Chapter Text
When Chusheng first sees his soulmate mark, he laughs, thinking it is a cruel joke. 156? Is it a name? Because it certainly can’t be the years he has to wait to meet his destined love. No one lives this long, not when the pain in his empty stomach makes him nauseaous and weak to even stand. He is only 12, the dirt on the graves he dug for his parents hasn’t settled yet, his house and half of the city around it had been burned to ash and there are not enough rats to feed all the hungry orphans on the streets... Many will be dead before the first snow. Chusheng looks at the numbers on his wrist again and then at the overcast sky; whoever his soulmate is, if they are ever truly destined to meet, he will make sure they never know what real hunger feels like.
***
Lu Yao’s mark manifests the day he is born. He is sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms when his family gathers around, mortified. The mark is small and pitch-black, blotch of darkness on his tiny wrist like an ink spilled on the fresh snow. This mark, this blackness…it can only mean that A-Yao’s soulmate died before he took his first breath. They burn incense in the ancestral hall and pray the mark scars and disappears before A-Yao is old enough to recognize what it means.
It doesn’t.
He is almost eight, it is a warm July evening with long shadows and a lotus pond glistening in the silver light of a full moon. It is fifteenth day of the Ghost month, when a bridge between the realm of the Dead and the realm of the Living opens and allows ghosts to roam the earth. A-Yao doesn’t believe in ghosts, not really, but he believes in soulmates, and that if the soulmate’s bond is strong enough it can reach through the time and space, following the Red Thread of Fate. So he slips out of his room quietly, past the dining hall and the study and out into the yard. He’s read all the books on soulmates, ghosts, supernatural and superstitions he could only get his grabby hands on – and it still isn’t enough. Not enough to convince him to stop, not enough to let go of a person who died before he was even born. He wants his soulmate back, or at least a chance to ask them why, why did they leave him alone. Is he so unlovable? Is he not good enough? He goes to the back side of the house, away from the prying eyes, and burns three sticks of incense and paper money he got with his monthly allowance. He half-prays half-demands, three words only, “Stop. Being. Dead”. Tears sting and fall from his eyes as he receives no answer. When the last paper twirls and blackens, ambers flowing up into the air, he looks at the sky and angrily promises, “Wherever you are, when we meet- and we will, in this life or next, you will pay for all of my stuff. It is only fair.”
***
Chusheng doesn’t know what is happening. All around him is darkness, encompassing, enveloping, suffocating, but there is something else – someone else. A distant voice of a child, repeating three words like a prayer, stop being dead, stop being dead. He doesn’t know that voice, he’s never heard it before, but it tugs on something in his chest, and his heart suddenly starts beating again. Chusheng gasps for air and tries to open his eyes. He is still where his body was thrown – in the shallow grave of the executed, among the rotten corpses and bones of those dumped before him. The soil on top is crushing his lungs but he reaches forward, and up; it burns when it gets into his eyes and makes him choke but he keeps digging until he is out on top of the hill. The air is full of flies and the sickening stench of decomposing bodies that leaves a sweet aftertaste in his mouth; the earth is crawling with maggots, so he pushes himself up with the sheer power of will and stumbles away from it, shivering in disgust. A small creek nearby brings him relief; he gulps on cold water that soothes his parched throat, and then takes a good look at his own reflection. It’s still him, Qiao Chusheng, 28 years of age, just like the day he was hanged. No claws, no horns, no bruises or injuries either… and his neck is no longer broken.
He follows the sounds to the nearby village, half-expecting and half-wondering if he is truly a monster, and if the villagers will kill him on sight. He’s not going to stop them; he was hanged on a frosty December morning, but now? Now it is late June or July, the moon is high in the sky but the air is still heavy with the day’s heat. He enters the village but nothing happens- people just ignore him or rush him out of their way. Only a small girl stops to look at him for a moment before she offers him a half-bitten bun. It tastes strange in his mouth or, it doesn’t taste like anything at all, more of an empty blandness of unseasoned dough then a tasty meal – but he finishes it anyway.
It is two weeks later when his monster finally comes out to hunt. He is hauling some flour bags when he sees the girl – the one that fed him on the first night back- beaten by an imperial guard in an alley. He is by her side in an instant, grabbing the man by the neck, pulling him up from the ground and holding while he frantically kicks the air. “Go home, hurry.” She scrambles to her feet, trying to wipe off her tears but only making a mess on her dirty face. “Thank you, Da-ge.”
When she is gone, Chucheng turns his attention to the offender. He suddenly feels excited, alive, and hungry. It’s a different type of a hunger, more a thrill of a hunt, and he revels in it. The man is slammed into a wall, feet still off the ground, while Chusheng carefully observes him, listens to his frantic heartbeat and smells his fear. He can almost see the blood rushing through the man’s veins, red warmth so close, so alluring; something inside him growls. His face must’ve changed somehow, because the man suddenly looks terrified and tries to scream. Chusheng thinks, good, and smiles when he sinks his sharp teeth into the man’s neck.
When a lifeless body falls to the ground, Chusheng takes a minute to lick the last drops of blood from his lips and his fingers. He is satiated and full, and it feels good. He rips the head off the shoulders, making it looks like a freak accident, and disappears into the alleys, carrying his bags of flour like nothing has happened. He still doesn’t know how or why he has turned into what he is now, but one day he will. The monster inside him purrs, and Chusheng smiles again, because his existence has just become so much more interesting.
CHAPTER ONE
Inspector Qiao Chusheng watches a wisp of steam curl up and disappear from the dark glossy liquid in his porcelain cup. After a century and a half of wondering, he finally settles on calling himself a vampire, just like a character in that book. It is highly inaccurate, but he is tired of searching for answers. He is not a ghoul, strigoi, bhuta, alukha or any other type of nasty flesh-eating corpses he has ever heard of or crossed paths with. He wasn’t cursed or pregnant when he died; his spirit did not possess some unfortunate body to wreak vengeance on the living; he wasn’t sacrificed to a demon; he was murdered, yes, but so were the other 80 people in that trench and yet he was the only one who crawled back out.
He thought of being a jiangshi, the reanimated corpse of a person who died far away from home, whose family then hired a sorcerer to bring the body to be buried using dark magic, but … he had neither a family to care for him nor a home to return to. The first creature he meets resembling himself is a rowdy Spanish sailor back in Singapore. Just like Chusheng, he is inhumanely strong, fast, didn’t age, doesn’t get sick, has accelerated healing and a taste for human blood.
Chusheng winces at a memory of the tear-inducing smell of rum and sweat and cigar smoke filling the pub they ended up in. The sailor was dumb enough to get caught pigshit drunk and cursing at the Lord during the height of Spanish inquisition. He was rotting in jail awaiting execution when his accusers dragged an old witch into the dungeon; they didn’t care what torments or sweet lies they had to employ on her, they only cared about the result- to make the hag give up an elixir that granted humans immortality.
And so she did, and they tried it on him first, what a lucky break, and when he turned they rejoiced and drunk the stinking mix of witch’s blood and repugnant herbs themselves; but the witch laughed. She laughed when their skin started bulging and falling off in splotches exposing muscles underneath, when their bones broke and realigned into deformed shapes, when their eyes popped out of their sockets, pale and blood stricken, when their teeth protruded, cutting through lips and jaws, disfiguring their faces. She laughed even more when they completely lost control, when the Holy Crosses burned through their cloth and flesh so they had to rip them off their necks; when they ran loose through the monastery, driven mad by hunger, devouring their own brothers. She stopped laughing only when the first rays of sun lit up the hallways and the priests, or whatever was left of them, burst into flames and turned to ash. Then she staffed her pockets with all the silver she could find and winked the sailor a goodbye. Sorry, handsome. That is the last he’s seen of her.
When Chusheng tells the sailor his story, the man frowns,
“That’s some weird crap, man. You are so much like me, but so much not like me… ”
But a second later a heavy arm lands on Chusheng’s shoulder and the sailor’s belly starts rocking with laughter.
“But you know what? Who cares? May be there IS a reason why you ain’t dead. Maybe you have something – or someone – to be alive for. And I do wish with all my black and rotten heart one day you’ll find them. Let’s drink to that!”
Chusheng’s train of thought grinds to a halt when he hears Adou and Salim hurrying up the stairs.
“We’ve got the address.”
“Salim, start the car.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chusheng looks at already cold coffee. It is a nice thought, a hope that he is alive, or undead, because someone is waiting for him. But it’s been so long...and no one yet.
A ray of sunshine sneaks through the curtain, hits Chusheng in the eyes and he squints, smiling. Who knows, may be today is the day he finally meets them.
***
In retrospect, running from a bunch of policemen is not the brightest of Lu Yao’s ideas. In his defense though, he is slightly panicked. Just a little. You don’t wake up a man at the break of dawn and tell him before he had his cup of coffee that a bunch of constables are looking for him and expect him to behave like a proper gentleman. The resulting shenanigans earn Lu Yao a bloody nose and a good number of pushes and shoves from a pack of irritated men he just made run in circles on a very warm day.
He gets some quiet time in an interrogation room and uses it to rewind the events in his mind. It’s about the car, Lu Yao is certain of it since he doesn’t recall robbing or killing anyone recently, but what truly catches his interest is the inspector. The man is new on the job, it’s obvious by how he fidgets and fixes his uniform every other minute even though the thing fits his body like a glove. But he is also not a newbie, not a spoiled rich kid put into position of power by a doting parent. He is strong, agile, calculating, calm and his voice does not waver when he gives out orders. His use of force is too precise for him to be a simple transfer; the nose is one of the body’s most delicate features and a man with such a muscle mass could’ve easily broken it but instead all Lu Yao got was a light tap that made his eyes water. And may be shed a drop of blood or two. Three at the maximum. That alone points to either military or criminal background, and Lu Yao twitches in anticipation, waiting for the interrogation to begin. He has a strategy laid out in his mind, a whole list of jabs he plans to unleash on the inspector to see how far he can push, which by itself is very strange, because Lu Yao is a cautious person and such a game can turn dangerous, if not deadly. But something in that man, something in those dark eyes of his makes Lu Yao’s self control fly right out of the prison window.
His strategy falls apart and shatters in less than a minute, a new personal record. It’s not even the audacity with which inspector accuses him of murder, how dare he, it’s the immunity to all and every tactics Lu Yao employs to push his buttons. Lu Yao brags about his superb education, expecting the man huff in irritation, but inspector nods in appreciation instead and suggests that Lu Yao might be a better fit for his position. Lu Yao takes inspector’s past apart, guessing accurately that he is in fact, a gangster- but inspector just smiles in amusement. It’s unnerving, it’s invigorating, and Lu Yao is at a total loss of what to do.
A girl reporter is an unwelcomed distraction. She’s rude and surprisingly violent but when Lu Yao daringly deduces that she is a spoiled rich kid and also an idiot, inspector laughs and the sound makes Lu Yao’s heart flutter. He’d like to hear more of it. How absolutely weird.
There is also the smell. A very faint, barely noticeable smell that is driving Lu Yao nuts. Lu Yao has always been very sensitive to smells and he can name every single cheap cologne and soap on every policeman in the precinct, as well as how far away the morgue is and how many times a prisoner threw up in the cell next door before the floor was washed, but this smell… it’s not perfume. It envelops him, slowly seeps into his pores, settles down into his blood. He thinks it might be a hallucination, with lack of sleep and adrenaline rush and all… but as the time goes by it does not disappear. It is intoxicating and almost makes Lu Yao tipsy. Perhaps inspector hit him harder than he realized?
Inspector.
***
When Chusheng watches Lu Yao’s hastily retreating form he shakes his head; the flailing noodle is certainly not the killer but the act of running away makes Chusheng’s monster itch for a hunt. The suspect might be able to outpace the policemen on those long and slender legs of his, but he will never outrun Chusheng.
The chase is rather quick, just as Chusheng expects, he didn’t place his men on every escape route for nothing, and soon the man is brought before him. A bleeding nose is a small token of violence to satiate the monster inside but it is also a fair price to pay for protecting the man from being beaten by police on the way to the precinct. What does strike Chusheng as very odd is how bright the blue of the suspect’s robe is.
Mr. Lu Yao, the arrogant bastard, turns out to be a handful. Chusheng is fast to notice the obvious things like the doe eyes with long lashes, plump kissable lips, soft pale skin, thick hair he wants to run his fingers through, but also the quick wit and sharp intellect that proves to be a challenge. He is only three questions into interrogation when Lu Yao starts throwing his own provocative questions back. A murder charge throws him off his game a bit, and he suddenly starts bragging about his education. Chusheng chuckles to himself- if Lu Yao keeps up this shameless self-promotion, he won’t have a choice but to propose a courtship.
The man’s heartbeat is also too distracting. It’s not like the superhuman hearing does not allow Chusheng to hear everyone’s heartbeat at least within the precinct – it does, and it’s never been a problem since he simply tunes it out, but this man’s heartbeat is a little overwhelming. It is in the background, it echoes from the walls and ceiling, it’s in Chusheng’s ears, in his brain, even his bones can feel the rhythm. It’s so enthralling that Chusheng zones out and jumps in surprise when Adou hits the table with his baton.
And then he hears her. A walking headache, stomping down the stairs on those high heels of hers, clack clack clack.
He finds other undead, vampires, or blood clans as they call themselves in a second decade of his after-life. They share similar traits - all strong, fast and brutal, and every single one of them turned by being bitten. They all pretend to be noble, but most treat humans like slaves or cattle. That’s something Chusheng just cannot stand and so, he never gets accepted into any of the clans.
Being an unaffiliated vampire has its benefits and problems. You are not controlled by any master’s whims and free to do whatever you want, but when you enter a new territory, you have to present yourself to a residing power and ask for permission to use the feeding grounds. And they have a right to ask for any services they choose in return.
Mr. Bai proves to be reasonable. He’s been turned late in his years and retains most of his human traits and habits. His offer to Chusheng to be his right-hand man and take the inspectors office to secure power against the British is logical and well thought through. His aversion to opium trade is even more commendable. It would’ve been a rather good and fruitful partnership if not for his daughter. Bai Youning, young newly turned vampire with a total lack of self-control, is the apple of Mr. Bai’s eye and angel on his shoulder, a very mediocre tabloid journalist but also a murderer without remorse. Chusheng kills vampires like her without a second thought, but he is tired of endless fighting and he really likes Shanghai. So he decides to give the Bais a chance, which means tolerating Youning’s presence every so often.
She worms herself into the case and things immediately turn sour. Lu Yao correctly calls her a spoiled brat and idiot, and she launches at him with deadly gleam in her eyes. Chusheng is quick enough to make her back down but he knows it won’t be the last time.
And so decision is made, and he tricks Lu Yao into helping him with the case. Young man already has an alibi, but he doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.
An hour later, when Lu Yao oh so provocatively offers his pale wrists to Chusheng and tells him to arrest him, inspector has to bite his lip to stop himself from growling. The man has no idea that he is playing with fire. Chusheng knows that wanting Lu Yao is unwise, that he belongs in the shadows while Lu Yao belongs in the sunlight, and his monster whispering want and mine will only end in heartbreak, so he will not act on it. What he will do however, is stand between Lu Yao and the Bais. Youning has no regard for other people’s suffering and Old Bai does not care. Chusheng doesn’t want to start another war and wipe out another blood clan, but he has even less desire to see Lu Yao’s corpse sucked dry with throat ripped out while Mr. Bai just shrugs and tells his men to dispose of it, no punishment, no repercussion, because his daughter dearest is “still learning.”
Chusheng let it slide once, because the man was a peeping tom and a creep, but he will not let Bai Youning get away with it again. Not with Lu Yao. No matter how much she might want it.
Over her dead body.
***
Lu Yao makes his way down the stairs accompanied by cheers and applause. His eyes sting and he swallows hard, trying to keep it together. He knows he is not the most likeable person in the world, but this? He can never understand why is it so hard for people to just accept that yes, he is smarter than most of them, but he has his own faults too, that he is far from perfect, but can be a great ally and a loyal friend, if one would only ask. His eyes water when he walks outside and he swears to himself that it’s just the bright sun and not the insult; the box with his meager possessions wights nothing in his hands when he sees a blue car and the inspector. His temper flares for a second, why does the inspector keep bothering him still? As if the man and that blasted reporter of his haven’t done enough damage to the almost perfect life Lu Yao has so carefully built in Shanghai. Although, as it turns out, it wasn’t perfect at all.
“Mr. Lu, lost your job so soon?”
Lu Yao snaps, shoving the newspaper in inspectors face, “Your tabloid writing girlfriend called me a murderer! Mr Sassoon was so mad I was fired immediately.” He goes on a rant and even threatens Bai Youning which is really out of his style, but he just had enough of it all.
“Let me remind you, talk whatever you want, but don’t do anything. Or your body will end up on the bottom of the Hangpu River”.
The inspector’s voice is calm and even when he says it, and Lu Yao freezes for a moment. No, the threat itself is legitimate and he has no doubt that inspector can easily make it a reality, but something tells him… some tiny nagging voice inside his head whispers that the inspector is bluffing. Whatever… whoever this man is, for some stupid unexplainable reason Lu Yao knows he will never hurt him.
This pause apparently makes the inspector think he scared Lu Yao speechless, because a moment later a strong hand lands on Lu Yao’s and accidentally brushes over the soulmate scar, sending a shiver down Lu Yao’s spine.
“Help me handle cases. I’ll pay you a consultant’s fee.”
“Not interested.”
Lu Yao shrugs the hand off but the warmth of skin on skin contact leaves a searing mark on his wrist, making the scar tingle. His pulse quickens and he is suddenly short of breath.
“I don’t need to be forced to do what I don’t want to do.”
He walks away as Qiao Chusheng tells him his name, but stops exactly 38 steps later and almost faints when he sees it. A translucent thread the bright red color of blood, wrapped tightly around his right pinky. He turns around, slowly, following the string that floats in the air, curls and waves and suddenly disappears right where Chusheng stood just a moment ago. Lu Yao’s hands are shaking when he drops the box.
***
The following night is spent rummaging through the apartment in a desperate search for his old journal he kept since he was six. He doesn’t care about the chaos and devastation he brings upon his bedroom, it’s all forgotten as soon as a small leather notebook lands into his hand.
For years Lu Yao spent his free time looking for answers, collecting lore and legends and ideas until two years back in Chembridge one of his professors suggested that perhaps, it was a time to stop. But now? The string? It wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t a trick his mind or eyes could play on him, no, he saw it, and it meant something.
There’s a lot of general blabber about soulmates and signs that someone’s destined love is near – a hightened sense of taste, smell, eyesight, brighter colors, skin contact that feels like sparks, rapid heart beat, shared dreams, non-verbal communication, feeling of belonging and possessiveness... But only one page about the red thread of fate. And half of it smudged by a stain of old spilled tea. Lu Yao almost cries when he sees the letters blend together into a messy indistinguishable splash of ink, it’s like a cruel joke, after all those years.
But at least he can decipher one thing - seeing the read thread of fate means destiny is giving you another chance to reconnect with your one true love. Sometimes, even if one soulmate is dead or if the pair is somehow separated and even if their marks turn black and scar and disappear but they still belong with each other, the Heavens create a thread of fate - a red string that wraps tightly around each person’s finger and slowly brings them back together, transcending time, and space and even death.
Whoever the thread is trying to bring Lu Yao to must be close, and Qiao Chusheng must be the key to finding them.
Come morning, Lu Yao is hihg on coffee and adrenaline and ready to swallow his pride and ask Lao Qiao for a job; may be even grovel.
He’s graciously saved from all of it because the inspector invites himself into Lu Yao’s apartment right before Lu Yao is done with his breakfast.
“You should lock your doors.”
“How did you know where I live?”
Chusheng tilts his head and Lu Yao sputters, ‘Oh yes, that’s right. What do you want?”
“There is a case that requires your help.”
“Sorry, I don’t have time.”
“So busy.”
Lu Yao curses at himself, what’s gotten into him, as if inspector’s mere presence makes him so irrational he doesn’t recognize himself. He takes a long breath and allows himself to be convinced into accepting the job he so desperately wants.
The red thread is nowhere to be seen, but Lu Yao is optimistic – it might show itself again at any moment, or never at all, but it doesn’t really matter, because now Lu Yao knows that it’s there, and it is enough. He will follow it wherever it leads, his soulmate will just have to wait a little longer.
“I don’t have all day!” Chusheng’s voice echoes from downstairs, and Lu Yao heads for the exit.
He steals a farewell bite of breakfast ham and almost chokes when the taste explodes in his mouth.
***
After a day of work, Lu Yao practically demands Chusheng to feed him. He needs to make sure the morning revelation was not a fluke, that he does not have a brain tumor and is not imagining things, but thanks to Bai Youning he now has no stream of income to indulge in culinary experiments. Naturally, if the inspector plans to use Lu Yao’s precious brain power, it is fair and logical that he might as well be supporting it by any means including dinners.
It’s a small noodle place not far from the precinct; the food is cheap, the floors are clean and Lu Yao doesn’t feel like going farther since the taste of any food has been pretty much the same bland uncooked dough-like mass since he was born. But when he takes the first sip, the myriad of different notes hit his senses. He can… tell between a hearty warmth of the pork broth, and starchy sweetness of the noodle, and the spices, and even the earthy touch of ground peanut. That never happened before, and he eats like he’s been starving his whole life.
Chusheng watches with amusement as LY stuffs his mouth with a spoon full of dumplings.
“How do you even fit all that in you?”
“It spreads evenly through my height. As a growing organism, I need sustenance.”
“At your age the only direction you are growing is width.”
Lu Yao opens his mouth in indignation and almost loses half of a dumpling, “As if you survive on photosynthesis.”
“Sunshine and water? No, I prefer the blood of my enemies.”
Chusheng flashes him a quick smile and Lu Yao blinks back at him, twice.
“You know what photosynthesis is?”
“I can read, San Tu. I can write too. Impressive, isn’t it.”
“Well, try it then, it’s a great pork wonton soup, come on,” – Lu Yao shamelessly shoves a spoon in Chusheng’s face and Chusheng bites down an urge to scold him.
“I think I’ll pass.”
Lu Yao still manages to sneak a tightly wrapped fried bun into Chusheng’s pocket on their way out.
When Chusheng returns to the office, he considers throwing it out, he has no taste or need for it anyway, but in the end decides to give it a try, just for the laughs. He paid for the dinner after all.
He doesn’t laugh when the familiar blandness of food suddenly turns into a mosaic of juicy meat, spices, salt, ginger and sesame oil.