He Who Made the Weapon

"Why are you not making weapons anymore?" Yingxing looked up from his work, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. Jing Yuan's big eyes stared at the worktable as if the simple blade he'd been engraving was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "Why do you ask?" Yingxing asked, slightly amused. Around them, the workshop rang with the usual bustle of a work day. Smiths hammered at weapons, steam hissed as steel was dunked into water buckets to cool, and the clanging noise of hammers hitting anvils echoed loudly. Jing Yuan nodded at the small chisel Yingxing held in his hand. "When I met you, you were making big weapons. Nowadays, you just engrave them or something," the teenager explained. Yingxing straightened in his chair, stretching his aching back. He'd been bending over his work for the better part of the day, and now his muscles reminded him that he hadn't taken a break in hours. His shoulders were stiff and he uncurled his fingers with difficulty. "Ah, well, I no longer have the physical strength required for such demanding work." Jing Yuan looked up at him. His eyebrows were lowered in a frown. "Oh. Yeah. I keep forgetting that you're old and that you’re a short-lived species." "Doesn't my white hair give it away?" Yingxing teased. A pout. "Well, I have white hair also, and I'm not old!" "It's not the same and you know it. You're still a child." "I'm older than you, Yingxing-gēge!" Yingxing chuckled. “Technically, you are indeed older than me. However, I was told from many reliable sources that long-lived species mature much slower. It means that even though you’re older than me in years, I am therefore more mature than you.” Jing Yuan huffed out a breath that ruffled the fringe of white hair falling messily over his eyes. “I can never win an argument against you.” “It’s because you’re always skipping school.” “I want to be a Cloud Knight! Training is more important!” “You need to train both your body and your mind, Jing Yuan, never forget that. You know all the great warriors were also philosophers. If your body rules your mind, you’ll never amount to much. I’ve told you a dozen times already.” The boy sighed disconsolately. He swung his practice sword in a great arc, narrowly missing the workbench and all its crafting paraphernalia. His lips were puckered in a pout. “I know…” he muttered. “I just hate sitting still and listening to the teacher.” “I can imagine that.” “Did you ever have that problem, Yingxing-gēge?” “No. I was lucky enough to grow up within the artisan guild, so I received my tuition while working. Perhaps it’s something you might consider; have your tutor recite while you train.” Jing Yuan considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think that could work.” The thoughtful expression vanished from his face, replaced by his usual sunny smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You’re so smart, Yingxing-gēge! Thanks a bunch!” “You’re welcome, Jing Yuan. Now, how about you go and leave me to finish my work, hmm?” “Will you come to the banquet thrown by Yínyuè-jūn tonight?” Yingxing put down his chisel to curl his fingers, hoping to relieve the dull ache that had settled in his knuckles. He stared down at his hand, at the scarred skin and swollen joints, the ragged fingernails. When he didn’t answer right away, Jing Yuan hurriedly added: “You must come, Yingxing-gēge! Yínyuè-jūn won the battle thanks to the lance you crafted for him! He always thanks you publicly for it!” Yingxing looked up, offering the boy a wan smile and hoping nothing amiss showed on his face. The last thing he wanted to do was attend a banquet full of Cloud Knights and other long-lived species. He never felt at ease with them, and they never failed to remind him that he didn’t belong in their midst. Yet no matter how often he explained this to Dan Feng, the man couldn’t take no for an answer. He’d want Yingxing by his side, no matter the discomfort it brought or the pall of awkwardness it set over the high table. “Of course, I’ll be there,” he said, much to Jing Yuan’s delight. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” “Awesome! I’ll see you tonight, Yingxing-gēge!” “Indeed. Go back to your training now, boy.” - Once the sun set in the artificial sky, painting the lake in rosy colours, Yingxing returned home. The streets of the Luofu were thronged with people going about their business, chatting amongst themselves, laughing and making plans for the evening. The air was alive with their voices and redolent with the scents of sandalwood incense. Yingxing kept to himself as he followed the thoroughfares back to the Ambrosial Arbor sanctum where Dan Feng had his residence. As he got closer to the sacred site, the number of patrolling Cloud Knights doubled. Few citizens dared to approach the Vidyadhara’s most sacred site, which meant that Yingxing stood out quite conspicuously. The Cloud Knights were used to his comings and goings, however, and had long ago stopped giving him trouble. One disapproving raise of the eyebrow from Dan Feng had been enough to quell any need to make comments on Yingxing’s presence here. Despite that, Yingxing could feel their disapproving glances as he passed through the heavily-guarded gates. From behind their masks, he could almost sense the weight of their annoyance at having to bow to a short-lived man. They had no idea why Dan Feng favoured him this much, and they thought it was preposterous that a simple smith, though highly talented, would be shown so much favour. Yingxing couldn’t quite disagree with them; he had indeed crafted a magnificent weapon for the High Elder, but it was not why Dan Feng kept him close like a pampered concubine. Ignoring them, Yingxing made his way through the lush gardens of the inner sanctum of the High Elder. Here, the sounds of the bustling city died away, to be replaced by the gentle thrilling of birds and the whisper of the wind in the leaves of the numerous trees. In the distance, he could see the Ambrosial Arbor with its long branches reaching up towards the false sky. He ignored it, finding the artefact creepy and disconcerting. Dan Feng’s residence was a series of enormous elaborate buildings that stood in front of the Ambrosial Arbor like a sentinel. As High Elder, he was nothing short of royalty and everybody on the Luofu, not only the Vidyadhara, treated him as such. Hundreds of people could be sheltered here, but Dan Feng much preferred to live like a recluse. Most of the time, it was only he and a small army of servants haunting these walls. Dozens and dozens of rooms could go unused for years at a time, gathering dust and ending up being forgotten. The banquets Dan Feng hosted were not something he actually enjoyed, but was mostly browbeaten into doing by the other lords of the Ten Lords Commission. Yingxing crossed a handful of incense-scented courtyards to reach his own living quarters. Dan Feng had bestowed upon him a series of rooms as well as a few servants to look after his needs. His quarters were quite a long walk away from the main gate, and tucked away behind other buildings. In fact, if Yingxing hadn’t known they were there, he might have never found them on his own. Tall trees camouflaged the low structure of red painted beams and sweeping eaves. To the casual observer, the place might have been little more than storage, for as with the rest of the compound, even storage areas were quite fancy. He paused when he reached his front door. The brass key that unlocked it weighed heavy in his hand. He ran his thumb over the bow on which Dan Feng had engraved cranes to showcase his devotion. Despite the passage of years, the engravings hadn’t faded in the slightest, and Yingxing’s artisan eye could only admire the workmanship. He stood there on the veranda for a moment, trying to gather the courage to walk in. He doubted Dan Feng would be there – he was probably busy making sure everything for the banquet was ready. Despite that, Yingxing dreaded stepping through his front door. He disliked the place, disliked how nothing actually belonged to him. Dan Feng’s servants had been the ones picking up the furniture, the calligraphy scrolls, even the incense and paintings. The only object that belonged to him was the sword he’d crafted for himself. It had pride of place in the front room, the sole thing Yingxing would miss should the whole place catch fire. After a moment, he slid the key into the lock, turned it, then pushed the door open. The familiar scent of persimmon tickled his nostrils. The reception hall was small enough that it could only receive half a dozen guests, but since nobody ever visited, the room always felt needlessly large. Servants kept it clean and scrubbed. There was never any fleck of dust on the porcelain vases or jade ornaments, and the silk draperies depicting daily scenes on the Luforu were changed every season without fail. Yingxing crossed the hall, then the inner courtyard towards the main residence. The main residence was a miniature copy of Dan Feng’s own quarters situated on the other side of the compound. Here were Yingxing’s bedchamber, study, and library which opened onto the rear courtyard. There were a couple more side rooms that could welcome guests but, well, those saw as much use as the reception hall. The second he stepped into his bedchamber, Yingxing saw that Dan Feng’s servants had already been here to lay out the clothes he was expected to wear at the banquet. Because, of course, Yingxing couldn’t be trusted to choose his own clothes. It annoyed him anew, this slight, as if he’d be the kind of man to turn up to a public event dressed in rags. Anger prickled under his skin in a familiar heat. He allowed it to flare to life for a second before smothering it. He shoved it down and down, until it returned into the box of apathy he had built for it years ago. There was no room in his life anymore for such hot feelings. He couldn’t afford anger or happiness or anything of the sort. He had to be content, satisfied. And some part of him was, some tiny part that had never believed he’d survive the destruction of his village. That part that he had carried with him since childhood truly thrived in this smothering environment. It even found a sort of twisted pride in being kept like a pet by the High Elder. Because, if the High Elder kept him close, it meant no tragedy could touch him again, didn’t it? Yingxing shook his head in annoyance. Yes, he was glad to be alive. He was also proud of everything he had achieved on his own. If it hadn’t been for Dan Feng’s intervention, he’d still be an artisan, but he’d still be the best artisan on the Luofu, the master smith whose creations surpassed even those of long-lived species. It was not a legacy to sneer at. It was far more than he had ever expected to achieve. Despite the masterpiece he had created for Dan Feng, it was not Cloud-Piercer that had earned him the High Elder’s regard, it was… Yingxing wasn’t even sure what it was. His looks, certainly, but also his own hubris. Arrogance had made him talk back to the High Elder, something nobody had ever dared to do. And instead of earning him the noose, it had earned him Dan Feng’s devotion. So many people would give their left hand or even their first born to bask in Dan Feng’s light. For all intents and purposes, he was beloved of the Luofu people no matter the species. Respected not only for his martial prowess and impressive lineage, he was also well-regarded for his leadership skills and his ability to remain calm as well as poised in any situation. Before that… mess had started, Yingxing had also been taken in by his magnetic charm. It was why he’d been honoured to craft that lance for the Higher Elder, why he’d poured every ounce of his knowledge and skills into crafting the perfect weapon. He’d been proud to be chosen as Yínyuè-jūn’s official smith, to be made master of his guild. Dan Feng’s patronage had come with many advantages, one of them being a nearly endless string of patrons wanting to commission him. Now, with hindsight, Yingxing wasn’t certain he’d accept the High Elder’s commission if he could do it all over again. Yes, it had brought him fame and the widespread recognition of his talent, but it had also brought him little more than disaster on a more personal level. Dan Feng’s obsession for him had nothing to do with his craftsmanship. In fact, if Yingxing were a betting man, he’d bet that his skills as a craftsman were the least of the things Dan Feng enjoyed about him. It makes your hands too rough, Dan Feng said. It makes you stink of smoke and hot steel. It tires you out. It takes too much of your time. Yingxing hadn’t been quite honest earlier with Jing Yuan, when he’d told the boy the reason why he no longer did any serious smithing. It wasn’t only because he was getting on in age and that his strength wasn’t what it used to be. It was because smithing took too much of his time, of his attention, and of his focus. All of which should be solely on Dan Feng. And so Yínyuè-jūn had put his foot down, and barred Yingxing from more serious projects, allowing him to work only on the finishing touches of newly forged weapons. Idly, Yingxing wondered at the kind of face Jing Yuan would make should he ever learn the truth. The boy worshipped Dan Feng. Like many others, he knew only of the public persona Yínyuè-jūn put on, the cool, collected appearance that made him look slightly haughty and unapproachable. It had probably never crossed Jing Yuan’s mind that there might be more than meets the eye. Yet again, the boy was just that, a boy. Too untried and young to know the depth of depravity any living soul could attain. For all that Jing Yuan was a nuisance, an annoying little pest at times, Yingxing wished he never got to learn about the darker sides of humanity. The tread of footsteps pulled Yingxing from his reverie. He cocked his head to listen to the patter of soft-soled shoes outside his door. He sighed when a gaggle of serving women entered, carrying bolts of fabric and other accoutrements for his perusal. They were the same servants Dan Feng always sent to him whenever he expected Yingxing to make a public appearance. The women would take out his clothes, help him dress, comb his hair, make him presentable, as if Dan Feng feared Yingxing would shame him by showing up dressed in his sweaty artisan guild garb. Whatever the servants thought of this weird arrangement, they hid it behind perfectly bland expressions. After years of this, it was a dance they had all come to know by heart. Yingxing knew better than to protest; it wasn’t these women’s fault and complaining to them would achieve nothing. So he allowed them to divest him of his day clothes, to scrub his skin, and wash his hair until the white strands glimmered like fresh snow. Somehow, between getting into the bath and then getting out, full night had fallen. Oil lamps had been lit, casting a gentle golden glow on everything. Yingxing sat on a low stool while one of the women ran a comb through his long hair. Her fingers were gentle and her movements precise. Though not one enjoying physical contact, the rhythmic movements of the comb gliding through the wet tresses nonetheless soothed him. If it hadn’t been for the upcoming banquet and the anguish it stoked in him, Yingxing felt quite certain he might have fallen asleep sitting there. As it stood, he sat stiffly, back throbbing dully after a day spent hunched over his worktable, and dreading the hours to come. “Which hair stick would you like tonight?” the woman asked. “Whichever,” he replied. He didn’t care. Every bloody hair ornament he possessed had been gifted by Dan Feng, who expected to see him wear at least one whenever they were together. What made the whole thing humiliating rather than merely annoying was that Dan Feng also expected him to wear his hair in a certain knot that would mark him as a married woman. It always caused endless tittering whenever Yingxing showed up with that hairdo, especially for those who had no idea who he was. The servant expertly tugged and lifted Yingxing’s hair into a knot at the back of his head. She inserted one of the sticks through the elaborate bun, then slid her fingers through the tresses spilling down to the small of his back. “There you go, Yingxing-gōngzǐ,” she said, taking a step back. She bowed slightly, the silk of her garments rustling softly. “Will you be needing help dressing?” “No, it’s fine. Thanks, you may go.” She and the other women departed, closing the door behind them with barely a sound. Once alone, Yingxing tentatively touched his knotted hair. His fingers itched to tear off the hair stick and undo the serving woman’s work. It made him sick to his stomach to consider what this made him look like in front of people. Men wearing such hairdos weren’t unheard of, but they were usually a certain type of men, usually the kind paid hourly for their company at night. By allowing his hair to be pulled into this fashion, Yingxing was basically advertising that he was Dan Feng’s lover. And nobody would ever dare make a comment in fear of rising Dan Feng’s ire. Yingxing remained seated there for a while, dark thoughts brewing as the hour of the banquet approached. He wondered if he could plead a sickness not to attend, or maybe say that he was too tired for such entertainment. It would mean Dan Feng sending one of his doctors to treat him, but surely this would be better than being paraded around like a common concubine. On the other hand, if Yingxing pleaded fatigue from his work day, this might be the last straw of Dan Feng allowing him to continue being a craftsman. If Yingxing could no longer attend him because of his job, it would truly prove to Dan Feng that he was getting too old. No, best to attend the banquet. In the end, though it would mean a few uncomfortable hours, at least Yingxing’s work wouldn’t be put in jeopardy. So he dressed, glad that at least the cut of the clothes befitted a man of his station. The expensive silk made him appear like a nobleman despite his very ordinary birth, yet another thing that people held against him. More than once, he’d heard the word upstarthissed behind his back, but he didn’t really care. Being an upstart was still better than being a concubine or someone’s kept man, after all. Half an hour later, Yingxing left his residence to cross the large courtyard back towards Dan Feng’s own abode. Already, he could hear the distant notes of the solemn yayue music, with bronze bells, stone chimes, and slow flutes. Guests were arriving, the clatter of their sandals against the stones of the pathways sometimes overtaking the music. Cloud Knights stood at regular intervals, looking serious and grim with their lances at the ready. Yingxing hung back for a while, dragging his feet in the garden. He didn’t want to arrive too soon and be left to have to make small talk. He also knew that, if he made a late entrance, people were more likely to notice him. He had to gauge his timing just right so he could make his way to his spot at the banquet table and hope nobody engaged him in conversation. He made a slow circuit of the garden, taking in the gorgeous flowers shining in dim muted colours under the gentle light of paper lanterns. There were a few people strolling about, mostly couples arm in arm, giggling and whispering in low tones. He ignored them until he sensed it was time to go in. After one last lingering look in the direction of his home, Yingxing joined the throng of men and women being ushered into Dan Feng’s immense reception hall. Already the place was crowded with the elite of the Luofu. Yingxing knew most of them by sight and quite a handful by their name. The air was redolent with the scent of alcohol and laughter rang to the rafters. Keeping close to the wall, Yingxing traversed the hall towards the high table where a spot had been arranged for him. Dan Feng always kept him close at the high table, usually a few places down from him. Tonight however, Yingxing saw with dawning horror that he would be sitting right beside Dan Feng, a place of high honour that should have gone to a general or someone more deserving. This blatant favouritism would have the Luofu in an ecstasy of gossip in the morning. Maybe he should really plead a headache or something else to be excused from the banquet – “Yingxing-gēge! You’re here, finally!” Yingxing looked up to find Jing Yuan smiling at him from the other side of the table. The boy wore the uniform of a trainee Cloud Knight and had his usually messy hair pulled up in a ponytail. There was a gaggle of other trainees at a table further away, all of who looked very excited to be here tonight. “You shouldn’t be here,” Yingxing said with a sigh. He approached the boy and grabbed him by the back of his tunic. “You need to stay with your master. It’s not polite.” Jing Yuan huffed out a long-suffering whine. “But we’ve been sitting there forever, it’s boring! I just thought I’d say hi when I saw you.” “Well, you did, and now, you need to return to your table. Don’t let Yínyuè-jūn catch you here. I doubt he’d be impressed by how badly behaved you are.” A pout. “I’m not badly behaved.” Jing Yuan twisted out of Yingxing’s hold and rested his fists on his hips. “What about you? Why were you lurking at the high table?” Yingxing rubbed his forehead in aggravation. “I was invited to sit there. I –” Jing Yuan cut him off by saying: “Wait, Yingxing-gēge, why do you have your hair like that? Isn’t that…” He trailed off, eyes growing huge. “gēge, are you married?” Crap, this was getting from bad to worse. Jing Yuan didn’t know enough to keep his voice down, so a few people were turning and glancing in their direction. If the Cloud Knight trainee master caught wind of what was happening, Jing Yuan would be in serious trouble. The Knights valued discipline and correctness over anything else. One of their trainees making a spectacle of himself at a banquet hosted by Yínyuè-jūn wouldn’t fly. Groaning in annoyance, Yingxing grasped Jing Yuan’s arm and hauled him out of the room through a side door. Here, servants were coming and going, carrying platters of food for the feast later. They gave Yingxing a wide berth, keeping their eyes down. “Jing Yuan, you need to return to the table with the other trainees,” Yingxing said, striving to keep his voice level. “You know you cannot breach etiquette this wantonly. We’ve talked about this before. Cloud Knight trainees aren’t usually invited to banquets like this one. It’s an honour for you and your friends. You cannot ruin everything with your impetuousness. Yes, banquets can be long-winded tedious affairs, but you need to control yourself.” But the expression on Jing Yuan’s face stopped Yingxing’s tirade. He’d thought the boy would look petulant at being given a talking to. Instead, his features were arranged in such an unusual cast that it took Yingxing a second to read them. Jing Yuan looked hurt. Immediately, Yingxing felt like an asshole. What was he doing, berating this kid like he had any right to? Maybe he was being too harsh. Surely one young trainee being bold wasn’t so bad, was it? Jing Yuan hadn’t done anything wrong, per se. Before he had time to apologise, a sudden hush fell over the corridor. The clatter of footsteps and of cutlery stopped so abruptly that Yingxing looked up sharply, tensing, expecting to find that some enemy had infiltrated the High Elder’s residence. Instead, his eyes alighted on Yínyuè-jūn himself standing there, arms crossed his chest, one eyebrow slightly raised in question. All the servants dropped to their knees. Yingxing grabbed Jing Yuan by the back of the neck to force him into a bow. “Yínyuè-jūn,” he greeted, bowing too. His heart hammered in his chest. “I didn’t expect to find you here in the servants’ corridor.” “I didn’t expect to find you here either,” Dan Feng commented, sounding slightly amused. “You don’t have to bow to me when we aren’t in public, A-Xing.” Yingxing straightened, but he kept his hand on the back of Jing Yuan’s neck. The boy had tensed at the casual way Dan Feng addressed him. “I was talking to this young Cloud Knight trainee,” he explained. “The wait is interminable for youngsters, I’m afraid.” Dan Feng’s shiny green eyes alighted on Jing Yuan, whom Yingxing finally allowed to straighten. “Ah, yes, Jing Yuan,” he said, much to the surprise of the other two. “I heard a lot about you. You’re rumoured to be the best of your class.” Jing Yuan’s face turned bright red in pleasure at being addressed by name by Yínyuè-jūn. He squirmed on his feet, probably unsure how to answer the compliment. He gave a low, respectful bow before saying excitedly: “T-thank you, Yínyuè-jūn! I-it’s an honour!” Dan Feng could be so charming, so warm, Yingxing pondered as he watched the two interact. He couldn’t blame Jing Yuan for being taken in, especially not given who Dan Feng was. It made Yingxing wonder how people never saw past the man’s façade. Could they not see his calculating gaze? The haughty tilt of his chin? The distant way he spoke? Or was Yingxing able to glimpse it all because he'd been seen beyond the public mask like so few others had? As it stood, he remained quiet while Jing Yuan spluttered in answer to whatever Dan Feng said. It was so odd, seeing the normally confident boy blushing and stuttering. Finally, he bowed deeply and returned to the banquet hall without needing further prompting. With him gone, Yingxing once more became acutely aware of the servants who hadn’t straightened from their bows yet. They all remained there, either on their knees on the floor or in a bow depending on their ranks, waiting to be allowed to return to work. “You seem awfully fond of this trainee,” Dan Feng commented coolly. He crossed his arms over his chest, the long sleeves of his garments draping down the length of his body. Yingxing resented the tone of voice. Dan Feng sounded accusatory, like Yingxing had fraternised with the enemy rather than simply being on friendly terms with a young trainee. Since it hadn’t been a direct question, instead of answering the comment, he said: “We should go and let the servants go on with their business. Your guests might grow impatient with your continued absence too, Yínyuè-jūn.” Dan Feng cocked his head towards the doors leading to the reception hall. Though Yingxing heard nothing, he was sure that Dan Feng, with his enhanced senses, could either feel or hear the heartbeat of every living being in the other room. “Very well, let us go through, then,” Dan Feng said with a nod. He extended a hand towards Yingxing, who recoiled slightly. “I’m not going through with you. There’s enough talk about me as is.” But the hand didn’t retract. Yingxing stared at it, at the rough palm and strong, slim fingers extended towards him gracefully. That mere gesture had such imperiousness behind it that he found himself grabbing the hand despite his best intentions. He hated himself for it the second their skins touched. A shiver crawled up his forearm. Yingxing became suddenly hyper aware of the servants still making their obeisance. Though they had their heads bowed, he feared a few of them might still see what was happening. Before he had time to step away, Dan Feng tightened his hold on his wrist and tugged him closer. Yingxing took a step forward until he was close enough to feel Dan Feng’s scant body warmth. Their sleeves brushed in a rustle of silk. “Stop being so contrary,” Dan Feng told him. “Who cares what these people think?” “I do,” Yingxing found himself hissing. His jaw worked as he did his best to keep his annoyance under control. He couldn’t let it show, or Dan Feng would nettle him about it endlessly. “And you should care too. You’re supposed to set an example, are you not?” “They don’t understand what we have, A-Xing.” But we have nothing, Yingxing desperately wanted to retort. They were not a couple, they were not each other’s beloved. They didn’t share some great romance like those pictured in the romantic epics the court ladies were so fond of. Yingxing didn’t like Dan Feng, didn’t want to be with him or be stuck in his long, long shadow. He just wanted to do his work and be left alone. But Dan Feng didn’t care about what he wanted. Despite knowing very well what it would do to Yingxing’s reputation, he nonetheless tugged him through the door and back into the reception hall. Fighting it would cause even more of a stir, so Yingxing could only grit his teeth and hold his head high to uphold what little pride he had left. Though silence didn’t quite fall on the reception hall, there was nonetheless a lull in the conversation as people noticed Dan Feng’s arrival with Yingxing at his side. Yingxing noted a few raised eyebrows, some widening eyes, hands brought to mouth to hide surprise or a muttered comment. Someone actually coughed. In the brief hush, Yingxing became very aware of Dan Feng at his side. He could feel the coolness of his palm, the brush of fabric of his fine silk sleeve, the sound of his footsteps. Yingxing didn’t dare glance sideways to get a glimpse of his expression. No doubt he looked as serene as he always did, unaware or uncaring of what this public scrutiny was doing to Yingxing. They made their way to their assigned spots at the high table. There, them sitting side by side once again raised a few eyebrows. Those seated at the table around them exchanged glances, though nobody was bold enough to comment. The back of Yingxing’s neck burned with embarrassment. He kept his eyes downcast, pretending to stare at the empty glass in front of him. He longed for some alcohol, anything to ease the tension coursing through his body. Mercifully, not long after their arrival, food was brought in on trays by many servants. People stopped staring to focus on their meals as the hall filled with the scents of spices and fish and huangjiu, an alcohol made of fermented millet. Yingxing immediately pounced on the huangjiu the second it was poured into his cup. He downed it quickly, hoping it would work its magic soon and muffle the cloud of misery surrounding him. As if nothing weird had happened, Dan Feng conversed quietly with their tablemates. His voice was low and measured, always calm, with little inflection. He had a melodious voice, Yingxing had noticed a long time ago, the kind that would soothe and lull easily. He’d been taken by it in their first years of acquaintanceship, though nowadays Yingxing had come to dislike it. He drank a second cup of huangjiu. The meal in front of him didn’t interest him much. He was too tired to be hungry. He could feel it deep into his bones, that deep-seated fatigue that had been plaguing him for a long time. It pulled at his muscles, made his movements slow. He saw how swollen his knuckles were as he wrapped his fingers around his cup. “You should eat,” Dan Feng murmured, leaning closer to him. He held his fan up to hide his mouth from the guests in case anyone might try to read his lips. “You’re getting too thin. If this is not to your liking, I can send for something else.” A jolt ran through Yingxing at the words. He shook his head – having Dan Feng send to the kitchens for a different meal would attract way too much attention. He had no doubt that the servants were already eagerly gossiping about the scene they had witnessed earlier in the corridor. Adding to Dan Feng and him sitting side by side at the high table, only the most dim-witted of persons would fail to guess what was happening between them. He picked up his chopsticks and started eating without appetite. Satisfied, Dan Feng gave a nod, and Yingxing realised that he’d been played once more. By threatening to send for a different meal, Dan Feng had known Yingxing would eat. What a bastard. It didn’t help that, somewhere deep inside Yingxing’s soul, a kernel of appreciation vibrated at the care. Sure, Dan Feng’s affections were misplaced and unwanted, but he did care. It was something Yingxing had longed for all of his life; for someone to care for him, to want him to be comfortable and strong and healthy, to be safe. He supposed it came from growing up without parents. Everyone at the artisan guild had been nice to him, but they hadn’t been his parents. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He drank a third glass of huangjiu. Around him, the air grew warm and heavy. The guests talked loudly and laughed as alcohol flowed freely. Most inhibitions were slowly being eroded, politeness and propriety being shoved to the side in favour of fun. It always baffled Yingxing how those normally stuffy people could let loose as soon as they had drunk a little. He supposed he wasn’t much better than them; the alcohol in his veins made it easier to tolerate Dan Feng’s presence beside him, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care much about the scaly dragon tail wrapped loosely around his waist. Yingxing stared down at it through a slightly blurry haze. The blue scales shimmered in the golden light of the oil lanterns. Through the layers of his clothes, he could feel their coolness. The muscles of the tail were lean and supple, strong enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs should Dan Feng desire it so. He’d done it in the past when Yingxing displeased him, squeezing him warningly, just enough to have Yingxing cough and to leave a belt of bluish bruises in the morning. Right now however, the tail was little more than a loose circle around his waist. Nobody from the rest of the hall could see it, but the guests seated at the high table could. More fuel for the rumour mill, Yingxing thought distractedly. The pleasant buzz humming in his head made it difficult for him to care much right now. After all, given his hairdo, he was practically broadcasting that he was Dan Feng’s concubine; what was a bit of public display of affection after that? Distantly, he wondered what the other Vidyadharas would think of this. They were a proud people, and Yingxing couldn’t imagine they’d be very approving of one of theirs – their High Elder to boot – canoodling with a short-lived man. He focused on the meal, until Dan Feng got up to make a speech. The hall quieted. A reverent hush fell over the onlookers as everyone turned to look at him. Yingxing could see he didn’t really like the attention; his eyes were crinkled at the corners and his shoulders were tense with discomfort. To the casual observer however, he looked cool and at ease, regal in his fine silk robes with his lush black hair framing his handsome face. As usual, his speech was short and to the point. He talked about the recent battles, about the constant struggle the Luofu faced regarding the Abundance. He wasn’t exactly rousing, but by then, people were inebriated enough to be stirred by his words. His magnetism shone through in moments like these. Every eye was turned upon him. One could have heard a pin drop with how quiet the hall had gone. Yingxing happened to look towards the low table where the gaggle of Cloud Knight trainees sat. All of them, without exception, were watching intently, open-mouthed in wonder while Dan Feng talked. Even Jing Yuan listened with rapt attention, cheeks red with excitement. Yingxing didn’t really listen – he’d heard Dan Feng prepare the speech and rehearse it over the past few days. He probably would have been able to recite it word for word if he’d been pressed to. Instead, he just allowed his eyelids to droop while he savoured his drink. It tasted slightly sweet and, though he preferred mijiu, he drank the huangjiu down to the last drop. The sweetness lingered on his tongue as the alcohol warmed his bones and loosened his muscles. He finally relaxed. The noises of the banquet faded to the background and he barely registered the light applause of the gathered people after Dan Feng finished his speech. Like the others, he raised his cup in a toast to the courageous Cloud Knights who had fought and lost their lives in the recent struggles. Dan Feng settled back beside him. A small space of a couple of hand-spans separated their knees under the table. Yingxing could almost feel the tension seeping out of Dan Feng now that the part of the festivities he detested the most was over with. With the speech behind him, he could focus on simply sitting and looking stern and impressive for his guests, while they played drinking games or listened to the music while chatting amongst themselves. Soon, Yingxing knew, the hall would turn into a slightly more refined bar, where everybody got roaring drunk. Yingxing opened his eyes to check on the trainees. Their master had left them to mingle with the rest of the guests. Bored after spending so long seating quietly, some of the young knights had shuffled from their assigned spaces. Yingxing spotted one of them subtly hurrying from talking to a servant, hiding something beneath her cloak that appeared ewer-shaped. Ah, so the kids were going to partake in the huangjiu too it seemed. “Should we allow the lads to drink?” Yingxing asked, leaning towards Dan Feng to speak in a low tone. In his drunken state, he had to grasp the edge of the table to avoid tipping into Dan Feng’s lap as he leaned closer. Dan Feng raised an eyebrow. “Nursing a sore head on the morrow will teach them a lesson. I hope their master will tan their hide for losing control.” “Humph, come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Didn’t you drink when you were their age?” “In moderation, yes, I suppose.” Dan Feng turned the full weight of his attention on Yingxing. His iridescent green eyes glimmered. “That young trainee, Jing Yuan, who is he to you?” The query didn’t quite surprise Yingxing. He’d known, the second Dan Feng had spotted him with Jing Yuan, that he would be asked this question. Dan Feng was a little jealous, a little possessive, and he never failed to interrogate Yingxing the second he spotted him talking to a man, be they a coworker or merely a passerby. Jing Yuan might appear young, he was still older than Yingxing and certainly no longer a child. Of course Dan Feng would wonder about him. Yingxing found the whole thing preposterous. He scoffed, unable to hide his derision. “He’s simply a trainee for whose squad I made a few weapons. Their training ground is on the field beside my workshop. We therefore cross paths once in a while. He’s fascinated by the forge and the process of crafting weapons. I see no harm in educating the young knights in how the weapons they’re going to wield are forged. Do you see any harm in this, Yínyuè-jūn?” he challenged. A spark glimmered in Dan Feng’s eye, a twinkle of good humour that reminded Yingxing of better days, back when they’d been friends rather than whatever they had become. Dan Feng’s mouth quirked up at the corner, exposing the tip of one sharp fang. “None, A-Xing, of course. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice how that boy’s – Jing Yuan – eyes have barely left you since we entered the hall.” “Nonsense.” Yingxing waved his hand in dismissal. “If anything, it’s you that the lad has been staring at. He’s quite starstruck when it comes to Yínyuè-jūn.” “Hmm.” Someone from their table called Dan Feng’s name, and Yingxing was spared further interrogation. He sipped his fourth – or was it fifth? – glass of huangjiu. Whatever remained of the meal was being cleared away by quiet servants. The level of noise rose steadily in the hall. Bursts of laughter could be heard from every corner. Normally stoic Cloud Knights commanders allowed themselves to relax while nobles of every faction mingled easily for once. Whatever animosity normally tied these people had dissipated for the evening. The next course of osmanthus jelly, honeyed fruits, and nian gao was brought out. The sickly sweet scent of osmanthus flowers, syrup, dates, and brown sugar filled Yingxing’s nose as lacquered trays were placed on their table. Tea and warm rice wine were brought alongside those. Dan Feng, turning his back on whoever he’d been talking to, picked up one of the small porcelain plates set on the tray. He put it in front of Yingxing. “Plums,” he said, “your favourite.” Before Yingxing had time to comment, Dan Feng used his own chopsticks to pluck a piece of candied plum and brought it to Yingxing’s lips. The gesture was so smooth, so natural, that anyone watching would easily guess that this was not their first time going through this dance. It didn’t help that, despite the flush of embarrassment warming the back of Yingxing’s neck, he nonetheless opened his mouth to eat the piece of fruit. Dan Feng stared at his lips as he chewed. “Thanks,” Yingxing mumbled. He did love candied fruits, but the sweetness of the morsel stuck in his throat. He didn’t dare peek at the rest of the guests in fear of the way they might be staring at him. Mercifully, Dan Feng didn’t feed him any more. He put his chopsticks down to pluck a flaky almond pastry from the tray set in front of him. After that, everything started to grate on Yingxing’s nerves. The music seemed too loud, the chatter too high-pitched. His head ached from all the alcohol he’d consumed. He drank tea instead, hoping it would help. He longed for his bed, for quiet, for darkness to engulf him. He longed to be alone, but Dan Feng had wrapped his tail around his waist again and Yingxing knew there would be little sleep for him tonight. He could almost smell Dan Feng’s arousal, the animal musk that hung about him like a pall. The smell got to Yingxing’s head in ways that didn’t seem possible, coating the inside of his nose and his throat. Not long after, Dan Feng got to his feet in a rustle of silk. Everyone quietened. The musicians stopped playing. The servants paused in picking up the remnants of the feast. “I’ll be retiring,” Dan Feng declared. He gestured to his guests. “Feel free to continue celebrating. Good night.” A flick of his tail against Yingxing’s arm was enough to tell him he had to follow. He wished he’d been given a few minutes, just so his departure didn’t coincide with Dan Feng’s. But then, what was the point? Everybody and their mother now had to know Yingxing shared Dan Feng’s bed. They’d been broadcasting it for most of the evening. There seemed to be little point in pretending otherwise. With a sigh, Yingxing got up unsteadily. The room blurred gently around the edges. He blinked and made an effort to concentrate on his footsteps. One foot in front of the other, the mechanical gesture demanding a bit more concentration with the way alcohol dumbed down his brain. The second they were out of the hall, Dan Feng wrapped an arm around his waist. “You’re tipsy,” he admonished not unkindly. “Lean on me.” Leaning on Dan Feng was easy – he was shorter than Yingxing, just the right height and strong enough to make sure that Yingxing didn’t fall. Often, he’d even carried Yingxing to bed when he was too drunk to stand on his own two feet, making the gesture look effortless. Through his clothing, Yingxing could feel Dan Feng’s palm resting flat against his waist, his thumb rubbing small circles on the fabric. As they walked down lamp-lit corridors, servants scurried out of their way with deferential bows. Nobody interrupted them. Soon, they exited the stuffy building. The cool night air helped Yingxing sober up a little. He took in a deep breath of the incense-scented wind as it caressed his hot cheeks and played like mischievous fingers through his hair. The paths they followed back to Yingxing’s house were quiet and shrouded in deep shadows. Through the shrubbery, they could hear the occasional giggles of couples. A few night birds sang and, in the distance, the susurration of waves acted as a background to the nearer soundscape of the city. Overhead, the clear sky stretched seemingly to infinity. Hundreds of stars dotted the blackness like jewels dropped on dark velvet. The Ambrosial Arbor loomed above them all like the totem of some forgotten god. Yingxing allowed Dan Feng to guide him at a slow pace. By then Yingxing had sobered enough that he could have walked on his own easily. Despite that, he found some strange, sick comfort in the way their bodies were pressed together. A part of himself hated himself for enjoying Dan Feng’s proximity. Day in and day out, he complained about being turned into Dan Feng’s concubine, being paraded and exposed as such for all of the Luofu to gawk at. Yet, here in the deep of night, he found reassurance in it. In belonging, maybe. It was so unlike himself, who had always been fiercely independent. What kind of sorcery did Dan Feng possess to keep Yingxing in his thrall? The second they reached Yingxing’s abode, Dan Feng was on him. He pushed him through the front door, kicking it shut with a resounding boom. Then, his lips were on Yingxing’s, biting and demanding and unyielding. He shoved Yingxing against the nearest wall, the force of the impact sending some object clattering to the floor in the darkness. Yingxing’s head swam as he opened his mouth to the kiss. His hands grasped desperately at Dan Feng’s clothes, feeling the crisp fabric crease under his questing fingers. Dan Feng’s fingernails dug into his jaw to keep his head still while he plundered Yingxing’s mouth. His back pressed against the wall, Yingxing had nowhere to retreat, no way of turning away from the demanding kiss. And the trouble was; he didn’t want to pull away. His fingers slithered through Dan Feng’s soft black hair, grasping fistfuls of the strands to pull him closer. Dan Feng’s fangs nipped Yingxing’s bottom lip in an almost playful manner while he fitted his knee snugly between Yingxing’s thighs. He pressed upward until a bolt of desire coursed up Yingxing’s spine, making him arch his back. “Bedroom,” Yingxing managed to mumble when Dan Feng turned his attention to his neck. His teeth grazed the skin there, over familiar spots that he knew never left Yingxing unstirred. Already, Yingxing’s mind spun in useless circles. “Bedroom,” he grumbled again when Dan Feng gave no indication that he’d heard. Unhurriedly, Dan Feng left light kisses down Yingxing’s throat while his hands wandered, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He grabbed Yingxing’s chest, squeezing nearly to the point of pain, before moving on, his fingers inching lower at an agonizingly slow pace. When they slipped into the waistband of his trousers, Yingxing grabbed one of Dan Feng’s horns and tilted his head away from his throat. “Enough,” he rasped. “Bedroom.” In the darkness of the hallway, Dan Feng’s luminescent eyes glowed like two greenish lanterns. Their pupils had turned to narrow slits. His lips were pulled back to expose his fangs. For half a second, Yingxing feared that Dan Feng would fight him on this. When he got this high on lust, he became even more unpredictable than usual. Old animal instincts would seize him, making him forget all basic human decency. He did smell of something primal right now, a deep musk that filled the corridor and made Yingxing woozy. It made him want to please Dan Feng, to submit to him. It made him want Dan Feng in more than a carnal way. But Yingxing was more human than animal, and he found he could fight the need somewhat. At least he was clear-minded enough to know he didn’t want to be fucked against a wall in the front corridor of his home, where anybody might walk in on them. “Bedroom,” he said again, yanking on Dan Feng’s horn. Dan Feng straightened. Then, as if it had been his idea all along, he grabbed Yingxing by the upper arm and marched him through the house all the way to the bedroom at the back. No lantern had been lit, but he moved as if he could see in the dark, easily avoiding any obstacle in his way. Yingxing had no other choice but to follow, gritting his teeth at the pain of those sharp fingernails digging into his flesh. Once in the bedroom, Dan Feng kissed him again. It was all teeth and tongue, a brutal conquest. Yingxing could barely catch his breath, could only allow the ravishment of his mouth. Dan Feng wasted no time in disrobing him either. His fingers made quick work of Yingxing’s laces and buckles and ties. In the blink of an eye, Yingxing found himself in his underrobe, the night air chilly against the bare skin of his legs and forearms. Despite his best efforts, a low groan escaped him when Dan Feng’s fangs grazed at his collar bones, then lower, his tongue soothing any pinprick of pain. Yingxing didn’t protest when Dan Feng pushed him atop the bed. The sturdy wooden frame creaked under his weight in a familiar noise. Under him, the cotton sheets felt cool and welcoming. He watched as Dan Feng quickly disrobed himself, shedding layers after layers of silk and cotton garments while his eyes remained fixed on Yingxing. His naked skin seemed to glow in the silvery light of the moon pouring in through the unshuttered windows. As he stood there in the moonlight, shadows playing over his lean muscles, he truly looked like some otherworldly being. A pale greenish glow surrounded him like a halo, giving the impression that he was lit from within by a green flame. Yingxing shivered with something akin to primordial fear. What was he,a mere human, a short-lived man, doing here, in the company of this god-like creature? What right did he have to behold such a sight? He could tell by the angle of Dan Feng’s jaw, by his pupils narrowed to slits, that whatever humanity normally inhabiting him had been swallowed by his dragon counterpart. He was all Vidyadhara right now, all arrogant power. Slowly, Dan Feng got on the bed. He loomed over Yingxing, his black hair falling like a shroud around them, enclosing them in a cocoon where only the other existed. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Yingxing couldn’t read anything in Dan Feng’s eyes except for animal hunger. It thrilled as much as it terrified him. Goosebumps erupted all over his flesh that had nothing to do with the night air. With infinite care, Dan Feng traced the bow of Yingxing’s bottom lip with a pointy claw. He pressed down on it as if he wanted to inspect Yingxing’s teeth. Then, the claw followed the sharp angle of Yingxing’s cheek bone, gliding below his eye, up to his temple. “Such a pretty lilac,” Dan Feng murmured. “I’ve never seen eyes of this colour before.” His thumb brushed over Yingxing’s eyelashes, making his eyelid droop instinctively. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when those eyes close forever…” This talk of death in such an intimate moment sent a shiver running down Yingxing’s spine. It doused some of his enthusiasm, leaving him feeling exposed and cold and uncomfortable. He became aware of the pounding in his head and the roiling in his stomach from too much alcohol. He turned his head away from Dan Feng’s hand, pressing his cheek into the silk pillow instead. “Don’t talk like that. I hate it when you do.” Dan Feng seized his chin sharply and forced him to face him again. The movement elicited a twinge of pain in Yingxing’s neck. “But you’re a short-lived man,” Dan Feng reminded him uselessly. “Surely you contemplate your own demise once in a while. Isn’t it the prerogative of your species to ponder your own mortality?” Of course Yingxing thought about his own death. How could he not, when he was surrounded by creatures who would outlive him by centuries? Every uneven beat of his heart made him wonder if it meant the old ticker would give up on him. Every lingering headache made him wonder if a tiny vein hadn’t burst somewhere in his skull. Every shortness of breath, every discomfort in his guts, every cut that took forever to heal served to remind him that his time on the Luofu was finite. He swallowed. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “It’s fascinating. I wonder how it feels, knowing that your days are numbered.” “Long-lived species die too. They can die in battle. Their days are also numbered,” Yingxing reasoned, hoping logic would snap Dan Feng out of this weird contemplative mood. Dan Feng rested his hand on the left side of Yingxing’s chest, over his fast-beating heart. “If only you had the heart of a dragon… You could stay forever by my side.” Yingxing didn’t want to die. He had so much he wanted to accomplish yet, so many new smithing techniques to discover, so many new materials to test. The outside world was filled with other talented craftsmen from whom he could learn so much. But the thought of staying with Dan Feng forever terrified him. They’d known each other for more than a decade, been lovers for nearly as long. Over those ten-odd years, Yingxing had developed a healthy dose of wariness and, yes, fear, of the High Elder. His clinginess, his overbearingness, his possessiveness masked as protectiveness made Yingxing feel smothered rather than cherished. He wished they had stayed friends, back when they could bicker and argue good-naturedly without their arguments ending in a rough, painful fuck. Yingxing had liked Dan Feng, then. He’d respected him, admired him, had sought his praise and his advice. When Yínyuè-jūn had looked at him, it had made him feel as if nothing were impossible or out of reach if he strove hard enough to achieve it. Nowadays, all he felt whenever those luminescent eyes alighted on him was a sort of discomfort, a yearning to become invisible or insignificant. It made him wish that they had never met. It made him realise that living in obscurity mightn’t have been so bad after all. But Dan Feng had noticed him. He’d enjoyed their verbal sparring. He’d admired Yingxing’s pluck, his irreverence in the face of the mightiness of the Vidyadhara High Elder. While others might have taken umbrage at being talked to like an equal by a short-lived nobody, Dan Feng had relished the novelty of it. And Yingxing, like an idiot, had drunk up the praise and attention. Who wouldn’t, after all? Fool that he was, he’d gorged himself on Dan Feng’s regard for him until his arrogance made him believe that nothing bad could ever happen to him. He’d climbed so high. Welcoming Dan Feng’s carnal overtures, Yingxing had been all too happy to fall into bed with him. He had never expected, not in a million years, that Dan Feng’s lust for him would turn into this, into this twisted parody of affection. He had never expected that Dan Feng could hurt him either physically, mentally, or emotionally. Dan Feng didn’t expect a response. He was too high-strung to carry out a meaningful conversation, anyway. He shut Yingxing up with a kiss on the lips, once again shoving his tongue into his mouth. Yingxing groaned, unable to turn his head away with Dan Feng’s vice-like grasp on his jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, shivering, hating how his body responded positively to the touches. Dan Feng’s other hand busied itself under Yingxing’s underrobe, tracing the strong muscle of his thigh, then the jut of his hip bone, pushing the fabric ever higher until it bunched at his waist. Using his tail, Dan Feng seized one of Yingxing’s ankles to spread his legs further, allowing him to tuck himself closer. He bit hard on the side of Yingxing’s neck, making him jump at the sudden sharp pain. He yelped as he tried to jerk away to no avail. The bite would leave a mark too high for the collar of his uniform to hide, he knew. Stickiness dribbled from the wound that Dan Feng lapped at eagerly. His lips were now an obscene crimson. The small table beside the bed contained a few objects; Yingxing’s sandalwood hairbrush (a gift from Dan Feng), a bronze mirror (a gift from Dan Feng), a bronze incense burner, and a ceramic bottle of oil. Dan Feng grabbed the bottle with such viciousness that he sent crashing to the floor the bronze mirror. It cracked loudly, making Yingxing jump. His blood pounded hard in his ears. He stared while Dan Feng dribbled some of the oil on his fingers. His claws were in need of trimming, Yingxing noticed with a pang of unease. He forced himself to relax by staring up at the ceiling shrouded in shadows. Knowing what was to come didn’t make him feel much better. Dan Feng could be a generous lover, happy to focus on giving pleasure to his partner. He could also be a selfish lover, a downright mean one who cared for nothing but his own satisfaction. Yingxing sensed he was in the mood for the latter. The intrusion when it came made Yingxing’s breath catch in his throat. Dan Feng pushed two fingers into him with little care. His free hand grasped Yingxing’s thigh in a tight grip that would leave a bruise, while his tail remained firmly twined around Yingxing’s ankle. Yingxing felt pinned in place, unable to move and forced to take it. He grunted when Dan Feng curled his fingers to properly coat his insides with the slippery oil. There was a titbit of pleasure, a hint that it wouldn’t take much for this encounter to become more pleasant. But Dan Feng didn’t care. He had that look on his face that told Yingxing he wanted to hurthim; to punish him for being short-lived, and therefore having the temerity of depriving Dan Feng of his presence in the near future. It had become a familiar dance over the past couple of years. Sometimes, Yingxing could hardly believe that he used to be a willing participant in these encounters. Had he really preened under Dan Feng’s adoring gaze in this very bed? Had he really looked forward to this, to this unwavering attention and devotion? How he had adored watching Dan Feng undress, adored watching his eyes darken with lust. Dan Feng might not have been his first, he’d still been, for a while at least, Yingxing’s whole world. What they’d had, it had been so different from this. Dan Feng had never had to force himself upon him at the beginning. He’d never had to hold him down while he pushed his hard cock into his unwilling body. Yingxing had never had to grit his teeth to avoid uttering any sound of discomfort. There hadn’t been any kind of pain before, barely any discomfort, nothing like that searing agony threatening to split him into two. Yingxing desperately grasped the bedsheet, squeezing it in his fist as if it might help with the pain. His eyes burned. His chest felt tight. He turned his head until he could hide half of his face into the silk pillow (a gift from Dan Feng). As he thrust into him, Dan Feng kept biting at his neck, at his collar bones, at his shoulders, tugging on his underrobe to expose more skin to mark. At one point, he seized Yingxing by the hair to yank his head back, his vicious grip sending pinpricks of agony dancing on Yingxing’s scalp. His hairdo ruined, the hair stick fell to the floor beside the mirror with a clatter. There was no pleasure, not even a hint of it. From the recesses of his mind, Yingxing was happy about this fact. His body barely stirred and Dan Feng made no effort to fix that. He chased his own pleasure until he finally came with a low groan. He spilled hotly into Yingxing, who winced at the unpleasant feeling. Panting, Dan Feng pressed his sweaty face into the crook of Yingxing’s bruised neck. His breath was hot against Yingxing’s damp skin. He relaxed the grip of his tail slowly. Yingxing remained unmoving as he catalogued the different pains blooming throughout his body. Nothing hurt too much right now, which only meant that his mind had distanced itself from his physical form. Once reality asserted itself anew, he’d be in bloody agony. “I apologise, I was a little rough,” Dan Feng mumbled, his voice coming muffled. He didn’t sound apologetic. “You just have no idea of the hold you have upon me, A-xing. The things you do to me, I wonder if you might not be some kind of malevolent spirit who ensnared me.” The words might have sounded romantic if Yingxing hadn’t been in so much pain. He said nothing. Eventually, Dan Feng shook himself out of his lethargy. He pulled out his soft cock before getting up and off the bed. A crunching sound came from the floor, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Look at that, your mirror is broken.” He picked up one of the shards, holding it aloft between two clawed fingers. “What a shame. How are you going to look at your beautiful face from now on?” He tossed the shard uncaringly on the table. With measured movements, Yingxing pushed himself to a sitting position. He couldn’t abide lying on his back while Dan Feng towered over him. He pulled the tattered remnants of his underrobe closer to his body. The brush of the silk against his bruised skin made him hiss in discomfort. His hair fell into his face, sticking to his sweaty cheeks. Sitting hurt. His thighs were tacky with Dan Feng’s seed that had seeped out of him. “You’re awfully quiet,” Dan Feng remarked as he finished tying his tunic. “It isn’t like you not to have some sharp-tongued comment.” Yingxing didn’t ask why Dan Feng hurt him; he’d asked in the past and never got any satisfactory answer. He didn’t ask what he’d done wrong or when things had gone awry. He saw no point in asking because Dan Feng never really acknowledged what he did. To him, this kind of behaviour was the norm. Yingxing hadn’t quite worked out whether it was a Vidyadhara thing, a High Elder thing, a long-lived species thing, or just a Dan Feng thing. At the end of the day however, the why of the thing mattered little. Yingxing was trapped. He had nobody to talk to, no one who would want to listen. Yínyuè-jūn was revered throughout the Luofu, throughout all of the Xianzhou. Yingxing was a nobody, just some talented craftsman. Many would no doubt envy his position. “I’m really glad I don’t have the heart of a dragon,” Yingxing said, surprising himself. Dan Feng turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity. Yingxing met his eye unflinchingly. “I don’t want to die, Dan Feng. I want to continue my work here on the Luofu. But death is nonetheless better than an eternity by your side.” If the words bothered Dan Feng, it didn’t show in his demeanour. He shook his head the way a disappointed father would at a wayward son. “Don’t worry, Yingxing. I’ll find a way to keep you by my side. And if not mine, well, someone who comes after me.” He bent and deposited a kiss atop Yingxing’s head. “Sleep well, my love.” Long after Dan Feng had left, long after the sound of his retreating footsteps had faded into the velvety silence of night, Yingxing stared balefully at the door of his bedroom, hating Dan Feng. But mostly, hating himself for falling into his trap.