Work Text:
Fengya Mountain emerged from the grey morning’s thick mists like a boar’s tusk, tall and sharp. An uneven path wound through a bamboo thicket, rich with sweet-singing birds and flowers on the verge of a spring bloom, the air lightened by the scent of passing rain. A great stone sign straddled the path, a deliberate scar against what would have otherwise been a visual feast.
Below the sign, a tall man in dark, travel-stained robes sat on a black horse, reading the carved characters with a slight smile. He could be said to be handsome in a particular light, but for the unsettling cast to his eyes, which regarded the valley and its sign with a piercing and murderous fervour. Still as he was at present, the man was nothing more than an arrow in flight, cast from a longbow drawn at the capital by an unwilling archer.
“Those with souls, do not pass,” Zhou Zishu murmured, reading the sign out aloud indifferently. He urged the horse forward. It whickered in protest but was too well-trained to fight the reins.
Pretty as the bamboo forest and the mountainous ridge was, the horse was a beast from the Imperial stables, bred with good instincts. Zishu didn’t bother reassuring it. How many horses had he killed on Tian Chuang business over the years? He’d already lost track. Just as he’d lost track of the number of people who had died from his plans or under his hands. Brutal as some of their deaths had been, Zishu regretted none of it. He would do it all again if he had to, suffer the same consequences again where necessary.
Now that he had helped install the best Prince out of the set to the throne and welcomed in a new era of political stability, Zishu had earned his rest. The new Emperor had tried arguing with him. Offered him Ministerial posts, retirement estates, even funding for Zishu to set up Siji Pavilion all over again if he wanted to. “All I want is a good death,” Zishu had said each time. In the end, even the Emperor had thrown up his hands in defeat. Retreating from the jianghu into seclusion, or a quiet retirement in a beautiful estate, or a golden seat—what interest did a man like Zishu have in all that? Better to walk the bloody path he had chosen to the end, while dragging some ghosts along behind him when he had to answer to Yanwang’s judgment.
A grey-robed figure darted out of nowhere as Zishu’s horse passed under the sign. “Who dares—” he began, only to choke and fall to his knees. Blinking, gurgling on blood, twitching among the flowers as he died. First blood. Zishu rode on, flicking the Baiyi blade clean. The warhorse snorted at the scent of gore, its ears pricking forward alertly. Zishu nudged it and clicked his tongue, giving the horse its head as it surged down the path.
A rope went taut over the gravel, but the horse leapt clear with a touch of the reins. Arrows shot at its throat out of the bamboo, only to be flicked contemptuously away by its rider. Shouts of alarm and roars of challenge rose out of the bamboo forest as more grey figures charged in out of nowhere, wielding an unorthodox array of cruel-looking weapons. Zishu parried a thrown spear and grabbed the chain of a lunging hook, hauling it over to impale its startled owner through the throat. The graceful techniques that his shifu had once taught to him under a plum blossom tree had long been honed to a killing edge: no more elegant flourishes, no more showy gestures. The arrow flew on, leaving a bloody wake.
#
“Valley Master,” Lao Meng said respectfully at the door to the Master’s audience chambers.
Dressed in a butcher’s uniform, the Ghost of Impermanence smiled unevenly as he averted his eyes, wiping his sweating palms over his knees. He had served several Valley Masters as their representatives before the current one, but none of them had frightened him as much as Wen Kexing. Beautiful and elegant as the man was, Lao Meng had seen him kill out of little more than sheer boredom. Perhaps none of that was a surprise. He’d heard the stories of how Kexing had been found—a child who, after surviving his parents’ brutal murders, had simply began eating their corpses instead of weeping. Kexing was a monster of a boy who had grown into a demon of a man, the youngest and longest-serving Master of a valley full of monsters.
Kexing’s brush didn’t pause. He was composing a poem on a long scroll, dressed in crimson, a stark contrast in the empty chamber. After becoming the Master, Kexing had stripped out all the decor and accoutrements that the previous Masters had collected, throwing them into the courtyard, allowing those who had sided with him to pick their fill, then setting the rest on fire.
Beside him, a pretty young girl in purple clothes ground the ink, her gaze lighting on Lao Meng with mischief. “Now what? Lao Meng, Master has been trying for days to find a good rhyme for ‘cassia wine’. He’s finally inspired and now you’re here, opening your big mouth and interrupting this serious business.”
“Purple Danger, you know I wouldn’t dare interrupt if it wasn’t serious,” Lao Meng protested, though he went down on his knees and bowed deeply.
“What is it?” Kexing asked, distracted as he wrote another character with careful strokes.
“There’s been an intruder in the valley, a highly skilled practitioner.”
“Only one?” Kexing asked, studying his composition.
“Yes, Master,” Lao Meng said, and braced himself.
Kexing’s elegant brow creased into a frown. “What’s the problem then? Kill him like the rest of the ‘heroes’ like him and leave his bones for the birds.”
“Ah,” Lao Meng mumbled. “He. He’s already killed the Hanging Ghost and has grievously wounded the Delighted Mourning Ghost, along with scores of other lesser ghosts. No one’s been able to stop him so far.”
“Is he a man or a God?” Kexing asked, disinterested, writing another character. “Sooner or later, he will grow tired and die. If he came here alone, he’s looking for death anyway. Give him what he wants.”
“This useless one beseeches the Valley Master—” Lao Meng began, only to be cut off by a sigh.
“I’m not in the mood for a fight. If he comes here looking for one, I’ll give it to him, but unless he does…” Kexing trailed off, his lips moving as he studied his poem. When Lao Meng didn’t move, Kexing glanced up. “Still here?” His indifferent tone didn’t change, but even from where Lao Meng knelt, the air now felt charged with menace.
With a yelp, Lao Meng bowed deeply again and fled. Once he was gone, Purple Danger looked up at Kexing. “Master, if this person’s already managed to kill the Hanging Ghost, maybe he’s very strong?”
“Only the very strong or the very beautiful would attack Ghost Valley single-handedly,” Kexing said, dipping his brush into the ink.
“Beautiful?”
“No other people in this world would be that stupid.”
“You survived by yourself,” Purple Danger said loyally, “and you’re not stupid. Wah, does that mean you’re not handsome?”
That got a faint smile, more amused than affectionate. “Silly girl, what are you saying, hm? Gu Xiang, if you’re that curious about this person, go and have a look.”
“I’m not that curious. Maybe he’s not some big-shot hero. Maybe this great sage is here to stay and just wants to make like Wukong and grandly announce his presence.”
“This is closer to Hell, not Heaven.” Kexing scoffed. “We’ll see. Besides, if he’s some great hero who’s here to fight monsters and eliminate demons, he’ll be aiming for me sooner or later. Why bother looking for him until then? Make me some tea and find me some snacks if you have the energy for gossip.”
#
The ranks of the ghosts attacking Zishu began to thin out as he reached a great courtyard and a stone stair that fed up to a sprawling mansion. The courtyard looked bleak. A pool sat cracked and dry under a dusty bridge, the garden withered on one side and overgrown on another. While lanterns lit the way, and faint smoke from a building further within the compound hinted that there was a kitchen somewhere, the mansion otherwise looked looted. Plinths that had likely once held twin stone lions lay partly shattered and the space for a plaque above the archway was empty. With the sun starting to sink over the jagged peaks, the hollowed-out mansion had a disconcerting air.
Zishu exhaled slowly. Pushed past his limit, he was growing dangerously tired. Instinct and training told him to find someplace to hide and change, perhaps even put on one of the disguises he had prepared. Rest overnight and emerge to wreak another day’s worth of bloody havoc. Yet what would that serve? Were he to somehow manage to kill everyone in Ghost Valley, what would be the point? He would be denied the death he sought. No one here had been that much of a challenge so far.
Disappointing.
Zishu took a step forward, then another. The first chamber was empty. Faintly discoloured spots on the wall indicated that paintings had once adorned the hall but had long been removed. He strode through the mansion, wary of traps, but no hidden spikes leapt out at him from the ceiling; no tripwires shimmered in the air for unwary feet. Zishu occasionally heard movement that sounded like servants getting out of his way, but he didn’t bother to hunt them down.
Given the centralised location of this abode, this had to be the home of the mysterious Valley Master, a reclusive man whose identity and face even Tian Chuang hadn’t been able to discern, other than the fact that he’d held on to the Master’s seat for a record number of years. A man reputed to be more demon than man.
Someone had taken more care with the inner courtyard. Bamboo was being cultivated, albeit in a clumsy fashion, along with a haphazard garden that didn’t appear to serve any sort of purpose. If some child been let loose on the grounds, it’d have had the same effect. Zishu gave it all a cursory glance and kept walking, only to pause as a pretty young girl stepped out of the building in front of him. She wore a whip at her waist and a cheeky grin, unafraid despite his bloody appearance. “My Master would like to invite you for a drink. May I ask what this great hero’s name is?”
The mischief to her tone turned her words ironic rather than respectful. Zishu couldn’t help but be amused: pretty women tended to put him in a better mood. “Tell your Master that my name is Zhou Zishu, and I’m here for a fight, not a drink.”
“Zhou da-ren, my Master said, what’s the rush? You’re probably tired by now, and fighting you as you are now is going to be boring, and if you do the stupid thing of insisting on fighting, it’s going to be even more boring, so you might as well have a drink first since it’s a nice night. Unless you’re an idiot with more gongfu than brains.”
“Is that what he asked you to say?” Zishu said, a little taken aback by the sudden torrential rudeness from the young maiden. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. She was, after all, a denizen of Ghost Valley.
“Not at all.” The voice came out of nowhere, sounding as though it’d been spoken beside the girl even though its speaker was nowhere to be seen. “Gu Xiang, I told you to be polite.”
“I was!” Gu Xiang pouted. “I didn’t even tell him to bathe first. He’s tracking blood everywhere, and we’re going to have to wipe that all up and—” She stopped at the sound of a faint sigh. “Sorry,” she told Zishu, clearly not meaning it.
“Tell your master to come out and fight. I’ll have a drink later with his corpse,” Zishu told her with a faint smirk. He softened a little at her look of distress—the Valley master was probably strict, perhaps murderously so. “Xiao jie, you’ve delivered your message. Get out of my way, or I’m not going to be polite.”
“A-Xiang, go and make some more tea.” A surprisingly young-looking man dressed in crimson robes appeared abruptly behind Gu Xiang. That level of qinggong…! Already on his guard, Zishu tightened his grip on Baiyi’s hilt. Gu Xiang didn’t jerk in surprise, clearly used to her Master’s habits. She contented herself with pulling a face at Zishu instead before skipping off into the mansion.
“Forgive her manners,” the man said, tilting his head. “We don’t often receive visitors.”
“I wasn’t offended.”
The man flicked his fan open, looking Zishu up and down crudely. “Zhou Zishu, Zhou Zishu… the name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Does that matter? What’s yours?” Zishu asked. He hadn’t expected the Valley Master to be this young or this handsome.
“You may call me Wen Kexing,” Kexing said, snapping his fan shut. “The moon hides its face in the shimmering sea, paving the road to Yanwang’s table with incense and teeth. Zhou da-ren, you’re swaying on your feet. Are you so desperate to die at your age? That’d be such a waste of Heaven’s design—you have a remarkably lovely face.”
Zishu didn’t bother to respond to Kexing’s nonsense. He charged instead, closing the distance with as much speed as he could muster, bringing up Baiyi in a vicious arc aimed at Kexing’s throat. Kexing smiled and swept aside at the last possible moment, using his fan to parry a follow-up sweep, then hopping out of reach of a counterattack. “Oh?” Kexing said, studying him with new curiosity. “Divine Strides? You’re from Siji Pavilion? That’s an interesting blade you’re wielding as well.”
Again, Zishu didn’t waste his breath speaking. In the space of a few heartbeats, they traded twelve blows. In the beginning, Kexing’s attacks were playful, as though he were simply amusing himself in a friendly duel instead of facing off against someone who had killed his way through the Valley to get here. After a stray slice from Baiyi gashed away a fraction of his sleeve, Kexing darted back, chuckling and fanning himself. “You’re truly trying to push me. I didn’t even feel like fighting today—I was in the middle of writing a poem.”
Zishu took a moment to steady his breathing, frowning. He couldn’t identify Kexing’s moves, graceful as they were. If anything, they only looked vaguely familiar because they were just like Zishu’s—honed not from duels or sparring but from life-and-death situations. Every flourish torn away: the most dangerous form of martial arts. “Which sect are you from?” Zishu asked.
Kexing laughed. “Why do you people always ask something like that? None. Isn’t it obvious? After all, I’m here and not ensconced deep in a fancy estate pretending to be someone better than I am. Are you sure you don’t want to have a drink instead? It’s a nice night, and I’d much rather spend it drinking with a beauty like you than exchanging blows.”
Zishu scoffed. “Has flattery ever worked for you?”
“It’s not flattery, I’m speaking the truth. I’m not sure whether Heaven is trying to bless me or curse me today,” Kexing said, fanning himself with a playful smile. “Usually, I have to travel hundreds of li before I have the chance to fool around with a peerless beauty, and I’d have to hand over a heavy bag of coins to do so. Today a peerless beauty has come to me, but doesn’t even want to have a drink. Pity, such a pity.”
“Shut up,” Zishu snapped. He leapt at Kexing, exchanging another series of furious blows, this time pushing Kexing into having to counterattack.
As a palm strike high on his chest sent Zishu staggering back and coughing blood, Kexing snapped his fan open and exhaled. “Now you have internal injuries. Along with all the blood you’ve already lost on the way up here, are you sure you still want to fight? This would be more fun when you’re well.”
“You…!” A flash at the corner of his eye had Zishu jerk back on instinct. Kexing darted behind Zishu, hauling him behind a pillar even as something exploded where he’d been, loud as a firecracker. Near the wall, a ghost in grey lowered a strange tube, startled, only to gurgle and squeal as Kexing reappeared in front of him, fingers hooked tight into his throat.
“Vall… ey… Master… I… tried… to help…” the ghost choked.
“Noisy,” Kexing said, his expression disconcertingly blank. His fingers flexed, crushing the ghost’s throat and tossing the body aside. Flicking his fingers clean of blood, Kexing glanced back at Zishu’s surprised expression. The blankness on his face smoothed into a playful smile. “Now that the annoying interruption is gone, where were we? Ah yes, this pointless fight. Zhou da-ren, surely you can see that we aren’t evenly matched as you are now. Are you here to die?”
Zishu frowned at Kexing, unwilling to speak. After a long moment, Kexing said, “How about this? I’ll go ten rounds with you with one hand behind my back. If you can kill me by then, hm, I suppose you’d then be the new Valley Master, and I wish you the joy of this joyless place. But if you can’t kill me–” He looked Zishu slowly over again, “—you’ll keep me company until sunset tomorrow, after which we can make another bet.”
“Are you trying to insult me?” They weren’t that badly matched, even with Zishu’s weariness and injuries.
“Why would I go to such a roundabout way to insult someone?” Kexing folded his right arm behind his back. “Well?”
“Fine.” If Kexing wanted to be so confident, Zishu wasn’t beyond taking advantage.
It grew apparent from the first round that Kexing had been holding back. His counterattacks grew only more deadly, more precise—Zishu would admire them if he weren’t on the receiving end. There was a method to Kexing’s focused destruction, aimed at shattering bones and severing flesh rather than sealing acupoints. After the tenth round, Zishu fell on his knees, breathing hard. He bent and coughed, blood flecking the ground.
Kexing smiled, catlike, licking the blood off the side of his palm. He wasn’t unscathed, but didn’t look bothered by any of the blows Zishu had landed on him. “A deal is a deal, isn’t it?” he said, so very smug. “Even peerless beauties like you should keep their word.”
Zishu glared at him, hands clenched into fists. “Fine,” he spat.
#
Kexing chuckled at how skittish Zishu was while Kexing cleaned and bandaged his wounds, but didn’t say anything until Gu Xiang arrived with a tray of food and drink. She shot Zishu a cheeky grin as she started clearing away the medical equipment. “See? Now you’re having a drink anyway. Wouldn’t it have been easier to skip a step?”
“If I were asked to have a drink with a pretty girl like you instead of your Master, I’d have considered it more seriously,” Zishu said, and smiled as Gu Xiang sputtered.
Kexing scowled. “A-Xiang, take the rest of the night off. Now,” he said, as Gu Xiang looked as though she might object.
“Wah! Yes, yes, right away,” Gu Xiang said, backing off a step and clasping her hands. “When was I ever going to want to steal your men? See you in the morning, Master!”
“Go, go, go,” Kexing said, gesturing dismissively. Zishu set his clothes quickly back to rights, hesitating as he looked at the food. “If I wanted to kill you,” Kexing said, amused, “I would’ve done it already.”
“You want to humiliate me instead,” Zishu said, his mouth twisting.
Kexing’s amusement faded, his expression growing blank. He bent to the food, picking up a bowl of rice and chopsticks. “When I first came to Ghost Valley, I was a child. Young and weak. I survived years of humiliation until I was finally strong enough to get to where I am now, so. No. I have no interest in humiliating other people in any way.”
“As a child?” Zishu said, surprised enough that he picked up a bowl and chopsticks himself. “Your parents brought you here?”
“My parents died terrible deaths,” Kexing said with a dry laugh. “I suppose their vengeful spirits may have followed me here, but if they did, they’ve never said a word.” He dropped a piece of fried pork onto Zishu’s rice. “Eat, eat. Still scared of poison? Look, I’m eating as well.” He popped another piece into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “Or is the food not refined enough for Zhou da-ren?”
Zishu started to say something, frowned, and began to eat. He grew fractionally less tense as Kexing pretended to be interested in gossip from the world beyond the Ghost Valley, and looked startled when Kexing confessed that he hadn’t known that there’d been a recent change in Emperors. Startled—then rueful. How interesting. Kexing waited until servants came to clear the plates and food, bringing more wine. Zishu tracked them as they left, frowning as Kexing poured for them both. “Everyone other than Miss Gu Xiang is frightened of you,” Zishu said.
“Shouldn’t they be?” Kexing asked as he sipped his wine. “After all, there’s only one way to become the Valley Master. As to Gu Xiang, ai, I’ve tried my best, but somedays I’m not sure what I’ve grown.”
“She’s your daughter?” Zishu glanced at Kexing.
“No,” Kexing said, though, on better days, that was a lie. “You came from the capital? Has Siji Pavilion reestablished itself there?”
“Siji Pavilion is no more,” Zishu said. He likely hadn’t intended to sound as flat as he did. Kexing gave him a long, considering stare—then he smiled, an animal baring its teeth.
“Oh, how interesting,” Kexing said, pouring more wine. “I didn’t think that Tian Chuang would be interested in me. But why come all the way here just by yourself? I’m rather disappointed.”
Zishu wasn’t able to hide his surprise in time—Kexing’s smile widened. Zishu looked as though he were about to deny it, then stopped and laughed, drinking. “Was that a guess?”
“Partly a guess, partly deduction. I was wondering where a practitioner could have honed their skills into a killing art. Outside of Ghost Valley and the Scorpions, where else but the notorious Tian Chuang? Yet for an organisation that’s supposed to be everywhere and all-powerful, they send just one person into Ghost Valley? Are you understaffed right now?”
“I was from Tian Chuang. I decided to retire.”
It was Kexing’s turn to be unable to hide his surprise. “So they send you out to die? Isn’t that a bit much?”
“I’m not dead yet,” Zishu said, and mockingly toasted Kexing.
Kexing laughed. In turn, he toasted Zishu and found himself drinking with the strange man into the night, talking comfortably about increasingly inconsequential things. Some of the ease between them had to be the reputed Tian Chuang training, but Kexing wasn’t so sure. It felt as though he’d known Zishu for several lifetimes, like they were but old friends meeting again and catching up after a fond absence. It unsettled Kexing and excited him all at the same time. He’d never felt this strangeness within his ribs before, of warmth and sweetness unfurling, petal by petal, simmering.
Zishu looked confused when Kexing called it a night and rose to his feet, excusing himself. “Why,” Kexing said, grinning mischievously, “would you rather warm my bed instead? Or have me warm yours?”
“I… get lost!” Zishu snarled, his ears reddening.
Kexing laughed and let himself out, still amused as he walked to the corridor, where he paused at the sight of Lao Meng. His amusement folded away, save for the slight smile, now unsettling without the warmth in his eyes. “Yes?” Kexing said.
“The ‘guest’…” Lao Meng trailed off, confused.
“Is not to be harmed. Have a luxurious breakfast made for us in the morning. Dig up some dancers from the Mourning Ghost if they haven’t already been murdered. Oh, musicians as well.” Kexing began to walk, and Lao Meng hastily backed out of his way.
“Of course, of course.” Lao Meng looked dismayed.
“Why,” Kexing said, “are you hoping that I’d kill him quickly? Or that he’ll kill me?”
“This unworthy one is only concerned about your—”
“Nothing interesting has happened here for well over a year, ever since the last Hanging Ghost tried to kill me with that hallucinogenic red dust poison,” Kexing said, affecting a yawn. “Now that something fun has presented itself at my door, why not enjoy it for a while?”
#
To Zishu’s annoyance, he didn’t manage to kill Kexing during the next night, or the night after. Kexing didn’t show him any mercy even when he claimed that he wasn’t in the mood, though he never landed any mortal wounds. He dislocated Zishu’s arm at the end of the week and laughed when Zishu cracked some of Kexing’s ribs two days after.
Zishu wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the increasingly ludicrous situation he was in. They weren’t evenly matched after all—his initial assessment had been too generous toward himself. Kexing had spent his entire life embroiled in the living hell that was Ghost Valley, eventually fighting his way to the top—to him, violence was second nature. How could the life Zishu had led compare to that? It was brutal in different ways, yet somehow more unclean.
As they broke by unspoken agreement yet again at the end of the second week, Zishu turned and frowned at the sight of Gu Xiang and a row of young women eating nuts and drinking tea while perched on a wall at a safe distance. “Entertained?” he asked them, caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance.
Gu Xiang burst into applause with her mouth full of nuts, the other women following suit enthusiastically. At some gesture from Kexing that Zishu couldn’t catch, they slipped off the other side of the wall and out of sight. “I should just stab you in your sleep,” Zishu said, wincing as he checked groped over his ribs to inspect the damage.
“If you come into my bedchamber in the middle of the night like a thief, I won’t show you any mercy—I’ll bully you until you cry,” Kexing said with a cheeky smirk. He’d been freer with those of late. The murderous energy that Zishu had sensed from the first few days had abated—not that it made Kexing any less dangerous. “Another drink?”
“Why not.” Zishu had lost for the night, anyway. As he followed Kexing indoors, they nearly tripped over a passing servant holding bundles of clean laundry. The servant recognised them and went sheet-pale, crying out and falling onto his knees, the bundles bumping into Kexing’s knees. Still smiling his cheeky smile, Kexing aimed a killing blow with the side of his palm at the servant’s skull.
Zishu grabbed Kexing’s wrist, forcing them both back a step. “What are you doing?” Zishu snapped. The servant let out another cry, scrambling up and fleeing.
“Zhou da-ge, have you forgotten where we are?” Kexing asked, though his voice had turned sweet as honey.
“He wasn’t even a threat to you.”
“I enforce an unspoken rule in the Valley. No one is allowed to come within three chi of me without permission, other than Gu Xiang.” Kexing paused, glancing at Zishu’s grip in bemusement. “And now you.”
Zishu slowly let go of Kexing. The demonic ferocity that was part of Kexing’s nature surfaced to the fore now and then, but it always simmered close to the surface, no more than skin deep. Yet it still startled Zishu each time it reared its head, even though Zishu was more than capable of the same thing. The man who liked to chat and drink and listen to music with Zishu during the day was a fine companion, unsettlingly so, but Kexing made no secret of what he was.
Had they met in other circumstances, would things be different? If it had been anywhere but here? Yet that would have also been a lie. They were by now old enough to have grown into their skin, their lives a bloody legacy of variable circumstances. Zishu’s, in a way, was far worse than Kexing’s. Kexing was the way he was because of self-preservation. Zishu had done what he had done for the sake of a nation, but he had far more choices than a cornered animal scrabbling to get to the top of a cage for some breathing space.
Kexing watched him silently, his eyes dark, his mouth curled into an unreadable smile. “Weren’t we going to have a drink?” Zishu asked.
“You’re going to drink me out of all my stores at this rate, you wine devil,” Kexing said, though his smile widened and warmth crept into his eyes. “Why are you still a leech at your age?”
“Haah? I’m not the one who insists on spending the time eating and drinking and doing nothing,” Zishu shot back. “Besides, you drink just as much as I do.”
“I suppose we could go out,” Kexing said as he led Zishu to the Yama hall, where a table of wine and snacks had already been prepared.
“Out? Of the mansion?”
“Out of the Ghost Valley,” Kexing said.
“You can do that?”
Kexing looked at him in amusement. “Who here has the power to stop me?”
“So why not leave? Leave and never come back? This place…” Zishu trailed off, casting an uneasy eye around the vast hall with its small table and chairs. The emptiness compressed down over them, barely held back by the lanterns hung along its walls and pillars. “Never mind. I know how that feels.” Life in Tian Chuang had also felt like being compressed into a cage. Even though he’d wielded power that was second to the Emperor’s, it’d felt suffocating. There had been no easy way out of the life he had made—or so Zishu had thought.
“Zhou da-ge, every day you grow more and more interesting,” Kexing said, trailing a caressing hand up Zishu’s arm. He laughed as Zishu shook him off and sat down for a drink.
#
Emerging from Ghost Valley always felt like Kexing was submerging himself into a dream—an ugly one where he might have grown up with parents who treasured him, where he might never have had to make a ladder out of the bones and tendons of everyone in his path to climb out of the depths of hell. Where Kexing had never been tormented for most of his childhood, where he had not tortured his key tormentor in turn for several shichens until he had died. It was ugly because it could never be true: Kexing would not be himself any longer in a world where he had never suffered what he had. The demon Kexing was now had been forged out the crucible of his life to date, and walking through a human city had always felt like he were a wolf, bearing an ill-fitting mask, pretending to be human in turn. Kexing had never stayed longer than he had to, always returning to his reclusive life in Ghost Valley, where at least things were violent but simpler.
With Zishu by his side, the dream felt both thinner and deeper at the same time. The people around him seemed indistinct and inconsequential, while the world appeared sharper and more interesting—at least when Zishu was around. Food was better; wine tasted finer. If this was infatuation, it was a strange beast. More like confusion, perhaps. Being around someone who knew who he was but wasn’t afraid of him. Who remained stubbornly insistent on treating Kexing as another human being and not the demon that he was.
“Is this a temporary or permanent break from your death wish?” Kexing asked one night as they were drinking within the rented chambers of a luxurious inn.
Zishu sniffed, draining his cup. “You’re the most dangerous person in the Ghost Valley. Why should I settle for a lesser fight? Besides, the death of the Valley Master would lead to strife and turmoil, which would, in turn, benefit the Emperor.”
“If you kill me, wouldn’t that leave you without the means for a glorious death? You could look for the Scorpions next, but I don’t know if they’d be much of a challenge either. What then?”
“What would you suggest?” Zishu asked with a sharp smile. He was in one of his unpredictable moods—this was Zishu at his most exciting.
“Pick a fight with one of the sects. If you wipe one out and leave a talented young survivor, perhaps they’d grow up with a grudge heavy enough that they’d dedicate yourself to your eventual demise,” Kexing said.
“What kind of long-winded plan is that? I’ll be a white-haired old man by the time it culminates into anything.”
“Wah, and here I was thinking you’d scold me for suggesting that you wipe out a random sect,” Kexing said, feigning shock and fanning himself. “Zhou da-ge, could it be that you’re actually… quite a bad person?”
Zishu sobered, pouring himself wine. He picked up his cup but didn’t drink, swirling the liquid within it instead. “I’ve done unforgivable things, but none of them for my own gain. Still, for all the misery I’ve caused, I regret none of it. Am I a good person or a bad person? I’ve never cared about whether I was one or the other. I’ve lived my life the way I wanted to live it and would do it again if I had to.” Zishu glanced at Kexing with an odd look on his face. “If I could, though, I’d change your fate.”
“Mine?”
“If I could keep you with me somewhere far away, so you never had to go back.”
Kexing had to drink to hide his reaction as the strange knot in his chest expanded further, pressing against his ribs and making him lightheaded. He glanced at Zishu, but Zishu was now looking reflectively at his cup. It took a drink for Kexing to regain some of his usual composure. “Da-ge,” he said with a coquettish grin, “how can you tease me like that when you haven’t even been willing to share a blanket with me? Are you one of those people who insist on marriage before going to Mount Tai? If so, let’s exchange vows tomorrow.”
“Who’s going to marry a pestilence like you?” Zishu retorted, though he smiled faintly.
“Wah! You can’t say romantic things and then turn around on your next breath and grind my heart into the dirt. Truly, you are a bad person,” Kexing said, pretending to wipe away a tear.
“Besides,” Zishu said, drinking, “I think life with you will always be interesting whether we’re out here or back in Ghost Valley. You do have to return sooner or later, don’t you?”
“Do I? Maybe I’ll stay here with you forever. We could look at all the famous mountains in the land, try every famous restaurant,” Kexing said, if wryly.
“People are the same everywhere. If a position of power must be held by strength, absence will only make your enemies stronger. In the end, there’s no escape. All you can do is keep trying to keep your balance at the top of the tower, even though you know that sooner or later you’d make a mistake.” Zishu glanced at Kexing.
“Are you… pitying me?” Kexing said with a blink.
“You didn’t sound like you had much of a choice. I did. Every step of my life, I was surrounded by choices.”
Kexing smiled, leaning in until his breath would brush Zishu’s cheek. “Had I my life to live all over again, with all its choices, I would make the same choices all over again—even if I had the opportunity to escape them. How else will I be able to ensure that we’ll meet? All the suffering that I’ve endured, all the suffering that I’ve caused, I’d live it all again a thousand times in your name.”
“Tch. Again with your nonsense,” Zishu said, though his ears reddened. He shivered as Kexing nuzzled his cheek, letting out a slow breath. Zishu turned, nervous and hesitant. He paused a finger’s breadth away, as though unsure whether to proceed, then relaxed with a muffled and inarticulate sound as Kexing closed in for a kiss.
#
The silence of the mausoleum that was the Valley Master’s estate tended to be broken now and then by screams and sobs of pain, especially whenever anyone ran afoul of the demon who resided within it. As such, no one but Gu Xiang gave the cries and moans that now often came from the Master’s private bedchamber a second thought—though Gu Xiang’s reaction was always to pull a face, stick her fingers into her ears, and run off to the opposite side of the estate.
“Are you comfortable?” Kexing asked, braced above Zishu’s shivering body, one sleek and muscular thigh slung over his shoulder, the other pressed to the bed. Zishu didn’t seem to hear him, moaning and clawing at the bed as Kexing slotted fully inside him, spreading him wide. Grinning, Kexing bent against him, Zishu’s beautifully flexible body easily accommodating the stretch as Kexing kissed Zishu’s cheek, then the edges of his panting mouth. “Does it feel good having me inside you? Do you want this rough or gentle?”
Kexing asked Zishu this every time they were in bed together. At the beginning, Zishu would redden and sputter and refuse to answer. By now, Zishu’s naturally thick-skinned personality had long readjusted. He glowered up at Kexing, long hair in disarray over the sheets. “Whatever it is, just be quick. I want to rest.” Zishu winced as he trailed fingers over a reddened mark low over his chest from one of Kexing’s palm strikes earlier in the evening, one of three that had decided the night’s match in Kexing’s favour. “Did you have to hit me that hard, you pestilence?”
“You can take it,” Kexing said, unconcerned. He pulled slowly out, almost to the tip, then shoved back in at an accurate angle. Zishu arched with a low cry, hands clenching into fists on the sheets. Kexing bent to mark bites over Zishu’s arm from his bicep to his elbow, keeping each thrust slow and deep, grinding in each time he was buried to savour the tight heat of Zishu’s body. He nipped over the old scars on Zishu’s back as Zishu began to whimper, then ground new teeth-marks against his throat once each brutal thrust tore out strangled moans.
Would this last? Would Zishu someday grow tired and leave, or would they consume each other, tear each other to pieces? Would the other Ghosts get lucky at some point? In bed with Zishu like this, Kexing’s usual doubts felt inconsequential and far away. Often, he didn’t bother to speak, preferring to impress the evidence of all that he wanted over Zishu’s skin, bruising it into his flesh over and over. In violence and lust, with the gnarled and twisted form of affection that seemed to be all that Kexing could manage, that was the only way he knew how to love. Zishu swallowed it all anyway, yielding to each deep thrust with whines and groans, leaning into each kiss with just as much teeth. Kexing grasped Zishu’s slicked arousal, stroking him briskly, making him pant and shake, until, with a low hiss, Zishu finished over Kexing’s fingers, spilling thickly over the bed.
Kexing paused, admiring his work. He brought his soiled fingers to his lips, meeting Zishu’s dazed stare. First, Kexing took in an appreciative sniff, which made Zishu blink, flush deeper, then roll his eyes. Then Kexing began to lick his fingers clean with a delicate tongue, as though savouring a treat. “Kexing,” Zishu gasped. “You… you. Just. Hurry up.”
“You’re done. You can rest if you want,” Kexing said with a smirk.
Zishu smacked Kexing’s arm. “How would that be possible with you disturbing me like this?”
“Call me ‘Gege’ if you want me to hurry up,” Kexing said with a mischievous grin. Zishu gave him an incredulous stare. “Or not. We could go slower. How about we do this all night?”
“You… are really…” Zishu trailed off, pulling at the sheets and turning his cheek into the pillow. “Wen-ge.”
“Not what I said,” Kexing said, shifting back.
As Kexing drew out of Zishu with a wet squelch, Zishu made a startled sound. “You aren’t seriously… fine. Gege. Are you happy now? Are you… aah!”
Kexing had flipped Zishu onto his arms and knees, driving back in with a single thrust. He tugged Zishu’s ear in his teeth as Zishu bent against the bed with a stifled sob and laughed. “Very happy,” Kexing said as he began to move. Chasing his pleasure in hard, deep thrusts, listening to Zishu moan and whimper and squirm. When Kexing finally ground deep and filled Zishu up, Zishu sank on the bed, panting, his scarred skin sheened with sweat.
“Move,” Zishu muttered.
“Ask me nicely,” Kexing said, licking the sweat off Zishu’s shoulders as he stayed buried. “Call me ‘husband’ this time.” At Zishu’s indignant glare, Kexing laughed.
Life was only going to get more and more interesting—finally, something to look forward to. Perhaps Zishu understood the sentiment, with them as attuned to each other as they were. As Zishu’s breathing grew slow and even, Zishu reached up to curl his fingers into Kexing’s hair, pulling him closer, baring Kexing’s throat to graze the pale skin with sharp teeth.