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Listen. Xue Yang is a simple guy. A little candy, the occasional violent murder, and he’s happy as a clam. And while he gets sufficient pay, and an entire war to keep him entertained…
Wen Ruohan is not exactly fun to work for. He’s moody. He’s grumpy. He doesn’t like it when Xue Yang calls him daddy when he’s choking him out.
So Xue Yang decides to do what he does best: fuck Wen Ruohan over.
When Wen Ruohan isn’t posturing dramatically with the yin metal, it rests in a secure array in the throne room, silent testament to his power. Xue Yang thinks Wen Ruohan is so cocksure he doesn’t think anyone would dare steal it from him. So breaking the array is easy.
“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Wen Qing says casually. She looks dour and unimpressed, sword tucked into her belt and arms crossed over her chest.
Xue Yang grins and tucks the yin metal into a hidden pouch, hopping down from the dais. “Gonna tell on me?” he asks, drawing a knife.
Wen Qing scoffs and looks unintimidated. She’s not the most talented fighter. He could gut her with ease. “If I was going to do that, I would have done it before you could threaten me.” She waves a dismissive hand, as imperious as an empress, even in her simple nightgown, hair unpinned. “Now get out of here before you’re caught.”
“How do I know you won’t raise an alarm after I'm gone? Send the dogs after my scent?”
She turns her back on him. Xue Yang is tempted to stab her just for that. But she whisks away like a wisp of flame. “No yin metal, no war. No war means I can go home, and my uncle’s mental condition will improve.”
“No offence, nothing’s fixing that old man, except maybe a thorough fuck.” He waves at her and disappears into the shadows of the Nightless City, and out towards freedom.
For the first time in a long time, he’s his own man. And he knows exactly what he’s going to do with that freedom.
*
The nearest town to the Nightless City is so small it barely even has a name. Xue Yang ditches his Wen red robes the first chance he gets, for something sexy and black, and makes himself comfortable at the first restaurant offering sweets he can find.
Then, like fate, who walks into the restaurant but Bright Moon Gentle Breeze, and his good friend (and probably lover) Distant Snow Cold Frost? Xue Yang nearly laughs out loud.
They look just as they did the last time he met them. Pristine robes. Clear eyes. Straight backs. They’ve never known a day of discomfort, or hunger, or cold. Little lordlings eschewing the world because they can afford to.
They recognize him too.
“Xue… Chengmei was it?” Xiao Xingchen smiles, gentle as a single snow flake on the tip of the nose. “How gratifying to see you can enjoy a restaurant’s atmosphere without laying waste to it.”
Xue Yang shrugs and grins thinly, razor sharp. “My sweets haven’t arrived yet, there’s still time for mayhem.”
Xiao Xingchen laughs like a bell, as though he thinks Xue Yang were joking. Song Zichen looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, scanning the room for some place to sit.
Xiao Xingchen starts, “Can we—” just as Xue Yang says, “Join me, esteemed daozhangs.” And Song Zichen doesn’t have the opportunity to point out the empty table on the opposite side of the room. Xiao Xingchen happily takes a seat, Song Zichen reluctantly joins, tucking their whisks between their knees.
“So what brings you out this way? Night hunting? Should I look forward to hearing more over blown stories of your exploits?”
Xiao Xingchen ducks his head with a coy smile. Song Zichen seems to blush a little, mouth a wobbly line. “We don’t ask for those folk tales about us,” he mutters dourly. Xiao Xingchen taps the table near Song Zichen’s wrist. A gesture of comfort?
“No, I imagine you don’t.” Xue Yang shrugs. “If you’d commissioned them, I bet they would be higher quality at least. Maybe include more poetic description of your…” Here, he looks them up and down, eyes narrowed and expression lascivious. Song Zichen’s broad shoulders, Xiao Xingchen’s elegant fingers. His meaning is impossible to miss. “Swords.”
Now, Song Zichen’s blush is unmistakable. He looks like he wants to sink into the floor. But Xiao Xingchen laughs again, even brighter. “Stories like that exist too, I think! Remember that book store we found with the graphic—”
“Please don’t remind me,” Song Zichen squeezes out. “I have no desire to imagine any of our peers in such…positions.”
Xue Yang is caught between amusement at the turn of the conversation, irritation at being ignored, and vague confusion that this interaction is more pleasant than he was expecting it to be. He was trying to offend their delicate noble sensibilities. Having failed that, he doesn’t know what else to do.
Their food arrives, and Xue Yang digs into his cakes with gusto, savouring the way the sweets melt on his tongue with soft hums of pleasure with each bite.
“Surely your food doesn’t intend to run from you, friend,” Xiao Xingchen comments laughingly, pouring a cup of tea and pushing it towards Xue Yang.
He considers it a long moment, before taking a cautious sip. It’s mildly bitter. Someone with a more refined palate would say the tea complimented the sweets. But no one’s ever accused Xue Yang of being refined. He makes a face at the tea. Xiao Xingchen smiles.
“The food may wait, but time does not.” He dumps payment on the table, knocks back another cake and licks crumbs and syrup from his fingers. “I’ll be off to more mayhem yet, Gentle Breeze.” He tosses a wink in Song Zichen’s direction. “Distant Frost. Let’s hope neither of you get wind of it. But let’s be real, you’re nosy enough to sniff me out anyway, right?”
“They say enemies on a narrow road must meet,” Song Zichen intones.
Xue Yang barks a laugh. “Ain’t that the damn truth.”
Xiao Xingchen catches his wrist before he can sweep away. “But is it only enemies that meet on narrow roads?”
Xue Yang doesn’t know how to answer that.
*
Half way through the massacre, Xue Yang gets bored. Actually he’s seething with a rage so poisonous, so acidic, his belly burns with it.
What’s the point of killing people who don’t know why they were dying? Where was the sweet poetic justice when the man he wanted to avenge himself against was long dead, his funerary tablet resting on the table among all the other Chang Ancestors, respected, revered, totally unaware of the destruction of his house and line?
He scatters all the funerary tablets with a wave of his arm, smashing them against the ground.
He feels empty.
He watches another servant get struck down with a gurgle of blood. People screaming and cursing in terror was only fun for the first few minutes. Fierce Corpse family members getting up to mutilate their loved ones was only funny the first two times. He’s so bored.
And then everyone is dead, down to the last dog, and Xue Yang’s triumph melts like sugar on his tongue.
No one told him absolute freedom would be so boring.
He has an idea.
*
Near Yueyang, he wanders through another small town. He strolls the market with a casual swagger, looking for another sweets stall, craving something with jujubes in it. A young girl bumps into his chest.
“Watch it—” He snarls, catching her by the forearm before she can fall backwards. He’s drawn short when she turns a round sweet face with milky white eyes up to him. Her brow puckers.
“Sorry sir,” she says, voice trembling with the threat of tears. “I’m blind, I did not see you. Sorry again sir.” She tries to pull her arm from his grasp. “Sorry,” She keeps muttering. “Please sir—”
Xue Yang waves a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t blink. “Walk off to the side, Little Blind,” he growls, pushing her to the side of the street and almost into a fruit stall. She stumbles but catches herself. “Next person you bump into might gut first and ask for apologies later.”
“Yes sir, sorry sir, thank you sir!” She dips her head repeatedly, and turns to scamper away, frantically tapping her cane around her.
She makes it two steps before Xue Yang catches her by the back of the neck. “You’re a damn good pick pocket, Little Blind.” He hauls her back, and she yelps. “But you picked the wrong fucking mark.”
“I didn’t!” She squirms and squeals, kicking out at his shins. Around them, other people in the market watch on, happy to avoid his ire, relieved to remain above it all, uninvolved. Hypocrites, all of them. It just pisses him off more. “Let me go—!”
“Shut up, I’m thinking,” he snaps, shaking her like a misbehaving puppy.
“Must be hard for you, you rotten fucking—” Her tirade of colourful curses creates an almost soothing background noise. He looks her up and down. Ragged clothing. A surprisingly nice hair pin, likely stolen, in a sloppy bun, hair frizzing out. Her cheeks flushed with colour as she works herself up, louder and with more venom.
He drops her, and claps his hands as though dusting them. “Hush, Little Blind. I have a business proposal for you.” He pulls a candy out of his pouch, tossing it into the air and catching it.
She falls quiet, and her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What kind of business?”
“Keep the thing you stole. Wait right here for a bit. Give it back to me when I return, and there’ll be a whole silver tael in it for you.” He catches her hand and presses the candy into her palm.
She feels it with her fingers, rustling the paper. “What’s this you gave me?”
“Ah, forgot you’re blind. It’s candy. Here.” He takes it back, unwraps it, and presses it to her mouth. She accepts the sweets happily with a little smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do we have a deal?”
“How do I know you’ll actually pay me when you get back?” She demands hotly. Smarter than he ever was in her position, he thinks.
“Alright.” He laughs. “I respect your business acumen. Half the money now, and half when you return my thing to me. How does that sound?”
She weighs it. Her mask needs work, he can already tell she’s agreed. She smiles and holds out a hand. “We have a deal. Also… do you have any more candy?”
*
The next place he stops in town is a modest inn, already bustling with customers, shouting raucously and spilling drinks.
“I heard a strange tale,” Xue Yang tells the waiter, widening his eyes to look sweet and mild. “They say something odd happened in Yueyang last night. The doors of a great mansion remained locked, yet there was a great clamour, screaming… and then… no one came out. Maybe the place is haunted.”
“How terrifying!” the waiter answered, eagerly grasping at the juicy gossip. In the span it takes to finish his drink, he’s sure half the restaurant has heard the tale, greatly embellished even beyond the details Xue Yang gave.
He thinks he must have planted enough seed for someone like those busybody cultivators to follow.
He goes back to the manor to wait.
*
It takes hours for Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen to arrive. He lounges on the roof, watching the moon, wishing he’d thought to buy some more cakes while he was in town, or some wine to pretend at being a pretentious lordling reciting poetry at the stars. He waits so long, a trio of righteous cultivators descend on him first.
He can feel the swirl of yin energy on the one in white, like a miasma clinging to his robes, and lifts his brow at the presence of Yin metal.
“Welcome!” he chirps light heartedly. But the righteous cultivators don’t have time to respond, Xiao Xingchen is already sweeping in, as graceful as a crane, sword drawn and expression furious. Song Zichen flanks Xue Yang on the other side, frown powerful and loud as a thunder storm. Xue Yang laughs. “I didn’t think my little story would lure so many fishies out of the water!”
“Lure?” the youth in purple repeats, voice choked with acid.
Xiao Xingchen swipes at him with a broad, but easy to dodge sweep of his sword, sending him back into Song Zichen’s chest. Instead of flinching like Xue Yang imagined he would, like the last time Xue Yang tried to touch him, Song Zichen catches him around the waist like a squirming errant cat.
“Xue Yang! When you said there would be mayhem, I never expected this!” Xiao Xingchen cries.
“And why not?” Xue Yang shrugs jerkily, restrained as he is by Song Zichen’s arms. “I didn’t think you were ever under the impression I was a good guy.”
Xiao Xingchen’s expression shutters. Whatever laughs and smiles he had for Xue Yang are gone, clouds over the pale moon’s face, as he ties him up properly. He’s carted into a destroyed hall like a sack of grain.
Xue Yang scoffs as he watches the group exchange introductions, polite bows, compulsory compliments and how do you dos. He rolls his eyes, fidgets idly in his ropes, strung up like a hog left to bleed. His arms are going numb, tips of his fingers tingling. “No offence, but could we hurry this up?”
“Why?” Wei Wuxian retorts. “You got some place to be? Keep hanging out with us.” He waits a moment, nudging Lan Wangji with his elbow. “Get it?”
“Ha fucking ha, you’re a comedic genius, young master,” Xue Yang snips. He tries to roll his wrists but the ropes are too tight. Instead he falls limp against them, letting them hold his weight. That hurts too, but at least it hurts differently.
“There’s a trace of the Yin metal here,” Lan Wangji interrupts before Wei Wuxian can get into it with Xue Yang. “Where is it?”
Well there are a million things Xue Yang could say to that, each more obscene than the last (“Up your ass, maybe you can fish it out with the stick you got up there!”). He could even pretend he has no idea what they're talking about. He swings his body around on the ropes like he’s playing. “It’s not here,” He answers, “But I know where it is. I could show you.”
“He’s lying,” Jiang Wanyin snarls, furious with his irreverent attitude. “He must have it hidden!”
“Which of you is gonna be brave enough to strip search me?” Xue Yang smirks, throwing a wink in Jiang Wanyin’s direction.
“Please, your bony ass, you don’t have anything worth groping.” Wei Wuxian waves a dismissive hand, earning a glare from Lan Wangji. “If we’re only getting traces, he’s telling the truth. He used the Yin Metal here and stored it somewhere else before we got here.”
“So you murdered all these people… and waited in the carnage just to be caught?” Xiao Xingchen asks, perfect brow wrinkled with disgust.
“I mean I was expecting a bit more sword fighting before getting caught but, yeah, pretty much. What can I say? The smell of blood and restless spirits turns me on.”
“You’re a fiend!” Song Zichen barks.
“Mm,” Xue Yang purrs, batting his eyelashes. “Talk dirty to me, big guy.”
He expects a show of temper. Maybe for Song Zichen to hit him. Not the strange heated look Song Zichen gives him, eyes like charcoal and embers, before he turns his head away with a quiet huff. Xue Yang pockets that to peck at later.
“Okay, off topic!” Wei Wuxian waves his hands for everyone’s attention. “Even if you show us where you hid the metal, you must know we aren’t letting you free after all this.”
Xue Yang tips his head, hair spilling over his shoulder. “Yeah, whatever. Surely some routine torture and a kangaroo court will be more interesting than all this. I’m bored to tears.”
“It’s not a kangaroo court if you actually did something and proceeded to say I’m guilty,” Wei Wuxian’s expression is soft and pitying, as though explaining something very simple to a particularly stupid child. Xue Yang bristles, baring his teeth in a mean grin. “I’m just saying if you’re doing all this for the giggles, it’s not gonna turn out the way you want.”
“Stop trying to reason with him,” Jiang Wanyin tugs at Wei Wuxian’s elbow. “He’s a twisted mad man,” he says with finality.
“Twisted? Maybe. Mad, probably, but I still know things you’d be interested in,” he sings out with false cheer. When he’s sure he has the entire party’s attention, he smiles. “There’s still another piece you know,” Xue Yang drawls. Being tied up is the worst. He can’t even posture dramatically. “Wen Ruohan wanted it. I told him I would tell him where it was after I had my fun.” He glances around the bloody hall meaningfully. “But here I am. And here you are. And this secret’s just burning my tongue dying to get out.”
“He could be playing a trick,” Song Zichen offers dourly.
“How funny! When I lie I'm believed. And when I tell the truth I am not. Black is really white with you righteous cultivators.” He does his best to shrug again. “Don’t matter to me, I guess. Unless you want Wen Ruohan to find it first.” he gestures with his chin at Lan Wangji. “You’re clearly looking for the pieces too.”
This time, when they talk, the five cultivators move to the carnage outside the hall, speaking with hushed voices, so even if Xue Yang strains he can’t hear what they’re saying. He imagines the discussion:
“My dick is small so I disagree with everyone on principle,” shouts Jiang Wanyin.
“I’ve always gotta prove I'm the smartest person in the room, so have another witty oneliner,” replies Wei Wuxian.
“Mn,” grunts Lan Wangji.
“I’m a simp, so my opinion is whatever Xingchen says,” adds Song Zichen.
“I believe in hope and goodness because I've never learned about the world,” Xiao Xingchen replies.
Around and around they go, until they seem to reach a decision, and deign to share it with him.
“You will tell us where this mysterious piece is, so we may retrieve it,” Lan Wangji announces, tone brooking no argument. “You will go with Xiao-Daozhang and Song-Daozahng to retrieve the piece you have stolen, and you will be then escorted to The Unclean Realm to face trial. If you misbehave, they have permission to deal with you as they see fit.”
“Of course they do.” Xue Yang sneers.
“Maybe we should all go together,” Wei Wuxian eyes him warily. Xue Yang winks. Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkles.
“Xue Yang is cunning,” Xiao Xingchen tells them clearly. “While Sect Leader Nie is fair and has a great reputation… I fear this matter with the Yin Iron distracts you. Go. Search for it. We will see to Xue Yang, and find out what he knows.”
“Yeah you’ll see to me—” But Xue Yang doesn’t get to elaborate on his innuendo, when Lan Wangji’s silencing spell shuts him up with a look.
*
Xue Yang sings the bawdiest tavern songs he can think of at the top of his lungs as soon as they part ways with Lan Wangji and his clan silencing spell. He can’t sing for shit, his voice is pitchy and cracks on the higher notes. But no matter how obscene the lyrics, the daoshi ignore him, expressions serene, as though all they can hear is bird song and the wind through the leaves.
Nothing annoys Xue Yang like being ignored.
“One more time, join in if you know the words!” he calls.
“A moment before your next performance,” Xiao Xingchen says, halting him with a drag of the rope. “Would you like some water? I’m sure your throat is dry.”
Xue Yang looks him up and down. Xiao Xingchen lifts the proffered water jug at him. It’s the first time he acknowledged the singing at all. Xue Yang’s throat is a little scratchy. He kept pausing to cough during the last song. But he certainly didn’t expect that to matter to Xiao Xingchen. He weighs all the benefits, the possible trap.
“The question was a simple one, I did not know it would require so much thought,” Xiao Xingchen muses.
Irritated, Xue Yang tries to keep his expression smooth. “Sure, Gentle Breeze. I’ll take some water.” He lifts his hands, thoroughly tied so he can’t form any hand seals. “Are you going to release me so I can drink?”
Xiao Xingchen smiles back. “No.” He hands the end of the rope off to Song Zichen. It takes all his thought not to step back when Xiao Xingchen approaches him, catches the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair, to tip his head back, pouring the water into his mouth. Xue Yang has no choice but to swallow. He can see the sharp curve of Xiao Xingchen’s chin and his gentle smile and — he closes his eyes, feeling odd, until Xiao Xingchen lets him go.
“Feel free to continue, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen says, tone warm, tucking away the water. “Let me know if you need another drink.”
“Rather die of thirst,” Xue Yang mutters, and doesn’t say anything else for a long time.
*
Xue Yang leads them back to the small town along the river from Yueyang. He almost gets them lost a couple times, since the town is so small, and travelling merchants so few the road is little more than a track. He hadn’t exactly walked the last time he visited, and he doesn’t know his way by foot. He occasionally tugs at the rope lead holding his wrists. Song Zichen holds it most often. Where Xiao Xingchen let him have plenty of slack to skip ahead, Song Zichen keeps Xue Yang close, practically right beside him, the end of the rope looped a few times around his arm to shorten the lead.
“You know we’d get where we were going faster if we flew,” Xue Yang complains.
“We’re not giving you back your sword,” Song Zichen answers, voice dry. He doesn’t even glance down at him.
“Who said anything about getting my sword back?” Xue Yang slows a step, sidling into Song Zichen’s space. “You could always carry me like a swooning maiden. I know you’re just dying for an excuse to cradle me in those big strong arms.”
Song Zichen graces him with only a single dark glance before staring ahead of them. “Nothing about you is maidenly.”
“But you do wanna cradle me?”
There. A blush. Xue Yang preens and Song Zichen doesn’t respond.
They do eventually make it to the little town. Xue Yang wonders how hard he’ll have to plead to get them to stop and get some sweets. If he’s going to be frog marched to his execution, he might as well eat something delicious along the way. “Well?” Song Zichen shakes him by the rope lead like he’s trying to rattle his brain. “Where did you stash it?”
“Right over—”
Little Blind is not in the corner he left her. “Fuck.” He says. If he could ruffle his own hair in frustration, he would, but his hands remain tied.
“What were we looking for?” Song Zichen asks, expression dubious, as though prepared to find out this was all an elaborate prank.
“Little Girl. White eyes, green rags. I gave her my Yin metal. She’s about this tall.” He gestures.
“Like that girl right there?” Xiao Xingchen points.
Little Blind is currently flinching back from a hand raised to strike her, crying loudly. They’re on her attacker in a flash. Xiao Xingchen catches the hand before it can come down. Xue Yang gets between their bodies, knocking the stranger’s hand from the front of Little Blind’s ragged collar. “What’re you doing to my errand girl?” he asks with a mean smile.
If the guy was going to defend himself, he gets one look at Song Zichen’s frosty scowl and decides to cut his losses.
Instead of a thanks, the little blind beggar takes one look at him (isn’t that interesting?) and turns tail to run. “That’s not a good sign. Catch her Zichen, that’s your meal ticket!”
“Don’t get so familiar with me,” Song Zichen grumbles, but he leaps over a fruit cart, skipping from roof top to roof top until he lands in front of Little Blind, who smacks off his broad chest and lands into the dirt when she runs into him. Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang follow along behind.
“This is not the corner I left you in, Little Blind,” Xue Yang comments, smirking at her as Xiao Xingchen helps her stand.
“Maybe I had to piss,” she snaps, puffing up her cheeks.
“So why run? Thought you wanted my money. Thought we had a deal. Unless…?” he teases. She doesn’t answer, refusing to look at him. “So where is it?”
“Sold it,” she answers curtly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “It was so long, I didn’t know if you were coming back. Guy paid me two taels for it. Dunno why, it’s just an ugly metal lump. It’s not even silver or anything.”
Xue Yang is reluctantly, begrudgingly respecting. What a play for a street rat. “Who told you to go looking at my stuff huh? Nosy little shit, I should cut it off the next time you poke it somewhere you shouldn’t—” He grabs her little nose and wiggles none too gently, ignoring her squawk.
“Xue Yang!” Xiao Xingchen smacks his hand.
“Just a little discipline for disobeying her elders and paying customers." He makes a mean face at her. She sticks her tongue out. Xiao Xingchen flaps a hand between them, and Song Zichen tugs Xue Yang back with a stern frown.
“Let’s try again. My name is Xiao Xingchen. You’ve sold something very important to us, and we want to get it back.”
“A Qing. The guy left as soon as he got it, I don’t think you’re gonna find it in town anymore.” That was true enough, as Xue Yang couldn’t sense the yin metal in the vicinity.
“Well? You sold it. To who?” Xue Yang presses.
A Qing shrugs her little shoulders. “We didn’t exactly exchange introductions and promise to write each other,” she retorts. Xue Yang swallows down the urge to cuff her over the head for her attitude.
Song Zichen looks just as frustrated, and covering it poorly. “What did he look like?”
“I dunno, that info seems like it costs money.” She eyes them shewdly.
“I’m not paying you, you little shit, you didn’t even do the job I originally paid you for!”
“We’ll pay you,” Xiao Xingchen coaxes sweetly, holding out a few coins. “Please tell us what you know.”
A Qing’s eyes light, the gleam of a predator that’s spotted easy prey. “Instead of paying me, gege, -cCan’t I come with you?” Xiao Xingchen startles and A Qing presses her advantage. “If you leave me here, I’ll only run into more trouble, or do more mischief. Wouldn’t it be so sad?”
Xiao Xingchen wavers.
“Hey big guy, tell your man he can’t keep every wayward stray he runs across,” Xue Yang whispers.
Song Zichen just shrugs. “We’ve already got you, what’s one more?”
Xue Yang feels his tongue shrivel in his mouth at that, fidgeting from foot to foot. He doesn’t examine it any closer. He listens to Xiao Xingchen agree, and coax information out of A Qing.
“He was short. Not much taller than me. Pretty. Like super pretty. He almost looked like a girl. And he was super polite. And he was wearing a cultivator uniform… but I'd never seen it before.”
“What colour were they?” Xiao Xingchen asks gently and kindly.
A Qing puts a finger to the corner of her mouth, thinking. “Green. Really dark green, with a silver pattern on the chest. I couldn’t really tell what it was supposed to be of, though.”
“You sold it to Meng Yao?” Xue Yang guesses, enough of the description lining up.
“Jin Guangshan’s discarded son?” Song Zichen asks.
“Ha! So you are a gossip. Yeah him.” Song Zichen jostles him a bit for being teasing, Xue Yang just grins.
“What could he possibly want with the yin metal?” Xiao Xingchen wonders.
“Buy favour back from his dad maybe? Last time he showed up at Jinlintai, he was kicked down the stairs at a party or something. Everyone was talking about it.” Xue Yang shrugs and picks dirt from beneath one nail with another. “What better way to get his foot in the door?” He perks as he has another idea. “If we’re going to Jinlintai, we’re going to need disguises.”
*
“There’s something I still don’t understand.” Xiao Xingchen stares at him across the fire, his eyes lit with flying embers like stars in the night sky.
“I figure there’s a lot of shit on that list, beautiful.”
Xiao Xingchen frowns at him and doesn’t rise to the bait. “Why the Yueyang Chang? You said it was personal, but you never explained.”
Xue Yang feels his throat go dry and tight. Of all the things he thought Xiao Xingchen would ask about, that was not one of them. The others eyes are hot on him now too, and his belly flutters strangely. “Does reasoning matter, when dealing with a fiend?” he asks, hoping to deflect. “Isn’t it enough to know I’m evil?”
“Evil has no reason, it merely is, like everything,” Song Zichen answers for Xiao Xingchen, who nods as though to say he agrees.
“There, then—”
“But if you claim to have a reason, then evil is too simple an answer,” Song Zichen interrupts.
Xue Yang opens his mouth, then closes it again. Was there any point in telling them? They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t need to understand, he reminded himself. He didn’t want anything of them, nosy do gooders who never stood for anyone smaller than them, who never —
“How bout a story, since you guys are clearly bored,” Xue Yang says instead.
“I’m not sure I—,” Xiao Xingchen starts.
“No, don't worry, you’ll like this one.” He stares at the fire. He can’t bear to look at their faces. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who loved candy. But he had no one to buy him any…”
He tells it like it happened to someone else. Just a story. Pain ripples up his arm from his ruined hand, all in his head, he’s sure, and yet— He gets to the part about being beaten for demanding payment before it’s too much, he has to stop.
“What happened next?” A Qing pesters. “That can’t be the end to the story, can it?”
“Sure it can. Stupid story about a stupid kid like you could find anywhere. Nothing worth mentioning.” Xue Yang lays down, curls up with his back to the fire. His eyes sting. “I’m tired, so I'll sleep.”
“You’re so annoying!” A Qing hisses.
The other two don’t say anything at all. That is somehow worse.
*
About half way to Jinlintai, Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen seem to have decided he was no longer a flight risk, and no longer keep him tied. It takes everything Xue Yang has not to sneak away just to prove them wrong.
But where would he go? This little adventure was more fun than he’d had in months. Wen Ruohan was a lot of things, but intellectually stimulating wasn’t one of them. They told less depressing stories around the campfire at night (as it turned out, Xiao Xingchen was awful at telling them, forgetting the punch line or revealing it too early, or leaving out details that would have made the punch line funny to start with. All of Song Zichen’s stories are didactic folktales he learned at his temple, with boring morals at the end), occasionally pausing to do good deeds as they passed through villages, leaving behind more folk tales of the Bright Moon Gentle Breeze and Distant Snow Cold Frost. And their weird little hangers on.
The good deeds were boring. This little trek could use more bloodshed. And easier access to candy. But other than that it wasn’t so bad.
Free now, Xue Yang whips out one of the knives they didn’t find after searching him for weapons, idly carving at a bit of wood he’d rescued from the firewood pile. He’s not really sure what it’s going to be, subtle curves taking shape. Maybe a sleeping rabbit, if he can get the ears right. A Qing, quiet and bored, leans against his side watching him work.
“You’re going to blunt your knife,” Song Zichen warns. Xue Yang shrugs, jostling A Qing who makes a grumpy noise. “Your tools should be treated with respect.”
“Tools are made to be thrown away when they’ve served their purpose.”
“Even if that were true,” he pauses to allow room for Xue Yang to hear “Which it’s not” that goes unsaid. “Why speed that along?”
“If a knife were thrown out for being blunt, the knife should have worked harder to stay sharp,” Xue Yang returns lowly.
“Why do I feel like we’re not talking about knives?” A Qing asks, poking Xue Yang in his ribs.
“Things should be treasured. Inanimate things, and living things,” Song Zichen insists.
“That assumes the thing has an inherent value.”
“Can you guys stop having conversations over my head!” A Qing jabs him harder in his side, his knife slips and slices through the webbing of his thumb. It’s only a distant sting, blood welling. A Qing makes a startled noise, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Little Bamboo Shoot.” Xue Yang brushes her off. He lifts his hand to lick at the wound, but is stopped by Song Zichen, catching his wrist and pulling it closer. His mouth is pinched into a tight line. “Don’t force yourself, Song-Daozhang. It’s dirty.”
“Yes, well,” Song Zichen mutters, and silently tends the wound. “We were just talking about treating things with respect.”
“Practicing what you preach?” Xue Yang teases. Song Zichen doesn’t reply. He wraps a bandage twice around his wrist, then up over the heel of his palm, and ties it off.
It throbs, slightly muted pain, when he’s done. Xue Yang’s heart throbs too.
*
They spend the night in Lanling to plan their infiltration. All the businesses in the city are opulent and over the top. Even the average tea house here boasts music, dancers, the finest drinks and entertainment gold can buy. Xue Yang sips at a sweet plum wine, leaning back on plush cushions, watching the flirtatious contortions of the performers.
Xiao Xingchen looks fascinated by them. Song Zichen looks like he wants to melt through the floor.
“Can I try some of your wine?” A Qing whispers, leaning into his side. He silently hands her his cup and lets her sip. She makes a considering noise. “Tastes like fruit juice… but weird.”
“That’s cause I only like sweet things,” Xue Yang replies, taking his cup back and finishing the rest. Song Zichen gives him a disapproving frown. Xue Yang winks at him.
“To business!” Xiao Xingchen slurs, having indulged in too much wine, leaning forward into the table with wide earnest eyes, almost putting his elbow in a decimated plate of dumpling. Song Zichen hauls him back by the nape, and Xiao ingchen flops into his side comfortably. “How should we go about getting into Jinlintai?”
A Qing suggests using the front doors. “Aren’t you guys famous? Just say you popped by for a visit.”
“That would work for getting us in,” Song Zichen agrees. “And it’s honest.”
“But what about getting back out?” Xue Yang asks. “They’re gonna put two and two together when their yin metal goes missing after your sudden visit.”
“We’ll workshop that one.” Xiao Xingchen nods thoughtfully.
Xue Yang suggests courtesans.
“Why courtesans?” Song Lan fusses with a dirty plate, gathering everything in neat piles at the center of the table.
“Maybe I just want to see you in a dress.” Xue Yang bats his eyelashes. “It would suit you, Song-Daozhang… or maybe I should call you Lan’er?.”
Is that a blush? Song Zichen glares instead. “You—“
Xue Yang cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Everyone knows Jin Guangshan is a lecher. No one will look twice at another batch of courtesans to entertain in his halls.”
They promptly veto that one.
Xue Yang suggests they jump the next group of Jin disciples they see, steal their uniforms, and sneak in that way.
“Okay that one sounds fun!” A Qing agrees, punching her fist into her open palm aggressively. “Let’s beat some guys up! Yeah!”
“We are not jumping anyone!” Xiao Xingchen interrupts before Xue Yang and A Qing can get too rowdy. “But… you’ve given me an idea.”
*
Xiao Xingchen’s idea involves dirty laundry. Song Zichen looks like he’s going to faint at the very idea.
Great houses like Jinlintai have back pathways for servants. Xue Yang and A Qing know all about them, since those back paths were great spots to hide for warmth or to find scraps of food when they lived on the streets. No one pays attention to them as they walk in, and move towards one of the satellite buildings, where steam billows from the window and open door. The laundry room is damp and a little musty. Wet clothes hang on poles dripping to the hard packed floor.
Baskets of bedsheets, curtains, and clothes wait to be washed. They dig through them looking for something suitable.
There are only two disciple uniforms. One big enough to fit Song Zichen, and another small enough to fit A Qing. That leaves Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen to dig around for servant uniforms. They are a pale yellow compared to the rich Jin disciple gold, with gauzy sleeves, more for fashion than function.
“How do we look?” Xiao Xingchen asks, spreading his plain robes for inspection.
“Yellow is not your colour Xiao-Doazhang,” Xue Yang teases. His own uniform is still a bit too big on him, and he has to tuck extra fabric into his tightly cinched belt, though there’s nothing he can do for the sleeves that flow right past his finger tips like a dancer’s watersleeves.
“You okay, Song-Daozhang?” A Qing prods when Song Zichen makes no move to change.
“Do we have to wear someone else’s uniforms?” If Xue Yang didn’t know any better, he would say Song Zichen was whining.
“Will it help if you keep your own robes on underneath?” Xiao Xingchen offers sweetly.
“No, but I will endure.” Song Zichen sighs. He shrugs into the uniform, the Jin Peony bright on his chest. He looks every inch the righteous stuck up cultivator, except for the slight lumps in his uniform from where his own robes bunch out.
They whisper together in the garden about how to split up, form teams, and maybe A Qing should wait outside after all when they are beset by a matronly woman in Jin servant robes.
“What are you two doing here?! The banquet’s already started! I hope you weren’t flirting with those disciples—!” She bows to them in profuse apology. A Qing looks mighty pleased to be treated with such unquestioning reverence.
Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang are dragged all the way to the kitchens by their ears and tossed in front of a mountain of dishes with a brusque “now get to work!”
“She could have been nicer about it,” Xiao Xingchen mumbles, rubbing his ear. He looks at a pot, askance, rice caked to the bottom, and sighs before he starts scrubbing.
“We’re not gonna find shit if we stay here,” Xue Yang reminds, hauling the dishes over to another station as Xiao Xingchen washes them.
“Maybe the others are having better luck than us,” Xiao Xingchen offers hopefully. His stupid gauzy sleeves are soaked, even as he tries to keep them tied back. He’s got soap on his nose and forehead, and he looks way too content while scrubbing things.
“Follow my lead,” Xue Yang whispers.
On the next trip to pick up dishes, he drops a whole pile with a mighty crash. The whole kitchen goes dead silent, watching him with wide deer eyes. The matron looks like a tea kettle left on the fire. “Whoops,” he chirps. “Anyone got a broom?”
Xiao Xingchen picks up the game right away. He fumbles a pot, it slips through his wet hands, right into his basin, overturning the whole thing, sending a wave of water over the kitchen floor. “Sorry,” Xiao Xingchen murmurs weakly.
Xue Yang bumps into another girl, sending them both careening, serving trays going flying. A fleck of sauce splashes the matron’s cheek. She sounds like a tea kettle now, a high pitched noise of fury caught in her throat. “Oh my goodness are you okay?” Xue Yang simpers. The sodden girl hurries away.
Xiao Xingchen tips a whole tower of full, perfectly good serving trays into the wash basin. “Oh. Were those to go out? I thought you were done with them!”
The matron explodes.
“Are you new? Are your hands just for show? Are you planning to break every dish in the place?!” The matron’s harsh voice grows higher with each word. “Out! Get out of my kitchens! Go make yourselves useful somewhere else before I skin you and use you to make rope!”
An elaborate threat. Xue Yang tucks that one away for later. They both hurriedly wipe their damp hands on their uniforms, grab serving trays and hurry out the door. No one bothers them as they snoop around. They only come across a couple more servants, but most people are at the banquet. Xue Yang casts resentful energy into every room and every hallway they pass, hoping for the returning touch of the Yin metal.
Finally the last place to look is the banquet itself.
“Surely he would keep such an important artifact on his person.” Xiao Xingchen reasons.
Xue Yang snorts, “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
They slip in with a train of other servants, and serve their cold platters to the first empty seat they can unload them. Jin Guangshan sits at the head of the arrangement, drunk and laughing. Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen pick up carafes of wine to pour, creeping their way along the tables to get closer, ignoring anyone who gestures for a drink, eyes fixed on their target.
Idly, Xue Yang thinks it would be super easy to assassinate anyone in the Jin sect, if their security is this lax.
They get up to the head of the table. “More wine, my lord?” Xiao Xingchen offers to his right.
Jin Guangshan pauses to look at him and grins, hauling Xiao Xingchen closer by his slim waist, practically pulling him into his lap. Xiao Xingchen casts him a panicked look. Xue Yang snickers and waves, and keeps pouring wine, feeling around for traces of the Yin metal.
“I’m sorry, my lord, pardon my balance—” Xiao Xingchen flails gracelessly.
“Come, pretty thing,” Jin Guangshan laughs, dragging Xiao Xingchen back again and tucking him against his side, pressing sloppy kisses to his temple. “Pour me some wine.”
He lets Xiao Xingchen suffer just a moment more before he interrupts, voice saccharine sweet, “Apologies my lord. His bottle is empty. He’ll be right back with another one.”
“Don’t take too long!” Jin Guangshan sings after him. They make their escape and don’t look back, running straight out to the gardens.
*
When they find A Qing and Song Zichen, they are both bedraggled, leaves caught in their hair. Song Zichen is wearing a loud frown.
“What the hell happened to you two?” Xue Yang laughs.
“There was a dog,” Song Zichen mumbles like it explains anything. Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen share confused sideways glances.
“Okay to be fair, it was carrying something in its mouth, something metal. I thought, hey, maybe that’s what we’re looking for!” A Qing starts explaining with dramatic flourishes. “So we’re chasing the thing all over the garden, trying to get it to spit it out. Right. And I swear this thing must be a demon in disguise, cause it knew we wanted something so it starts going through these holes and through every muddy patch it could find. And when we finally corner it and get it to spit the thing out—”
Song Zichen opens up his hand to show them. It’s a mangled bracelet, or arm band, someone must have lost many seasons ago.
Xue Yang cackles. Xiao Xingchen hides his smile behind his stupid gauzy sleeve. “Let’s be grateful,” he squeezes out, trying not to laugh at Song Zichen’s misery. “The yin iron would not have been good for the dog.”
“True,” Song Zichen agrees. It’s cold comfort.
“What have you guys found?” A Qing asks.
“We haven’t seen Meng Yao anywhere,” Song Zichen tells them
“Maybe he got thrown down another set of stairs.” Xue Yang snickers.
“Has there been any sign of the Yin metal either?”
Xue Yang shakes his head. “It’s not here.”
“Are you sure? It’s not hidden under an array?”
“An array strong enough to fully contain the yin metal would be massive. And I haven't noticed any, have you? I would have sensed the yin metal under anything else. It’s really distinct.”
They stand around, directionless.
“Quick question…” A Qing raises a hand. “Who does this Meng Yao guy actually work for? Wouldn’t he have taken it to his current boss?”
“That’s… a really good point,” Xiao Xingchen allows.
*
They start the trek back to the Unclean Realm. It feels like they’ve been going around in useless circles. Xue Yang finds he doesn’t mind. He knew, when he laid those clues in Yueyang, the legendary folk heroes would somehow make everything more interesting. And he hasn’t been disappointed.
He hums tunelessly to himself, kicking rocks at the back of A Qing’s foot and trying to get them into her slippers.
“You’re in a good mood,” Xiao Xingchen comments.
“And why shouldn’t I be, Daozhang? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and I hear Chifeng Zun is super easy to rile up. I can practice on Song-Daozhang until I get there.”
“Please don’t.” Song Zichen says dryly.
Xue Yang giggles and skips a little.
“You’re not at all concerned about punishment for your crimes? Not remorseful in the slightest?”
“If I was, would remorse bring them back? Regret is pointless.”
“Regret means you won’t take such actions again,” Xiao Xingchen insists. His eyes are very bright. He looks like it matters very much if he thinks Xue Yang believes it.
“Maybe you think me an animal, Xiao-Daozhang,” Xue Yang says, voice cool, putting on the affected accent he learned from being around pampered lordlings all day. “Animals act without reason.”
“No. Even animals have reason. If you kick a dog it will bite. And who will be at fault? The person who kicked, or the dog that bit back?”
“That’s just the thing, my naive little daoist priest. Sometimes no one cares why the dog bit, only that it did, and that it is a dog. Sometimes that’s the only thing that matters.”
Xiao Xingchen looks sad at that. He slows his pace, falling back to Song Zichen. Xue Yang skips ahead to A Qing to bother her, and does not think about all the reasons he’s ever bitten, and that the only thing that matters is that he is a dog, and will be put down like one.
That night, they think everyone’s asleep when they start whispering. Jokes on them, Xue Yang is both nocturnal and the world’s lightest sleeper.
“Why deny it? You were charmed by him?” Xiao Xingchen whispers. He’s tucked into Song Zichen’s bedroll, chin propped on Song Zichen’s shoulder.
“That was before he killed over fifty people.”
“Yes, that did put a bit of a damper on things,” Xiao Xingchen allows. There’s a shuffling noise as he gets even closer. “But I have an idea, we should…” His voice lowers even further. Xue Yang rolls over, staring at their backs in the dark. Annoying daoshi, he thinks, with no venom.
*
Sneaking into the Unclean Realm is infinitely easier than sneaking into Jinlintai. Mostly because sneaking is not required. Their group shows up at the front gate and waves at the watchman on duty.
“Your party size grew.” Meng Yao greets them with a polite smile, polite bow, polite tone. Xue Yang wonders if he has to practice smiling like that in the mirror. His eyes light on A Qing, but what exactly his carefully veiled expression means, it’s hard to guess. “Young lady,” he says. A Qing preens. No one has ever called her respectfully before. Then he turns to look at Xue Yang. “Xue Chengmei.”
Xue Yang kinda likes Meng Yao as much as he hates him.
“This way, Chifeng Zun has been made aware of your arrival.” He leads them with a hurried, scurrying sort of pace, past the neat rows of disciples practicing their sword forms, through utilitarian halls. After the glitz of Jinlintai, the Unclean Realm seems as austere as a temple.
Chifeng Zun cuts an imposing figure, even as he sits on his throne, and Xue Yang is happy to see he does look extremely easy to rile up, fingers tapping impatiently on his chair’s arm rest. Meng Yao greets the clan leader with a deep bow, an ingratiating smile, and makes himself invisible to the side of the room. Xue Yang watches him. Their eyes meet. Meng Yao smiles, even sweeter, before averting his eyes.
“I was told this delinquent had information about Wen Ruohan’s weapon. He was supposed to lead you to it,” Chifeng Zun starts.
“That is why we’re here.” Xiao Xingchen nods. “As it turns out, the weapon should be in your possession.”
“Mine?” Nie Mingjue repeats, incredulous. Xue Yang watches Meng Yao’s face. His entire position with the Nie could be about to blow up, but he doesn’t look concerned at all.
“Yes. The weapon is Yin Metal. Its aura draws resentment to it, and can control fierce corpses. It looks like any ordinary ore, with a black gleam,” Xiao Xingchen elaborates.
“Oh? That?” Nie Mingjue shrugs his massive shoulders. “Meng Yao brought it back some time ago. I could tell it was evil, so I destroyed it.”
“Oh.” Xiao Xingchen wilts a little. “That’s… good right?”
“I mean, sent us on a wild goose chase and just destroyed the core of my life’s work but sure, no more yin metal for Wen Ruohan to get his grubby hands on,” Xue Yang says.
Now that Xue Yang’s spoken, Nie Mingjue’s heavy gaze lands on him. Xue Yang wiggles his fingers in a teasing wave. Song Zichen nudges his side, A Qing kicks the back of his ankle and Xiao Xingchen slaps his wrist. He wonders if this treatment counts as brutality.
“So what is to be done with this delinquent? I’ve heard all about his case. The little hellion should be pleased to know Meng Yao pleaded on his behalf.” Xue Yang and Meng Yao share another look and away again before anyone notices.
“We believe he can be redeemed from his bad deeds,” Xiao Xingchen assures. Song Zichen nods firmly, backing Xiao Xingchen up like the simp he is. Okay so this isn’t exactly how he was expecting this meeting to go. To be perfectly honest he thought he’d be choking on his blood fifteen minutes ago. Xue Yang rolls his eyes, and grins, snake like at Nie Mingue. He swears he sees a vein in his temple throb. He’s gonna have to work harder to piss him off enough to make him draw his sword.
“Are you sure this is the course you wish to take?” Chifeng Zun presses. “He’s not exactly the paragon of virtue.”
“We are,” Song Zichen answers. “And we’re aware of that.”
“It’s part of his charm,” Xiao Xingchen adds.
“Wait, what about—?” Xue Yang is baffled and trying to hide it. A Qing kicks his ankle again as though to tell him to relax. What the hell is happening here?
“Then he is your responsibility. But if I hear of one more misdeed, all three of you will bear the consequences.”
“Understood,” the daoshi chorus, and bow deeply, swords held in front of them. What the fuck?
“Alright, get outta here. I’ve got a war to win.” He dismisses them with a flourish of his sleeve, and goes back to glaring at the strategy map on the desk before him.
“Wait, what about—” Xue Yang tries again, only to be dragged out by Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen’s arms looped around his shoulders, and A Qing pushing at his back.
*
“Okay so what the fuck do I do now?” Xue Yang mopes dramatically, falling back into the grass with a swoon. “I only really had that one massacre planned, you know. How the fuck do I top that?”
“Maybe don’t?” Song Zichen offers.
“Travel with us,” Xiao Xingchen invites sweetly.
“And do what, become Dark Shadow Screaming Death?” Xue Yang contemplates. “No wait…that kinda has a ring to it…”
“You’re not naming yourself that.” Song Zichen says, bland as ever.
“I’m not sure that name will take off… maybe something a little more… heartening to hear. We’ll workshop it!” Xiao Xingchen chirps.
“Ever hear it’s lame to give yourself your own nickname?” A Qing asks, tossing a leaf into the flames. She pauses, glancing at them from the corner of her eyes. “What would mine be?”
“Quick Fingers Loud Voice,” Xue Yang whips back without hesitation. Xiao Xingchen barks a laugh.
“Fuck you!” A Qing shrieks.
Xue Yang laughs. He’ll do what he does best and fuck them over, he thinks. Later, probably. When he’s wrung as much fun from them as he can.