Work Text:
Wen Kexing’s memories of the human world were of a small, quiet village, of the mud walls in their two-room house, of his mother preparing millet and washing clothes with the other village women, of sick, bandaged, limping people knocking on their door to benefit from his father’s healing. Of the way the water had turned red the day everyone died. He’d never been to a city or even traveled to another village before Ghost Valley had swept over his life. By the time Wen Kexing turned twenty and killed the Valley Master, the simple notion that another world existed beyond the bamboo grove around the Valley had started taking on the uncertainty of myth. A lot of blood was shed yet again when he clawed his way to the throne, but this time he was the cause, the one dyeing his robes red with it and marking the minds of everyone in Ghost Valley.
Wen Kexing resisted the temptations of the human world until he was sure that things in the Valley were stable, or at least as sure as he could ever be. He took A-Xiang with him but then left her in a farm with an aging couple that he paid to take care of her, ignoring her protests—though he couldn’t leave her in Ghost Valley, he was also wary of taking a little girl to the seedy parts of the human world that he intended to explore. It would do her good to endure the healthy labor of a farm and experience a simpler life.
Meanwhile, Wen Kexing’s activities weren’t so wholesome. He traveled north, hitting city after city and tasting the best of what their nightlife had to offer, like a bee gathering nectar. In pleasure houses, he discovered beautiful young men that were powdered and scented, gifted at music and poetry, paid to grant him every attention and submit to his whims. He discovered sex that he could control and pleasure that didn’t cost him anything but money. Of course, he got into some mishaps too, robbers who saw him spend money and thought it should be in their pockets, foolish martial artists who either saw him as a young upstart who should be put back in his place or as a talent that they should measure themselves against. None of those idiots ever proved to be a real challenge, not the way life in Ghost Valley was. Not until he met Zhou Xu.
He’d only entered the teahouse because it had started raining. He’d meant to go to the pleasure house two streets away, but it had started pouring so suddenly that he’d been drenched in an instant, as surely as if someone had emptied a bucket over his head. This considerably soured his mood and it was in this state of mind that he entered the teahouse, shaking water off his sleeves and the bottom of his robes, wringing his wet hair. Even as annoyed as he was, he didn’t forget to give the room he’d entered a sweeping look, taking note of where everyone was—though he hadn’t met anyone in the human world who could harm him, a lifetime of caution had hammered some reflexes into him. The space was small and cramped, people chatting or playing dice as they drank their tea. It was too hot in there, from the braziers in the corners and the many warm bodies stacked in the room. Because of the dampness outside, the heat was stifling. There were a lot of martial artists, some of them with their swords propped ostentatiously against their chairs. They appraised him too as he came in, but most of them dismissed him right away. The ones who didn’t and continued to observe him, overtly or covertly, were probably the most dangerous. As Wen Kexing took some steps inside, he kept the most interesting people in his periphery. He chose a table that allowed him to keep an eye on the rest of the room. He didn’t particularly expect an attack, but he liked watching people and wondering about them, who they were and what their lives had been, how they would fare in a fight against him.
Soon enough, everyone stopped paying him attention, seeing that he was just sitting and minding his own business. Though most of the patrons sat in groups, there were some solitary ones, and Wen Kexing’s gaze was drawn to a man three tables away from him, in another corner. The man was dressed simply and carried no obvious weapon; there was nothing very noteworthy about him, but Wen Kexing had nothing else to do but look and after a moment of observation, he came to the conclusion that there was more to the man than met the eye. Though his posture was casual, even relaxed, his eyes were attentive. It was a subtle thing, that Wen Kexing only realized because he was focusing on the man, but he got the impression that the stranger knew he was being watched, even if he wasn’t looking in Wen Kexing’s direction. Well, Wen Kexing thought, if he’d been noticed, then there was no reason to keep being coy about it. He stood up and walked to the man’s table.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked the man, pointing to another chair at the table.
The stranger gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Yes,” he said.
“Well, when its rightful owner comes back, I’ll find somewhere else to sit,” Wen Kexing said, his wet robes squelching as he sat down.
The stranger looked irritated, but he didn’t make a scene or demanded that they go and fight it out in the street, which was interesting in itself. From his travels, Wen Kexing had found that the martial arts world didn’t work very differently from Ghost Valley, though there were more finicky rules about it; basically, the strong prevailed over the weak. Therefore, no one wanted to look weak in public, lest the rest of the martial arts world think that they were easy picking. This man, though, cared more about being discreet than about looking strong.
A waiter came to take Wen Kexing’s order. Once he was gone, Wen Kexing put an elbow on the table, trailing water on the surface with his sleeve. He cupped his chin in his hand and looked more closely at his table companion. The man was young, early twenties, about Wen Kexing’s own age, but there was nothing youthful or inexperienced about him. He was also handsome, which Wen Kexing was surprised to be only noticing now. Maybe the courtesans from the pleasure houses had skewed his perspective on beauty, or maybe the man was simply that skilled at making himself be overlooked. He had thick eyelashes, sharp eyes, an elegant nose and a thin mouth that was currently curled in annoyance. He had nice hands, clean and white, the hands of someone who didn’t do hard work for a living, that also looked strong and nimble.
“Does this young master have a problem with his eyesight?” the man asked dryly. “You’ve been looking at me so intently that I’m afraid you’ll ruin what remains of it.”
“You’re an interesting person, sir,” Wen Kexing declared. “I’m trying to decide whether I want us to fight or to fuck.”
The other man coughed, as if he’d choked on his own spit. “You, sir, are truly too honest,” he said once he’d regained his composure. “As flattering as this is, I think I’ll have to decline both proposals.”
“Well, we can just have a drink for now,” Wen Kexing generously allowed.
The waiter came back with his order, as if on cue. Wen Kexing asked his companion whether he wanted something else to drink, but the man refused and continued to sip the tea he had before. They drank in silence; at first, it was a wary silence, as the man kept an eye on Wen Kexing, obviously waiting to see what else he would say or do. He could have left, but maybe he thought that Wen Kexing would try to follow him and that it would be more of a bother than simply sitting there and bearing his scrutiny. Or maybe he really was waiting for someone. Wen Kexing liked to play against expectations and didn’t say anything else, merely enjoying his tea. He could have asked questions—the man’s name, his occupation, what sect he came from—but he knew the other man would just have lied to him. After a while of not talking, the stranger relaxed a little and the silence grew almost companionable.
Wen Kexing knew, of course, that his companion was observing him just as closely as he was doing, cataloguing everything from Wen Kexing’s clothes, age, speech idiosyncrasies, physical features. It didn’t bother Wen Kexing at all; he let himself be watched, reveling in the attention. Hopefully, the stranger was appreciating his looks, too. Once the man had looked his fill and probably judged that Wen Kexing was no immediate threat, his gaze turned a little distant as he became lost in thought. There was a certain sadness to him. Whatever had preoccupied him before Wen Kexing showed up, it absorbed him again and the line of his mouth curved down, betraying bitterness or weariness, or maybe a mix of both. Such feelings found echoes in Wen Kexing’s soul and he felt a surge of sympathy toward the stranger, even without knowing anything of his story. As if a kindred soul were sitting across from him at the table, slowly drinking tea, someone who would know something of his struggle, of his burden. What a wonder that would be!
The stranger put down his cup with a snap, rising suddenly from his chair. “Have a good evening,” he said absentmindedly to Wen Kexing, already a few steps away from the table.
“Would you spend the night with me?” Wen Kexing blurted out before he could be too far to hear it.
That drew several looks, not that Wen Kexing cared. The stranger did care, though maybe just because it made him a point of focus, and he frowned. “Thank you kindly for your offer, but I’m busy,” he replied in a flat, but very polite tone.
“Maybe another day, then?”
“If you can find me again, sure,” the man said offhandedly, shrugging and turning around.
With a smile, Wen Kexing looked at him weaving his way between the tables. Never let it be said that he didn’t like a challenge.
—-
Wen Kexing went to the pleasure house once the rain had let up, but the experience turned out to be disappointing. The pleasant young man who kept him company had a lovely voice and delicate features, and he played his role with the utmost professionalism, but Wen Kexing found his mind wandering several times in the evening and ended up not having sex at all. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man at the teahouse. He’d never had so short a meeting leave such a profound impression on him. They’d barely talked! Part of him wanted to find more about that man, while the other part feared that doing so would just ruin the appeal. It could be that the mystery was the only thing attracting him. But the pull, whatever its cause, was irresistible. The next evening, Wen Kexing found the idea of going again to the pleasure house tiresome and could think of nothing better to do than try and find that man again. He went back to the teahouse, since he had no other lead, in the hope that the man was a regular. He spent the whole evening drinking tea, to no avail. He tried it again for a couple of days before he had to admit that his efforts were fruitless—either the man didn’t come here regularly or he might have stopped coming precisely to avoid Wen Kexing. Still, failure didn’t quash Wen Kexing’s desire to find him again. Quite the opposite, in fact, it made it keener, like a predator getting excited by the hunt. He tried other teahouses and winehouses, letting his instinct guide him. The town wasn’t very big and if the man hadn’t left it—a thought that Wen Kexing didn’t let himself entertain for too long—then he was bound to come across him again.
In the evening, he was walking down a street, enjoying the cooler air now that the sun had gone down, its orange beams skidding the crests of rooftops. It was an in-between time, during which the hustle and bustle of the town knew a lull as the day’s crowd retired to make way for the night crowd. Street vendors were closing their stalls but pleasure houses were opening up, letting their lights and music and scents waft out to lure the customers. Wen Kexing wasn’t thinking about his mystery man, for once, but rather about where he could get dinner, when his attention was snatched by a man who was crouched against a wall. He could have been a beggar, but there was no bowl in front of him; he looked as if he were simply enjoying the shade from the wall. There was no real reason to give him a second look except for his eyes, the keen look in them. The man got up and walked away, without rushing but still giving Wen Kexing the feeling that his presence was the reason the man was leaving. Watching his back, Wen Kexing was reminded of the man’s back as he walked away at the teahouse. A spark of excitement ignited his insides and he hopped ahead, hurrying his steps to catch up with the man.
He reached out to touch the man’s shoulder, but his hand only met air. He’d anticipated it and didn’t even miss a step, laughing at the other man’s dodging. “Really, is this the way to treat an old friend?” he said.
The man glanced at him sideway, as if only noticing his presence now. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he said dispassionately.
His face looked nothing like the man Wen Kexing had met the other day. He looked older, weathered by the elements, his skin dark and creased with a lot of fine wrinkles. Even his voice sounded different, hoarse and thin, like the voice of a sick person. Wen Kexing’s fascination deepened.
“When we met a few days ago,” he said, “you made me a promise if I managed to find you. It took me longer than I thought it would, but now I can see why you would be so confident. Your mask is flawless.”
“I’m afraid that it’s your vision that is flawed,” the man said, walking faster.
He could have skipped ahead and out of sight, in the blink of an eye. Wen Kexing was sure that his qinggong must be good, even if it might not be better than Wen Kexing’s. This gave Wen Kexing the confidence to keep babbling on, “It’s really amazing work! I know you’re wearing a disguise and yet I can’t see the seams. What sect are you from?”
“I don’t belong to any sect.”
“Oh, did you learn from a rogue master?”
“I never said I was a martial artist.”
Wen Kexing let out a peal of lilting laughter. “Sir, you’re doing me insult for implying that I would need you to tell me.”
The man suddenly stopped in his tracks. The passersby were giving them a wide berth, as if feeling the tension and fearing that they would start fighting in the middle of the street. Having not expected the other man to stop, Wen Kexing walked a few steps ahead and then turned around to face him. The man’s eyes were a flat obsidian, cool and analytical. When he spoke, he sounded irritated, but the irritation felt mostly surface, a cover for affectless calculations.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I already told you what I want.”
“It was rather difficult to parse among the bullshit you were spouting. Forgive me for being too slow to get it.”
“You said that you would spend the night with me if I could find you,” Wen Kexing reminded him patiently. “I found you, so I’d like to collect my prize.”
The man scrutinized him for a long moment. Wen Kexing hoped he was a little impressed that Wen Kexing had found him again, which he obviously hadn’t expected. “Do you often proposition random men?” the man finally asked—at least he’d stopped denying that they’d already met.
“No, I don’t. I generally prefer brothels,” Wen Kexing said, and took a moment to wonder at this. In the human world, he’d discovered the joys of sex where he had full control. But this man, this interesting, skilled stranger, was a complete unknown. If they had sex, Wen Kexing had no way to know what to expect. Wasn’t it madness to take such a risk?
“Then please head over to the nearest one.” A very polite bow, and the man kicked off the ground, jumping to the closest roof and skipping away in the twilight.
Wen Kexing could have followed him, but instead he stood in the street and laughed, ignoring the looks it got him. Never mind that; if they were truly fated—or if the other man wanted it, deep down—then they would definitely meet again.
—-
Originally, Wen Kexing hadn’t planned to stay in this town for long. He was aiming for bigger places, maybe even the capital, so that he could continue to sample the pleasures big cities had to offer. He probably should be picking up A-Xiang soon—hopefully, she hadn’t set the farm on fire—and be heading back to Ghost Valley. The thought didn’t fill him with enthusiasm, but he hadn’t bitten his tongue and bid his time for so long to stop when his work had just started. So he had to decide on what to do with what little time he had left: either leave for a bigger city or continue wandering the town in search of his mystery man.
He gave himself two more days in town and his decision was rewarded in the middle of the second day, as he entered a winehouse and saw a man drinking on his own, with sharp eyes and studied nonchalance. He had once again a completely different face from the previous times. Wen Kexing sat at a different table at first and studied him to make sure this was really the same man. This time, the face was a younger one, though not as young as the first time, broad and coarse, with small eyes and a strong nose. The man sat with his back against the wall, watching the midday crowd, but his wandering gaze never stopped once on Wen Kexing, the avoidance not obvious but still noticeable after Wen Kexing had observed him for some time. This was what finally convinced Wen Kexing to go and familiarly sit at the other man’s table.
“I’m glad to find you here,” Wen Kexing said sincerely.
The man raised an eyebrow at this familiar greeting, but this time he didn’t try to pretend they’d never met before. “Sir, I don’t even know your name.”
Wen Kexing didn’t need to be asked twice. He joined his hands in a greeting and said, “Wen. Wen Kexing. And what’s your name, sir?”
There was a pause before the man said, “Zhou Xu.”
Wen Kexing had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t the man’s real name, but that didn’t matter. It was good to have something to call him and ‘Zhou Xu’ rolled off the tongue nicely.
“Brother Zhou, I’m glad we’ve finally been introduced to each other.”
Zhou Xu drank from his cup and peered at him from under his lashes. “Master Wen, can you tell me why you’re following me around? We’d never met before, so surely you can’t be bearing a grudge.”
“Ah, don’t be so formal! We’ve met three times, so we must count as acquaintances, now.”
“All right, Brother Wen,” Zhou Xu answered in a pleasant voice, smiling tightly. “Tell me what this is all about.”
His voice sounded the way it had the first night, so it was probably his real voice. Was his face from that first night his real face too? Wen Kexing hoped so, because it was a beautiful face. Given the way he generally faded into the background, Zhou Xu didn’t strike Wen Kexing as the kind of man who would make himself look prettier in disguise.
“I already told you what I wanted. I want to hold you to your word.”
Zhou Xu snorted. “Master Wen has a fine sense of humor. If I remember correctly, you said you liked going to brothels. How can someone like me compare to the professionals?”
“Don’t be so modest. Maybe the courtesans have become too tame for my tastes—someone anticipating your every need and doing everything to please you can be boring after a while. I think you’re a very interesting person. You might relieve me of my boredom.”
“I don’t—”
“But I won’t scare you off by moving too fast,” Wen Kexing said, interrupting him with a wave of his hand. “Let me buy you a drink first.”
Zhou Xu didn’t refuse the drink, which was all the encouragement Wen Kexing needed. They talked a little as they drank, but of nothing personal. Not that Wen Kexing didn’t burn with curiosity, but if he was right about the sort of person Zhou Xu was, he knew that he wouldn’t get any straight answers. As for Zhou Xu asking him questions, Wen Kexing wouldn’t mind answering them with the truth, but that wouldn’t be very smart. Zhou Xu, who must be taking the measure of Wen Kexing too, didn’t ask him where he came from. With those topics set aside, Wen Kexing started prodding Zhou Xu with literature and poetry. He could quickly judge that Zhou Xu was educated, probably better than Wen Kexing himself, whose knowledge was a hodgepodge of hazy childhood memories from when his mother had taught him how to read, whatever books had ended up in Ghost Valley and what he’d been able to get his hands on since he’d started exploring the human world. For sure, Zhou Xu was probably drawing some conclusions of his own from their conversation.
The discussion eventually turned political. Wen Kexing’s knowledge on the subject was as patchy as his literary knowledge, and he’d gleaned most of it from pleasure houses and winehouses. Since emperor Rongjia had ascended the throne a few months ago after the Vakurah siege on the capital, things had quietened considerably and the economy was tentatively picking up as reconstruction progressed. The reign of the last emperor had been plagued with corruption, but his son seemed determined to uproot this evil. Whether people truly believed him or believed that he was up to the task depended on whom Wen Kexing had heard ramble about it. For the moment, he didn’t have an opinion of his own, being merely eager for any scrap of outside knowledge. He wasn’t traveling the human world only for pleasure, after all.
Zhou Xu, for his part, didn’t express any opinion either, but in a way that felt a lot more informed than Wen Kexing. “The price of peace isn’t one that people like to think about,” he said late into the evening, drunk enough that he was starting to slip, or at least the equivalent of slipping for a person as controlled and cautious as he seemed to be.
This was a sentiment that Wen Kexing thought he could relate to. “Peace is preparation time for the next war,” he said. Ghost Valley was peaceful at the moment, or at least as peaceful as it ever was, because it was still recovering from the purges that Wen Kexing had inflicted on it as he came to power. He wasn’t naïve enough to think it would last long—in fact, he was counting on it. “Or it is recovery time from the previous war. Eventually, greed or revenge or simple need to strike first will always prevail.”
Zhou Xu gave him a strange look. He should have been flushed from drink, but his mask evened his complexion. “And yet people fight for peace,” he said. “People die for their nation. It’s considered a noble thing to do.”
“Brother Zhou, have you fought in the last war?” Wen Kexing asked, curious about the bitterness in his voice. “Are you from the capital?”
“What about you?”
“I wouldn’t fight for any nation. It is too grand a notion and my mind is too small. It’s the same thing with justice or honor.”
Zhou Xu barked a laugh. “And what would you fight for, Brother Wen, if not for peace or justice or honor?”
“For survival,” Wen Kexing answered truthfully. He had drunk his fair share too. “Or revenge.”
“So just for yourself?” Zhou Xu insisted. “There’s nothing else you’d think worth risking your life for?”
Wen Kexing thought flittingly of A-Xiang, but people you cared about were just an extension of yourself. Protecting them was only selfish. He didn’t think that this was what Zhou Xu was asking about, so he shook his head. “If I die, what’s my reward? If I live, maybe I’d get something like money or power, but then it can’t be said that I did it for some abstract notion.”
“If you die, what’s your reward?” Zhou Xu repeated slowly, staring at something distant. “If I live, what’s my reward? ‘A kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.’ Indeed, indeed. Ha!”
Alcohol seemed to have put him in a peculiar mood, some sort of savage grief. Wen Kexing had reached that stage of drinking where the boundaries between himself and the people around him blurred, and he wanted to bask in Zhou Xu, not just touch him but also get inside his mind, see what he was thinking about and feel what he was feeling. He was intensely curious, but he also savored the mystery for what it was, something that made Zhou Xu so interesting and so familiar at the same time.
“I have a friend,” Zhou Xu said a little loudly, sounding as if he were both talking to Wen Kexing and to himself, “whose reward was that he found the love of his life. He’s gone to live with him somewhere far away. I guess I won’t ever see either of them again.”
“Well, good for your friend,” Wen Kexing said, not sure how he was supposed to react. There was a sore spot here, but he wasn’t used to comforting other people.
“He’s dead,” Zhou Xu said bluntly.
Wen Kexing blinked. Drunk people didn’t always make sense except to themselves, but he hadn’t thought that Zhou Xu was that inebriated. Before he could decide what to say, Zhou Xu had stood up.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said.
Wen Kexing eagerly followed him outside. He’d started to feel too hot inside but the evening air cleared his head a little. Zhou Xu walked with purpose and Wen Kexing didn’t ask him where he was going like this, hoping that they were heading to his lodgings and that Zhou Xu would make good on his word. Sadly, once they’d turned into a different street, Wen Kexing realized that Zhou Xu wasn’t purposefully walking toward something, but away from some people. When they’d left the winehouse, two men had followed them. When they ventured into a side street, those two men were joined by two others, and then two more. Zhou Xu was obviously aware of this, so Wen Kexing decided to simply follow and see what it would lead to.
Zhou Xu walked until they were in a deserted street, without even a few lanterns to light the way. Wen Kexing wasn’t surprised to see three men silhouetted at the other end of the street, advancing toward them so that Wen Kexing and Zhou Xu would be caught between the men behind them and the men in front of them.
“Do you know those people?” Wen Kexing asked in a tone of idle curiosity.
“If you want to leave, don’t hold back on my account,” Zhou Xu told Wen Kexing calmly. “I’ll be fine.”
“And miss the most exciting part of the evening? Brother Zhou, you obviously don’t know me very well yet.”
The men encircling them were dressed in worn clothes of coarse hemp and only had roughly hewn staffs to use as weapons. They looked more like hired ruffians than disciples from prestigious sects, so despite their number, Wen Kexing wasn’t very worried. Zhou Xu didn’t look worried either. He said, “Brothers, you’d better walk away. Whoever paid you is just sending you to your deaths.”
The taller man of the bunch huffed derisively. “Brother, you’re much too confident,” he said with a sneer. “Get him!” he ordered the others.
Men rushed at them from all sides, waving their staffs like fools, but Wen Kexing lightly sidestepped and dodged the blows easily, then kicked his foot on the ground and used qinggong to cartwheel over their heads. Landing behind them, he struck his palms at two of the men’s backs, picking up their staffs as they fell and using them to parry the blows coming at him and then strike back. Four men were now lying at his feet, unconscious or dead, and in the absence of an immediate threat, Wen Kexing had the time to look toward Zhou Xu and his fight with the five other men. Zhou Xu was weaving between the men, so fast that they couldn’t land even one hit on him. His qinggong was superb, swift and graceful, a series of quick steps that made it look as though he were gliding on water. Three men fell down so easily that they didn’t have the time to scream. This left two men, who looked more skilled than the rest, enough that Zhou Xu had to draw a soft sword that had been wrapped around his waist. The sword sang as it rippled and splashed blood in its wake. When all the men were down, the street fell silent. One of the men groaned and Wen Kexing stepped on him, breaking his neck. Zhou Xu silently wiped his sword on one of the bodies and then put it away.
Wen Kexing clapped his hands. “Amazing!” he exclaimed. “Those steps of yours are a thing to behold, as light as drifting clouds and flying willow catkins. Really, my judgement of people is excellent. I knew that you would be very interesting.”
“Brother Wen, where did you say you learned martial arts?” Zhou Xu asked.
Ah, so Wen Kexing wasn’t the only one who had been watching the other fight. “I didn’t say,” he replied, giving Zhou Xu a wide grin.
Instead of asking more probing questions, Zhou Xu laughed. Then he leaped up to a roof and bolted away. This time, Wen Kexing didn’t want to be left behind, so he used qinggong to go after him. He didn’t have the feeling that Zhou Xu was really trying to lose him, though he wasn’t slowing down. Chasing after each other, they hopped over rooftops, not disturbing even one tile, and flew across the town until they reached the wooded outskirts. Zhou Xu disappeared into the canopy like a stone plopping in a pond, and Wen Kexing followed him. They landed next to a narrow river that gurgled quietly under the shine of moonlight. A breath of wind made the leaves rustle softly. As soon as Wen Kexing reached the ground, he had to dodge a blow coming his way. A bare hand strike, no sword—so he knew that Zhou Xu wasn’t fighting seriously, but merely testing him. They exchanged a flurry of blows, almost leisurely, hopping over the river, swirling around each other in an inquisitive dance. Zhou Xu’s martial arts were elegant and powerful, the work of a master despite his young age. His foundation was solid, so he must have trained from early childhood, but he was also experienced, a veteran fighter and not just a green sect product who only knew the posturing of the martial arts world. He knew life-or-death fighting, how to scrape for victory regardless of grand principles or quests for glorious deeds.
When they stopped fighting on a common accord, both of them were getting out of breath. Though they hadn’t been fighting too seriously, they were both skilled enough to give the other a good workout. Wen Kexing didn’t feel tired so much as excited, eager to test Zhou Xu’s physical prowess in another way.
“Brother Zhou, thank you for your teaching,” he said with a bow. “It was an honor to measure my modest skills against your peerless martial arts.”
“Brother Wen is too modest,” Zhou Xu said, giving him a calculated look.
“About your promise—”
“It will be morning soon,” Zhou Xu interrupted him. “Surely this must count as spending the night together, mustn’t it? I was true to my word.”
Wen Kexing chuckled at the evasion. “A fair point. But this has only whetted my appetite and I wish to get acquainted with Brother Zhou more intimately. Will we see each other again?”
Zhou Xu seemed to struggle with himself before he replied brusquely, “Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. Who can know what fate will bring next?” He took off then, barely stirring the trees with his passage.
Wen Kexing couldn’t stop smiling as he stood next to the river, reviewing the delights of the night. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see each other again. He couldn’t wait for what another night together would bring.
—-
He’d thought that he would have to wait a few more days, so the next day he was ecstatic to find Zhou Xu in the same winehouse as last night. He was wearing a different mask—the face of an old man, with graying hair and a crooked nose, his ugliest so far—but by now Wen Kexing had become adept at identifying him and didn’t hesitate before heading over to him. When he settled at Zhou Xu’s table, he saw that the man had ordered enough wine for two people.
“Were you waiting for me?” Wen Kexing asked delightedly.
“Or I was very thirsty.”
“Why the second cup, then?”
“Maybe I was hoping for a pretty woman to come and join me,” Zhou Xu said in a deadpan tone. He didn’t bother disguising his voice and it made for a jarring contrast, that strong, young voice and that old face.
“A-Xu, don’t tease me so,” Wen Kexing said with a mock pout.
“A-Xu?” Zhou Xu said, raising a brow.
“I feel like we know each other so much better, now that we’ve fought those men together,” Wen Kexing said, taking a sip of his drink. This was excellent wine—Zhou Xu had good taste and a refined palate. “You must be feeling the connection between us. Who were the men from yesterday, by the way?”
“Are you only wondering about it now, after you killed half of them?” Zhou Xu asked with a snort. “What sort of devil are you?”
“The same sort of devil you are, I suspect. But this is just idle curiosity. Please feel free to ignore the question.”
Maybe because he felt contrary, Zhou Xu actually answered, “There was a matter I had to deal with, and I did it using the face I was wearing yesterday. I suspected that someone else was involved, so I put on the same mask to see whether the fish would take the bait. It did.”
“So yesterday you were… on a mission? On a job?” Was Zhou Xu an assassin? Or a spy, or maybe both. That would certainly be a good use of his disguise skills. “And yet you spent the evening drinking with me. Weren’t you worried that I’d get in the way, or get hurt?”
“You’re the one who keeps following me around,” Zhou Xu said with a shrug. “And I did offer you to walk away. Should I have taken the blame if you’d overestimated yourself?”
Wen Kexing laughed, deciding that there was a compliment there, buried very deep—Zhou Xu must have judged that Wen Kexing would be able to hold his own, whatever the situation.
“A-Xu is skilled, handsome and fair-minded,” Wen Kexing said liltingly, counting Zhou Xu’s virtues off his fingers. “I don’t regret my decision of getting better acquainted with you.”
“Brother Wen gives all stalkers a bad name, being so shameless about it. When did I say that I wanted us to get better acquainted?”
“Well, you too can walk away. If you left town, how could I find you again? A-Xu, I’m sure you’re feeling it too. We’re very much suited to each other in a lot of ways. I’m dying to know if we’re suited to each other in that way too.”
Zhou Xu huffed through his nose and looked away. Because of the mask, his face didn’t blush, but the tips of his ears reddened, which Wen Kexing found adorable. Really, it was hard to restrain himself, as each encounter had made him want Zhou Xu a bit more, but he dropped the topic for the moment and they continued drinking, making small talk at the same time. It was only later in the evening, once they were both a little tipsy, that Wen Kexing leaned forward and asked with feigned casualness, “A-Xu, I’m tired of this place. Won’t you come with me to my room?”
Zhou Xu didn’t look like an innocent and there was no way he couldn’t tell where this was supposed to be heading. He was silent for a moment, his mouth pinched. The mask made his expression hard to decipher and Wen Kexing held his breath until he said, “All right. Why not?”
This was an easier victory than Wen Kexing had expected. He’d never had to seduce anyone, so he wasn’t exactly sure of what that entailed and how much natural charm he had, so his success made him giddy. They left the winehouse and strolled over to the inn where Wen Kexing was staying, buying more liquor on the way. When they got to the room, they drank some more, until Wen Kexing felt so mellow that he thought he might melt through the floor. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so relaxed in another person’s presence, not since early childhood. It wasn’t that he didn’t think that Zhou Xu was dangerous, or that he was sure that he could take him in a fight. In Ghost Valley, he never let anyone but A-Xiang get close to him. Even out there in the human world, visiting winehouses and pleasure houses, he’d always been careful to control his drinking and remain alert. So what was different about Zhou Xu? He wasn’t sure he understood it himself. Hopefully, having sex would take care of this mystery. Maybe when they’d done it, he could put this infatuation behind him and go back to Ghost Valley, where he still had so much to do.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” Zhou Xu asked suddenly. “Do you have a fetish for older men?”
He was still wearing his mask. Wen Kexing remembered his true face, or what he thought was his true face, precisely enough that he could picture it in his mind, but it would indeed be better if Zhou Xu lost the mask. Wen Kexing wanted to feel the heat off his face when they kissed.
“It’s just the two of us now,” he said. “You don’t need to wear a mask. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable?”
“Why would I need to get comfortable?”
This was such deliberate obtuseness that Wen Kexing wanted to laugh. They were sitting at the table in Wen Kexing’s room and Zhou Xu’s posture in his chair was casual, the collar of his clothes slightly loosened. He was already getting comfortable, whether he meant to or not.
“A-Xu, come on,” Wen Kexing wheedled, holding out a hand toward Zhou Xu’s face.
It wasn’t a surprise when Zhou Xu threw up a hand to block him. Wen Kexing snaked his hand around Zhou Xu’s wrist, trying for a grab, but Zhou Xu twisted himself to go with the movement, kicking Wen Kexing’s chair at the same time with enough force that the chair slid back a few inches. Wen Kexing stomped his foot, pushing his chair forward and throwing his other foot to hook in the leg of Zhou Xu’s chair. The chair toppled backward, but before it could hit the floor Zhou Xu had flung himself back, rolling out of the chair and landing on his feet behind it. He didn’t pause for a moment before he propped himself on the table with a hand and tried to hit Wen Kexing with a roundhouse kick, sweeping off bottle and cups in the process. Wen Kexing dodged the blow by swinging backward on his chair, then making it spin to send a kick of his own. It got Zhou Xu in the shoulder and shoved him against a cabinet. The vase that was perched on top of it wobbled and crashed on the floor. Wen Kexing winced inwardly, trying to calculate how much it would cost him to pay it back, but this was a distant consideration compared to the way his blood was singing from the fight.
Zhou Xu was back on his feet already. Wen Kexing skipped over the table to throw himself at him. They fell backward together, but the movement had been calculated by Zhou Xu, who grabbed Wen Kexing’s arms and sent him flying over his head. Wen Kexing hit the floor hard, enough to push a choked breath out of his mouth. One of his knees hit some piece of furniture or other—he wasn’t sure what, didn’t care to check, because Zhou Xu was kneeling over him, keeping a tight hold on his arms and pressing him down. Zhou Xu was breathing harsher than before, just like Wen Kexing. They looked at each other, incapable of speech for a moment.
“A-Xu, I don’t understand what you’re being shy for,” Wen Kexing said, trying to recapture the levity of their previous exchanges. It wasn’t easy, with how hard his heart was thumping. “I’ve already seen your real face, haven’t I?”
“That doesn’t mean you get to see it again for free,” Zhou Xu retorted.
Wen Kexing laughed, closing his eyes. He felt a little dizzy, whether because of all the alcohol he’d drunk or because his head had hit the floor too hard. He could feel Zhou Xu’s hands on his arms and the sides of his knees pressing around his hips, but he wished that their whole bodies were lined with each other so that he could feel Zhou Xu all over. He felt so horny; maybe this was where the dizziness came from, all the blood flowing downward. He raised a knee to rub his leg against the back of Zhou Xu’s leg.
“Hey, aren’t you being a little too free with—”
Zhou Xu couldn’t finish his sentence, because Wen Kexing hooked his ankle behind Zhou Xu’s foot, making him lose his balance and using this to flip their positions. When it was Zhou Xu’s back against the floor, Wen Kexing was a lot less proper than he’d been, straddling his thighs and draping himself over Zhou Xu so that they were chest to chest and crotch to crotch. Interesting things were happening down there, which made more of Wen Kexing’s blood rush down.
“Get off me, you pest,” Zhou Xu hissed through gritted teeth. He was trying to shove Wen Kexing off himself, and Wen Kexing could feel his strength but was somehow certain that this wasn’t all his strength.
“I just want to see you,” Wen Kexing whispered.
He freed one of his hands to feel the skin under Zhou Xu’s jaw, trying to find the seam between the mask and his real skin. Zhou Xu was uttering a continuous stream of curses, but at the same time he lifted his chin, easing the access for Wen Kexing’s fingers. Wen Kexing could feel him get harder and couldn’t resist grinding down, feeling validated when Zhou Xu produced a sound, half-strangled at the back of his throat.
Finally, Wen Kexing exclaimed in triumph when he managed to peel the mask off Zhou Xu’s face. The fake skin was very thin, gossamer-like, and Wen Kexing didn’t dare casually throwing it away, so instead he put it carefully on the floor next to them like the work of art it was. Then he looked at Zhou Xu, somehow finding him more beautiful than the first time, maybe because he was all flushed. After days of various older and unflattering faces, the youthfulness of Zhou Xu’s true face was almost a shock. Wen Kexing could see no reason to keep himself from kissing his mouth.
He’d half-expected to get bitten, but instead Zhou Xu kissed him back with surprising eagerness, and soon enough they were opening up to each other, moaning into the other’s mouth as their slicked tongues rubbed together, reaching deep. Wen Kexing was so hard it hurt, wanted so badly to fuck Zhou Xu that he could taste it, but he had nothing to ease the way, having always relied on the brothels to provide whatever was needed. So instead he pushed a knee between Zhou Xu’s legs, hoisting his hips to allow Zhou Xu to rub against him. In return, Zhou Xu scraped almost angrily at Wen Kexing’s pants to pull them down, spitting in his palm and roughly grabbing Wen Kexing’s cock. They got each other off like this, fast and dirty on the floor, sweating and grunting with abandon.
After they’d both come and summarily wiped themselves, Wen Kexing felt a little silly as he looked at how disheveled they both were and at the mess in the room. Broken pieces of ceramic were strewn all over the floor and a pool of fragrant liquor had spread on the tiles. This was going to cost Wen Kexing some pretty silver and he wouldn’t be able to stay at that inn any longer. But despite all the sensuality and sophistication of the pleasure houses, none of the boys he’d fucked there had made him come as hard as Zhou Xu had, for all his artlessness. Now that the heat had gone down, he felt embarrassed and even worried at how lost to it he’d been, at how little control he’d felt over what had happened. If Zhou Xu had wanted to kill him, Wen Kexing would have been helpless to stop him in the heat of the moment.
Of course, Zhou Xu hadn’t tried to kill him and he looked as embarrassed as Wen Kexing felt. He’d tidied himself up and now stood awkwardly next to the table, pressing a ginger finger against his lower lip, which had bled a little from Wen Kexing biting it. Wen Kexing fuzzily remembered licking the blood, but it was all covered with a haze of lust.
“I have to go now,” Zhou Xu said hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to go.
Wen Kexing didn’t want him to go, but he nodded. “Well, of course. Good night.”
“Good night, Brother Wen.”
After Zhou Xu had left, Wen Kexing went to lie down on his undisturbed bed, feeling out of sort. He’d hoped that having sex with Zhou Xu would make the obsession disappear after lust had been satiated, freeing him to go back to Ghost Valley, but instead all he wanted was to see Zhou Xu again, right this instant. He wished he’d asked Zhou Xu to stay the night, even though he never allowed anyone to share his bed.
Well, he could give one more try to the sex. He’d be ready next time—after he’d properly fucked Zhou Xu, then surely he’d be allowed to forget everything about him.