Work Text:
When Li Xiangyi did not arrive for their duel, Di Feisheng refused to dismiss it as cowardice, but nor did he accept that Li Xiangyi was dead. His head ached as he considered why the peerless master of the Shaoshi-jian failed to come when summoned. Li Xiangyi had made a name for himself at eighteen, defeating innumerable heroes of the Jianghu with little more than a smile. Di Feisheng had only heard the barest whisper of rumour about the talented new young master newly descended from his master’s mountain before deciding he must fight him.
The interim time between the decisions and the ignominious end of their terrible duel did not bear consideration.
And now… he certainly wasn’t dead.
It was unacceptable that Li Xiangyi refused to oblige him while putting forward the Boy as a suitable successor. Di Feisheng had already taken the Boy’s measure. In a decade, perhaps, he might prove worthy, but Di Feisheng refused to fight children.
He’d already had more than his fair share of that in this life.
(Fang Duobing would absolutely take umbrage over the characterization, the knowledge provided a dot’s worth of balm to Di Feisheng’s burning irritation.)
In view of every friend, rival, and acquaintance Li Xiangyi ever made, Fang Duobing declared his intention to find his mentor and bring him back from the edge of death.
Di Feisheng merely stared at the letter in his hand and scowled.
He refused to accept it. Let the Boy search the Jianghu; by the time he found Li Xiangyi, Di Feisheng would have found an answer to the horrible and seemingly inescapable riddle of the Bicha Poison.
Di Feisheng had capitalized on a moment of his master’s weakness when he’d escaped the Di Family Fortress. He’d been… twelve? Thirteen? He’d never known for sure and it barely mattered. He’d earned enough trust to be in the room when his master had gotten black out drunk and passed out atop an obliging prostitute. Ostensibly Di Feisheng had been guarding the door. Realistically he’d been waiting for his master to discard the horrible little bell sitting at his waist.
The moment his master’s snores filled the room, Di Feisheng killed the man next to him and disappeared into the night.
Four years after he’d gone, having fought a succession of weak and unremarkable idiots while trying to prove himself worthy of his hard-won freedom, he’d heard rumour of a place which recorded all the world’s knowledge and kept a list of the Jianghu’s top ranked heroes. The prerequisite of respect was perseverance; he needed to defeat worthwhile opponents to be taken seriously and earn a reputation capable of protecting himself from the repercussions of his escape. To that end, a numbered list would certainly be helpful.
Therefore, Di Feisheng went in search of Langya Hall.
His feet remembered the path up the mountain, each split rock and craggy patch of dirt. He wondered if more should have changed, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant.
At the top, a young man in plain scholar’s robes greeted him.
“Welcome to Langya Hall, gongzi. Langya Hall holds the solutions to almost all problems a man might face in his lifetime, even an immortal one.”
“I’m familiar,” Di Feisheng said. The other man nodded and saved himself the trouble of repeating the rest of the script. Di Feisheng walked over to the row of drawers, collected brush and parchment from the table to the left of them, and wrote down a single, simple request:
a cure for bicha poison.
He placed it in one of the boxes.
“I have no address,” Di Feisheng said aloud once the drawer closed, a mostly silent slide of wood which barely clicked when he shoved it home. “I will wait here.”
“As gongzi wishes.”
He picked a flat rock at the far side of the open courtyard and sat down to meditate. Inedia would sustain him in the meantime.
Di Feisheng, predictably, thought about the best ways of defeating Li Xiangyi. He frequently replayed their one and only duel over and over again in his mind, trying to think of better ways to counter Li Xiangyi’s impossible speed and elegant strikes. This time there would be no poison slowing his movements nor meddling underlings interfering in their business.
Sometimes he wondered if the only truth he’d ever known had been found when Li Xiangyi waited at the other end of his blade.
Late afternoon on the second day after his arrival, another seeker of knowledge arrived for assistance, this one unaware of how Langya Hall conducted its business. Di Feisheng had spent the time well, landing on the best strategies for countering Li Xiangyi’s first fifty moves.
The scholar arrived to greet her and provide instruction: “Please, guniang, pick a box, write down your question, then place it inside the drawer. Come back in three days. Inside will be our requirements to be compensated for providing the answer. If you find the terms reasonable, you can place the compensation or your agreement back in the drawer, and the answer will be delivered to you.”
Unlike Di Feisheng, the woman had somewhere else to wait in the meantime.
The first time Di Feisheng had come and asked for Langya Hall’s ranking list, a man in plain white robes told him he’d asked the wrong question. Despite the humble appearance, an air of authority surrounded him and the other scholars bowed their heads in his presence.
“Langya Hall’s rankings list is publicly available and requires no price to be paid,” he said. He tilted his head. “If gongzi would prefer to ask for an assessment of his skills to avoid wasting time on those to whom he is already superior, then the price will be made clear.”
The price had been a trifle in comparison to his ability to sweep onto the field and defeat the twenty-sixth master without bothering himself over those ranked beneath him.
On Di Feisheng’s third day of waiting, a man dressed in dove grey robes approached him. “You are the one seeking the cure for Bicha Poison?”
Di Feisheng inclined his head.
“Follow me.”
Langya Hall allowed its visitors very limited access to its expansive hallways and hidden corridors. Di Feisheng was no different. The man led him through to a small room just off the main courtyard and sat down across from him.
“You may call me Lin Wei,” he said. “It has been many years since anyone asked after the cure in question. Most people accept that it’s incurable.”
“I do not,” Di Feisheng said.
Lin Wei sat back on his heels. “Tell me about this person you wish to help.”
“Is this the price for the answer?”
“Did you check the box to see our demands for compensation?”
Di Feisheng tried not to sneer, but answered Lin Wei in halting sentences. A recitation of bare facts about Li Xiangyi—his fighting style, his mastery of the Shaoshi-jian, how he always placed his weight on his right foot when he was distracted— which slowly turned into observations about Li Lianhua. A complicated man capable of such depths of bravery and kindness that Di Feisheng found infuriating and admirable in turns, though he’d only ever admit to the former. Of Li Xiangyi, Di Feisheng knew well his reputation and skill; of Li Lianhua, this mask that Li Xiangyi had worn for so long that it had become part of his skin… Di Feisheng knew his character. He’d never known what made Li Xiangyi smile. Li Lianhua, on the other hand, Di Feisheng knew well enough to anticipate what would bring the slow, spreading tilt to his lips.
Di Feisheng barely remembered what he said. In the end, anger and passion and something too soft to name all came spilling out.
When he realized he’d said too much, Di Feisheng’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at Lin Wei with a sneer. Lin Wei merely nodded, then sat in silent consideration for a handful of unfathomable moments.
“Well,” he finally said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “It sounds like you don’t want this ‘Li Lianhua’ to live at all.”
Di Feisheng grabbed for his weapon. Instead of quailing at the implied threat, the other man simply looked at him as though Di Feisheng were nothing more than a child having a tantrum. It humbled Di Feisheng in ways that set his teeth on edge.
“This is not a cure for death,” Lin Wei continued, idly holding up a large red pill. “It is only a cure for Bicha Poison.”
“Which will cause his death,” Di Feisheng ground out.
“Yes, the death of Li Lianhua. From what you’ve said, this ‘Li Xiangyi’ is long dead and will not return to you.” The pill disappeared back inside the lacquered box and Lin Wei tucked it back into his sleeve. “If Li Lianhua takes this, then it is Li Lianhua who will live the next ten, twenty, fifty, hundred years. Whatever power Li Xiangyi amassed is gone and will never return. You must decide if you will be satisfied with the life of ‘Li Lianhua,’ or if you will only ever resent that the ghost of Li Xiangyi no longer lingers in his body.”
The hooks Jiao Liqiao had fastened into his body hurt less than the words. Di Feisheng barely noticed when Li Wei stood and left the room.
Despite three days of meditation, Di Feisheng’s thoughts refused to settle. Part of him wanted to rail against this… this… scholar for suggesting that Li Xiangyi was dead. Li Xiangyi was not dead. Li Xiangyi had lived through their duel and the ten years afterwards. Li Lianhua merely gave him a way to hide. Li Lianhua had been a carefully-constructed deception.
But, then, even after he’d revealed himself to those who’d once known him as Li-zongzhu, had he not continued to insist on being referred to as Li Lianhua? He’d told Di Feisheng many times that they would never fight again, but then went on to defeat opponents such as Shan Gudao. Did Di Feisheng not deserve the same consideration?
(Because the consequences of not fighting them were dire, a voice all too much like Li Lianhua’s whispered in the back of his mind, Because fighting with you is a thrill and a pleasure, but not one that will result in his death should he refuse.)
It had not been Li Xiangyi who had dragged the hooks out of his body and then helped him crawl out of the shallow pool in which Jiao Liqiao had kept him. Li Xiangyi would have laughed in disbelief that Di Feisheng had allowed himself to be so humbled, then gone off to fight the whole of the Jinyuan Alliance while boasting of his brilliance, not bothering to pause for even a moment to consider whether Di Feisheng could free himself.
Li Lianhua had placed one hand in Di Feisheng’s and dragged the hooks out of his body with the other, not even bothering to hide his wince when Di Feisheng squeezed down hard enough to bruise. His hands had been chapped, cool, and gentle.
Di Feisheng rather liked his hands, though they belonged to a doctor instead of a warrior. He wished to hold them while they were warm.
Di Feisheng barely looked up when Li Wei returned, though he idly noted that the sky outside had darkened. Lin Wei lit the braziers on either side of the room and then once again took the seat across from him.
“I wish for Li Lianhua to live,” Di Feisheng said.
“Hmm. Then I shall name your price,” Lin Wei said.
Di Feisheng did not need to find Li Lianhua; he trusted the Boy to do that for them. And, sure enough, upon his descent from Mount Langya a week later, he discovered that Lotus Tower had been spotted near enough to the beach where the duel had supposed to take place to not be a coincidence.
He arrived to the sound of agonized coughing from within.
“I’ve told you,” Li Lianhua croaked. “Go away.”
The Boy responded at a yell: “I won’t! I’ve sent Su Xiaoyong to collect all our food so you can’t leave me behind. I’ll tie myself to you and sleep like that if you try to leave me behind again!”
Di Feisheng leaned heavily against the side of the house, relief robbing his legs of what strength remained after his harried trip to them. Alive. Lin Wei said the pill would work even to the point of death, until the last breath left the lungs.
“Unnecessary,” Li Lianhua said. Then, in an earnest half-whisper, “Xiaobao, I don’t want anyone to watch me die.” Fang Duobing thankfully fell silent. Li Lianhua took in another breath which seemed to slosh around in his lungs once he released it.
“…because of your brother?” Fang Duobing asked, painfully quiet. Funny how frequently Di Feisheng had to be reminded of the fact that the Boy was, in fact, not a hopeless child and instead a detective of Baichuan Court. Li Lianhua never seemed to forget, for all he occasionally did not take the fact as seriously as Fang Duobing might have preferred.
Li Lianhua didn’t reply.
A moment later, Hulijing trotted out of the house and barked upon spotting him. Di Feisheng waved the dog away and made his way up the steps and through the open door.
Fang Duobing swung his way, face twisted with worry, though the tension around his eyes eased somewhat when he spotted Di Feisheng. Not into the aggressive disdain to which he’d subjected Di Feisheng before they’d come to know one another. More like Fang Duobing’s relief won out at the thought of welcoming an ally to a heretofore unwinnable battle. Behind him, Li Lianhua peered out from a veritable mountain of blankets piled up practically to his nose.
“Di-mengzhu,” Li Lianhua wheezed. Impossibly, he looked even worse than he had the last time Di Feisheng saw him. His skin now resembled yellowed wax, save for his lips which had faded of all colour into a sickly white. “Please remove this unruly child from my house.”
Di Feisheng blinked at him slowly then returned his attention to Fang Duobing. “Where was he?”
“Hiding,” Fang Duobing huffed. He passed Di Feisheng on his way towards the door. “You deal with him.”
“Deal with me,” Li Lianhua repeated. The last time they’d seen one another, Li Lianhua would have sounded irritated. Now he merely seemed tired.
Di Feisheng waited until Fang Duobing stepped outside with a call for Hulijing before moving to Li Lianhua’s side. Untouched warmed wine sat by his bedside, ignored despite being within easy reach.
“Eventually you’re going to say something the Boy is not going to forgive,” Di Feisheng said. He leaned his weapon against the table and moved to stand in front of the other man. “Then where will you be?”
“Dead,” Li Lianhua grumbled. “I don’t know why I’m the only one who remembers it.”
Di Feisheng sat next to him on the bed and slipped the box from where he’d kept it protected next to his heart. “We all remember it. You’re just the only one who believes it.”
Li Lianhua stared at the box a long moment before he slid a shaking arm out from beneath the blankets and held open his hand. Di Feisheng cupped the cold skin in his own hand and placed the box in his waiting palm. Li Lianhua frowned. It took him a significant amount of effort to free his other hand and slide open the top. Sweat beaded his brow.
“What is this, Di-mengzhu?” he asked.
“Does it matter? If you’re certain you’re going to die, why not take it?” Di Feisheng demanded.
Li Lianhua’s eyes fluttered shut. “Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid to get your hands on a false miracle.”
“I’m not the stupid one in this situation,” Di-mengzhu scoffed. He poured some of the wine into an empty cup. The pill was nearly as long as the first two joints of his pinky finger and would need some help making its way down a foolish throat. “Here. Take it. Drink this.”
Li Lianhua sighed. “All right. I’ll humour you. But you explain it to Xiaobao.”
Di Feisheng nodded. He absolutely would explain everything to the Boy, save perhaps the location of Langya Hall. He could only imagine what a brain like Fang Duobing’s would do upon discovering the repository for the world’s wisdom. Bankrupt the whole of Tianji Mountain Manor to pay the price for all his endless questions, no doubt.
Li Lianhua choked on the pill at first, until Di Feisheng tilted his head back and poured the wine down his throat. He smacked Li Lianhua’s back to help dislodge it. Eventually Li Lianhua passed it with a small gasp. He tilted his head back and lolled it against Di Feisheng’s shoulder.
“May I ask something of you?” Li Lianhua asked, “Something important?”
“Mn.” Di Feisheng refused to think of it as a deathbed request, because this would not be Li Lianhua’s hour of death. Besides, the request would probably be something ridiculous and easily honoured, such as making sure the Boy remained out of trouble.
“In twenty years’ time, should you hear tell of a peerlessly talented young master, come and find me again?” Li Lianhua reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Di Feisheng’s ear. “And I’ll finally satisfy your desire for a fight. And, perhaps afterwards, my body won’t be too weak to keep up with you in other ways as well.”
“You think I’ll be able to tell it’s you?” Di Feisheng asked, ignoring his heart hammering a hard tempo in his breast.
“Obviously. You’re the other half of me.”
Li Lianhua’s eyes rolled back and his entire body listed forward. Di Feisheng caught him and eased him back against his chest, holding him in ways he never would have done before now.
The closest they had come, that evening in Jiao Liqiao’s perverted wedding chamber, when Di Feisheng had looked at Li Lianhua across a table laden with food he would never eat, a carafe of wine between them and thought to himself, ‘now I know.’
But it had always been Li Lianhua seated across from him. He never would have been able to reconcile himself to loving Li Xiangyi.
Fang Duobing predictably demanded to fight him when he returned and found his mentor unconscious on the bed, but stopped short when he noticed Li Lianhua’s face flushed with fever burning away its waxy pallour. He pressed his fingers into Li Lianhua’s wrist, eyes widening.
“His pulse has improved,” he said, “It’s strong!”
Di Feisheng nodded. “Three days. Three nights.”
“And then?”
Di Feisheng shrugged. Fang Duobing waited only a few moments in silence before offering a wordless scoff of irritation and going to change Li Lianhua’s sweat-soaked sheets.
If the Langya Hall master had lied to him, Di Feisheng would raze the immortal mountain to the ground.
He believed it would not come to that.
Li Lianhua’s breathing eased on the evening of the first day, evening out into deep and restful breaths instead of the gasping spoonfuls of air Li Lianhua had relied upon during his second life. Fang Duobing worked tirelessly to bring his fever down, every spare moment spent growling at Di Feisheng for not assisting. Di Feisheng ignored him, content to sit at his zhiji’s side and wait for him to open his eyes.
His fever broke the second day and healthy colour finally returned to his skin.
On the third, late into the evening, his eyes opened.
“I’m hungry,” Li Lianhua declared.
Fang Duobing babbled nonsensically as he put together a simple soup for his mentor. Di Feisheng merely sat next to his bed, looking his fill at Li Lianhua.
It did not take Li Lianhua long to notice, once he turned his indulgent gaze away from the Boy. “Well, A-Fei. Not a false miracle after all.” His eyebrow twitched up. “Will you give me leave to recover before demanding a duel?”
Di Feisheng sniffed. “I’ve already fought many battles for you. Why bother with more?”
A small smile tucked itself into the corners of Li Lianhua’s mouth.
Li Lianhua walked quickly but ran slowly.
Li Lianhua disdained his own cooking to Fang Duobing’s great amusement and accepted correction over his seasoning with grateful smiles and no little abashment, improving with every dish now that his senses of taste and smell had fully returned.
Li Lianhua loved openly but rarely offered praise.
And, as Di Feisheng discovered one late afternoon while Fang Duobing was off to visit his mother, Li Lianhua kissed thoughtlessly but made love with painstaking intent.
“I suppose I should have thought of Langya Hall,” he whispered into Di Feisheng’s shoulder, afterwards.
“You would have, if you thought you had anything left to live for,” Di Feisheng said. He tried and mostly succeeded not to feel any guilt about it. Li Xiangyi, the honoured dead, had been his greatest rival. Li Lianhua, he’d realized nearly too late, was his greatest love.
“What is the price you paid?” Li Lianhua asked.
The sun. The stars in the night sky. Every moonbeam to ever light up the night. “Nothing important,” Di Feisheng replied.
“Tell me,” Li Lianhua said. His tone wasn’t insistent, but also did not leave much room for argument. “I can always go and put my question in its own box and pay the price for the answer.”
“Lanya Hall collects knowledge,” Di Feisheng said slowly. Li Lianhua nodded against him. “It also demands memories. In return for the life of Li Lianhua, I erected a tablet honouring Li Xiangyi in their ancestral hall to ensure that the memory of a great warrior can always be appropriately honoured.”
“You…” Li Lianhua sat up, face a mask of feigned outrage, a breaking surf upon an ocean of confusion. “There is already a cenotaph for Li Xiangyi!”
“I did not spend a week bowing before that one to prove the sincerity of my mourning,” Di Feisheng told him. He caught Li Lianhua behind his neck and tugged him down into a messy, biting kiss.
“The price I demand is your grief,” Lin Wei told him. “You must leave it here. It has no place among the living. We will tell his story, but only if you entrust it to our care.”
Li Lianhua finally sighed into the kiss and relaxed back against him. “It doesn’t seem such a high price to pay.”
It had been the hardest thing Di Feisheng had ever done in his entire life.
“No,” he said instead. “Not a high price at all, in the end.”