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When death comes, Xiao surrenders.
Dihua Marsh is not an unpleasant place to spend his final moments. At least, it wouldn’t be if the karma would let him succumb peacefully. He stumbles through water silvered by moonlight, palms pressed to his temples as the hatred of thousands of slain gods burns. Existence has no meaning. Living is suffering. To continue on in this world is to slaughter endlessly. These are all truths with which he has long contended. But from the mouths of the vanquished and vengeful, even he cannot console himself with the surety of his contract.
His knees hit the water and color it red. The horsetails appear multitudinous in the blurring of his vision. If he could be granted just one mercy, it would be to die with his mind intact. But the voices clamor for his sanity.
In the end, he can’t even apologize to his brothers and sisters for making them wait.
Amidst the cacophony, a single voice lilts above the others, humming but not speaking. No—it isn’t a voice but an instrument: the Dihua flute. Once he recognizes that, he realizes that his mind has returned to him.
The sound is a panacea, drowning out the voices of the damned, soothing his body with sweet analgesic. The melody is nostalgic, yet he cannot recall ever having heard it before.
Eventually, the starry sky returns overhead, the moon shrouded in its veil of clouds. He’s on his back in the marsh, cattails crowding above him. The water chills his aching wounds.
He has energy left only to turn his head to one side. The great marsh stretches out in all directions, but a rock amongst the grasses draws his eye. There is a figure atop it, dangling his legs over the side while he plays that beautiful melody on a hand-carved flute.
There is peace enough in the night air to rest now, and so Xiao closes his eyes and sleeps.
—
With morning comes birdsong and plucked strings. Xiao wakes slowly to the symphony of the marsh. The sun is warm on his skin and bright against his eyelids. His body is stiff and sore, but the agony of his karmic binds has subsided.
He’s alive.
He wonders if surviving the night was a mercy or not. Today, he will go out to slaughter again. Tomorrow, he will do the same. And the next day, perhaps the madness will take him once and for all.
But the morning breeze carries the scents of grass and stream, and he breathes it in greedily.
When he opens his eyes, he sees the shadows of reeds above him, swaying under the sun. They surround him on all sides like a cradle. The ground beneath him is dry and solid—a bed of grass, deliberately arranged. His clothes are dry, too, and his wounds—
He sits up suddenly and winces. But that’s all. The bloody lacerations of last night are gone; only bruises and shallow cuts remain.
The sound of strings stops.
“How are you feeling?” The voice is cheerful, boyish. Xiao looks up.
The strings are from a lyre, and the lyre is in the hands of the one who saved him—a young man dressed in green, perched on a tree branch like a swallow. His two braids swing as he leans forward and peers down at Xiao from beneath his cap. His eyes gradate from blue to green like the colors of Luhua Pool.
“Yes, you look much better.” He thumbs a string on his lyre, and a bright note sounds out.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, Xiao flees the marsh.
—
It is not often that Xiao finds himself troubled by the plights of others. He cares not what they think of him, for such frivolity has no bearing on his duties. But he cannot help but feel ashamed of how abruptly he departed from the one who saved him.
As he roams the Bishui Plain under the mid-noon sun, these thoughts consume him.
No mortal could have purified his karmic debt and healed his wounds. Very few illuminated beings could have accomplished the same. But Xiao knows of no Adeptus who takes the form of his savior. He can’t deny his curiosity.
It wouldn’t do to become attached. He knows this. Bonds can only fracture, and death is the inevitable cold blade that severs them. But he is not in the habit of being indebted to another.
When the sun falls behind the ridge of mountains in the west and the moon takes its place in the heavens, Xiao returns to Dihua Marsh.
A song drifts over reeds and rocks to find his ears. He follows it on wind-blessed feet so as not to startle the singer in the marsh. The chirping of frogs masks his breath as he peers through the grass at the riverbank.
The young man wades knee-deep in the marsh, moving slowly as he sings to the stars. He’s entirely nude, moonlight caressing the contours of porcelain skin. Xiao finds his eyes wandering to the young man’s bottom, round and tight in perfect form, and then to the space between his legs. His penis lies neat against his thighs with the pleasing shape and symmetry of something sculpted, and his testicles hang like ripe fruits on overladen branches. Some primal part of Xiao desires to reach out and lay his hands over that velvet skin.
“You’re very beautiful, little bird.”
The low voice of his master breathes through his head unbidden. Xiao shudders. Suddenly, the cattails of the marsh are like hands, stroking his legs and sides with the susurrations of the wind.
“I hate when you make me hurt you, my pet.”
Xiao kneels, hunkering down in the water and reeds. The cattails become whips that lash his back and thighs and split his skin.
To think that he could harbor the depraved thoughts of his master. Bile, hot and acrid, rises in his throat. His mind has been corrupted by impure thoughts.
He hardly realizes that the singing has stopped. Only when he looks up to the moon, grasping for comfort, does he see the young man turned toward him, a gentle smile on his lips.
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“Would you care to join me for a waltz under the moonlight, O noble Yaksha?”
He holds out his hand, fingers splayed. Xiao wishes to go to him and take that hand. He forces himself to remain rooted. It’s all he can do. If he could flee, he would. But earthly desire holds him captive while the embodiment of celestial beauty before him captivates him in turn.
The young man proffers his hand again. “Well? The moon won’t wait all night!”
Xiao can no longer bear it. Perhaps it’s the hunger of his karma that drives him toward this unnatural, mortal sin. His feet move gingerly, sinking into the marsh as he emerges from the grasses. The water is neither cold nor warm, existing only to slow his steps, but the moonlit spirit before him waits without judgment.
“You are Adeptus Xiao,” he remarks when he is close enough to entwine their hands. He gazes into Xiao’s eyes, then lifts his free hand to cup his cheek. “Just call me Venti.”
Xiao shivers as Venti smooths his thumb over his brow, brushing aside tangles of hair. “You have such gentle eyes, Adeptus Xiao.”
The warmth of Venti’s hand in his is a distraction that draws Xiao’s gaze downward. Then, his attention is once again fixed upon that branch dripping its overripe fruits.
Venti chuckles. “Caught your eye, have I?” He lowers his hand to stroke a finger along his length.
Xiao jerks back, heat in his cheeks. “I only wished to thank you for the aid you rendered. I will not linger here. You will be tainted by my karma if you remain in my presence.”
This is dangerous. He must go.
But Venti refuses to release his hand. “Such things do not bother me. I like your company, so stay if you can. And besides…”
He gently guides Xiao’s hand toward the junction of his thighs. Xiao finds that he can’t move away as his fingers brush against the intoxicating heat of Venti’s member. Venti trembles a little at the contact, a sigh escaping his lips.
“Didn’t you want to touch this?”
Xiao can’t deny that he does. But fear freezes him in place, his hand limp on Venti’s length. Any disturbance to this part of the body is a violation. His master taught him firsthand that cruel truth.
But Venti pushes his hips forward, encouraging contact. It would be all too easy, Xiao thinks, to take advantage of him.
“What are you thinking about?” Venti asks, tipping back his head to meet Xiao’s eyes. “If you don’t want to play, I certainly won’t make you! But if you’re harboring reservations on my behalf, well…” He grins, tugging on his own cock. “You needn’t worry. I don’t attach much meaning to encounters like this.”
Xiao stands frozen. This is not how it was with his master. His master took and cared not whether he cried out in perverse ecstasy or desperate terror. But Venti is pleased by Xiao’s touch. He demands this contact.
Tentatively, Xiao folds his hand around Venti’s length. To his embarrassed surprise, Venti moans and rubs himself against the enclosing fingers.
“Yes, like that,” he sighs, his breaths like a butterfly’s wings beating against Xiao’s collarbone. “Now start to move your hand.”
As if in a trance, Xiao begins to move his hand up and down Venti’s length. Pressed so close together, he can feel every tremor, every inhalation that passes from one body to the other. He tries to be gentle, but when Venti’s cries crescendo, he falters. And yet Venti spurs him on with hot, thrusting hips, with moans half-whispered into his ears, melting into the swamp-song. Soon, Venti’s hands find Xiao’s shoulders, fingers tightening around them, but he doesn’t beg for it to be over.
Xiao is startled when the tension in his folded hand relaxes in a spray of warm fluid and Venti goes limp against him. He releases Venti’s member, his immediate instinct to flee. But Venti wraps his arms around his neck and refuses to let go.
“Why leave now when I have yet to return the favor?”
Xiao doesn’t know what he means until he feels Venti’s knee bump against his crotch. He flushes; he’s aroused.
“No,” he says weakly, extricating himself from Venti’s hold. “I—I must go.”
Venti steps back, tilting his head. “Is something wrong? I can thank you in some other way if you like.”
But Xiao shakes his head. “No. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t—”
Without allowing Venti the chance to respond or himself a moment to think, he departs in a cloud of green-black Anemo.
—
When Xiao resumes his solitary vigil of the Bishui Plain, he resolves to put Venti forever out of mind.
It has been a long time since he has been rattled like this. He is ashamed, but of what, even he isn’t entirely certain. All he knows is that every time he closes his eyes, he feels the warmth of Venti’s skin against his, closer even than the whisper of death that hangs like shackles over his limbs. The sound of the Dihua flute rings in his ears even in his quiet moments. It haunts him.
Rex Lapis must perceive his lapse in concentration, for one morning, Xiao returns from a night of slaughter to find his lord awaiting him on the highest balcony at Wangshu Inn, hands clasped behind him as he watches the sunrise. Xiao kneels at once, vanishing his bloodstained polearm with a flick of his wrist while attempting to conceal his alarm.
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” the Geo Archon Morax chuckles, turning and indicating for Xiao to rise. “I am not here on business.”
“Punish me as you see fit,” are the first words that tumble from Xiao’s mouth as he slowly rises. “I have been shirking my duties.”
Morax hums. “I am not here to scold you, either. I only wished to ask whether the medicine I gave you the last time has lost its potency.”
Xiao hesitates. “That is… not the case.”
“Oh?” Morax crosses his arms, quirking a brow. “In that case, is there something on your mind?”
Xiao lowers his eyes. “I…” He cannot lie to his lord.
“Tell me only if you wish. I do not mean to pry.”
But Xiao shakes his head. “I will tell you. Several nights ago, I was”—he falters, struggling to find the words—“I was saved by someone in the marsh. When I was nearly consumed by my karmic debt, he purified it and healed my wounds.”
Morax thins his mouth into a tight line, one of his tells, Xiao has learned, that he is upset. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Xiao bows his head. “Forgive me, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you with what’s inevitable.”
Morax is silent for a long while. “I see,” he says at last. “Well, then, I owe my gratitude to this savior. I can think of precious few who are capable of purifying the amount of karma capable of overcoming you.”
“If he is an Adeptus, I am unfamiliar with him,” Xiao admits. “He said his name is Venti.”
Morax’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ah,” he says after a moment. “Is that what he called himself?”
Xiao nods. Morax rubs his chin, pensive. “Then he failed to reveal to you his true identity—that of Barbatos, the Anemo Archon.”
Xiao feels suddenly as if his breast has been lanced by a poisoned spear-tip. “The—the Anemo Archon?” he rasps.
How can it be possible? Venti is one of the Seven? More powerful than his former master and equal in status to Rex Lapis himself? No—it’s absurd. There had been no ceremony. Venti had been carefree, wandering nude about the marsh at night as if he feared no one and invited all to gaze upon him instead. Would one of the Seven truly present himself so informally? So vulnerably?
And yet who but one of the Seven could have purified such fathomless karmic debt?
“You appear alarmed,” Morax says, a note of playful amusement in his voice. “This is simply the Anemo Archon’s way. He is, as he calls it, a ‘free spirit.’”
“F-forgive me,” Xiao gasps in a spill of words. “I have conducted myself dishonorably with one of the Seven with regards to matters of the flesh! I—”
But Morax holds up a hand. Somehow, he appears neither surprised nor perturbed by Xiao’s admission. “You needn’t ask forgiveness, for you have committed no wrongdoing. If your dalliance with the Anemo Archon brought you any measure of succor or pleasure, then it was a good thing, was it not?”
Xiao feels fire rush to his cheeks. “Yes, but—”
“I will not meddle in your private affairs,” Morax interrupts. “If you wish to meet with Barbatos again, you may do so. In fact, I encourage it.” He smiles. “You are far too strict with yourself, Xiao. Please, take some time for yourself as well.”
Without another word, he departs, leaving Xiao alone with his troublesome thoughts.
—
Xiao finds Venti once again at Dihua Marsh, wading amongst the reeds and playing his flute.
“You’re back!” He lowers his flute, holding out his free hand. “Shall we dance? Or perhaps we might continue where we left off?”
Xiao blushes. Kneeling in the marsh, he bows his head and says, “Lord Barbatos. Why did you not tell me the truth of your identity?”
Venti drops his hand, curling it against the white arc of his hip instead. Marsh water sparkles on his crystalline skin. “That old blockhead Morax told you, didn’t he?” he quips.
Xiao does not lift his head. “Had I known your true identity, I would not have conducted myself so immodestly with you.”
“And that is precisely why I didn’t tell you.” Venti shakes his head, braids swaying. “Tell me, does it truly matter that I am one of the Seven?”
Yes, Xiao wants to say, but he has no argument to support his response—none that he suspects Venti will accept, at least.
Venti vanishes his flute in a cloud of Anemo particles and walks toward Xiao. Xiao keeps his eyes averted from Venti’s naked form.
“Come on, stand up! I can’t have you kneeling here like that all night—unless you plan on using your mouth for a different purpose?”
Xiao’s cheeks blaze as he staggers to his feet. Venti laughs, then leans forward, his body closing in against Xiao’s. “Now, where were we?”
His hand gropes low, catching a hint of roundness swelling in Xiao’s pants. Xiao cannot keep the heat from his cheeks, nor from that space further down as Venti fondles his burgeoning arousal.
“You should leave,” he gasps, legs trembling as Venti attends to his groin. “I am tainted.”
Venti huffs. “I just slept off a wicked dragon’s poison. You underestimate the Anemo Archon Barbatos.”
He begins to work Xiao’s pants and underthings down his hips. Though he knows he should, Xiao does not stop him. Venti’s hand on his member is like an electric shock. His cock twitches upward, its arousal unmistakable under the moonlight. shame roils in his gut. His master would have whipped him for such perversion.
Venti drops to his knees with a splash. The water laps at his member as he reaches up to cup Xiao’s in his hands. As Venti opens his mouth to speak, Xiao shivers at the warm breath that glides across his tip.
“May I?”
Venti’s eyes are so earnest, so hungry, and Xiao is too out of his own head to refuse him. He nods.
Venti wastes no time. His mouth closes around Xiao’s member. Xiao’s breath hitches, and he bucks forward. He feels Venti laugh around him, moving his tongue along the length as he takes more of him. Xiao’s knees nearly buckle as Venti bobs his head, licking and sucking in turn.
Xiao understands now why his master craved this so. In those days of captivity and bondage, he simply could not comprehend it. But the sensation of a warm mouth enveloping his cock evokes a pleasure heretofore unknown to him. And Venti gives himself over willingly, eyes rolling back in his head when all-too quickly Xiao releases himself into his mouth.
The euphoria that follows climax is intense but fleeting. As Venti slides off his cock, swallowing seed around the tip, Xiao is consumed once again by cold shame.
Venti rises, dripping swamp water down his beautiful form. He takes Xiao’s hand as if expecting him to flee again. “Thank you for the honor and the privilege.” He leans forward, his swollen lips dangerously close to Xiao’s. “Would you allow me one further honor by spending the night with me?”
He brushes his lips to Xiao’s, kissing him. Xiao tastes the salt of the marsh and his own seed and feels his groin tighten again. As Venti leads him out of the marsh, Xiao realizes that he has become intoxicated on his own arousal. He has surrendered himself to the pleasure of his body just as he has surrendered himself to Venti.
“Lord Barbatos,” he says once their feet touch the bloated riverbank. “I can’t—with one of the Seven, I—”
Venti silences him with another soft kiss. “I told you, call me Venti. Who cares about the Anemo Archon Barbatos right now? Not I!”
He caresses Xiao’s sides, then juts his pelvis forward. “I’ll be putty in your hands tonight.” He sways his hips, grinding his semi-hard cock against Xiao’s.
Before either can reach completion, however, Venti sprawls in the grass, his stiffening member squeezed between his plump thighs. “There’s lubricating oil with my clothes on that rock.” He indicates to a boulder several paces off. “But take your time. I could gaze upon your moonlit form all night, drink my fill of your beauty, and then compose verses upon the rays of the rising sun.”
Xiao flushes. “You would truly—with someone like me—”
But Venti, now idly fingering himself, gazes at Xiao with lust in his eyes. This is not like it was with him and his master, Xiao thinks. Venti wants this. In this moment, Xiao would not—could not—force him.
Without looking at Venti, he strips out of his clothes. His cock feels heavy between his thighs as he rifles through Venti’s garments for the promised vial of oil. He spills it over his hands in his haste to slick up and hopes that Venti doesn’t notice. He brings what remains in the vial with him as he scrambles back to Venti, fitting himself between his legs.
“I’m pretty loose, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Venti demonstrates by slipping a third finger into his depths with a little moan.
Xiao hesitates, staring at his slick member in his hand. “I… I’ve never…”
“It’s alright,” Venti says, saving him the embarrassment of having to finish. “I’ll guide you.”
He closes his hand over Xiao’s member and carefully brings it to his opening. “Line yourself up. And then push in. I don’t mind if you’re gentle or rough—I like it both ways.”
Red-faced, Xiao nods again, taking his cock into his hand. As soon as he presses it between folds of skin, however, he stops. “Am I—hurting you?”
“You’re not hurting me,” Venti assures him. “Go on—you won’t break me.”
Xiao lets out a small breath and proceeds. Wet heat engulfs his tip, mesmerizing in its intimacy. He pushes deeper, striking the ring of muscles while his own tightens on instinct. Venti’s body doesn’t reject him; instead, it seems to want to suck him in.
Bracing his hands on Venti’s legs, Xiao shoves past the ring.
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“Ah!” Venti’s body shudders around him. “Yes—just like that!”
Xiao keeps pushing until he’s sheathed up to the hilt. Then, sweating, he sits back on his heels and contemplates the sheer insanity that is the sight of him impaling the Anemo Archon on his cock.
“Now start moving,” Venti grunts, rocking forward. “As quickly or slowly as you want!”
Xiao begins slowly, terrified of hurting Venti if he does otherwise. But as he moves, he soon realizes that Venti was right—he is loose. Though the fit is snug, there’s space to maneuver, and the oil eases the friction. He quickens his pace, drawing back and slamming forward with a slapping of flesh on flesh that startles him. Venti keens, saliva dribbling from his open mouth.
The tight pressure on his cock is almost enough to drive Xiao mad. Venti groans and begs in response to his thrusts, legs twitching in Xiao’s hands. And Xiao realizes then that they are joined together without violence. There is pressure but no force. Unlike Xiao with his master, Venti has surrendered himself willingly. And so they are united, body and soul.
Xiao wonders if perhaps he should be embarrassed for how briefly he lasts. But as he cries out and spills into Venti’s depths, and as Venti climaxes between them in turn, he finds that there is only warm pleasure in the aftermath and no shame.
If Venti is disappointed by his performance, he doesn’t say it. In fact, he seems downright overjoyed as Xiao pulls his spent cock from within him.
“A most excellent performance!” Venti sits up gingerly, pressing a kiss to Xiao’s brow. “To have someone as lovely as you make love to me—why, it’s a dream come true!”
Xiao looks away in his bashfulness. “If you say so…”
Venti chuckles. “Now, now. Come, lie with me. I’m tired and need someone to keep me warm as I sleep the night away. Even archons need warmth and rest, you know.”
He curls onto his side in the reeds, and after a moment taken in caution, Xiao joins him. They fit together so naturally, he thinks, then scolds himself for indulging himself.
But perhaps it’s the influence of the God of Freedom that makes him think that, just this once, he can allow such an indulgence.