(That night)
Moonlight filtered gently through the thin canopy of bamboo, casting pale glimmers across the mist-filled forest. A night owl cried in the distance. Aside from the drifting fog, the forest remained still. This sacred, secluded bamboo grove belonged to Mingxuan alone.
At its deepest part lay a vast hot spring.
Large, moss-covered stones jutted from the warm, bubbling waters. A pavilion stood to one side, modest yet complete, with a rack, a desk set with teapots, and a small stove nearby.
A narrow, stone-carved stairway wound down to the spring.
The depth varied: in some places the water barely reached the ankles; in other places, it rose to the waist. A few areas were chest-high, or even deeper.
More importantly, the spring was saturated with spiritual energy. Yet no one had ever stepped into this territory, except the Emperor, and Xiangge.
It was already past midnight. An ideal place to hide. At least Mingxuan thought so, when he decided to come here to spend the night to avoid meeting with Xiangge.
That child was stubborn. He would not easily listen to others. If Mingxuan just ignore his invitation, Xiangge would follow him into his own room next.
But Mingxuan didn't want to. So he quietly came here.
But it was entirely unexpected to find Xiangge already at the hot springs when he came, as if he knew where he was going.
And now, Mingxuan sat upon a flat, mossy stone. The water reached just above his narrow waist, concealing both the stone and the white pants he wore.
Xiangge stood silently before him, expression unreadable, his gaze fixed on the Emperor's bare chest. Had it been anyone else, they might have been entranced by the ethereal beauty of Mingxuan's exposed form.
That chest was finely built, strength carved into elegance.
Steam curled up from the misty waters, mingled with the drifting mist before condensing and falling like dew. They trailed down that white jade skin, gathered to the mid of the chest and slid down in lines until it reached his abdomen and collected back to the waters again.
That half drenched, pale body was almost translucent under the moonlight, giving it a strange glistening lustre of pearls.
Who would not be fascinated?
Unfortunately the other person was Xiangge. His gaze did not linger on that beauty. It was fixed on the long, jagged scar carved across Mingxuan's chest.
His frown deepened. Mingxuan remained motionless, eyes closed.
Xiangge wore a loose white bathrobe, sleeves rolled back. It stuck wetly to his frame. He reached toward a nearby stone, where his necessities were placed, and picked up a thin, silvery needle.
Upon his other palm appeared a thin glimmering silver thread condensed by his own spiritual energy. He slipped it into the needle carefully.
The stab wound had already been washed. But it was hideous. It showed no sign of healing. Never scabbed, never sealed.
Xiangge knew it was the poison. Though the gash no longer bled, the edges remained blackened and festered, the flesh gaping open like a curse.
Xiangge carefully collected the two separated skins and merged into one neatly before inserting the needle. His eyes subconsciously raised to look at the Emperor's face.
Doesn't he feel pain?
But Xiangge did not want to care either.
The shimmering thread slipped beneath Mingxuan's skin like a pearly serpent weaving through snow jade.
As he neared the end, he habitually leaned down to bite the thread. His soft lips brushed Mingxuan's cold chest.
He froze.
Why hadn't he used the blade instead!!?
Slowly, he looked up and met Mingxuan's gaze. Mingxuan was watching him.
Xiangge swallowed hard. His face stayed blank, but his trembling fingertips on Mingxuan's chest gave him away.
Mingxuan noticed. He knew Xiangge too well. Hadn't he raised him? He knew Xiangge's abilities, like pretending to look expressionless while he was screaming in his heart.
But Mingxuan did not expose him. He quietly closed his eyes.
Xiangge exhaled in relief, and placed the needle aside. He picked up a clean handkerchief and wiped the water from the wound.
"I'm going to use a healing spell," he said with narrowed eyes. "Don't use your cultivation until I'm done."
"Zhen is fine with anything," came the cold reply.
Xiangge stared at the stitched wound. Then, placing his warm palm gently over it, he closed his eyes and began to chant a certain powerful healing incantation. His lips moved in silence. Silver mist gathered at the base of his palm and flowed smoothly into the gash.
It penetrated deeper than flesh. It reached the frozen heart beneath.
Mingxuan slowly opened his eyes and stole a glance at Xiangge who could not see him. His gaze had softened, sorrow etched in his eyes.
Nearby, silver water trickled over stone, wetting Xiangge's black hair. Drops slid down his face, from his pale chin, down his throat, disappearing beneath his soaked lapels.
His long lashes trembled like butterfly wings. His lips, pale and parted, shimmered wet like soft pink petals. Dark strands of hair clung to his face. He looked like a fallen immortal.
Mingxuan's heart clenched.
This fragile, broken thing... he had crushed him before he ever bloomed. Yet now, he was healing him.
Mingxuan shut his eyes. Guilt tore through him.
Xiangge coughed. His palm shuddered. The spiritual flow faltered.
Mingxuan's brows knit.
Xiangge's lips moved faster. His brows furrowed in strain. Then, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of Xiangge's mouth.
Mingxuan's heart tightened.
Moments later, the hand that was pressing against his chest loosened and was removed slowly. The misty sparks around Xiangge's palm vanished and he opened his hazy eyes weakly. They were a bit out of focus. He slightly panted.
The power of his healing spells were not to be underestimated. The place where the hideous wound was sewn was now smooth and clean as if it never got wounded. Not even a scar remained.
Successfully healed. Now he only had to detoxify the poison.
Xiangge let out a sigh of relief, brushing the wet hair from his eyes. Then he wiped away the blood off his lips with the back of his sleeves while reaching his other hand to a phial on the stone. Inside, translucent pills shimmered faintly. He held it out.
"One pill from this can save someone from deathbed. Take one every six hours," he said. "Until I finish the antidote."
Their fingers touched as Mingxuan took the phial.
Xiangge flinched, withdrawing his hand as if burned. "Your wound's healed. Don't stay in the water too long. Go rest."
Mingxuan stood silently. The soaked garment was drenched with dripping water and sticked into his long legs, almost indecently.
Xiangge tilted his head, avoiding the sight.
Mingxuan passed him in silence for several steps when suddenly he froze, stunned. Because almost in a low and a hoarse voice, he heard Xiangge say, "I'm sorry."
Mingxuan paused in his steps abruptly. "For what?" He asked in a low voice.
"For stabbing you," Xiangge said in a strangled whisper. "For running away without trying to clear my name. I made everything worse. I'm sorry... I truly am."
Mingxuan bit his tongue. His eyes burned.
Xiangge turned toward him, tears glistening in his reddened eyes. His lips trembled. "Mingxuan... didn't you have something to say to me too?"
Mingxuan stood still. Then, coldly, "No."
Xiangge looked stricken, broken. His voice cracked. "Is it so hard... to ask for forgiveness? For what you did to me?"
Mingxuan's fingertips curled. "Zhen is the Emperor. Why should Zhen apologize?"
Xiangge gave a soft laugh, wet and bitter.
"I see," he whispered, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. "All this time, I only wanted to know. Did you ever think of me as a brother? Or did you raise me just to break me?"
Silence.
Xiangge clenched his teeth to control himself. "I keep dreaming, of the days when I used to hang around you, calling you 'big brother.' But when I wake..." He shut his eyes. "I realize they weren't just memories. But nightmares. Ones that will haunt me forever."
He slowly exhaled a ragged breath, suppressing the pain in his throat. When he opened his eyes, a single tear slid down his cheek. "You were all I had. All I ever wanted to know... was whether you felt even a shred of guilt."
Mingxuan turned. Behind the veil of the mist, his eyes were covered with a layer of blood vessels. "This Empire belongs to Zhen. Every life in it does too. Zhen sees no fault in doing as he wishes."
Xiangge suddenly laughed. It was loud, hoarse, and agonizing.
"Of course! The benevolent Emperor who murdered his own elder brother to snatch his throne and married his widow even before the body was cold! You were despicable enough to father a child with her, just to secure the throne!"
Rage consumed him. "And Shenya? You married her by force and ignored her! Consort Xian? She served you with her life! And you? You slept with her, then killed her! You still call yourself honorable?!"
Mingxuan opened his mouth, but no words came.
Xiangge sniffled, wiping away his tears. His shoulders shook. "Even now... I can forgive what you did to me. Just say sorry. Once. And I'll forgive it all... my mother, my father, my sister. Everything you took from me. Just say it..."
Mingxuan clenched his teeth. "If Zhen killed them, they deserved it."
Xiangge froze, eyes widening. His voice dropped. "Even my parents? My sister? What did they do!!? They... they did nothing wrong..."
"Does Zhen need a reason to kill them? If Zhen says they must die, then they must die."
Xiangge stared at him, his face going pale. The absurdity of it all crashed in waves like a dam breaking.
Why?
But why!!?
Because Mingxuan's the Emperor? So he could look down on everyone else and trample them beneath his feet?
Xiangge swallowed blood, suppressing the fire that was burning in him. "Then kill me too! I deserve it. Ten thousand deaths wouldn't be enough."
Mingxuan stood still, then his voice dropped like ice. "Zhen hasn't finished using you."
The words slapped him like thunder. Xiangge staggered, coughing blood. His lips parted in disbelief.
Everyone was gone. His parents, sister, even lover. And he was alive because he hadn't been used enough?
He said nothing.
He turned and reached for his dagger on the stone.
Mingxuan's eyes widened.
Xiangge unsheathed it, fast as lightning. But before he could plunge it into himself, a hand seized his wrist.
"Let go of me!" Xiangge yelled, thrashing wildly.
Mingxuan turned him over and slammed him against the mossy wall. His grip tightened. Even the bones cracked under the pressure, and the pain shot up, sharp like knives.
The dagger splashed into the water.
Xiangge gasped. His wrists were red, swelling. "Kill me!" he shouted. "Do it!"
"Xiangge–!"
"I'm tired. Maybe... my family is waiting for me."
He wasn't in his senses. He laughed, then cried. He kept on uttering nonsense, moving, shaking, his bloodshot eyes unfocussed, tears streaming down his cheeks. Broken whispers left his lips, unbearably hoarse.
"No... This shouldn't be... I... I–"
It looked as though he was on the verge of going crazy.
Mingxuan's heart shattered. "Xiangge," he whispered, barely audible. "Look at me."
Xiangge trembled violently in his arms, face lowered, teeth biting his bloodied lip. He raised his head in a daze, helpless and ruined, like a torn magnolia caught in storm.
Mingxuan's lips parted. His eyes were hollow, desperate.
He couldn't hold back anymore. He flicked Xiangge's forehead with his fingertips. Xiangge went limp in his arms.
Mingxuan hugged him, caressing his head. The moonlight filtered through the layers of mist, brightening just a side of Xiangge's sleeping face.
Mingxuan's throat burned. No matter how hard he tried to push this child away, and draw a line between them, Xiangge broke it. Even when Xiangge knew it would break his heart in the end.
Asking forgivings for a mistake wasn't hard. Words can be said, truth will eventually be revealed.
But...
The hard part was that he could never forgive himself for destroying Xiangge's life...