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The night Shen Jiu meets him, it’s while he is still a disciple. Head Disciple, that is, but a disciple of not even nineteen years old, nonetheless.
Xiu Ya is still fairly new to his hands, and the title declaring him second only to the Lord of Qing Jing on their peak newer yet. Still, with a sword and his title, he is granted many more freedoms alongside his many more responsibilities. So, only a few short days after the official announcement of his status to the peak and his formal introduction to his martial uncles and aunts, he makes his way down the mountain when the moon is still low in the sky, but Cang Qiong is fast asleep.
It is not, in fact, Shen Jiu’s first time sneaking down the mountain. Not by a long-shot. Not even close to it. It is, however, his first time doing so with the reasonable excuse of his head discipleship granting him free access to come and go to the village at the base of the mountain as he pleases, of course, but even that reasonable excuse—even that permission—does not extend as far as covering where he is going. So, despite his newly granted freedoms, he still finds himself wary as he walks down the quiet, dimly lit streets.
There are few people out, mostly spoiled young masters making eyes at the prettiest ladies who pass with fluttering eyelashes, or older men with women young enough to be their eldest daughters in dark corners whispering and giggling and making other noises Shen Jiu would rather not think too long on.
Head ducked and veil covering the lower-half of his face, Shen Jiu tugs the dark cloak tied over his shoulders tighter yet around him. The hood of the cloak cast shadows over what the opaque veil could not disguise. He cares little for how suspicious he looks, darting and ducking between the few people who don’t spot him making his way past them, one-track-mind set on getting safely to his destination.
He walks for what feels like ages before stopping in front of a set of familiar doors. Finally, all at once, his shoulders sink in relief, and he lets one hand drop from where he’s gripping his cloak closed tightly to push the doors open. The moment he slips inside, Shen Jiu is swathed in soft, gentle lights that warm him down to the bone and set him at ease within seconds. The doors shut behind him with a quiet click and Shen Jiu lowers his hood.
At this time of night, there are only a few especially committed customers gracing the main, lower floor of the Warm Red Pavilion. He has little worry to give to his identity being revealed. A few girls tend to the customers on the floor, smiling sweetly as they listen to their stories and sit only a little closer than propriety would typically allow. On a small stage, across the room, a young woman plays the pipa with precise, careful fingers with her delicately painted eyes downcast towards the instrument and her lips parted in concentration.
He has never seen her here before, and for a moment Shen Jiu’s fingers twitch, itching for a brush he doesn’t have—the image she paints so picturesque he finds himself longing to immortalize it. Surely, though, if he did, she would only laugh a soft, sweet laugh, and tell him how he flatters her, all while pushing the painting back into his arms.
“Oh!” A gasp draws Shen Jiu’s attention away from the new pipa player. He looks over to the source, blinking, and allows his expression to soften when he sees who is standing just a few short steps from him. “Now, when did you…”
“Madam Li,” he greets when she trails off, with the slightest tilt of his head.
The Brothel Madam clicks her tongue at such a curt greeting and hurries to cross the few remaining paces between them. Shen Jiu thinks nothing of the way she grabs his shoulders and checks him over, stern eyes narrowed in a critical stare as she turns him this way and that. The handful of patrons still in the brothel at this hour are too enthralled by their company to notice the doting going on by the front doors.
Still, she keeps her appraisal short and releases him with a content hum after only a moment.
“It has been long enough since you’ve come to see us,” she scolds him, but her voice is only mildly chiding. Before Shen Jiu can even think to get a word in, Madam Li’s eyes soften and her voice quiets to that special, warm tone she always uses when she can tell he’s tired. “Head along to your room, I’ll tell the girls of your arrival.”
Shen Jiu, shoulders sagging from the exhaustion weighing on his bones, simply nods and hesitates for not even a single moment before walking past the kind Madam and through the brothel to his usual room. It’s a bit of a walk, but he makes it quickly. Located in the back, past any of the rooms used for their actual intended purpose, the room is just far enough to be safe from the mortifying sounds that may emanate from any one of them.
The comfort that comes from knowing he is the only one who ever gets to use it is like a heavy blanket on a freezing night.
Once he’s in the room, and not a second sooner, Shen Jiu unties the cloak around his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. Untying the qiankun pouch from his waist, he picks up the cloak and—after folding it—tucks it away inside the pouch. The veil obscuring his face follows quickly after. Then, he sets the pouch aside on a small table near the bed in the middle of the room and lets himself drop down onto the mattress.
His hair, tied back in a simple braid for his excursion, lies uncomfortably under his back, but Shen Jiu does not move. He instead ignores it, opting to let his eyes close and his lungs fill with a deep breath as he relaxes into the mattress that’s much softer than his own back on the mountain.
Even without incense lit or the girls there yet, the room still smells of perfume and flowers.
The creak of the door opening rings out and Shen Jiu cracks open an eye, thinking it’s one of the usual girls who come to help him rest.
It’s not.
There’s a small, startled noise. Then, “ah—sorry, I—this isn’t…my room.”
Shen Jiu tenses. The voice is soft, quiet, but it is without a doubt a man’s voice. His heart stutters in his chest and before he knows it, he’s sitting upright with a sharp glare already on his face. That glare, however, falters when he actually sees the owner of the voice, standing in the doorway of his private, special room.
In the doorway, frozen halfway inside the room, the pipa player from the lower floor of the brothel stands clutching her—his?—pipa to his chest. Shen Jiu can’t move, however the instinctual fear that spiked in his blood at the sound of a man’s voice in his safest place has faded ever-so-slightly to allow confusion to mix in with it. He stares, heart still rabbiting against his ribs, without speaking.
For a moment, the entire scene is frozen.
Then, the pipa player shifts—takes an aborted, half step back so he has one foot out of the room and one foot in, and the world rushes back into motion. Shen Jiu pushes himself to his feet and straightens his robes in a hurry, something bitter and ugly curdling in his stomach at the thought that he’s been caught in such a vulnerable, weak state. Even his sword has been discarded, propped at the table a few paces away—stuck between the two locked in a stare-down and just out of his reach. If he moves towards it, the pipa player could do the same and it would just be a fight of who got there first.
Shen Jiu doesn’t stop to think he could form a sword seal, his thoughts are too scattered and harried as he refuses to look away first.
“Who are you?” he bites out through clenches teeth, fists balled tight at his sides.
He tries—he tries so hard—not to let it show how unsettled he is, how uneased he is, how scared he is, to have his space invaded by a man parading around as a brothel worker. Do the jiejies know? Are they aware of what they’ve let into their home? The thought that they don’t makes something hot and uncomfortable coil and curl in his chest.
The pipa player—the man hesitates. Shen Jiu watches with hyper-vigilance as his painted eyes flit to the sword propped at the table, then the qiankun pouch atop it, then the bed, then finally to Shen Jiu himself.
A sort of understanding settles over his expression, which freezes over in an instant before his body lowers in a shallow bow.
“This lowly one begs forgiveness,” he says, but the words seem forced, fake. “This one had no intention to interrupt such an esteemed and high customer while he is awaiting service.”
The words sound…wrong. Off. On the surface, there’s nothing actually wrong with it, but still, the phrasing makes Shen Jiu’s skin crawl. It takes him a second longer than it should to realize why—to realize just what this man thinks is going on. When he does realize, however, the world tilts on its axis and he feels sick.
“That’s not—I’m not—” Shen Jiu snaps his mouth shut before he can say something he’ll regret, teeth clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache. He can’t believe this—this stranger would think he’d—he could never—he’s just—
The musician straightens up and looks at Shen Jiu with a furrowed brow. Then, something seems to click in his mind and his lips part in a small ‘oh,’ before his entire demeanor sags—relaxing in a painfully familiar way.
“You…” he pauses, chewing his bottom lip—which Shen Jiu notices now is also painted a gentle red—before continuing with slight hesitation, “you must be…Jiu’er?”
For the first time since he’s started coming to the Warm Red Pavilion, Shen Jiu tenses at the affectionate, familiar name the girls had taken quickly to calling him. Shoulders drawn tight, he gives a short, jerking nod. Even though the musician has relaxed, he would sooner walk headfirst into his own grave than willingly relax with this man in his room.
“Ah!” Recognition lights the man’s face so quickly it nearly startles Shen Jiu out of his wariness. Almost. The ramble that follows the exclamation, however, does startle him out of it.
“I’m sorry—I really did mean to go to the next room over. I’m a bit tired, you see, and went right to the wrong door!” The man laughs, a soft, twinkling, bell-like noise that has Shen Jiu blinking slowly. The sound fades all too quickly, though, and the musician’s face takes on a more solemn, apologetic expression. “I had no idea I’d walk into—well, ah, I really… Yan-jie warned me to stay clear of this room, but of course, I just wander right in and now—ah, Madam Li is really going to let me have it, isn’t she? Oh!”
Shen Jiu just stares, speechless, as the man goes on and on, brain neatly flat-lining. When he exclaims so suddenly, though, his shoulders jump, and he winces. Then, internally, he cringes. He must be more tired than he thought if he’s reacting to visibly now… Luckily, the strange man doesn’t seem to notice, too consumed by his ramble.
“How rude of me,” he laughs, a bit awkward. Shen Jiu watches as he adjusts the pipa in his arms before he tilts his head to the side and grins and—oh. Shen Jiu swallows hard. Can a man really be this pretty? “I’m Shen Yuan—but you can call me A-Yuan, it’s what they all call me here, anyway.”
Again, Shen Jiu blinks, coming out of his daze and furrowing his brows. Did he—did this Shen Yuan just…freely give him his real name? Despite everything in him that screams against it, Shen Jiu can’t help but feel a twinge of concern. How easily was he giving out his name to patrons? Doesn’t he know that’s dangerous?! And he called Yan-jie, Yan-jie! He’s—he—he’s a real worker here!
A real worker, a man, but a real worker here and he’s giving out his real name so freely?!
“Fool,” Shen Jiu spits out before he can stop himself, voice sharp and full of venom. Shen Yuan blinks, confused, and frowns. “You shouldn’t—why would you tell someone—did the girls teach you nothing here?!”
For a second, Shen Yuan appears confused. Then understanding dawns and his grin dims to something softer—a gentler, fainter smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t tell the normal patrons my name. Madam Li and Yan-jie trust you, though, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Plus, I caught you in a vulnerable moment, you know my full name! Now we’re even, right?”
Shen Jiu wants to tell him no, wants to tell him that telling a stranger his real name as a brothel worker goes beyond what would make them even, especially telling a cultivator at a brothel… He can’t get his tongue to work, though, can’t get his lips to form the words. Instead, he just turns his eyes away and frowns at the shitty logic.
“Right, anyway, uh—sorry, really,” Shen Yuan apologizes again, “I’ll just…”
He takes a step back, starting to leave, and for reasons Shen Jiu would never be able to name, he takes a following step forward and calls out, “wait!”
Both of them freeze.
Shen Jiu swallows, eyes flitting all over the room before finally settling on Shen Yuan to take him in. To really take him in. He’s…he’s a man, but he calls Yan-jie, Yan-jie and he lets the girls paint his face in pretty colors… He’s a man, but his face is all soft and round features—his eyes are the only sharp feature on his face but even they are soft and wide, remarkably similar to Shen Jiu’s own, if only he hadn’t been disillusioned of the world at such a young age.
His hair is up in pretty pins and jingling, ornate decorations, and the robes he wears are the same as the other girls’ robes. Pretty, and flowing, and draped in sheer top layers over opaque inner layers. His are more modest, of course, the collar coming up to his throat and not showing nearly as much skin. It really was not so surprising Shen Jiu had mistaken him for one of the girls, especially at a distance.
That is not to say he is all feminine, but he is certainly ambiguous enough from a distance. And he…he’s here, a real worker here. Shen Jiu lets his eyes flit up to Shen Yuan’s confused face. He’s a man, but he works at the brothel and something in Shen Jiu is uncoiling, something is loosening. The tightness in his chest is fading and the tension in his shoulders is easing.
Men, they’re all the same, but this one—this one has the eyes of a person who knows. Who understands. Even when he realized who Shen Jiu was, he did not press forward, he apologized. He started to take his leave, he—he’s a man. As Shen Jiu looks at him now, though, it is not a man he sees, but a kindred soul. The worker of a brothel, who’s been taken in and doted on by the girls he calls his sisters, his family, and if his family…
If his family can feel so safe bringing him into their arms…
“Would you…” he swallows again, tongue heavy in his mouth, unable to believe what he’s daring to do. “Would you care to…stay?”
Shen Yuan blinks, visibly startled.
“I—” he cuts himself off, closing his mouth with a frown. Then, after a moment of careful thought, he nods. “If that’s what you want.”
Shen Jiu gives a short nod before he can change his mind, remember what Shen Yuan is. Shen Yuan stares at him for a moment longer, like he’s some sort of puzzle he can’t solve, before finally he steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. Shen Jiu, at this, turns and makes his way back to the bed.
He ignores Shen Yuan making himself comfortable on a cushion on the floor across the room and sits cross-legged stop the middle of the bed. It’s silent for a few minutes and despite the way it makes Shen Jiu’s skin crawl, he can’t figure out what to say. He’s still not sure why he invited this man to stay in his space.
But, ah, he’s not just a man. He’s… Shen Jiu pushes away the complicated line of thought and shakes his head, instead fixing Shen Yuan with an appraising eye.
“How old are you?” he asks. Mindless small talk normally makes him want to rip off his ears and shove them down his throat, but now, it’s the only thing keeping him from booking it out of the room.
Shen Yuan hums, settling his pipa in his lap and thinks for a moment.
“I suppose…ah…” he trails off, considering. “I’ve just recently turned eighteen?”
He sounds almost unsure, and Shen Jiu almost wants to bite back with a sharp retort about how someone could not even know their own age. Then, he remembers where he is and where Shen Yuan is, and he swallows down the retort. Caught in his own inner turmoil, he just barely hears the soft mutter of ‘in this life at least…’ that was definitely not meant for his ears.
Shen Jiu narrows his eyes at the strange phrasing but says nothing of it. A normal mortal would not have been able to hear such a thing, and Shen Yuan’s face became so distant and desolate as he murmured it…
“Didi, then,” Shen Jiu proclaims, swiftly shifting the subject. “Yuan-di.”
Shen Yuan’s eyes snap up to him, wide and surprised. “Yuan-di?”
“I’m nearly to my nineteenth year,” Shen Jiu huffs, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin to stare down his nose at Shen Yuan. “So, Yuan-di.”
To his surprise, Shen Yuan blinks a few times then laughs. That same, twinkling, bright laugh from before—but somehow brighter. This time, it pulls his lips up at the corners as it fills the quiet of the room and wrinkles the corners of his dark eyes. It comes out breathless and ringing, and as he ducks his head to cover his mouth with one hand, the ornaments on the pins in his hair jingle and clink.
Shen Jiu’s breath catches, and he’s reminded of the longing he had before. He’s reminded of his fingers itching for a brush to paint the scene before him. Reminded of the desire to capture the girl playing the pipa on the lower floor in a picture to be preserved for eternity.
It hits him like a carriage at full speed. The picture of this Shen Yuan covering his mouth with both hands now as he tries to calm himself burns itself into the front of his mind and he yearns for the brushes and paints tucked carefully away beneath his unused bed on Qing Jing Peak.
He doesn’t even know what’s so funny, but a strange thought worms its way into his brain regardless. He’d say whatever it was a million times over if it made Shen Yuan laugh like this again.
And when Shen Yuan finally stops laughing, when he finally composes himself, it feels like a loss.
“Well then,” Shen Yuan says at last, eyes sparkling with something almost like mischief, and Shen Jiu can only stare. In his chest, his heart gives a concerning flutter, which he steadfastly ignores. Shen Yuan lifts his pipa into playing position and straightens up with a grin so bright it nearly blinds him. “Should this didi play Jiu-ge a song?”
A beat.
Processing…
Shen Jiu’s face flared to life with a hot flush, his eyes wide and brain stuttering to a halt. Shen Yuan waits in calm silence, head tilted to the side in a way that makes those pins jingle once more. It’s so—he’s so—
Shen Jiu sputters for a second, more flustered than he reasonably should be. Finally, he manages to spit out a short, “well, go on, then!”
Shen Yuan visibly stifles another laugh and Shen Jiu swallows down the traitorous feeling of disappointment before he clears his throat and starts plucking the strings of the pipa propped in his lap. Soft, melodious music fills the air of the quiet room and Shen Jiu feels the last thread of tension in his spine slip away. He’s watches, slouched atop the bed, as Shen Yuan plays with careful precision.
When a soft humming reaches his ears, Shen Jiu holds his breath. It doesn’t match the melody of the pipa, but sings a lower harmony, mixing and blending with the instrument with a smoothness only someone trained for years could accomplish.
All at once, Shen Jiu finds himself burning with curiosity of what brought Shen Yuan to the Pavilion.
He speaks with the cadence of a noble, but the informality of a street kid. He plays the pipa like the student of a great master but works in a brothel where his skill could not be truly appreciated. He has eyes of a child, wide and youthful and hopeful, but the stare of a soul on its hundredth life, tired and aging and waiting for the inevitable end.
Shen Yuan is, to Shen Jiu’s critical eye, an enigma.
He is a riddle.
And despite everything he’s ever known, he longs to solve it.
The song is over too soon, and Shen Jiu blinks his eyes open, not remembering when he even closed them. Shen Yuan opens his at the same time and clears his throat, a certain shyness coloring his peaceful countenance.
“I don’t believe I’ve heard that melody yet,” Shen Jiu says once the final note fades. “Is it of your own composure? Shen Yuan is certainly skilled in the arts.”
Always keeping Shen Jiu on his toes, Shen Yuan flushes at the praise and ducks his head. He lets out a quiet, nervous chuckle, and shrugs.
“It—it’s a fairly popular song in my…hometown,” he says, a strained note to his voice. It’s clearly a rough topic, from the way Shen Yuan struggles to get out the words for a second. Shen Jiu grimaces internally.
Of course, he’d go and pick at a scab, tearing a healing wound back open. Isn’t that what he always does?
What a fool, he is. Things were going much too smoothly; he should have seen this coming. It’s only natural he messes things up. He swallows down the bitter taste in his throat and averts his eyes, instead staring down at his fists in his lap, balling his robes up in their grip and wrinkling the pristine fabric.
“Ah, but! Enough of that!” Shen Yuan abruptly proclaims, “should I play you another? It’s been so long since I’ve had such an attentive audience.”
Shen Jiu knows the last part is meant to be a tease, a joke, but it comes out too sincere for him to laugh. For a moment, his heart aches for the man across the room from him. And how strange that is, his heart aching for a man… The world must be really coming to an end—perhaps Qi-ge will actually explain himself when he gets back to Cang Qiong, too!
Scoffing at the thought, Shen Jiu puts his attention back on Shen Yuan.
“I would be amendable to that,” he agrees.
***
When Shen Jiu awakes, his first thought is one of confusion. He finds himself covered carefully in warm, heavy blankets with his head against soft piles of pillows, with no recollection of falling asleep or tucking himself in. Sitting up and stretching his arms and shoulders, Shen Jiu looks around the room for some sort of hint as to what happened the night before.
In the corner of the room, still seated atop the very same cushion he first settled himself on, Shen Yuan sleeps propped upright with his pipa laid carefully beside him. For a second, Shen Jiu panics. His heartrate spikes and his breath locks itself in his lungs. Then, slowly, he relaxes as the memories of the evening before come trickling back.
Memories of Shen Yuan playing the pipa blend into memories of Shen Yuan setting it aside blend into memories of Shen Yuan telling him stories of his hometown blend into memories of Shen Yuan discussing literature with him. Unbeknownst to himself, the hint of a smile pulls at Shen Jiu’s lips as he recalls the passion with which Shen Yuan tore apart the trashy romance novels Yan-jie and Huo-jie convinced him to read.
It must have been around then he fell asleep and…ah, had Shen Yuan tucked him in? Truly? Really? And only that? But after quick inspection, Shen Jiu found not a single thing wrong with his robes. He looks back to Shen Yuan, only to start when instead of his sweetly sleeping face he’s met with dark eyes staring right back at him.
“Good morning,” Shen Yuan greets. His tone, despite the sleepiness still seeping into it, is playful already and Shen Jiu feels a small tinge of fond exasperation. “Did Jiu-ge sleep well?”
“I—” Shen Jiu cuts himself off abruptly. Did he sleep well? He blinks. He can’t remember the last time he’s been able to sleep with another man in the room, and yet… “Yes. Yes, I believe…I did.”
“Ming-jie came to check on you, but you were still sleeping,” Shen Yuan tells him. “She left breakfast on the table—I haven’t touched it, don’t worry. It might not be warm anymore, though…”
“Ah…” So, had he really not been sleeping? Had he just been resting, waiting for Shen Jiu to wake? How early had he awoken?
“Don’t worry,” Shen Yuan says, as if he can read his mind, “I haven’t been up long. I fell back asleep after Ming-jie left… I only woke up again because I felt eyes on me, but…Jiu-ge wouldn’t possibly be watching his Yuan-di sleep, would he?”
Shen Yuan narrows his eyes, but the poorly hidden smile on his lips counter-acts the accusing look. A light warmth rushes to Shen Jiu’s face and he looks away.
“Of course not,” he snaps, a bit harsher than necessary.
Shen Yuan only chuckles at his defensiveness. Brat.
Throwing off the blankets, Shen Jiu pushes himself off the bed and walks to the table where the food sits waiting. Across the room, he can hear Shen Yuan getting to his feet as well but pays him little mind in favor of checking out what Ming-jie brought.
“Well, I suppose I’ll go, then,” Shen Yuan tells him.
Shen Jiu looks up from the tray with a frown, to see Shen Yuan standing by the door.
He hesitates for a moment, then, just as Shen Yuan moves to open it, he stops him.
“You can’t possibly think I could eat this all myself, could you?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Shen Yuan frowns for a moment, and Shen Jiu averts his eyes before he can see the recognition flash in his gaze.
A soft snort rings out in the air before footsteps approach. “Of course not, how could I?”
Shen Jiu huffs and drops himself into one of the table chairs. He motions roughly at the opposing one to him. “Well? Sit!”
He chooses to ignore the amusement in Shen Yuan’s eyes as he sits. Little brat…ah, he’s…he’s not that bad, though, is he? For a man, at least. Shen Jiu carefully dishes out two plates, one for each of them. He pretends not to notice the way he gives Shen Yuan more. He also pretends not to notice the way Shen Yuan shifts a few of the best pieces right back over to his dish.
“Impudent,” he mutters under his breath.
“Filial,” Shen Yuan chirps right back.
It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes.
In the end, Shen Yuan must get back to work and Shen Jiu does have to leave eventually, he’s already stayed later than he should have. He leaves a few coins on the table after himself because he knows Madam Li would never accept it otherwise. Then, he makes his rounds, giving quiet goodbyes to both the girls and Madam.
It’s only after he’s said goodbye to everyone that he finally drags his feet and makes his way back to Cang Qiong Mountain, prepared as he can be for the storm waiting to greet him given how late he’s slept in.
***
The thing is, days after returning to Cang Qiong Mountain and dealing with the shitstorm that followed, Shen Jiu still can’t get his mind off of Shen Yuan from the brothel.
It’s the worst when he’s guiding the younger disciples through their music classes, his mind flitting back to the unfamiliar but beautiful melodies Shen Yuan had played for him of its own accord. Even outside of that class, though, for reasons he can’t put his finger on, Shen Yuan seems to always find a way to creep into his thoughts.
Days haunted by the thought of him turn into weeks, and by the end of the third, Shen Jiu can take it no longer and finds himself making his way down the mountain under the cover of the night once more.
It’s fine, he tells himself as he weaves through the streets and dodges handsy pedestrians. He’s tired, anyway, he’s not slept well since his last visit at all, and he needs the rest. It’s not like he’s just going to see Shen Yuan—that would be preposterous and wildly unlike him. He just wants to rest! And of course, see the rest of the girls! He never did get to really visit with them last time he was there, spending his whole evening with Shen Yuan.
The thought lights Shen Jiu’s face with a soft flush as he slips through the brothel doors and into the building. Just like before, he drops his hood and takes a deep breath. Madam Li spots him quickly, but Shen Jiu’s attention is elsewhere as she disappears deeper into the brothel.
On that same stage, Shen Yuan sits once more. He wears a different set of robes this time—a shade of green so faint it could nearly be mistaken as white, as opposed to the warm-toned hues of orange and pink he wore the night that they met. For a moment—the briefest one—Shen Jiu wonders how he would look in the teal disciple robes of Qing Jing. Then, he realizes how strange his own thoughts are being and he swiftly tucks them away into a tight little box to never examine again.
Shen Yuan looks up from where he’s watching his fingers pluck the strings of his pipa and his gaze meets Shen Jiu’s. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Shen Jiu gives a short, affirmative nod and receives the faintest smile in answer. Then, a hand settles on his shoulder and the moment breaks. Shen Yuan turns back his attention to playing and Shen Jiu turns his own to the woman standing at his side with a warm, knowing smile of her own.
“Jiu’er is back so soon,” she greets with only a hint of teasing. “Go on back, now, the girls are waiting for you.”
Shen Jiu blinks, looking at her with a frown. “How—”
“I’ve already told them of your arrival,” Madam Li swiftly interrupts, correctly guessing his question before he could finish it.
“Oh.” A faint warmth spreads in Shen Jiu’s chest at the consideration.
Ah, Madam Li is so… Shen Jiu doesn’t dare call her motherly—still, if he had ever experienced the warmth and love and care of a mother, somewhere, deep in the back of all the hidden thoughts he’ll never let anyone else hear, he’s sure this is what it would feel like.
Yes, a voice drowning in silent yearning whispers in the back of his mine. Yes, it tells him, desperate, Madam Li may not be his mother, but she is the closest thing he has to one.
Throat suddenly tight, Shen Jiu gives his quiet thanks and makes his way through the brothel back to his private room. He takes the walk as a chance to compose himself, steadying his breath and flexing his fingers. By the time he gets to the door of his suite, he’s as relaxed as he can be on his own. The sound of soft chatter and laughter from the inside helps ease the remaining tension in his shoulders and he slides open the door without a moment’s more hesitation.
“Jiu’er!” the chorus of voices calling him in, greeting him with such joy, is almost suffocating as Shen Jiu steps into the room, sliding the door behind himself. He ducks his head to hide the way his face instantly relaxes and works on getting settled before anything else.
Incense burns on the table a few paces from the bed, where Shen Jiu props his sword and drapes his cloak and outermost layer of robes. It’s a pleasant, floral, and earthy scent—orchid, if his nose is right, with lighter undertones of sandalwood.
The girls watch him with bright grins as they huddle together by the bed, two on the soft mattress and three on cushions on the floor, with a final and sixth girl huddled in the middle of their almost-circle that he can’t quite see from where he stands at the table. Once he’s folded his cloak and outermost robes, still wearing a few inner layers, and has pulled off his shoes, Shen Jiu crosses the room.
Meiyan, one of the two on the bed, with soft brown, peach blossom eyes, smiles at him and beckons him to the empty space to her right. Shen Jiu carefully settles himself down at her side on the edge of the bed. Here, he has a closer view of the girl in the middle, but with her back to him as Huo-jie and Ming-jie touch up her makeup he still can’t tell who exactly she is. Yan-jie turns to full face Shen Jiu and gives her full attention to him, looking him over with pursed red lips.
Shen Jiu lets her do as she pleases, not fighting against the hand gripping his chin with a gentleness he can only experience here. Her hands, thin and pale, smooth over his hair, moving to the back of his head and pulling out the pins keeping up the top-half. She passes them to Gu Xuan at her left, who passes them down to Lu Zhi on the floor, who’s in charge of passing the right makeup to Huo-jie and Ming-jie.
“Jiu’er takes such good care of his hair,” Meiyan sighs, running her fingers through any knots and kinks from being up all day. She drops her hands after a moment and shifts back, more towards the center of the bed, until there is a reasonably sized space in front of her at the edge. She pats it. “Come here, let this jiejie braid it for you.”
Shen Jiu gives a short nod and shifts around until he’s sitting with his legs hanging off the edge, right in front of where Meiyan kneels. From this position, he can see better the person in the middle—who he notes now is wearing familiar robes of such a light green they almost appear white and—Shen Jiu blinks as thin fingers card through his hair, sectioning it. His eyes lift to the side of the person’s face, and he inhales.
Ah, how—he should’ve—how had he not realized sooner?
Shen Yuan sits with his eyes closed as Ming-jie dusts his eyelids with a pink powder, his lips parted and just barely tinted red. Shen Jiu swallows. He looks so…soft like this. Gu Xuan must notice him staring, because she gives a soft hum and places a hand on his knee.
“Ah, we hope Jiu’er doesn’t mind,” she says, her voice so sweet and sugary, just like it always is. “Ming-mei told us how cozy you two were your last visit, and he came right on up when he finished his last song… A-Yuan nearly beat us to the room he was so quick!”
A small, startled, embarrassed noise comes from the man in question and Shen Yuan opens his eyes to look at Gu Xuan. He stares at her, betrayed and shocked, the furrow of his perfectly maintained brows so dramatic Shen Jiu nearly laughs—nearly.
“Jiejie!” he exclaims, before turning to Shen Jiu. Ming-jie and Huo-jie frown a little at their art subject pulling away from them but make no move to stop him as he fixes Shen Jiu with the most exasperatedly apologetic look he can. “I just wanted to make it up before someone roped me into playing another song and I ended up barging in and interrupting.”
“It’s fine,” Shen Jiu croaks out, ignoring the dryness of his throat when faced with Shen Yuan’s full attention. His chest grows tight and aches—is he growing ill? Should he swing by Qian Cao when he gets back to the sect? Or have Yan-jie call a physician?
Shen Yuan expression shifts, growing calmer and more relaxed, as he smiles at Shen Jiu. Buried deep in his chest, that tightness from before unfurls, uncoils, and spreads out warm and reaching all across his body from his head to his feet. It leaves his skin tingling with electricity, from the tips of his fingers to the lids of his eyes to the tips of his toes, and steals his breath with a single, swift swipe.
It’s a strange feeling, an unfamiliar and new feeling, and for a moment it’s uncomfortable. Burning and all-consuming before it fades into the background, blurring at the edges and blanketing the world with a sweet, fuzzy haze. So, Shen Jiu takes the feeling and relishes in it.
He still doesn’t know what it is, but as he slumps down, letting his head hang while Meiyan braids his hair with diligence and tender care, he lets himself simply feel it.
After that, the rest of the evening blends together.
In his memory, it becomes a montage of quiet murmurs and loud laughs and stories of Shen Jiu’s latest missions and questions about beasts from an eager-eyed Shen Yuan and ranting about sect siblings and venting about poorly behaving patrons. At some point, in the middle of it all, Meiyan migrates to sit cross-legged at the head of the bed and Shen Jiu curls at her side with his head in her lap as the rest of the girls and Shen Yuan surround them a mix of half-on the bed and on the floor around it.
He’s not sure when he falls asleep, though he’s certain it’s after Yan-jie begins stroking his hair and Shen Yuan breaks out his pipa after some playful cajoling from Huo-jie and Lu Zhi.
***
Shen Yuan quickly becomes a regular face in Shen Jiu’s private room, and with each visit, Shen Jiu finds himself opening up more and more to him.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he still can’t believe he’s grown so comfortable around a man, but as he sits across from Shen Yuan at the head of his bed—his sixth visit since he found Shen Yuan being dolled up by Huo-jie and Ming-jie that one evening—he can’t imagine being anything else.
“No way,” Shen Yuan scoffs, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at Shen Jiu. “As if the writing isn’t shoddy enough already, the author went and just—just ruined any chance at a decent plot with that shitty excuse of a twist!”
If Shen Jiu has learned anything about Shen Yuan in their time together, it’s that he’s very passionate about his literature and the quality of it, yet at the same time seeks out the trashiest novels ever to exist. Truly, at one point, Shen Jiu had wondered if he was alright—to purposefully expose himself to media that gives him such distress, but… Shen Jiu has since made the delightful discovery he just enjoys criticizing them!
And really, being a scholar, can Shen Jiu really be blamed for joining him in his colorful criticism?
“So, what does Yuan-di think the protagonist should have done, then?” Shen Jiu asks. The question is an obvious attempt at baiting, and whether Shen Yuan notices it or not, he lives up to Shen Jiu’s expectations by latching onto it almost immediately.
“Not bed the Empress, for one!” Shen Yuan exclaims, bordering on hysterics. “The author spent the entirety of every previous edition going on and on about how deeply his hatred for her ran and now he suddenly is in love with her?!”
Shen Jiu raises an amused eyebrow as he listens. Love…is not his area of expertise. Oftentimes, he has little commentary to give on Shen Yuan’s novels, unsure what he could even say that wouldn’t give away how out of his element he is, that wouldn’t give away how little he understands. Shen Yuan, on the other hand…
“It makes absolutely no sense!” He’s closer to whining now than ranting, tossing up his hands in exasperation. “The relationship progression was clearly headed to assassination attempt territory! Instead, the author completely butchered any chance at a proper three-dimensional character with actual substance all for some crappy porn!”
The vulgarity is unnecessary, truly, but Shen Jiu can’t help but concede that Shen Yuan was making quite the convincing case for himself.
“Shen Yuan seems quite convinced he could do better himself,” he goads.
To his surprise, instead of fire back a sharp retort or confident affirmation, Shen Yuan falters. He blinks a few times, lips parted as he stares at Shen Jiu, then ducks his head. His shoulders lift and fall in a small shrug, fists bunching the robes—teal this time, which something in Shen Jiu preens at—in his lap.
“Ah, no, I—” he cuts himself off with a short, sardonic laugh. “Jiu-ge is kind, but I’m…I’m no author, really. Writing isn’t…I read what other people write, I can’t create such elaborate worlds myself, though.”
Kind, Shen Jiu will never get used to the way he gives out such praise and sweet words so easily. Then, the rest of what Shen Yuan said catches up with him and his brow wrinkles with a frown.
“Maybe that’s why I get so angry at these trash novels,” Shen Yuan continues before he has the chance to interrupt. “They have the ability and conviction to create like this, and they—they waste it! They waste it on what horny old men want to live out their fantasies with! If I could create like that, I’d—”
Shen Jiu abruptly cuts him off, eyes narrow and voice sharp. “Any person has the ability to create something great.”
It’s only an echoing of words his own Shizun told him when he first arrived at Qing Jing, at an age people said he’d be too old to cultivate and at a stage when he had little reason to believe a single word out of her mouth. Now, though, it feels like the greatest wisdom he could possibly pass on.
Shen Yuan’s head snaps up, eyes wide, to gape at Shen Jiu.
“All you have to do is take the opportunity when it’s presented to you,” Shen Jiu finishes, his face a touch warmer but his stare no less fierce.
The silence that follows his words is…stifling. Shen Jiu refuses to back down, though. His pride keeps him holding his head high. He ignores the way his heart is rabbiting in his chest, ignores the whisper in the back of his mind that Shen Yuan is going to laugh at him for falling for such pretty words, but—but he didn’t just fall for them!
At first, even, he swore he would never believe them! And yet…and yet, he is living proof of those words being truth. He is living proof that even a jaded, angry street rat can become something great. Isn’t that proof enough? If he—if he can become what he has, if he can rise from the ashes, reborn and rebranded and cut from his mud-covered roots, why can’t the boy in the brothel who spends his nights burying himself in books write his own?
“Jiu-ge really is too kind,” Shen Yuan whispers at long last. It’s almost too soft to hear, and it makes Shen Jiu’s chest ache in that way that’s become so common with Shen Yuan around, in that way he still can’t quite parse for all the scholar that he is. “But I—what chance would I get, now? I never—ah, I gave up my chance when I had it…”
The ache turns sharp, a stabbing pang in his heart. Shen Jiu’s hand jerks in an aborted attempt to reach for the young man in front of him. His hand hovers, hangs in the air with the heavy tension between them. Not for the first time, his voice is carrying a strange sort of distance, almost a nostalgia, like he was talking about something a lifetime ago rather than merely before his time at the brothel.
Ah, but…perhaps for him his life before the brothel feels like another lifetime. He talks so little about his life before the Pavilion, and Shen Jiu never presses. He understands all too well why a person would be reluctant to talk about a past so distant. Shen Jiu finds himself speaking before he can think better of it.
“Come back with me to Qing Jing.”
Shen Yuan blinks.
The moment the words are out there in the world, Shen Jiu wants to pull them back, shove them back down his throat and lock them away where they can never be heard again. He cannot, however, do this. So, instead, he doubles down. Shoulders back and chin high, looking down his nose at Shen Yuan, he slips half-subconsciously into the persona he wears atop the mountain.
“Of course, only if Yuan-di thinks he can keep up with the curriculum and strict teachings of the Peak,” he sniffs, haughty tone sneaking into his voice. “This one could never have a shidi who slacks in his work and lazes about all day.”
He pauses, giving Shen Yuan a chance to answer. When he doesn’t Shen Jiu falters. Swallowing, he turns his face away and changes tactics.
“The library of Qing Jing is perhaps one of the vastest libraries I have ever bore witness to,” he says, off-handedly and casually, like he was speaking of the weather. He thinks for a moment, then adds with a sigh, “many are mistakenly led to believe it only carries academic resources, but there is much more—as Head Disciple, I happen to have exclusive access to the forbidden section, as well, where confiscated materials are hidden away.”
Shen Jiu pauses to clear his throat. He hears the movement and rustling of fabric, and his brows furrow. When he looks back, though, to see what Shen Yuan is doing on the other side of the bed, he instead comes face to face with bright eyes and a sparkling grin.
The air flees his lungs in a rush.
Shen Yuan kneels so close their knees brush together, then suddenly, before he’s even finished processing how close they are, there are arms around his shoulders and a face in his neck. He can feel the stretch of Shen Yuan’s grin against his throat, can feel his warm breath tickling his skin.
Distantly, he realizes that he should probably be panicking and kicking Shen Yuan away, but his hatred—his fear—of men never seems to kick in around Shen Yuan anymore. Instead, something else fires off the alarms in his mind as the last remaining thoughts in his head scramble into one big, jumbled soup of words.
“S-Shen Yuan!” he manages to snap, but it comes out more like a yelp.
He pulls back in an instant, almost like he’d been burned, with his smile gone and replaced with a look of shock and horror.
“Oh! Oh, I’m—I’m sorry, I should have—I know how you don’t—I was just so—” Shen Yuan rambles, never finishing one sentence before already leaping into the next, frantic and scrambled.
For a dizzying minute, Shen Jiu genuinely mourns the loss of warm arms around him, and it stuns him speechless. He’s never—he can’t remember the last time he—other than the jiejies… Shen Yuan’s apologies trail off, his expression slowly morphing into one of ashamed embarrassment as his eyes avoid looking directly at Shen Jiu.
“It’s—” he stops, considers his words, considers the implications. Then, Shen Jiu takes a slow breath and reaches out. He hears the hitch in Shen Yuan’s breath when their hands meet, watches his eyes widen and lips part as Shen Jiu tangles their fingers. “It’s fine.”
Ah, he finally thinks as his heart pounds rapidly in his chest, staring at where their fingers are interlocked. This feeling, this one that’s been just under the surface for all these weeks and months…something finally starts to click as the wheels turn in his head. Is that it? Is that what it is?
He ignores the stunned look being shot at him in favor of considering the feeling of Shen Yuan’s hand in his own. His fingers are calloused from plucking the strings of his pipa, but there are a few more familiar callouses as well—the callouses of a brush held carefully between delicate fingers.
Their hands fit seamlessly together, fitting with near perfection, and a sense of pride thrums in Shen Jiu’s chest beside the unwinding ache he finally begins to put a name to. He turns over Shen Yuan’s hand in his own, staring at the lines of his palm. He presses his free hand to his own chest and clutches loosely the robes over his heart.
Is this what it feels like to love someone?
“Jiu-ge…?”
Shen Jiu finally tears his eyes away from their hands. Throat dry, he looks up and meets Shen Yuan’s questioning gaze. He’s too new to this to know for certain. Sure, at one point he loved Yue Qi, and perhaps he still does—perhaps he still can—but not like this…never like this. This… Now that he’s feeling it, really feeling it, now that he’s acknowledging it—
It is all-consuming.
It is terrifying, in its own way, how suffocated Shen Jiu is by the warm, raw affection throbbing in his chest. He feels like it could swallow him whole if it wanted. And this affection is for, of all people, a man. Not just a man, though, no. No, it’s for Shen Yuan.
It’s for Shen Yuan that he feels this consuming desire to possess, to love, to be loved and suddenly, all at once, he sobers.
For a moment, he can’t breathe.
He doesn’t know how to love, not like this—not so purely, not so unconditionally. He’s—he’s not good at it and if Shen Yuan gives him his heart…
For a moment, he’s choked by fear of ruining the man in front of him. For a moment, his eyes and nose and throat are scorched and burning with the pungent scent of thick black smoke. For a moment, he can feel the thick layer of ash and caked blood on his hands, a phantom feeling from so long ago he foolishly thought he’d finally forgotten it.
But he will never forget the way the flames burned, licking cage-like walls, and consuming them the same way this sudden need consumes him now.
Will he burn Shen Yuan the same way those flames burned wooden beams? Will he grasp his heart in his hands only to crumble it like the walls of that destitute manor? What if—what if it’s too much for Shen Yuan? He cannot be gentle; he knows this in his own heart. If he latches onto him now, he will never let go.
If Shen Yuan lets him, he will sink his bloodied claws into his unmarred skin and never let him go. He can never let him go.
“Shen Jiu!”
The voice is so sharp, so different from the usual light-hearted or impassioned or gentle voice he is so used to hearing. Shen Jiu snaps to attention, harried and wide eyes, out of whatever daze he had slipped into. The panic licking at his ankles fades at the genuine concern, the genuine fear in Shen Yuan’s dark eyes.
He doesn’t know how he looks, but he must make quite the scene to earn that look of such undeserved care. He swallows hard, fingertips trembling in his lap. Gentle hands hold his face, their touch—familiar and warm—grounds him in the moment.
It’s strange, he thinks as he relaxes into Shen Yuan’s hands, his eyelids fluttering briefly, how one person can feel so much like home.
It’s stranger yet how long it took him to see it. Though, perhaps it’s more to be expected. A broken man with a warped perception of relationships like him? A wry, bitter feeling twists inside him. He should be awarded for realizing so early!
Thumbs brush over his cheekbones and the feeling fades, his breath catching in his throat.
Shen Yuan doesn’t say a word, but the wrinkle in his brow says everything his mouth doesn’t. Shen Jiu swallows once more. The smoke clears at long last, and with a light-hearted sort of irony, he recalls the words he only so recently lectured Shen Yuan with.
Any person has the ability to create something great. All they have to do is take the opportunity when it ’s presented.
What is this, if not an opportunity presented on a silver platter directly to him, to create something great? To create something new? Something he never dared imagine allowing himself the pleasure of having?
“Shen Yuan,” he says, voice shamefully hoarse. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, anxiety sparking over his skin, when Shen Yuan hums softly in question. His lips part, words heavy on the tip of his tongue but reluctant to fall and break the dream-like atmosphere around them.
Slumping forward, Shen Yuan’s hands still cradling his face, Shen Jiu lets his forehead rest upon Shen Yuan’s with a light bump. He hears him inhale sharply. Shen Yuan’s eyes are wide as they stare back into Shen Jiu’s and this close, he notices a few small, dark specks of mossy green hidden in deep, warm brown.
He never would have noticed such a tiny detail had he never allowed himself this close.
“I…”
Words fail him and the irony does not escape him. A scholar who cannot put such simple feelings into words but—something fierce flares up in Shen Jiu. What he feels is anything but simple. Words, flippant and flimsy and useless as they are, could never describe the depth and complexity of Shen Jiu’s heart.
“I think…I understand,” Shen Yuan says after letting Shen Jiu’s silence sit for a minute. Shen Jiu’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t sense any sort of falsity to Shen Yuan’s words, and the eyes boring deeply into his own feel all too knowing.
A weight lifts from his chest and his shoulders sag.
“I admit,” Shen Yuan begins, voice painfully soft, “that I had some…misconceptions about you at first, some…misunderstandings, but—but now that I know you, I—”
His voice cuts off abruptly. His eyes shut for a short second, and when they re-open, they’re steeled with determination that sends Shen Jiu’s heart racing.
“Even if every single person in this world turns against you,” he says, softness replaced with sobering seriousness, “I still would walk the path at your side.”
Chills shiver down Shen Jiu’s spine as the severity of the words hit him with dizzying force. The look in his eyes as he says it, the implication beneath the words, the face-value of the words, the hands still on his face… Shen Jiu moves before he realizes what he’s doing and then, there are lips against his own.
Shen Yuan gasps, his eyes widening, but he doesn’t pull back. No, as Shen Jiu’s eyes squeeze shut, Shen Yuan presses back. His hands hold Shen Jiu’s face firmer, keeping him in place, and he leans his whole body into him. Shen Jiu reaches up and grips the front of Shen Yuan’s robes like a lifeline, holding his breath as he leans right back into him.
His lips, the first lips he has felt by his own will, by his own initiative, are just as soft and plush as they look. They are not chapped, they are not rough, they are softer than the pillows Madam Li and Meiyan filled his room with. They move against his own lips, clumsy and lacking confidence, but Shen Jiu hardly notices.
The rush of what’s happening makes his head spin, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen—Shen Jiu doesn’t know or care. What he does know, though, is that he never wants this to end. He never—he never wants to part from this man. He never wants to be apart. He never wants to let this go, now that he knows how it feels.
This thing, this feeling that he never knew he longed for, that he never knew he yearned for, he never wants to let it go. Never wants to lose it, never wants to let it go.
He doesn’t know if he would be able to bear it.
By the time they part, Shen Jiu is gasping for air. It’s not as embarrassing as it should be, though, when Shen Yuan does the same. His face is flushed cherry red, the color painting from his cheeks to his ears, and Shen Jiu barely has half a mind to wonder if he looks the same.
“I’ll go.”
The words snap Shen Jiu back to reality and alarms blare in his mind, until Shen Yuan takes a deep breath and finishes his sentence.
“I’ll go with you,” he says, still a bit breathless.
And for what must be the first time, Shen Jiu’s heart sings. Soars. He stares, wide eyed and still panting softly, with parted lips at Shen Yuan.
“The—I’ll—Madam Li…We can—we can tell them in the morning and,” he pauses to swallow, “and you can take me with you back to your sect and…and if anyone tries to give you trouble about it, I’ll fight them!”
It’s just crazy enough of a statement to startle a laugh out of Shen Jiu. It’s sharp and rough, but it’s a real laugh, and Shen Yuan looks dazed for a moment before it seems to finally click he’s being laughed at, and his cheeks puff up.
“I will! I’ll fight them!” he insists, squishing Shen Jiu’s cheeks.
It’s so—endearing of a thought, Shen Yuan fighting his troublesome shidi and shixiong for him… He can’t be blamed for the faint upturn of his lips, for the fondness in his eyes as he lets his body sway. He drops his forehead to Shen Yuan’s shoulder.
“Yes, yes,” he placates, blaming the softness of his voice on the post-kiss bliss he’s still floating in. “Yuan-di will fight so well for his gege.”
Shen Yuan sputters for a moment, before huffing loud and exaggeratedly. He doesn’t argue, though, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Sitting half in each other’s laps, bodies pressed closer than Shen Jiu ever thought he’d let another man’s be to his. Shen Jiu’s chest aches with a something he thought he’d forgotten how to feel, and in that moment, the cover of the night still hanging over the brothel Shen Jiu remembers what it’s like to feel alive.
With morning, chaos will come in tidal waves. He does not think about it. He thinks instead about the man in his arms, cradling him like he’s something special, something that can be loved, and relishes in the moment while he can.
With morning, chaos will come like a stampede of beasts and try with all its might to trample his bliss. That is in the morning, though, and it is night now. So, for now, Shen Jiu will rest. For now, he will let himself sink into the calm before the storm.
And in the morning, may Xiu Ya stay sheathed, may the skies not bleed red, and may Shen Yuan not bear witness to the ugly of Shen Jiu’s darkened soul.
Yes, in the morning…in the morning, may his fate be changed.