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The Guoshi of Yong’an was beautiful. This was an undeniable fact. Fang Xin Guoshi could have been carved from jade, his face clear and handsome. The mask he wore was pure silver, carved to hide his upper face. When he spoke his lips formed the words slowly and carefully. Everything about him was purposeful, his words, his movements, his appearance. And Lang Qianqiu had loved him deeply from when they first met.
“Your Highness.”
Lang Qianqiu was brought back to reality with a solid thud. Guoshi was watching him, not that he could see his eyes. Lang Qianqiu had learned over the years to sense when his Guoshi’s eyes were on him, mostly off a sense of intensity. His back was straight, the image of the perfect scholar, but his head was tilted in wry amusement.
“Was Your Highness paying attention to his studies?” Guoshi seemed to be eyeing the large inkblot from his brush resting on the page.
“Apologies, Guoshi, this one was thinking deeply about the image of the poem.”
“Which is?”
Guoshi knew him too well, knowing that he had been daydreaming. However, Lang Qianqiu had thought about this poem a little while most of his brain was consumed in cataloguing every inch of his teacher’s face.
“This one believes that the annual asters are a metaphor for the poet’s love of his wife.”
Guoshi’s mouth twitched in an angelic smile, spreading slowly across the small part of his face which was visible. No matter how serious Fang Xin appeared, he was very sweet underneath. He had been teaching Lang Qianqiu for many years, and
Lang Qianqiu had not been a good student in those early days. He wished only to train with swords, to run, to fight. Fang Xin often indulged him, however he insisted on at least a Shichen of theory a day.
It was one of those sessions, where Lang Qianqiu’s legs cramped from sitting too long. The library was silent as everyone enjoyed the beautiful day, except for him. He drummed his fingers as he watched Fangxin Guoshi’s lips move, talking incessantly about the history of the kingdom or something.
“Your Highness?”
“Yes?” he sat up straight, because finally he was being set free.
“You don’t appear to be paying attention. This is important —”
“But Guoshi –”
Fang Xin Guoshi held up his hand, and Lang Qianqiu fell silent. That hand was fine, and well groomed. One would never guess that it could hold a sword with such proficiency. It lacked calouses or scrapes, but if he looked very closely he could see the strength hidden under the skin of those long, thin fingers.
“This one understands. He also struggled with his studies on some days. He has not worked hard enough to find something to properly motivate His Highness.”
Lang Qianqiu perked up, because rewards from Guoshi were always to be treasured. He seemed to look completely into Lang Qianqiu’s heart and picked exactly what he wanted. In the beginning it was sweets, and training in his beautiful swordplay style, but now at fourteen he wanted more. He wanted everything Guoshi could give him.
“Perhaps we will go for a quick walk to refresh our minds, and then try again?” Guoshi nodded his head to Lang Qianqiu’s fidgeting legs.
“Yes Guoshi.”
Fangxin Guoshi unfolded from under the table, flowing up to standing. He fixed his beautiful robes and flicked a stray hair back over his shoulder. Lang Qianqiu tried to mimic him, but his knees buckled slightly forcing him to rest his hand on the table.
Their hands brushed. Lang Qianqiu’s focus narrowed down to a single point as his skin tingled slightly. He wanted to reach out, take Guoshi’s hand in his, wanted this moment to last forever.
Too quickly Guoshi pulled away, but that slight smile curled at the edges of his mouth.
“Is His Highness alright?”
“Yes Guoshi! This one’s legs were weak and failed him.”
“We cannot have that happening, can we?”
And just like that Guoshi reached out and their hands were clasped together. Lang Qianqiu could have sworn his pupils restricted to a pinprick. He closed his hand around his teacher firmly, not letting him slip away again.
“There, now you are safe from falling.”
Guoshi’s smile was as gentle as ever. He did not know what was running through Lang Qianqiu’s mind. And he must never know. Guoshi was a good man, and surely he would turn Lang Qianqiu away if he knew. He would never accept his affections until he was an adult. And so they must remain secret.
“Thank you Guoshi. You are always thinking of me.”
They had started walking, hand-in-hand. The guard who stood outside the library gave them an odd look, but looked away when Lang Qianqiu glared at him. He was aware he was too old to be acting like a child, but too young to be acting like a man. He was in-between and being in-between meant he would take what he could get.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
They do one, two, three laps of the gardens. When Guoshi starts guiding them back to the palace, Lang Qianqiu falters, stopping in place for a heartbeat.
“Just one more,” Guoshi laughs, and squeezes Lang Qianqiu’s hand slightly. “We do have to return to the lesson at some point.”
Too soon they are seated at that table again, Guoshi's accursed brush held lightly between his fingers. While Lang Qianqiu's head was clearer he was still in no place to study history. His sword called out to him, singing about forms and sweat and closeness.
But he listened. He listened to Guoshi's lecture on the early history of Yong’an. It was not exactly riveting but every time he asked a question, no matter how stupid, Guoshi answered immediately.
“That's enough for now. I have kept you from the sun for too long, Your Highness. Just a quick couple questions before I let you go.”
Lang Qianqiu's stomach dropped. A “quick couple questions” often were the worst part of his day. Guoshi never pulled punches, asking about tiny details that forced essays to flow from his mouth.
“Who was the first king of Yong’an?”
“Lang Ying,” the words passed his lips easily.
It was an easy question, one he could have answered when he was half his age. He waited for the inevitable “describe a decree the second king made in the fifth year of his reign and give three examples of how it affected the price of grain” or similar with his shoulders tensed.
“How did he rise to the throne?”
“He led a revolution against the previous kingdom: Xianle.”
“And what fueled that revolution.”
“Famine caused by drought, and then a royal decree that refugees were not allowed in the capital.”
Guoshi’s lips curled up in a smile, showing just a flash of his teeth. He leaned over the table, his hand ruffling Lang Qianqiu’s hair, nails slightly scraping his scalp.
“You are a good child, Qianqiu. Always remember that, even when you struggle.”
His heart brightened with the praise, and yet it was not enough. He did not want to be a child, patted and doted on. He wanted to be looked in the eye and
respected, like how he is now. Guoshi treated him with more dignity now, as a sixteen-turning-seventeen year-old, but he did not stop indulging Lang Qianqiu's love of childlike closeness.
Lang Qianqiu reached across the table, and grazed his hand against Guoshi’s. Guoshi reacted immediately by flipping his hand so his palm was up. When Lang Qianqiu slipped their hands together, he did not react, just kept writing with his other hand.
Lang Qianqiu took that moment to watch his teacher. He knew so little, too little, about Guoshi’s life before he was his Guoshi. He did not know his true name, where he grew up, why he was on the road that night, where he trained in the sword, and why he was educated. He did not even know what age-range he was in.
Lang Qianqiu had seen his face once before, on the night they met. However that night was so long ago, and he was so scared, he really could not remember much more than that he was handsome. And he was older than Lang Qianqiu himself. Lang Qianqiu wished he could describe his eyes, his brows, his nose, anything. He was so intimately familiar with his lips and he wanted more.
After a long beautiful moment, Guoshi realised that Lang Qianqiu had stopped writing again. He lightly shook his hand, disrupting Lang Qianqiu’s grip, and slipped his arm down to his side. He gave his student a sharp grin which was quickly covered by his cool teaching persona he only used in front of others nowadays.
“No rewards if you don’t do your work,” he teased.
“Guoshi, why must you treat me as a child?”
“Because you are, Your Highness,” Guoshi’s voice was light. “Besides, you’re the one whining.”
“I will be seventeen tomorrow. The prince of the country before Yong’an ascended to godhood when he was that age.”
“And who in their right mind lets those as young as seventeen become a god? The prince of Xianle was a fool and a child,” Guoshi smiled as he said that, but he spoke more softly than usual.
Lang Qianqiu frowned, letting his mouth move into a pout. Guoshi laughed but did not relent. He knew that acting cute would not get him anywhere, because it never did. Guoshi had iron-plating around his heart, and no matter how much Lang Qianqiu chipped he never seemed to get anywhere. It had taken six-and-a-half years to get him to treat him like a friend, someone to joke with, but there never seemed to be a moment where Guoshi started to view him as an adult.
“Do you think I am a fool?” he switched tactics, hopelessly fishing for compliments.
“No more and no less than everyone your age. Wait a few years before you ascend and leave your poor old Guoshi behind in this mortal world, and everything will be fine.”
Guoshi occasionally talked about how Lang Qianqiu had the capability to ascend to godhood, just as a passing comment, but every time it filled him with a mix of excitement, anticipation, and terror. Because Guoshi was right, if he ascended then he would have to leave him behind.
He laughed, fakely to break the tension.
“Guoshi always thinks so highly of this silly prince. If he would humour me, perhaps we could do some
sword practice. Summer heat. Light robes. A slight sheen of sweat on Guoshi’s forehead, and Lang Qianqiu practically soaked through.
“One more set, then we can sit down,” Guoshi had a good eye for Lang Qianqiu’s stamina, but he could be ruthless when he wanted to be.
It was soon after Fang Xin had been taken in as the Imperial Preceptor, and the memory of their meeting was still fresh in Lang Qianqiu’s mind. He knew that his new Guoshi was a man of rare talents, and he needed those talents imparted to him.
Earlier in the day Lang Qianqiu had run away from calligraphy lessons, and refused to come out of a thorny bush until Guoshi showed him his fighting techniques. Guoshi had relented, but on the condition that Lang Qianqiu would do everything he said.
At first, Lang Qianqiu was elated when Guoshi let him use a real metal, although blunted, sword instead of a wooden practice one. His excitement did not fade as he was walked through new forms and exercises. But by the time he could do all twenty of the exercises with his eyes closed and make no mistakes he suspected Guoshi might just be being mean.
Lang Qianqiu dragged his body back to the starting pose, and Guoshi followed him, his own blunted sword twirling through the air with ease.
“Good. And… begin.”
Step forward, raise elbow, breathe out, arc the entire arm. Each movement was broken down to its component parts in his mind, following Guoshi exactly. He lacked the grace that Guoshi placed into every movement, but he was doing well, if he could say himself.
And then he tripped on a rock.
That sent him flying towards the ground. Lang Qianqiu had the good sense to throw his sword to the side before he landed. Eyes closed, he waited for impact.
Instead of the hard ground, his body hit a soft chest. His arms flew out, and grabbed Guoshi like a lifeline. He hugged him around the waist, straining his little arms to keep himself somewhat upright.
Guoshi reacted in kind, his hands catching Lang Qianqiu’s shoulders and holding him steady. He stepped closer to Lang Qianqiu, helping him regain verticality.
“I might have pushed you a little hard today, Your Highness.”
Guoshi was soft, in a way, beneath those light robes. Lang Qianqiu did not want to let go quite yet, so he stayed silent and still.
“Did I knock him out?” Guoshi muttered to himself after a moment.
He scooped one arm under Lang Qianqiu’s legs, and the other came under his ribs. Guoshi lifted him with ease, like he was naught but a bolt of cloth. Lang Qianqiu scrambled his arms around his teacher’s neck, searching for something to be able to hold himself up with. Some of Guoshi’s robes shifted under his hand, fluttering unnaturally before settling.
“You’re awake, Your Highness. Thank the heavens. Let me bring you to some shade…”
Guoshi easily carried him to a nearby covered courtyard, and tried to set him down. Lang Qianqiu had very different ideas, and still clung to his neck until he sat down beside him. Eventually Guoshi convinced him to let go, but he knew he had a new addiction.
The next day, Lang Qianqiu made his way to the practice arena bright and early, only to find Guoshi dressed in his full seven layers of robes.
“We’ll do something a bit lighter today,” Guoshi eyed the way Lang Qianqiu winced at every movement. “I went a bit overboard yesterday.”
“No! I mean, Guoshi I can do anything you ask of me.”
“Anything?”
“Anything at all!”
“Even calligraphy?”
Lang Qianqiu groaned, “I can do calligraphy, I just don’t want to. I want to practise fighting.”
Guoshi smiled and he leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with Lang Qianqiu.
“I understand, I was the same as a child. However, I don’t believe that true greatness is only in battle. A good king knows politics, and poetry, and war, and nature, and the gods. I want you to have a solid basis for when you take the throne.”
“What good will pretty writing do for me as a king?”
“Peace treaties are usually accepted better when the person receiving them can understand what is written.”
Lang Qianqiu pouted because there was not a lot he could say in response to that. He put all his energy into making it the saddest, most baby-ish pout of his life. Guoshi finally let out a long-suffering sigh and waved his hands to the wooden practice swords.
“Okay, but only a short session. You need to recover.”
Immediately, he dropped his false upset and brightened. He ran over and took his favourite blade, grip wrapped with leather embossed with flames. He listened to every single of Guoshi’s very gentle instructions. He was barely being challenged, which foiled his plans.
When the opportunity struck, Lang Qianqiu let his body ragdoll during a lunge.This time he fell on purpose, with his arms coming out to hug around Guoshi’s ribs. Guoshi reacted in kind, catching him easily. Guoshi’s body was disguised in all the layers he wore, but Lang Qianqiu could have sworn he could still feel the muscles in his arms.
“Your Highness! I told you that you are too tired.”
Arguing that he did it on purpose would give away his secret access to hugs, so Lang Qianqiu kept quiet. He bowed his head, and faked sorrow at his own exhaustion. Guoshi took pity on him, and instead of taking him to calligraphy classes, they instead meditated and cultivated together. Finally the silence was broken when Lang Qianqiu
wondered out loud, “Why did you do that?”
“Hmm?” Guoshi paused after setting down his pen. “This one doesn’t follow your question.”
“Ah, sorry Guoshi. I was remembering when you used to lead me through very long training regimes after I threatened to never study again if you did not do more sword practice. You always speak more of rewarding rather than punishing, so why did you do that?”
“I never meant it to be punishments,” Guoshi frowned, his lips turning ever-so-slightly downwards as he thought. “You asked me to train you like I train myself, so I did. It was only after you collapsed that I remembered that a child and an adult cannot do the same things. I just forgot for a moment.”
“This one was sure you were getting back at me for being a brat about calligraphy.”
“This one would never! He also ran away from calligraphy classes when he was younger, so he was just trying to bribe you into doing your classes with what you wanted.”
“It didn’t work. If I remember correctly, I did no calligraphy for a week after that.”
Guoshi sighed as he stood, “Indeed. You were a willful child. At least with the years you have calmed down.”
Guoshi did not know half of how willful Lang Qianqiu could be. He never did learn that he occasionally faked clumsiness for hugs before he figured out he could just wheedle his way in during classes. He never suspected that he rarely daydreamed and was actually watching him. He would never know that
he was awake in the middle of the night, sword in his hand. Lang Qianqiu yawned but he returned to his starting point. He was fifteen years old, and recently had shot up in height. As a result his swordsmanship had gotten clumsy as his limbs reached truly gangly proportions.
“Your Highness,” a soft voice called out to him.
Lang Qianqiu startled, whirling around with his heart in his throat because Guoshi must never find out –
An Le leaned against the pagoda that marked the entrance to the training arena. He watched Lang Qianqiu with boredom, mouth expressionless and those honey-golden eyes dull and slow-moving.
Lang Qianqiu released his trapped breath, the tension leaving his body in a heartbeat. He sheathed his sword and strode over to his best friend. They clasped hands firmly before he stood opposite to An Le.
“Your Highness, why are you training so late?”
“After my growth spurt I have not been good enough. I don't want to disappoint Guoshi.”
“Has he said anything to you?”
“Of course not. Guoshi has been very understanding, but I know I…”
“I don't know why I even try… Your Highness, you are far too studious for me to understand. Your obsession with pleasing that boring old man borders on insanity.”
Once Lang Qianqiu had tried to explain his affections to An Le, but his friend stared at him as if he had grown a third head. Since that time Lang Qianqiu had kept the secret twice as close to his chest, breathing not a word of it to anyone. An Le rarely brought it up, but when he did it was not to say anything nice.
“Well… I am also trying to replicate that disarm Guoshi did when we first met,” while this was technically true, he was mostly out so he did not fall behind.
An Le’s eyes finally brightened at that. When he was animated, Lang Qianqiu could have sworn that the colours in his eyes swirled like molten metal. Compared to the deep brown eyes of most people from Yong’an, it was clear that An Le was descended from the royalty of Xianle. As a small child Lang Qianqiu had believed that An Le’s blood was made of pure gold.
“I have heard the rumours of the imperial preceptor’s manoeuvre on that night.”
Lang Qianqiu smiled at the memory, “yes, he was truly amazing. He has refused to show it to me because he claims it is dangerous but I remember it well.”
“Is that why you slip out every once in a while?”
“... huh????”
“You're not exactly quiet, Your Highness. I hear you sneaking down the hallway and past my room to get out to the arena.”
“Oh. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, no. I am usually up,” An Le waved his hand lazily. “So… Have you made much progress on the disarm?”
“I have the basics down, I think. However it is impossible to know if it will work in reality like it does in my head.”
An Le hummed, but he stepped into the arena properly, his eyes still sparking with curiosity.
“Show me what you have so far.”
Lang Qianqiu set the stage in words. Two people attacking each other, swords about to meet. You, the third party, between them. You move forward, and catch the first blade, then twist to meet the second. The goal is to not injure either party while disarming both. He moved through his forms slowly, twisting his wrists just right to change the direction of his sword
“Very interesting,” was all An Le said afterwards. “I can see why Fang Xin Guoshi is so highly regarded if he could do this in a heartbeat. Interesting that he doesn’t use his talents much anymore.”
“This lowly one shall return to bed now. But Your Highness, I must let you know: there are rumours in the underground that there will be attempts on your life soon. Be safe.”
An Le was always looking out for him. When he warned of danger, he was nearly always right.
When Lang Qianqiu returned to his room, he found a sword stabbed deep into the covers of his bed, where he would have been lying if he was sleeping. He went to alert the guards when, from the darkness, a hand
reached and tapped his hand. Guoshi was standing, his head tilted to the side as he watched .
“You wished to do some training? Will we go to the arena before it gets dark?”
Lang Qianqiu blinked.
“Pardon?”
“You asked to go do some sword practice.”
“I did, didn’t I? Sorry Guoshi, I seem to be lost in thought today.”
“Nothing like a little fresh air to clear your mind then.”
Guoshi slipped his hand into Lang Qianqiu’s, but he did not himself be pulled away. Instead, with a slight tug he brought Guoshi into his arms, and hugged him tightly. Slowly Guoshi’s arms tucked around his back, returning the hug with only a little bit of hesitance.
In those arms Lang Qianqiu was always safe. From their first meeting to this very moment Guoshi always protected him.
“Guoshi, what will happen tomorrow?”
Hands rubbed soft circles into his back as Guoshi thought. “You will come of age, but nothing much will actually change. You will still study, you will still be the beloved prince, you will do everything you did today but you will do it as an adult.”
As an adult. Did adults get hugs from their teacher? Were adults allowed to wish for more? Or would he be expected to give up this childish crush?
He pulled away slightly as panic gripped
his heart, he was being dragged and he did not know where he was going. He struggled against his captors’ arms but they were so much stronger than him. He could not even scream around the rough gag shoved in his mouth, not that he would have if he could as that was just humiliating.
He cursed his growth spurt, because none of his limbs obeyed his orders as he wanted them to. Every time he got a single arm free he never seemed to be able to hit the person in front of him before his arm was caught again.
He scrambled and he escaped their hands for just a moment. He ran as fast as he could, yanking the cloth from his mouth. He turned the corner, and he recognised this hallway. Footsteps pounded behind him as he raced towards the door to Guoshi’s chambers.
“Guoshi!” he called, his voice straining.
But it was hopeless, because it was the middle of the night, and Guoshi was asleep, and he was too far away, and he was captured again, and he was being dragged and dragged and dragged.
“Try that again, pretty boy, and we’ll have to get violent. If anyone does come we’ll teach them a lesson before your eyes.”
Lang Qianqiu’s stomach flipped. He could imagine it now, Guoshi in his sleeping clothes rushing out into an ambush. A sword through his stomach as he reached out to Lang Qianqiu. Being torn away as Guoshi breathes his last breath.
He sagged in their grasp. He should have listened to An Le, he should have stayed out training for longer, he should have stayed in bed and died a quick death.
They took him down the hall easily, staring back at Guoshi’s door. Praying for it to open. Praying for it to stay closed.
The door opened silently, and Guoshi stuck his head out.
A moment passed.
Guoshi moved quicker than he could blink, sword already drawn. His lips were drawn into a thin line, concentrating fully. His sword weaved through the air, sending the first captor flying. Another blink, and a second . A flash and the third and fourth began running, and Guoshi followed faster than light. The world blurred, leaving Lang Qianqiu alone. And yet just as quickly, there were two heavy thuds and Guoshi returned to him, hurrying at a normal fast run.
“Qianqiu! Are you okay?” his touch was soft, checking Lang Qianqiu’s arms and body for injuries.
Lang Qianqiu was stuck in place, in shock. Since when could Guoshi move so fast, that he could fight with such ease? Some part of him thought that that first night was a dream, because while he was a talented swordsman he did not seem that skilled. After a long moment he let out a shaky breath.
“I’m okay Guoshi. Just got a fright.”
Guoshi scoffed, “A fright? Getting kidnapped by armed men is not a fright, it's terrifying!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time it's happened to me.”
Guoshi stopped his buzzing around, and he looked at Lang Qianqiu thoughtfully. He placed a hand softly on his shoulder,
“Just because it has happened before doesn’t mean it's okay. It's alright to be scared, Qianqiu.”
Something cracked inside him. He was scared he was so scared. Tears welled in his eyes, He rushed forward into Guoshi’s embrace and hugged him tightly. Guoshi murmured in his ear as he rubbed his back, and Lang Qianqiu was safe, he was safe, he was safe when Guoshi was there.
After a long moment, when his tears had dried, Lang Qianqiu pulled back. This was the first time he cried in ten years. He thought he was beyond such childish emotions. Only babies get scared, men deal with whatever hand they are dealt.
“Thank you Guoshi.”
“I was just doing my duty, Your Highness.”
Lang Qianqiu knew he was lying. Guoshi always went beyond his duty. He was not here to protect him, he was here to teach, and to lead worship to the gods. He was here to be wise, not to be brave. And yet he threw himself forward without hesitance to save Lang Qianqiu. And he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.
He stepped forward again, and Guoshi opened his arms again, thinking he needed another embrace, but Lang Qianqiu dodged at the last moment, and turned his face until he was facing Guoshi’s cheek. There he pressed a gentle kiss.
“Thank you Guoshi. For everything you do for me.”
It took Guoshi a moment to respond, as he seemed stuck in the moment where Lang Qianqiu kissed him. Finally he swallowed and he turned to his student.
“Of course. You are worth every second of my time.”
Lang Qianqiu smiled because
Guoshi looked like an angel like that, a slight flush escaping from under his mask and his lips slightly parted. He stayed in place, despite the hug proper ending a long time ago, yet Lang Qianqiu still held him loosely around the waist. He was perfect, from the head to his toe and he was where Lang Qianqiu was safe.
Lang Qianqiu leaned down, capturing Fang Xin Guoshi's lips between his own. It was a slow kiss, as he indulged his every fantasy of the past years. Well, a few of them. There would be time for the others later.
“Qianqiu…” Guoshi sighed against his mouth.
That sound lit a spark in Lang Qianqiu's chest, which quickly became a wildfire that raged through his entire body. Guoshi's arms rise to
“Guoshi, please come to the banquet. Please be there when I become a man.”
“Qianqiu,” he was quieter this time, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
Lang Qianqiu knew the words that would come out of his mouth, the rejection that was inevitable. He stepped back like he had been burned.
His joy quickly curdled to fear in the pit of his stomach. He had one chance and he had wasted it on a silly impulse. He had waited six-and-a-half long years for this to lose it all.
“Consider it Guoshi,” the words spilled from his mouth.
He rushed to the door, not letting Guoshi to respond. But even still he heard a quiet voice say in the silence of the library.
“I’ll be there.”
A servant knocked on Lang Qianqiu’s door, and told him that it was time for him to go to the banquet hall to meet his father. Lang Qianqiu’s heart was beating out of his chest but he stood.
He was dressed in his finest clothes, gold twinkling from every inch of his body. A gilded banquet called for everyone to shine as bright as stars, especially him, the prince coming of age. He looked well, but he could not tell if he looked good enough to stand eye-to-eye with Guoshi.
The palace was quiet, and Lang Qianqiu’s footsteps echoed through the halls. Everyone was at the banquet, or running around to keep the banquet on track. Everyone but him. Some part of him wanted to take this opportunity to run away. Nobody would notice if he slipped out today. If he just left and became a wandering cultivator. But most of him wanted to quicken his step, to arrive at the banquet and let Guoshi answer him. Unless his answer was no, then he should definitely run away now.
While those two ideas were causing chaos in his head, he found himself speeding up towards the grand hall. He entered the courtyard that was led to the hall, and his step stuttered.
A scream echoed through the empty palace.
Lang Qianqiu ran, his feet pounding on the tiles. From across the courtyard, he caught a glance of the battle. There were about fifteen people still standing, and corpses were scattered around their feet.
There was Fang Xin Guoshi, as beautiful as ever. His robes were spread wide around him as he fended off ruffians. He could look after himself, so Lang Qianqiu turned from him.
There was his mother and father standing behind guards. And how could he not recognise his closest friend, An Le, approaching them with a blade drawn. Lang Qianqiu’s heart lightened knowing his parents were protected.
Lang Qianqiu concentrated on running, his legs moving quicker than they ever had before. He was most of the way to the hall when he passed a pillar which blocked his view. He turned into the door and he froze.
Guoshi stood above An Le with his sword angled down at him.
Then Guoshi buried that glittering blade deep into An Le’s chest.
Lang Qianqiu’s closest friend died a quick death at the hand of his beloved. Blood spurted for a moment when Fang Xin Guoshi pulled the sword free but just as quickly Guoshi whirled around.
His father steps out from behind the guard, shouting something that Lang Qianqiu cannot hear over the ringing in his ears. The shouting continued for a long time, but for Lang Qianqiu it was just one heartbeat, one second, one blink.
The blade swung again, resting lightly at the king’s throat. His father quickly batted it to the side when he drew his own sword. He stepped back as the guard stepped forward. But he was not retreating, he raised his sword to meet Guoshi’s next swing.
He was running, running, running. The floor was moving beneath his feet, the distance closing with every blink.
Lang Qianqiu remembers
the first time Lang Qianqiu saw his soon to be Guoshi, he was not wearing the fine silks he now prefers but rough and slightly stained robes. He was sitting by the side of the road, eating a stale mantou.
Lang Qianqiu dared not mutter a word as his captors rode past on their horse. He had been beaten to the point of tears over and over, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before it got worse.
This was not the first time Lang Qianqiu had been kidnapped. He was wise to their ways. He was ten years old.
He idly wondered that a man so handsome should be sitting in the dirt. He should be immortalised in ink and paint where he would be properly appreciated. The stranger smiled at the child, and raised his hand in a wave. Lang Qianqiu wanted nothing more than to wave back.
Hooves thundered in the distance, and his captors cursed. No matter how they hit their horses, the animals were simply too tired to gallop any more. He cringed in his seat, even as his heart lightened.
He had been found.
The traveller watched the cursing and scrambling with his eyebrows raised. He stood when the soldiers arrived, his hand travelling to his hip despite his lack of sword. He stepped forward, but nobody was watching him, nobody but Lang Qianqiu.
“Release His Highness this instant.”
From those words, everything moved too quickly for him to remember. The man holding him scrambled to unsheath his knife, and the soldiers drew their swords, and the other kidnappers followed, and the stranger leaned down, and Lang Qianqiu screamed, and swords were so close he could feel the breeze against his face, and there was shouting, and crashing, and he was being dropped, and the blades met a hairsbreadth from his eyes and–
The stranger was wreathed in light as he lunged forward.
Tree-branch in hand, he moved deftly, catching the two swords before they struck together. With a twist of his wrist and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he sent them flying opposite directions. A kick to the kidnapper’s leg sent him stumbling back from the fallen prince.
And he looked down and smiled. And Lang Qianqiu’s heart beat faster.
“It’s okay, I have you.”
Lang Qianqiu scrambled to stand behind him, his hands gripping his robes. The stranger’s free hand came to rest gently on top of his head.
The traveller held the branch lightly, but when someone approached he easily sent them back. Lang Qianqiu stood behind him, that stranger, clinging to his leg and for the first time in years he felt safe.
In the middle of the night he practised those subtle movements, the blade never as quick in his hands as the branch was in Fang Xin Guoshi’s. He stumbled, genuinely stumbled, and waited for
the ground rises to meet him, as kidnappers reach out to him. But this time he used the qinggong taught to him by
his first love, wreathed in light, and slashed Fang Xin down on his father.
Lang Qianqiu’s sword collided first with his father’s, then he whirled the direction of his blade to block Guoshi’s. His wrist creaked out a horrible noise, but he followed through to force Guoshi to drop his sword.
But he was too late.
Guoshi side-stepped him, his movement fluidly moving his sword out of the way of Lang Qianqiu’s approximation of his own technique. He moved through his guard, and hit the soldier who was aiming at him heavily. He then moved to attack the disarmed king.
Lang Qianqiu turned and did the only thing he could think of. He hit Guoshi with the flat of his blade.
Guoshi stumbled. Guoshi fell. His blade went flying across the floor.
And so did his mask.
Those eyes. He looked up at Lang Qianqiu with eyes like liquid gold just like An Le. Proud brows, fine nose, and eyes like honey.
Lang Qianqiu blinked and the mask was being slipped back over his face, hiding all but those lips. He could not see how he got the mask back, but for the very instant he opened his eyes, he could have sworn a snake was twisted around his wrist.
Before anyone else could react, the final standing soldier held his bloody sword over Guoshi’s fallen frame, keeping him trapped. Guoshi relaxed his body, slumping easily.
“I know when I have been bested. I surrender.”
Lang Qianqiu knew that was not true. Guoshi could have easily continued fighting, and he would probably have won. He had not moved with half the speed he had shown those two times he saved Lang Qianqiu's life, not used any of the viciousness he used when training by himself. Then there was the question of how he retrieved his mask. Lang Qianqiu had long wondered how he grabbed things from across the room the moment he turned his head.
“Fang Xin, what is the meaning of this?” The king demanded now that he had caught his breath.
Guoshi remained silent, head bowed. Lang Qianqiu held his breath, praying for him to a perfectly justified
“You are the royal preceptor, how dare you engage in a coup. Speak and I may show you mercy.”
“I need no mercy. Have me treated as you will.”
“Guoshi, please, explain what happened,” Lang Qianqiu tried, and failed, to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. He so desperately wanted him to be innocent, to be justified, to not have betrayed him. He wanted his feelings returned and his hopes to be fulfilled. He knew Guoshi was a good man, a kind man, a moral man, a man who wanted the best for his student. A man who wanted the best for Lang Qianqiu. A man who returned his affections.
“I tried to kill your father. I killed the last member of the royal bloodline of Xianle. I would have killed you if I wanted. I will take any punishment you see fit.”
Lang Qianqiu flinched. Guoshi's tone was flat, something he had never heard from him before. It chilled him to the bone because that was the voice of a man who would have killed the child he had raised for nearly seven years.
And yet would a heartless murderer hesitate when he could have done much worse than he did? Would a man who had just been playing at kindness accept his punishment gracefully?
“Go to your quarters. I will speak with you later.”
“Qianqiu!” His father scolded. “This is not your decision to make.”
“Father, Your Majesty, you have experienced a battle and your head is currently hot and angry. Any decision you make now you will regret. Please let me lead the investigation.”
His father grumbled, but did not object. With a flick of Lang Qianqiu's hand, the soldier stood back, but kept his sword drawn.
Guoshi stood and then bowed low. He held himself like it was just another day, his back straight, face impassive, not a hair out of place. The only thing that was abnormal was the small splatter of blood on the hem of his robes.
Lang Qianqiu watched him glide out of the banquet hall, wanting nothing more than for him to turn around and explain himself. To explain how everything secretly made sense. But Guoshi never looked back, never even hesitated.
That night was a whirlwind. Instead of celebrating his birthday with his family, Lang Qianqiu led an investigation into a bloody battle. In actuality, there were very few deaths but many people were injured, from the rebels to his various aunts and uncles. The only important casualty was the last of the Xianle royal line, An Le.
However after that long night, Lang Qianqiu thought he had learned as much as he was ever going to learn without talking to the only real culprit of the night. He had the seeds that could sprout to reveal Guoshi’s lies, but he needed to water them. His chest ached but he kept moving forward.
He walked down the now silent hall that led to the private quarters of the imperial preceptor, Fang Xin. There was only one person in the hallway: his mother. She stood outside Guoshi’s door. Lang Qianqiu stopped in front of her, and she reached out for her only son. He easily stepped into her light embrace, hugging her back.
After a minute she stepped back, and he mirrored her. She watched his face with a wisdom he had never seen from her before.
“Qianqiu, my child, just as your father is blinded by his fear and anger, you are also biassed. Do not let your affections for that man affect your judgement.”
Lang Qianqiu grimaced but he held her hands softly between his. “Mother, I promise my mind is clear. If I find him to have been thoughtlessly cruel then I will not hesitate to make sure he suffers accordingly.”
The queen, his mother, who knew him from his very birth, watched him. She seemed to read his face and intentions, cutting to his very heart. Eventually she must have seen that his resolve was true, because she rose to stand on her toes. Lang Qianqiu bowed slightly, letting her kiss his forehead.
“Thank you mother.”
“You are a just boy, and you will become a wise man. But please don’t let my son become a man just yet. Let your parents shelter you for a little longer.”
But they both knew that there was no reversing what happened that night, nor any reversing the life Lang Qianqiu had lived. While this might be the night to make him a man, he had not been a boy in a long time. His childhood had died when he was ten years old.
Lang Qianqiu opened the door to Fang Xin Guoshi’s rooms, leaving his mother behind. Guoshi was sitting at his desk, reading. The rising sun illuminated him from the side, so he looked just as much like a painting as he did on the day he saved his life. If Lang Qianqiu let himself forget, then he was standing before a scholar who had suitors scrambling for his attention. But too quickly Guoshi noticed him in the door and stood to greet him.
“Your Highness,” he bowed low to Lang Qianqiu with his hands folded in front of him.
“You may sit.”
He sat, folding at the waist as he always did. Lang Qianqiu noticed he had changed out of his bloodstained robes and into something much simpler. He wore not silks embroidered with a thousand threads, but a simple two-layered piece made from rough cloth. The only thing different about him from that first night was that he still wore the silver mask.
He wanted his first words to be insightful, to spread all the evidence he had uncovered in front of his teacher, but the words stuck in his throat. The only thing he could force himself to say was “Why?”
Guoshi did not react, still staring at him blankly.
“Guoshi, why did you lie?” why did you lie in that hall, lie that you deserve to be blamed for this, deserve to die.
Guoshi reacted to that, his lips pressing together slightly, but as soon as the expression crossed his face it was gone again.
“Your Highness, this servant has no idea what you are speaking of. This one killed Prince An Le and others in cold blood.”
“How many others?”
Guoshi paused, as if he were counting, “thirty-five, if we count a few I finished after my compatriots injured them.”
He was so methodical, as if he was answering an arithmetic problem. As if he was not speaking about human life. A chill travelled down Lang Qianqiu's spine.
“And who are these compatriots?”
“We did not exchange names, but the rebels. If you need any confirmation you only need to ask around the underworld for a man with golden eyes. You will quickly find traces of me.”
“Is that why you wear a mask? To more easily live a second life?”
“That's correct, Your Highness.”
Lie after lie after lie. Guoshi never reacted as he so blatantly lied, as if he were simply telling the truth. But Lang Qianqiu pushed onwards.
“You have ties to Xianle then?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I am of Xianle descent. I hated how your regime treated my people, so I organised with the others to take you down from the inside.”
None of this made any sense. When Lang Qianqiu first met him, Guoshi was travelling near the border of Yong’an, far from any known settlements of Xianle people. He never expressed any Xianle nationalistic ideals, even going so far as to criticise the late royal family. He often talked highly of how Lang Qianqiu’s father treated the Xianle people. And perhaps most importantly, if he was connected to the Xianle revolution, then why did he not turn a blind eye on that first kidnapping and let the little prince die?
“Guoshi,” he choked on the words, “Stop lying. I know you are lying. You could not have done half this stuff. Whoever you are covering for is not worth it.”
You are lying, you are innocent, tell me the truth, let me forgive you, let me love you, please please please just stop lying.
“Your Highness, I promise you that the best outcome for you is to have me killed. Forget about me, live your life to the fullest and leave me to rot. Nothing I can say will fix what happened tonight,” his voice was soft, like he was talking to the scared child he first met.
“Guoshi I do not want your pity, I want the truth. The whole truth. You have lied constantly all night. Thirty-five people did not die tonight, not least from the royal family. The rebels have admitted to have received intel from a golden-eyed man, yet none of them reacted to your description.”
The breath he let out tore through his body. Guoshi’s lips parted slightly, perhaps to say something, but then he shut them again.
When he finally spoke, his tone was harsher than Lang Qianqiu had ever heard it before, “Qianqiu, stop being naive. You are an honourable man, and one with a deep sense of justice and I know you would hate to punish someone who is innocent. However there is nobody else who it could be. I am the only person in the palace with golden eyes.”
“Guoshi you know that’s not true! An Le was right there!”
“... He was just an agent-”
“An Le hated you. And not as one hates their boss, but as one hates an obstacle. He never had a nice word to say about you.”
Guoshi did not seem surprised. He fiddled with his mask for a second, before lifting it off his face and lowering it to his lap. For the first time in his life Lang Qianqiu got a good look at his teacher’s face. He was young, barely older than Lang Qianqiu himself. Yet that just did not make sense.
“And what if I told you I am Xianle royalty, closer to the last king in blood than An Le? What if I told you I was banished a long time ago for doing something far worse than killing a couple people? What if I told you that I knew of the plans of the rebellion long before I met you? Would you forgive me? Or would you give me what I deserve: your derision and dishonourable death?” his tone was serious, but emotions coloured it deeply.
“I would simply want to know the truth of what happened today. None of the rest of it matters to me.”
He believed him. He believed that Fang Xin Guoshi had purer Xianle blood than An Le. In this light, he had frightening resemblance to the last remaining statues of the Flower-Crowned Martial God, the prince of Xianle that ascended. Guoshi had also spoken in broad terms about his past regrets, and that he had done many horrible things.
But he knew Guoshi was harsh on himself.
He trained until he almost passed out, he worked constantly. If Lang Qianqiu ever made a mistake in his studies it was because Guoshi was a poor teacher, not because he was lazy.
“Please Guoshi, I am begging you. Tell the truth. There is so much I know, so many people to back up this information. This was not a rebellion orchestrated by you, but by An Le. You were defending the banquet, not attacking it. You killed one person, the leader who was attempting to take the lives of the king and queen. You did nothing wrong.”
“I knew An Le wanted to hurt you, yet I did nothing, and when your father in a fit of rage threatened to kill the remaining people of Xianle I tried to kill him too. I am guilty-”
“All I need is a yes or a no. Did you kill anyone but An Le tonight?”
“I tried to kill your father.”
“That was not a death. If you are of Xianle descent it is only right for you to not want innocents to die. Did you kill anyone else?”
“....” Guoshi remained silent.
“Guoshi.”
“No. The only person I killed was my last remaining relative.”
A sob escaped Lang Qianqiu, which he quickly muffled with his hands. Guoshi’s eyes widened in surprise. He rose to his feet and approached Lang Qianqiu quickly. His hand immediately came to his back and he stroked wide circles like he had done since Lang Qianqiu was a child.
“What's wrong?”
“Guoshi… if you were innocent, then why would you lie?” tears started streaming down his face.
“Your High-”
“Qianqiu,” he interrupted, wiping his eyes fruitlessly because if he was going to get rejected it might as well be with his real name.
“... Qianqiu. It would be easier for you if you hated me than hating the king or An Le. I am just a leaf blowing through your life briefly, not your father or your best friend. I am replaceable, they are not.”
Lang Qianqiu choked, and a great hacking cough shook his entire body. Guoshi startled and he started rubbing harder to release some sputum.
“Qianqiu just breathe, just breathe!”
“Guoshi! Why would you say you are replaceable? I love you?”
Guoshi blinked.
“I kissed you yesterday!”
He paled.
“I asked you to be there when I became a man.”
The blood rushed to Guoshi’s face. If Lang Qianqiu were not crying, and on the edge of heartbreak, he would have been concerned for his health. But as it was, it was clear that Guoshi did not return his affections.
All this was for nothing. Perhaps it would have been better to let Guoshi die, and let his feelings die with him. Perhaps it would have been better if he had never let Guoshi into his heart.
Thoughts consumed every inch of his brain, tearing Lang Qianqiu apart. Yet he was brought back into the world by gentle fingers around his jaw, tilting his head down slightly.
“I’m sorry that I was ignoring you, Qianqiu.”
The kiss was soft and sweet, almost exactly like the one the day before. It was flavoured with salt from Lang Qianqiu’s tears. And it led him to wanting more.
“I’m sorry I told myself that I was imagining things.”
This time Guoshi opened his mouth, letting Lang Qianqiu explore deeply.
“I’m sorry I let your feelings go unreciprocated for so long.”
And, with Guoshi’s gentle encouragement, he let himself indulge in all those fantasies he stopped himself from the first time around.
And if he watched Guoshi dress later in the morning, and admired the pretty little red marks that ran over his shoulders and those bruises on his thighs, he would never say.
But he would defend the masked beauty to his father with his every breath, and he took the testimonies from several captured rebels and other people present at the banquet. It took several weeks, but finally the king accepted that this was neither the fault of Fang Xin Guoshi, nor the people of Xianle at large.
And he would spend more long summer days in that library, studying under the watchful eyes of the smartest and bravest man he knew: His Guoshi, his first love, his Fang Xin.