words wouldn’t come. He was too nervous. So in hopes of loosening his tongue and relaxing his body, Wu Sheng drank more of the plum wine.
After his fifth cup, the world seemed to shrink. The chatter of the other customers dulled. It was just him and Shang Bu Huan now. Perfect. He laughed.
But Shang didn’t seem amused. He was frowning at Wu Sheng. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, Wu Sheng.”
Wu Sheng was going to reply “don’t be ridiculous,” but his words came out a bit slurred. In the back of his mind, a rational voice warned him that he had indeed overdone it. But the alcohol-addled part of him ignored it and continued pursuing that singular desire he’d been harboring all night.
“Shang Bu Huan, listen to me!” he declared. He tried to stand up, but his limbs weren’t in sync with his brain, so he wobbled before sitting back down, hard.
“I’ll listen to you when you’re sober,” Shang retorted with a shake of his head. He hastily plopped down the payment for their wine and rose from his seat. “Let’s go back to the inn, alright?”
The next thing Wu Sheng knew, he was stumbling out of the tavern halfway slung over Shang’s back.
“I guess this is the other reason why you don’t drink much,” Shang muttered. Even though his face was right next to Wu Sheng’s, close enough that Wu Sheng practically could have kissed him with just the barest turn of his head, he sounded like he was far away. “Or shouldn’t, anyway. You should have told me you’re a lightweight with alcohol so I could have stopped you from drinking so much.”
“You don’t understand…” Wu Sheng said. “I…”
But he didn’t get to finish his sentence because the movement from walking had triggered a wave of nausea. He scrambled over to the side of the street and vomited on the ground next to the wall of a building. The burn in his throat from his stomach acid was even worse than when he’d drank the plum wine. Mercifully, he somehow avoided splattering himself.
And then Shang was next to him, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he’d produced from somewhere. He helped Wu Sheng back to his feet. “You can’t even walk properly right now, so can whatever this is, surely it can wait until later?”
“No!” The word burst out of Wu Sheng’s mouth with greater force than he intended. Rationally speaking, he would have other opportunities to say his piece, but thanks to the wine, all he could think in the moment was that if he didn’t say something now, he might never be able to say it in the future. The alcohol had brought forth a recklessness he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“No,” he repeated, more softly this time, but no less resolutely. Having expelled some of the alcohol, he felt a little better. He slipped out from under Shang’s supporting arm and grabbed the hand at the end of it. It was warm to the touch in the cool night air. At the same time, Wu Sheng reached out with his free hand, but he was still a bit woozy. His left hand missed Shang’s shoulder and thudded against the wall behind him, bracing against it.
Even in his blurred vision, Wu Sheng could see the shock on Shang’s face in his widened eyes and slack jaw.
He felt a slight surge of triumph as he figured that he had secured his moment.
But his mind refused to cooperate, and the words he had been holding onto vanished from his thoughts like smoke. So he ended up mumbling, “I…I really…enjoyed tonight. Thank you.” And with that his knees buckled and his vision went dark.
The remainder of the night passed in an indistinct haze. Later, he would vaguely recall being cocooned in a warm embrace and carried, though it seemed like a dream or perhaps a fragment of a half-forgotten memory from his infancy, when he’d been cradled by the wet nurse Tie Die Xian had enlisted to raise him.
The next morning, Wu Sheng remembered his lukewarm words of thanks, but everything after that, he couldn't be sure of. He asked Shang if anything else had happened, but the older man had simply answered that he'd escorted Wu Sheng back to the inn where they'd reserved a room and put him to bed.
"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused you," Wu Sheng said, wanting to bury his face in his hands in humiliation. He wasn't sure why he'd ever thought that drinking that wine would help him articulate his feelings. It had made a mess of him instead.
But much to Wu Sheng's surprise, there was a part of himself that didn't regret it. He had tried and failed once, and the world hadn't collapsed around him. He could try again. He wanted to try again—properly, while sober.
Even though ostensibly nothing had really changed between him and Shang, he felt that he had taken an important step forward.
Next time, he thought. Next time I'll tell him for sure.
The previous night
Shang laid Wu Sheng down on the bed and draped the blanket over him. Wu Sheng's face was contorted into a slight pout, and Shang found this unexpectedly endearing. He hadn't known until tonight that the former assassin would resemble a petulant child when drunk. Shaking his head and smiling, Shang pulled the covers up to Wu Sheng's chest and maneuvered the younger man’s arms so they were resting on top.
Just as he was about to move away from the bed and lay out his bedroll, however, Wu Sheng stirred. His right hand reached out to grab onto Shang's left hand, which he brought to rest on his cheek. His eyes didn't open, nor did he say anything, so Shang could only assume that Wu Sheng was moving in his sleep. Not wanting to disturb Wu Sheng's slumber, Shang remained by the bedside and let Wu Sheng borrow his hand for a while.
Earlier that night, when he had accidentally pinned Shang against the wall, Wu Sheng had clearly wanted to say something important. Shang's throat went a little dry simply recalling the fire in Wu Sheng's eyes. Even though it had been dimmed somewhat by the effects of alcohol, there was no mistaking the intensity of that gaze. Shang could guess what it meant, even if there was a part of him that reflexively sought to deny it or attribute it to something else.
Truth be told, he had grown fond of Wu Sheng in their time together and experienced the wonder of watching him transform from a cold-hearted killer into this gentle being who despite his persisting uncertainty about his purpose in life, was trying his best to be a better person. Even Shang could not have predicted how different Wu Sheng would become when he had spared the man's life in their battle at Seven Sins Tower and given him an opportunity for redemption. He hadn't foreseen that Wu Sheng would one day regard him so ardently with something other than murderous intent.
And until tonight, Shang hadn't been sure of his own feelings for Wu Sheng. It wasn't until he had been backed against that wall and confronted with Wu Sheng's earnest expression and felt the mounting anticipation of a particular kind of disclosure that he realized that Wu Sheng was more than a simple travel companion or charity case to him.
And in the present, Wu Sheng was clinging to his hand—the same hand he had held onto earlier, a voice in Shang's mind observed astutely. This seemed to support Shang's hypothesis about the nature of Wu Sheng's feelings, but he couldn't be sure that it wasn't simply a result of Wu Sheng's unconscious mind reverting to a childlike state and seeking out comfort wherever he could find it, not realizing just whose hand he cradled.
Gazing down at Wu Sheng's sleeping form, Shang decided he would wait and see. Wu Sheng might clarify his intentions the next day, or he might not. He might say something in a week, or in a month. However long it took, he would wait until Wu Sheng was ready. No matter what, he would be there, waiting to take Wu Sheng's hand.