THe IMPERIAL PROCESSION set out on their long journey with all pomp and circumstance, heading east out of the capital. Like a vast surging wave, they processed toward the Soul-Calling Abyss.
The journey would take around three days. At dusk on the first day, they reached the banks of the Fushui River. The servants began to set up camp and prepare quarters for their lords, while the nobles were called into the imperial tent to dine. More than a hundred seats had been arranged within a massive pavilion supported by magic. Most of the nobles had already assembled by the time Mo Xi joined them. After a servant girl guided him to his seat, he looked across the aisle to see Murong Lian staring back at him.
Like the rest of the noble scions on their way to pay their respects, Murong Lian was dressed in his ceremonial attire. His lavish sapphire-blue robes were ornately embroidered with his clan's bat insignia, and the blue and gold ribbon was tied neatly across his forehead, setting off the pallor of his face. Wangshu Manor and the Mo Clan were both influential families that had produced generations of heroes. Murong Lian's ancestors had bestowed upon him the undeniable right to wear this ribbon. However, all those present had judgment in their hearts. Each of them knew clearly which clans continued to sire heroes worthy of that glory, and which clans' descendants were an insult to the blood of their forefathers.
Once everyone had arrived, the emperor addressed the crowd. "After a day of travel, you must all be tired. Let us begin."
The palace servant girls floated in with the platters in their hands. They knelt gracefully before each noble and began to pour wine and serve food. Because they were on the road, the fare was less varied than usual— there were only eight side dishes, four cold and four hot, and one main dish, but everything was exquisitely prepared. The four cold dishes consisted of a meat terrine, sansi salad made with three kinds of finely julienned vegetables, sweet osmanthus lotus root, and frostsky fish. The four hot dishes were steamed perch with scallion oil, fried shrimp and eel, steamed crab with black vinegar, and stir-fried lotus with snow peas and wood ear mushrooms. The main course was a delicacy perfected by the imperial kitchens: soup dumplings with crab filling.
After his fight with Gu Mang, Mo Xi's terrible mood had persisted. He could hardly eat a bite, but he did drink much more than usual.
In truth, the offerings made to their ancestors in Chonghua's end-of- year ceremony weren't so much a "sacrifice" as they were an account of how many battles were won, what kinds of spiritual devices had been obtained, and whether the country was prosperous and the people at peace during the preceding year. If the year had not been not a good one, the atmosphere of the ceremony would be solemn. If Chonghua had thrived, on the other hand, then the ceremony would be a means to reassure the souls of their ancestors, and the feast would be one of joyous abandon.
"This year we put a pause on the fighting to strengthen ourselves at home. Although some complications arose, it still counts as a good year."
"Ha ha, yes, we even reclaimed some territory on the eastern frontier. It's a happy occasion."
Yue Chenqing was sitting nearby, clinging to his youngest uncle as he chirped and chattered. "Fourth Uncle, Fourth Uncle, this sweet lotus root is your favorite. If you don't have enough, I'll give you mine!"
His father, Yue Juntian, had recently returned to the capital and was attending the ceremony as obligated. At the sight of his son fawning over Murong Chuyi again, he could scarcely hide his distaste. He cleared his throat and shot a glare at Yue Chenqing.
As Mo Xi watched this scene unfold, he couldn't help but recall the first time Gu Mang had attended this ceremony. Back then, Gu Mang had recently been appointed to his position by the old emperor and was in high spirits indeed. The emperor had even made an exception to allow him to attend this ceremony otherwise restricted to pure-blooded nobles. The honor had delighted Gu Mang to no end. His seat was next to Mo Xi's and, unable to hold back his excitement, he had talked to Mo Xi nonstop, cheerfully chattering away like Yue Chenqing. This raw fish is delicious—I heard the imperial cooks used carp fresh from the river. Try some—do you like it?
Mo Xi closed his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of strong wine. Not once throughout the feast did he touch the frostsky fish.
After the meal concluded, Mo Xi returned to his own camp. He was preparing to retire when he spied the captain of his guard nervously pacing back and forth in the wind. The man rushed toward him on sight. "My lord!" he cried out in fright.
Mo Xi looked up. "What is it?"
"I... Head Housekeeper Li instructed me to keep an eye on Gu Mang and give him his medicine, but when I went to his tent, I couldn't find him anywhere. He didn't even eat dinner with us. I don't know where he went..."
Mo Xi wasn't too worried; he could sense that Gu Mang was in the encampment through the slave collar around his neck. Mo Xi sighed. "Give me the medicine jar. You may go rest."
"B-but, are you..." Are you going to personally handle such a trivial matter?
Mo Xi had no wish to continue the conversation. He only repeated, "You may go."
There was no arguing with such direct dismissal, no matter what the captain thought. He respectfully passed Mo Xi the medicine jar and left as instructed.
On the banks of the Fushui, the night winds were sharp and biting. Mo Xi stood still for a moment, sobering up, then took a stroll around the encampment.
As expected, Gu Mang hadn't escaped. He had sat down at the base of a dawn redwood and fallen asleep, curled in on himself. Mo Xi looked down at him for a long while, then slowly got down on one knee. His anger from yesterday had not completely dissipated, and the atmosphere between them was awkward in the extreme. A long beat of silence passed before Mo Xi spoke. "Wake up. Go sleep in your tent."
Everyone in this camp had their own tent already pitched. Mo Xi didn't understand why Gu Mang had run off to use the ground for a bed and sky for a blanket instead.
"Wake up." He repeated himself several times, but Gu Mang showed no reaction. Somewhat irked, Mo Xi reached out and shoved him a little.
Unexpectedly, this push sent Gu Mang toppling over like a scarecrow. Moonlight shone through the tree's needles and onto Gu Mang, revealing a face flushed an unhealthy red, as if his pale skin had been steamed in warm mist. His eyes were squeezed shut and his long lashes fluttered as his wet lips parted around the breath he couldn't quite catch. His brows were subconsciously furrowed in pain.
"Gu Mang?!" Mo Xi exclaimed in shock. He reached out to touch Gu Mang's forehead; it was alarmingly hot.
Mo Xi hurriedly pulled the insensible, feverish Gu Mang to his feet. They made their way toward Gu Mang's little tent with Mo Xi propping him up the whole way. Fortunately, Xihe Manor's encampment was rather remote, and Mo Xi's retinue was already asleep in their tents. No eyes witnessed this scene.
Mo Xi lifted the tent flap and placed Gu Mang on the bed. Gu Mang, now slightly more lucid, blinked sleepily and gazed up at Mo Xi with hazy eyes. As if struck by a realization, he started to struggle, attempting to sit up and get off the bed. Mo Xi held him down with one hand. He suppressed his own anxiety as he said quietly through gritted teeth, "Lie down. What are you fussing for?"
Gu Mang bit his glossy lower lip, the blue in his eyes resembling tumbling mist. Beneath this stare, Mo Xi's heart began to race. His hands balled into fists and he rose to put some distance between them. But Gu Mang still stared numbly at him. Or perhaps not at him—the light in Gu Mang's eyes was focused on Mo Xi's forehead ribbon.
Gu Mang opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak. But as his lips parted, he realized he didn't know what he should say, so he bit his lip again. A moment later, he again tried to rise.
Mo Xi pinned him down. "What are you doing?"
Due to his fever, Gu Mang was only half-conscious. He clutched at Mo Xi's sleeve and stubbornly tried to get off the bed.
"Gu Mang!" Mo Xi snapped.
Hearing his own name seemed to awaken a glimmer of awareness in Gu Mang. He shivered, his silhouette hunching further until he looked wretched, like a ball of mud trying to slip off the edge of the bed. But Mo Xi held him back. Mo Xi blocked his way.
Gu Mang sat in a daze for some time before he mumbled, "Let me go... Please, let me...go..."
"You have a fever. Lie down."
"Let me go... I don't want... I don't want to be here..."
Mo Xi's heart was gripped at once by pain and hatred, annoyance and warmth. He helped Gu Mang sit upright once more, then tried to ease him down to lie on his back. Gu Mang didn't comply. This time, he grabbed Mo Xi by the lapels and pressed his scalding forehead to Mo Xi's waist.
"I don't want to sleep here..."
That proud neck that had never bent now seemed like it could break at any moment. Gu Mang slumped against Mo Xi, feverish and dizzy. He had wanted to push Mo Xi away, but he also felt as though he'd grabbed hold of something warm and solid, like a man floating in an icy lake who had seized onto a piece of driftwood. In the end, his rejection became a helpless embrace. Gu Mang clung to Mo Xi with his face pressed to his hip. "Your bed is...too clean...for me..." he mumbled hoarsely.
Mo Xi stared at him. "What?"
"I'm...dirty..."
Mo Xi felt as if he'd taken a sharp strike to the chest—it hurt so much. But the person clutching at him was still muttering intermittently, incoherently. Whether because of the agony of the fever or his terror of something else, he held on, his voice tearful and broken. "I don't know... don't know how to sleep... without...getting it dirty...so...let me go... Let me...go..."
"Where do you want to go?" whispered Mo Xi.
This question seemed to reach Gu Mang, dealing him a blow. He opened his eyes in bewilderment, his voice teetering on a sob. "I—I don't know either..."
The lump in Mo Xi's throat was bitter. He looked down at Gu Mang, momentarily speechless.
I'm already dirty. I'm covered in filth. I don't know where I'm supposed to go. I don't know where I can go...
Mo Xi's heart throbbed. As he looked down at Gu Mang from this angle, he could dimly see the cheek that Gu Mang had turned away, could almost see the red mark his slap had left yesterday. He really hadn't held back at all.
Don't you know how dirty you are!
The words echoed in his ears. Did he regret it? No...no. His heart was already stone. He did not regret it.
It was just that—he didn't know why, but a brilliant smile haunted his thoughts.
It was a smile from many years ago, when they had still been young. Back then, there had been no romance between them. They were only ordinary comrades, like any other soldiers. Mo Xi had been ambushed and lay surrounded, suffering in agony as he waited for reinforcements. He had waited for so long that he had started to wish for death. The world had already turned crimson by the time his Gu-shixiong, clad in shining silver armor that reflected the sky, had come for him on horseback.
Gu Mang had dismounted and wrapped his arms tightly around his wounded shidi. Mo Xi was covered in the venom of the Liao Kingdom's beasts. He rasped through dry lips, "Let go..."
"Shidi!"
"Don't touch me..." Mo Xi gasped. "I'm...covered in filth... All this blood is poisonous..."
Its filthy. It will make you dirty too. It will make you sick too. We've only fought one battle together. We're neither friends nor family, so why... why would you suffer with me?
But what had Gu Mang said to him back then? These dusty and distant memories he'd never wanted to relive bubbled and boiled over.
Gu Mang had said, "Don't be afraid. Shixiong will stay with you."
Someone had to pull you from that filthy, poisonous blood, risks be damned. Don't worry, I'm not scared. Since I chose this path, since I've taken to the battlefields, I never expected to return healthy and whole. It doesn't matter if you're a noble, a slave, or a commoner: you and I are fellow soldiers. I'll see this ordeal through with you, in life or in death.
I Gu Mang, am a slave, and this is the first opportunity I've had to prove myself like this. I'm not afraid of death. I just want Chonghua to see —for His Imperial Majesty to see—for all of you to see...that though I'm a lowly slave, I'm the same as you. I have the same passionate devotion, the same life-or-death loyalty. I'm worthy of being called your shige, your brother. Get blood on me—I don't mind. Give me your hand. No matter how dirty you are, I will embrace you. No matter how much it hurts, I will stay with you.
No matter how far it is, I will bring you home.
Phantom talons tightened around Mo Xi's heart, ripping the flesh apart. On one side lay the nation's hatred, on the other his deepest debt. Why? Why was it the same man who had given him both the greatest agony and the greatest love?
He had been pushed beyond the limits of his endurance. He couldn't breathe. In the dim candlelight, his eyes were fixed on Gu Mang's face. So much hatred, so much love, and so much agony. An agony worse than death.
Hold onto me. Don't worry, I'm not scared.
I'm not scared.
Mo Xi closed his eyes. The lights flickered; the tent was quiet. Mo Xi bent to take Gu Mang into his arms. He carried him out of the small tent and back to his own quarters. Gently, he put his feverish Gu-shixiong down onto his own soft and sprawling bed, covered in a thick blanket of arctic fox fur.
Mo Xi lifted his hand and hesitated briefly. At last, he gently cupped Gu Mang's burning cheek. His touch was light, but Gu Mang seemed to have been frightened by yesterday's slap. His eyes squeezed even more tightly shut, and he flinched instinctively, trembling.
Mo Xi slowly and silently lowered his hand. He sat next to the bed for a long while, then buried his face in his fine-boned hands. The tent glowed with lamplight. His silhouette was so weary, as if countless heavy and contradictory feelings were poised to tear him asunder.
Time passed like this. Gu Mang succumbed to exhaustion and fell fast asleep. When Mo Xi turned to see the man curled up beside him, he stared for several seconds in blank silence. He must have gone insane. This memorial ceremony was for the souls of their nation's martyred heroes. For those who'd died at Gu Mang's hand. Yet...what was he doing? Taking care of a traitor?
He closed his eyes, got to his feet, and slipped out of the tent. The medicine jar was still in his hand; just a moment ago, he'd wanted Gu Mang to drink it, but now...it would probably be better to wait until he woke.
Mo Xi stood in the night wind, his mind a mess. He didn't want to harbor this gentleness toward Gu Mang, but he still couldn't forget what the captain had said—that Gu Mang hadn't even eaten dinner with them. He hesitated for quite a while, conflicted. At last, he set out in the direction of the imperial cooks' camp.