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Jing Yuan knew how this little drinking party would end before it even began.
With a shouting Feixiao on the table, fighting imaginary foes.
Wine cup in hand, he deftly avoided the statue thrown at his head while he made his way to the door. With the exception of Yao Guang who found the whole thing laughable, the other generals and various division leaders were doing their best to calm the foxian. They would have no luck in their task; this Jing Yuan knew too well.
Downing the rest of his wine—no use in letting it go to waste—he cracked open the door to his office. “Guards.”
The group of soldiers standing outside the door snapped to attention. “General.”
To the trained eye, the soldiers’ hesitation and confusion was noticeable. As for the why, there was no question as to that. Jing Yuan’s nonplussed demeanor clashed with the empty wine bottle that flew over his head and shattered on the opposite wall of the hallway. “A favor, if you please.”
The soldiers were clearly on edge now. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Go collect the foxian known as Jiaoqiu from General Feixiao’s guest quarters. Inform him his presence is required.”
Jiaoqiu did not bring his cane to guide him through the hallways today. It would only serve as a hinderance, particularly since he was still getting the hang of that particular tool. Instead, Moze acted as eyes for the two of them. Jiaoqiu’s ineptitude caused by his disability still chaffed, but now was not the time to cling to pride. He had a job to do. He’d always said he could handle Feixiao with is eyes closed. Today, his words would truly be put to the test.
“Ah, there you are.” The deep, warm voice Jiaoqiu heard was that of Jing Yuan. “I was worried you might be delayed.”
“Is she truly that bad?” Jiaoqiu lamented, hearing the undercurrent of worry. He’d always been adept at picking up shifts in tone, his doctoral side trying to decipher a patient’s lies from truth, but he’d honed that talent further after… the incident.
A crash somewhere in a different room told him all he needed to know.
Jiaoqiu sighed, his ears drooping in disappointment. “I told her not to drink,” he muttered. Then he straightened, preparing himself for the job he’d been summoned for. “Lead the way, Moze.”
Moze grabbed his elbow, guiding him forward. “Has everyone escaped?” Moze questioned.
“Everyone is safely out of harm’s reach,” Jing Yuan confirmed. “She has been contained alone.”
Jiaoqiu mentally thanked his luck. This scenario was the safest and easiest for everyone.
How many cloud knights were stationed here, Jiaoqiu couldn’t ascertain, but their quiet whispers did not go unheard. “He’s not actually going to go inside, is he?” one asked.
“You don’t know? He’s the only one who can handle that.”
“Really? How? Isn’t he bli—”
There was a thunk, then silence. Jiaoqiu would not comment on how that thunk sounded distinctly of a metal blade lodging itself into a wall. Nor would he comment on the way Moze’s hand tightened on his elbow ever so slightly. Tense, angry, yet controlled.
He fought back a smile. Moze had grown overprotective over the years. It was a stark contrast to the sulking, bitter boy who, many years ago, had looked at Jiaoqiu with hatred and Feixiao with pure bloodlust. If they were somewhere private, Jiaoqiu would teasingly pat his head, earning one of those irritated glares from the boy who now stood taller than him.
They stopped only temporarily, the hinges of a door being opened squeaking loudly through the hallway. “Do you need me?” Moze quietly asked.
“No,” Jiaoqiu replied. “But keep an ear incase I call.”
“Understood.” Moze then guided Jiaoqiu inside before closing the door behind him, the hinges creaking in a slightly lower tone. While it wasn’t as though Moze couldn’t handle a drunk Feixiao, he hated that task. Jiaoqiu was always the best option.
“General,” he called out.
The movement within the room ceased, the empty silence reaching his ears. “Jiaoqiuuuu!” came the slurred reply. “Yer on the battlefield?”
“The battle is over, Fei—”
“NO!” There was a rush of unsteady footsteps tripping over wooden and ceramic objects alike. “Issh not.” And then something else broke off to the side.
His ears fell in lamentation. This was not going to be an easy task today. Then again, was it ever?
Her laugh reached his ears, and the uneven click of her heels echoed through the room again. “No… rival caaa be… beat me!”
“That is very true,” he said, carefully stepping toward her voice. He kicked something with his foot, hearing it roll away. How had a cup survived in tact? Impressive little thing. “You fought very well and gained a good victory.”
“No yet.”
“Not yet?” he questioned.
“Noooo.” And then she poked him in the chest. “Ive go’… one moor fighh.”
He reached up, taking hold of her wrist. He was grateful she’d come to him today. Made things much easier when he didn’t’ have to chase her around. Particularly given the… new circumstances. “The enemies have retreated,” he coaxed, gently pulling her in. “It’s time to go, Feixiao.”
“I refuse!”
“Fei—”
She tried to yank her hand away.
He clung tight, a habit he’d formed while dealing with her in this state.
He could feel her twist her arm, trying to yank it out of his grasp. Moving on instinct, he sidestepped with her, keeping them facing each other. That was how their dance began. She tried to step back; he grabbed her hip. She tried twisting in the opposite direction, backing up and away; he moved with her, taking two extra steps beyond in order to bring their bodies flush together. She tried kicking out, but with him this close, he could feel every movement of her hips before it transferred to her legs. Dodging was easy.
“Feixiao,” he continued, trying to keep his voice calm in this stormy tango. “The battle is over.”
“No!” She rotated her torso, swinging out with her arm.
Moving on muscle memory, he dodged the swing, hearing the slosh of booze within a jar she had likely used as a weapon in her hand. Using her momentum, he twisted her around, then yanked her backwards. The hand he had around her waist now dug into her hip as he brought their hips together in a rather intimate fashion. With his other hand, he wrapped it around her shoulders, yanking her shoulder blades against his chest. “Feixiao, the war is over.”
“No issh not!” she cried. “Hooley! I have to get his e—ahhh!”
Feixiao’s body sagged against his. It was not pure luck that the fight was half taken out of her. It was the biting kiss he was engraving on her shoulder.
“Jiaoooqiu,” she moaned, her body responding to that touch.
He clung on, following the flow of her movement as she tipped her head up, arching her back in a way that tipped her hips toward his even further. This was not the pose of a general and her retainer. It was the pose of two people who had found such deep comfort and reassurance in each other that the lines between close confidant and lover became as twisted as the fibers of thread.
“Battle’s over, Feixiao,” he said against her skin. He dragged his nose along her neck until it landed at her nape. While he distracted her with another kiss there, he felt for her arm holding the bottle of booze. He ran his fingers firmly over her skin, past her elbow, to her wrist… “It’s time to go—"
“Not until… I get his eyes!” she screamed. Taking advantage of his shock, she wiggled out of his grasp, but he still held onto her hand that clung to the booze. “I need his eyes!”
The dance continued, her weakly trying to scramble away from him while he tried getting them chest to chest again. The booze sloshed everywhere. Half of it landed on their clothes, sticking the fabric to their skin. The other half, landed on the floor, making it slick and upping the risk of falling while they continued their subjugation tango. Back when Jiaoqiu had his sight, their proximity served only to protect him. The closer she was, the less room she had to build momentum for her strikes. Now that he couldn’t see those strikes coming, their proximity served a different purpose. The closer she was, the more he could feel her move, and the better he could respond.
But at present, it served a more important purpose. The closer he was, the more he could fix her emotional distress. Feixiao did not allow herself to break unless he could wheedle through her defenses first, a task made easier with proximity.
“Why do you need his eyes?” he asked, following her lead as his boots splashed through the booze trail.
“He doesn’t deserve them!” she growled, her voice shockingly clear albeit highly emotional.
Finally, he managed to wrap an arm around her waist, slowly twisting their bodies together until they were flush. He stuck his leg between hers, further restraining her. Any little action that would restrict her leg movement was helpful. “That battle is going to have to wait, Feixiao,” he simply said.
Her breathing became ragged. “No, it… it can’t.”
“Why not?”
Slowly, she slumped against him. With the hand he wasn’t holding, she reached up to trace his eyes, ones currently covered with a white blindfold.
Oh.
“I need his eyes for youuuu.” Feixiao whimpered.
Feixiao did not whimper. Meaning she was well and truly a wreck.
He hated taking advantage of that weakness, but it was for the best he did. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Let go of the booze, Feixiao.”
“I need it!”
He slid his hand lower, trying to reach for the jug. “No, you don’t.”
“I need it to rip out his eyes!”
Jiaoqiu managed to grab the lip of the booze jar. “Feixiao, we need to regroup and plan a better attack.”
“But—”
“No buts. Moze needs his orders, too. And you haven’t given them out.”
Her body weakened even more. “Oh.”
With one little tug, Jiaoqiu managed to slip the jug from her fingers. There was still an impressive amount of liquid left in there, considering what was everywhere else.
Mustering all his might, Jiaoqiu smashed the jar against the ground. He felt bad for whoever was going to have to clean that up, but if they wanted him to fix the problem that was a Drunk Feixiao, then they could cope with his methods.
“My booze!”
“You don’t need it, Feixiao.”
“But what’s going to sustain me nowww?”
Grabbing the back of her head, he forced her face up to meet his. “Me.”
He smashed his lips onto hers, only halfway missing this time. He quickly adjusted the kiss, properly covering her lips with his.
Her body tensed, clearly caught off guard by the sudden attack, but then she melted, her body relaxing against his completely until the fight had drained out of her. Her hands felt their way up his arms to his shoulders, then looped around his neck. He was intimately aware of her chest pressing against his; aware of the slide of her thigh against his as she wiggled closer.
He trailed his lips down her jaw, bending her backwards until he could get a good angle at her throat. He nipped at the fabric there, causing her breath to hitch and her leg to pop up, wrapping around his for support. Good; he’d almost succeeded.
“Relax, Fei,” he whispered. One hand grabbed her knee, keeping her leg in the air so she couldn’t struggle. There was a pressure point in the back that he could use to subdue her if need be. One weapon of hers under his control, he now needed to subdue the whole that was Feixiao. Still keeping his arm around her back, he slid his hand up to cradle her neck, his fingers able to reach the base of her skull. This was a trick he’d learned on accident: massaging that little area served to calm her if she was awake and sober, but it would knock her out if she was in a drunk stupor.
He paired this motion with another kiss on the column of her neck, causing her to tip her head back further with a gasp and lean into his touch.
Jiaoqiu pinched the area harder, and with a relaxed sigh, Feixiao proceed to pass out.
A winner’s grin flashed across his face. Using the leverage on her leg, he hoisted her up and over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Feixiao might have always chided him about his lack of working out, but he actually did. As a medical doctor, he found it prudent to be able to carry his very stubborn patient around if need be, hence he’d trained with weights until he knew he could carry Feixiao a reasonable distance. Whether he’d be able to make it back to their quarters, he wasn’t sure—his new medical conditions and recovery from… that had forced him to take things at a snail’s pace—but Moze was with him. He’d be able to step in if need be.
Speaking of the boy…
“Moze!” Jiaoqiu called out. “Where’s the door?”
Feixiao awoke with a pounding headache. The lights were too bright, and her bed too comfortable. She snuggled deeper against the warmth, relishing the steady beating in her ears.
No… that wasn’t a bed…
“Good morning, Trouble.” Jiaoqiu’s quiet tone reverberated through his chest, consequently reverberating through hers considering she was laying on top of him. “At least, I’ll assume it’s morning.”
Feixiao forced her head up, only for it to swim. Through squinted eyes, she looked at the clock nearby, noting it was in fact morning but the hours before sunrise. So why was the room so bright?
Blinking through the pain, she looked around the room. The curtains were closed, meaning that any light from the street lamps wouldn’t make their way inside. As for the lamps in the room… “Why are the lights on?”
“Are they?”
Her ears collapsed, guilt striking her in the chest hard enough to clear most of the fog from her mind. She was awake now. In pain, but awake. “Y-yeah.”
He hummed. “Moze must have forgotten to turn them off.”
That made sense. Feixiao nor Moze had gotten used to turning the lights off when Jiaoqiu was the only one in the room. Logically, he didn’t need them and wouldn’t be able to tell, but it just felt so rude. Like doing so meant he was less than human. Neither of them could stand it. Of course, that meant lights got left on more frequently than not but they could cope with that better than treating Jiaoqiu with indignity.
However, as her fuzzy mind continued working, she looked down at her state of dress. Rather, her state of undress. Furthermore, she was acutely aware of Jiaoqiu’s equal state, her skin pressing against his. “Why are we half naked?”
“Because you spilled wine over us both, and I wasn’t going to let you stain the bedsheets. Hence, Moze brought things to clean us up.” He then pointed to where a basin with a washcloth hanging over the side sat on top of a nightstand.
“I hope Moze wasn’t the one to see me like this.” Because she severely doubted Jiaoqiu was the one to carry her all the way back and wrangle her into this state. Though he was getting better, that large of a task would surely overstrain him.
“Don’t worry, General. I didn’t see you in your underwear, either.”
Feixiao’s headache doubled. The corners of her lips tipped up at his lighthearted tone, but the dark joke made her heart ache. “Not funny, Jiaoqiu.”
He sighed, his own attempt at a smile falling. “Neither is listening to you fight imaginary borison for my sake.”
Imaginary borison?
Oh… that. She’d gotten drunk again. The booze at the general meeting was flowing freely, and the information she’d learned about borison movements… they’d not been what she’d wished to hear. Surely no one could blame a girl for being just a little extra stressed and reaching for her preferred method of release.
Right?
… no, probably not.
“How bad was I?” she asked with a grimace.
“Jing Yuan promised to send you the bill for his office, but no one was injured.”
That was good news at least.
“But there are more important matters to discuss.” Jiaoqiu lifted his hands, finding her hips first. From there, he slid his hands up her back, over her shoulders, his fingers brushing her neck before he cradled her cheeks. “What’s this about fighting Hooley for his eyes?”
Her stomach dropped. She had promised herself Jiaoqiu would never find out about her reoccurring nightmare: watching Hooley rip out Jiaoqiu’s eyes and take them as his own, only to be forced to fight that monster while looking into eyes that had watched over her and examined her for injuries. Eyes that once were full of love for her, even as the man himself tried pulling away and keeping his distance. Eyes that had looked at her with complete adoration and surrender when she dared to take the risk, bridge the gap, and join him as one.
Not that information about their union needed to be public. Only a few people knew, and Feixiao wished to keep it that way so concerns of a Xianzhou General pulling rank inappropriately on subordinates or crude rumors of male concubines didn’t rumble around.
“It’s nothing,” Feixiao eventually answered.
“Lies.”
“It’s nothing you need to concern—”
“I am your retainer,” he cut in. “I concern myself with everything pertaining to you.”
Ruefully, she reached forward, brushing her thumbs over his eyelids. Behind them, she knew his eyes would be foggy white.
Then he opened his eyes, forcing her to look at the empty blue-gray irises instead of that burning amber she was so used to. “Talk to me, Fei,” Jiaoqiu pleaded.
She sighed. She was too weak to deny such an earners request. “Firstly,” she began, “when we are alone, you are my husband. Not just my retainer.”
His lips tipped upwards. “Doctor, retainer, confidante, husband. Regardless of which title I use, the latter point still stands true.”
“And as your patient, general, confidante, and wife, I also concern myself with everything about you. Meaning I will return your sight to you, even if it costs me everything.”
“I refuse to let you pay that high a price.”
“Generals don’t take orders from their retainers. Only suggestions.”
“Doctor’s orders: you will not pay that high a price.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
Jiaoqiu hummed. “That is disappointing.”
“It is.” She brushed her thumbs under hie eyes again, his breath hitching at her touch, before rubbing little circles on his cheeks. “In more ways than one.”
“I am content with my lot, Feixiao,” he whispered.
“I’m not.”
“I can still hear the click of your boots loud enough to follow you. I can still smell the spices I use to season a bubbling hotpot you, Moze, and I to sit around.” He ran his hands over her back. “I can still hold a woman I did not deserve even when I was whole.”
“You married a slave who forced you under her boot. In what capacity are you the undeserving one?”
“The lowly doctor who could not even cure his last patient married the most capable general who’d earned the highest respect of her peers. In what capacity am I worthy?”
“Aeons, shut up.” Words had become useless, meaning action was necessary. Action such as kissing him silent.
He chuckled into the kiss. “At your orders,” he whispered against her lips. “General.”
When Moze arrived in the morning, intending to make food to cure the undoubtedly hungover Feixiao, it was Jiaoqiu who emerged from the bedroom first.
“I thought I heard something.” Jiaoqiu remarked.
“I could have been anyone,” Moze said.
Wearing a knowing grin, Jiaoqiu quirked his head. “A man who has soft leather soles, two clinging knives, and smells of the night is you.”
Unamused, and somewhat disturbed, Moze dryly remarked, “You describe every assassin.”
“Assassins do not unlock the door, carefully remove their boots and set them down together, then tap the wall twice and enter the kitchen to extricate the breakfast pot from the back drawer.”
At that, Moze froze. Jiaoqiu’s ears had been getting sharper. It was more of a comfort than a disturbance.
“That,” a distinctly feminine voice followed as a clearly groggy Feixiao emerged from the bedroom, “and I saw you walk up the street.”
Moze scoffed, throwing a glare at Jiaoqiu that he realized too late the foxian wouldn’t be able to see. “Cheat.”
“Feixiao didn’t tell me a thing,” he said. Hand on the wall, he made his way toward the kitchen. “I hear you have bags. Food for breakfast, I assume. Shall I leave you to it, or assist?”
Moze cast a sideways glance at the large medical box on the top of the counter. It looked like it hadn’t been opened recently, but he’d like to check to make sure. However, he couldn’t do that inconspicuously when the man with super-hearing was in the vicinity. Instead, he glanced to Feixiao, gesturing to the box.
She shot him a thumbs up.
Good enough for him. “You will insist to assist regardless,” Moze answered.
“Correct. Mostly because I have a more important assignment for you.”
“And that is?”
“The liquor bottles. Go gift them to Jing Yuan as an apology.”
“Jiaoqiu!” Feixiao cried. “Those were gifted by Jing Yuan. You can’t seriously return them.”
“Feels rude,” Moze agreed.
“Moze,” Jiaoqiu commented while feeling out the ingredients in the bag. “Are you volunteering to handle Feixiao drunk?”
“I won’t do it again.”
Her protest earned her a disbelieving glare from both Jiaoqiu and Moze.
Her brow furrowed in offence. “I can control myself.”
Moze and Jiaoqiu shared a look. It was a semblance of comfort that even blind, Jiaoqiu still had perfectly readable facial expressions.
“Moze,” Feixiao warned. “Don’t you dar—MOZE!”
Bottles in hand, Moze was out the door before Feixiao could finish that sentence.