Xiang Liu couldn’t be said to love brothels, though Fangfeng Bei proclaimed an affinity for them. The sounds, the scents, the discomfort of watching the women—and occasionally, men—forced to demean themselves for the edification of the rich and powerful? None of it was exactly like his own upbringing, but at the same time, it felt similar enough to make it an uncomfortable experience for him.
Having more important things to do, he normally would have stayed away, but seeing Xiao Yao—or maybe he should call her Wen Xiaoliu, since she had gone through the trouble of disguising herself so she might soak pleasure from the women who drew close to her like so many moths to the brightest, cruelest flame—step inside again and again made him curious, and his curiosity could not be quenched any other way than by wasting time on her.
It couldn’t be quenched just by spying on her either, but he cast that thought adrift as so much jetsam, better claimed by the sea than held too tightly. If nothing else, it eased the pain in his chest to watch her.
Showing his face, whether as himself or as Fangfeng Bei, would only court disaster, so he did what Wen Xiaoliu had already done and donned a mask that was as much truth as his true face was.
No doubt, she felt the same way about her own identity.
ꕤ
Of his myriad faces, many were beautiful enough to pass for women, but some were precisely that, and he preferred it that way, having this whole different side of himself to explore, this safe haven. When the world got to be too much, he could move through it free of the baggage that came with being the terrifying and cunning Xiang Liu. He inhabited these precious skins of his so thoroughly that nobody would ever know who they belonged to unless he wanted them to.
After all, who in their right mind would think Xiang Liu might walk around in the guise of a woman? Even Xiao Yao hadn’t guessed his identity on that boat so long ago. Of course, he swapped faces like masks, but they must all be men, mustn’t they? Surely he wouldn’t want to walk around in a woman’s guise, wouldn’t want to be seen and treated as one?
In the rooms he had arranged for Fangfeng Bei at a nearby in, close enough to Wen Xiaoliu’s current favorite haunt that it was only a walk of several minutes to reach it, he cycled through each of his feminine appearances. The one he had worn on that boat with Xiao Yao suited her tastes, but Xiang Liu couldn’t risk her realizing they were one and the same. Instead, he chose another who was similarly delicate and refined, not the type who should be found in a brothel, but who would be popular for that very reason.
The corner of his mouth pulled into a bitter smile. Perhaps her history hid the same tragic luck Xiang Liu’s did. Abandoned and forgotten, maybe she was plucked from the life she ought to have led and was then forced into one where she served at the sadistic whims of callous young masters like Wen Xiaoliu.
If her body warmed at the thought of Wen Xiaoliu’s sadistic whims, it was her thought to harbor and couldn’t be any worse than the humiliations she courted as Xiang Liu.
Satisfied with this face, she coated her silver-white hair in the thick, brown paste she used when carousing as Fangfeng Bei and dressed herself in the delicate blush pink robes he favored, thinking they suited her better than Xiang Liu’s. She felt strange dressing in masculine attire while her appearance was thus, but she couldn’t afford to buy new robes she could only wear as a woman, so she made do.
At seeing a pretty, fresh face like hers, few men would care about such an impropriety, if they even paid attention enough to notice. Beyond getting into a woman’s clothing to see the supple flesh hidden beneath it, what did it matter how it looked?
Wen Xiaoliu might see beyond such superficialities if he cared to, but he rarely cared to see anything he didn’t wish to see. In any case, she expected she was safe just like this.
At the brothel Wen Xiaoliu favored, she gave herself a name and presented herself to the madam, all shy courtesies and virginal fears and pleading hope for succor.
Madams, she imagined, weren’t given to acts of kindness, but they were astute and valued those they thought they could control. Shy, desperate Lan Wei fit the bill perfectly.
ꕤ
The first day, Wen Xiaoliu didn’t show. That was fine enough, seeing that the other girls were putting Lan Wei through her paces, thinking they would be the ones to break her. For a normal girl, the bullying might have been hurtful or intimidating, but she found the transparent manipulations refreshing.
She crossed their gauntlet quickly, proving herself to be one they oughtn’t mess with.
On the second day, she caught a man’s eye. She didn’t sleep with him, though she served as his drinking companion, offering witty repartee and skilled musicianship in exchange for a mountain of coins, more money than she had seen in quite some time.
Wen Xiaoliu didn’t show again the next day, nor on the third day either. Though Lan Wei acted as though she could wait a lifetime for the person she lo—well, the person she was hoping to see anyway, she did have other obligations.
By the time she decided not to waste anymore time on this stupid plan, it was too late. Six days after she got this idea in her head, Wen Xiaoliu showed his face.
He was already drunk or seemed that way.
As soon as Lan Wei saw him, her lungs seized, and a coughing fit overwhelmed her. In the suddenness of the attack, one of the strings of her pipa snapped, cutting into her fingertip.
The man she was sitting with—she hadn’t caught his name, a wealthy merchant’s son, as useless as Tushan Jing and somehow even more tedious—stared at her. Revulsion twisted his features, like what she had was catching.
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Thank you for your concern.”
His revulsion hardened into displeasure. The madam would soon be ruffling his feathers, no doubt. It didn’t matter now anyway. Wen Xiaoliu had come. She could realize her goal and then disappear back into the mountains until the next time Xiao Yao decided to toy with Xiang Liu.
Knowing her, it wouldn’t take long. It never did.
Abandoning the pipa and the merchant’s son, only one of which was worth her time, Lan Wei stalked the periphery of Wen Xiaoliu’s table. A girl had already come to sit with him, much like the last time Fangfeng Bei had come here and seen him drinking with several unsavory sorts. Much like the last time, Wen Xiaoliu taunted the girl, too charming for his own good.
Unlike Lan Wei, who might have taken issue with this behavior, the girl seemed to enjoy being teased in this fashion. The only attachment she felt for him came from the string of the purse hanging at his waist. The minute coin stopped flowing, she could walk away.
Lan Wei wished it was that easy.
Instead, she could only venture forth, smile grimly at the girl, and suggest she see to other guests instead. One in particular had been calling for her, Lan Wei told her.
“Who?” the girl asked, a flush of anger rising in her cheeks. She carried herself with too much poise to castigate Lan Wei directly, but Lan Wei felt her loathing and welcomed it.
“I don’t know,” Lan Wei said demurely, choosing not to meet the girl’s eyes. “I overheard someone talking about it.”
“Someone,” the girl said flatly.
“Yes, miss.”
The girl tossed a glance Wen Xiaoliu’s way, but he merely waved her off. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account,” he said magnanimously, always so solicitous of others. Lan Wei smothered the itch in her throat. Where was that generosity of spirit when it came to Xiang Liu. “I enjoyed our time together.”
This admission seemed to defuse the worst of the girl’s annoyance. “If there’s time, I’ll return.” She said this in such a way that Lan Wei felt certain she would struggle against heaven and earth to make it so.
Good luck to her. Lan Wei intended to have him in a private room before he finished this jar of liquor. Considering this face’s beauty and the fact that Lan Wei knew him so well, it wasn’t impossible that she would seduce him.
“Alright,” Wen Xiaoliu said lazily, yet unaware of what Lan Wei planned. It was just like him to care so little about whom he spent his time with. She supposed one brothel whore was like any other brothel whore was like any of the men who cared for her, perfectly exchangable depending on the circumstance.
Graceful and polished, Lan Wei took the seat the girl had vacated and asked, “Would the young master like me to play music for him?” Adjusting her robes so they settled properly, she smiled and picked up the jar of liquor sitting in front of Wen Xiaoliu. She poured a generous serving into Wen Xiaoliu’s cup and held it out for him to take.
While he pondered his answer, Lan Wei replaced the broken pipa string.
“I’m nobody’s master,” Wen Xiaoliu replied before drinking from his cup.
“What would you prefer I call you?”
“Xiaoliu is fine.”
Lan Wei thrilled at the freedom to speak to Wen Xiaoliu in such familiar terms. Though she understood that sharp demarcations between herself and Xiang Liu would have been the smarter option, she refused to heed caution in this, clutching the scrap of warmth as hard as she could. “Xiaoliu, then.”
Wen Xiaoliu barely paid attention to her, turning his gaze to the dancers twirling in a haze of silk on the stage ahead of him. Frustration welled within her. Even here and now, Wen Xiaoliu could spare a glance for someone else.
“Would you care for a song?” she asked, her voice going rough. She refused to play the coquette, pouting at the young master so cruelly toying with her. It was beneath this persona, and it was beneath her, too. For a moment, only her rage accompanied her, rage at how unfair this was, how Wen Xiaoliu could sit right next to her, not know her, and cast her aside still.
But Wen Xiaoliu was far from here, well lost in thoughts that didn’t center her. Lan Wei could rage as much as she wanted, but unless she forced Wen Xiaoliu to acknowledge it, it counted for nothing. Were she Xiang Liu, she might have stormed off, but he was so easy to prick. Despite the ache in her chest, Lan Wei could persist.
She had so little to lose.
Daring, she pressed her palm to the back of Wen Xiaoliu’s much warmer hand. “Why don’t we…?” she suggested inexpertly. If Wen Xiaoliu noticed her lack of experience in suggesting such things, he might investigate further, and that might lead him to realizing who Lan Wei was, which would lead…
She drew in a ragged breath and coughed harshly into the back of her wrist. A group of men at another table looked over. So did Wen Xiaoliu, his eyes wide.
Perhaps Lan Wei’s suggestion was too forward, or maybe the suggestion of sickness was too shocking in a perfectly laquered place like this.
“Are you alright, miss?” Wen Xiaoliu asked, showing the first sign of interest in her that Lan Wei had seen so far. Too bad it was because of this and not her charms.
Wen Xiaoliu poured a cup of tea for her and held it out. If Wen Xiaoliu was treating her this kindly, she couldn’t suspect who she really was.
“I’m fine.” Carefully, she took the cup and sipped from it with studied delicacy. “Thank you.”
“Are you ill?” Wen Xiaoliu asked gently. “Has the, uh, madam not taken care of you?” How was it that Wen Xiaoliu’s heart could be so big for strangers, yet so stingy to those who cared for her? “I know a few things, if you need help.”
Lan Wei laughed. Wen Xiaoliu’s kindness was unbearable. “I’m really fine. The smoke is aggravating. That’s all.”
Wen Xiaoliu glanced around, perplexed, until his gaze landed on the many incense burners that filled the room. He pointed at the one nearest to them. “I can send it away, if you’d like.” He laughed gregariously, almost awkward, a little shy, but not quite either of those things in aggregate. But like Lan Wei had always known, he was charming. “I don’t really pay attention to these things.”
He was no longer the man Lan Wei had met so long ago, but she loved him still, would love him in this guise and every other he dared to don. That was her curse, and his—at least from his point of view, she was sure. He made it clear on every possible occasion that Lan Wei’s regard meant little to him. He would hate to know how she really felt.
Even so, she would like to show him just this once. Maybe that would be enough to save her.
Or maybe it would kill her faster.
“That isn’t necessary,” she said, pulling her thoughts from this impossible dream. At best, she would have Wen Xiaoliu tonight. At worst, well, nothing could be as bad as the way Xiao Yao looked at Xiang Liu.
She had nothing to lose.
“Perhaps you would take me somewhere else,” Lan Wei offered, giving herself Fangfeng Bei’s smile, the flash of mischief that glinted in his eye whenever he met Xiao Yao. She hoped Wen Xiaoliu would respond well to it. “If you were concerned.”
Wen Xiaoliu leaned toward her, apparently intrigued. “Where would you like to go?”
“In a brothel?” Lan Wei asked. “Where do you think?”
For the first time in longer than Lan Wei could remember, she stole the words from Wen Xiaoliu’s throat. “I—” he said. “Um…” A flush climbed his neck and pooled in his cheeks. Surely this wasn’t the first time he was propositioned. “That’s—a generous offer.”
But I can’t, he didn’t have to say.
Lan Wei refused to be deterred. “Xiaoliu-gege, I’ve watched you over the course of the last week. You seem very unhappy to be surrounded by beautiful, elegant women, but you continue to surround yourself with them. Why not let yourself have what you clearly want?”
With me, she didn’t have to say.
Wen Xiaoliu glanced at her, then glanced away again.
“Are you currently betrothed?” she asked lightly, though she knew perfectly well that this was as unattached as Wen Xiaoliu had been in years.
Wen Xiaoliu, at the very least, didn’t lie to her, shaking her head to confirm with Lan Wei already knew. That was something of a surprise, when he so enjoyed obfuscating his feelings in front of her usually.
Lan Wei arched an eyebrow, conveying great skepticism, a challenge to him.
Wen Xiaoliu’s flush deepened.
“Maybe you simply wish to know how to please a woman?” Her voice cracked when she said please. The band around her chest tightened. “You’re not betrothed yet, but it’s only a matter of time, yes? You wouldn’t be the first to seek instruction.” Bold, a little aggressive from the annoyance of knowing precisely who he intended to wed, she added, “I can help you. Nobody can take issue with that, can they?”
“I…”
Lan Wei couldn’t lie. She didn’t entirely believe cajoling would work, but Wen Xiaoliu was wavering. For Xiang Liu, Xiao Yao never wavered. Her stomach seized with dread. Securing Wen Xiaoliu’s company would not be unlike a dog finally catching the prey that had always eluded it.
“You wouldn’t come here without reason,” she pointed out.
“Why are you so adamant about taking me to a room here?” Wen Xiaoliu said, raising his chin in equal challenge. “Do you like me that much?”
“A handsome man like yourself, why wouldn’t I?”
Wen Xiaoliu’s expression soured in what was, unfortunately, an endearing manner.
Though Lan Wei wished to press him harder, she knew the value of a strategic retreat, though she certainly hated to do so whether it was here or on a proper battlefield. The sensation was something akin to the feel of sand on one’s skin if it then could burrow beneath, settling into the space between muscles, always aggravating, making her want to do something rash just to take control again.
She looked at him. He looked at her. And looked. And kept looking.
Then, he grabbed the bottle of liquor before him, stared into it, and poured what little remained into his cup. By rights, that should have been something she got to do, but by then, it was already too late, cup pressed to his lips as he downed each precious drop.
“Have we met before?” he asked, pressing the cup onto the table with a loud clunk as he squinted at her. “Not here, but…?”
“I can only imagine it was here that you’ve seen me,” Lan Wei said, not considering the possibility that Wen Xiaoliu would notice such fine details. “Perhaps you’ve come across someone who looks similar outside.”
Wen Xiaoliu frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, Lan Wei noticed a bronze mirror standing nearby and looked into it. She was shocked to see that she actually did look a little like Xiang Liu, more like him than she had earlier in the evening anyway.
She turned her gaze away.
With Wen Xiaoliu staring directly at her, she couldn’t do anything to change her appearance. Unfortunately, the illusion that she was Lan Wei, entirely divorced from her identity as Xiang Liu, crumbled along with the scraps of distance that had carried her through this evening so far.
A tightly furled bud ripped itself free from where it had begun to bloom in her lungs. The pain was excruciating as it found its way into her airway, but the humiliation of tasting blood-tinged bile, of swallowing that sour bud back down, where it would spend the evening like a stone in her stomach, was even worse.
She could be a woman, and she could be Xiang Liu, and Wen Xiaoliu could be a man and Xiao Yao, and Xiang Liu would still want every part of them both, even if they could want only this piece of her in this particular form at this very particular moment.
“Are you lonely?” Xiang Liu finally asked, too blunt. He couldn’t stop himself. “Is that why you’re here?”
The question seemed to startle Xiao Yao, her gaze roving over every surface except Xiang Liu’s face. Though she tried to form a rebuttal, parting her lips like a fish, words failed her. It was suddenly obvious, what had happened.
Tushan Jing had found yet another way to disappoint her. No doubt, she would find a way to forgive him, but for now, she had decided that running was the better part of valor.
Just as well. He would take what Xiao Yao was willing to give. This was an opportunity he never expected to receive anyway. For his soldiers, for his adopted father, for everything he held dear outside of Xiao Yao, he owed it to them to try.
If he knew in his heart he would have pursued this even if he couldn’t hide behind such lofty rationales, he could ignore it.
This was already more than anyone could have rightly expected of him, this half-selfish, half-selfless scheme. Xiao Yao would never see it that way, of course, and Xiang Liu would never—could never—force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. That had to be enough justification.
“Xiaoliu,” he said, thinking that perhaps he should be more honest with her. She wasn’t a cruel person where others were concerned. Perhaps she would understand his plight and do what she could to help him.
On the other hand, she was Xiyan Cangxuan’s cousin, and she hated Xiang Liu, and she didn’t much think about things like this at the best of times.
There were better methods. “If you are lonely,” he said, “I can help you.”
Xiao Yao chuckled warmly, the way Xiang Liu remembered her when they first met, so painfully unhappy, yet joyfully carefree at the same time. “Who in the world isn’t lonely,” she said cynically, something Xiang Liu agreed with actually. At this table, for example, there were two such pathetic creatures.
He averted his gaze, still careful to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. Like this, he was himself and not himself, so anything he said might give too much of himself and the truth away. “There is something we could do about that.”
Xiao Yao said nothing, staring at the table as though lost. Then, her attention sharpened, his words penetrating her thick, stubborn skull. As soon as his meaning registered, she slumped forward.
“What’s the point? We’ll just be lonely again tomorrow, won’t we?” she asked.
In Xiang Liu’s opinion, every moment spent feeling loved was worth it, but he didn’t know how to say that without speaking things he never intended to say. It would sound too much like a twice-doomed general said it.
The words he didn't say were like so many fallen petals. They would only find themselves trampled beneath uncaring feet.
“Would you deny yourself water knowing you will one day have your last sip?”
At this, she scowled. “You think someone like you—”
This was familiar, raised his hackles. “Tsch, you decided to visit us, sir. Send me away if it’s so repulsive to be near me.” As Xiang Liu, he would have sounded bitter and ugly. Like this, he sounded mock offended, like he heard worse and meaner every day. It was true enough. “Go confess to your loved one if you want lasting happiness. Let us have this fleeting moment. That can be happiness, too.”
Xiao Yao stared at him, really stared, paid attention to him in ways he was not used to being noticed. Surely, she had guessed who he was, and now she would castigate him for it.
“A fleeting moment?”
“It need never be discussed,” he promised. “And you wouldn’t see me again.”
She raised one eyebrow.
Xiang Liu played idly with the rim of Xiao Yao’s cup. “Isn’t that what you want?”
For once, she didn’t have anything to say to that.
After several more moments watching Xiao Yao torment herself, she came to a decision with a half-convincing nod. At the sight of it, Xiang Liu’s heart seized painfully, then thud a little faster than before.
Xiao Yao stood and held out her calloused hand, the hand Xiang Liu had first known to be hers. Xiao Yao in this guise was truly something to behold.
“We never speak about it,” she insisted, “and I never want to see you again.”
If he had harbored any doubts about her understanding of the situation here, they were dashed as soon as she spoke. He wasn’t sure what gave him away or why she said yes anyway.
He could only nod in response, lest the truth pour out of him in shades of curling pink and bloody red.
Instead, he took the hand that would never be his and led Xiao Yao to one of the rooms that was still free.
ꕤ
Fishing a packet of incense from the small pouch tied to his belt, he gestured for her to sit, asked her if she wanted tea or another bottle of liquor. He said whatever he could say to buy himself time while he fumbled about.
She accepted tea and waited patiently—for her anyway, which was to say she nervously studied the room, not at ease in the slightest as she looked this way and that—while Xiang Liu looked at the robes and accessories that hung in the wardrobe in the corner, hoping to find something suitable.
Settling for a sheer outer robe, he began to undress. The blush pink robes he had been wearing were too much a confession for this. As more of this unfamiliar skin of his was exposed, he grew more self-conscious.
“Are you planning to fuss with your pretty robes all night?” Xiao Yao asked lazily as she sat on the bed, still acting the playboy as she skimmed her fingers over the silk quilt. It was too affected a display; she was nervous, too.
But she was also right. Xiang Liu oughtn’t delay, lest she change her mind and take Xiang Liu’s every lingering hope with her.
He didn’t dare tease Xiao Yao, lest she grow self-conscious and prickly.
When he was fully bare, he slid the sheer robe over his shoulders.
She reached for him when he was finally within arm’s reach, pulled him down. Though he had strength on her, he enjoyed the way she manhandled him around and pinned him to the bed.
Though he wished every part of them could touch, including her hair as she leaned over him, he didn’t want to break the image of masculinity she presented to him.
“What do you like?” she asked, less a question to him than one she was positing to herself. In truth, he couldn’t answer, having never done this before. It was no stranger a thing than realizing that despite Wen Xiaoliu’s sometimes ribald personality, she had actually never done this either, not once in the three hundred years she had been lost.
It was more affecting than he cared to admit, knowing she was giving this to him in the seediest manner possible.
Xiang Liu coughed hard enough to choke, had to be sat up as the attack finally eased, then nearly gagged as she swallowed back the mucus coating the back of her throat. Despite his embarrassment, Xiao Yao simply poured him a cup of tea, letting him swish it on his tongue before he spat it back out again.
He was glad it didn’t come mixed with blood, because Xiao Yao studied it with a doctor’s impartial eye.
“Swallowed wrong,” Xiang Liu offered, scowling at her with wounded dignity until she finally abandoned the desire to know what precisely was wrong with him.
He hoped to distract her with a touch, but she slapped his hand aside. The pain registered at a delay, though her meaning was perfectly clear from the start.
Of course she wouldn’t want him to touch her.
He had known adversaries on the battlefield who were less unrelenting than she. He’d been wounded by swords and arrows and spears in ways that hurt less than a sour look or a harsh word from her. Holding up his hands, palms exposed, he apologized.
Though she might not have let him touch her, she didn’t refrain from touching him. That had to be enough.
The rough pads of her fingertips caught on the delicate silk robe Xiang Liu was wearing, a fact that couldn’t be hidden by the illusion of her current appearance. She was a physician, whatever else she was.
Xiao Yao’s hands skimmed over Xiang Liu’s forearms as they reached beneath the sleeves. Though her fingers were on the slimmer, smaller side, they were large enough to encircle Xiang Liu’s delicate wrists.
“Will you behave for me?” she asked.
Before he could ask for clarification, she was lifting them above his head. “Leave them,” she added, as though he intended to do anything she didn’t want him to do.
His robe, thin as it was, slippery as the material was, parted softly and pooled against his sides. His breasts, now fully exposed without even a hint of modesty left to him, pebbled in the cool, fragrant air.
Her robes were much thicker than his, a touch rougher against his naked flesh. Somehow, that made it all the more thrilling, this disparity between them. When she reached for her belt, motions efficient and not a little rough, he expected her to fully undress, but she only untied the outermost layer of her belt, a thin scrap of fabric in a rich, deep blue hue that fit her well.
A strangely buoyant pleasure rose in him as the belt of fabric encircled his wrists, like this was the right place for him to be. The longer he was there, the more carefully she bound him, the more intensely he felt the pulses of arousal that were opening him up from the inside.
His thighs moistened under Xiao Yao’s ministrations.
“You like this?” Xiao Yao asked, perhaps not understanding what appeals to him. He’s not even sure himself. She would never want to be bound this way, he didn’t think. Her lip curled in something like disdain, perhaps judging him for the spread of his thighs, the obvious wetness of his cunt.
The remnants of his pride, vestigial at best, balked even as his arousal flared.
“Come on, Lan Wei,” she said, cajoling, a painful knowing in her voice, further breaking the unreality of the situation. Suddenly, he didn’t like the name he chose. “Lan Wei, Lan Wei, isn’t it obvious?”
Given her somewhat obvious lack of experience, the fact that she now felt more certain must have been an artifact of her past work. Her touch was sure as her hand found its way between his legs.
“You’re so wet already,” Xiao Yao continued, as though Xiang Liu couldn’t feel it himself. She rubbed her fingertips over his folds, unwilling to push into him yet even as he rocked his hips toward her.
He pursed his lips, determined not to speak. Anything she wanted from him, she had to work for it, too.
“You can pretend,” Xiao Yao said loftily. “I’ll still know.”
A smirk curled across his own face. He did know a lot about pretending, didn’t he? And she hadn’t guessed more than a handful of things about him correctly. He raised one eyebrow in challenge, needn’t not say aloud what didn’t need to be said.
Prove it.
Wrists flexing against the fabric bound around them, he clenched his hands, succumbing to the inevitability of what would follow.
Her fingers continued to ghost gently between his legs, holding a steady rhythm before she finally dipped one briefly into his cunt, one only, because she was cruel.
He wondered if she would use her cock on him, if she even had one in this form, if she would like the warmth of Xiang Liu’s cunt around her, slick and sweet. In another life, one where Xiao Yao could look at him with something other than disdain, he might safely, happily beg her for it.
In this life, he could have her fingers and admonishments not to touch her.
“More?” Xiao Yao asked, fucking him so shallowly that he could barely feel it, his slick warmth softening the feel of her skin inside of him.
He said nothing.
“Are you really going to be this troublesome?” Xiao Yao said. “You can tell me you want this?”
“Have I ever not been?” Xiang Liu finally replied, unable to help himself. It wasn’t a plea, at least.
For the price of these few words, she added another digit, not quite a proper stretch yet, but acceptable. Crooking her finger just right, she drew a gasp from him. “Ha,” she said, as though she had just solved a puzzle. It reminded him too much of how she had been when they first met. Back then, she had at least seemed carefree. The ache in his chest bloomed painfully.
Having gained one reaction from him, she seemed to think he was a toy to push and prod, sought more and better ways to gain a reaction from him. As she moved her fingers inside of him, she leaned forward, pressed her lips to his soft, gently rounded abdomen, sucked his skin red as she blazed a path up his torso.
“Are your breasts sensitive like this?”
Xiang Liu refused to answer the question, cheeks warm. Like this, they were. In all his forms, they were.
She took the tight nub of one nipple into her mouth, biting it sharply without warning. Pain burned through him, sharp and stark, brought higher as she scraped her teeth over the tender bud, as she tugged a little too hard, pulling it taut. She laved her tongue over it, warm and wet, and sucked deeply enough that he was sure it would bruise there, too.
He bucked into her hand as she again stroked over that place within him that she had found before. With Xiao Yao positioned over him this way, he found easy friction against her palm and took advantage of it.
Xiao Yao’s torment of his body transformed into a languid buzz of pleasure.
He must have looked obscene, because Xiao Yao’s expression changed to one of confusion and anger, darkened further with something Xiang Liu dared not call desire even though he knew what that looked like on her, had experienced it once before.
To imagine her truly desiring him would break him.
Again, his lungs seized, a new flower forming in his chest, its own sort of poison, the seed sprouting in the sensitive muscle walls, the shoots and leaves and hard, harsh wood squeezing through the scarred tissues of his heart. The bud bloomed, ravaging him. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
All this while Xiao Yao was unaware, still encouraging him to ride her hand. She bent her head again, sucking more vicious marks into his skin, like he could belong to her if only she left evidence behind. She fucked him harder with her fingers, roved her free hand over his chest, nipped at his clavicle.
She was everywhere, fully surrounding him. They were of a height even when he wore the face others knew him by, but right now, he felt so much smaller than her.
As a cold sweat broke out across his body, her mouth found his neck.
She couldn’t—
He couldn’t let her—
Reflexively, as though he still had a modicum of dignity left to him, he turned his face when she tried to capture his lips with hers. Not because he didn’t want it desperately, but because he wanted it too much.
He was doomed regardless. No reason to accelerate it.
This was a bad idea.
“Don’t,” she said when he began to struggle. She almost crooned it, gentle, a lullaby to soothe him. “You’re doing well.”
He could only scoff at that. Nothing she said could be trusted a moment after she said it, especially not the things he wanted to hear the most. He could, for the length of a heartbeat, believe she meant it with all her being. But past that point, it would be nothing more than a pretty bit of language when she changed her mind.
He stifled another cough, but not well. His lungs seemed to fill even more with the flower buds, so many that he grew lightheaded. He hadn’t had an attack this bad in a long time, and Xiao Yao only seemed encouraged when he gasped and writhed on her fingers.
If this was to be the last of what they shared together, he wanted to beg for more from her, wanted to moan her name, wanted to cry for her to fill him until she came, too, leaving his cunt messy with her spend. If he had gambled everything and lost, he wanted to tell her the truth.
“Xia—” she said, brows furrowing as he wrenched free of the bindings, of her.
Unacceptable. It was unacceptable.
Damn these bindings. Damn her. Damn him, too. He grabbed her face with one hand, wrapped the other around the back of her neck. “Fuck me properly.”
She didn’t argue, didn’t leave as he expected her to.
Instead, her expression twisted with lust as she untied her trousers and pushed them down her thighs. Her cock, half-hard already, filled fully as she looked down at him.
She didn’t bother to undress further, didn’t bother to ease him into it. Grabbing his hips, pressing herself close and lining up, she penetrated him to the hilt in one smooth motion.
“You weren’t supposed to touch me,” she said, voice shattered as she grabbed his hands and held them above his head. Her fingernails dug into his skin. It hurt beautifully. “You’re—” She moaned as she ground her hips against the back of his thighs. “Ah.”
She abandoned whatever she intended to say.
This was finally enough for him, drove all thoughts and feelings out of him until he was simply a container for the pleasure he felt. Even the ache in his lungs subsided. He lost track of how long she fucked him, though her brutality matched nothing outside of a battlefield.
He moaned for her in a way that might have brought him shame outside of these walls.
He fought to fix every moment into his mind, eyes open to bear witness to how she looked when she was lost in her own pleasure. Somehow, she seemed softer than usual, a kind of soft he only saw when she cared for a creature more defenseless than her, so counter to the way she drove into him.
Xiang Liu loathed it and loved it in equal measure, falling apart around her, his body shaking with an orgasm so sudden and swift he almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. She fucked him through it, groaning with every thrust until she, too, came, filling him with her release.
The shimmering haze of joy he felt in the aftermath quickly evaporated.
He feared what would come next, knowing she would blame him for this, would leave in a huff and hold a grudge against him. He would deserve it this time, but it was difficult to raise his defenses when he had been cut down to the bone this way.
Miraculously, she simply found the pitcher of water hidden away behind a screen in the corner of the room, found a thin cloth folded neatly from who knew where, and brought both. Though her body was likely as filthy as his, she focused on wiping him down.
“You don’t have to—” he said awkwardly.
“Shut up,” Xiao Yao replied, not angry, but not particularly friendly either.
He shut up, morbidly curious to know where this would go.
“We never discuss this,” Xiao Yao said, finally drawing the knife he had been waiting for.
Time to come back to the real world.
“As though I would want to,” he replied, the venom in his voice so similar to the venom in the voice that accompanied the form she was used to. He suppressed a cough, the pain in his chest returning with a vengeance.
So much for hope. Even this couldn’t break her hold on him.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, though that was a moot point now, wasn’t it? Then, she climbed onto the bed with him, pushed him down and turned him onto his side so she could spoon behind him, and he realized it wasn’t moot at all. “We never discuss this,” she said again, and this time, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
ꕤ
Xiao Yao was asleep when Xiang Liu awoke, still aching, with petals scattered about the bed, blush pink and fresh, a mockery of his feelings, so delicate in how they exposed him. Coughing as quietly as he could, another damning petal found its way out of his mouth. It fluttered among the rest of the petals before he could capture it.
He climbed out of bed, quiet, his heart beating too fast, and threw his robes about him, tying them messily around his waist. All the while, he coughed and spit petals, fearful that she would wake, see it, and know him in a way she had no right to know him.
Though he wanted to pick up the scattering of petals, he knew she would wake up if he tried.
She would simply have to wonder what happened.
As he abandoned the room, he couldn’t help looking at her one last time. He couldn’t regret that much.
ꕤ
ꕤ
When Xiao Yao woke up, Xiang Liu was already gone. From the feel of it, he had been gone for a long time, the side of the bed he had been sleeping on cold and unmussed. She frowned, oddly relieved, and hated herself for feeling that way.
Sighing, she rubbed her hand across her face. If she didn’t know any better, she would have accused Xiang Liu of doing something to her, but she knew nobody could have driven her to this except herself, and she even knew why it happened, too, why she let herself be led along by him.
It did neither of them credit.
But at the same time, she couldn’t regret it, not when she felt he had been vulnerable with her for the first time, not when he had been so beautiful beneath her. Perhaps that made her inconstant, but she didn’t care. Her feelings had always carried too much complexity, painful to endure and even harder to explain.
Xiang Liu was the only one who understood that about her.
As she rose, realizing she felt more rested than she had in a long time, she glanced around the room. No sign of Xiang Liu remained.
As she tossed aside the quilt, a bit of blush pink caught her eye in the oil lamp that had remained lit through the night.
She thought for a moment it was a bit of his clothing, the color so similar to the robes he favored as Fangfeng Bei, but after she examined the bed, she realized it was simply covered in a layer of petals.
Perplexed, she picked one up, ran her fingers over the silky smooth curl of it. Peony, she thought, though where they had come from was the question. Then again, this was a brothel. It stood to reason there were plenty of peonies about. He’d probably decided to trick her, plucking the stem until it was empty and she was covered in them.
You didn’t have to leave me flowers, she thought, reluctantly amused as she cleaned up properly.
Though they wouldn’t discuss this again, and certainly wouldn’t do this again, she chose to hide it away, a nice memory of what could have been in another lifetime. If she blushed every time she saw peonies, that was her business.
Who knew how she would react when she saw him again.