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It’d felt like a gift, when Shen Yuan appeared. Luo Binghe stared at him, from his spot on the stoop, and it had just begun to rain.

Shen Yuan stared down at him, an umbrella already opened above his head. His gaze was steady and even, as if he knew that it might take Luo Binghe a few minutes to gather his thoughts enough to open his mouth and respond.

Somehow, it wasn’t necessarily shock that kept Luo Binghe silent. It was an indescribable feeling of relief—a feeling of yes, this sounds right. As if this had been waiting just outside his doorstep all this time. And, he supposed, it had been.

Shen Yuan had introduced himself, easily and efficiently, the way someone might approach someone in order to present a quest. Luo Binghe, who could still hear knocking around in what used to be his apartment as his things were unceremoniously thrown into the hallway, had stared up at him like he was an angel.

“You’re certain?” Is what Luo Binghe eventually got out of his throat.

Shen Yuan was dressed nicely. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but it was close. His slacks were nice, his shirt was buttoned and patterned with such dark colors it looked black anyway. There were cufflinks on his wrists that glittered in the minimal light of the dark, dingy street. The narrow road was overcast with the shadows from the buildings surrounding it, but somehow, Shen Yuan seemed taller. The rain tapped in muted thuds against the umbrella, and they slid off onto the ground, dripping a new puddle. The rain clung to the locks of Luo Binghe’s hair. Shen Yuan watched the droplets the same way Luo Binghe did, and his mouth turned up into something like a smile. “I’m certain. And after seeing your face, I’m more than certain.”

Luo Binghe glanced back at the door behind him. The concrete beneath him was dry, but cold, and the rickety door seemed to shudder in the wind that blew against it. “If you’re certain,” Luo Binghe murmured, “then the only thing stopping me from beating you there first is that I do not know where it is.”

Shen Yuan laughed lowly and quietly. When Luo Binghe turned to look back at him, his smile still remained. He tossed his head. “Come, then. I’ll show you the way.”

Luo Binghe stood up, and he followed Shen Yuan down the street.

The town they’d passed through was nothing special, but it wasn’t nothing either. It was precisely as Shen Yuan had described, however. It was like the sort of town that people lived in just because it was quaint and quiet, and they didn’t mind the extra time it took to travel into the city.

There were some shops, small markets for food, and other places that perhaps a person might go if there wasn’t the time to go all the way into the city to get something they needed. In the center of the town square, there was a fountain. It wasn’t particularly large, but big enough to sit at, and throw coins into for luck and for wishes. It was raining here, too, even though it was over an hour away from where Luo Binghe had been evicted from.

It was odd to think about how something that was supposedly his had been so close all along and he hadn’t known it.

Shen Yuan didn’t mind the time Luo Binghe took to take in the small village, or the unique architectures of each building. If anything, he seemed almost to find it endearing or pleasing that Luo Binghe appreciated it.

When they reached a smaller pathway than the other roads, Shen Yuan paused and glanced over at Luo Binghe. He was under the umbrella again. “The walk is about ten minutes. We don’t take cars to the estate.”

Luo Binghe nodded. “That’s alright,” he said. “I’ve never owned a car.”

Shen Yuan nodded back at him and they began to walk down the pathway. The walk was quiet but comfortable. Luo Binghe was grateful for it. He was grateful for the time to think and to get as much of a gauge as he could get on the man next to him.

He’d been told that he’d been the heir to a plot of land, a house, and everything inside of it. He’d been heir since he was born, but that his mother had taken him away from his father, and in doing so, had kept him successfully hidden. Not only this, but his mother had died young, and then Luo Binghe had been passed around, displaced, until he’d become an adult and proceeded to wander like a ghost through the city.

Shen Yuan said they’d been looking for him a long time, but that their efforts had doubled when Luo Binghe’s father died. He did not have other children, and that had left Luo Binghe as the only person left to take the estate. 

“Could you have taken it?” Luo Binghe asked, when they got close enough that he could see the edges of the property on the horizon.

Shen Yuan’s footsteps were the only other audible thing aside from the leaves. “The house?” He asked. “I’d never.”

“No?”

“No,” Shen Yuan confirmed. “I was raised with my brother here. We were raised to take care of this place and to help you and your forefathers. I’ve never had any desire to own it.”

“And you’re sure it’s me?”

Shen Yuan glanced at him. He had a fond expression on his face. “I told you—it took time but we were able to trace things to you. And you look just like your father.”

When they reached the edge of the grounds, Luo Binghe felt somewhat lost. He didn’t know what to do with it all. There was so much. He’d hardly ever had more than a room, and now there was all of this. The land stretched out before him, and not just on the main property, but mostly out past it. It went on for what looked to be forever, and the trees hid away all other signs of civilization.

Luo Binghe let out a puff of air and he knew that Shen Yuan was watching his awe in a way that made it seem as though he was trying to experience the sight of it for the first time vicariously through Luo Binghe.

“It’s yours,” Shen Yuan said.

Luo Binghe swallowed the lump that had abruptly formed in his throat. “Are you sure?”

Shen Yuan’s smile was audible. “Yes, Binghe.”

Luo Binghe swallowed again. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re certain.”

“I am certain.”

__________

It had taken days for Luo Binghe to really take in everything. There was a lot to take in, even more than just the emotional component. It was also a lot to take in for the amount of space there was to learn about. There was so much property to explore. There were keepers to learn the names of. There were was history to learn, too. He had to learn what he was meant to do in order to keep and own all of it. It felt like too much, but also like he couldn’t stuff it into himself fast enough. He wanted to know everything.

Sometimes, as he was wandering, he’d see servants doing what appeared to be nothing. Two in particular seemed to roam around the grounds, doing nothing but walking. Neither of them ever seemed to be working on anything. They went to and fro throughout the house, the grounds, and sometimes, Luo Binghe noticed, even the trees. He did not know their names, for he was never close enough to ask.

Shen Yuan was as helpful as a person could be. He took him places to see for the first time, like the gardens, and the pathways towards the woods, and the cemetery deeper into the forest where his ancestors were buried. He took him the secret routes throughout the house to get somewhere quicker. He taught him where the books were with all of the history, for they were not in the library. He told Luo Binghe everything he could possibly need to know, and he still felt at a loss.

The first thing Luo Binghe wanted to do was learn the history. He felt like knowing the history would make knowing everything else much easier. And his first attempt was to do by heading back to that cemetery.

Shen Yuan was busy, and if he wasn’t, Luo Binghe hadn’t gone to look for him to verify it. He thought that if he got lost, there was nothing better that could teach him the way than by taking the winding path it took to get back.

Luo Binghe, however, was a quick learner, and he remembered the journey. 

The cemetery was quiet. It was deep enough into the woods that he couldn’t hear the sound of the gardeners tending to the vegetation. There was no faint sound of the village either. Under the cover of the trees, with the muted sound from damp wood and leaves, it felt like Luo Binghe was the only person on the planet. 

He walked in-between the headstones, looking for names, and making note of them. They all began to bleed together, but he also took note of the dates. He took note of how long they dated back to, how many there were, and he eventually concluded that his family seemed to be somewhat desolate. They dated back several generations, and yet there were so few people buried there. Perhaps, Luo Binghe hoped, it was only that they had been buried somewhere else.

Luo Binghe stopped in front of a headstone that had no name. The one beside it did not have a name either, and then the others near those two had names that had been completely scratched out. It was as though someone took a rock and had chipped away until it was completely illegible. 

The dates were also scratched out, and so he counted those headstones, too, just to make sure he remembered to ask Shen Yuan about it later.

As he stared at the headstones that hadn’t been bothered to ever be named at all, the sound of footsteps began to approach. 

Luo Binghe turned.

A man, dressed comfortably but still somewhat formally, was standing at the front of the cemetery. He was looking at Luo Binghe, not surprised, but like he was deeply displeased with Luo Binghe’s presence. It was one of the men Luo Binghe would find wandering. He had flowers in his hand.

Luo Binghe stepped away from the two headstones. “Hello.” He paused. “I’ve seen you around. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes flickered over Luo Binghe’s face, and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. His gaze was quickly shifting from between Luo Binghe and the headstone. “You are Luo Binghe, Tianlang Jun’s son.”

Luo Binghe nodded, taking a few steps toward him.

The man took a few steps back, not in alarm, but in something akin to genuine disinterest in being closer. His hand holding the flowers dropped, though he still held them carefully. “My name is Shang Qinghua.” There was something about his tone—it seemed almost expectant. As if Luo Binghe should have already known. As if Luo Binghe should have drawn some sort of conclusion.

Even though there was a person standing in front of him, Luo Binghe felt like it had started to grow even quieter. It was like the wind had stopped blowing. Or, that something had placed weightless hands on his ears, muffling every sound the forest made. Luo Binghe stared at him, and he tried to put his finger on what was so off-putting about Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua was watching him, too, and he seemed to grow more displeased. He was only watching. But then, his gaze kept sliding over to the headstones, the nameless ones, and Luo Binghe wanted to follow the gaze, just to see if he was seeing something that Luo Binghe couldn’t. But he felt inexplicably like Shang Qinghua might disappear from sight if he did. There was this feeling, that made him afraid to turn his back to him. He felt exposed enough as it was, despite the fact that Shang Qinghua was standing in front of him.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes drifted back up to Luo Binghe’s, and it was odd, but when he blinked, Luo Binghe felt like he still could see his eyes. 

“You are the new steward of this house,” Shang Qinghua said.

Luo Binghe nodded, feeling as though his voice was stolen.

Shang Qinghua’s expression looked amused for a moment. It wasn’t amused the way Shen Yuan looked amused. Shen Yuan would look amused as though he was witnessing something precious. Shang Qinghua looked amused as though he was mocking.

Luo Binghe was able to gather enough air to speak, despite feeling as though all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the forest. It had begun to feel cold, and that tightened at Luo Binghe’s throat, too. The tips of his fingers felt like ice. Feeling peculiarly as though he had to explain his presence in the cemetery, Luo Binghe spoke. “I’m trying to learn many things.”

Shang Qinghua looked away from him and down at his flowers. He brought them back up and stroked his fingers over the petals. He picked a bug off of one—or, at least, he tried. “Have you ever been taught to manifest something into being?”

Luo Binghe’s breath grew more shallow. “What?”

Shang Qinghua kept picking at the bug. It seemed not to want to come off. It clung to the petals. “Have you ever desired something, so much, that you made it come to be?”

Luo Binghe, even though was quite certain he did not manifest the entire estate, found himself thinking about how Shen Yuan had shown up on his stoop at the most opportune time. “No,” he said anyway.

Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows twitched as he watched the bug persevere through his attempts to get rid of it. “You’ve never thought about something, wanted it, and then were shocked to see that it came before you within moments?”

Shen Yuan appeared in his mind again. And the estate. And other, smaller things. Like finding money on the ground when he was starving, or a good grade on a test he was certain he’d failed.

Shang Qinghua hummed. And then again, frustrated, when the bug still latched onto the petal. “I imagine without practice, it’d be hard to tell if it was you, or you were just lucky.”

Luo Binghe felt like his brain was hurting.

“You were staring at the nameless headstones,” Shang Qinghua pointed out, his tone switching the subject just as much as his words. He glanced away from the flowers and behind Luo Binghe again. His voice had darkened. Something about the sound of it seemed to encroach on the edges of Luo Binghe’s vision, as though he was going blind.

Luo Binghe was starting to feel a terrible prickling at the back of his neck. It was like Shang Qinghua was lingering behind him, though he was still standing in front. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Luo Binghe swallowed, and even though he didn’t want to turn away from Shang Qinghua, he was afraid of something creeping up behind him.

“That was what you were staring at, correct?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe answered weakly.

Shang Qinghua nodded. “Were you curious?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe repeated.

“Only curious?”

Luo Binghe nodded.

Shang Qinghua’s lips quirked. He looked back at the flowers.

While he was distracted with the bug again, Luo Binghe chanced a look behind him back at the headstones.

Only an arms length away, a man stood behind him.

Luo Binghe gasped so sharply that the air lodged in his throat as he stumbled back. The man was staring at him, expression blank, and angry. There was something pale and gaunt about him, so much so that his face almost looked distorted. Luo Binghe’s breath was coming to him in gasps as he coughed, hand clutching at his chest.

Shang Qinghua giggled, and the sound of his footsteps seemed so loud in the quiet. It was like they cut over the sound of Luo Binghe’s desperate coughing. He approached the man and then glanced at Luo Binghe. "I think you startled him.”

The other man hummed. His hair was long and loose, and his clothes looked eerily fake. They looked almost as if they were two-dimensional. His hand reached out and picked the bug from the flower and tossed it away. Shang Qinghua beamed up at him, flowers coming up to his chest. He was much shorter, so when he went to whisper something quietly in the other man’s ear, he pushed up as far as he could on his toes to do so.

Luo Binghe couldn’t hear anything. His breath still heaved, heart pounding from the shock, but it was like there was no sound leaving either of them. Shang Qinghua’s mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. He was mouthing words. And then he pulled away again, falling back to the flats of his feet, and continued to stare up at the other man. They looked at one another for a long while, and then Shang Qinghua turned and moved toward the headstones.

The man turned his gaze onto Luo Binghe. His expression remained passive, but in a way that was its own form of communication. Everything about him was like a warning, telling him to go away, to leave him alone, to never return. And something inside of Luo Binghe wanted to obey, just a little bit. But it wasn’t strong enough. It was muted, like the demand was coming from the other side of two-way glass.

Regardless of the effect his gaze had, he turned away from Luo Binghe and moved over to Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua was crouched, hands on his knees now that they were freed from the flowers. He’d set them down in front of the headstone. He was very quiet. Everything was quiet. There was nothing.

Luo Binghe watched him, and then he watched the man. The man stood beside him, and then crouched down, too. He put a hand on Shang Qinghua’s back.

It was like they were in a vacuum. The nothingness remained. Just the forest and the nameless headstones, and the flowers, and those two people lingering in front of it. There was no coolness on the air, no sound of wind, no sun hanging up above the darkened clouds. It was nothing.

But then, in a quiet, demanding voice that sounded just shy of anguished— “Go now.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes found Shang Qinghua’s head. It was hanging low. For a fleeting moment, he thought that perhaps Shang Qinghua was talking about the man that was starting to inch in closer, as if to shroud Shang Qinghua in himself. But the man looked up to send another withering blank stare at Luo Binghe.

This time, the weight of that piercing gaze was enough to move him. Luo Binghe took a step back, and then another. He turned and left the cemetery. And when he returned to the house, from far away in the forest, he thought that he heard weeping.

__________

“I’ve met everyone on the grounds by now, I think.”

Shen Yuan hummed. He was reading a book in the library.

Luo Binghe was knelt on the floor beside him. He had a spread of papers on the rug, and he was arranging them in order of date. He was looking at documents of family trees, an attempt to make sense of it. It seemed, the more he looked into it, the less sense it made.

When Shen Yuan didn’t say any more, Luo Binghe felt a little miffed. He turned to look up at him. “At least, I think I met everyone.”

Shen Yuan nodded, eyes not leaving the page. 

“I met a few people who seemed rather odd.”

Shen Yuan’s gaze flickered over to him and then back.

Luo Binghe shifted until he could lean on the armrest. “I met them in the cemetery. They startled me.”

Shen Yuan seemed to tense.

“Shizun,” he said. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

Shen Yuan’s jaw ticked. “Why do you insist on calling me that? Wouldn’t laoshi make more sense?”

“Laoshi makes you sound old.”

“What?” He snapped. “If anything it’s shizun that makes me sound old.”

“All of my laoshi have been old. And I’ve never had a shizun before.”

“Tch,” Shen Yuan scoffed, not bothering to argue any more.

“Who were they?”

“I need more of a description to know who you’re speaking of than just that they were people.”

Luo Binghe pouted a little more. “One was fairly tall. He had long black hair, and was mostly quiet. Sort of scary. He startled me very badly. He appeared out of nowhere. The other was named Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan twitched a little. He licked his teeth and pointedly turned a page in his book. “I know them,” he said.

“They’re servants?”

“Something like that.”

“Who are they?”

Shen Yuan sighed and shut his book. “Anything I know comes from the same source, Binghe. If you’d like to know, just read about it. You have plenty of time to learn it all. No one will rush you.”

“But you could tell me.”

“I don’t want to,” Shen Yuan said simply. He stood up and set the book on the table. “I’m going to go check on dinner.”

Luo Binghe watched him go, bereft and annoyed.

It was just past dusk when Shen Yuan walked out of the study. The window was dark along with the sky, and even though there was still some light hanging on the sky, it was a deep, dark blue, and the clouds were even darker. There was low light in the room, and it was warm, and it made Luo Binghe feel like he was looking at the papers with candlelight. There was one candle going, but it was more for fragrance. It smelled like rain and eucalyptus. Every room Shen Yuan frequented smelled that way. The other rooms, the ones he didn’t go to as much, smelled more like old wood and dust.

Luo Binghe turned back to the papers laid out on the floor. He traced his finger over the lines to keep it straight. They were handwritten, and so sometimes the connections got lost in a maze.

The door creaked open.

Luo Binghe looked up.

Shang Qinghua was in the threshold, watching him.

Luo Binghe felt a spike of something in his chest, oddly tentative. “Hello.”

“Good evening,” he said. His voice was a bit soft and hard to hear since it didn’t seem to carry.

Luo Binghe wasn’t sure what to say. As Shang Qinghua stepped inside, he thought he saw a shadow lingering by the door, but when he looked closer, he couldn’t find anything.

Shang Qinghua moved over in his direction, but remained by the window. The dim lighting of the room cast shadows over Shang Qinghua’s face that looked more frightening than the damp, dark forest had.

“Did you want to talk about something?” Luo Binghe asked.

Shang Qinghua studied him. Something about him looked soft. Not soft in the way another person might look soft, but soft like the edges of him were fuzzy. His fingers seemed to melt into the fabric of his sweater where he crossed his arms. His hair was dark and it seemed to melt into the black of the window. It gave Luo Binghe a terrible feeling; a sense of foreboding that prickled at his sternum.

Luo Binghe wasn’t sure what to say when Shang Qinghua didn’t answer. He felt a prickling feeling of being watched again, but when he glanced back at the door, no one was there. He swallowed and began to feel nervous that perhaps the other man had found a way to sneak up behind him once more.

Unable to help himself, Luo Binghe turned. There was nothing.

When he looked back, Shang Qinghua looked mildly amused. “Did he startle you, in the forest?”

Luo Binghe stared at him blandly. “What gave me away?”

Shang Qinghua laughed lightly. “I came to ask you a question.”

“Go ahead,” Lou Binghe said. He shifted to his knees, straightening.

Shang Qinghua stared at him. The smile was gone from his face. It almost felt like Luo Binghe’s gaze was narrowing to a pinprick, where he could only see Shang Qinghua in front of him. His vision darkened around the edges, like it had in the woods, until it was like Shang Qinghua’s gaze was sucking him into a cavern.

Luo Binghe blinked a few times, trying to blink it away, but it only stopped when Shang Qinghua himself blinked, and released Luo Binghe from whatever spell it was.

“It is to my understanding that you came across this place by chance—that you did not know about it until the head servant found you.”

“Yes.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers tapped against his sweater. “I see. And now that you know of it, and of your father’s stewardship, what do you plan on doing with it?”

“I’m not really sure,” Luo Binghe admitted quietly. “Whatever, I suppose, as long as I can stay.”

Shang Qinghua considered him. Then he hummed.

“Why do you call my father a steward?”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze was piercing again. It sucked the light out of the room once more. The shadow from the doorway seemed to grow larger. Shang Qinghua’s eyes, for a moment, began to look sunken in. “This estate was not his. Nor was it his father’s before him. It’s Mobei’s.”

“Mobei?”

Shang Qinghua looked to the door. Luo Binghe followed his line of sight.

The other man from the cemetery was there. He was visible now. Luo Binghe didn’t think he’d just come, but that he’d just become visible.

Despite the fact that the man was recognizable, he looked completely different somehow. He looked like a shadow, as if he was filling the entire doorway. He was like an omen personified.

“Qinghua,” he said. His voice was dark. It sucked the light out of the room the way Shang Qinghua’s gaze had. Except this time, it was quick and sudden, and left nothing lingering. He walked into the room, and Luo Binghe was not in control of the way his body recoiled. He backed away, eyes on the man as he walked toward Shang Qinghua. He stood in front of Shang Qinghua.

For a moment, Luo Binghe thought he might have been angry with him, and went there to hurt him or scold him, but then all he did was drape himself over Shang Qinghua. He buried his face into Shang Qinghua’s throat and remained there. Shang Qinghua seemed to welcome it, stroking along his arms and his head. It was so dark in the room. There had to have been shadows spilling over them, for Shang Qinghua’s hands were getting lost, faded away and dark, and he couldn’t see the other man’s clothes.

“What’s happening?” Luo Binghe murmured to himself.

Regardless of the fact that he was speaking to himself, Shang Qinghua heard. He lifted his head, and his gaze cut over the man’s shoulder to pin him.

“Leave.” Shang Qinghua’s voice was cold.

Luo Binghe’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Before he could muster up a single word, a scoff sounded in the doorway. They all turned.

Shen Yuan was there, hand on the doorknob. He was sneering. “You leave. Binghe is in his own library.”

Shang Qinghua sneered back, glaring at Shen Yuan with a look that made sweat bead at the back of Luo Binghe’s neck. He didn’t feel afraid. But something about the room felt hot, like it was on fire. When the shadow clinging to Shang Qinghua turned and pinned Shen Yuan with his own snarl, Luo Binghe stood.

“It’s alright,” he said, finding enough words for that. He stepped over the documents, even as the heat began to make it seem like smoke was filling the room. “I was going to search for dinner anyway.”

Shen Yuan huffed but gestured for Luo Binghe to go. He shut the door firmly behind them.

Luo Binghe sat across from Shen Yuan at the table in the kitchen. That room was dim, too. Everything was dim. At night, when it rained, it was quite dreary.

Shen Yuan was quietly eating his food. His wooden chopsticks clacked against the bowl as he gathered up noodles to bring to his mouth. He seemed completely unaware of Luo Binghe’s restlessness. Luo Binghe tapped his fingers against the table, leg shaking, until he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Shizun, tell me what’s going on with those two.”

Shen Yuan glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

Luo Binghe stared at him, incredulous. “Do you not know? Do you not understand what I’m asking, or is it that you just don’t want to speak of it?”

Shen Yuan sighed deeply. “I don’t want to speak of it.”

“They are… strange. They look…”

Shen Yuan grimaced a little, as if he didn’t like to think of it. 

“What’s the taller one’s name?”

Shen Yuan sighed again. “Mobei Jun.”

Luo Binghe blinked a few times. “Mobei Jun… Shang Qinghua said that this estate is his. Not mine, or my father’s.”

Shen Yuan looked at him sharply. “Did he?”

Luo Binghe swallowed and then nodded.

Shen Yuan scoffed. “Unbelievable. Always on about the same grievance, even after so many years.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Shen Yuan avoided looking at him.

Luo Binghe stared at him. “Shizun,” he said. “Tell me.”

Shen Yuan shimmied a little bit, as if the order had an effect on him. He glanced at Luo Binghe and then back to his bowl of noodles. “I do not know where to begin, Binghe.”

“Who are they?” Luo Binghe prompted.

“Shang Qinghua was a servant.”

“He’s not anymore?”

Shen Yuan’s face twisted again. “No, not anymore. I’m not sure what he is anymore.”

Luo Binghe frowned. “What does that mean? And who is Mobei Jun? And why is Shang Qinghua saying that this house is his?”

Shen Yuan put his head in his hand. “I really do not know how I could do any better explaining than the diaries. Why don’t you just go read them, Binghe? I’ll even grab them for you. I’ll answer what I can after you read them, how does that sound?”

Luo Binghe felt irritated at the dismissal. “Fine. Go get them.”

Shen Yuan stood and walked away from the table. He was only wearing socks, so his footsteps were muted and light. Cozy, in a way. Compared to the rest of the cold house, Shen Yuan always looked so cozy. It was an annoying thought to have after being so frustrated with him.

Luo Binghe ate while he waited, though he did not feel very hungry. Sometimes, the amount of food he was able to eat in the estate felt like too much. He had been so used to skipping where it didn’t matter so much, and now he was able to eat regularly all the time.

When Shen Yuan returned, he seemed pleased that Luo Binghe had finished his food. He held onto a few scrolls as he peered at the empty bowl. He had noticed the lack of appetite Luo Binghe had and always scolded him for it. He patted Luo Binghe’s head a few times in lieu of praise, and then set the scrolls down on the table.

“Read them, but don’t stay up too late.”

Luo Binghe looked at the scrolls, and then up at Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan looked tired. “I can’t promise that.”

Shen Yuan smiled faintly. He patted his head again. “My only advice as you read is that you should suspend all disbelief. If you question it, trust your questions more than your previous knowledge.”

Luo Binghe frowned at that. Shen Yuan took his bowl and left the kitchen.

Pushing the dishes out of the way, Luo Binghe brought the scrolls over and looked at the dates written. He opened the oldest one. It was from hundreds of years prior, and it made his hands soften with care as he unraveled it.

He began to read.

__________

Shang Qinghua was crouched beside the house. He was stuck between the staircase and the wall. The cat was hissing at him, lips pulling back to reveal its fangs.

“Shh,” he said softly, gently. He slowly reached a hand out. It batted at him, but didn’t do anything else, so Shang Qinghua knew it was only frightened. “It’s only me,” Shang Qinghua prompted, hoping the sound of his voice would remind it that he was its friend.

The cat continued to hiss, but it had paused long enough to sniff at his finger.

Shang Qinghua smiled a little, victory making his heart quicken.

“Qinghua!”

Shang Qinghua jolted, the cat swiped at him, and then bolted away.

Groaning, Shang Qinghua shimmied up from where he was wedged between the wood, and held his finger over the bloody scratch on the back of his hand. “I’m here.”

Mobei Jun was standing a stone’s throw away, staring out into the yard. He whirled when he heard Shang Qinghua’s voice. His face softened into relief. He walked toward him. “There you are.”

Shang Qinghua moved out of the nook. “You scared the cat. Now he might never come back.”

Mobei Jun approached, eyeing the way Shang Qinghua held his hand. “He will come back if I want.” He marched over and snatched Shang Qinghua’s hand. He stared at the bloody scratch. “He hurt you. Good riddance.”

“He hurt me because you scared him,” Shang Qinghua pointed out.

Mobei Jun looked petulantly angry. He swiped at the blood. “Come, let’s clean it.”

Shang Qinghua allowed Mobei Jun to pull him away.

One of the other servants saw Shang Qinghua being dragged by the arm, and sent him a scathing look. It was a look meant only for him, for he was meant to be doing chores, and first he’d abandoned them to chase after the cat that had been lost outside for days, and now he was skirting more duties by enchanting the master’s son to take him away.

Shang Qinghua’s teeth were visible when he smiled at them.

Mobei Jun pulled him into the house and took him to the kitchen. There was a pitcher of water. He dipped a cloth inside and began to swipe away the drying blood. The scratch was superficial and hardly bleeding.

Shang Qinghua watched Mobei Jun work. They were young still, but Mobei Jun was already so much taller. Shang Qinghua would say that he might still grow when they got older, and Mobei Jun always patted his head when he said that.

Mobei Jun released his hand when it was done. He stroked over Shang Qinghua’s cheek where dust had gathered, and then he smoothed out his hair, too. Shang Qinghua batted at Mobei Jun’s hands the way the cat had batted at him.

“Mobei,” he muttered. “Enough. I’ll just get dirty again when I go back to work outside.”

“No,” Mobei Jun snapped. “You’re coming with me.”

Shang Qinghua blinked a few times. “Where?”

“To town. I want to go to town.”

Shang Qinghua shifted on his feet. “I’ll get in trouble if I keep avoiding work.”

“By who?” Mobei Jun snapped. “Who will go against my wishes?”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t hold his smile back any longer. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Let’s go quickly. Maybe we can stay there the whole night.”

Mobei Jun’s anger melted away as fast as it had come. “Will you be warm enough? It’s getting cold out now.”

“I’ll be ok,” Shang Qinghua assured, nodding quickly. “Let’s go before they scold me.”

Mobei Jun dragged him away without another word.

__________

They’d been away the entire night, according to the account of one of the servants. The master had the servant write the incident. Luo Binghe took note of the date and the fact that it spoke of people currently residing in Luo Binghe’s house. He tried not to think about it too much.

The servant had detailed how the boys had evaded Mobei Jun’s father, Shang Qinghua’s parents, the rest of the servants, and even avoided being seen by anyone in the town, until they’d been gone so long that they’d gone to look for them. With all the evidence from multiple servants, they’d concluded the boys had gone into the town just off the estate property. They were only ten, the scroll said.

Luo Binghe moved to the next scroll.

__________

Mobei Jun fluttered around when Shang Qinghua was hurt. When the servants got hurt on the property, a doctor would have to come, and Mobei Jun’s father would pay for it, because he valued his servants solely for the high standard he had. And that standard was not easy to come by. But Mobei Jun, when it was Shang Qinghua, was more attentive than any doctor could be.

Shang Qinghua lay in bed, sleepy and drowsy, but Mobei Jun remained wide awake. He watched over Shang Qinghua anxiously. He pressed cold cloths to his head, read him stories, talked to him for hours. And when it was dark out, he would lie in Shang Qinghua’s bed, immovable, despite the servants urging him to go to his own bed. Mobei Jun was too attached, they’d say. And Shang Qinghua would frown at them when they said it. And Mobei Jun would pretend they hadn’t spoken at all. And he would make comments, flippant almost, about how it would be terribly easy to get them fired.

When Mobei Jun slept in Shang Qinghua’s bed, he was careful. He would never touch him more than a press of their pinky fingers together, but he’d say the sound of Shang Qinghua breathing eased his burdens. Shang Qinghua would tell him that he felt the same way. When Mobei Jun slept beside him, it was like all the darkness was chased away.

__________

It wasn’t only Mobei Jun, it seemed. The more Luo Binghe read, the more that he saw it was also Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua, who would do anything to make Mobei Jun’s day smoother, give him what he asked for, and craved for him in a way that seemed like it was too big a feeling for someone so young.

But as Luo Binghe read on, he saw that it was just the way things were. It was how they were.

__________

Shang Qinghua was meticulous. He could spend hours on something, if he truly wanted to. And as he worked in the kitchen, nothing could distract him. Mobei Jun was away in the town, eating a celebratory dinner for his birthday. He was twelve now, and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t let the day go by without doing something for him.

One of the cooks was helping him. They were teaching him to measure the portions, and how to check for its readiness after baking. It was a small dessert, hardly anything really. But it was pretty, and it was sweet, and poppy petals decorated the sides.

“Will he like it?” Shang Qinghua asked. He’d never made dessert before.

“Mm,” the servant confirmed with a hum. “I’m certain he will. He likes everything you do.”

Shang Qinghua’s cheeks warmed pleasantly. “I hope so,” he murmured.

The servant smiled where Shang Qinghua could not see. “He pitched a fit when he was told you couldn’t go along. The greatest present you could give him today is your company when he returns.”

Shang Qinghua looked at the servant and considered her words. Not many were so understanding. In fact, most of the servants found it irritating that they were so attached, and that Shang Qinghua got away with so much.

“The cake will be a pleasant addition.”

Shang Qinghua covered the small cake with a bowl in order to keep it hidden and safe. He let his hands cover the porcelain. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t bother me?” She stirred their dinner in a pot. It was steaming, dancing up above their heads.

“Me and Mobei.”

“What could bother me about you two?”

Shang Qinghua looked back down at the porcelain bowl. He felt protective of the cake, as if it wasn’t a dessert he was preparing to give to Mobei Jun, but his heart. “People don’t like that we’re so close.”

“You’re children,” the servant said. “What’s there to be bothered about? Perhaps if you both decide to shirk your duties when you’re old like me will I be bothered.”

Shang Qinghua pursed his lips, but didn’t look at her. It sounded very much as though she thought they would grow out of this.  He didn’t think they would.

Wanting to be alone to give Mobei Jun the cake, Shang Qinghua picked up the cake and the bowl and took it out of the kitchen. He brought it to Mobei Jun’s rooms, and set it down on the low table. He placed the bowl back over it and shifted around for a few minutes, feeling unsure what to do.

He’d been angry, too, when he was told he couldn’t go with Mobei Jun to the feast. But it’d given him the chance to prepare the surprise. He missed him regardless. He hardly ever spent this much time away from Mobei Jun ever since he’d first began to work on the estate grounds.

When Mobei Jun returned, Shang Qinghua saw him coming up the pathway from Mobei Jun’s window. He felt a surge of excitement, and he waited for Mobei Jun to come to his bedroom.

It felt like it took forever, and when Mobei Jun finally came in, he was in a terrible, sour mood.

Shang Qinghua practically leapt off of the chair by the window and moved to him. “Mobei! I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mobei Jun was paused in the doorway, eyes wide as he looked at Shang Qinghua. His face crumbled in annoyance. “You were here the whole time? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Shang Qinghua put his hands on his hips as he looked back at him. “I didn’t know that. You should have just asked where I was.”

“I did,” Mobei Jun protested, stomping further into the room. “No one knew where you were. I asked the cook, and she said you might be in here, but I didn’t believe her.”

Shang Qinghua laughed and got closer. He held onto Mobei Jun’s hand to drag him over to the table. “I’m here and you’re here now. Come on, I want to show you something.”

Mobei Jun let himself be pulled. “I missed you.”

Shang Qinghua paused to look over and smile widely at him. “I missed you, too. I made you something.”

Mobei Jun made a noise of interest in the back of his throat and sat down at the table when Shang Qinghua tugged. Shang Qinghua sat beside him and then immediately reached over to pull up the bowl.

The little cake laid before them. Mobei Jun looked down at it with a blank face and red cheeks, and then he smiled.

Shang Qinghua laughed. “I’ve never made something like this before. Sorry if it tastes bad.”

Mobei Jun looked at him, and his smile remained. It was a gentle smile, and it made Shang Qinghua’s chest warm.

“Try it,” Shang Qinghua urged.

Mobei Jun reached out and picked it up. Shang Qinghua felt jittery with it, and he sidled up next to him and watched intently as Mobei Jun took a bite. “It’s good,” he said, mouth full.

Shang Qinghua beamed and threw his arms around his shoulders. He nuzzled into the side of Mobei Jun’s face. “Happy birthday.”

__________

Account after account—they were all accounts about the two of them. About what they did, about the trouble they’d gotten into, enough that someone would have to write it down. It wasn’t always telling, but sometimes it was. Countless paragraphs of times that Shang Qinghua had been in trouble, and Mobei Jun would run to him, despite being the master. 

Luo Binghe read them all, and he felt a sense of understanding as he read the words. But the more he read, the more he felt that there were maybe some misunderstandings in how Shang Qinghua was viewed. In the words written, it almost seemed as though Shang Qinghua was using Mobei Jun to his advantage to get out of work. Or, even, to live vicariously as a young master solely because Mobei Jun would allow nothing less.

But Luo Binghe could see that Shang Qinghua was just as attentive. He did everything for Mobei Jun. Everything he did, every time he worked, it was all for him. Even when he was young. Nine, ten, eleven, and twelve. Everything he did from the moment he began to work had been to serve Mobei Jun. It seemed that Mobei Jun, in his attentiveness, was only ever returning the favor.

After discovering this, Luo Binghe found that he was unsurprised when he came across an account that made a chill spread over his arms as he read it.

__________

“No, no, no, no, no,” Shang Qinghua chanted, weaving through the throngs of people in the town. He pushed through them, feet moving as quickly as they could. The smoke that billowed up from the trees was black, for it had been burning a long time now. Shang Qinghua was hardly breathing, despite his quick breaths. 

“No,” he said again. He eventually pushed through the crowd staring up at the sky, where the black faded into the gray of the clouds.

The men who had brought the water to put out the fire were already back. Shang Qinghua had been gone so long. They were covered in soot, and they looked defeated.

He had wanted to run straight to the house, but at their faces, he made himself pause. He stared at them. They knew what he wanted to know.

One of the men, in the front, waited for another to speak.

Shang Qinghua felt a coolness on his cheeks when the wind blew. “Please,” he croaked, more tears leaving vague and fleeting trails of warmth down his skin. “Don’t say it. Don’t say it to me, don’t say it.”

The one in front found that no one would say it. He met Shang Qinghua’s gaze and shook his head. “It was him,” he said quietly, a rasp. “Just him.”

Shang Qinghua felt like he couldn’t see in front of him. Everything faded away. The sounds of the town, the wind, the words of the man in front of him. His gaze narrowed down to almost nothing. His hands were sweating, shaking, and he found that he had been able to smell the smoke. It was the only thing. He could smell the smoke. 

And then the moment passed, and he was running up to the house. The walk, which normally took ten minutes, was finished in two. He pushed through the servants watching the charred remains of the library. He stopped, chest heaving. 

“No,” he said again, staring at it. “He’s not there.”

“Qinghua,” one of the servants said. Their voice was hesitant. They approached, hand reaching out to touch. He ripped away.

“No!” He shouted. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” He covered his ears, trying to suck in a fruitful breath, but it felt like nothing was filling his lungs. His eyes were wet, but it was like no tears would come out. “Where is he?!”

“He’s—in the—” No one said any more.

Shang Qinghua stumbled toward the library, where the window was broken, and the wall had been burned away. He leaned against one of the panels of wood. It was still hot. There was a mound on the floor. He stared at it. He stared at it for a long time. His throat hurt, and he was crying, but his throat hurt as though he was trying to hold his tears back. It felt torn, for he was screaming and he couldn’t stop. They stopped him from going inside. They stopped him from doing anything. 

That night, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a shadow began to loom over him.

__________

Luo Binghe stared down at the paper. His own breath felt like it was quick, as if he’d also just seen what Shang Qinghua must have. It was an account of Mobei Jun’s death. He’d been in the library and he’d fallen asleep. He had breathed in so much smoke before he burned that he did not wake in time to save himself.

Shang Qinghua, according to the account, was so beside himself with grief that he’d destroyed many things in the house and injured other servants. It’d taken a long time to get him to stop, and by then, Mobei Jun had been taken away to be buried. He had been the last person in his line. There was no one else. It was just Shang Qinghua and the servants.

___________

Shang Qinghua sat on his bed, staring at the wall.

“I’m real.”

Shang Qinghua wouldn’t look.

“I promise.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes were watery, swollen, and they ached. His head ached. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed since before the fire started.

“Please,” came the quiet voice. “Please look at me.”

Shang Qinghua blinked slower and slower. His hands squeezed rhythmically in the blanket, posture hunched. A weight was pressing the bed down behind him. A presence hung over his shoulder.

“Qinghua,” the voice said, and it was watery, too. “It’s me.”

Shang Qinghua began to cry again, despite the amount of tears he’d already cried. “I miss you.”

“I’m here.”

Shang Qinghua shut his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I miss you.”

“I’m here, Qinghua.”

A hand pressed into his, and the weight settled comforting and warm on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. A nose nuzzled into the side of his head.

“Qinghua, Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said. “Look at me, please.”

Shang Qinghua opened his eyes. He turned his head. Mobei Jun stared back.

The door opened. A tray full of food clattered noisily to the floor. Shang Qinghua was weeping into Mobei Jun’s shoulder, and Mobei Jun was holding him back. He was stroking his hair, and murmuring comforts, and the servant in the doorway began to scream.

__________

Then began an influx of papers. All of them detailed, more panicked than the last, that inexplicably, it seemed that Mobei Jun was alive.

They’d excavated his grave even, just to check, and found the body still there. It was burnt, but it still looked like him. It was unmistakably Mobei Jun. Yet, no matter how many times they convinced themselves that Mobei Jun was truly dead, he was there, hung over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, following him like a shadow, glaring terribly at anyone who tried to oppose anything Shang Qinghua said or did, as if he had deemed Shang Qinghua the new master of the house.

The head servant, a Shen, had prompted Shang Qinghua to aid them in their search for a new master. Shang Qinghua, then, had said they should take it if they were so worried about having a new head. If they wouldn’t take Mobei Jun, then they should find someone new themselves.

But the head servant had taken his advice, and began to speak to the villagers. The town had been Mobei Jun’s, before he died. The town had always belonged to their family. And the village that Mobei Jun and his ancestors had come from had drawn another family. Another family, of similar lineage, and they had been more than happy to come and occupy a space already made home.

The scrolls began to shift away from unadulterated fear, and began to turn to annoyance. They shifted from desperate searches for an explanation, and instead became grievances. Shang Qinghua was allowed to do whatever he wanted, for despite their annoyance, they were still afraid of Mobei Jun’s presence. He would not go, no matter the length of his death.

Mobei Jun lingered. And even though he died when he was thirteen, he grew with Shang Qinghua. When Shang Qinghua grew, Mobei Jun grew, as though he was not dead at all. But he was. For he could appear and disappear at will. Shadows seemed to follow him wherever he went, as though billows of smoke followed him even in death. And sometimes, it was as though he looked like his corpse, skeletal, or burnt, or gaunt. 

And, as time passed, and Shang Qinghua turned to adulthood, they turned him away. The new family was uninterested in the presence of Mobei Jun, and he seemed particularly attached to Shang Qinghua. They thought, reasonably, that if Shang Qinghua were to go, so would Mobei Jun.

__________

Shang Qinghua walked down the pathway. Mobei Jun was following him. He kept close, so close that it was like his feet were attached to Shang Qinghua’s.

But when Shang Qinghua reached the edge of the property, Mobei Jun could not seem to follow, no matter how hard he tried to go. And it’d taken hours for them to rip Shang Qinghua away. But they knew now, that if they stood on the other side of that line, Mobei Jun could do nothing to them.

Mobei Jun had not been angry when he died. He had been anguished to leave Shang Qinghua, to the point that even Shang Qinghua’s cries reached him in the grave. And he’d answered, as though the desire for him was strong enough to defy even death. It hadn’t taken long to muster himself up into something that could still exist with Shang Qinghua. It was all Shang Qinghua. The drive and the want and the need. Without Shang Qinghua, Mobei Jun would be stuck in the dirt.

But when they had made Shang Qinghua go, Mobei Jun was angry. And there was nothing that anyone could do to punish or hinder the dead.

They’d brought Shang Qinghua back, after not a very long time at all. And Mobei Jun waited at the edge of the property until Shang Qinghua returned. He had felt more like death than he ever had, while Shang Qinghua had been away.

But then, Shang Qinghua had entered his line of sight, and he went to throw himself into Mobei Jun’s arms, and Mobei Jun held onto him, hard enough that Shang Qinghua began to croak. Mobei Jun felt alive again. And a new line of dead lay behind him, for the price of keeping Shang Qinghua had always been, it seemed, the cost of life.

__________

They’d only been seventeen when Shang Qinghua was sent away. There was a flurry of death records when it happened, for Mobei Jun was merciless in his attempt to draw Shang Qinghua back. He theorized that either he scared them into letting him return, or he’d kill them all, and Shang Qinghua could return anyway.

It had not gotten to that point. They had been able to reconcile their decision into something more agreeable. Shang Qinghua would always be welcome. And in turn Mobei Jun would let them live in his house.

The final pile in the scroll answered one of Luo Binghe’s most burning questions. It was simpler. It left much to the imagination, yet somehow was all Luo Binghe had needed to know. 

It was another death record. And this time, it was Shang Qinghua’s.

__________

On Shang Qinghua’s twenty-second birthday, he died. 

He’d known about it. He was neither alarmed, nor upset. In fact, he had thought it was for the best. For if he’d continued to grow and perish, then perhaps Mobei Jun would remain without him, for an endless forever. And that was not acceptable. But this—the plan that one of the servants had concocted, to kill him and rid them of this curse—it would make Mobei Jun angry. And Mobei Jun would bring Shang Qinghua back, just as he’d brought himself back, and then it would be an endless forever with each other.

So Shang Qinghua let himself be led far enough off the property that Mobei Jun could not interfere. And he did not protest when the servant struck him, still within sight of the grounds, and the last thing he felt was warmth as blood pooled over his head, and down into his eyes. He hadn’t even felt himself hit the ground.

But the next thing—that was the unforgivable part. The sight of Mobei Jun hovering over him, tears trailing white tracks through soot on his face, staring down at him, breathing heavy and anguished, muttering about how he couldn’t do it without him.

Shang Qinghua pushed himself up, and found that his body was below him. And Mobei Jun choked something out, and Shang Qinghua was still getting his bearings. He did not understand. But Mobei Jun had taken him into his arms and wept into his shoulder, just as Shang Qinghua had when Mobei Jun had first convinced him he was back.

And when Mobei Jun was calm and relieved, he had taken Shang Qinghua’s body and buried it next to his own. When the new stewards of the house eventually added monikers to each stone that lay above a grave, theirs had been left blank.

__________

Luo Binghe stared at the information, laid so brutally factual on the page. It was Shang Qinghua’s name, and his age, and his cause of death. The circumstances were minimal, but it said enough. Someone had killed him, in an attempt to rid them all of Mobei Jun. And instead, they kept them both.

He remembered Shang Qinghua’s question. He remembered being asked if he could conjure up things that he wanted, if he wanted them hard enough. And he thought about how their families had come from the same village. And perhaps there was no coincidence in that.

Luo Binghe stared at the old parchment and blinked a few times, feeling as though he’d been sucked away and had only just returned to the dark, warm kitchen where Shang Qinghua had made that cake all those years ago.

When he looked up, Shang Qinghua was sitting across from him, in the spot Shen Yuan had been in.

Luo Binghe swallowed the startled jolt his blood gave. 

Mobei Jun appeared beside Shang Qinghua as if melting off the shadows of the darkened room. He stood behind Shang Qinghua, hovering again. Luo Binghe found himself wondering if Mobei Jun ever left him, or if he simply just chose when others could see him.

“Did you find it entertaining?” Shang Qinghua asked.

Luo Binghe swallowed. “That’s not the word I would use.”

Shang Qinghua’s expression was cold and flat, like a blank slate. “Did it satisfy your curiosity? To read about our lives? Accounted for without our knowledge or permission?”

Luo Binghe nodded. “Yes, I did.”

Shang Qinghua’s teeth clicked and Mobei Jun stared at Luo Binghe with a gaze that only glimmered in the low light.

“There’s only so much I can learn, from just the accounts,” Luo Binghe said. He looked to Mobei Jun. “Your family began this place? Built this house?”

Mobei Jun only stared at him.

Shang Qinghua answered. “Yes,” he said. “It was going to be his, when he was old enough. His father died when he was young, and then he died not long after.”

“Why didn’t they just let you keep it?” Luo Binghe asked. “You were dead, but also… Not.”

Shang Qinghua seemed to soften a little. “Great question, Binghe. I ask myself that every morning when I wake.”

“I do not care to keep this place,” Mobei Jun said, “if Qinghua is not also benefitting from it. We were children. I did what children do. And without the threat of death, I could do whatever I wanted. The servants were unhappy with such whims.”

“The Shen servant.”

Mobei Jun hummed.

“Shen Yuan… his ancestor?”

“They’ve been around a long while. They were the first to bring in your line. They are quite devoted to it.” Shang Qinghua tsked.

“Do you… try to chase us off?”

Shang Qinghua began to laugh, and Mobei Jun watched him. Shang Qinghua put his chin in his hands and stared at him. “Sometimes,” he said. “If they deserve it.”

Luo Binghe considered. “What deserves it?”

“Trying to rid this place of us. A place built for the Mobei clan is the only thing that can hold its resentment and its curses and its power. We will not leave.”

“You aren’t a Mobei.”

Mobei Jun seemed to loom even larger. “He is mine. That is enough.”

“You… I don’t understand. How is he here, if he is not of either of our lines?”

“He wanted me.”

Luo Binghe blinked at Shang Qinghua, who was watching him again, with that expression that made Luo Binghe’s eyesight move to a pinprick. “And his desire—it lets you manifest what you want, too?”

“Not completely.”

Luo Binghe blinked and he could see again.

“But enough,” Shang Qinghua amended.

“What about if our two desires clash?” Luo Binghe looked up at Mobei Jun. “What if I really, really want you to die?”

Shang Qinghua stiffened, sucking in a breath through his nose. The room darkened again, and the light from behind Luo Binghe began to flicker. 

“What if I want Shang Qinghua to die?” Luo Binghe asked.

Mobei Jun was like a leech, perched on Shang Qinghua’s back, and he began to grow. The dark spread from him.

“Don’t worry,” Luo Binghe said after a moment of silence. “I don’t want that. If anything, I feel very moved by the two of you.”

Shang Qinghua was white-knuckling the edge of the table, breath heaving in and out. “Can’t you and your family leave us alone?” He hissed. “Always bothering us. Always making it difficult. I don’t care what you want. I don’t care about your desires. They are nothing here. They only go so far, but this place is ours.”

Luo Binghe let his gaze narrow to that pinprick again. “I don’t care. I don’t need this house all to myself. You let me stay here, with Shen Yuan, and I won’t bother you in the slightest.”

Shang Qinghua stared back at him.

Luo Binghe lifted his gaze up to meet the two glinting eyes of Mobei Jun’s. They reflected the dim light, like a cat’s. “I’ll let you do whatever you want. As long as we get to stay.”

“Fine then,” Shang Qinghua eventually said. 

When Luo Binghe blinked, they were gone.

__________

Luo Binghe found himself wandering the house. He couldn’t sit still and he didn’t want to read any more for the night. Perhaps in the morning. Really, what he wanted to do was talk to Shen Yuan. He found that his wandering had taken him to the hallway Shen Yuan’s room was in. He wandered it, quite like a ghost himself, until the creaking of the floorboards began to irritate Shen Yuan enough to swing the door open.

“What do you want?” He snapped.

Luo Binghe licked his bottom lip, feeling scolded. “Ah…”

Shen Yuan looked at him, and studied his face in the dark of the hallway. His room was lit dimly, just like the rest of the house, and the warm light spilled onto the floor at Luo Binghe’s feet. When Shen Yuan opened the door further, the light soaked up Luo Binghe’s legs, and up over his waist. “You read everything. And spoke to them. Didn’t you?”

Luo Binghe nodded.

Shen Yuan stepped back further into the room and gestured for him to come in.

The door shut behind them. Luo Binghe hadn’t felt necessarily unsafe on the grounds, but after the encounter in the kitchen, he felt watched. He felt like there were eyes in every nook and cranny of the house, following each movement he made. It hadn’t felt too alarming, but it made his skin prickle uncomfortably. And, he supposed, there was no real telling what the two of them would do. He hardly knew them or their impulses. He’d only known what had been given to him so far.

“Are you frightened?” Shen Yuan asked, voice low.

Luo Binghe sat down on one of the chairs beside the vanity. Shen Yuan sat on the chaise nearby. “Not exactly,” he said. He glanced around. It was warm in Shen Yuan’s room. “And in here… It’s not so bad.”

Shen Yuan nodded. “Yes. Despite their lack of subtleties, they do at least, oddly enough, respect my privacy.” He paused. “Maybe it’s because they just like it when I’m out of sight.”

Luo Binghe laughed a little. “That checks out, with what I know of them.”

“You have questions for me.”

Luo Binghe nodded. “A few.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t Mobei Jun take over the house? Why was it ever given to someone else?” He was quiet for a moment while he watched Shen Yuan watch him. “He was still there.”

Shen Yuan shook his head. “The town belonged to them, at the beginning. And when Mobei Jun died, it still did. Many people were relying on someone to continue caring for them, and leading them. He would not. He already hadn’t been, given the fact that he was so young. But it became clear that the purpose of his new life was to haunt Shang Qinghua.”

“The town was theirs?”

“Yes,” Shen Yuan said. “When the Mobei clan came from their original village, some others settled, too. They were a powerful people—fortune seemed to follow them. Another family from their village followed, too, but the sway of the Mobei clan was strong. Circumstance weakened them. Until all they had left to impose upon was Mobei Jun.”

Luo Binghe blinked a few times. “You’re saying my ancestors willed for Mobei Jun to die.”

Shen Yuan shrugged one shoulder. “Not confirmed. That is my belief. It’s also the belief of many of my own ancestors.”

“It didn’t exactly work, did it?” Luo Binghe said wryly.

Shen Yuan smiled a little and settled his chin on his hand as he looked at Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe couldn’t help but note the way the soft lighting did wonders for the way the shadows laid across the slope of Shen Yuan’s nose, and under his brow. “I suppose it didn’t work the way they thought it would.”

“What happens when those two wills are in opposition of each other?” Luo Binghe imagined it’d be like putting two magnets together on the same side. “It makes a new outcome? Like Mobei Jun living but also dying?”

Shen Yuan shook his head. “Mobei Jun’s will was not to live. It was to be with Shang Qinghua. His will was never in opposition of the will of your ancestors.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes furrowed inward. “His will was to remain with Shang Qinghua. To be with him. So when he died, he willed to be able to stay with Shang Qinghua.”

Shen Yuan nodded. “Again, I suppose that is only my belief or theory. None of that has ever been confirmed.”

“What makes you theorize that?”

Shen Yuan leaned further into his hand. “To answer your previous question, when two wills meet but are opposing, it is the stronger one who wins, to my understanding. According to our historical records and my observations of Mobei Jun, his will is very strong. It is perhaps stronger than any other person in the Mobei clan. He willed himself into something akin to a curse, even as he died. And, when his will has opposed that of another, it was hardly any competition.”

Luo Binghe leaned toward him curiously. “What happened?”

“The second in the new line of masters had taken it upon himself to try and rid us of the Mobei clan and of Shang Qinghua.”

Luo Binghe made a face.

Shen Yuan nodded at his expression. “You’ve hardly met them and you understand. Somehow, your ancestor did not. He attempted to destroy them. He thought that perhaps if he annihilated their bodies, they would be released from this place. He did not quite understand, it seems, that Mobei Jun was not tied to his body. He was tied to Shang Qinghua. And Mobei Jun’s will was strong enough to keep Shang Qinghua tied to him in return.”

“He attempted to desecrate their graves?”

Shen Yuan nodded. “Attempted is the key word. Shang Qinghua visits Mobei Jun’s grave very often. He did not used to. When Mobei Jun first died, he did not go near the cemetery for many years. But after a while, he had begun to take flowers to it every few days. It is known and has always been known that Shang Qinghua should not be bothered when visiting Mobei Jun’s grave. It upsets him very much, despite the fact that he takes himself there.”

Luo Binghe cringed. He felt suddenly lucky for his first encounter with Shang Qinghua.

Shen Yuan took note of Luo Binghe’s reaction, but seemed to just put a pin in it for later. He continued. “Your ancestor seemingly did not pay enough attention to know that. He went on a day that Shang Qinghua was going to take flowers. Mobei Jun is always with Shang Qinghua, but he is not always visible. When Shang Qinghua saw your ancestor digging up Mobei Jun’s grave, he was inconsolable.

“Shang Qinghua doesn’t have the same manifestation power that you and the Mobei clan has, but he is tied to Mobei Jun, and he can do some things. But more than that, his will is Mobei Jun’s will, so the entire house, servants included, knew very well after that night that their graves were not to be touched.”

Luo Binghe frowned. “Did they kill him?”

Shen Yuan nodded. “Your ancestor’s will was weak. And unfortunately misplaced. Mobei Jun dragged his death out monumentally slowly, and unfortunately, the only thing your ancestor’s will managed to do was drag his own death out, for he only did not want to die. Mobei Jun, was amenable to this, so your ancestor suffered longer than probably any other human could manage. Eventually he succumbed to Mobei Jun’s will.”

Luo Binghe crossed his feet at the ankles. He pondered for a moment. “What do they do? When they aren’t wreaking havoc.”

Shen Yuan scoffed. “They’re always wreaking havoc. They do not care that deeply if someone else is manning the house, as long as they are unbothered. But Shang Qinghua doesn’t like anyone who mentions claim over the house as if they have more claim than Mobei Jun. But even then, in the end, they do not care, as long as they can do as they please. Though sometimes it’s as though they are still children, making the servants job more difficult.”

“How?”

“Shang Qinghua is always in the garden,” Shen Yuan said. “Always picking flowers, and planting his own, and changing the way they’re set up. He chases cats, and scratches out the names on the tombstones of your ancestors that he doesn’t like.”

Luo Binghe laughed a little bit. “And Mobei Jun?”

“He hangs over Shang Qinghua and watches him do it,” Shen Yuan said blandly. “He helps him. Sometimes he goes on walks, and Shang Qinghua will go with him. There are times where Shang Qinghua appears to remember that he has the urges of a servant and will wait on Mobei Jun hand and foot like he’s a bratty prince.”

“And me? What should I do?”

Shen Yuan met his gaze, and it pierced into him. It was heavy, as if it was sinking into Luo Binghe’s bones and grabbing him to keep him place. “You leave them be.”

__________

“Shh,” Mobei Jun murmured. He leaned over Shang Qinghua like a cloak, pressed against his back. His arms wrapped around Shang Qinghua’s shoulders, and his lips pressed to his ear. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t stop crying. He knew it was alright, and he was so relieved that it was alright. But even the thought and memory was very strong, and it was strong enough to ache every time he thought of it. The visual of Mobei Jun being gone, of having a grave where his body lay. It was so much.

“Isn’t it better this way?” Mobei Jun whispered, lips ticklish on Shang Qinghua’s ears. “Isn’t it better to be alive forever? With you? With me?” Mobei Jun held onto him tightly, his own aching starting to grow and fester. “Isn’t it good for it to be like this, when I can remain with you always?”

Shang Qinghua stared at the tombstone. Something like a moan tore its way through his chest. “I keep seeing you,” he gasped out. “In my head, but also like it’s really right in front of me again.”

Mobei Jun held his face and turned it toward his own. He leaned their foreheads into one another. “It’s me who’s in front of you. Like this. No other way.”

Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut. “There were hours and days where I thought that I’d never see you again. That it was over.”

Mobei Jun kissed the tears off of his cheeks. “I’d never let that happen.”

Shang Qinghua breathed, and the air stuttered on its way in. He nodded a few times. Their foreheads rubbed together almost painfully. 

“What changed?” Mobei Jun asked. “You’ve never wanted to come here before.”

“I’ll honor every part of you, for as long as I live,” Shang Qinghua said. “No matter how painful.”

__________

Luo Binghe watched them. The front porch to the house was vast and comfortable. There were several places to sit, and the spot he’d chosen had a perfect view of the front garden. There were bundles of plants surrounding a few benches, and just as Shen Yuan said he was apt to do, Shang Qinghua was knelt on the ground, uprooting them.

Shang Qinghua was meticulous. He was careful with the plants as he dug around for the roots to pull them up whole. Mobei Jun watched him, too, but much more attentively. He was so close to Shang Qinghua. It was truly as though he was attached to him. He would reach out and help Shang Qinghua pull them, hands over his, and Luo Binghe wondered if it was so effective because it was Mobei Jun’s will for it to be so.

When Shang Qinghua replanted the poppies, he admired the work and then turned to Mobei Jun for approval. When Mobei Jun responded by brushing dirt away from Shang Qinghua’s face and saying something Luo Binghe could not hear, Shang Qinghua beamed and then fell into him as if too tired to do any more.

As Luo Binghe watched them, he felt a pang of something that was difficult for him to put a finger on. It felt a little bit like pity, a little bit like sadness, and a little bit like vicarious relief. Maybe it was all three. But it was a strong pull in his chest. He knew what it felt like to be filled with longing. He knew what it felt like to need and to be desperate. If Luo Binghe had something to have held onto the way they held onto each other, he thought he might be quite similar.

Shen Yuan opened the front door with a tray. He brought it over to Luo Binghe and set it down on the table. “Binghe,” he said in greeting.

That pulling in Luo Binghe’s chest turned to something sweeter as he looked at Shen Yuan. “Good morning, shizun. I haven’t seen you all day.”

Shen Yuan reached out to pet through Luo Binghe’s hair. “I was in the town for most of the morning.”

Luo Binghe leaned up into his hand, a barely noticeable smile on his face. Shen Yuan seemed to catch it anyway and smiled his own happiness in return. “Are you happy here, shizun?”

Shen Yuan sat on the chair beside him. “Of course.”

Luo Binghe studied him, and then turned to look back out onto the garden. Shang Qinghua was lying in the flowers now, and Mobei Jun was just watching him. They sat so leisurely, as though this was their heaven.

Shen Yuan followed his gaze and hummed in consideration. “You want to know if I find my contentment here,” he said. “Or if my purpose is satisfactorily fulfilled.”

Luo Binghe nodded.

“It is,” he said easily. “I am not devoted to tradition or houses and gardens. I’m devoted to you. And here is where you are.”

Luo Binghe felt his airway constrict. A blooming very strong in his chest felt like heat and water. And with it came doubt. Could he ever be certain that any devotion Shen Yuan had was his own and not simply the birthing of his own desire?

__________

“It’s silly that you think you can hide from me.”

Mobei Jun didn’t move.

“It’s silly that you think I don’t always know where you are.”

Mobei Jun remained sat behind the pillar on the porch. He wasn’t hiding. He also didn’t want to be seen. He did, however, want to be found.

Shang Qinghua rounded it with a smile on his face, head tilted as if excited to see him. He draped himself over Mobei Jun’s shoulders and nuzzled into his cheek. Mobei Jun felt warmer. “You could never hide from me,” Shang Qinghua murmured into his ear. “I don’t care where you go—I’ll find you. It’s in my blood to be near. You can never be rid of me.”

__________

“You have been wanting to ask me something.”

Luo Binghe nodded. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Shang Qinghua wasn’t looking at him as he let his hands roam and pet through the soft fur of a litter of kittens. Mobei Jun was not visible, but his presence hung on Shang Qinghua’s back. Luo Binghe knew how to feel for it now.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you know that your love was your own?”

Shang Qinghua paused and then turned his head up to look at Luo Binghe. His gaze was heavy. 

“Did you ever wonder?” Luo Binghe asked. “And if you did, when did you stop?”

Shang Qinghua hummed. He looked back down at the kittens. “We were still young when he first asked. I never wondered.”

“No?”

Shang Qinghua shook his head and then smiled with a gentle coo when one of the kittens yawned and stretched. His fingers scritched at its belly. “No, I never wondered. My family also came from the village his had originally come from. I don’t have nearly the same amount of sway he does. But I think I have enough. And I loved him before he even knew who I was.”

Luo Binghe crouched down slowly. He reached out tentatively, but also pet one of the kittens. They made small squeaking sounds at the new hand, but pressed up into his caress anyway. “How?”

“I wasn’t allowed out of the servants quarters until I was about seven. I would watch him from the window.”

Luo Binghe glanced at Shang Qinghua and then up over his shoulder where he assumed Mobei Jun was perched. “He never saw you in the window staring at him?”

Shang Qinghua laughed. “No.”

“Did he ever worry? That he made you love him?”

Shang Qinghua paused in his petting. He continued, but did not speak. His shoulders had tensed.

Luo Binghe pandered for a moment. “I’m only asking because I…” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I didn’t know I could do this, until recently. I don’t know how to…”

Shang Qinghua wouldn’t look at him. When he spoke it was like he wasn’t speaking to Luo Binghe. “You didn’t,” he murmured. “I know that.”

Luo Binghe felt guilty. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just don’t know who else to ask.”

Shang Qinghua finally glanced at him again. “It doesn’t matter, because if he made me love him, then I would be upset that I do. I love him and I like loving him, and I don’t ever want to stop. Nor will I. I’ll never stop loving him.” HIs voice began to rise slightly, and was growing angrier by the word. “I love him from my own affection, and I always have, and I know what it’s like to do things not of my own will, and this has always been my will.”

“Alright,” Luo Binghe said placatingly. “I’m not questioning the answer. Just how you got there. So that I can understand my own—” He cut himself off and swallowed.

Shang Qinghua turned his head. “Mobei.”

Luo Binghe’s mouth parted as he watched the way Mobei Jun melted into sight from the air. It was like watching a cloud slowly morph into another shape. One moment, there was a dim shadow, and the next it was a blackened shape, and then another moment passed and it was Mobei Jun.

Shang Qinghua twisted and then embraced him. His face was in his shoulder. Mobei Jun held him. Shang Qinghua did not seem to want to speak any more.

Mobei Jun stared at Luo Binghe over Shang Qinghua’s head, a blank expression on his face. His hand covered the back of Shang Qinghua’s head. “I do not like it when he is upset.”

Luo Binghe backed up a little bit. “I didn’t mean to.”

Mobei Jun continued to stare at him.

“I would have rather asked you about it. But I couldn’t see you.”

Mobei Jun didn’t say anything.

Luo Binghe shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I just—I don’t know how to do this. I barely know anything about my history. I just want to know how I know when it’s this… will thing and when it’s real.” He paused. “And I know it’s real for you. So how did you know?”

“I have made many people do what I wish,” he said eventually. His fingers stroked through Shang Qinghua’s hair. “It is not the same.”

Luo Binghe swallowed again. “How?”

Mobei Jun continued to pet through Shang Qinghua’s hair, and Shang Qinghua began to relax. He melted into him. “As Qinghua said—when it is my will, they do not want it. If they want it, I do not have to make it happen. And I can feel it when it’s from me, for it is heavy and tiresome. But this—it does not make me tired.”

Luo Binghe looked at Shang Qinghua, and at Mobei Jun’s hand as it combed through the strands of his hair.

“When you make someone do what you want, there’s a sort of glazed look in their eye. Something comes over them, and deep down, they know that it is not them who moves their hands, or their feet, or their thoughts. He’s never looked like that.”

“And I’ve never felt it,” Shang Qinghua snapped, muffled. “No matter how many people accuse me of it.”

Mobei Jun hummed, turning his face into Shang Qinghua’s hair. “I know, my love.”

“I wasn’t—” Luo Binghe began frantically, hands up. “I swear I wasn’t trying to say it wasn’t real, I just wanted to know how you knew. Because I—I don’t know how to tell. Yet.”

“I’ve told you now,” Mobei Jun said, not looking at him. “Do not bring it up again.”

Luo Binghe nodded quickly. He blinked, and then they were gone.

__________

Shen Yuan was watching him. Luo Binghe could feel his stare, somewhat judgmental but also curious.

“There are servants for that.”

Luo Binghe nodded. “I know, shizun.”

“So why?”

“I like to, shizun.”

Shen Yuan moved to stand beside him at the stove. He watched him stir the soup. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

Luo Binghe smiled. “Would you like some?”

Shen Yuan hesitated, but then he nodded.

Luo Binghe looked at Shen Yuan. He looked interested. And he didn’t have that glazed look in his eye that Luo Binghe saw when he willed the servants to do what he wished. Shen Yuan never had that look in his eye. And Luo Binghe had learned it was because when it came to Shen Yuan, he didn’t have to will anything, for Shen Yuan already wanted to do it.

__________

“Look,” Shang Qinghua whispered.

Mobei Jun crouched down in front of him, so they were both huddled together. The sky was darkening, but it wasn’t raining yet. The air was heavy with the promise of warm rain, and it laid over their shoulders like a blanket.

As Mobei Jun approached, Shang Qinghua carefully held out his cupped hands. “You have to be gentle. And quiet.”

Mobei Jun nodded, leaning in, until it was like they had formed a little cocoon. Shang Qinghua was still somewhat clumsy, for he was only eight, and Mobei Jun was clumsy, too. Even still, in the damp forest, with just the two of them, they were careful and soft. 

Shang Qinghua opened his hands. And there, laid in his palms, was a dove.