Chapter 16#

Master#

That day the palace gates closed. Yuchi Lingze’s words were still repeating. I watched Sha-brother as he was surrounded and blocked by people.

Mijin moved. He pressed against that celestial pearl, his body like a black dragon emerging from its den, closing in toward Sha Que. The celestial pearl grew faintly cool—not its own natural temperature, but transmitted from the tip of Sha Que’s fingers.

Those long blades pierced his abdomen. By the time he collapsed to his knees on the ground, his strength was spent.

Sha Que’s fingertips continued to push. The celestial pearl rolled across the scale-patterns on Mijin’s body, carrying that trace of coolness downward. That scent was very faint, and precisely because of this, it drew Mijin ever closer.

Then, Yuchi Lingze said, his heart was again pierced from behind.

Mijin’s consciousness was like that of a drunkard’s—they were muddled and delirious, stumbling with drunken steps. During his episodes he often could not distinguish truth from falsehood, but that touch of coolness and that fragrance were like the rain and dew descending upon his heart, one after another.

Are you thinking of me? Mijin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He parted his lips slightly, about to answer that question. Am I thinking of you? I—

Sha Que’s fingertips loosened slightly. The celestial pearl slipped downward and fell between them. His gaze was as light as his tone: “Do you need me to hit you again this time?”

The celestial pearl had clearly already fallen, yet he still refused to touch him. As if, with just this distance between them, he could knead and squeeze Mijin’s mind as he pleased.

“With that little bit of strength of yours,” Mijin pressed his nose-tip forward. He was pulled by that scent, almost falling into Sha Que’s palm, yet his eyes were dark and deep, still harboring a lingering wrath that was terrifying to behold, “aren’t you always touching me?”

Sha Que laughed. He seemed to smile only at Mijin, regardless of whether it was genuine—his eyes said as much. With one hand he looped those two golden flowers, with the other he was about to trace the scale-patterns on Mijin’s face, but Mijin didn’t give him the chance.

Naga gripped Sanqing’s wrist from below—as if by force, or perhaps by attempt—and pressed that hand against his own cheek.

The fragrance bloomed at the tip of Mijin’s nose. He didn’t press hard, yet the force was enough to prevent Sha Que from pulling away. Mijin tilted his head slightly, letting the hot breath drift gently. The terrible episodes were not only fully exposed in that moment, but also fully exposed between Sha Que’s fingers.

“Your Highness,” Sha Que was scorched by that breath. He raised his fingers, deliberately calling him Your Highness. “We are separated by life and death. Don’t cling to me like this.”

“Pulse is normal,” Mijin’s fingertips still rested against Sha Que’s wrist. “The heart is still beating.”

“Perhaps these are all little tricks meant to deceive me,” Sha Que whispered, putting on a ghostly voice. “In truth, I came to find you tonight for your life.”

“Without a knife,” Mijin’s eyes followed him the whole time, “kill me with just these hands.”

Those ragged breaths were humid, soaking like mist between Sha Que’s fingers. He sensed a degree of intrusion, and so he no longer wanted Mijin to grip him, much less to let Mijin smell. But whenever his fingers tried to escape, Mijin would press his nose-tip in deeper.

“I don’t want to,” Sha Que began pushing at his face. “Don’t touch me with your scales.”

“That sounds familiar,” the scale-patterns on Mijin’s cheek were fading. He deliberately rubbed them against Sha Que’s palm, intentionally muddling that don’t want to—“Is it that you don’t want to kill me, or that you don’t want me to touch you?”

Sha Que was stung by a shiver provoked by those scale-patterns. When they pressed against him, he could even clearly feel the flow of Mijin’s force, so he shoved at Mijin with all his might: “Don’t—you—touch—me!”

Mijin said simply: “Alright.”

He let go, allowing Sha Que to shrink back.

The room was dim. They separated a short distance. Afraid he would go mad again, Sha Que scooted backward, but in the next moment the bastard seized his ankle and dragged him directly back beneath him.

Sha Que slid across the mat. He labored to lift his other leg and kick Mijin, but this kick was painless and toothless. Mijin let him tread on his abdomen and, with nimble hands, undid Sha Que’s belt.

“Miwuye,” Sha Que grabbed at the belt, partly shocked, partly bewildered. “…you’re insane…”

Mijin pulled open Sha Que’s straight-pleated robe. Inside the apricot-colored outer garment was a white round-collar undergarment, and across his chest and abdomen, layers upon layers of bandages wrapped his wounds. The scent of medicine immediately seeped out.

That day the palace gates closed. Yuchi Lingze began speaking in Mijin’s head again. Long blades, pierced from behind—

Mijin suddenly leaned down. He faced Sha Que, and the room fell into silence without cause. Sha Que lay amid the pile of folded garments, watching Mijin in confusion.

The expression on that face was too strange. When Mijin saw Sha Que’s wounds, it was as if the one exposing a fatal vulnerability was himself—and this expression of his made Sha Que feel a different, incomprehensible emotion.

“Miwuye,” Sha Que had to use the only name he could call Mijin. He said tentatively, “…my wounds really hurt.”

The word hurt clearly struck a chord in Mijin’s heart. Sha Que tilted his chin up slightly, as if he had understood something. He abandoned the belt and pushed the long chain still wrapped around his fingers into Mijin’s embrace. Holding the golden flowers between two fingers, swaying them gently against the glass fire-pearl, he said once more: “The medicine is bitter too.”

Mijin’s violence flickered faintly at the bottom of his eyes. He was bound by those few words, as if wounded.

“There were so many of them, and their blades were so long—I couldn’t kill them all.” Sha Que’s expression began to weary. “That bald one was the worst. He threw me into the mass grave. The rain was so heavy, I almost couldn’t catch my breath.”

As he spoke, Mijin was touching him—at the wounds. The moment they perceived each other through those wounds, Sha Que would shiver faintly—not because he felt pain, but because he felt violated.

Sha Sanqing was very fair. Mijin showed him his own wretched state, so he showed Mijin his own wounds. This was the first time Sha Que had shown his wounds to anyone. Although Mijin didn’t lift the gauze, this was already the boldest exception Sha Que had ever made.

He studied this furball’s reaction and suddenly felt that Miwuye wasn’t quite as hateful as he thought.

“Where have you been hiding these past three months?” Mijin finished counting the wounds with his gaze, then followed Sha Que with his eyes. “The rain was so heavy—how were you planning to get back into the city alone?”

“Were you looking for me?” Sha Que knew perfectly well. “With wounds this severe, there’s no way I could make it back alone. But as it happens…”

Mijin said: “As it happens?”

He was too clever. Sanqing could only nod with great sincerity: “As it happens, the eunuchs who were disposing of corpses had a taste for money, so they smuggled me back into the city and sold me to Yumian. But my injuries were too severe—many people were wary of the trouble, daring neither to speak up nor to take me in. They passed me from hand to hand, and I ended up in the hands of a merchant.”

Mijin’s palms cradled the sides of Sha Que’s waist. He asked slowly: “Which merchant?”

The thin light from outside wasn’t bright enough. Mijin’s features were handsome, but in the backlight he appeared extraordinarily dangerous. That violence and coldness gradually disappeared as he became fully lucid, while another kind of wildness and obsession quietly lay in ambush in his gaze. He chased after Sha Que’s eyes, making that violation ever more intangible.

“A very famous merchant,” Sha Que held up the golden flowers between his fingers. “Otherwise how could they afford to buy me?”

“With that temper of yours,” the warmth in Mijin’s palms carried a threatening edge, “you’d let him be your master?”

“Don’t you want to be one?” Sha Que showed a touch of candor. “I reckon you wouldn’t treat me much better if you were.”

“So he’s acceptable?” Mijin was quite courteous, dressing Sha Que back into his clothes properly, though his movements weren’t gentle. “If he’s really that good, could he make you drag your sick body out here just to block me?”

“Or what if it was me who wanted to sneak out to see you?” Sha Que pinched the long chain, watching him tie his belt. “Someone didn’t find my waist tag and started searching everywhere for me. Miwuye—who is that person?”

“Since you’ve seen them,” Mijin was still looking at him, answering truthfully, “it’s me.”

What Sha Que found most amusing about Mijin was exactly this—why would he go looking for him like that? Yuan Bocheng had said Mijin was confined to Changdu Palace, with nothing left on him except that cicada-head waist pouch. So why would he still feel guilty?

Sha Que felt confused, but he didn’t care about this question. He’d come over tonight, after all, specifically to give Mijin a little nudge. Yuan Bocheng said he was one move behind Mijin when it came to worldly tact—but now Sha Que felt that the very move he lacked was one Mijin had the hardest time resisting.

“…No one can buy me. Others saved my life, and I always repay my debts.” Sha Que turned his gaze back. “The way you tied my belt is hideous.”

Mijin said: “A flower-knot will have to be untied again shortly anyway.”

Sha Que let out a breath and simply looked at him like that, playing with this furball once more: “Naga, the wounds hurt.”

He actually called him Naga.

The change in Mijin’s expression was too obvious. He opened his mouth but stopped short, and after Sha Que watched him for a moment, he roughly yanked the belt open again.

“You’re not allowed to call me that.” Mijin retied the belt, feeling somewhat absurd about himself. He paused several times but couldn’t find the right words, and could only say: “Just call me Miwuye.”

“That’s your milk-name. I heard King Fucheng call you that,” Sha Que asked him. “Why can’t I?”

“Because we’re not close.” Mijin was flustered by the belt. He tied it, untied it, untied it and tied it again. “How could I call you—”

Yes. What could he call him? He knew nothing about him.

“You can call me Sha Sanqing.” Sha Que changed the subject at just the right moment. “Tonight you attended Bald One’s banquet not only to demand he hand over a person, but also to shake him down for another sum, didn’t you?”

Yuchi Liang couldn’t account for several hundred horses. If he had honestly handed Sha Que over, he would only have needed to pay Mijin half the remaining sum, and Mijin would naturally have settled this matter for him. But things went bad precisely because Yuchi Liang didn’t have Sha Que in hand.

Mijin couldn’t find Sha Que’s or Kong Xiaoquan’s waist tags. He could only guess Yuchi Liang had hidden them, but the chips he had to play with were that limited. Mili Nan intended to confine him—he would be isolated and helpless. If Xu Daochun hadn’t come to his aid yesterday, he might not even have made it out today.

“He took my horses,” Mijin finally finished tying the belt. The flower-knot drooped listlessly, no prettier than it had been a moment ago. “He owes me payment as a matter of course.”

“Then you shouldn’t have hit him.” Sha Que examined the flower-knot with a very bad tone. “This grudge is well and truly settled.”

Mijin leaned down again. Seizing the moment Sha Que’s head was bowed, he pressed both palms down and lifted the frail and powerless Sha Que up. Then, before letting go, he said provocatively: “I will hit him.”

“If you hit him, that money is definitely gone.” Sha Que didn’t need to exert himself. He raised his hand, preparing to return the long chain to Mijin. “Before you leave later, remember to finish the food. Otherwise, for the next few months, you won’t get to eat anything this good.”

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining me?” Mijin took hold of the chain, and while Sha Que was unprepared, suddenly yanked this half tight. His shadow still pressed over Sha Que, his gaze and tone brimming with intimidation: “So tell me, should I call you Sha Sanqing right now, or should I, like the servants of this establishment, call you Master?”