Work Text:
When Wang Yibo ascended to godhood, it was with the same style and fanfare with which he did everything.
A cultivator of a prominent sect, already immortal and with a face as youthful as though it had seen no more than twenty one years, Wang Yibo was in possession of the level of skill with a sword so as to best the gods themselves, and it came as a surprise to none of the Heavenly Court when he joined their ranks. He stood calm and poised as he ever was as lightning crashed around him, lighting up the sky and painting his hair with white light. Wind whipped the loose tendrils of his hair around his face, but he only smiled and reached up to the Heavens as it took him.
He faced the Martial God Heavenly Emperor with a bow that none could fault, graceful and lovely in its poise, yet somehow still rife with attitude. His smile was crooked as he accepted his post of martial god, his guardianship of the North. It was a great honor to be granted such a lofty post, though no one expected any other for such a skilled fighter as Wang Yibo.
But behind their hands the Heavenly Officials whispered. The Emperor was displeased with Wang Yibo―jealous, some ventured to say in private communication arrays where His Highness could not hear. Jealous of Wang Yibo’s beauty, of his skill, of his renown.
So the Emperor sought to challenge Wang Yibo and teach him humility. He sent Yibo to the North, where no martial god had ruled for hundreds of years. For there was another being who made his home there, one who was feared by all.
“The Sword-Breaking Silver Frost!” the Court whispered, fear and awe in their voices. They shook their heads sadly. “Be wary, Wang Yibo! The Demon King who rules the North is ruthless; none can defeat him!”
Rumors swirled around him―nothing stirs the Heavenly Court like gossip, Yibo scoffed to himself. "They say the Sword Breaking Silver Frost has a legion of lesser demons at his command," one Official whispered. Another countered, "I heard he keeps company with scores of mythical beasts more ferocious than any natural creature. He controls them with dark magic, and he feeds the corpses of humans and gods alike to them for dinner. He will kill you and feed you to his beasts―there will be nothing left of you to bury.”
“I’m not afraid,” Yibo said, boastful and proud.
“Many older and stronger than you have tried to best him,” they warned. “Xiao Zhan will break you.”
“There are none stronger than me.” Yibo swept his sword over his shoulder, and the light of the Heavens glinted from his golden circlet, the burnished plates of his armor. “I will defeat this demon Silver Frost.” When he stepped aside, the runes were already drawn, and he opened the door to his palace and stepped through the Distance Shortening array and was gone.
His next step landed on ice, snow crunching under his boot. Before him stood the towering walls of another castle, this one glistening silver and blue in the cold northern sun. Tall parapets of ice glittered with hoarfrost, the keep built entirely of ice.
It was an easy thing to fly over the castle walls on his sword, to touch down softly in the courtyard. Wang Yibo held his sword, the blade humming in his hands, thirsting for the fight. He was thirsting too, his strong body coiled for the spring. He padded on soft, booted feet through a maze of ice, the sparkling dust of broken swords crunching under the soles, searching and scenting for the demon he hunted.
A soft sound behind him pricked at his senses, and he whirled, brandishing his sword to face his attacker. At first, he saw nothing but the dappled shadows of the court cast by the spires of ice. Then his sharp eyes caught the movement between the pillars, saw the fall of huge furred feet. From between one of the arches stepped a massive beast, its yellow eyes sharp and trained on him, white as the snow around him save for the stripes of black that slashed through its coat. It padded out from behind the pillars, a rumbling as of approaching thunder curling out of its mouth, round ears trained on him. The tiger's tail twitched slowly behind it and Wang Yibo braced himself for the attack.
"She won't hurt you," a voice sounded behind him, and Yibo turned his body, angling himself so that he did not expose his back to the tiger. There was no one there, the voice leaving behind silence like that which follows the fall of snow. "If Jian Guo wanted to hurt you, you’d already be dead."
He froze when a cold touch brushed the back of his neck, whirling with his sword drawn. There was no one behind him, but far above, a man sat on one of the ramparts. He held a crystalline fan in his hand, and he sat, one long leg dangling over the wall, watching and smiling guilelessly down at Wang Yibo. Yibo made the hand symbol with which to command his sword to attack, but before he could send it out, the hilt grew cold in his hand. Cracks trickled up the blade, frost creeping over its shining surface until the metal burst apart into hundreds of glittering shards, leaving only a useless hilt in his hands.
Yibo looked up to meet his attacker’s eyes as he drifted down from the ramparts, landing softly on booted feet―taller than Wang Yibo, with silver hair sweeping long over his shoulders, drawn back and held at the top of his head by a crown of sparkling ice. His eyes were soft and warm, and when he smiled, it was anything but cold.
“Good morning,” said Xiao Zhan, the Demon King of the North, the Sword-Breaking Silver Frost, smiling. “Would you like some tea?”
And so the god and the demon sat down for tea. Wang Yibo had no idea what to make of Xiao Zhan, who was elegant from his slender fingers to his finely carved face, who smiled easily as he talked. Here was a creature he was supposed to vanquish, who was the scourge of the heavens, who the entire court was afraid to speak of, and he was serving Yibo tea.
“Am I your prisoner?” Yibo asked suddenly, and Xiao Zhan had to swallow his mouthful of tea hastily, lest he spit it all over the table.
“Of course not,” Xiao Zhan said, and his eyes curved when he smiled, amusement in every line of his face. “You may leave whenever you wish.”
“I don’t have a sword,” Yibo retorted sourly, and Xiao Zhan only smiled.
“Neither do I.”
"Are you going to feed me to your tiger?"
Xiao Zhan laughed. "You look stringy and tough―I don't think Jian Guo would enjoy eating you." The tiger, hearing her name, made a soft sound and appeared at his side, nosing under his hand. His fingers were slender and delicate where they stroked over Jian Guo's massive head, smoothing the fur over yellow eyes that did not leave Wang Yibo's face even as they narrowed in pleasure at her master's attention.
The god scowled and sipped his tea. The demon smiled back at him.
“You are a very strange demon,” Wang Yibo retorted.
“Have you met many demons, Wang Yibo?” Xiao Zhan asked, the smile never wavering.
Yibo did not dignify the question with an answer. Xiao Zhan did not need to know he was the first. “How do you know my name?”
“Who doesn’t know of the great Wang Yibo: the peerless beauty, ascended so young, victor of untold numbers of battles, unmatched in skill with a sword?” Xiao Zhan laughed, flashing even, white teeth. “Your reputation precedes you, Didi.”
He thought perhaps he was being mocked, but he could sense none of it in Xiao Zhan's bright expression. "Had you not destroyed my sword, you would have seen how my reputation held up, Gege."
"But I did," Xiao Zhan said. "I have no wish to fight you, Wang Yibo. I have no quarrel with you."
Yibo could have left. There were many swords in the Court of Heaven; he could have returned to Heaven, could have bribed a legion of martial gods or called in one of the many favors that were owed to him, found himself a new sword and returned to vanquish Xiao Zhan as he had first sought to do. But he did not, finding himself intrigued by this strange demon with his castle of ice and his tea and his slender artist’s hands. Despite the rumors, no legion of lesser demons came to assail him, and the only mythical beast was the huge white tiger Jian Guo, who seemed as likely to eat him as Xiao Zhan himself.
And so he stayed, curious. He wandered the castle of ice, tracing its spires and battlements with calloused hands. He studied the architecture of Xiao Zhan’s domain, watched him shape ice with his bare hands to create it. He watched him mull over his creation, his lips pursing thoughtfully as he considered, before tugging and twisting the forming ice in some new way. He called teasing names up to the demon where he stood on icy parapets, names that made Xiao Zhan roll his eyes and smile.
He watched Xiao Zhan play with Jian Guo as if the great beast were but a tiny kitten, conjuring balls of ice and snow for her to bat around with her gigantic paws. He drank tea with Xiao Zhan in the afternoons, and ignored the Heavenly Officials who tried to speak to him through the communication array, choosing to speak to Xiao Zhan instead. The other gods in Heaven bored him and he had no use for their politics and their intrigue. Xiao Zhan was anything but boring.
They spoke for long hours of many things: his ascension and Xiao Zhan’s fall, of battle tactics and wars of days gone by. He memorized the curve of Xiao Zhan’s mouth, the mark below his bottom lip, the high arch of his cheekbones. His eyes were bright and wide and smiling. Slowly, Wang Yibo learned the truth of this demon, and he found his heart was changed.
He found he could leave and did, making trips to visit the temples in his name that were springing up all over the North, though he always returned. His spiritual power grew exponentially as men came in droves to ask him to bless their swords in battle, to grant them his skill and luck in vanquishing their enemies. More confusing were the female worshipers, who were less frequent but still came in high numbers. When Xiao Zhan learned of this, he teased Yibo.
“It’s because you’re so handsome, Wang Laoshi,” he said, laughter in his voice. His eyes were wide and innocent, but the sparkle in them, the dimples pressed into his cheeks, were anything but. “That small face―all the women want to look at it as they pray.”
“You’re more handsome,” Yibo retorted, flushing and fighting the smile which pulled at his lips. “If demons had temples for women to worship in, yours would be filled to the brim, Zhan-ge.” Xiao Zhan only laughed and shoved him, and Yibo shoved him back, letting his grin take over his face.
It seemed the women came to ask him for his skill in dance to bless their feet so that they may enchant rich husbands. His dancing abilities had preceded him as well as his skill with the sword, and his temples were always full. His spiritual energy swelled with their worship. He listened from the shadows of his temples as women and men alike asked for the swiftness of his feet, the grace of his body, the sureness of his motion. Xiao Zhan, who had taken to following him when he went to hear them, grew still at his back as he listened.
One day, after one such visit, Xiao Zhan shaped a sword of ice from the chilled air, handing it to Wang Yibo hilt first. “Show me,” he asked, his eyes intent, his voice strangely serious. “Show me what your worshipers are gossiping about.” He seated himself on a chair which sprouted from the icy ground under his hand and grinned, waiting. Jian Guo curled herself at his feet, rumbling a greeting as she rested her enormous white head on one booted foot.
Wang Yibo was not modest. He had ascended to godhood on his own skill and he knew it. The ice sword was cold in his palm but it fit him like it had been made for him―and indeed it had, by Xiao Zhan’s own hand. The knowledge filled him with fire, and he moved without a thought, the sword an extension of his body as he sliced through the air, dancing with an unseen partner. The sword rang with the speed and precision of his movements, seeming to slice the air, his body moving fluidly and sinuously. He was made for this, and that knowledge shone through him, his beauty and sensual grace sparking like light itself in that cold, icy courtyard.
When he finally lowered the sword, there was sweat darkening his brow, tendrils of hair sprung loose from the knot atop his head to graze his jaw. The ferocious expression fell away as he turned to Xiao Zhan, his soft mouth curving into a smile.
Xiao Zhan approached slowly, his eyes dark and intent on Wang Yibo’s face. He reached out and took the sword from him, the blade sparkling into snowflakes which disappeared into the carpet of snow around their booted feet.
Wang Yibo was caught in his gaze. He could not look away, not as Xiao Zhan stared at him, nor as he tipped his head down to capture Wang Yibo’s mouth in a kiss.
The god knew how stupid it was to allow a demon to kiss him, let alone one who was as reviled by the Heavenly Court as Xiao Zhan, but he had never been one to abide by the rules, or to care what other people thought of him. He kissed Xiao Zhan in return, opening his mouth for his tongue, and found that he liked it, that he wanted more. He let Xiao Zhan drag him to his bedchamber, to lay him down on a bed of ice festooned with the furs of some huge, unnamed beast, to undress him and to press hot, biting kisses all over his body. He cried out when Xiao Zhan’s mouth made a home between his legs, taking his length deep inside that warm, wet heat. He buried his hands in silver hair as Xiao Zhan pleasured him, and he arched and begged and moaned when Xiao Zhan finally―finally―crawled up his body and pressed deep inside him.
Afterward, they lay splayed out, naked on the fur-draped bed, and Yibo ran his fingers idly through Xiao Zhan’s silver hair where it spilled across the pillows beneath them. Xiao Zhan watched him through eyes grown heavy with their lovemaking and a smile as soft as the morning sun pressing dimples into his cheeks. Yibo knew in that moment that he never could have fought Xiao Zhan, that demon though he may be, he never could have hurt him. He hid his feelings in jests that made Xiao Zhan roll his eyes, but when Xiao Zhan made to pull away Yibo curled his arms around his waist and tugged him in close, refusing to allow him to leave.
*****
The summons came, the voice of a literature god summoning him back to the Heavenly Court at the behest of the Emperor. Yibo frowned, listening, and he knew that it was not a request.
“I must go,” he told Xiao Zhan hesitantly.
Xiao Zhan nodded. His eyes were sad, resignation in the set of his jaw. “I knew you would, eventually. Your allegiance is to Heaven after all; you ascended and you owe the Emperor your fealty.”
Yibo’s stomach twisted at his words. They had lain together many times now, the thing between them grown to something powerful and all-consuming, far more than only physical. “Zhan-ge,” he said softly. “I’ll come back.”
“Okay.” Xiao Zhan’s smile was a fine replica but it was dimmed, the sun behind clouds.
And so Yibo packed his few belongings and went to draw the Distance Shortening array which would take him to Heaven’s doorstep for the first time in many months. Xiao Zhan watched from behind him, arms crossed over his chest, and when Yibo made the last strokes of the final characters, he reached out, bumping Yibo’s shoulder with one fist.
“Before you go,” he said. “I have a gift for you.”
Yibo followed, confused, as Xiao Zhan took him deep below the castle into caverns he had never traversed before. He summoned a light that danced like blue flame but gave off no heat, holding it gently in the palm of one elegant hand. He led Yibo down and down, finally pressing his free hand to a wall of ice. The demon made a door where no door had stood before and led Yibo into a small room. The room was empty but for a beautiful sword which stood on its point in the center of the room. The blade glittered in the otherworldly light cast by Xiao Zhan’s hand and it hummed with a kind of recognition as they approached it.
Xiao Zhan took it from where it stood in the center of the room, and held it, hilt first, out to Yibo. “Since I broke your other one,” he said, winking, and Yibo rolled his eyes as he took it.
The blade felt perfect in his hand, as made for him as the ice blade Xiao Zhan had pressed to his palm the day they had first kissed and made love. It sang when it touched his skin, the hilt warming to his touch, feeling as though he had always held it in his hand. He moved through a few formations, finishing with a broad grin on his full lips as he turned back to Xiao Zhan.
“This is a beautiful sword.”
Xiao Zhan only nodded. The teasing smile had fled, leaving his expression complicated.
“What is its name?”
This time, the smile was sad. “Po bing jian,” he said. The Ice Breaking sword.
The god and the demon bid each other farewell then, Xiao Zhan’s gift strapped across his lover’s back. Xiao Zhan tried to keep their parting short, but Wang Yibo would not have it, and he turned their farewell kiss hungry before he managed to force himself away.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, and for once Xiao Zhan did not smile.
Wang Yibo turned and stepped into the array.
*****
The Heavenly Court was in uproar by the time Wang Yibo crossed its threshold. The martial gods and literature gods alike were busy with preparations, weapons being honed and merits exchanged, history scrolls examined and plans laid out. They cried out in surprise and wonder when they saw him step from the array; no word had been heard of him for many months and some had thought him dead at Xiao Zhan’s hand. Their whispers followed him as he made his way to the Martial God Heavenly Emperor’s throne.
“Your Highness,” Wang Yibo said, and he did not deign to kneel. The other Officials whispered behind their hands of his audacity and his pride but he ignored them, his gaze fixed on the Emperor’s serene face.
The Emperor greeted him with a smile that only made Yibo’s jaw tighten. He told Yibo of his decision to lay siege to the North, since it seemed Yibo had failed to claim it himself. “The Court of Heaven must be rid of this demon Sword-Breaking Silver Frost. His ashes will be found and destroyed so that he will no longer plague this Court. This Northern territory must not be ceded to him.”
Yibo heard what the Emperor did not say: Since you could not defeat him―since you would not.
“Xiao Zhan has done nothing wrong,” he protested. “He may have gained his power through demonic means, but he does not cause problems for us, nor does he harm my worshipers.”
The Emperor’s face grew still and hard, and all those who watched drew a step back, shivering at the cold power which filled the Emperor’s halls. All except Yibo, whose face was equally set. He knew before the Emperor spoke that it did not matter what Xiao Zhan did or did not do. He was a demon and would not be suffered to live. The other gods threw each other glances. They knew, as well as Yibo did, that Yibo’s defiance had borne this decision.
“You will join us on our quest,” the Emperor said finally, and his hand fell on the sword at his side, “or you will be cast out of Heaven and return to your mortality.”
Wang Yibo knew then that he had no choice. He swallowed hard, and turned on his heel, whispers of the other Officials following on his heels. He returned for the first time in many months to his palace in Heaven, donning his best armor, and polishing the sword which had been a gift from Xiao Zhan. Ice Breaker, the sword was named, and it shone with the cold light of steel even as it reflected warmth from around it. He knew that if any sword had the power to defeat Xiao Zhan it would be this one―this blade that he himself had gifted to Wang Yibo upon their parting.
He did not draw an array this time, but stood upon the Ice Breaking sword and flew down from Heaven swift as it would carry him. This time, when he set down in the centre of Xiao Zhan’s court, he sheathed his sword immediately, calling out to his lover the moment his feet touched the snow beneath them.
Xiao Zhan appeared, a smile on his face that made Wang Yibo’s heart shudder in his chest. The smile fell away as Wang Yibo stopped his advance with both hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. “Yibo? What’s wrong?”
Wang Yibo looked into his beloved’s eyes and knew it did not matter that he was a demon, or that they were both men, or that the entire Court of Heaven might try to stand between them. Indeed he had no choice, though the choice he stood to make was not the one that the Emperor had given him. His fingers tightened on Xiao Zhan’s shoulders, pressing into lean muscle through black and silver robes.
“They are coming.”
*****
There are stories told and songs sung of the battle of the North, when the Heavenly Court emptied and all the Officials marched on a demon’s keep.
When the armies of Heaven crossed into the North, a martial god and a demon stood together on the parapets of ice, staring down at them. An enormous white tiger wove her way around them, pacing like a cat teased by the flight of birds through a distant window. The Martial God Heavenly Emperor at the head of their force stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Wang Yibo there at Xiao Zhan’s side and his face was thunderous in its anger. The shock of the other gods behind him rippled through them like a wave.
Wang Yibo stood before them with a naked sword gifted by a demon in his hand, his mouth set and his eyes hard. Beside him, Xiao Zhan was smiling, the wind catching on the strands of his silver hair where it draped over his shoulders. He had no sword, but in his hand was a fan as thin and clear as crystal. The cold winter sun glittered off his crown of ice and shone on the edge of Yibo’s sword, and together, they waited.
“This is your last chance, Wang Yibo,” the Emperor said, and his voice was like thunder that shook the ground. Even the bravest of the martial gods at his back trembled at the sound; never before had any Official had the audacity to defy the Emperor in such a way!
“No, Your Highness,” Yibo replied, and his mouth curled into a crooked grin that shocked the cavalcade of gods below, “this is your last chance.”
The tiger Jian Guo opened her mouth and roared, the sound shaking the earth. Yibo turned his head to meet Xiao Zhan’s gaze, and he reached out to take the other’s hand. Xiao Zhan smiled then, too, dimples appearing in his cheeks, and together, they stepped from the ramparts.
Wang Yibo’s sword was flying before their feet touched the ground. One by one the legions of martial gods leapt to attack him, but the Ice Breaking sword was too formidable in his hand. First came the lesser gods, then when they fell to Yibo’s blade, their masters. There was no swordsman among them who could counter his skill, none with the spiritual power to match him. Sword after sword was turned aside on his blade, armor rent, god after god tossed feebly aside by his strength and speed. The icy ground grew red around him.
The sky above them darkened with cloud, sudden wind clutching at garments as a cold sprung up that froze skin and shattered weapons. Xiao Zhan’s eyes glowed with a fierce white light and Yibo saw for the first time the fearsome beauty that was the demon Sword-Breaking Silver Frost. His fan flashed out and a thousand tiny shards of ice flew from its wings, leaving devastation behind. The swords of his enemies froze and shattered into dust, and the frozen ground rent itself asunder at his command, sending legions falling deep into the earth.
Martial god and ice demon stood back to back as they fought, and it was clear to any who witnessed it that they were one, fearsome in their combined might. Jian Guo moved around them, tearing through legions like a thunderbolt, her jaws crushing armor and bones alike. And one by one the gods fell back, until the only one that stood before them was the Martial God Heavenly Emperor himself.
“You have defied me too often, Wang Yibo,” the Emperor said, and he raised his sword in challenge.
Wang Yibo’s grip tightened on his own sword, and he made to step forward, but Xiao Zhan only laughed. He flicked open his fan and stared over it at the Emperor, and that fearsome white light flickered in his eyes as he stepped forward to Wang Yibo’s side.
Slowly, as though from nothing, frost began to trickle up from the frozen ground. It crept its way across the Emperor’s boots, coating his greaves. The Emperor laughed: “Is this the best you can do, Silver Frost?” But his laughter turned to a cry of dismay as the frost grew and thickened. It hardened his robes to marble, froze his feet where they stood. Xiao Zhan’s eyes were cold, the light in them bright and terrifying. The Emperor’s eyes grew wide, and he cursed and flailed, but the ice continued its course until it swallowed the Emperor whole, freezing his mouth wide open in a scream.
Finally, there stood in the courtyard before Xiao Zhan’s palace what once had been the Martial God Heavenly Emperor, encased entirely in ice, still as a statue. Chuckling, Xiao Zhan stepped forward. He plucked the sword from the Emperor’s frozen hand, and crumbled it to sparkling dust.
Finally, he turned back to Wang Yibo. The clouds parted and the sunlight that spiked down through them to glance off Wang Yibo’s sword paled next to the smile that lit Xiao Zhan’s face. Jian Guo made a small sound and bumped her huge head plaintively under her master’s hand.
“Would you like some tea?” Xiao Zhan asked.
Wang Yibo snorted and shoved at Xiao Zhan’s shoulder, though not even he could keep the smile from his face. He snatched a handful of the front of Xiao Zhan’s robes and dragged him in for a fierce kiss, before dragging him back inside.
*****
The vanquished gods returned to Heaven to lick their wounds. One day they would return to their former power and there would be a new Martial God Heavenly Emperor, many thousands of years hence; it would take that long for Heaven to rebuild after their decimation.
No Heavenly Official or demon lord, no legion of Heaven or of Hell, ever again set out to conquer the North.
There were temples there aplenty, the worshippers who attended them many in number, and the age that followed in the North was one of peace and prosperity. Some of the temples, they say, came to house the statues of not one but two men, and those who came to worship there would bow to them both―one the martial god with a sword across his back, armored in gold and red, and the other with flowing silver hair, and a fan in his hand. Those who came to worship them together found their fortunes increased tenfold and the word spread far and wide.
Legends still tell of the fortress of ice in the furthest reaches of the North. Once it had been the home of the demon Sword-Breaking Silver Frost, and the stories of him once sowed fear in the hearts of commoners, cultivators, and Heavenly Officials alike.
But now, the legends say, Silver Frost does not dwell there alone. There is a martial god behind those icy walls as well, who defied the will of Heaven to stand by his side. They keep each other company on the long cold nights, warming each other’s hearts and beds, and giving hope to all who know the tale.