Chapter Text
"I like to think we met in a daydream once, a long time ago, and decided to meet right here, right now."
- Shark Heart, Emily Habeck
///
Xie Lian's first sight of him is a stolen thing at sixteen.
The boy is dirt-smudged and already tall for his age. His borrowed armor hangs loosely on his thin frame, which should be quite the hinderance, but he swings his wooden sword with an assuredness that befits a seasoned warrior. Every impact releases a savage smack that rings across the field.
Xie Lian can't stop himself from wincing when wood meets skin.
"That kid fights like a demon," Feng Xin whispers beside him. They're pressed so closely together that Xie Lian can feel his jaw moving against his cheek. "They're really taking a chance on some orphan?"
"Feng Xin," he mutters back, disapproval thick in his tone. "Whether or not he's an orphan isn't important. Look at his skill! The guards shouldn't care about that."
"He's from the streets, Dianxia. His technique is trash. He's only beating them because he's fighting dirty. See--! Look at that, he's kicking dust at Xiao-Pei's face!"
"Shh!" Xie Lian hushes him. The canvas tent is much too thin for Feng Xin to be shouting. This guard station is on the other side of the palace walls-- a place Xie Lian isn't allowed to be without proper supervision and a guard detail.
So naturally, he knows the best methods to sneak around. And when he'd heard a rumor that Guard Captain Zhu had finally broken down and allowed this kid to spar his personal trainees? After a whole year of begging the guards to let him join?
Well, here they are.
The boy's face is covered in bandages, completely shrouding his right eye, but he doesn't move like someone injured. In fact, he never seems to notice a blow at all; if one of his opponents lands a blow on him, even a good one, he doesn't flinch or groan. He just keeps moving with that same vicious determination that overwhelms the rest.
A reedy thread of hope pulls taught in Xie Lian's chest. "His technique isn't the cleanest, but he has good form," he murmurs. Then, "Do you think he likes swords?" He can't imagine anyone who would dedicate themselves so thoroughly to the art, as this boy obviously has, without a love for them.
"What?" Feng Xin hisses. Then he groans. "Why is that all you care about?"
"Because everyone uses them, but no one here likes them. And your dad is always saying," Xie Lian screws his face up into a scowl and huffs in his best General Feng voice, "Remember, young prince, swords are weapons, not toys."
Another smack rings out, followed by a throaty scream.
Feng Xin's lips pull back in a squeamish grimace. "If he likes swords-- real swords-- I don't think that's a good thing."
The screaming trainee was the boy's last opponent. The dust settles around him as he scans the writhing clump of them, all five, waiting for one to stand and attack again.
They all remain panting on the training ground.
The guard captain shifts in his chair. He leans forward to glare down the raised platform, assessing the trainees' failure and their refusal to keep fighting with a narrowed, hawk-like stare.
Captain Zhu is known for his brutal training methods, but no one could deny the results. To have his guards beaten so thoroughly like this comes as a surprise, even if they are still in training.
He snaps his fingers and growls, "Up. Up! Out of my sight," to the defeated boys. They pick themselves up from the dirt, one by one, and slink off the dusty field.
The boy draws himself up to his full height and stands alone under that same stare, looking back with bold conviction. It's hard to make out his face from underneath the shock of his black hair-- he'd pulled it back into a low ponytail to fight, but much of it has come undone and puffs out into the air, choppy and wild.
However, his body language is clear. He won Captain Zhu's challenge, and even if the captain dismisses him again, he'll be back.
He wants to be a guard with every fiber of his being.
Captain Zhu sighs and massages one temple. "I expected a boy who wanted to play with swords, but you already know how to use one. Who taught you?"
The boy's grip tightens on the training sword. "I taught myself," he replies. Even young, he has a smooth voice. Confident. That, or he's good at hiding his emotions.
With a narrowed eye, Captain Zhu falls silent again, assessing. Then he asks, "How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Liar. How old are you?"
The boy balks for the first time-- his shoulders twitch up, just for a moment. But he forces his smooth composure back into place as he amends, "Fourteen."
Fourteen. And he'd beat five boys, some as old as sixteen. It's impressive.
"There are other jobs out there, better ones for a fourteen-year-old with no connections. But you've pestered my guards instead. Why?"
A pause slips in the air, precarious as a dancer on a wire. He's already been caught lying once, and the boy seems wary against being caught again. Wheels turn in his head, weighing risk against reward-- then he shouts, "I want to join the royal guard to protect The Flower-Crowned Prince, Taizi Dianxia!"
Beside him, Feng Xin goes rock-rigid. Xie Lian barely registers this over the blank shock that erupts in his mind, like the piercing boom of a firework, before it falls and sizzles into raining color.
This boy has worked hard to get here. And he's done it with the goal of protecting him.
Elation bubbles in his chest. Xie Lian is used to being adored by his people-- he loves their screams during parades and holiday appearances, their smiling faces and chants.
But this boy has gone above and beyond, and he's enthralled.
Captain Zhu doesn't laugh at his declaration. He only says, "That position is earned. You will have to work hard for it over many years, without guarantee you'll ever reach it. And even if you do succeed, no one in the palace will thank you for it. Not even your prince."
Xie Lian frowns at that. Why would Captain Zhu think that about him? He knows how some lords are, but he likes to think he's very polite to the guards and servants.
"I'll earn it. And I don't care. I will protect him," the boy says, resolute.
There's that feeling again, light and ticklish on the inside of his skin. Xie Lian stares at the boy's profile, trying to memorize it.
I have to ask for his name, he thinks. But there's nothing he can do about it now. Not while he's still hiding.
Feng Xin tugs at his arm. "Let's go, your highness," he whispers. "The spar's over-- we need to get out of here."
He's right-- the guards were already starting to move again. It's inevitable that one would come into the tent.
Xie Lian doesn't fight off Feng Xin's grip, but he pulls against him, focus trained on the mysterious boy. He's still standing at attention and listening to Captain Zhu's long list of rules. But for some reason, he turns his head.
He looks straight at the tent, like he can sense he's being watched.
Heat rises to Xie Lian's face and he ducks away. "I'm coming," he hisses in a whisper.
The tent flap shakes as he leaves.
///EIGHT YEARS LATER///
"The food needs to be brought in now," Mu Qing hisses.
"Y-yes," the assistant cook whispers. "But the fire burned most of the starting dishes--"
Feng Xin's thick eyebrows knot together and he crosses his arms. "Then just move onto the main dishes. Is it really such a problem?"
"Idiot," Mu Qing snaps. "Of course that's a problem. Do you think this is anyone's first banquet? The guests will obviously know something's wrong--"
"Break up the main dishes into smaller--"
"That won't work."
Xie Lian rubs his temples with two fingers as the two devolve into senseless bickering.
The cook looks to him and rubs her hands together. Tears well in her reddening eyes. "Taizi Dianxia, I'm so sorry," she whispers.
He blinks, then fixes the strained expression on his face into a gentle smile. "It's alright," he murmurs. "Take a deep breath. We'll think of something." Then he makes a show of inhaling deeply, encouraging her to follow along.
When she copies him, her shoulders slacken the smallest bit.
Xie Lian nods with approval and then says, "We'll just have to stall for time. Bring up a dozen more barrels of wine from storage while the starting dishes are remade-- simplify them in any way you can."
Her eyes widen as she registers the new plan. "R-right away, Dianxia," she says and curtseys.
"Thank you, Xiao-Ying."
A small blush tinges her cheeks, hidden as she turns. Her receding footsteps scuffle down the cramped servant's hall. She disappears behind worn produce crates.
Xie Lian draws five gold pieces from the pouch at his side. "Mu Qing," he calls, and the bickering abruptly ends. "Take these to the dancers. They've already performed longer than we originally agreed, but tell them if they can continue until the starting dishes are ready, then I'll double the contract."
Mu Qing watches the gold coins drop into his hand with a grim expression. "The guests will know," he argues. "Stomachs don't lie. The longer they wait, the more irritated they'll get."
"They'll be too drunk to care if we're passing out more wine," Feng Xin says. "It'll only be a problem if you take so long arguing that the dancers leave."
Xie Lian nods. "They've probably already left the stage. You need to hurry."
Mu Qing's dark eyes dart between them. His thin lips press together like he still wants to argue, but then he sharply pivots and runs down the hall.
The sound of his running footsteps fade into quiet.
Feng Xin grumbles, "How much do you want to bet the dancers will have conveniently left already?"
Xie Lian ignores the sarcasm in his voice. "Mu Qing will catch them," he says. "We need to get back."
Feng Xin slumps, but he falls into step behind him as they return to the banquet hall.
Heads turn in a fluid wave of motion when they walk through the massive entry doors. At the familiar prickle of attention, an easy smile blooms over Xie Lian's face, as perfect as a mask's. "Forgive me for leaving. I hope I wasn't gone too long," he announces, his voice echoing under the chamber's vaulted ceiling.
A low rumble of disagreement meets him in return. A few of the lords stand from their low seats to greet him as he passes by, his cloth shoes padding softly against the plush tongue of carpet running from the door to the main dais.
"Of course not, Your Highness," one chuckles.
"But we certainly missed your company."
Xie Lian climbs the scant steps with well-rehearsed grace and sits on the throne atop, the lacquered wood so smooth it's almost slippery. He properly positions the folds of his robes with a flick of his wrists. "Have I not done enough to dispel the notion that flattery is useless?" he says, taking up the golden cup in front of him.
Another rumble of laughter punctuates the room, harmonic. Choreographed.
"Forgive us. The tenants forbid lying," answers another lord, lost in the sea of the crowd.
Xie Lian laughs above the rim of his cup, then hides his face with his sleeve to drink. The cool water washes down his throat pleasantly, a stark contrast to the heat from his ceremonial outfit's many layers, and it's the first relief he's had in hours.
He sets the empty cup on the table before him. Silently, a servant steps forward to refill it, but Xie Lian leaves it untouched.
To the lords below, it's supposed to look like he's drinking alcohol alongside them. If he drinks too much, he'll break the illusion.
"I pray I haven't missed much of importance," he says, and then the flash of colorful robes catches his attention. With a genuine smile, he waves his hand toward the main doors. "But this is the first gilded banquet in five years. Let's celebrate it properly," he finishes.
The dancers and musicians make their grand re-entrance to surprised tittering. Not a minute later, servants carry in cobweb-covered barrels on their backs.
"From the Xie's own reserves, the finest peach wine we have to offer," he announces. "Please, enjoy yourselves."
The lords break into risen bows and calls of generosity.
Xie Lian hears shifting as someone uses the hidden door to approach the throne from behind, and then Mu Qing whispers, "They'll stay. But the madam says the contract must be tripled, not doubled, since they won't be taking any breaks."
"What?" Feng Xin huffs sharply. "Does she not know who she's talking to?"
"She does," Mu Qing answers. "Rumors have spread. Everyone knows the Queen is ill, which means it's the prince who's running the banquet, who's known for his kindness," he hisses. "They're seeing an advantage and trying to take it. We should tell them that unless they never want the palace's business again, they'll take double--"
"Enough," Xie Lian whispers, his tone more cutting than he meant it. Then he awkwardly tacks on, "We'll deal with it later."
God, his head aches. Part of him wishes there really was wine in his cup.
Tense stillness emanates behind the throne. Xie Lian fixes the folds of his robe again. He'll-- he should apologize for snapping, later. He has no excuse for it, really; it was good advice, and Feng Xin and Mu Qing are just as sleepless and worn from preparing this banquet as he is.
Maybe he should offer them a bonus. Feng Xin normally doesn't care for more gold, but he knows Mu Qing sends anything extra he earns to his mother. But would it be enough...?
"Taizi Dianxia," he hears whispered behind the throne.
Xie Lian blinks and looks up. It's oddly silent in the hall.
Shit. Was someone calling him?
A lord in pale yellow raises his cup. "Your Highness," he calls. The expectant pause makes it clear this was not the first time he said this.
"Lord Lan," Xie Lian answers in return. "It seems I have too much business on my mind. You were saying?"
The lord's hand tilts to the side as he smiles. If anything remained in his cup, it would have spilled to the floor, but nothing tumbles over the rim.
"Fuck," Feng Xin whispers.
"He's so trashed," Mu Qing titters.
"My Prince," Lord Lan announces. "What you said is true. This is the first banquet after five hard years of war. We should certainly celebrate this victory, and I can't think of anything that could suit the occasion more than this, save one." His glassy eyes reflect the gem-studded walls. "A marriage, to usher in the peace and stability of a new era, the triumph of the Xie house, the--"
Roaring laughter and shouts consume the rest of his speech.
"Sit down, Lord Lan! If your daughter was as beautiful as you boast, they'd be married already!"
"Shameless as a hawker--"
"The prince is twenty-four, isn't he? A little late--"
With a wave of his hand, the hall quiets.
Xie Lian stands from the throne. The pearls sown into the hems of his sleeves knock against the wooden seat, echoing softly in the hushed chamber.
"My lords," he says, raising his cup in toast. "You're right to point this out, of course. My heart warms with your care. However, I'm afraid I've made my own plans to strengthen the Xie house. Come autumn, I will return to Mount Taicang to continue my cultivation training. Leading our soldiers has inspired me to strengthen myself, to learn to strengthen others, so we may never face such a worrisome threat again. So, I'm afraid I won't have time for a wife."
The hall is utterly silent.
Lord Lan lifts his cup, his smile so wide his eyes are like crescents. "To your training," he calls. Then he places the rim to his lips.
The rest of the hall echoes him as the lords follow in his toast, loud as thunder. "To your training."
Xie Lian drinks from his cup just a beat too slowly. His eyes are glued to Lord Lan's cup and his empty toast.
A dozen servants enter the hall, carrying large trays. The starting dishes.
Humorless, Xie Lian imagines the bugle of a calvary horn over an emptied battlefield.
///
"When were you going to tell us you're planning to return to Mount Taicang?!" Feng Xin shouts as soon as the door snaps closed.
Xie Lian whirls to face him, gesturing for him to keep his voice down.
Mu Qing cuts in. "You dumbass. It's obvious he wasn't planning to go back. There's too much work here," he says, then looks sharply to Xie Lian. "And now it's complicated."
Now that they're alone in his quarters, Xie Lian can finally act how he wants. Which is to say, he claws off the heavy outer layer of his robe and collapses on his bed with a loud sigh. "Would you rather be planning for a wedding?" he grumbles.
Mu Qing falls silent as he picks the robe off the floor.
"What's so terrible about marriage that we have to run away to Mount Taicang for?" Feng Xin asks. He stomps close to the bed so he can look down on Xie Lian with a frown, his arms crossed.
Xie Lian yanks out the ornamental hairpin that's been stabbing him for the past few hours and tosses it somewhere over the sheets. "Stay in a brothel for a night. Any brothel. I'll pay."
Feng Xin promptly pales.
"Why autumn?" Mu Qing asks. "You've given us a few weeks to prepare for this at best." He brushes specks of dirt from the robe before he folds it into a gigantic armoire. "Not to mention, there's so much to be done before winter comes, which is already complicated from the rebuilding. And some soldiers are still waiting for rewards they were promised during the war. If we drag our feet on that, we could have another rebellion on our hands--"
Xie Lian groans dramatically and flops over to face the wall.
Point made, Mu Qing sighs.
"...I was thinking about it this morning," Xie Lian admits in a low voice. "How I missed the maples. The trees never turn that bright shade of red, here."
There's a pause as Feng Xin and Mu Qing exchange an exasperated look, and then they both answer with their own dramatic groans.
Feng Xin grumbles, "All of this over trees--"
A sharp knock raps at the door.
With well-rehearsed efficiency, Mu Qing grabs a simpler robe from the armoire. Xie Lian hands him the middle-layer of his ceremonial robes and then fixes his appearance, along with adding a light, golden hairpin to pull back the front of his hair.
He nods his approval to Feng Xin, who opens the door.
"Commander Zhu," he greets.
The commander of the royal guard bows his head as he steps through the door, flanked by two of his men. All are heavily armored and carry their helmets in the crook of their arms. "The last of the guests have been escorted from the inner palace and the grounds have been swept for wanderers. We have the gates barred from entry for the rest of the night."
Xie Lian stands. "Has there been any news from the Min Palace?"
The Commander's sharp eyes consider him. The lines of his face have deepened during the war, but he still retains the presence of a man capable of great feats. "Nothing new," he answers.
Xie Lian checks his appearance again and says, "I'll go."
Feng Xin frowns. "Your Highness, it's already late. Allow me--"
He shakes his head. "I need you to speak with Commander Zhu about the escort to Mount Taicang. Mu Qing, prepare a list of everything we'll need to travel for a few months. I'm sure I'll have to return for business here, but we have to make it look like I'm putting in some effort."
The Commander blinks. It isn't often that he's taken by surprise. The emotion never shows completely on his face, but his slow reaction is a sure sign. "Mount Taicang?" he asks.
"We'll be leaving in a few weeks," he says. Then, "Will one of your guards escort me to the Queen?"
"Of course," Commander Zhu answers. Unbidden, one of the guards steps forward, a soft chime ringing with the movement. However, The Commander abruptly holds up his fist. "Pei Xiu," he calls. "Escort the prince."
The other guard bows his head. "Yes, Commander," he answers dully.
Xie Lian glances between the three, pausing. From the tension between them, he wonders what he's just overlooked, but... they are guards, after all. They don't tend to have easy-going composures.
He leaves the odd tension behind, Pei Xiu following in his wake.
///
With night freshly fallen, it's a cold walk. Braziers are placed every few feet under the covered walk-way, but they offer little heat.
"...It's Pei Xiu, right?" Xie Lian calls back, his voice hesitant. "Your name?"
"...Yes, Your Highness," the guard answers in the same monotonous tone as before.
"The same family as General Pei?" he asks. He tries to look back, but Pei Xiu walks rigidly behind him.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Biting off a sigh, Xie Lian falls silent and continues forward. It's clear that Pei Xiu isn't one for talk-- much of the guards are the same.
It's a little boring, if not disappointing.
Pei Xiu takes his place by the courtyard door to the Min Palace as a servant beckons Xie Lian inside. The gardens gleam with dew under the moonlight, though the branches are beginning to thin.
The entrance room is dim, the whole palace hushed. Xie Lian nods to the servant who led him inside and continues up the stairs to the inner chamber alone.
He hears whispered conversation behind the rice-papered door. A candle flickers inside, bathing it with a warm, red glow. "Mother?" he softly calls.
The voices abruptly hush.
"A-Lian," his mother answers, her voice rasping and wet. "Come in."
Xie Lian steps into the room, relief filling him at the sight of his mother sitting up in bed. A few nights ago, she didn't even have the strength for that.
The head maid clears a few dishes from her beside table and leaves the room. Xie Lian takes the seat she was occupying next to the bed as his mother delves into a coughing fit, her eyebrows harshly knitting together. The sound rips through the room like grated stone.
Xie Lian reaches into a cool basin of water for a cloth. He twists the water from it and dabs her forehead when she collapses back against the pillow, exhausted.
Her hand shoots up. Five knobby fingers wrap around his wrist, surprisingly strong. "A-Lian," she rasps, her eyes glaring up at him. They shine with candlelight, finally clear from the fever that's plagued her. "You're going... to cultivate?" she whispers.
"Mother--"
"You never told me."
"I wasn't planning on going to Mount Taicang until tonight," he explains. Xie Lian sighs and leans back in the chair, wringing the damp cloth in his hands. "The banquet went horribly. And Lord Lan ambushed me."
She hums. Her breaths are harsh and wheezing in the silence.
Xie Lian frowns as he looks to the pitiful incense burner across the room. Centered on the vanity, it's puffing out thin strands of blue smoke intermittently. He stands and busies himself with changing the powder inside.
"There was a small fire in the kitchen," he begins. "No one was hurt, but it burned the starting dishes. I called back the dancers and had more wine brought in, but--" he cuts off with a sigh, fumbling with a thin strand of tinder. He lights it over one of the candles and then touches it to the powder until it smolders. "I-- I didn't take into account how drunk they might get. Lord Lan grew bold. He tried to offer his daughter's hand," he says. "Again."
"And," his mother asks, "What's wrong with his daughter, again?"
Xie Lian replaces the lid on the burner. Blue smoke pours from the lattice top, curling into the air and obscuring the round mirror on the vanity. He watches it slowly smudge out his reflection. "Nothing," he murmurs. "But..."
"A-Lian," his mother softly calls.
He turns, his mouth set in a grim line.
"You've already said you're going, so you must go," she rasps, "But now, of all times, A-Lian?"
"I know," he says, crossing back to take her hands in his. "I know. I'm sorry. I won't leave until you're better. But I can't--" his voice cuts out, breathless.
His mother pats the back of his hand, her face softening. "Cultivation meant the world to you," she finishes.
He nods, eyes cast to the floor.
She wheezes out a soft sigh. "Oh, your father will be angry when he gets back. But I can handle him."
He meets her gaze. There's steel beneath the sickness.
"When you get back, you should be prepared for the consequences of this."
Xie Lian swallows. "I will," he murmurs. "Thank you."
"And," she continues in a whisper. "You should bring your mother back some cherries."
Finally, laughter pulls his lips into a smile. "Alright. Cherries. Any other requests?"
"Mn," she hums. "Get some rest," she says, cupping his cheek. Her thumb runs over the soft skin beneath his eye. "Don't think about the banquet anymore. It was the first one you prepared by yourself. You did well."
Xie Lian closes his eyes and slumps forward. "I tried," he whispers.
"I know," she answers.
He fusses over her until she falls asleep, her breaths smoothing out as she relaxes. As much as he wants to return to his own bed, he can't help but keep his eyes glued to her, too wary to look away.
He watches the rise and fall of her shoulders, poised on the slight pause between every exhale and the next inhale.
That moment of stillness where everything hinges.