Archive of Our Own ^beta

The floor was entirely clad in a gaudy carpet, the only function of which, as it was tradition in Daguanyuan, was to look expensive. There were numerous things like this all over their home: small compromises Jia Tianchun made to fit in. When he couldn’t make his brother’s life better, he could at least choose not to make it worse. Not to stick out, not to dig their own graves further; adapt. He was currently lamenting these little trade-offs more than ever: cleaning this much carpet’s gonna be a troublesome chore, now that it’s all soaked with blood and viscera. All around the hall, fallen foreign soldiers lay scattered. Some were sliced down by Tianchun’s jian; most shot right through, left with clean, gaping exit wounds. The man who pierced them so cruelly, currently hiding from the hospitable host behind the barrel of his gun, was none other than their leader. Today, Jia Tianchun woke up to a stranger in his home.

“And that’s three dead,” the uninvited guest regarded his fallen comrades with annoyance. “Must you go through my ranks like that over a petty squabble?”

“You’re the one who chose to hide behind a living wall. Spare your people’s lives, let them go and fight me like a man!” Tiacnhun spat out, “What a coward… And you dare lecture me on how to defend my house?”

“Have it your way then,” the stranger smirked and took aim once again, his ranks swaying away from him in a pathetic tremble. “What a pathetic excuse for a leader,” Tianchun thought as he darted into the enemy crowd.

Before he could bring his jian down to the man’s neck, the door burst open. “What is going on?” Jia Huan’s confused face came into view, golden eyes taking in the gory scenery he slept through. He always reminded Tianchun of a black kitten; even now, at almost 26, he seemed to him small and irreparably fragile.

“Huan!” he dropped his guard and let it shatter. “Leave and call the Hei-”

“Good morning, Jia Huan,” the stranger’s voice came in uncomfortably silky; Tianchun hated the sound of his brother’s name on the man’s tongue. 

“Good morning, Mr Gubo. Could you, uh… Explain what’s going on? Tianchun, did you do this?”

“The generous host and I seemed to have had a misunderstanding,” the stranger shrugged. “Did you inform him of my arrival?”

Tianchun was convinced he was hearing things at this point. “Inform? Huan, what does this-”

Jia Huan crossed his arms sternly and rubbed his nose bridge as if he got a migraine. “...Tianchun, you just took out, like, ten of our men.”

He was so astonished he dropped the sword entirely, “I? I didn’t- I only got, like, five- He just-” he pointed at his unassuming adversary. “Wait, since when do we have men…?”

***

They had the done-for soldiers taken to the morgue; Tianchun did not find it necessary to apologise to the rest of them, even if they were temporarily in servitude to his brother. This only happened because their leader decided to forgo introductions in another man’s home – and homes were about the only thing of true value Daguanyuan's people had. Huan did inform Tianchun that he was genuinely aiming for the seat of the Hierarch, and that he managed to secure help from some distant associates who would be arriving around the beginning of the War. He only neglected to mention that said associates were Feathers to a different Wing and that they came in a whole battalion. The latter, in retrospect, Tianchun should have seen coming: Huan had to substitute the lack of manpower with someone. No way in Hell were the bastard duo getting Heisou packs anytime soon.

“We’ve been associates for some time now – I've been doing external work for them occasionally,” Jia Huan explained as he poured fragrant tea into three little cups. “I've been reached out to by their director, and now we're assisting each other in our shared goal of dominating the Hierarch Evaluation.”

This set-up was as suspicious as it could possibly get. Surely, the puritanical lunatics weren't employing small fries at other Wings out of the kindness of their hearts. Still, Tianchun couldn't help but smile. So proud he was: his little brother was working for two Wings at once. It wasn't the life of his dreams, of course, but a good life nonetheless.

“I can't help but be impressed. A legion of soldiers donning our newest gear, rendered obsolete by a man with a single sword and some combat augmentation. It's plain embarrassing, honestly,” the leader of the invaders twirled the tea in his cup. It seemed foreign somehow, as if the way he was taught to drink tea was starkly different. “It appears that both brothers have been blessed with remarkable talent.” He smirked. Jia Huan suppressed a humble giggle, and Tianchun could swear that was the most alien sound he had ever heard.

“Maybe your extravagant technology is just not that good.”

“No, the gear is in perfect order. It's the soldiers; even the most meticulous foresight can't account for human error. Fear not, however, because these were definitely not our finest men. Even if they were, we've got many more.”

“Is that why you didn't hesitate to rain bullets on them?” was what Tianchun wanted to ask, but instead he just nodded, smiled and pretended to agree. He could tell from the way he suppressed laughter that his guest was having none of it.

The leader of the invaders went by Gubo, which sounded awfully like a pseudonym, and the second he laid his eyes on him, Jia Tianchun was overcome with the most persistent sense of disdain. The foreigner's presence was oddly solid, and yet evasive at the same time, like a lump under the skin that keeps one up all night with paranoia. His manners were posh, and he wore an impenetrable facial expression, as if nothing around him was worth even the slightest twitch of his eyebrow. It was better when his eyes were hidden; his gaze was somehow sticky, clinging to every minute detail, leaving it covered in foul residue that itched to be wiped off. In his entire 37 years of life, Jia Tianchun has never come to dislike a person this intensely in so little time.

What he hated the most was what he turned his brother into. Huan wasn't devoid of gentleness, but he grew up to be a proud lad. A little conceited and a little standoffish, sure; even his old friends were finding him difficult to talk to these days. That was how Tianchun raised him: a steadfast learned man. In their golden cage where it was them alone against the glimmering gemstones and endless cruel miracles, he taught the boy to live with his head held high. To work on what he believed in and to yield to no one. Not because he was from Daguanyuan or because he had some ounce of their good-for-nothing father's blue blood, no. Because he was Jia Huan: intelligent and ambitious. His hopeless older brother's one and only treasure.

Huan's biggest passion in life was his craft. He could spend days locked in his study, burn through copious amounts of his own money over a project, go off the radar for weeks, only to return with some rare new book. He did, thus, have a weakness for figures of authority in his field. Always acutely aware of everyone's accomplishments, envy was his most sincere form of flattery. The foreigner, however, rendered Jia Huan a little too polite. Fawning even, in a way that seemed to go further than regular respect. Such genuine admiration… It didn't sit right with Tianchun at all.

But the generous host didn't voice his concerns; instead, he bowed. “It's a pleasure to work with you. My brother can be quite a handful sometimes. Please take good care of him.”

It was as if Gubo didn't hear him entirely for a moment. Then he got up, knelt down, took Tianchun's hand and gently brushed his knuckles against his lips.

“I apologise for the earlier… Miscommunication. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Looking back at it, Jia Tianchun was surprised by just how little he felt at that moment. He was only glad that he couldn't see Huan's expression: he was sure he wouldn't like it.

Gubo was holding his hand for too long; it must have been written all over Tianchun's face. “A western custom I was forced to adapt. Do not get me wrong.”

“Oh, I'm aware. Shouldn't this be reserved for women?”

“Perhaps,” the invader did a poor job of hiding a fetid smirk.

***

“He's a former member of District 19's League of Nine Literatteurs. The common folk don't know about them, but for us scientists, they're living, breathing urban legends.” Jia Huan trailed off, lost in his own thoughts, as he often did, getting his brother lost alongside him. “It's such an honour to work with him! I wish that they'll let me go with them if I fail to become the Hierarch…!”

He was walking with his hands spread out like gliding wings, Tianchun tracking behind him as a vigilant shadow. The last time he saw the little one this excited was when Tianchun returned from an expedition with a Moonstone his brother desperately wanted. Anxiety swirled in his stomach like a knot of nausea; oh, how he wished to see Huan like that for the rest of his life.

“What are the terms of your contract, exactly?”

“I'm under the impression they are looking for something here, and the Hierarch Evaluation is only a means to access it.”

“...I suppose that something must be in the Tienkan Temple.”

“Very well might be. I don't really care.”

Tianchun almost tripped. “...Elaborate.”

“You heard it. I was told that they're entirely open to the possibility of seating a lenient Hierarch, and that, as long as it aligned with their goals, they'd spare no expenses. Didn't listen after that.”

The anxiety turned into a palpable sense of danger. Jia Tianchun stopped in his tracks. “And do you not think it's suspicious? First, they promise you the sun and moon, then they send that four-eyed ghoul.”

“Well,” he stretched the syllables like a child just learning to sing a nursery rhyme. “Not suspicious, per se. They never promised to make me the Hierarch. I'm under no impression that they're going to prioritise my success over their own. I believe it just comes down to putting in my own elbow grease and staying alert!” He shone a toothy smile that always made Tianchun think of the sun. Not the artificial sun of Hongyuan; the real one outside. The one he saw for the first time when he was getting his Fixer license at 22; the one that hurt to look at and made him sweat.

“Jia Huan, get yourself together! This is Nagel und Hammer we're talking about! Do you even know what they do?!” He tried to be stern, tried to yell and yet his voice gave in and cracked into a cry. “We can't trust these people! They can very well stab you in the back, you saw it for yourself!”

When Huan turned, his expression was indecipherable. The glimmer of the artificial light obscuring his eyes behind the glasses reminded Tianchun uncomfortably of the foreign scientist. “I know, and I don't. But what else is there to do?”

Tianchun's hands dropped. He knew very well that the little boy from his memories was now long gone, and in his place was an impulsive, callous person. One who was forced-fed his inadequacies his entire life. Tianchun would be okay as long as his brother was warm and near, but Huan wished for freedom; he hated the golden cage more than anything, and if he couldn't open it, he'd conquer it. “I never realised you wanted it so badly.”

“I do.”

“And if they leave you to die?”

“I suppose it can’t be helped. Here in Daguanyuan, there’s no lower for us to sink to. When you’re at rock bottom, the only way’s up,” he waved Tianchun’s concerns away. Their fingers intertwined, “You’ll just have to find my head and stitch it back in place! You’ll do that for me, won't you?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either. Honestly, if I fail this time, I’d rather you just leave me; that’d just be embarrassing. Besides, I’d still need to go to work that Monday,” he chuckled. “But you can just not go with me if you don’t feel like it.”

His hands were warm against Tianchun’s own, and so much bigger than he remembered. His attention lingered on the way the sunlight turned his brother’s hair into thin strands of dancing silver. The gentle sway of his simple robes against the wind. The way he smiled without a care in the world, as if he wasn’t planning to seize control of an entire Wing. Still small, so fragile, naive, all alone and with a snake making itself a bed around his neck. In that exact moment, Jia Tianchun realised that his brother was not winning the Hierarch evaluation. And it made Jia Huan the cruellest, most selfish person in the world.

Huan never asked his brother whether he wanted to join his cause. Never asked whether Tianchun was going to declare his own candidacy. Probably never thought twice about how it would feel for Tianchun to watch his treasure fall cold and bleed out on the silver screen, then dig through countless bodies searching for his head – or better yet, wait until his remains find their way back to him in a box. And he didn’t need to ask, because he knew Tianchun would do it all. His brother might be stern, yes; he may yell and call him every name in the book. And then he’d put him back together and set him on his feet. And with his last card played, Huan would leave; fly wherever his heart desired, stopping over nothing, even if it meant leaving Tianchun behind. And Tianchun would take it; he’d stay back and wait. What else could he possibly do? The reliable older brother, who was only ever good at swordplay, music and stepping in line.

“Brother? What’s with this weird face you’re making?”

Tianchun couldn’t possibly see his own hateful grimace as murderous resolve filled him to the brim. He embraced his brother with his whole body’s weight, cold and heavy like November hail.

***

Jia Huan wasn’t even half as emotionally intelligent as he was knowledgeable, and yet, he always managed to play his brother like a fiddle. Obviously, Tianchun was joining him and the N.Corp. troops in the evaluation, what kind of question even was that? He was almost relieved; just two days ago, he fully expected to be standing by Huan's side alone. It quickly became evident, however, that the only menacing thing about the N.Corp. soldiers was their sheer number, and even that was still nothing compared to the Heishou. Tianchun decided to lie low in the upcoming Hierarch’s shadow and did not bring the matter up; it was too late to properly train the unfortunate fools anyway.

His attention was, thus, solely occupied with observations of the so-called Litterateur. Tianchun noticed even in their unfortunate introduction that Gubo wasn’t a fighter: his movements were sluggish and unpolished, his grip on the gun inexperienced, and his shots lacking in precision. And yet, among the invaders, Gubo was the only one to truly pose any danger. Not by virtue of the minuscule authority he wielded, or even intelligence – on the contrary, Tianchun had yet to hear him say anything remotely smart. It was the simple matter of information control. The number of troops, the properties of the gear, the reinforcements, their goals – whatever the hell they were looking for here: Gubo was the only one to grasp it all. Tianchun might be stronger than his entire entourage, but there was no string for him to pull that wasn’t wrapped securely around the invader's fingers. It didn’t help that Huan, against his better judgment, seemed to be taken by the man; flocked behind him like a duckling with a glimmer in his eyes. As endearing as it was… Gubo’s most treacherous trait was his utter lack of principles; if someone was going to bring Jia Huan harm, it was going to be him.

The invaders arrived a solid week before the beginning of the evaluation, leaving Tianchun with plenty of time to make his observations. It almost felt like there were always three of them – Gubo, Huan, and the latter's vigilant shadow. The Literateur caught on to Tianchun pretty quickly and made sure to always acknowledge his presence. Yet, concerningly, he made no effort to intervene.

A strange man he was, that foreigner. Tianchun had a hard time keeping his attention on him; everything he did seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. He had an odd, ghostly presence, as if he were a mere bystander to the unfolding scenery. At the same time, he was so foreign to everything around him that he always seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. A background actor who was in too many shots; a piece of evidence that didn’t track with anything else on the crime scene; something that absolutely shouldn’t be here, deeply, irreparably out of place. 

Inexplicably, Tianchun found himself developing a kind of fondness for the man: when he wasn’t clearly up to something, Gubo was drearily boring in a way that was almost cute. He was awkward to talk to regarding day-to-day matters and had an unmatched talent at turning every conversation back to himself. He wasn’t a very attentive or particularly skilled leader; his subordinates obviously didn’t like him. If it wasn’t for Huan and the occasional snide quip from Tianchun, Gubo would most likely have no one to talk to for miles and miles on end.

He barely ever smiled, and when he did, it always came off as wry or condescending; it was evident that Gubo thought he was the smartest person in every room he walked into. He always emerged for breakfast with already perfectly styled hair. Unlike his subordinates, he was good with chopsticks, yet most of the dishes served were new to him, and whenever he liked something edible, he erupted in dithyrambs. He smoked something foul-smelling and bitter and made unfunny jokes to those who had the misfortune of sharing a smoke break with him; the herbal mixture in Tianchun’s pipe displeased him. Yet, he was a light drinker – Tianchun found himself carrying the loser back to his room after one of the famous Daguanyuan banquets, fighting the itch to choke the life out of him then and there.

Despite how conceited he came off as, he sometimes revealed himself to be fairly impressionable, making numerous inquiries about the various technologies or local peculiarities of Daguanyuan. At times, when left alone, he gave off a suffocating sense of melancholy, like a battery-powered toy abandoned and left behind on autopilot. At times like these, he’d normally bury his nose in a book. He wasn’t indifferent to the beauty of nature, pointing out that, as dazzling as the artificial gardens are, they are nothing compared to the sprouts growing from cracks in the backstreets' asphalt. When Huan asked him about the outside, Gubo didn’t speak of District 14; he spoke of his childhood home.

***

An observation Tianchun deemed the most valuable thus far took place right after the first evaluation.

Around that time, all the factions had been going about exchanging pleasantries. Tianchun didn’t get to see much of the Jia Princess when she was growing up, so he delighted in the opportunity to tease Xichun a bit. He greeted Jia Qiu out of politeness and respect, but he had no business talking to him otherwise.

It was sad to see what years of envy had done to Jia Huan’s defining childhood friendship. Tianchun was surprised at just how much vile spilt out of his brother’s mouth alongside seemingly affable words; he really was all grown-up now. Jia Baoyu was impartial as always, crystalline eyes shining like gemstones, swirling with that deep-seated sadness Tianchun never managed to decipher but somehow always understood. He couldn’t apologise on Huan’s behalf as he normally did, competition and all, but he didn’t refuse himself some pleasant chatter for old time’s sake. It didn’t escape him that Baoyu’s faction referred to him by a different name.

There, Tianchun had the utter pleasure of witnessing a rather disheartening conversation between Gubo and a member of Baoyu’s entourage. A man with dark circles under his eyes and hair the colour of raven wings; a scrawny, thin thing, clearly beaten down by life despite how highly it held its head up.

The second he laid his eyes on him, Gubo’s lips curled into a sleazy little smirk; he practically ran his way. His fervour was very obviously not reciprocated; he was told in no uncertain terms that whatever affection the stranger allowed himself in the past, it had long since faded. Truth be told, it was quite satisfying seeing the nicompoomp put in his place.

Something about the encounter felt special, though; as if Tianchun just intruded on something intimate, and it would save him sleep if he didn’t see more of it. He could tell something within Gubo shifted. He became more aloof, as if his thoughts were occupied by something imperceptible, colouring him a shade of undiscernible gloom. Under the red-tinted glasses, Gubo was always looking somewhere past his comrades and his candidate, far into the distance. Now, Jia Tiannchun had a feeling he knew exactly what it was the foreigner wanted to see.

***

“Not much of a partygoer, are you? Unexpected, considering the sheer number of festivities around here,” Gubo asked him before the first trial, already tipsy.

Tianchun sighed. He has previously retired from one of the numerous banquets to observe nature and play the pipa – something his parents always found plenty entertaining, no matter how much scorn they poured onto him. Most of the extended family, guests and troops had already left or were too drunk to stand at that point; the absolute jester just had to drag himself out there.

“Anybody told you you're good at small talk, my liege?”

“...Not quite.”

“My, then why keep exerting yourself?”

It took a couple of delectably silent seconds for him to get the joke, and then he laughed that unnerving, phoney laugh of his. He quickly stopped getting territorial over Tianchun's jabs; he only ever laughed now.

Tianchun stretched and fell back onto the stage he was sitting on. “There are just so many. After thirty years, the novelty wears off.”

The only parties he really enjoyed were the little makeshift celebrations he and Huan threw together on their birthday. They did not actually know their birthdays, so they agreed to share February 25th.

The foreigner nodded a bit too eagerly. “It doesn't seem to me that you like it here very much.”

The man had previously made many an unfunny joke, but this was the first time Tianchun found it in him to laugh. “How'd you tell? It's not like everyone who lives here stays because we just love our families so much!”

“I suppose not,” he leaned onto the stage's edge, propping his head up on his hand, positioning himself uncomfortably close to Tianchun's spread legs. “It evades me why a man of so many wonderful talents would willingly choose to spend his days playing nanny in a gilded cage. I suppose pragmatism plays its role – nobody yearns to bite the hand that feeds them in exchange for a life of hardship and discomfort. Still, do you not wish for dignity? Freedom, perchance? Some sort of… Peace of mind?”

Tianchun felt the contents of his lungs turn to stone; “Who are you to imply I lack dignity, corporate slave?”

“Ah, my apologies,” there wasn't even a hint of remorse in his voice. “It’s just that, from where I’m standing, it’s a sad sight. You could be much, much more if only you spread your wings.”

The string caved under Tianchun’s nail with an ear-splitting cry. “There is nothing more dignifying to me than the life of the housemaster of my family, and there is no peace of mind to be found for me in any four corners of the world away from–”

“Away from what?” A crooked grin touched his lips, “Don't tell me it's the boy.”

Tianchun propped himself up on his elbows to look the bastard in the eyes, only to be met with crimson-colored lenses. “Don't you dare.”

“Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm merely indulging my curiosity,” he shielded himself with his hands, but he wouldn't show his eyes. “Yet it seems I've hit the nail right on the head. Do you truly confine yourself to this miserable half-existence for the sake of safeguarding a single grown-up child?”

The housemaster stayed silent; the foreigner deemed it satisfactory.

“Didn't take you for the sentimental type.”

Tianchun jumped to his feet and walked up to the edge of the empty stage, towering over the mouthy intruder. “I swear, if a single hair falls off his head, you and your-”

Gubo’s drunken gaze glided up and down his form. He smiled, almost fondly, and turned around, leaning back against the stage. The housemaster failed to see what he could possibly be so happy about. “Don't be ridiculous, Jia Tianchun. I won't do anything to him, and you won't do anything to me, my men, or – especially, – my associates. And for Head's sake, stop yelling; I really was nothing but curious.”

Tianchun felt himself a string stretched far too thin. “Well, if that's what you wish to hear, then no: there are many other obligations I have as the Jia family's firstborn son. But my desire to ensure Jia Huan's well-being and future is a major contributing factor. I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”

“What other obligations do you have other than hosting tea parties and teaching swordplay to cubs?”

“Obligations enough; you haven't seen me at work.”

“I truly didn't; I've only ever seen you engaging in leisure and looking bored out of your mind while you're at it.”

“Why, did you not notice me throwing your soldiers around like a game of jacks?”

“That is true,” he chuckled. “Such loyalty you have to this family; I've yet to see you talk to any but one of them.”

“I've no need to; we're all set to become each other's adversaries as the sun rises tomorrow.”

“So much pressure for the fragile shoulders of one whose only fault was being born first. None of these burdens are placed upon your dear brother, and the two of you are each other's spitting images…!”

Gubo sounded awfully knowing: must have been Huan's work.

The housemaster stayed silent yet again. The foreigner let out a disappointed little noise, “If that's the way you wish to put it.”

Tianchun sat down back down and began fiddling with the pipa's strings. “What is it to you, anyway?”

“Just an admirable trait, is all.”

“...Is that so?”

“I find that single-minded dedication to another person's happiness as foolish as it is beautiful.” He had that hollow tone to him, as if talking into a void. He tilted himself slightly to meet Tianchun’s eyes, and even when he did, it felt like he was looking past him. “I know the two of us don't quite see eye-to-eye on things, but I find you quite commendable. In my heart of hearts, I hope you will succeed.”

For the first time, there wasn't a hint of insincerity to him. Whatever unknowable unity the strange man believed the two of them shared, Tianchun wanted none of it. “Enough of you. I believe it's time you retire to bed.”

He nodded, stretched, and set to leave.

“Do tell, though,” Tianchun’s voice betrayed him with a tremor. “Do you truly intend to make Jia Huan the Hierarch of Hongyuan?”

“It is a potentiality. We certainly have the resources for it, if that's what you're asking.”

“It's not.”

Gubo flashed him an awfully satisfied smirk.

“We may. But an outcome like that is sure to leave you specifically… deeply unhappy.”

He scurried away before Tianchun even processed what he had said; he tried to catch up to the man, but even in the banquet hall, he was nowhere to be found. Huan was excitedly sharing something with a foreign researcher. The second he saw the expression on his brother's face, he poured him a drink.

***

Sleep wouldn't come to him that night. He twisted, and turned, and ran fingers through oily hair. He remembered the days when Huan was still afraid of monsters and would walk the dark hallway every night to climb into his brother’s bed. The same thing happened at 16, when his first-ever romance didn't work out. And all the way through his early twenties, when he studied so hard he could barely read anymore, and Tianchun had to practically drag him into getting some sleep before important exams. He discovered now that he missed the childish affections hopelessly. His most precious memories; he might lose them all forever soon.

The last time Tianchun was this scared was when he heard of the Kong clan. He remembers running all the way to the morgue and almost beating the life out of a paramedic, only to return to Huan, visibly upset, safely in his room, per Jia Baoyu's request. He was bummed out about not seeing the cool exhibition; Tianchun cried at his feet.

The invader's words took him back to that day. He couldn't stand it anymore; the both of them. How dare that animal burst into his home, bathe it in blood, get into his brother's head, only to try and fool him? Why wouldn't Huan understand? Why let him in? Why make every important decision behind his brother's back – the very same brother who lived for nothing but him for so long?

When everything comes falling out of one's hands and pride proves itself useless, it is time for desperate measures. Tianchun decided then and there that he would play any reckless gambit, even if it proved to be his last. If someone had to go to stop this train from going completely off the rails, Tianchun would cast his vote first.

It was a simple enough plan to devise. It definitely gained an extra twist after the scene he witnessed during the first round. All was for the best; he was sure that flat-out murder wouldn't solve his dilemma, thus, the less violent, the better. Tianchun didn't get the opportunity to approach him, but in his heart, he was thankful to the raven-haired man for slipping him an idea: few knew the dark places one may be led to by loneliness better than the residents of Daguanyuan.

After the First Round was over, Tianchun immediately abandoned the celebration in favour of a good, long bath. Combed out his hair and got it up with a simple ribbon, put on his most fragrant perfume. Come nighttime, he slipped into his best nightgown: flowy, almost translucent off-white robes that hugged the figure just enough to make him seem underdressed. Perfect to slide something long and sharp into the sleeves. He considered making other preparations, but he couldn't bear the humiliation; it made what he was about to do feel too real all of a sudden. 

Jia Tianchun never properly planned to get married, certainly not before Huan. Wasn't sure he even wanted to: he couldn't stand the thought of making more people and tying them painfully together with red string in these cold, loveless halls. More people to hurt, more people to get hurt by… He did want Huan to get married, though, so that he wouldn't go alone and unloved when Tianchun couldn’t be there for him. He didn't feel like now was the time, though. Or next year. Or the next five. Truth be told, he didn't want strangers in their house at all. And yet, at that moment, as he was preparing for the aventure, Jia Tianchun couldn't help but feel like he was getting ready for his first wedding night.

He took the extra-long route to the guest rooms to make sure he wouldn't run into Huan; something about him seeing his brother like that felt inappropriate. He only saw a couple of N.Corp. soldiers from a distance. In the dark, they paid him no mind; he would slice them open on the spot if they did.

He hesitated a little before knocking on the door. “It’s not locked. Come in,” came from the other side almost immediately.

The small yet comfortable guest room furnished in dark wood was lightless, safe for the warm, cosy glow of a reading lamp on the bedside table. Tianchun expected to find him pacing around in anticipation, working or trying to sleep, but instead, Gubo was in bed nonchalantly reading his book. He gave the nighttime intruder one brief glance; then a longer, more scrutinising one.

“Good evening,” Tianchun couldn’t stand the awkward silence anymore.

“What brings the kind host to me so late?”

“Nothing of note. Just came to make sure whether you’re getting a good night’s rest and that everything is to your liking. We’ve got such an important day ahead of ourselves after all.”

Tianchun almost didn’t recognise himself  – so sweet his voice came out. Gubo wasn’t saying anything of that sort, but it felt like he was humouring him; rightfully so.

“How are you finding your quarters? I know it’s not quite as spacious as the rest of the house; we're far from the wealthiest branch of the clan, I’m afraid.”

“I have no complaints. It’s way bigger than the room I grew up in; I can even see myself coming to miss it.”

“Glad to hear.”

“And what about you? Do you not wish to rest before tomorrow's bloodbath? You will join us on the battlefield, won't you?”

Tianchun scratched his shoulders as if he was shivering, “How can one sleep at an hour like this? You do understand how much there is on the line for us?”

He knew Huan wasn’t sleeping well either. He’s been taking pills for quite a while.

It was as if Gubo took time to taste his words. “I suppose there is. I apologise.” He then snapped his book closed, “Are you going to stand there for long?”

This whole time, Tianchun was leaning against the doorframe, the cool air of the hallway uncomfortably tickling his exposed neck. “Do you believe someone might overhear us?”

“In your house? I sure hope not. I’m merely under the impression that I’m not getting rid of you any time soon. So by all means, come sit.”

There was no need to ask twice; Gubo made no comment on Tianchun twisting the lock closed. The housemaster ignored both of the chairs near the coffee table and went straight for the edge of the bed; the invader shifted in his place, moving a little further away. Tianchun watched Gubo watching the fabric of his robe sway gracefully and curl itself around his hips. The man's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were glued to all the right places.

Tianchun fiddled with a bottle of simple dandelion wine on the bedside table. Every guest room was equipped with one, as Hongyuan hospitality dictated, and servants were tasked with refilling the chalice every clean-up. Gubo's bottle was full, which could mean he never touched it, or that he emptied it all this very morning. “Care for a drink? For better sleep.”

“That's what pills are for, my good man. I'm afraid this won't work with my prescription.”

“Oh, and what about all those banquets? Did those work with your prescription?” Tianchun placed the bottle back on the nightstand.

“...You want me up and running tomorrow, don't you, Jia?”

Tianchun crossed his legs and began playing with a strand of his hair. “Oh, I don't know, do I?”

Gubo tried to hold back a chuckle, and it came out almost as a whistle. He turned to face the guest with his whole body, which Tianchun took as an invitation to move in closer.

“Say, Jia, do you consider me some form of entertainment?”

“Hm?”

“I mean: this is, possibly, the last night you get to enjoy any semblance of freedom. Depending on the outcome of the following two days, as your candidate's caretaker, you will either be absolutely buried in work or you'll be as good as dead. Do you not wish to spend this time engaging in leisure?”

“Not an entirely unfair assessment of my situation, but I assure you, I am right where I need to be.”

The invader found his words funny yet again. “And here I was thinking that I failed to gain your favour,” Gubo's fingers carefully entangled in the satin of Tianchun’s robe, as if a spider crawling through its web. Upon being met with no resistance, he began fiddling with the seam, forcing Tianchun to move in closer yet again. At this point, if he were to lean back, he'd be resting right against Gubo’s crotch. It was surprising how little revulsion Tianchun actually felt. If anything, he was composed. Painfully aware of every little twitch and rustle, like a hunter tracking through the woods. He remembered the feeling from the brief couple of times he got to apply his battle prowess working on the outside. The excitement of danger; the anticipation of death.

A wisdom his parents taught him well was that the best lie was one served with a side of truth. “Well, the two of us don't always see eye to eye, but… I never considered you bad company. I almost wish we met under… Different circumstances.”

He crawled onto the bed and prepped his knees against Gubo's chest, coyly wrapping his upper body with the robe. Gubo placed a firm hand on Tianchun's leg, sending a wave of shivers all the way through him. It must have been his punishment for living a stagnant life, absorbed by a single uncompromising passion; Gubo found him infinitely amusing.

“I must say, though, you sure do sound confident in your abilities. Do you truly believe you're enough to make a Hierarch?”

Tianchun loomed over him, lone strands of long black hair falling down like waterfalls, curling themselves on the invader's simple nightshirt. It was the best look he ever got at the man. A shame: in the dark, with his hair ruffled, there was definitely something about him, even if he was wearing that impenetrable look Tianchun couldn't stand.

“I see what you came for now. Does your memory fail you, generous host?” Gubo's hand traced a warm line along Tianchun's spine all the way up to his neck and rested there.

“In no way. And you must know, I really am thankful,” the pressure of the foreigner's hand forced him to lean even closer. “So whatever it is you need, whatever gets you in the highest spirits… I will get you that.”

“Do you suppose offering up your body will help your case?” Gubo tapped lightly against his nape in a rhythm only known to him. Almost homey even; oddly well-practised. “Truth be told, I wasn't under the impression that you genuinely wanted Jia Huan to take the seat of the Hierarch.”

“Oh, I'm not sure. What gives?”

Metal hit metal with a sharp, ear-splitting screech; Tianchun barely dodged a dagger to his eye. As it turns out, Gubo compensated for his perceived vulnerability by hiding a familiar karambit under the pillow. That wasn’t unexpected; what was was that he actually knew how to use it, way better than the rifle. Tianchun stabbed fervently, taking the opportunity to climb onto the man and press him down into the mattress. Gubo was bigger, sure, but he was a cabinet rat, no match for a swordsman. The best he could do was get their blades interlocked, sending sparks flying left and right.

“What a shameless display of insolence! I am impressed! Impulsive, sure, but I genuinely couldn’t predict you being this stupid!”

“Silence, pig, before I slash your face open!”

One swift motion and the karambit came tumbling somewhere out of sight. Tianchun’s bǐ shǒu slid into the pillow, dying the scattered feathers with the night’s first drops of red – he grazed Gubo’s ear.

Warm air came out of his mouth with a raspy whistle, “You understand it, right? That killing me won’t do you any good.”

“Who are you to know what’s good for me?”

“Oh, but I do. Say, you rip my head to shreds, what’s next? Come morning, my men will take up arms. My comrades will grasp the situation and arrive with reinforcements. Nagel und Hammer will get what they want, with me or without.”

“Your men are no better than monkeys with guns; I alone am enough to destroy half your legion at this hour. Without your direction, they will be disorganised and vulnerable; one word to the Heishou and there will be no Nagel und Hamer troops left in Daguanyuan.”

Sweat glistened on Gubo’s temples, chest heaving painfully up and down.

“So many words of phoney reason… Yet the only thing I hear is a wretch begging for his miserable life.”

“You say that, yet, whatever the outcome may be for me, you and your brother are sure to be left with nothing. Our troops will not march by your side without a commander.”

Some shame the backstabbing snake had to call himself a commander.

“So be it then.”

“The two of you-”

“The two of us will remain bastard children, just as we always were.”

Gubo stopped squirming, his voice growing quiet. “And that’s okay with you?”

“Perfectly.”

“And you suppose that’s okay with him?”

Tianchun thought of his brother for a moment: the sleepless nights, the years of brainstorming. The desperation to prove himself, to take back the many painful, degrading years. The conversation the two of them had just a week before, the glimmer of the artificial sun in his eyes, golden and full of ambition, just like when he was twelve.

The silence was answer enough. “And if you–”

Tianchun almost laughed; he pushed his knee into Gubo’s stomach, sending him coughing, “Nonsense, you won’t kill me!”

“I may not, but there are plenty of people who can.”

“Then I suppose I die! Huan will live with that,” Tianchun wasn't sure he was bluffing.

“And if it is not you who they shall kill?”

Simple as basic arithmetic, “Then you will all burn in Hell.”

Gubo got lost in thought for a teasingly long time. “Fascinating. Entirely unprecedented!” he said, finally, his body losing tension. “I suppose I can do nothing but comply. Tell me then, what desperate impulse compelled you to stage this… Asinine performance?”

There was something suspicious in the way he gave up so easily.

“I want you to tell me everything. Honestly, from start to finish. What is it that your people want from the Hierarch evaluation?”

“And do I get my personal space back?”

Tianchun did want to get off him at this point, but he couldn’t risk freeing him. He didn’t move an inch away; instead, he kicked Gubo in the side with his knee. That got the point across just fine.

“Is that what this all is for? Just a couple of que-” he didn’t finish because Tianchun ripped his glasses away from his face. The invader squealed, as if the shades were a part of him somehow.

“Look at me and speak!”

The foreigner sighed. “My Director, Lady Hermann, is after the creation of an ideal, pure human. For the longest time, there have existed records and rumours of the way in which Hongyuan shapes its Hierarch. We are looking to seize it.”

“What is it?”

“A tad difficult to describe; something between a person and a technology, like a bioprosthetic. Still as human as it can get, though.” He smirked contentedly, as if talking about the object of his research brought him fleeting joy even in his current circumstances. “Those who will accept it will grant the centuries of knowledge it stored, passed over from down to the very first Hierarch. Every single person who held the position is believed to have come in contact with the… thing. This is what we are after.”

“That’s all…? Just the thing? What about the Hierarch?”

“The obvious answer is the most correct. I suppose if you aren’t a complete imbecile, you have already guessed by now. We care little for the Hierarch. We do, however, need access to the Tienkan Temple. For that reason, we opted to request the aid of Jia Huan. Posing as his faction granted us the ability to roam and make observations within Daguanyuan freely. If all goes well, we’ll be able to enter the Temple during the transfer of power.”

“...So you were planning on making him the Hierarch after all?”

“Wishful thinking, Jia: we only ever promised to accompany him during the trials. It goes alongside our plan, sure, but our primary objective remains to seize the priceless specimen. However, as I told you before, it is entirely within the realm of possibility. Electing a loyal Hierarch is undoubtedly to our benefit, and my associates and I could definitely use some extra credit.” He spoke of it all very matter-of-factly. “Dishonest, I may have been, sure, and I’ve certainly withheld a great deal of information from you both, but it was never my intention to fool you. To you specifically, I didn’t lie once, Jia Tianchun," he said proudly, as if it were some sort of achievement.

Thus far, it was all deceptively tame. Tianchun stabbed the bǐ shǒu straight into the bed frame; Gubo flinched. “Why him? Why Huan?”

“It was a comparatively simple choice. While inquiries have been made into several other candidates, yourself included, Jia Huan was by far the most reliable. I feel obligated to compliment your parenting skills here, for you have raised a studious and ambitious young man.”

Pride tugged at the brother's heart, but something told him this wasn’t the compliment the foreigner made it sound to be.

“He’s been diligently working for us for a while now, and we’ve come to understand that his dedication to us originates from a profound sense of inadequacy; the kind that gets one walking on heads. That must be the most important factor: he may not have much of his own, but what he does have was sure to be at our disposal as long as we fed him enough promises. And once he’s inaugurated, he’s sure to be a loyal ally.”

Tianchun clenched his teeth; nothing he didn't expect to hear so far, and yet it still hurt.

Gubo must have felt him tensing up. “Don't be upset, my hot-headed friend. Be he the wisest man in the land, it'd be of little value once he's the Hierarch anyway.” His eyes softened, but his smirk was foul as always.

“What are you implying…?”

“I was merely trying to reassure you that there was no unfairness in our treatment of your dear brother. I believe the rest is-”

Tianchun dragged the bastard's hand up the wall and struck the blade right between his fingers.

He coughed, “Y-you see, there's a certain nuance! Along with the knowledge, the Hierarch is set to inherit Hongyuan's will.”

“...What?”

“Oh, you must understand it though,” the glimmer in his snake-like eyes grew mad, “it's everything that makes Hongyuan's leader. Centuries of knowledge, spread among the thousands of its people. All of it at once: the secrets of never-ending joy and eternal life. It takes a whole lot of strain on a single little human. First, it overrides their own will and desires with its own, and then…” Gubo tried looking for a better way to put it. “Not quite sure, but I suppose it gets hungry. And it'll be hungry for a long, long time.”

A wave of nausea hit Tianchun like a tide, going through every cell in his body like an electric shock. The room went spinning in his eyes. Huan would be granted a long, prosperous life, but only the briefest instant of it could be considered human. In the end, the existence of the boy he cherished so much would be as fleeting as the plum blossoms in the artificial garden.

The brother slammed the bǐ shǒu into the wall with a loud crack, “You're lying.”

The invader shook his head. Tianchun grabbed him by the shirt and rattled him hard, hitting his head against the bedframe. “I told you not to lie…! Look me in the eyes! And wipe that smile off your face!” He was ready to rain punches onto the invader like a meteor shower, but Gubo didn't let him. Arms locked together, struggling against each other, Tianchun's vision got blurry with scorching-hot tears. He understood why Gubo ran away from him back at the banquet now.

“Halt, halt!” The foreigner hid behind his hands. “Didn't you hear me before? We'll be taking the thing for ourselves! Jia Huan will never get it!”

It seemed to slow the rampage, but Tianchun's eyes glowed red still.

“...One last thing! We aren't exactly sure how to retrieve it. The simplest way would be to have our candidate buy us time by rejecting the thing, and intercept before it's hidden away. However, this scenario leaves a lot of margin for error, with the candidate's survival rate, according to our estimations, being approximately 40%. Say, as his brother, do you suppose Jia Huan would naturally come to refuse Hongyuan's legacy?”

Tianchun didn't say a word, and for Gubo that was quite enough. He was only looking to confirm an answer both of them knew well.

“Then, I suppose, the only option that remains is to rip the thing straight out of his head before it assimilates. As you can imagine, this process is 100% lethal.” Gubo drew the conclusion just to hammer the point home: “Most likely, tomorrow Jia Huan will die.”

Tianchun's fist slammed into the man's jaw with a wet thud, immediately leaving a crimson mark on his cheek. It was a miracle that he still had all his teeth. Gubo cowered and shielded his head with his hands; the punches were so hard they sent the bed rattling. Hot tears rained onto the sheets like bullets.

“You! You vile… Double-dealing pig! How dare you…! Do you not have even the slightest idea of what you're-”

Tianchun wasn't even surprised; he knew this was coming all along. He needed to hear it straight from the horse's mouth, and yet, not in his wildest dreams could he imagine that it would actually hurt that much. The guilt hit him immediately; the numbers weren't adding up, and it was all his fault. His fault for not protecting him, for not sheltering him enough. For never teaching Huan to love himself as he was, for letting this resentment and greed fester in him. For not ripping the envy in the bud, letting it take root and grow into these putrid, intoxicating flowers. For… What? Trusting a 26-year-old man with making the right choices for himself?

A memory flashed across his mind: Huan coming in to hug him and calling him a crybaby on the day of the Kong family massacre. The day when Tianchun swore a second time that he would pay any price and step on any throat to protect him. To never feel like that again. The day it all went south, when the red thread binding them got pulled too tight and looped itself around their necks.

“He didn’t do anything to you! He… He admires you so! How could you? Do you not feel even the slightest bit of remorse for what you do…?”

A pointless question, he knew. Yet it still surprised him: the sheer unmitigated gull this alien had to burst out laughing in his face.

Gubo managed to kick the man off himself just as he reached for the dagger in the wall. Tianchun plummeted to the ground and started backing away towards the door.

“Stop this tomfoolery this instant.”

 “I will- Your men- The Heishou, I-”

Gubo leapt his way. On shaky feet, blood boiling, vision blurry, Tianchun’s combat prowess proved useless against his sheer weight. He was successfully dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the room and tumbled onto the bed, all the while the vile invader was muttering something he couldn’t hear. He wrapped his arms around Tianchun securely and pressed him into the torn-open pillow. “Calm down, for Head’s sake! You can’t do anything, Jia Tianchun! The gears are already set in motion. Only ruin awaits you beyond that door! So calm down and listen to me!”

Their breathing intertwined, hot and humid, sweaty skin sticking together where Gubo pressed against his arms. The blood on his ear was crusting up and staining the sheets and robes with splotches of red. He wasn’t doing anything else, though: just holding Tianchun in place firmly and demandingly, like a pin impaled through the heart of a butterfly. No punching, no choking; no attempt to bring him harm. The researcher held him until Tianchun stopped thrashing.

The ribbon slipped out during the commotion, and Tianchun’s hair scattered all over the bed, clinging to his face, slippery and itchy. The foreigner carefully removed a strand away from his face, red, hot and wet from crying, then reached for something on the bedside table. A handkerchief; first, Gubo cleaned himself of blood, then he wiped away the sweat, tears and snot on his adversary’s face. He pressed the fabric to Tianchun’s nose insistently, but the man squirmed and turned his head away; Gubo didn’t ask twice. It was odd how, even after raining curses upon him, cleaning and consoling him came to Gubo naturally. As if it's what he was always meant to do.

“What a mess,” he concluded, out of breath. “Must you always make everything so dramatic? I, for one, harbour no ill will toward you, or your brother for that matter. This isn’t anything personal.”

Tianchun wanted to say something, but all that came out was an angry whimper. Gubo cupped his cheeks and raised his head to face himself. There was certainly something captivating about his eyes; the intensity of his gaze, devoid of any shade of resentment. “Now listen to me. You must be under the impression that our plans have been accounting for the death of the candidate in mind all along, but I assure you, this isn’t true. While the vast majority of scenarios we had prognosed concluded with his death, and we never explicitly focused on ensuring his survival, there’s still a slim chance that Jia Huan may live. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So hear me out. You can do that for me, right?”

Out of options, Tianchun nodded.

“Good,” Gubo climbed off him and plopped down on the pillows. 

Tianchun took time to regain his composure. He threw off the sweat-drenched robe, remaining only in the silken nightgown, ran fingers through his messed-up hair and used Gubo’s handkerchief to pat his neck dry. The foreigner, meanwhile, collected both of their scattered weapons, as well as his missing shades. As if it were a peace offering, he handed Tianchun the bǐ shǒu; little could be achieved through violence at that point.

“Can’t just kill me either, can you?”

“I swear you’re being stupid on purpose at this point. Of course I can’t. If I could, I would have gladly done so a week ago. Unfortunately, I have reason to believe that without you, Jia Huan would not only be less effective but also significantly less cooperative. Now is not the time to fall out of favour with him; I do still need him.”

Tianchun wanted to believe those words were true: that Huan wouldn’t choose his ambition over him. That he was of use; that without him, Huan wouldn’t get very far.

“Besides. As you may note, I’m quite weak. Brilliant my mind may be, but smooth-talking and erudition only get one so far. I need to cling to useful resources whenever I can.”

“Big words coming from someone who uses his comrades for target adjustment.”

“You’ve seen them for yourself; they’re nothing more than hired goons. It concerns me little whether they return to their families or not: I do not get paid for safeguarding the lives of the mediocres. No matter how advanced the gear, it’s merely a dangerous toy without the right person wielding it. Making a killer takes desire: a dream, a grudge… A wish. I had made one, for example.”

“And is that what you propose? You want me to beg for you to let my brother keep his life?”

“No way,” Gubo shook his head. “I suggest you take the matter into your own hands. Make that wish, and see it through to completion with me. Take up arms and join us at Tienkan Temple.”

“I told you, though, didn’t I? I will be fighting alongside you as long as it concerns Huan.”

“I see you still fail to understand. We plan to steal the source of the Hierarch’s might, irrespective of who actually gets the seat. Even if Jia Huan gets the title, he will be the first Hierarch to not inherit the ancient knowledge. Do you believe the bastard child, all alone, will be able to lead the corporation and withstand the scrutiny of its board? And do you suppose, once they catch up to what went on, the directors and shareholders will let the one who invited the interlopers walk freely among them? Just wait for him to stab them in the back once more?”

Tianchun always believed that his brother was striving to bite off more than he could chew, but the full weight of the situation was setting in now. Truth be told, he could never really imagine the so-called “Jia Huan, The Hierarch of Hongyuan”.

“No matter whether he lives or dies, whether he chooses himself, us or you, there is no future waiting for Jia Huan brighter than what he has now. Here, you may start getting the funny idea to try and secure the transition of knowledge, but, as we’ve already established, you wouldn’t like that either. However, if someone were to, say, take the blame for our involvement, it would absorb Jia Huan from the possible repercussions. In fact, a good performance during the second round is sure to leave at least your parents impressed, improving his standing within the Jia family.”

“So, what you suggest,” now fully back to his senses, Tianchun listened intently, “is that I join you to ensure both my brother’s survival and the completion of your mission. Then I take the blame for it and accept the punishment.”

“If that is what you want.”

Tianchun thought about it only a little. “It’s a fine plan.”

Gubo's brows furrowed. “And are you truly okay with that? The child you dedicated your entire life to causes a stir, and you are ready to bear the consequences all alone? Does that not make you even the slightest bit upset?”

It did; it really did. Oh, how he wanted to drag Huan by the ears, to tell him what exactly his naivety had gotten them into. Huan would cry and apologise, and Tianchun would inevitably forgive him. Not let go; he never did. The grudge would shrink, small as a pearl, and tumble into the treasure box of sacrifices he kept deep within his heart. And it would shine there, he would feel it twisting in his chest; and it wouldn’t matter to him as long as Huan was there, alive and needing him. He always knew it would come to this somehow. There was no intrinsic value to human life; thus, if that’s what Huan needed, it was a small price to pay.

“I said it’s fine. What is it to you?”

“And do you suppose he will be happy watching you suffer in his stead? You might lose your life, you know. Leave him in a world where you are nowhere to be found. Forever.”

“He’ll manage,” the lie stung the brother’s heart like a thousand needles. “Besides, what else do you suggest?”

“I suggest you drop the altruism. Take the blame and leave with us.”

Tianchun immediately assumed he was joking. The unbroken gaze and impatient fiddling of his fingers said otherwise.

“...Why? Why would I?”

“What a stupid question; because you get to live! I’m offering you a job: return to District 14 with me and join Nagel und Hammer. Your brother lives, possibly even a slightly better life. And you finally get to apply yourself instead of rotting over his cradle.”

Tianchun clenched the dagger again, “You suggest I abandon my brother in this hellhole and just go live for myself?”

“If that makes it easier, I suppose you can just bide time before you two inevitably reunite.”

The brother shook his head. “I can’t..! If I betray him for you and leave, he will never wish to see me again…! Why won't you understand…? What, have you truly never harboured even the slightest drop of devotion to anyone but yourself?!”

The two of them have been keeping distance from each other for a while; suddenly, carefully, as if afraid to scare him off, Gubo’s arm crawled around Tianchun and leaned him closer. The foreigner’s lips were now right against his ear: “Then so be it. You can always force him to: find him, look out for him to your heart’s content. He can resent you all he wants. How does that change your love for him?”

For the first time that night, Jia Tianchun genuinely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What an abhorrent, disgusting way to love. “I’m not looking to make him hate me. I’m just-”

“And what are you looking for, anyway? What kind of future have you envisioned for the boy?”

Tianchun thought about that a million times. Jia Huan was a hard worker, a big dreamer and a stubborn perfectionist. Being a Hierarch wasn’t ever truly a fixation of his, but he always fancied himself high up the corporate ladder: powerful and wealthy, dragging his clip-winged brother behind like a corpse. In his fantasies, Tianchun saw him in a myriad of places: a corporate slave, a wounded soldier, a ruthless criminal. The only thing he actually wanted was to see Huan happy.

“Do you wish for him to walk on his own two feet after all? Or do you see yourself there next to him until the bitter end, drowning together in this sparkling cesspit? You, who have given him your all, time and time again, over and over, at every possible opportunity?” Gubo dragged him up by the nightgown, gazes interlocking, that mad, hateful glimmer visible even through the thick lenses. “That is the inherent cruelty of weakness: never asking for anything, yet having no choice other than to take. This is how all children come to be born selfish. Resent, despise, bite the hand that feeds them, yet still eat, and eat, and eat. If you will allow me to impart a word of wisdom on you, Jia Tianchun, then I can tell you this: you can lie to me, and you can lie to him, and you can lie to yourself for as long as you want, but the wounded hand will inevitably come to choke the hungry bird. I saw it for myself, more times than I could possibly count. And believe me when I say it is going to hurt.

Knowing this, let me ask you again: what future do you wish to grant upon Jia Huan?”

A grudge the size of a full-grown man was swelling within him. An unborn fetus aching, begging, screaming to be free of its womb after twenty-six years of painstaking nurturing. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, and so Tianchun spat it out right in the invader’s face. Gubo released him from his grip, felt around for the saliva, as if checking if it was real. He then proceeded to sample it with his tongue.

“You..! You are so gross! Positively disgusting!”

Tianchun crossed his arms sternly and sank into the pillows. Gubo cleaned the remaining saliva with the handkerchief.

“So, do you accept my proposition?”

The housemaster muttered in response.

“Jia Tianch-”

“Of course I do! What else do you want? I don’t actually want to die, y’know!”

“Thought as much.” Gubo seemed oddly satisfied. “You are smart.”

“Don’t mention it.” Tianchun was regretting it already. “Recap the plan for me.”

“How professional. Director Hermann will be pleased.”

“Gubo.”

“It can wait for tomorrow; it’s awfully late,” he began settling down to rest. “Besides, I assume there must be much more dire thoughts weighing on your mind at the moment.”

Tianchun didn't respond. He just stared at the ceiling until Gubo flipped the switch, and he couldn't see anything anymore.

Way back, Tianchun has taken the liberty of going through Huan’s journey in his stead, setting his own aspirations aside; thus, he has seen plenty of the world outside for himself. The reality of the decision he just made had yet to fully settle in. He really did just verbally agree to sign his life away, leaving everything he knew behind. Leaving Huan to fend for himself. What were they even going to do now? Tianchun had savings, sure– Maybe he should ask about corporate housing tomorrow? Should he start packing his things, or should he ask the servants? He hasn't signed any paperwork; maybe there was still something to be done… How should he detail the situation to Huan, if at all? Was it possible to take him along after all? Would it even change anything? Would the change be for the better?

“Where do you think you are going?”

Gubo grabbed him by the edge of his nightgown; Tianchun didn't even realise he got up.

“My quarters..?” He tried feeling around for his robe, but his movements were sluggish and awkward. He wasn't sure where his bǐ shǒu was at this point. “We're not in the trenches, I don't have to fight sleepless.”

“Jia Tianchun, you have barged into my room in the middle of the night with a dagger up your sleeve, almost gave me a black eye and proceeded to bawl your eyes out. I cannot, in my right mind, let you roam freely now.”

“Gubo, I'm not stupid, I understand that-”

“It's not about the schemes,” he tugged on the fabric, forcing Tianchun to take a step forward before the seams crunched apart, “It is the simple fact that you are severely unstable. I cannot trust you with your own emotions. You may spiral and go slaughter my soldiers out of nothing but spite. Consider it a gesture of goodwill on your part.”

“Forgo sleep in favour of earning the trust of a backstabber like you? Do you hear yourself?”

“I didn't tell you to forgo sleep; there's still plenty of time, have some rest.”

“Know your place, N. Corp. scum, I'm not sleeping in the chair.”

“Then don't…?”

Tianchun couldn't tell him apart in the dark, but he could see in his mind the face Gubo was making. The absolute madman.

“Is a queen bed suddenly not enough for you, your highness? Or is it my presence that discomforts you?” He gently tugged on the nightgown for emphasis, “I won't lay a finger on you, I promise.”

He didn't want to comply out of principle, but he didn’t have any more fight in him at that point either; thus, Tianchun crawled back into bed and made himself as small as possible against the very edge. It was a feeling he knew quite well, but hadn't experienced since the two of them left their father's house: becoming a guest in his own home.

His eyes weren't adjusting to the dark; he was seeing black. Everything, everywhere, yesterday, tomorrow: all black. It was starting to weigh in on him now: the thing he committed to, heavy on his shoulders like the entirety of Hongyuan's megastructure. So was the reason he did it; he knew very well there was no way out. It was as if his skull was licked clean from the inside: not a single sound thought. The only things his mind was clinging to were the setting-in chill of evaporating sweat on his skin and the unwanted presence of another man next to him. Tianchun’s head ached, and his eyes were still sticky, and he couldn't cry the remaining few tears he had left – the first he allowed himself in many, many years. Because he was there, just lying next to him, still as an unloved spouse. Radiating heat, somehow breathing too loud, filling the air with the smell of cologne, musk and way more blood than was spilt tonight. Tianchun didn't even hear him take off the glasses.

“The hell are you looking at?”

Tianchun didn't need to face him to know that the invader was staring at him.

“I apologise,” he turned Tianchun’s way, “I was merely lost in reminiscence.”

“I don't care.”

“I suppose not. But I do truly hate to burden you like this. For your own sake, please let yourself relax. You need rest.”

Easier said than done when Tianchun was so cold and so aware of every rustle and creak and breath down his neck.

“Ah, where are my manners…?” The sheets swished back and forth behind his back, and suddenly, Tianchun found himself covered by a blanket he failed to acknowledge earlier.

He wasn't cold anymore, not because of the blanket, but because of the boiling rage. “What do you think you're doing?”

“I remember you being awfully underdressed. It seemed to me that you are in distress.”

“You dare to try and take pity on me after everything you did?!”

Gubo clicked the reading lamp back on and painfully rubbed his nose bridge, setting the shades aside. “I didn't do anything to you, Jia Tianchun, and you know it. This is what your life was always heading towards, and you-”

He couldn't finish the sentence because Tianchun pounced onto him, kicking the air out of his lungs. Gubo barely caught the fist heading his way. The hand he held still struggled, but it was now weak and frantic. The eyes staring down on him with hatred shining the same murderous red, but the face housing them was now painted with the purest shade of despair. It was as if Gubo only recognised his face now; as if he was seeing him for the first time.

Tianchun expected everything at this point. Gubo could mock him; he could name every excuse in the book. Lie; tell him he found no joy in ripping families apart. Instead, he wrapped his hands around Tianchun’s back and pulled him in close, gently guiding his head into the curve of his neck. Carefully yet firmly, as if handling a rabid animal.

“If it was up to me, I’d gladly lay you to rest next to your brother when the time came.”

His fingers crawled into Tianchun’s hair, setting the nerve endings ablaze, stroking his head in slow, tender motions. Tianchun grazed the invader’s neck with his nose, trying to turn to look at him, only to see that once again, that strange man was staring plainly up into the ceiling. Looking at something far out of Tianchun’s understanding and even further out of Gubo’s reach. Tianchun let himself hug the man’s shoulders for comfort.

“Why are you like this…?”

No need to clarify. “I do believe I have a vague idea, but… I suppose I don’t entirely grasp what is and isn’t appropriate for these kinds of situations anymore. I told you I’ve been here many times before.”

Tianchun didn’t reply; Gubo took it as an invitation to continue.

“There used to be someone I would stick by through numerous similar fits of hysteria. He would berate me quite often and make it clear that my presence displeased him at such moments. But he never once had enough teeth to tell me to go away, and so I wouldn’t.”

“What happened then?”

Gubo laughed softly, the warm air grazing Tianchun’s ear. “Believe it or not, one day he got up and left himself. I haven’t seen him much since, but he… Seems to be doing well,” he said it as if he wasn’t believing his own words. “And so will you.”

A light clicked on in Tianchun's head, “Was it the man from Jia Baoyu’s faction? Scrawny one, with choppy hair like raven wings.”

Tianchun propped himself up on his elbows to look Gubo in the eyes. The silence and the look of bewilderment gave it all away.

“So you’ve met him again after all?”

“If that makes you feel better,” Gubo pressed on his back insistently, pulling Tianchun back down. Whenever he thought he regained his confidence, Gubo always managed to find a way to put him back on his knees. “And to think you’re upset with me after you’ve been snooping around behind my back…”

“Life in the court teaches one to be observant.”

“I see.

To be quite honest, I’ve never understood what it was he found so contradictory. Bonds are fickle things: we can swear eternal loyalty today and still find ourselves at each other’s throats tomorrow. It does not mean that my love today or his resentment tomorrow won’t be true. And I can say the same to you.”

Tianchun has steadied his breathing to the rhythm of the hand stroking his back. He hasn’t felt that for a long time: the peculiar feeling of melting into the curves of another person’s body. He couldn’t feel the edges of himself somehow, but he was now painfully aware of how thin his nightgown was. He couldn’t comprehend this cruel fit of faux affection, but he didn’t have it in him to reject it.

“So you do feel pity for me?” Tianchun raised his head up to face him yet again and suddenly felt their noses touching.

“You wouldn’t like it if I lied to you,” the foreigner’s finger traced circles around Tianchun’s cheekbone. “I must confess that I envy you greatly. You must have found your life torturous up to this point, but once you look back at it from now on, you might find it blissful: the time you got to spend with a loved one. Very soon you’ll learn what happiness truly is; at least that was how I found out.”

His motions were gentle, but his words were callous, and Tianchun wasn’t sure what to believe. “Don’t compare yourself to me.” Their legs wrapped together.

“Take no offence; I was only trying to be friendly,” with a perfectly neutral expression, Gubo cupped his cheek. “We might get stuck together for a long time, you understand that? I try to get along with you now. Smooth out all of these rough edges.”

He pushed Tianchun forward, and then it hit him: the sensation of Gubo’s lips pressing against his own. He stayed perfectly still on top of him, holding his breath, neither leaning forward nor pushing back. He wasn’t even sure he wasn’t imagining things – so unreal it seemed, that sudden wet heat. When Gubo set him free, Tianchun found himself audibly gasping and covering his mouth, as if checking if it was still there.

“Apologies,” Gubo quickly got his hands off him, “I was under the impression that the two of us were–”

Tianchun was so utterly baffled that he couldn’t even be mad. “Must have been the worst thing you’ve done so far,” he stated coldly.

Gubo chuckled, his eyes wandering away. Tianchun felt awful, but it comforted him that by that point, his adversary also looked positively dishevelled. The worst he’s seen him so far, always so well-put together. The sheer audacity he had to try and look away from him, after he’s done so much to him and done so much for him… “I’m not normally like this. You must understand, the present circumstances have been quite… How should I put it..? Distracting.”

“You’re all excuses.”

“I was actually under the impression that this was at least part of the intention,” Gubo proceeded to feel the silk of the nightgown around Tianchun’s thigh. “What else could this ensemble possibly be for? Or will you lie and tell me I’m wrong?”

Tianchun traced the man’s arm, but he neither removed his hand nor spoke.

“And you suppose it would have worked? How many times has the proud Jia Tianchun, eldest son of the Jia family, resorted to such cheap, vulgar methods?”

“I do whatever works best. Try being honest and tell me it didn’t.”

Gubo chuckled. Tianchun was beginning to find his voice pleasant. “And how far were you willing to go?”

“I’d consider that the worst-case scenario. Depends on how far it would take me.”

“If you want to know the truth: not very far. It would only make me all the more disheartened when I’d inevitably put a bullet in your head. That would not, however, make my brief fondness for you disingenuous.

Are you giving me the silent treatment again, my friend?

I really am fond of you like this, you know. All broken down, when you’re usually so brazen,” Gubo caressed his cheek, still streaked by dried-up tears. “I don’t believe you’re meant to be like this. So I won’t make any decisions in your stead. It’s your call to make. But if you wish for me to console you, I gladly will.”

“Would it kill you to take responsibility for something once in your life?”

The invader didn’t get a chance to respond: Tianchun gave up and fell into him.

The childish little smooches Huan would give him before he turned 12 and became squeamish came to mind. Oh, how he wished to scrub those innocent memories clean off his brain, because Gubo didn’t kiss like that. His kisses were wet, sloppy and eager, as if he had gone hungry for a very long time, greedy hands scavenging all over him, tainting every inch he could reach. He spoke of fondness and friendship before, but there was little affection in what they did; only frustration and burning, smoking anguish. It didn’t matter to Tianchun as long as Gubo kept his eyes on him; wouldn’t let himself ignore the man he just unfurled with his own two hands. It was exactly how Jia Tianchun imagined his first wedding night to be.

***

Tianchun barely remembered a thing about the second trial.

The morning of, over breakfast, Gubo presented him with a truly gaudy ensemble – an extra set of gear provided to him by his director, “just in case”. It didn’t look like any of the ones worn by the soldiers: an abhorrent piece of work made of golden wire twisted together in incomprehensible spirals, glimmering painfully straight into his eyes. Gubo complained about risk probabilities and not having enough time to run tests; Tianchun only got to try the thing out once before going to battle in it. It rang in bothersome little chimes and made his already overflowing head spin with resentment; Gubo said those were normal side effects. He was, however, fond of the weapon: a bright crimson sword of crystallised blood hidden in a light sheath of that same spiralling gold. It made Tianchun feel powerful when he held it; he could almost hear it call for him, begging to let it spill viscera. Telling him that all his anger is justified, that the faces of everyone who dared to look at the bastard children with contempt will be split open very soon. Gubo warned him against heading its call. “Mine tells me a lot of curious things too,” he said.

Huan came for breakfast, tired and fidgety, putting on his best impression of high spirits. The sight of him killed Tianchun’s appetite for good. He couldn’t look him in the eyes. Gubo acted as if nothing happened, which was as infuriating as it was convenient. He and Huan pleasantly chatted over congee, and Tianchun wondered whether he had truly gone insane. Whether everything was fine and he made last night up, and he only imagined waking up in a room that wasn’t his. The nightmare returned to him as soon as Huan was out of sight; Gubo pulled him away from the scuttering soldiers to remind him that, if he still had any business remaining in the house, now was high time to take care of it. “Director Hermann’s plans are flawless, you’ll see it for yourself soon. So throw your doubts away and focus on the objective. Don’t worry about a thing,” he said as they parted, his hand gliding invasively on the inside of Tianchun’s wrist. Not affectionately, but undeniably intimately. It came to him at that moment: that it was all real. That their union was consummated.

The battle went smoothly as butter; truth be told, Tianchun never felt stronger. Rival candidates' troops fell under him as if their heads were made of unnamed clay. Tianchun never strayed too far from their formation’s vulnerable core, hovering over Huan like a mother bear woken up too early in the spring. He couldn't tell him anything – now was not the time and not the place, and even if it was, he didn't have the words. So he resorted to the next best thing: his final act of brotherly vigilance. He could see Huan struggling, playing this pantomime of what a commander was meant to look like. All the while, shot after shot rang out in the background, nameless comrades falling to the ground at a certain someone's treacherous hand.

He didn't remember the details of the conversation the three last standing candidates had with the mighty Jia Qiu. Tianchun always thought his brother to be quite the talented didactic artist. But his vision for Hongyuan was bland and uninspired: the rigid order of the world that doomed him to this cruel fate he only truly sought to dominate through pragmatism and force. Truth be told, he must not have believed in it himself. In the end, the three brothers drowned in the surge of tears Jia Baoyu refused to shed. Huan crumbled and fell to his knees, only for Baoyu to gently wipe him away with the sleeve of his foreign uniform, Qiu smiling contentedly as he retreated. It must have been the first time Tianchun was proud to be a Jia; at least Huan had more than one person to call family. The unfortunate truth was, however, that Jia Baoyu had left that final chamber as the sole standing candidate, both his rivals withdrawing willingly. Qiu gave up on his revenge ages ago and was exiting the stage now that he’s seen everything he wanted to. Huan, his heart mended and his battle spirit thoroughly crushed, still had his whore-given pride intact and couldn’t bear to lose fairly. It dawned on his entire party that he was the last person to realise it: Jia Huan was a kind boy. He was a brother and a friend. He was certainly no Hierarch.

In the end, on yet another curious whim of Honyuan’s gem, the celebratory banquet marking the end of the candidate war was held in the name of Jia Xichun. Tianchun was almost satisfied. If it weren’t for the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the inauguration process, he’d be happy for her. The steadfast little princess would make a fine ruler, possibly the best one the bastard children could ask for, and he wished he could leave it at that.

By that point, most rival families had scurried away to their dark corners like the rats they were. Tianchun remembered Baoyu’s faction cheering inappropriately jovially, as if they couldn’t hear the first trumpets of war humming to the march of foreign troops far beyond the horizon. Huan, having cried out all the blood seeping from his fractured heart, has calmly approached his former playmate. On behalf of them both, he congratulated her on the victory and promised to extend any necessary assistance once she reaches the seat, as well as offering a sincere apology for a small argument that ended up driving them apart way back when they were cubs. He returned to his table with eyes once again puffy from crying, and fell right into his brother’s embrace. The entire N.Corp. cur saw him snuggling up to his brother’s neck in a way he didn’t do for a long, long time. A couple of the nameless goons came up to tell him he’s done a good job.

Tianchun has long since made a rule of never pouring his brother’s liquor himself. Their father would often chastise him for being too servile around a junior, and it didn’t sit right with him to spoil the boy’s innocence with an intoxicant from his own two hands. That day, he made an exception. With the dread of the upcoming battles dropped, the two of them chatted like back in the old days. Huan’s head hung low, and yet he spoke with hope of tomorrow. Talked about how good the food was and which shirt he wanted to wear to work on Monday.

The blissful reunion of old selves lasted right until the return of Gubo, who had previously retreated to “tend to some affairs”. Huan apologised to him profusely: for all the wasted time, effort and money; for all the people he must have let down, both the ones present at the table and the ones that weren’t. The foreigner shook his head and gave him a headpat. “You know full well that nothing is over until the new Hierarch receives the approval of the Elders and reaches the seat. There’s still one last leap left for you to make. Unless, of course, you’ve truly given up.”

More than ever before, Tianchun wanted to bash the foreigner’s head into a bloody mess then and there. Huan was hesitant now, too; he was finally beginning to see Gubo for the invader he truly was. He tried to refuse earnestly, he really did, but Gubo had dug open just the right wound: the one on his pride. They both turned to Tianchun, two hungry pairs of eyes waiting for him to make the call.

At that moment, it hit him: he understood Gubo perfectly now. “You’ll get plenty of time to be an adult from now on. Now’s your last chance to be a kid. You have the men, you have the weapons, and you have me. Why not try and take the leap?” The biggest, most horrible lie Jia Tianchun ever got to tell his brother, filling him to the brim with the purest kind of love.

Jia Huan gathered up the remnants of his resolve. Behind his back, Gubo smiled.

***

When they arrived, the road to Tienkan Temple was already littered with corpses. Bodies, bodies, bodies: everywhere, on top of each other, moaning, screaming, bleeding. Friends, foes and those Tianchun didn’t recognise lining their path like scattered stones of an abandoned round of go. Ongoing skirmishes blazed up and died down left and right; Gubo’s rifle worked tirelessly. There were only a dozen or so of his men left standing by the time they reached the temple; as expected, it greeted them with closed doors. As fate would often have it, not a single miserable day of Jia Tianchun’s life went by without the man now referring to himself as Hong Lu. His faction, which, as it turned out, was barely even his to begin with, regarded Gubo coldly yet again, but through Hong Lu’s benevolence, they achieved a truce Tianchun didn’t really care for, and the jade opened the door for them. 

What came next was an absolute mess. An incoherent sideshow of rapidly changing gory scenes. Jia Xichun, barely conscious, beside herself with fear. A crude crimson-dyed altar. A whole council's worth of abhorrent abominations; assorted crimes against nature that dare call themselves wise and their wretchedness immortality. A wicked gallery of twisted limbs, bloated torsos and stitched faces. The most repugnant one of them all, a worm-like creature, slithered all over Jia Mu. A whole bunch of arguing. Clashes of swords. Xichun weeping. Huan raising his hand. More arguing. Shouting, wailing, begging. Gubo's hands choking Tianchun’s cries out, restraining him, not letting him go further. Clashes of swords. Gunshots. Squirming. More arguing. A boundless sea of crystalline water; a beautiful song of happiness, wrath, sorrow and joy. The tranquil humming of a waterfall. A sword in the lens of a camera. Searching, yelling, dragging. Tumbling down, running. More crying. Gubo ripping out the disgusting worm-like man out of Huan's ear before it crawls all the way inside.

Huan was conscious through it all somehow. He proved himself a strong, resilient boy: he stood by his decision and accepted that horrid thing himself. It would have probably made a great home in him if it weren't for Nagel und Hammer having other plans for it. Once it was out of him, Huan couldn't even stand straight. He folded in on himself like a dead bug and fell, blood and a thin string of something vile and yellow leaking from his ear. His eyes were open, but it didn’t seem like he saw much; his lips moved on their own, mumbling something incoherent. Hong Lu's faction moved on, unconscious Xichun with them; the remaining few N.Corp men were lost. It was just the three of them now, hidden in the artificial garden among the collapsed bodies of someone else's battlefield. Armed men were still scouring the premises; Gubo was yelling at someone over the phone. Tianchun scooped his brother up and rocked him back and forth, humming a lullaby and whispering sweet words of comfort. Running fingers through his greasy hair, kissing his nape, just like he would when Huan would fall and scrape his knees as a kid. Hot tears crawled down Huan's cheeks, eyes as golden as they've always been, just like their mother's. Truth be told, Tianchun was elated; defeated he may be, his brother's body was still warm and breathing in his hands. 

“Brother…” Huan called out weakly. “Brother, we must… Make haste… The seat of the Hierarch, it's–”

Tianchun took his palm and rubbed it against his own cheek, thin fingers of the soft, untrained hand caked in mud. “No, we won't.”

“Brother, we must go…!”

“We are not going anywhere,” he squeezed him in closer. “Look at yourself, young man.”

“But you said–”

“I know, sorry. I believe you've had enough playtime for today. Time to go home now.”

Huan looked at his brother. Then, at the invader standing at the very edge of his vision, Hongyuan's immortal wisdom jarred in his hands. Then, at his brother again.

“You… Did you…?”

Tianchun didn't respond, joyful smile wide as the crescent moon. Huan's eyes widened; he tried sitting up, only to stumble back into his brother’s hands.

“How could you…?” was all he could master up. “After everything…! Everything we went through…! Why?”

He began thrashing, trying to kick his brother away; in his hysteria, Tianchun only pulled him in closer. He couldn't let him go now; it might be the last time he ever gets to touch him.

“Why won't you stop smiling?” Tears were now streaming down his face. “I don't want to see you ever again…!”

Tianchun giggled and nuzzled up to him, “And you won't have to…!”

Suddenly, like a falling meteor, something blunt has hit Tianchun's head. He collapsed, hands still reaching uselessly, trying to hold onto his last precious thing. With the stock of his rifle, Gubo beat him to the ground. Then, in one swift motion, he turned the gun around and probed the half-conscious body with its muzzle. Finally settling on a good spot on the stomach, he fired. The gunshot rang through the artificial garden, filling Tianchun's ears with unbearable ringing. His vision finally went dark. Everything was too loud; he couldn't hear the world anymore.

Huan managed to crawl away somehow. He checked to see whether any of that new blood on his clothes was his. To his dismay, he quickly realised it wasn't. A man towered over his brother's barely breathing body like a hungry vulture.

“What a sad sight. The ambitious bastard child was fooled by his resentful older brother into conspiring with vile criminals, only for the scoundrels to desecrate the temple, leaving him with nothing but his life and shame, the traitor succumbing to the invader's gun… Such a tragic tale of misplaced ambition, idiocy and disappointment…” The barrel was facing Huan now. “You get the idea, don't you, Sir?”

Huan nodded; Gubo lowered the rifle.

“...The only thing I can say for myself is that I'm honestly not surprised.” With shaky hands, the boy put on his glasses.

“No need to make excuses; for someone so small, you've put up a good fight. I'm even tempted to say that, under normal circumstances, you'd make a fine Hierarch.”

After everything he's seen, Huan didn't think that was much of a compliment.

“Alas, these are no normal circumstances, and my hands are bound. Sorry, little one,” there was a slight hint of pity in his voice. “But this is farewell.”

Huan watched the researcher scoop his brother, limp and gory, up into his arms and hurl him over his shoulder. Once he got used to the weight, off he went.

“Why are you taking him?” He finally managed to stammer to his feet; he still had enough teeth to hold the sword. He wanted to beg the man who took his dream and dignity to at least let him keep his family, but his pride wouldn't let him.

Gubo stopped in his tracks. Even with his eyes obscured by glimmering lenses, there was something wistful about his face. “Your brother is a peculiar man. Too kind to ever truly become happy, yet too smart to ever truly be considered good,” he spoke slowly, as if afraid to burn his tongue on the words. “He loves you more than anything, did you know that?”

Huan nodded and turned his head away.

“He wanted you to live. As yourself and no one else. You're a clever boy, you must understand.” Gubo unsheathed Tianchun's abandoned blade, “As much as I am intrigued by the potential irony of it all… I want to respect his wish. So let me, Jia Huan.”

The boy sighed and lowered his weapon. “...Will I see him again?”

“If fate would have it,” Gubo shrugged. “I sincerely hope you do. Although I wouldn't advise you to come looking for him.”

“I see,” the boy closed his weary eyes. “When he wakes up, could you tell him I'm-” He smiled bitterly, “No, nevermind.”

“Do not disappoint him,” Gubo said to an already empty field. Hands full of trophies, he disappeared into the artificial night.

Tianchun's ears were still ringing, blood pulsating in his head, leaking through the wet hole that used to be his stomach. His consciousness went in and out like a flickering light bulb to the rhythm of the gentle sway of his hair. He neither heard that one last conversation nor did he see the path the foreigner was taking him. Somehow, in the last bastions of his failing mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was eloping. Tomorrow he’d wake up a married man, and what awaited him was a long, happy life.

***

Everything was dark for a long time, until the darkness dissolved in searing pain. With a natal gasp, the runaway came to.

“There you go, handsome! All set, don't cry!”

A woman was crouched over him. Healthy olive skin, bright amber eyes, brown hair, cheerful smile, and a familiar-looking dark blue uniform. There was something in her hands; even with his vision blurry, the runaway recognised the green glow of a K.Corp. ampule. He ran a hand down his torso; there was a bloody hole torn through his suit, but the skin and muscle underneath were intact. The pain was fading away.

“Geez, what a mess! Here, let me just–”

The stranger fussed over him, rubbing at his exposed stomach with a cold washcloth.

“Don't touch me!” he slapped her hand away.

The woman's jovial expression didn't even twitch as she reached to hit him on the head; three minutes after coming to his senses, the runaway found himself in a struggle. The N.Corp. woman was strong.

A familiar voice came in a disapproving tone, “Ms Dean, refrain. He's been wearing that E.G.O. gear for Head knows how long; he's clearly corroded.”

“Oh golly! Must take it off then!”

“Just leave him be before he claws your eye out or something.”

“Don't joke with me, Mr Gubo!” The woman set to working on the runaway’s tie.

Getting stripped like some kind of unpeeled fruit definitely did not sound appealing at the moment. He writhed and thrashed, even tried to bite her, but in his current state, he was clearly no match for her skilled hands. Suddenly, something tugged at him from behind – a second pair of hands dragged him up by the bloody coat and ripped it off him, as if it was second skin. Looking up, the runaway found himself face to face with yet another stranger. A tall young man with unruly silver hair, gentle features and piercing eyes of the deepest alien purple. Undeniably beautiful; his face didn't fit the roughness of the uniform he was wearing; the runaway didn’t recognise the symbol on his scarf.

“All better now?” The stranger folded his coat. While he was startled, the woman managed to loosen his shirt.

Truth be told, it did get better somehow. He was still hungry, thirsty, exhausted and disoriented, but something certainly shifted. As if a veil was lifted from his eyes, the grudge whispering in his ear was simmering down into its rightful place in the backbone of his mind.

“Poor thing; you've been out cold for the entire time you've been here, and we've been on the road for about an hour now.” The man's tone was gentle, but something about his kindness immediately stood out as insincere. It sounded more like pity. “Our Gubo must have given you a rough time.”

“...You don't say,” the runaway pretended to have regained his composure.

With the view clear and vision focused, he could finally get a good look at his surroundings. He was inside some sort of mobile lab, full of screens, cabinets and various equipment. Through a gaping-open door in the back and a couple of small windows, he could see it was moving; at a decent speed, even. By vehicle standards, this must have been huge, but compared to what he knew, it seemed cramped, especially considering the number of people. The runaway himself was currently situated on the floor. Besides the two strangers tending to him, there were two more: a freakishly tall older woman moving familiar gear cases by the dozen, and a thin, somehow long-looking man, clearly the sciency type, with his eyes glued to the screens. By the latter's side stood Gubo.

“What did you do to him, anyway?” The cheerful woman turned Gubo's way. “He looks like you dragged him straight out the other side… You know we can't do that, right…? Dead illegal…!”

“Must be that second trophy he promised…” the beautiful young man scratched his chin. “I was under the impression that Nagel und Hammer didn't partake in human trafficking.”

“Of course, we partake in human trafficking, Marmeladova; just not like that,” Gubo rubbed his forehead as if he was having a headache. “He's here for a different set of abilities.”

“Marmeladova” seemed offended.

“Of course. And he just happens to be handsome,” the unfamiliar researcher threw in, barely audibly.

“...What does that have to do with anything?” Gubo crossed his arms.

His coworker turned, as if intending to say something more, but in the end, he only sighed and went straight back to his screens. The runway did note that his “handsome” did not sound like a compliment.

“Ah, so that's the pansy who's ten boxes of stuff I had to pick up!” the older woman gasped. “I lost three men running back and forth between the houses! Where d'ya expect to even wear all that?”

“Gh, someofusliketosmellgood–” “Dean” coughed. 

The two of them began bickering, with “Marmeladova” fussing over them playing peacemaker. The runaway noted that being wasteful with manpower seems to be a theme here.

Gubo clapped his hands, “My dear brutish fellows! If you are finished with your work here, I suggest you return to your own vehicle and tend to the remaining troops.”

“You ain't our boss!” the woman pointed an actual harpoon at him.

“I am one of the two people in charge of this very expensive mobile laboratorium, and I find your presence here disruptive and unnecessary…! I implore you to leave, you are clearly distracting Aseah!”

Aseah did not move an inch.

“...I need to check on my men,” Marmeladova shrugged.

“It's okay, captain,” Dean tenderly rubbed the taller woman's shoulder. “Let's go get you some rest.”

“Fine,” the captain gave up. “I'm dyin’ for some shuteye anyway.”

With that, she and the silver-haired man approached the open exit and jumped onto the road like it was no big deal. The younger woman gave the runaway a polite little wave and followed suit, closing the door behind them. He could only assume there were more vehicles outside.

With the cart becoming quiet, he finally let himself lean against the wall and relax. The pain of the non-existent wound has now left him, so he could now feel his empty stomach churn and joints ache from the hours he must have spent sprawled out on the floor.

“That's some strong personalities you've got there.”

“They're– Mhm…” Gubo was once again taking his sweet time with words. He clearly wanted to say they're good people; the runaway wondered what it was that made him cut himself off. “They're tolerable. Somewhat enjoyable once you get to know them, although I'd advise against that. If all goes well, however, these will be your new sisters in arms. Do try to get along with them.” There was that odd dreaminess about the way he spoke; a tone of reminiscence. “...Or don't,” he added.

“They don't seem to like you very much.”

“See if I care,” Gubo chuckled. “I find it best that way; at the very least, it's genuine. But if you'll figure out a different way around it, I'll find it quite commendable.”

“...Roger.”

The runaway’s eyes were glued to the back of the other researcher – the one Gubo referred to as Aseah. He seemed preoccupied and impartial, as if he wasn't listening to them at all, which, to the reject of the court of Hongyuan, implied that he was absolutely listening.

As if it were to be expected, Gubo approached the wounded man silently, a glass of water and a couple of pills in his hand.

“What are these?”

“Painkillers. And a sedative, to quell the side-effects of corrosion. I suggest you remove as much of the gear as possible; prolonged exposure can result in long-term consequences.” The researcher crouched down and firmly placed the pills into his hand, “I insist.”

The runaway was sceptical about taking pills from the reckless lunatic, but he figured there was no use poisoning him after so much effort put into grooming him here. Thus, he complied, and it was the single most delicious glass of water he ever had.

“We don't have much in the way of food here; I'll ask the others later.”

“I've got no appetite anyway,” the runaway shook his head, handing the man his vest and ornaments. “Did you really have to punch a hole through my stomach like that?”

“You said it yourself; you wanted me to make it believable.”

Jia Tianchun did ask for it; to make his exit from the stage look real, so that when Jia Huan lives to tell the tale, it would sound as authentic as possible. It was the best he could come up with. Gubo certainly made him believe he was done for more than once.

His mind wandered back to it: the smouldering field, the smell of blood. Jia Huan's tears on his hands like melted gold. It came to him at that moment that he would not see his brother again. At least not for a very long time.

He lowered his head. “Did he make it out…?”

“I believe he did. Last time I saw him, he was perfectly animated, and he's agile and clever enough to at least make the run home.”

The runaway wanted to chastise his new comrade for not even making sure Huan was safe. All he said was “Good.” He desperately wanted to believe that, at least right now, Gubo had enough respect to not lie to his face.

Suddenly, his view was obstructed by a large shadow: the researcher presented him with his coat. 

“No need.”

“The A.C. is on, and the floor is metal. Don't be ridiculous.”

There was something deeply strange in these nurturing tendencies of his; of how naturally Gubo came to take care of him, almost instinctually so. He was perceptive as well: wearing only his pants and a thin shirt, the runaway really was cold. He snatched the long coat without saying “thank you”, threw it over his shoulders and greedily wrapped himself up – it was too big for him to put on properly without looking like a child wearing his father's work blazer. The lining inside was still warm with another person's body heat; it was undeniably pleasant. Gubo watched him accept his care intently. His expression was blank, but the runaway couldn't shake off the impression that he seemed oddly satisfied.

The runaway's hair was ruined irreparably by that point. He removed the hair tie, leaving it to rest on his wrist, and ran his fingers through it absentmindedly, vision unfocused, thinking of nothing in particular. Gubo found a clean spot on the floor and sat down next to him.

“People can surprise you like that, you know. Blink, and you'll miss it; the tenderest of flowers shrivel up, only to survive the harshest winters. You'll find yourself thinking the ones you love are weak without you, only to see them flying on their own,” he said. The runaway wasn't sure this soliloquy was even directed at him. “I'm sure he's fine. And he'll be fine the next time you see him – and you will see him again, because causality is never kind enough to let old regrets sink and slumber for long. And I assure you that he is–” Gubo stuttered. “He must be regretting it already.”

The runaway had nothing to say to that. Silence settled back into the vehicle, only interrupted by the hum of the engine and the beeping of the machinery.

“So. Where would you like to go first? I'm curious.”

“Excuse me…?”

“Am I correct to assume that this will be your first time outside Daguanyuan in a long while?”

The runaway nodded; it wasn't entirely untrue.

“Outside of our mission, you are free to go anywhere you want. Foods, events, pastimes… You'll be here for a while, too; might as well start planning for vacations. What would you like to try out first?”

He looked up at the ceiling and found his head completely empty. Maybe there was something yesterday; Jia Tianchun was a lot. Jia Tianchun liked good clothing, perfume and musical theatre. He always wanted to throw a bit of cash to an unskilled yet passionate street performer; wished to hear many different sounds, not just the refined yet lonely tune of his own pipa at the banquet. He wanted to see the Great Lake; to know the cry of seagulls and the salty smell of seawater. And he was always curious about the many colourful street foods that his parents said were unfit for his noble body. But that was all yesterday; before he had given everything up. The only place he wanted to be now was his broken home. Next to Jia Huan.

“Not really. I don't see myself slacking off in the near future.”

“You're telling me that in the entire expanse of the City, there isn't anything in particular you'd even remotely want to have or do?”

“Null.”

“I see,” Gubo leaned back against the wall. “And what do you suppose Jia Huan would like to do?”

He thought about it a little. “He'd have a look at your laboratories.”

“Really? Just that?”

“He wanted this a lot. To work with you. He admires you a lot, actually, I’ve said it before.”

“Huh,” Gubo awkwardly scratched his cheek under his glasses. “And next?”

“...Get ice cream, I suppose. He loves that stuff.”

“So much for big dreams. You could get a new body, a new name, a whole new identity, and you choose to talk about ice cream…”

The runaway crossed his legs. “New name sounds good, actually. Wouldn't want the H.Corp. board to notice I'm not actually dead too quickly. Although I doubt they'd get too vexed about the bastard son anyway…”

“Now we're talking. How would you like me to address you then?”

The man gave his new companion a disappointed look; it surprised him that Gubo even asked.

“After all the lengths we've gone through to get you here, you're choosing to let your brother live vicariously through you?”

It was the only thing he wanted. “It is what's best for both of us. Everything I had done before, and everything I shall do from now on, was only ever dedicated to him.”

“And if you end up committing a great sin, would you still wish to share it with him?”

“One sin more, one sin less.”

Gubo's lips curled up into a crude, unnerving smile. His face held the look of perfect satisfaction. “I must admit, at times I find myself quite fascinated with you, Jia Huan.”

“I do not know words in this language that could possibly convey to you how little I care,” Jia Huan cut him off coldly.

Gubo chuckled. Then, without a warning, with disgusting tenderness, he chastely pressed his lips to Jia Huan's cheek. Briefly, mockingly, yet sincerely. The runaway sprang up, feeling around his face as if it was burned; then he gave the top of Gubo's head a good, loud smack.

“Ouch,” he stated through barely concealed wheezing.

Huan grabbed him by the tie and proceeded to try and slap him again. As he already expected, Gubo shielded himself, but did not fight back; he was clearly having the time of his life. Jia Huan reached into his mouth to try and stop his laughter, only for Gubo’s teeth to lock on his ring finger.

“You actual degenerate! This was one time! One time I let you–”

“Sincerest apologies, I'm trying to work here,” Aseah interjected. “Could you two please have your honeymoon phase somewhere more secluded?”

Gubo was now openly cackling. Jia Huan's vision darted between him and the only person so far who seemed to be actually doing their job. He felt the heat rising to his face; he must have looked ridiculous right now. He certainly felt ridiculous, to the point where he was considering following his new colleagues out the back door and walking the whole way back to his prison sentence. Upon wiping the saliva from his hand, he saw that his ring finger bore the distinct red mark of Gubo’s teeth.

“And while you're at it, Gubo, you're supposed to be driving. Go do exactly that before the autopilot crashes us into something.”

“You're supposed to be driving?!”

“Don't worry, I have the license,” the researcher has regained his composure. “Come on, there's an empty passenger's seat,” he tugged Huan on the sleeve of his own coat.

“What for?”

“For you to get some actual rest. Remember? You've got a job interview tomorrow.”