Chapter Text
Longcheng, Northern Yan, in the 27th year of Kaiwen
Mei Changsu, Chief of the Jiangzuo Alliance, rarely miscalculated, but when he did, he tried to ensure that the consequences would fall on him alone. He cared too much for the men and women who served the Alliance to let it be otherwise.
Still, it usually didn’t happen quite so literally. He watched with an emotion too cold and detached to be regret as a shining blade cleaved down toward his unprotected head. Faintly, he heard Fei Liu’s cry from across the market square, too far away for even Changsu’s quicksilver bodyguard to save him in time. Li Gang and Zhen Ping hadn’t even noticed the threat. They’d been drawn away, a calculated move to separate Chief Mei from his protectors.
And a miscalculation on Changsu’s part. A fatal one, it would seem, as Changsu fell back out of range of the first strike. That effort alone left him light-headed and breathless, cursing his body that even now, when faced with inevitable death and failure, would not answer to his need.
As the masked assassin spun and brought his blade up for another strike, Changsu—no, Lin Shu. He would meet this moment as Lin Shu—held his ground. If standing was all his body could manage, he would die standing, with his eyes wide open to see it.
I am sorry, Father. I am sorry, Jingyu dage, Xiao Jingyan. You deserved better than a broken tool to do this work.
That resolution meant his eyes were open to see another blade block the descending one a hair’s breadth from Lin Shu’s brow. Edge slid along edge with a whisper harder than silk, close enough that Lin Shu could read the surprise in the reflection of his own unfamiliar face. As the tips crossed, the defending blade flicked the attacking one away like an annoying insect, and Lin Shu’s defender stepped between him and the assassin.
Lashing-Horse-Tail, from the Glass Forest School. Lin Shu dragged Mei Changsu’s analytical perspective back around him like a cloak meant to ward off the grasping chill of death. He backed up another step, giving his unexpected defender room to defend him, and himself enough room to observe.
The man’s clothes were rough-woven ramie – undyed underrobes and a brown tunic over them – but they were neat and clean as expected of everyone who served in the Jiangzuo Alliance. His hair was just as neat, bound into a high tail with a simple length of cloth. Even his blade was unassuming. Sharp and well-cared for, but the sort of common weapon that any soldier or Jianghu wanderer might wield.
He was Long Zhan, a new member from the Red Eyebrow Gang that the Jiangzuo Alliance had subsumed a few months past. He’d carried out his duties in Langzhou without complaint, and competently enough that Li Gang asked to bring him when they moved their household to Longcheng in Northern Yan. Like his clothing and his blade, Long Zhan had been completely unremarkable. Changsu only recognized him because he was careful to know every person who came into his Alliance. The risk was too great to trust untrustworthy people.
He remarked now. After the first block and flick, Long Zhan cast one look at Changsu, searching him for injuries, then nodded and returned his concentration to the assassin just in time to block a flurry of quick strikes meant to carve a thousand cuts into his flesh.
In contrast to the strength of his initial defense, Long Zhan met those cuts with flashing strikes, each one sending a lick of qi up the assassin’s blade like a fire eating at the foundations of a house.
Fox-Leaps-for-the-Moon. It was not an easy technique to master, nor was it from the same school as Horse Tail, and nevermind the challenge of shifting the elemental energy of one’s qi so easily from wood to fire.
And easily again. A second assassin came flying out from between a vegetable stall and a noodle maker, carrots and pots of starchy boiling water spraying everyone and scattering the crowd that had gathered to watch the show. Long Zhan parted from his blade like the licking flames of a bonfire, leaving it locked with the first assassin’s so that he wouldn’t lose his hand to the second assassin’s strike. The second assassin’s sword sheared the trailing end of Long Zhan’s tunic.
Crouching low, Long Zhan swept his leg in an arc, knocking the second assassin off his feet in one of the most beautifully executed Dragonfly-Parts-the-Reeds that Changsu had ever been privileged to witness, his qi flowing like water. Long Zhan reached out without looking. The falling slice of his tunic fluttered past his hand as he caught his blade before it could touch the ground. He used it to bat the hot wok at his foes, the distraction giving him the breath he needed to jump to his feet and face off against them.
Changsu was almost disappointed when Fei Liu arrived in a flurry of frantic blows and kicks. He would have liked to have seen what Long Zhan could have done against two exceedingly skilled assassins. It had been a long time since he’d seen a martial artist whose qi moved so easily that he could shift his elemental energy like that. Not since taizi dianxia, Xiao Jingyu…
He shied away from such thoughts, and the despair they would inevitably invite. Moments ago, he’d been prepared to die as Lin Shu. Now that it seemed he would live as Mei Changsu, he had no time for such morbid contemplations.
Between them, Fei Liu and Long Zhan made short work of the two assassins. And then Fei Liu turned on Long Zhan.
“Fei Liu, no!” Changsu snapped, too late to stop the strike aimed at Long Zhan’s throat—except it was unnecessary. Long Zhan’s hand was already up, his fingertips just touching Fei Liu’s, and somehow that was enough to absorb the deadly energy behind Fei Liu’s strike.
Changsu repressed a shiver, but he couldn’t repress the surge of curiosity. It was a block, the qi behind it as solid as the iron-banded gates of Jinling.
It was a block Changsu didn’t recognize, and had no name for.
When it seemed clear that no more attacks were forthcoming, the watching crowd shuffled back to their mundane business. Soon, the only altercation of note was the argument between the vegetable merchant and the noodle-maker.
Long Zhan fell to his knees before Changsu. “This one apologizes for his poor defense of Chief Mei’s person.”
Allowing himself a soft smile, Changsu said, “Yes. Clearly I should be very disappointed in your sloppy technique.”
Long Zhan shook his head once, sharply, rejecting Changsu’s attempt at levity. “If Chief Mei had fallen to that first strike—”
“Then I expect the Jiangzuo Alliance would also fall, likely to the Five Pillars Society of Northern Yan,” Changsu said, before Long Zhan could say something regrettable.
Unfortunately, it seemed Long Zhan was a better warrior than he was a diplomat. “This one should have been there sooner. There should not have been a first attack.”
Of course a man with such open channels would be unflinchingly honest. Smile slipping, Changsu said mildly, “The fight was spread out, but in the end, I was defended. No harm came to me.” His gaze flicked to Fei Liu, whose shoulders were hunched in shame, and to Li Gang and Zhen Ping, who were only now running up, faces pale with the realization that they had not been close enough to their Chief to defend him. It was a failing Changsu would have to address, but not one that Long Zhan had the right of rank to point out.
A fact that Long Zhan seemed determinedly oblivious to. “Chief Mei had to exert himself to evade the first attack, and he is still winded from the effort. Long Zhan should have been quicker.” He lowered into a full kowtow, hands and brow planted in the dust of the street. Changsu had to fight down the urge to cough as anger and amazement surged through him. He was not going to prove Long Zhan’s disparagement of his health by giving in to the tugging insistence of his lungs.
After the urge had passed, Changsu snapped, “I had wondered how such a skilled martial artist remained an unknown underling of a mediocre Jianghu sect. Now I know, and am left to wonder how you survived under your former Chief’s rule. She must have been very patient to put up with such an oblivious, stubborn—” water buffalo. Changsu choked before the last words could slip out. Habit. It was only habit left over from Lin Shu that those were the words that his mouth and mind shaped to follow the word stubborn. The coughing fit that had been lying in ambush rose up to seize him.
“Chief Mei?” Long Zhan half-rose from his kowtow. Li Gang and Zhen Ping were reaching out to offer their support.
Changsu waved them away. Mei Changsu. He was Mei Changsu. His stubborn water buffalo was as dead as Lin Shu. Steeling himself against the further urge to cough, he stooped to study Long Zhan’s face.
There was something of Xiao Jingyan there, in the firmness of his jaw, the unforgiving slash of his brows, and most clearly in the eyes that neither saw nor conveyed deception. But Long Zhan was not Jingyan, could never be, no matter how much Changsu might wish otherwise, because Jingyan was dead.
He’d been a stubborn water buffalo to the end, clinging to conviction until it drove him to his end. Unwisely, he questioned the charges of treason against Prince Qi and the Lin Family after the Chiyan massacre, earning him banishment from the Imperial court. A year later, while Lin Shu was being flayed alive at Mount Langya, Jingyan’s untimely demise arrived at the hands of assassins in a skirmish on the border with Da Yu.
Changsu briefly closed his eyes. His recent brush with death—his brush with Lin Shu—had blurred the lines he’d carved out so that he could do what needed to be done. That had to be the explanation for why he was thinking about Jingyan when he should be correcting this man for his implied insults. He opened his eyes to find Long Zhan studying him as carefully as Changsu had studied Long Zhan.
“Chief Mei?” he asked softly, close enough for his breath to brush Changsu’s cheek.
Before that oddly intimate sensation could distract him, Changsu straightened. “By calling his defense of my person a failure, what is Long Zhan implying about those whose duty is to defend me?”
Long Zhan glanced at Fei Liu, at Li Gang and Zhen Ping, in horror. “Nothing! I never meant to accuse—"
But Li Gang and Zhen Ping were already falling to their knees, and Fei Liu was barely holding back tears.
“Long Zhan is correct, Chief,” Li Gang said, hands folded before him and eyes on the ground. “We should not have let ourselves be drawn away.”
“Failed Su gege!” Fei Liu wailed, and launched off over the rooftops, heading for… only Langya Hall knew where.
Holding his sleeves close to his body, Changsu glared down at Long Zhan. This was his fault. “Li Gang, go after Fei Liu before he flees all the way to the Eastern River. Long Zhan, since this is your doing, go with Li Gang. And make certain you apologize to Fei Liu. He likes melons.” When both men hesitated, Changsu sighed. “Zhen Ping will escort me back to the estate.”
“I won’t leave the Chief’s side,” Zhen Ping promised. “Go.”
They went.
Once they were out of sight and earshot, Changsu turned to Zhen Ping. “After we return, take a message to the sixth prince. Tell him the commander of the city guard’s loyalty is suspect.”
“Chief?” Zhen Ping glanced around to make certain they were alone, as though Changsu would ever speak of important matters unless he was certain it was safe.
The fact that they were alone was proof of Mei Changsu’s suspicions. The city guard should have come out for such an altercation. That they were absent boded ill for the sixth prince’s support in his fight for the throne of Northern Yan.
Lucky for Prince Daoxi, Mei Changsu had an agenda to prove and a wager to win. “Have Tong Lu look into whether this is Long Zhan’s first time in Longcheng.” He stooped and picked up the bit of cloth that had been cleaved from Long Zhan’s tunic, rubbing it between his fingers. “You’ll head to Langzhou to confirm with his people there. And I need to write to Langya Hall. Do we still have any pigeons trained to fly there, or did Fei Liu let them all go?”
Zhen Ping fidgeted uneasily. “You think Long Zhan isn’t who he claims to be?”
Changsu thought of that free-flowing qi, the honest eyes and forthright demeanor. He thought of the martial skills from a mix of schools, and the move he had never seen and had no name for.
“No, I don’t,” he said, climbing back into the sedan chair he’d abandoned when the attack fell upon them. A cold wind rattled down the street. He pulled his cloak tighter to ward off the chill. “I can’t afford to.”
***
That seemed for some time to be the end of the issue. Trusting Mei Changsu’s assessment, Prince Daoxi began seeding false information to the captain of the city guard to see what weeds blossomed from it. Tong Lu couldn’t find any indication that Long Zhan had ties to the Northern Yan government. Zhen Ping left and returned a few weeks later with no particularly startling revelations. The other former Red Eyebrows he spoke to all confirmed that Long Zhan was one of theirs and had been for years.
Long Zhan went about his work, oblivious to Changsu’s suspicion, and the only strangeness he exhibited was his patient attempts to earn Fei Liu’s forgiveness. Even Lin Chen’s brief response via pigeon—you’re paranoid—seemed to sum up the truth of the situation. Long Zhan was no more than what he seemed.
And yet, Changsu couldn’t keep from watching him as though he was a puzzle that demanded solving. When he reviewed Li Gang’s household schedules, he took note of the duties assigned to Long Zhan. He found reasons to pass through those areas when taking recuperative walks through the manor. He sought out those among his household whom Long Zhan seemed friendly with – or as friendly as he ever seemed to get – and questioned them obliquely about those interactions.
Because Changsu had not been particularly careful about hiding his interest, inevitably Li Gang came to tell him that Long Zhan had noticed.
“Send him to speak with me,” Changsu said, not looking up from the manuscript he was studying. Nor did he look up when Long Zhan entered his study and sank to his knees. The brazier fire crackled, and Changsu used a poker to shift the coals about.
“Li Gang tells me that Long Zhan has requested to leave the Jiangzuo Alliance.” Setting the poker aside, Changsu turned his attention to Long Zhan. “Are your duties too arduous?”
“This one is content to serve however he is needed.” Long Zhan kept his eyes on the floor, his deference so well-practiced that if Changsu hadn’t been observing him these past weeks, even he might have believed it.
“Perhaps Long Zhan would prefer tasks where his skills would be put to better use.”
A tightness rippled through Long Zhan’s qi, furrowing his brow, tensing his shoulders and jaw. He took a breath, and the tightness slid away like water. When he looked up, the deference was absent from his gaze, and Changsu found himself meeting the eyes of one who considered himself Changsu’s equal.
“It has become clear that Chief Mei does not trust my sincerity, so I do not think I can properly serve no matter the task. Where there is no trust, there can be no harmony.”
“Where there is no honesty, there can be no trust.” Changsu found himself in the unusual position of being surprised. He had expected Long Zhan to accept more important responsibilities, the better to infiltrate the Jiangzuo Alliance and edge closer to its chief. He did not expect him to threaten to leave, or to reveal that he was not what he seemed.
He wields honesty like a blade instead of a cudgel, Changsu thought, ladling tea from the boiling pot and filling their cups to give himself time to adjust his strategy.
“Does Chief Mei think that I have lied?” Lifting his cup, Long Zhan drank perfunctorily, like a man who lacked either the training or the interest to appreciate good tea.
“I think Long Zhan has said very little of himself and allowed others to infer. It is a tactic I know well.” Changsu smiled behind his hand as he sipped from his cup. He’d initiated this conversation with a resigned irritation at having to deal with an infiltrator. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it as a sparring match with… what, exactly?
Perhaps in illustration of Changsu’s point, Long Zhan said nothing.
“What was the plan, if not to ingratiate yourself and gain my trust?”
No answer, just a steady gaze.
“Very well. Where will you go, assuming I am willing to allow you to leave?”
Though he gave no reaction to the implied threat, Long Zhan broke his silence. “I think Chief Mei knows where I will return to.”
Changsu had his suspicions, but those words confirmed them. “Why would the Five Pillars Society of Northern Yan send someone to spy on the Jiangzuo Alliance? We have no quarrel, and our lands do not touch.”
“I am no spy,” Long Zhan said through clenched teeth.
A reaction, finally. “I did not say you were. I said you came to spy.” Changsu ladled more tea, hiding his amusement at the scowl born from his semantic pedantry. He held out Long Zhan’s cup as a sort of apology. “If you were a spy, you would have been caught much sooner.” Probably. Changsu knew the patterns of spies. That Long Zhan wasn’t trained in those patterns was what kept him hidden for so long. It was a tactic Changsu would have to remember for the future. “So again I ask, what is your sect’s interest in the Jiangzuo Alliance?”
“You take residence in Longcheng City, and you involve yourself in the fight for the succession in Northern Yan, and you ask this?” Long Zhan snorted and set his cup down, still full. Out of courtesy, so did Changsu.
Clasping his fist to his chest in the Northern Yan style, Long Zhan bowed. “Chief Shui of the Five Pillars Society of Da Yan sent me to learn if Chief Mei of the Jiangzuo Alliance of Da Liang was the sort of man with whom he can make an alliance. Just as Chief Mei is interested in the succession in Da Yan, Chief Shui has similar interests in the succession in Da Liang.”
It was good that Changsu had set down his cup, or he might have dropped it. A frisson of excitement made his hands tremble. He hid them in his sleeves. “Jianghu sects do not usually take interest in the politics of the secular world.”
“And yet, here you are in Longcheng,” Long Zhan murmured dryly.
Changsu dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Why did he send you?”
“He trusts my judgement.”
Of course. Long Zhan was too forthright for spy work, but to judge the character of a man and report back honestly… yes, Changsu could see trusting him with such a task. “And what is your judgement?”
“I have not made one, other than to confirm what is already known – Chief Mei is a scholarly gentlemen of great acumen, deserving of his first-rank on the Langya List. Though he has no martial arts ability of his own, he leads the most powerful Jianghu sect in Da Liang. He treats his people fairly and is upright in conducting business in his lands. He presents himself with ascetic restraint and does not exploit his power to indulge in luxuries.” Long Zhan frowned as though that list of virtues was somehow wanting. “And he has demonstrated that when a… spy… is discovered in his household, he investigates rather than acting to eliminate him.”
Lifting his cup, Long Zhan drank slowly, a gesture of peace as well as trust.
Changsu also drank, to prove the gesture was not unfounded. “What would you have done if I had tried?”
“I would have left your household short several members and returned to my Chief instead of drinking your tea. And the Jiangzuo Alliance would no longer enjoy cordial relations with the Five Pillars Society. I suspect your stay in Longcheng would become unpleasant.”
He set down his cup and bowed to take the sting from his words. Even so, the threat, delivered plainly and with no animosity, chilled Changsu more than heated words ever could. As powerful as it would be as an ally, the Five Pillars Society would make an even more dangerous enemy. On the Langya List, their Chief Shui was ranked second only behind Changsu, and even that was mainly because information about Chief Shui was hard to come by. Changsu had no doubt he could counter any attack from another sect, even one as powerful and respected as the Five Pillars Society, but he did not have the time or resources to waste on such a fight.
And if there was the possibility of an alliance instead…
“Then I suppose I should assign you to more necessary duties, so that you may properly make your assessment for Chief Shui,” Changsu said, bowing back to Long Zhan as to an equal.
Watching the surprise lighten Long Zhan’s eyes was its own reward.
***
Even though he’d come to an accord with Long Zhan of the Five Pillars Society, Changsu did not immediately make use of him. There was no benefit in adjusting plans already long in motion simply to see how Long Zhan would act. Neither did Changsu cease his daily monitoring of Long Zhan’s activities. One path through Mei Manor was much the same as another. It required no particular effort to pass by whichever building or garden Long Zhan was working in. And if Changsu sometimes had to pause to catch his breath, well, that was only due to the demands of his weak body and the effects of a cold Northern Yan spring.
Long Zhan made no question or complaint about the delay. He continued to fulfil tasks that any highly-placed lieutenant would certainly find menial, and he returned to the humble deference that had been momentarily shed when they shared tea.
“Chief Shui must be a great man to inspire such loyalty,” Changsu finally broke his silence to observe.
The day was warm for this early in the spring, so Li Gang had set all hands to working in the gardens. Long Zhan was tasked with dredging fallen plum blossoms out of the reflective pond, using a long pole and net. He’d tied up his sleeves to keep them from getting wet, baring strong forearms that were currently papered in spots with damp plum blossom petals. Sweat wet his brow and collar, and his usually neat ponytail had become slightly disheveled, strands of hair clinging to his cheeks and neck. Changsu’s fingers itched with the urge to smooth that hair into place. He caught the hem of his sleeve, rolling it between his fingers to give them something else to do.
Grunting as he hefted the long pole, Long Zhan swung it around and dumped a load of wet blossoms onto a mulch pile. He set the butt of the pole into the mud at pond’s edge and turned to give Changsu a brief bow. One arm came up to wipe away the sweat, leaving behind a lone plum blossom petal clinging to his brow. Changsu’s fingers twitched again. He gripped his hem tighter.
“Chief Mei also inspires loyalty,” Long Zhan said.
Raising a brow, Changsu asked, “Do you mean to imply that I also am great, or that greatness is not necessary to inspire loyalty?”
That startled the placid, servile hunch out of Long Zhan’s posture. He straightened, shoulders thrown back, holding his pole upright as a soldier would a polearm. “This one certainly did not mean that. Chief Mei plays with words and twists them.”
This was too easy and too much fun. “You didn’t mean I was great, or didn’t mean I wasn’t?”
“I—you—” Long Zhan took a breath, nostrils flaring like a vexed horse. “I meant no insult to Chief Mei.”
“Then what did you mean?” Changsu asked with a slight tilt of his head. Taking pity on Long Zhan, he added, “Speak plainly.”
Rather than answering right away, Long Zhan collected himself, brushing his arms clean and rolling down his sleeves. Changsu’s gaze lingered even after those muscled forearms were covered, only wresting his attention away when Long Zhan began to speak. The petal, Changsu noted, was still clinging determinedly to his brow.
“It is true that Chief Shui is a great man, as is Chief Mei. It is also true that loyalty can be secured through many means—kindness, for example, or virtue. But also money, position, power, cunning.” The way he spat those other means showed clearly what he thought of them. “Chief Shui is not only great, he is also kind and virtuous. That is what inspires loyalty in those who follow him.”
“A very circumspect answer, but I notice you have still not addressed the question with regards to me.”
Lifting his chin, Long Zhan said, “That is why I came. To discover the answer.”
Something in the phrasing caught Changsu’s attention. Long Zhan was a man who did not lie, but he was not above eliding truth through his careful choice of words. “Why you came? I thought you were sent on your chief’s order.”
Long Zhan shifted, gaze flicking away. “Chief Shui was considering an alliance based on your reputation. alone. I was the one who wanted to make certain of you.” And then, as though he’d rather spit out his own teeth than the admission, “It was Chief Shui’s order that I do so under false pretenses.”
Changsu couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Perhaps it was Long Zhan’s discomfort, which his Chief must have anticipated, or that Long Zhan’s own distrust was the cause of his current misery. Certainly, the stubborn plum blossom petal contributed.
“Why,” he asked.
“Because he enjoys tormenting me,” Long Zhan muttered.
“I can see the appeal,” Changsu said before Long Zhan could replace his words with a more politic answer. “Come here. I can’t speak to you when…”
Changsu moved closer, reaching up to brush away the silly petal. Startled, Long Zhan retreated a step. His foot caught in the space between one border stone and the next. The pole fell as he wheeled his arms to keep himself from doing the same. Changsu tried to catch him, but only succeeded in catching the front of his tunic, which was ripped out of his weak grip as Long Zhan fell backward into the pond.
His yelp was cut off by a mighty splash. He came up sputtering, astonished. His tunic hung askew, open at the front from Changsu’s failed attempt at assistance. He pushed back the hair that now streamed free of his fallen ponytail, glaring up at Changsu—which might have been more intimidating if he wasn’t festooned with wet plum blossom petals.
“Why did you--?” he asked, trying and failing to brush the clinging blossoms free.
“You… had a petal…” Changsu touched his own brow, took in the sight of Long Zhan—wet, disheveled, scowling, and covered in petals.
Falling back onto the muddy bank, Changsu gave in to the tugging at his lungs, laughing longer and harder than he had in a very long time.
***
Changsu paid for that laughter later. It had broken into a coughing fit that grew worse the more he tried to fight it. Long Zhan had crawled out of the pond, ignoring his own soaked state, to support Changsu and hold him out of the mud until someone noticed and called Physician Yan.
Now, ensconced in his bed under a mound of blankets a li high, Changsu nodded meekly along as Physician Yan berated him for rolling around in wet mud. His chest ached, his throat and head and bones, too. Even though he’d been thoroughly bathed and dried off, even though four braziers had been dragged in to warm his chambers, he still shivered with the clammy chill of wet mud.
Despite that, he would not have traded that moment, the look on Long Zhan’s face as he sprang up wet, bare-chested, and covered in petals, for almost anything.
“Has anyone checked on Long Zhan?” Changsu asked when Physician Yan paused to take a breath. “He is the one who took an unexpected swim because of my clumsiness.”
“He is perfectly strong and healthy,” Physician Yan snapped. He shoved a cup of something steaming and medicinal into Changsu’s hands, supporting him upright as he drank it.
Dutifully, Changsu drank without even making faces and gave back the cup. He stifled a groan as he settled back onto his pillows. Even that effort to sit up strained his strength. “There. Now can someone fetch Long Zhan?”
“I said he’s fine.”
“I need to speak to him about a task.”
“You need to rest.”
Glancing past Physician Yan’s shoulder to the vermilion-streaked sky just visible through the doorway, Changsu said, “It’s barely dusk.” Before Physician Yan could argue more, he added, “I will stay in bed and make Long Zhan fetch and carry. I only need to speak with him. Surely talking isn’t too much a burden on my health?”
“Would you stop talking if I said it was?” Physician Yan grumbled, but Changsu had made as much of a concession as he was willing to make. Shaking his head, he packed up his medicines and needles and left.
The sky had darkened to a deep blue, the lanterns in Changsu’s chambers seeming to glow more brightly to compensate for the darkness, before Long Zhan entered. He was clean, dry, and—sadly—petal free. Changsu coughed softly to stifle a renewed urge to laugh.
Somehow, he doubted Long Zhan was fooled by his restraint. Lips set in a humorless line, he knelt by Changsu’s bedside and bowed. “Chief Mei wished to speak with this one?”
So they were being formal again. Changsu was done with that. “I wished to apologize for earlier.”
“Chief Mei wishes to apologize for Long Zhan’s clumsiness?”
Stubborn man. “For my laughter. It was not kind or virtuous of me.” Changsu shifted to his side to better see Long Zhan, wincing when the muscles of his abdomen protested. “An unkindness I am paying for now.”
Concern chased away Long Zhan’s frown. “Do you need anything?” He glanced around the chamber, but all Changsu’s needs had been seen to. Save one.
“I am full of medicine, and I know from experience that more blankets and braziers will do little good. Tea would be welcome.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, unable to shake the taste of Physician Yan’s last concoction.
Long Zhan stared at him for a moment, as though the request confused him. Shaking himself, he turned to the boiling pot on the brazier, setting out cups, warming them, and filling them from the long-handled dipper. Every movement was graceful in its economy. At some point, he’d served in the military. Soldiers and the poor were the only people Changsu knew who were so careful in doling out tea, and Long Zhan did not have the look of a man who’d grown up hungry. If Changsu didn’t know the face of every survivor of the massacre at Meiling, he might have suspected that Long Zhan was from the Chiyan army. But no, there were many kingdoms, many armies, and many men who left them for many reasons.
Not a deserter, he thought, though that was often the first reason that former soldiers found themselves in the Jianghu.
“Would you like to sit up?” Long Zhan asked, startling Changsu from his contemplation. For once, Changsu was glad his body could not hold heat, or he might have blushed at how he’d been staring.
“Please.” He tried to keep his breathing steady and shallow as Long Zhan leaned over him to push up the pillows and help him sit upright. Even shallow breaths caught the scent of… something. Unthinking, Changsu took a deeper breath to chase that scent. Long Zhan smelled warm like sunlight, but also clean and clear—water and moss and… plum blossoms.
Changsu laughed softly, and found himself nose-to-nose when Long Zhan turned to look at him. He was close enough that Changsu could feel his breath on his cheek, the heat and chill of it.
“What?” Long Zhan asked, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes and a question in them that Changsu wasn’t certain he wanted to examine, much less answer.
He chose a safer tactic. “You smell like the pond.”
Rolling his eyes, Long Zhan sighed and pulled away. He finished plumping the pillows and tucking the bedding around Changsu before handing a cup to him. “Well, you smell like… what is that?”
Changsu grimaced. “Qinghaosu. It is in every medicine and salve they give to me. You become accustomed to it.”
“It… is not unpleasant.” Fiddling with the tea ladle, Long Zhan voiced the thought that most people were too polite to mention. “I had heard that Chief Mei’s health—”
“Is not what I asked you here to discuss,” Changsu said impatiently. He tolerated enough coddling from Physician Yan, Li Gang, and Zhen Ping.
After a moment’s hesitation, Long Zhan relented with a nod. “What did you wish to discuss?”
Changsu wondered if Long Zhan realized how quickly he forgot to be deferential when others weren’t around. But Changsu certainly wasn’t going to point it out. “I have a task that needs doing, and I don’t wish to accidentally meddle in your chief’s business.”
“So you wish to use me to deliberately meddle?”
“I wish you to accompany me. Fei Liu will come for my protection, but I need a second person to help investigate the attack on me.”
Long Zhan rocked back on his heels. “You mean to involve yourself personally?”
“Someone sent assassins.” Changsu scowled into his empty cup. “I would say they made it personal.”
“You have an unreasonably elevated opinion of my martial arts skills if you think Fei Liu and I alone can protect you in a fight with them.”
Smiling coldly, Changsu looked up and said, “Oh, I didn’t say we were going to be fighting them.”
***
“No! Don’t want!”
Changsu heard the cry as he made his way back to his study after a short stroll on Physician Yan’s orders. Quickening his step, he turned the corner into his courtyard in time to see Fei Liu knock a melon out of Long Zhan’s hands and leap up to the eaves of a walkway to glower down at him.
Long Zhan sighed and picked up the fruit. Changsu backed behind the corner before he could be spotted—by Long Zhan, at least. Fei Liu always knew where Changsu was.
“I realize you don’t want me to come with you, but Chief Mei has decided otherwise.” Long Zhan stood below the eave, head tilted back. “If we are both concerned with protecting him, then I don’t see why we can’t be friends.”
“Hmph. Liar.” Fei Liu’s gaze darted to Changsu and back. “Different chief.”
Long Zhan’s back stiffened. Several moments passed with Changsu wondering if he’d have to send Long Zhan away. If he could not come to some accord with Fei Liu, then any task that included him would be more difficult to manage. And if Long Zhan turned cruel—
“I do serve a different chief, but he also wants to be friends. If our chiefs are friends, then shouldn’t we become friends?” Long Zhan explained patiently. Setting the melon safely on a bench, he backed into the courtyard. “I know you like to play even more than you like melons. Perhaps we could play?”
Eyes wide at the offer, Fei Liu cast a hopeful look at Changsu. Curious to see Long Zhan fight again, Changsu nodded his permission.
“Hmph!” Fei Liu grunted, standing on the edge of the eave. Both men took up a centered stance, waiting, assessing, building the qi in their dantian. Fei Liu’s great strength was his great weakness—speed could so easily become impetuousness. He struck first, leaping from the rooftop to deliver a flurry of flying kicks. Anticipating this, Long Zhan batted them down, stepping back with each one until he came to one of the manor’s thick supporting columns. He planted his feet and pushed back, sending Fei Liu into a spinning retreat. Catching himself, Fei Liu shook his ponytail out of his eyes—and grinned.
And then the fight was really on.
With both martial artists distracted, Changsu stepped out around the corner for a better view. Fei Liu’s style he knew well. It was the effervescence of clouds passing over a dead caldera of darkness. That darkness might have risen to consume Fei Liu if Changsu hadn’t intervened, might still if one day Changsu could no longer guide him. But for now, it lay quiescent and untapped.
But now, Long Zhan was the one who caught and held Changsu’s attention.
Changsu had walked the Jianghu world long enough to know that even the best martial artists enjoyed showing off. Unless the battle was in earnest—for their ranking or their lives—they might extend a fight for several moves to demonstrate their excellence at a particular technique. They might jump a little higher, spin a few more times than needed, add a few more flourishes to emphasize their strength and grace. Long Zhan did none of this. He fought with the same efficient elegance of movement that he displayed in all things, from his work to pouring tea.
Nor did it seem as though he was lacking energy out of fear. Often, lesser fighters defeated themselves with their own desperation, thinking if they fought harder, they might prevail against a stronger opponent. More often, such desperation only resulted in closing off their channels, slowing the fighter’s moves, weakening their strikes, making them clumsy.
Long Zhan suffered no such lack of confidence. Though he was no match for Fei Liu, he approached each exchange as though he was. Instead of flying after Fei Liu, he held his ground, forcing Fei Liu to engage him. It was the tactic of a general, not a Jianghu fighter—control the field, and you control the battle. If anything, Fei Liu was the one growing frustrated as his every attack was met and countered.
They were fifty moves in before Fei Liu realized what Changsu had already noted—that however easily Long Zhan’s qi flowed, his balance of yin and yang was completely static. Like a wagon with well-greased wheels traveling a rutted road, Long Zhan could hurtle through elemental shifts, but he could not turn from their course. He was trapped in their cycle.
Grinning, Fei Liu changed tactics. Long Zhan retreated before an onslaught of two-fingered strikes, each one aimed at one of his meridians. Each time he tried to hold his ground, Fei Liu would drive him back a few more steps and—tap, tap, tap—block him off at more points. Without the balance of yin and yang letting him redirect the flow through his meridians, Long Zhan weakened. A particularly well-aimed strike at his shoulder left him too slow to block when a more conventional blow to his chest sent him flying back in Changsu’s direction. Changsu stepped to one side as Long Zhan slammed into the wall of the manor and slid to the walkway. He came up to one knee, arm limp at his side, yet still ready to meet Fei Liu’s next attack as though the fight was not already decided.
“That’s enough,” Changsu said. He didn’t want the man permanently debilitated just to make friends with Fei Liu.
Fei Liu landed before them and stomped his foot. “Play again.”
“No,” Changsu said sharply. At Fei Liu’s pout, he softened his tone and laid a hand on Fei Liu’s shoulder. “Fei Liu has tired Long Zhan out. You can play with him again tomorrow.”
The grin Fei Liu flashed at Changsu was gone just as quickly when he looked down at Long Zhan. “Hmph!” Sweeping up the melon that Long Zhan had offered him, he disappeared over the rooftops.
“Can you stand?” Changsu asked, amused at the novelty that, for once, he was the one to inquire about someone else’s health.
“I’ll manage.” The grunt Long Zhan emitted as he tried and failed to rise to his feet belied his claim.
“Come to my study. We’ll see if we can undo Fei Liu’s blocks.”
Long Zhan succeeded in rising on his second try. Changsu couldn’t support him, but the hand he set under Long Zhan’s elbow was enough to steer him inside when he might have fled. Long Zhan was too respectful to pull away, even if he did hold himself stiff with reluctance and pain.
He sat at Changsu’s urging, staring fixedly at the tea steaming on the brazier. Changsu ran his hands up Long Zhan’s arm.
“Chief Mei has skill at healing?” Long Zhan asked, voice rough, as Changsu found one of Fei Liu’s strike points and pressed two fingers into it to work it loose.
“You’d think I would with how often I have doctors fussing over me, but no. Not particularly. Clearing your channels isn’t that difficult, though. Fei Liu was only striking to slow you down, not to permanently injure you.” Changsu felt the knot in the meridian dissolve beneath his fingers, and qi surged, flowing as it should. Long Zhan’s groan of relief felt like a shiver across Changsu’s skin, hot for once, instead of the cold he knew so well.
“If that is so, I would not like to face him when he is trying to cause harm.”
“No,” Changsu said faintly, fingers lingering longer than they should. He shook himself and felt out the next meridian between Long Zhan’s shoulder blades. “Let us all be glad that Fei Liu does not mean anyone ill.”
The ramie was rough under his fingers, and the thick fabric made it harder to work out the block. When it cleared, he reached over to the ever-present tray of medicines for the jar of qinghaosu paste that Physician Yan swore would warm his muscles if he would only use it. Following the surge of qi to the next point, Changsu’s oiled fingers slipped under the layers of Long Zhan’s clothes to glide along bare skin, like silk compared to the rough weave of the tunic.
At Long Zhan’s hiss of indrawn breath, Changsu hesitated.
“Your hands are cold,” Long Zhan explained in a low, gruff voice.
“There is nothing I can do for that.” When Changsu would have withdrawn his hand, Long Zhan touched the back of his wrist, stopping him.
“I did not say you should stop. I was only startled.” He tugged his collar open, baring his shoulder. “Is that easier?”
Mutely, Changsu nodded. Closing his eyes to keep himself from staring, he found his way to the dip between chest and arm by touch. To Changsu’s cold fingers, Long Zhan’s skin was warmer than any brazier. He had to quell the urge to press both hands against him. With great restraint, he pressed circles around the knotted meridian to loosen it.
“You went to greater effort than I expected to appease Fei Liu,” Changsu said to fill the silence.
“Too bad it didn’t work.”
“Didn’t it?” Changsu opened his eyes, focusing on Long Zhan’s confused look. “Tell me, has Fei Liu accepted any of your previous peace offerings?”
“No.”
“But he accepted this one. Congratulations, you have a new friend. Who will expect to play with you every day.”
Who could say whether the groan that followed came from the news, or from the unknotting of the meridian and the renewed flow of qi. And yet still, the balance of yin and yang remained static. Changsu was no doctor, but certainly he could do something to help. He reached for the meridian at the base of Long Zhan’s jaw, a blocked point that Fei Liu had never struck.
“No.” Long Zhan caught his wrist, holding it with a grip too firm for Changsu to possibly break. His gaze was equally firm.
Changsu wondered if Long Zhan could feel the flutter of excitement in his pulse. Nothing drew his interest faster than a mystery. “Your yin and yang are stagnant.”
“I am well aware.”
Of course he was. How could he not be? Did this mean the blockage was deliberate? “You will not let me help you? Or at least tell me why it is so?”
“Is Chief Mei willing to answer questions about his health?”
The question doused the fire of Changsu’s interest. “No.”
Releasing his wrist, Long Zhan said, “Then perhaps he should refrain from asking such questions of Long Zhan.” Shrugging his tunic back on, he stood and bowed in the Northern Yan fashion, fist to chest. “This one is grateful for the assistance, but Chief Mei should not trouble himself any longer.”
The deference was all the more jarring for how different it was from the quiet, warm intimacy of the previous moments.
Long Zhan paused in the darkness beyond the doorway, turning so that Changsu could just make out his profile against the twilight gloaming of the courtyard. “Why didn’t Chief Mei call the physician to attend me?”
So much buried in that one question, but Changsu was unwilling to take sole blame for whatever was passing between them. Softly, he asked, “Why didn’t Long Zhan ask me to?”
For a moment, Changsu thought that response might draw him back inside. It did not. Nodding, Long Zhan squared his shoulders and left.
***
Rotating his arm to clear away the last vestiges of Fei Liu’s blocks, the man called Long Zhan strode through Mei Manor to the servants’ buildings. He bypassed the room he shared with two other Jiangzuo men. Bypassed all the lodgings, in fact. The rush of energy that had been loosed during his meeting with Chief Mei drove him to the rear wall of the compound and over it. He hit the street and broke into a run. It helped to drain off some of the energy, but there was too much to be quelled by a simple run. He’d held himself in check for too long, his resolve faltering and barriers weakening each time he spoke with Chief Mei.
He climbed another wall and ran along the length of it, like a cloud’s shadow across the moon. He hoped the need to concentrate on balance and stealth would distract the path of his thoughts. It didn’t.
Chief Mei was a challenge he had never anticipated. Of course, he’d expected to be impressed by the man’s intelligence. Chief Mei was first among gentlemen scholars on the Langya List. What person would not be impressed? He’d expected to be overlooked. Even, if discovered, to be mistreated.
He had not expected to enjoy Chief Mei’s company, to look forward to seeing him and hearing his laugh. He hadn’t expected to be concerned for his health, or to be touched by Chief Mei’s concern for Long Zhan’s well-being.
He hadn’t expected to want him.
He changed direction, as though continuing forward would trap him in that admission. Darting down a narrow alley, he slipped into the shadows of a back gate and waited. He didn’t think he’d been followed, but Chief Mei employed people who were better at such things than he was – especially when he was distracted with thoughts of their chief.
That was why he hadn’t returned to give his report. He didn’t trust his own assessment. Certainly it wasn’t because he was loath to end his time in the Mei household, doing menial chores and being pummeled by a simple-minded, cheerfully deadly boy.
After this task, he promised himself. He would use it to confirm that his observations were fair and impartial. And then Long Zhan could disappear from the world as quickly as he’d appeared. He would no longer be troubled by desires he did not want and feelings he couldn’t afford.
But if he wanted to function, then he needed at least temporary release from the pressure that had been building in the months since he’d joined the Jiangzuo Alliance.
As confident as he could be that his departure had been unobserved, he slipped through the back courtyard of a small manor and out onto a street of music halls and tea houses. He entered one of the quieter tea houses, one he could trust because the people in it were loyal to the Five Pillars Society. Safe among his own people, he relaxed and let himself be taken to a back room. Knowing his preferences, the young serving woman prepared water for him instead of tea.
She paused on the threshold. “Do you need anything else, gongzi?”
He suspected he knew what she was offering, that she recognized his flush and tremble. Sharply, he shook his head and waved her off. Once the door was closed, he guzzled the water she’d brought, filling cup after cup from the cold iron pot left on the unlit brazier. Like the running, it did little to quell the building pressure of heat that burned beneath his cheeks, eating away at the last remnants of cold.
Your yin and yang are stagnant, Chief Mei had said, as though he himself didn’t suffer from a surfeit of yin energy. How much he had wanted then to let the Chief of the Jiangzuo Alliance caress his hot face with cool fingers, to release the knots that froze his features into the mask of Long Zhan.
He traced his fingers down his jaw, his neck, brushing the spots Mei Changsu had touched. Redness still blossomed on his skin from the press of those long, cool fingers. He echoed their movement, but his own hands were too hot to be mistaken for another’s. Impatiently, he plunged them in the remaining water. When some of the heat had been leeched away, he lifted them to his chest again. That was… closer. His breath broke on a shiver as he imagined Changsu’s soft touch instead of his own. Fumbling with the tie at his waist, he dug beneath his clothing and took himself in hand.
Memories of Changsu tumbled like a stream down a mountainside: a gesture; an expression; a dryly amused comment; and laughter, delighted and unexpected. They coursed over older memories, precious as polished river stones. Lin Shu’s unrepentant grin, his good-natured teasing and brotherly affection. Those glances and touches that had not been fully understood or appreciated until they were gone forever.
“Xiao-shu,” he gasped as he came. The heat rushed out of him, relieving the pressure on the blocks so carefully twisted into his channels. It burst from him with the overwhelming rush of yang energy that had been building for too long behind a carefully constructed dam. He shook with every pulse, the pleasure – like the memories – almost too painful to bear.
Slumping over, spent, he waited for his breathing to ease and his skin to cool. His channels were clear, yang and yin in balance once more, and it was more a relief than any physical release. He dunked his hands in the water again, using it to clean himself off.
Tentatively, he raised wet fingers to his face to ensure his disguise was still intact. They coursed over a stranger’s features, held in place through meridians blocked by a Tui Na master so that he could fulfill his obligation to the Five Pillars Society. Better to suffer the blockage and discomfort of a buildup of yang energy than have the world learn the truth: that Long Zhan of the Five Pillars Society had once been Xiao Jingyan, Seventh Prince Jing of Da Liang.
And would be again, if Mei Changsu proved worthy of his chief’s trust.