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Jiaoqiu couldn’t say he cared about the ongoings of many people. He cared about what happened to his master, both as her servant and companion, and he cared about things that happened to Moze, both as his acquaintance and co-worker. Otherwise, people could go on and live their lives as they pleased, allowing Jiaoqiu to sit back and watch with detached amusement, interest, or boredom. Life had become much easier—and less painful—after he’d adopted this mentality.
Yet, he couldn’t remain detached all the time. Occasionally, he’d get drawn into a battle that wasn’t his. Such as when a little pink-haired girl came up to him with requests for medicine to enhance her sword training. Teasing her and her gray-haired companion had been an entertaining way to pass the time, so he thought it fair to give them a little assistance in return. At the end of the day, he was a healer, a helper of people.
In most cases, his assistance would have ended there. On the contrary, this did not happen to be most cases.
Skott of the IPC. Oh, he’d heard the name, and much to his misfortune, he’d even seen the face, heard the voice, and suffered the attitude. In one particularly vivid memory involving a certain incident on the Yaoqing, one that had taken days for Feixiao to personally resolve, that man had been front and center.
Anyone who caused trouble for Jiaoqiu could be ignored and swept under the rug. Anyone who caused trouble for Moze would be on Jiaoqiu’s watch list, as long as Moze didn’t get to them first. Anyone who dared cause trouble for General Feixiao was not forgotten.
“Moze,” Jiaoqiu began, waving his fan leisurely at their accommodations as he looked out the window over the city. “Are you busy?”
The man in question looked up from inspecting one of his blades. The other blade rested on the table in front of him, along with a whet stone, a bowl of water, and a few rags. Despite their numerous differences, one hobby they shared was the intense care of their knives.
Jiaoqiu lowered his fan as he turned towards his companion. “Does an IPC representative by the name of Skott ring a bell?”
Moze’s grip on his knife tightened, the only visible sign of his disturbance. “The one who insulted Feixiao behind her back?”
“Ah, so you do remember him.”
“Starkly.”
A dark chuckle escaped Jiaoqiu. “He’s back in town, causing trouble. Now—”
“I’ll stop him.”
“I haven’t even said a thing.”
Moze stood, swinging his knife around. “The general is here for rest and medicine. As her retainers, you are responsible for researching the latter, while I am responsible for the removal of any hinderances preventing the former.”
Jiaoqiu’s smile felt a little less forced at that. “Let me handle it, Moze.”
The man quirked a brow at Jiaoqiu’s direction. “You?”
“Why not?”
“You don’t get involved unless something personal is at stake.”
“As a healer, I am also responsible for ensuring the rest of my patient.” His red eyes opened, sparkling with danger. “By any means necessary.”
For a moment, Moze held Jiaoqiu’s sly gaze before he plopped back onto his seat. “You getting involved promises to be worse than anything I can do to him.”
Jiaoqiu’s grin widened. “You think so lowly of me.”
“My judgement of you is right where it should be.”
I know. Jiaoqiu held the same opinion of Moze.
“Do you require assistance?” Moze asked.
“Join me for lunch tomorrow.”
“Just don’t make it spicy.”
“I’m counting on you to ensure it’s not.”
The pot of soup Jiaoqiu had spent the morning working on was just about done. Across from him, a certain man in purple was hunched over the empty counter space that wasn’t littered with ingredients, his chin propped up on his crossed arms as he watched the foxian removed a bundle of herbs from the pot.
Taking a small, flat dish that fit quite nicely in his hand, Jiaoqiu poured a bit of broth into it before handing it to Moze. “Taste; don’t eat.”
Moze took the offered cup from him. “Must you ruin perfectly good soup?”
“Ruin?” Jiaoqiu grinned. “My friend, it has been perfected.”
Raising the small dish to his lips, Moze sipped the broth but didn’t swallow. He swished it in his mouth for a couple seconds before spitting it back out into the dish. “Bitter.”
“How bitter?”
“Kicks in after a second.”
“Aftertaste, huh?” Looking over his arsenal of ingredients, Jiaoqiu took a pinch of this, a sprinkle of that, topped it with some herbs, and let it simmer again.
“Do I get lunch?” Moze questioned, lazily watching Jiaoqiu work. “Or was your invitation suggesting we go out for it?”
“Since when have I ever invited you out to lunch?”
Moze shrugged.
Again, Jiaoqiu filled another dish, extending it to Moze.
And again, Moze took the cup, emptied it, swishing it in his mouth before spitting it out. He paused, assessing the taste.
“Aftertaste gone?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all you have to say about it?”
Moze’s eyes narrowed as he took the two used tasting dishes to the sink. “If you wanted more eloquent descriptions, you should have asked the general.”
“Oh, but she’s so busy. How could I possibly bother her?”
Moze washed his mouth with a sip of water, spitting it into the sink. “So, it finished?”
“One last thing.” Jiaoqiu reached for the chili oil.
Only to be stopped by Moze, who slapped his hand over the top of the jar.
“Moze.”
“No.”
“Moze.”
“No.”
With a relenting huff, Jiaoqiu reached for the green garnishes instead. “Fine.” He added a few flourishes on top of the soup before putting a lid on it. “Will you do me a favor and deliver this for me?”
Only after moving the chili oil out of Jiaoqiu’s reach did Moze reach for the pot. “Were you planning to make us lunch at all?”
“Will you be patient for your reward?”
“No.”
Jiaoqiu sighed, mostly for show. “I should have expected nothing less from you. I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Lunch and a show?”
“I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
With two wrapped and warm lunches, Jiaoqiu sat at their predetermined rooftop, prepared for a picnic. He’d already left the famed Nameless duo and the other two of their party members. His duty was finished. All that was left was the watch the results of his labor.
He heard the soft footsteps of his companion approach from behind. “Do I get lunch now?” Moze dryly muttered.
Jiaoqiu handed him the box wrapped in a purple towel.
Taking the food, Moze plopped down on the bench next to him. In return, he handed Jiaoqiu a small pair of binoculars. He then put down a receiver in between the two of them, mucking with it for three seconds before the clear sound of Skott’s grating voice came in.
“This better not be spicy,” Moze muttered.
“The food or the show?”
“You should never be left alone with chili oil.”
“I don’t over-spice your rewards.”
“Once.”
“Exactly: once.”
Moze sighed, throwing a dumpling in his mouth before raising a second pair of binoculars to his own eyes. Through the transmitter, they could hear everything that was being spoken, although it was a bit loud at times with all the clinking machinery.
“Is it too spicy?” Jiaoqiu asked idly as IPC members began falling one after the next, their legs crossed and clutching their stomachs.
“Yes.”
Jiaoqiu rolled his eyes. “Are you just saying that?”
By the way Moze stuck the next dumpling into his mouth without hesitation, Jiaoqiu would assume so. “I’ve been forced to adapt to it.”
“See? Not over-spiced.”
“Just because you don’t have taste doesn’t mean I want you to destroy mine.”
Jiaoqiu scoffed. “Please, you didn’t have taste to begin with.”
Moze lowered his binoculars to shoot a glare at his companion.
Jiaoqiu suppressed his urge to snicker.
With a grunt, Moze lifted the binoculars to his eyes again. “I thought you’d have just killed them with spice instead.”
“They actually had to ingest it, Moze.”
“So you’re cognizant of heat when feeding it to others, but not to me or the general?”
“Really, what are you whining about? Spice is a medicine in and of itself.”
“Are you saying you spice our food because you care?”
“Do you buy it?”
“Not a damn second.”
“You wound me, Moze.”
Finally, having watched the rest of the IPC lackeys either run or collapse while their loud mecha exploded due to March’s minimal efforts, Jiaoqiu lowered his binoculars, a mischievous sense of pride filling him. Another job well done.
Moze did the same. He popped the last dumpling into his mouth as he eyed the receiver, where March’s lackluster gloating rang through clear.
Skott, on the other hand, sounded rather pathetic.
Well deserved, Jiaoqiu thought, his grin widening.
“What are they whining about now?” Moze muttered. “It’s their fault for eating food without knowing the origin.”
“They took it that easily?”
Moze nodded.
“I expected them to give you a harder time.”
“You give them too much cre—”
Skott’s last whine came through the receiver, causing both men to freeze. Temptation pulling them in, both raised their binoculars just in time to see the horrified reactions to Skott’s… rather unfortunate admission.
“Jiaoqiu.”
“Yes, Moze.”
“… Just how strong did you make that medicine.”
“Why, I’d only serve the IPC the finest quality medications. Nothing below the strongest, most effective I can give.”
Moze’s sharp eyes turned on him. “And you had me taste it?”
“I told you not to eat. Don’t worry, you shouldn’t have any issue. If you haven’t yet had to do the walk of shame that man will have to do, then you’ll be just fine.” Jiaoqiu stood from his seat, lowering the binoculars as he shot Moze a tight smile. “Although, I think that if we want to avoid issues, we should take our leave.”
“I feel bad for the workers who have to clean up after that.”
“They get paid well, I’m sure.”
“Do they really get paid that well?”
“… Probably not.”
Later that evening, Jiaoqiu was placing the finishing touches on the day’s dinner when Feixiao decided to strut through the door.
Yes, strut. With purpose, with intention, with a façade of a smile covering her true emotions.
His gut twisting into a knot, Jiaoqiu spared a glance to Moze, who spared a glance at him. Only because Jiaoqiu knew Moze so well did he catch the waver of worry hidden in his stoic expression.
The general paused, her hands on her hips as she looked between the two men. “I heard through the rumor mill that there was quite the commotion in Aurum Alley today.”
“Was there?” Jiaoqiu spoke, gathering plates and chopsticks to set around the dinner table.
“Apparently, a certain IPC member had made his appearance very loudly known a couple weeks ago, only to have been causing trouble on the Luofu ever since.”
“A certain IPC member?” Moze drawled, playing oblivious. “Like we’re supposed to know who that is?”
“I would assume so.”
Jiaoqiu finished setting the table. “And pray tell, why’s that?”
Feixiao’s eyes twinkled with mirth as she tried to temper a grin. “Because, there would be no reason that a random IPC member would suddenly receive a pot of medicinal soup unless it was a certain IPC member.”
“Medicinal soup? Just what are you implying?”
“Jiaoqiu.”
In mock offence, he placed a hand over his chest, his ears falling in an attempt to look pitiful. “Do you think I’d poison them, general? The IPC have caused you so much trouble in the past that I can’t fathom doing anything to get on their bad side. The last thing we need is to be on bad terms with them.”
Feixiao quirked a brow at him. “Unless we were, hypothetically, already on bad terms.”
“Are we on bad terms with someone?” Moze asked. “I thought everything was resolved.”
At that, her amusement flatlined.
Uh-oh.
“I don’t know, Moze. I doubt you’d forget this one with the… colorful language you’ve used to describe him ever since.”
Moze suddenly glanced away. There was only so much hiding from Feixiao. The woman was not the general of the Yaoqing for nothing.
Yet, Jiaoqiu and Moze were not the retainers of the Merlin Claw for nothing, either. “General, just what rumors did you hear?” Jiaoqiu asked, hoping, likely in vain, to salvage this situation. “You’re going to have to spell it out for us.”
With a hand on her cocked hip, Feixiao looked to Jiaoqiu.
He’d been in enough contests like this one to hold his own just fine.
“Alright,” Feixiao stepped up to Jiaoqiu, slowly, smugly, and maybe a slight bit sultry. His smile grew strained for a whole new reason. “Allow me to spell it nice and clear, my dear healer.” She leaned in close, her eyes twinkling with mischief and smile wide in satisfaction.
Dammit. He needed his heart to calm down.
“Next time you leave me out of enjoying a literal shit show, you’re fired.”
A snort, one equal amounts amused and embarrassed, escaped him.
“Goes for you, too, Moze,” Feixiao tacked on, pulling away from Jiaoqiu. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, General.” The assassin bowed. “Our apologies.”
With an amused hum, Feixiao meandered into the kitchen. “You better hope I don’t get dragged into assisting the cloud knights’ investigation into a sudden case of severe food poisoning of an IPC envoy.”
“Surely not,” Jiaoqiu tried to reason, reaching for the chili oil to put the final touches on the night’s dinner.
Only for Feixiao to take the jar and walk away.
“Et tu?” Jiaoqiu muttered.
Feixiao shot him a cheeky winner’s grin. “I’d like to taste my food, thank you. Which I’m always excited to do as long as you didn’t add any special medicinal herbs to that stew, that is.”
“What healer would I be if I didn’t?” Jiaoqiu rationalized, his gaze softening as he turned towards his master. “But what I added to this pot will not turn you into the next Skott.”
“Much obliged.” As a sign of trust, she placed the chili oil back on the counter. “Now, since I wasn’t invited to watch, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened and what lead up to it. I won’t rat you boys out; I’d just like to know.”
“Absolutely, General.” Jiaoqiu garnished the food he’d so carefully crafted for his companions with herbs instead of oil. “It’s only fair you get dinner and a story, too.”