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“I’d like to go pray in one of your temples.”
Quan Yizhen, sitting cross-legged on the bed, looked away from his handheld game console and turned toward the source of the voice, letting the game’s sound linger on its own for a moment as background noise. His gaze landed on Yin Yu’s back as he studied at his desk, leaning over his tablet, one hand propped against his cheek, elbow resting on the table, betraying a certain boredom toward his studies.
The dark-haired young man’s posture revealed nothing out of the ordinary, save for a completely mundane scene, a fleeting thought.
“You can talk to me here, Shixiong… if you want something from me, I will grant all your wishes.”
The young unruly haired god's voice voice carried a hint of perplexity, a trace of concern, he found this rather sudden coming from his old senior brother-in-arms.
“It's not just for praying. It’s almost a special day, isn’t it? Your temples must be beautiful to see right now. I’d like to go see them with you.”
The young student’s words implied genuine curiosity. He turned his head to meet the god’s gaze through his glasses.
“Would that bother you?” he added.
Quan Yizhen let go of the game console, leaving it beside the pillow, and moved closer to Yin Yu, still sitting cross-legged, bouncing lightly across the bed.
“Of course not. If Shixiong wants to go, then we’ll go.”
Yin Yu pushed his desk chair back, letting it roll gently toward Quan Yizhen, who caught it with ease and care. With a light press of his hand, the god spun the chair until he was finally face to face with the one he loved so dearly.
Yin Yu’s fine ebony hair floated lightly, carried by the chair’s rotation.
Their eyes met.
Quan Yizhen’s heart skipped a beat, as it always did.
Yin Yu’s lips curved into a charming smile, lifting slightly the beauty mark beneath his left eye, visible behind his glasses.
Another beat was lost.
“Thank you, Yizhen.”
Leaning forward, Yin Yu’s arms slipped behind Quan Yizhen’s neck, and he placed a light, chaste kiss on his cheek, lingering there for several long seconds, as though unable to part from his other half, breathing in with pleasure the scent of lotus flowers and Jujube fruit drifting from his leonine hair.
Unable to resist the temptation, the god’s strong arms wrapped around Yin Yu’s waist and, with a confident motion, Quan Yizhen slid him off the chair and pulled Yin Yu toward him onto the bed.
Lying together, Yin Yu pressed against him in his grasp, the God of the West nestled his face into the young reincarnate’s neck, letting his breath brush the back of Yin Yu’s ear, drawing a soft laugh from him.
“That tickles!”
But a particularly needy, lingering kiss pulled the embraced young man back to reality, and he suddenly propped himself up on his elbows to face his partner, feeling the tension rise and his ears turn red.
“Hey! Yizhen! We’re not done talking!”
“We can talk after…?”
“I still have to study afterward!”
Quan Yizhen, a little sulky, tilted his head to the side like a small puppy.
“After, after…? Shixiong has already studied all day…”
With a resigned expression, Yin Yu cupped Quan Yizhen’s cheeks with both thumbs at once, pressing a gentle kiss to the forehead of his long lost shidi, between two rebellious strands of hair. He then rested his head softly against Quan Yizhen’s chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heart and feeling his fingers, calloused from his swordsmanship, trail along his back beneath the fabric of his shirt.
“After, after… if I’m not too tired.”
They stayed like that, in silence for a few moments, savoring their closeness, before Yin Yu spoke again.
“I’ll probably have to take a plane to get there. My father will find out…”
The idea truly did not please the young mortal.
“We could use the dice…?” Quan Yizhen suggested naturally, but the idea was quickly shut down by the other boy.
“You’re not allowed to bring a human with the dice, Yizhen.”
“Hua Cheng will agree. Shixiong isn’t just a simple human.”
Yin Yu raised an eyebrow before laughing at such certainty from his once-shidi.
“I am a ‘simple’ human, Yizhen… and you seem very sure of yourself…”
And Quan Yizhen truly did seem sure of himself.
“He’ll agree if I ask Xie-xiong first.”
Yin Yu huffed softly, amused by the logic.
“Clever little thing…”
“And that way, your father doesn’t have to know.”
Quan Yizhen paused.
“Shixiong…” His tone turned questioning. “Is it a real date?”
Perplexed, Yin Yu lifted his head to look at the God of the West, his glasses slightly slipped down his nose.
“Yizhen, I… uh…”
Yin Yu blushed slightly.
“You know…we don’t really need dates anymore, now.”
“I like dates. I want more of them.”
The young blushing mortal studied him for a moment before offering the most beautiful smile.
“Then it’s a date.”
Quan Yizhen’s fulfilled heart was truly going to stop one of those days.
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Quan Yizhen did not even need to insist when he explained the reason for using the dice: the request was immediately accepted by the Ghost King, without even having to go through his beloved husband. The pale-faced man rarely showed it, but he genuinely cared about the happiness of his former employee and friend.
“It’s for a romantic date with Shixiong” seemed to be a sufficient, and amusing, reason to break one of his own rules.
And so, with a single roll of the dice and a step through a doorway, the two lovers found themselves on the other side of the world. From a small student dorm room, they emerged into a bustling, noisy Chinese shopping street. They had agreed to stay overnight so that Yin Yu could enjoy the change of scenery and clear his mind, clouded by his studies.
“Come on, Shixiong! My temple is this way!”
Quan Yizhen grabbed Yin Yu’s backpack, filled with their belongings, swung it over his left shoulder, and took his companion’s hand, pulling him along into the main street.
“Shouldn’t we find somewhere to stay for the night first?”
Taking advantage of Quan Yizhen’s pause, the young student pulled the noise-canceling headphones from the front pocket of the bag and handed them to him, knowing how much the god disliked overly loud environments.
“We could sleep at my palace.”
“Yi… Yizhen, you can’t take me to the Heavenly Capital!” Yin Yu replied, almost horrified by the idea. He immediately lowered his voice, aware that they were in the middle of the street, unlike Quan Yizhen, who clearly didn’t care.
“Why not? Hua Cheng goes there with Xie-xiong all the time. He’s not a heavenly official either. So why not Shixiong?”
Quan Yizhen took the headphones, though he didn’t put them on right away.
“I… I’m just a simple human, Yizhen. I don’t belong in the Heavenly Capital.”
“He’s a ghost, he doesn’t belong there either. But he belongs next to Xie-xiong, so no one says anything.”
Reading between the lines, Yin Yu understood that his companion wanted to make their romantic relationship official in the eyes of others, proud as a peacock. How could he blame him, after having searched for him for so long while everyone else said he would never succeed?
To top it all off, he had even managed to court him, awkwardly, perhaps, but still.
“I’ll think about it…”
Just the thought already made his legs tremble with anxiety. Quan Yizhen’s hand tightened a little more around his own, now slightly damp with stress.
“No one belongs there more than you do, Shixiong. And if you still don’t believe it, you can tell yourself that you belong by m…”
Yin Yu cut him off firmly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, dreading the rest of that sentence.
“Let’s go to your temple first, okay? I’ll think about it on the way. And let’s grab something to eat.”
Food had always been an excellent way to derail an awkward conversation, and it worked perfectly. Quan Yizhen immediately perked up and announced his preference.
“I want to eat meat-filled dumplings.”
He put on his headphones to filter out the surrounding noise, yet he could still hear perfectly well the clear, sincere laughter of his lover at his side.
“That works for me too.”
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Yin Yu truly didn’t know what to expect as he arrived at the temple. He knew that Qi Ying’s popularity had sharply declined during his (far too long) years of searching, and he had sincerely braced himself for a disaster. He only remembered Quan Yizhen’s past glory vaguely: too many memories were blurred, dissolved in the flow of ages and reincarnated lives. Stirring that box of memories was often a moral and physical ordeal, like a beam of light far too harsh in the darkness. It was better to close the lid than risk being blinded by its contents.
It often frustrated Quan Yizhen when he brought up one of their shared memories and Yin Yu, unable to respond more appropriately, could only offer him a gentle smile to show that he didn’t remember, something that deeply saddened his old shidi.
Before their relationship, Yin Yu would simply ruffle his curls with friendly affection. Since their bond had grown more intimate, though still unofficial, that gesture had turned into a shy, apologetic kiss at the corner of his lips (which invariably ended in a much more passionate embrace).
Honestly, the sight of the temple was breathtaking.
The columns, vaults, and red-and-gold roof decorations were lavishly carved with mythical dragons, both threatening and majestic. Moon symbols appeared almost as frequently as those of the sun, an odd detail to an outside observer, as the moon was not traditionally associated with Qi Ying Diànxià.
The scent of incense permeated the air, and every tile had been carefully polished to reflect the light of the moon and stars. Night had already fallen, and the temple was lit only by red lanterns swaying together in the wind, deepening the warm tones of the place.
A few devotees waited outside to offer their prayers to Qi Ying Diànxià, while others whispered among themselves in hushed reverence.
As Yin Yu stepped forward to enter, Quan Yizhen caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, forcing him to turn around in surprise.
“Shixiong… I’m sorry…”
“Why are you apologizing, Yizhen?”
“Actually… this is one of your temples… You don’t remember…?”
Yin Yu looked at him in confusion, adjusting his glasses before letting out a soft laugh and instinctively lowering his voice. All of this felt far removed from his reality.
“It’s probably been a millennium since I last had a temple, Yizhen, if one was ever truly dedicated to me at all.”
“It really is one of yours! I did everything I could to save it! But my believers eventually attributed it to me…”
“And you thought that would make me angry? Then why bring me here…?”
“Because it’s the most beautiful and precious one to me… the one I wanted to protect most from my fall…”
The words struck Yin Yu like a blade straight through the heart. They carried all the suffering and despair Quan Yizhen must have felt during his descent into ruin. He had chosen to preserve what little remained of Yin Yu rather than think of himself, of the loss of his own temples.
They had never spoken of it, but Yin Yu was almost certain that Quan Yizhen was aware, consciously or not, of the self-destructive path he had orchestrated.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. Despite the sacredness of the place, mercifully at a respectful distance, he pulled Quan Yizhen into a firm embrace, crumpling his leather jacket in a sudden hug, both tender and tight. Startled, Quan Yizhen dropped the bag, which hit the ground with a dull thud, before returning the embrace, burying his face against Yin Yu’s neck and jacket.
The silence lingered with the embrace: no words came. Still, Quan Yizhen understood that his companion didn’t blame him, at least, not for this.
Yin Yu eventually pulled away from the ill-timed intimacy.
“Shall we… continue our date?” he added lightly, sniffing as he refused to let his tears fall.
“Yes, Shixiong! Oh, by the way, the head priest will probably recognize me.”
“What? Isn’t it… forbidden for you to show yourself to humans?!” Yin Yu whispered with difficulty, faced with such nonchalance.
“He’s already seen me in dreams… and it was too annoying to change my appearance.”
Yin Yu sighed, hoping it wouldn’t lead to consequences.
“You really take everything lightly.”
“You think so? He’s nice. It’ll be fine.”
“That’s not really the problem…”
He suddenly wanted to turn back, but Quan Yizhen stopped him, taking his hand, picking up the bag, and leading him inside the temple.
As expected, an immense and elegant statue of Qi Ying, sword in hand, stood at the center of the hall, entirely covered in gold leaf and adorned with flowers. Richly embroidered red curtains framed it, lending a sense of movement to its imposing form. It wasn’t perfectly accurate, but it was undeniably beautiful.
The priest noticed them immediately. Two young men entering hand in hand was unusual enough, but when his eyes fell upon the one whose cheeks were dusted with freckles and whose lion-like mane bounced against his shoulders, he suddenly questioned his own sanity. He kept his distance, watching carefully.
Yin Yu realized that Quan Yizhen had no intention of letting go of his hand.
“There will be consequences…”
He deliberately avoided using his name, but Quan Yizhen was an unrestrained fool, making Yin Yu grit his teeth.
“Who cares, Shixiong.”
The title didn’t escape the priest’s attention, and Yin Yu was certain Quan Yizhen had done it on purpose.
Rolling his eyes, Yin Yu approached the altar, reassured by the abundance of offerings. The temple was neither crowded nor empty, Qi Ying’s devotees were still present and devoted, as shown by the many incense sticks planted in the sand.
Quan Yizhen had worked hard to reverse the decline. Over the past few months, Yin Yu had watched him take prayers seriously again, spending entire nights meditating and answering his followers. Word of mouth had done the rest. Believers were returning, slowly, but surely. Yin Yu didn’t know how many temples remained, and he feared asking.
Yin Yu took out his wallet, ready to make an offering, but Quan Yizhen stopped him immediately.
“You don’t need to do that, Shixiong!”
“It’s only proper. I won’t pray without offering something,” Yin Yu insisted. “It’s for the restoration of the temple, not for you. Let go of my hand, damn it.”
“But I still have plenty of gold in my palace… I can pay for it myself…”
Quan Yizhen looked crestfallen, his usual puppy-dog eyes making a return.
“It makes me happy to do it. Please, let me.”
Yin Yu’s fingers gently brushed through the god’s soft, unruly curls, tucking them back behind his shoulder in a calming gesture. Quan Yizhen finally relented.
“Thank you.”
Yin Yu took three incense sticks, lit them from a candle, then waved the smoke toward himself to purify his mind before planting them in the sand.
Quan Yizhen hadn’t anticipated what praying truly entailed. Horrified, he watched Yin Yu bow before the statue and kneel on the cushion at the foot of the altar. The thought of seeing him on his knees before his own effigy was unbearable. Yin Yu noticed immediately. He cracked one eye open, gently pulled Quan Yizhen down beside him, and rested a reassuring hand on his back. With his head against Quan Yizhen’s shoulder, he began to pray.
Quan Yizhen focused at once. He had to find this prayer, catch it before it was archived among the others. Despite their closeness, it took effort, until the voice he loved finally rang out, and he clung to it desperately.
Yizhen… Yizhen, can you hear me?
A squeeze around his arm answered him.
I’m sorry. I know this moment must be confusing for you. There are things I struggle to say out loud. I’m really a coward…
I don’t have a wish to make today. The only one I ever had, you’ve already fulfilled.
I’ve hurt you. Many times. In this life and the others.
We’ve hurt each other.
I regret it deeply.
I’m sorry.
Before you, my life was hell. You illuminated it simply by being there.
You are my lighthouse.
My anchor.
My polaris.
And… I love you, sincerely.
I think I’ve always loved you.
It was the first time Yin Yu had ever spoken those words.
Quan Yizhen etched them into his soul forever.
The most beautiful mantra.
When Yin Yu opened his eyes again, he felt how tightly Quan Yizhen was holding him. He awkwardly tried to catch his misty gaze, breaking his own rule.
“Yizhen…?”
In response, warm hands framed his face and their lips met in a sudden kiss, hot, salty.
The temple vanished. There was only them.
Yin Yu melted into the kiss, brushing his lover’s lips with his own, returning it with all the tenderness and love he could muster, the love of thousands of lost years.
The most beautiful offering.
Quan Yizhen’s clear desire to deepen the kiss brought Yin Yu back to reality, and he broke it off.
“Not here! Come on… I’ll light a lantern for you and then we’ll go…”
Quan Yizhen pouted briefly, but Yin Yu quickly changed his mood by finishing his sentence.
“To the capital.”
Quan Yizhen’s face lit up like a true little sun.
“Alright! I’ll light one for you too, Shixiong!”
Yin Yu knew it was unnecessary, but it made Quan Yizhen happy, and that was reason enough. Hand in hand, they bought their lanterns, lit them, and let them drift into the wind.
Their lanterns rose into the sky side by side, dancing together.
“This is our best date ever, Shixiong!”
Yin Yu laughed softly and pressed a fleeting kiss to the cheek of the proud God of the West.
“Yes, and it won’t be the last.”
Shixiong, you will always have your place by my side.
Not everything had been said. Sometimes words aren’t enough to capture everything one feels. At that moment, neither Yin Yu nor Quan Yizhen needed them.
Nothing had escaped the priest’s notice. It wasn’t too late to change the play that would be performed for General Qi Ying during this year’s Mid-Autumn Festival.
He would see to it.
In the months that followed, the temple’s statue underwent curious changes. The moon became as prominent as the sun, and a second masculine figure appeared beside Qi Ying, slender yet martial, a beauty mark beneath his left eye, dark hair flowing behind him.
One could almost swear the two statues looked at each other with mischief and tenderness.
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Both of their lanterns had taken flight, carrying away their most intimate thoughts with them.
Yin Yu hoped his would be counted for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Quan Yizhen, for his part, already knew he wouldn’t make the ranking, and didn’t care in the slightest: the lantern of the man he loved was worth at least three thousand.
They were about to head back to the capital when the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their departure.
Turning around, Quan Yizhen and Yin Yu saw the priest coming toward them. He immediately bowed, so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the ground. There was no need to ask why: he had recognized his god.
“Qi Ying Diànxià… Your presence on such a special day is an immense honor.”
He remained prostrated, perfectly still. He did not see Quan Yizhen reply with nothing more than a slight nod.
“I see that Diànxià is accompanied,” the priest continued cautiously. “May I be so bold as to ask… have you found the person you were searching for?”
“Yes,” Quan Yizhen answered. “This is Yin Yu Diànxià. My boyfriend.”
“Yizhen!”
Yin Yu nearly dropped his glasses. His ears immediately burst into flames. The title alone was already far too much for him, but to announce their relationship so casually… He had an overwhelming urge to turn around and flee.
“Yin Yu Diànxià! So you are finally here! Thank you for honoring the temple with your presence! I have heard so much about you.” the priest exclaimed as he turned to the young mortal and offered him a bow just as respectful.
“You… you’ve heard a lot about me…” Yin Yu echoed faintly, his legs threatening to give out.
“Qi Ying Diànxià can be quite talkative in dreams sometimes, since his goal was to find you again.” the priest replied with a mischievous smile as he finally straightened.
Yin Yu pressed a hand to his forehead. What on earth had Yizhen been telling him? Not only had he never changed his appearance, but he had apparently recounted his entire life to this priest as well…?
“I am truly overjoyed for you both!” the priest continued, clasping his hands together.
“This humble man knows that Qi Ying Diànxià is often disappointed by the plays performed in his honor during the Mid-Autumn Festival. So I thought… Perhaps you might like to perform it together this year. A joint martial dance.”
He leaned forward again, fully aware of the audacity of his request. Never before had a god taken part in their own representation. Yet he clearly knew Quan Yizhen well enough to anticipate his reaction.
The eyes of the God of the West lit up instantly.
Yin Yu, on the other hand, went pale.
“Y..You want us to perform a martial dance in front of everyone…? But I haven’t practiced that kind of art in… a very, very long time!”
“Shixiong!” Quan Yizhen exclaimed enthusiastically. “We’ll train! It’s going to be amazing!”
Of course, Quan Yizhen was thrilled by the idea. Just imagining a friendly duel with Yin Yu was enough to fill him with joy.
“Please forgive this poor man, Yin Yu Dianxia,” the priest hastily added. “Given your martial past, I thought the idea might appeal to you… It was too sudden. We can keep the original play…”
“How much time do we have to train?” Yin Yu asked.
“One week, Diànxià.”
Yin Yu frowned. One week was short… but not impossible. Still, Chinese sword arts demanded a grace and discipline very different from Western fencing. And he also had to think about his classes.
What am I getting myself into again, all for Yizhen’s love…
“Shixiong… if you don’t want to…” Quan Yizhen would never force Yin Yu into anything.
“We’ll do it,” Yin Yu cut in. “But you’ll have to teach me everything again, Yizhen.”
“Of course!”
Quan Yizhen beamed, taking Yin Yu’s hands and pressing two quick kisses to them.
The priest knew then that the performance would, without a doubt, be the most memorable of the year.
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The week passed in the blink of an eye.
Yin Yu spent his mornings studying, and his afternoons training with Quan Yizhen in the school park, under the curious gaze of a few students who had stayed behind during the holidays.
Honestly, he was impressed by his own muscle memory. The fundamentals returned quickly, almost naturally. Yizhen corrected him with patience, guiding his body, adjusting his stance and footing.
He could feel how natural this art was to him, and that he had never truly forgotten it.
The hardest part was adapting to his status as a left-hander. Together, they had long speculated about the reason for this change; the most likely explanation was that his right hand had been hindered by his cursed chain.
This required a period of adjustment, for both Yin Yu and the God of the West. During free sparring, the god sometimes struggled to anticipate his attacks. Yin Yu had first noticed it when Yizhen was training him for his fencing tournament, after his car accident a year earlier. At first, the young student had assumed it was courtesy, but he soon realized, with a quiet spark of pride, that it was neither politeness nor luck. Even the martial god had trouble predicting him.
They were given complete freedom for the choreography. Together, they devised an intimate martial dance, ending in a perfect draw. Quan Yizhen poured all of his divine creativity into it, and Yin Yu did his best to rise to the occasion, to make him shine.
At times during training, the young mortal felt his head and mind throb painfully. Memories tried to resurface, drawn forth by the sword’s remembrance, but he didn’t want to ruin everything. He pushed them back, choosing instead to silence them with medication. He knew those memories were never innocent.
Their sessions often ended at dusk. Exhausted, Yin Yu would eventually fall asleep against Quan Yizhen, stretched out in the grass, bathed in the light of the rising moon and the divine warmth qi of the god.
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On the day of the performance, Yin Yu discovered his costume.
He had suspected it.
He would be wearing a hanfu.
A magnificent men’s hanfu with long, flowing sleeves. Three layers of luxurious silk, shaded in silver, white, and deep navy blue, embroidered with celestial motifs. The silver ornaments depicted the phases of the moon. From his belt hung a jade tassel: a clear moon finished with a violet fringe.
His heart skipped a beat.
He recognized it immediately.
It was the moon he bore as Xiàxián Yuè Shǐ.
Yin Yu picked up the jade ornament and traced it with his fingertips.
“I didn’t know you had kept it…”
“I kept everything I could, Shixiong. It was all I had left of you.”
There was a note of pain in the god’s voice, and he did not mention that, in truth, very little remained of the former official. But what little there was, he had cared for with infinite devotion.
“I kept this too,” he added, retrieving a long black lacquered case and offering it to him, inviting him to open it. Inside rested a silver sword with bluish reflections, finished with a pale blue tassel.
“This is the last intact sword of our sect. It belongs to you.”
“Ah… It belongs to you more than it does to me, Yizhen.”
“You are still the first disciple. I want you to fight with it tonight.”
Yin Yu sighed, but did not refuse, taking the case in his hands.
“All right… But just how far had you planned all of this, hm…?”
He met his lover’s gaze and found a glint of mischief there. Worse still, he didn’t answer.
Thankfully, the question hadn’t truly required one.
A devotee arrived with the second costume.
Quan Yizhen’s attire, by contrast, was far more martial: radiant, steeped in the colors of the sun. Layers of plated armor covered his back and chest, and a lion’s head adorned each shoulder. The fabric itself was of exceptional quality, traced with discreet golden patterns. A wide red cape fell down his back, lending the ensemble the elegance and prestige of a martial god.
This kind of attire had always suited him perfectly.
“We’ll meet up for the performance, Shixiong?”
The young god seemed restless, excited at the thought of getting ready, and surely just as eager to see Yin Yu in his own costume.
Yin Yu had the strange feeling of being a bride before her wedding.
But honestly, he was just as eager to see Yizhen clad in his martial clothes.
The tension rose another notch. The young mortal imagined the gods attending the performance of this great absentee from the banquet, only to discover that General Qi Ying was, in fact, an integral part of the play. The God of the West had simply announced that he had better things to do that evening…
Two young men helped Yin Yu dress after he had exchanged his glasses for contact lenses, the atmosphere light and warm, soothing his nerves. Waves of old sensations brushed against him as his arms were guided into the long sleeves of the inner robe.
In barely an hour, he was dressed, coiffed, and even made up. One of the boys offered to style his hair; Yin Yu chose a loose braid, tied with a blue silk ribbon. A touch of red subtly lined the lower corners of his eyes, emphasizing the clarity of his blue-violet irises.
All that remained was to put on the long jade drop earrings.
The tension rose higher still.
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Yin Yu stepped forward, sect sword in hand, toward the circular arena erected for their martial dance, rising above the audience. He was the first to arrive. As he climbed the steps, the martial artist had ample time to take in the crowd, devotees of Qi Ying and ordinary spectators alike, who had gathered to watch their performance that evening. No one was aware of the god’s presence in person, save for the head priest. They had come as much for Yin Yu as for Quan Yizhen.
He also knew the performance would be streamed online. He had shared the link with his mother and his two friends, certain they had set alarms just to make sure they wouldn’t miss it.
The young man in hanfu exhaled slowly, releasing some of his nerves. With a broad movement of his left wrist, gracefully sweeping his long sleeve aside, he took his stance: the sword slid along his back, pointing toward the sky, awaiting his opponent.
That single motion drew applause from the crowd.
Quan Yizhen joined him, radiant in his martial attire, his spiritual sword Yángyán shimmering with gold and fire. Yin Yu had rarely seen it, true battles were few and far between, and Quan Yizhen had little reason to arm himself so fully at the school. The blade’s golden gleam and its red tassel matched his attire perfectly.
The god came to a halt upon the arena, unable to tear his gaze away from Yin Yu, utterly enthralled.
“Shixiong…”
“Not now, Qi Ying Jiāngjun. En garde.”
The music rose. Quan Yizhen complied, mirroring the stance of his captivating opponent.
The lights dimmed around the arena as the announcer introduced the beginning of a heavily romanticized tale: a reunion with one’s shidi after years of searching… followed by an inevitable confrontation meant to bring him back to reason and erase years of regret and resentment.
The word resentment was too much. Yin Yu’s heart tightened.
And yet, the feeling was not entirely unfamiliar.
His eyes remained locked on Quan Yizhen’s. He hoped the god could not read his unease there (for the safety of those responsible for the story, perhaps).
The light focused on them. The music imposed their mutual salute, then opened the battle.
Yin Yu’s feet left the ground in a single, decisive push, engaging the fight as planned, carried by the dramatic notes of the guqin. His long sleeves flowed behind him, lending his movements a light, ethereal effect. With choreographed precision, his blade struck Yángyán in a clear, ringing clash. The gentle, comforting warmth of the weapon traveled up to his own guard, greeting his fingers like a soft caress from the sun.
With a powerful motion, Quan Yizhen repelled the attack, then diverted the sword aside.
The lament of the guqin intensified. Quan Yizhen counterattacked, feinting to the side before aiming for Yin Yu’s back. Yin Yu parried almost blindly in an impressive, highly technical movement, then turned at once to face him again, his loose braid tracing a graceful arc.
The mortal’s sword described an elegant sweep, launching a new attack; his steps seemed to skim the ground. Their blades brushed one another as their faces drew close, frozen in a feigned challenge.
Their duel resembled a restrained waltz, the two swordsmen circling one another, brushing past on light steps.
As Quan Yizhen pushed him back with calculated force, a sharp pain suddenly tore through Yin Yu’s head, drawing a grimace from him. The God of the West noticed and did not press the attack as planned, concern flashing through him as he gave Yin Yu time to steady himself.
To the eyes of the crowd, they merely stood facing one another, separated by an almost intimate distance, their gazes clashing in silence.
Each pulse in Yin Yu’s head was a fragment of the past clawing its way back to the surface. He struggled to keep it contained.
He had taken precautions before a performance of this scale…
but the medication had no effect.
✦••······················••✦
Yin Yu could have resisted.
He could have kept fleeing.
But in the midst of strangers, before the man he loved, he chose the opposite.
As they circled one another along the edge of the arena, like two predators waiting for the moment to strike, Yin Yu surrendered to his millennia-old memory. He let it wash over him, welcomed it with open arms, whether gentle or cruel.
The scent of plum blossoms..
The warm sun against his skin
Yizhen’s bright laughter amid the sound of wooden swords clashing.
They were back in the days of the sect. His heart overflowed with friendship, love, and pride for the rebellious-haired boy standing before him.
He had always known.
He had always understood the true nature of his feelings.
A smile escaped him, both in the past and in the present.
“You’ve made more progress, Shidi, but do you think you can parry what comes next?”
“If I can’t manage it this time, I’ll get it next time, Shixiong!”
The old Yin Yu laughed at such confidence. He took his stance and launched into the most complex form of the sect, adding an unexpected final movement meant to throw his shidi off balance..
Without realizing it at once, he reproduced the entire sequence perfectly with his left hand, before a roaring crowd and a caught-off-guard Quan Yizhen. His speed and precision became unsettling. The God of the West parried each attack with mastery, knowing the ending of every movement… but when he believed the sequence was complete, a swift, slanted cut caught him by surprise.
Behind Yin Yu’s eyelids, another scene unfolded, nearly identical, yet a thousand years old.
The first disciple completed his spectacular form, disarming Yizhen. His shidi’s wooden blade fell into the sand with a dull crash. Yin Yu caught him by the arm before he could fall, still dazed.
In the present, Quan Yizhen deflected Yin Yu’s sword at the last possible instant. The impact rang against the guard and disarmed the young student, whose weapon flew free before embedding itself in the ground. Before his Shixiong could be thrown off balance by the force of the parry, Quan Yizhen slipped an arm around his back and held him fast.
Quan Yizhen remembered that moment as if it were yesterday.
What followed had become one of his greatest regrets.
Their faces were only inches apart.
Their breaths merged into a single shared wind.
Neither of them dared go any further, and the first disciple finally released his shidi. They left the training grounds, both flustered and confused.
They came together instead, now, and only silk filled the little distance between them.
“I'll get it this time, Shixiong.”
The music fell silent, making room for what came next: Quan Yizhen’s lips brushed softly against Yin Yu’s, erasing at last the distance between them.
Yin Yu did not hear the crowd erupt.
He did not sense the ovation of the gods in the capital, nor that of his mother and his friends back at the school.
He only returned the kiss with infinite tenderness, his fingers resting at Quan Yizhen’s temples as he drew him closer.
It could have ended this way a thousand years ago, on that training ground.
But it is never too late.
With a single gesture, tender, unexpected, they wrote their future.