Chapter 27 - Honing the Blade
With the crisis of the Jiangtang dams resolved, a sudden, biting chill descended upon the capital. At Luyi Mountain, the maple leaves bled a deep crimson that seemed to stain the very horizon, while the late autumn vistas from the heights of Xiaoxiao Pavilion offered a beauty steeped in desolation. Within the imperial palace, the frantic tailoring of winter garments began in earnest. At the Pingding Manor, several bolts of fine silk had been delivered, and Old Qu began busying himself with the winter provisions. The vegetable garden in the backyard had barely been tilled before the season turned, its soil now hardening under the encroaching frost.
Yellowed leaves, a fitting tribute to the season, drifted through the courtyard. Old Qu had forbidden the servants from sweeping them away, allowing them to carpet the stone paths and lend the manor a refined, autumnal charm. Xin Yi, draped in a heavy cloak, stood on the veranda with his hands tucked into his sleeves. The morning air was thick with a pale mist and a shimmering rime of frost; he stood there alone, facing the training grounds, waiting for someone.
After nearly half an hour, Meng Chen emerged from the side courtyard. Seeing the Heir standing there, looking as though he had been carved from the frost itself, Meng Chen noted how the icy stillness in the youth’s eyes thawed the moment they met.
Xin Yi offered a faint smile. "Commander."
Meng Chen scratched the back of his head and shifted uncomfortably, declining the formal gesture. "I’ve been in the manor for some time now, Your Highness. There is no need for such formality. I am but a rough man from the borderlands; please, just call me by my name."
Xin Yi received daily instruction from him, yet calling him 'Master' felt inappropriate given their history. After a moment’s thought, he settled on a different address. "Uncle Meng."
Meng Chen nodded, satisfied, and turned toward the training grounds. As they walked, he spoke in his gravelly voice. "Your horsemanship was taught by the various young lords of the north. Though you grew a bit rusty, this past month of intensive training has brought you back up to speed. Starting today, we shall begin the way of the saber."
They reached the center of the wide training field. Meng Chen patted the broad-backed, heavy saber at his hip. "This blade is named 'Baizhan'—Hundred Battles. It was named by the Eldest Young Lord. I remember him saying something about 'a hundred battles on the desert sands,' likely a line from some poem. I’m a coarse fellow and don't care for such flowery verses, but those four words, 'Hundred Battles,' truly suited my heart. Baizhan has never left my side for years; it has tasted the blood of countless enemies. Today, I’ve brought this old brother out to meet you, Your Highness."
With a flick of his wrist, the saber sang as it left its sheath. The blade sliced through the lingering mist, and even before Meng Chen took a stance, the air seemed to vibrate with the phantom thunder of iron hooves galloping through the cold. Xin Yi’s spirit surged, his gaze locking onto the weapon, unable to look away.
A blade is like its master; its edge follows its owner’s soul. This saber was three feet long, with a thick spine and a heavy back. Due to years of use, the hilt showed signs of significant wear. Most distinct was the depth of its edge; were it any shorter, it could have been mistaken for a battle-axe. Meng Chen was a man of great strength, yet even he required two hands to wield it properly. The weapon truly lived up to the name 'Hundred Battles'—its form was perfected for the brutal work of hacking and cleaving, designed to shatter bone as easily as it parted flesh.
Meng Chen slid into a low stance, his voice dropping an octave. "Your Highness, if you please!"
Xin Yi was unarmed; his task was to seize the blade. Given the weapon’s immense weight, one might assume Meng Chen would be slow to maneuver. Yet, when Xin Yi charged, he found the man and the blade were a singular, indomitable entity, as immovable as a mountain peak. There was simply no opening to exploit.
Xin Yi shed his heavy cloak, tossing it aside into the dirt. The last of the autumn mist had finally burned away.
***
When Xin Yi returned to his courtyard later that day, Xiao Jin was nowhere to be found. Seeing a golden pheasant strutting beneath the trees, Xin Yi understood why. Xiao Jin often sneaked onto the veranda for a stroll, but ever since he discovered the manor housed not only the dog Chichi but also these birds, his visits had become rare and fraught with caution. For a commander of the guards, he was pathetically terrified of poultry.
Chichi scurried out from under the veranda, circling Xin Yi’s feet with frantic energy. Xin Yi leaned down to rub the dog’s head but didn't pick him up. The simple act of bending over sent a sharp, clicking pain through his shoulder blades. With Chichi—a tiny ball of black fur—tugging at the hem of his robes, Xin Yi dragged himself into the house.
Bai Jiu had not yet returned. The small desk atop the daybed was piled high with scrolls and dossiers intended for Xin Yi. Some were from Bai Jiu’s own subordinates, while many others were transcriptions from the Court of Judicial Review. Though Xin Yi had not stepped foot outside the manor for half a month, his days were grueling. Every morning began with a grueling session on the training grounds with Meng Chen. After a brief half-hour nap at noon, the afternoon was consumed by Bai Jiu’s examinations on the dossiers and discussions of cold cases. It was fortunate that their nightly intimacies stopped just short of the final line; otherwise, Xin Yi feared his clear eyes would have long since turned bloodshot from exhaustion.
Yet, as the saying goes, no effort is ever wasted. Xin Yi felt he had gained more in this fortnight than in all his previous years of simply knowing how to throw a punch.
After washing and changing into clean robes, he heard the sound of Bai Jiu’s return. Xin Yi hurried out, lifting the curtain just as Bai Jiu arrived. A brilliant, radiant smile broke across his face. Bai Jiu caught the curtain for him, momentarily dazed by the sheer warmth of that smile. He leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of Xin Yi’s nose before leading him inside. Outside, Old Qu wisely refrained from following, instead hurrying the servants to bring in the midday meal.
The moment the curtain fell, Bai Jiu pulled the youth into a full embrace. His hands wandered slowly over Xin Yi’s body, probing. "How was this morning?" When his hand reached Xin Yi’s shoulder, he heard a sharp intake of breath. The probing touch immediately turned into a soothing rub. "How did you get injured again?"
"I’ve moved on from horsemanship to saber techniques," Xin Yi said, exhaling slowly as he leaned comfortably into the other man’s chest. "My moves are clumsy. It will be better in a few days." He paused, then asked, "How was Prince Qin today?"
"The same as always." Bai Jiu massaged the shoulder with one hand while taking Xin Yi’s right hand with the other. Lifting it, he saw a dark patch of bruising. His narrow eyes darkened, and his thumb brushed over the skin in silence.
Xin Yi looked up, his bright eyes searching Bai Jiu’s. "You said you wouldn't interfere in this."
Bai Jiu lowered his head, resting his forehead against Xin Yi’s. He chuckled softly. "When did I say that?"
Xin Yi’s face flushed a deep scarlet, his tongue tripping over the words. "Just... just a few... nights ago."
"Is that so?" Bai Jiu’s gaze pressed in with a lazy, heavy intensity. "I don't seem to recall. Where was this said?"
"In... in the... bed."
"Ah." Bai Jiu drew out the syllable in a languid drawl. "That was only a promise for that specific night. That was a long time ago."
"You... you didn't... you didn't say that..." Xin Yi stammered.
"Then what did I say?" Bai Jiu asked with mock humility. "Recite it for me, word for word."
Xin Yi tucked his head like a cat, his cheeks puffing out as he fell silent, his skin as hot as a small stove. Bai Jiu, feigning ignorance, let his fingertips graze the shell of Xin Yi’s ear. "My memory is failing me. Aren't children supposed to have better memories? Tell me, I’m listening."
Speechless, Xin Yi reached up with both hands to pinch Bai Jiu’s cheeks, refusing to open his mouth. Bai Jiu allowed the fingers to wreak havoc on his face, laughing softly against the youth’s ear. "If you want me to stay out of it, we can certainly negotiate. But it depends on how you negotiate. Pleading with teary eyes won't work, nor will calling me 'Lordship.' You’ve heard so many indecent things lately; now would be a fitting time to use them." He spoke with the exact same teasing tone he had used that night, finally whispering, "Xiao Yi took it so well... I only promised for that one time."
Xin Yi clamped a hand over Bai Jiu’s mouth, his face burning so fiercely he wished the man would return to the cold, icy persona he showed the world. Bai Jiu only laughed, pecking the center of the boy’s palm.
"That was then. Today, I naturally must interfere. After we eat, I’ll rub out those bruises for you. You’ll nap, and then we shall discuss today’s cases."
Xin Yi nodded frantically. "I’ll listen to you."
Bai Jiu laughed again, pulling him into a fierce, crushing hug. "Don't act spoiled."
Xin Yi said nothing, silently allowing the man to nuzzle against his cheek. His ears were scorching, and his face grew even redder under the affection.
During the meal, a small bamboo steamer of hot rice sat on the low table. Since he had started training with Meng Chen, Xin Yi’s appetite had begun to rival the commander’s, perhaps even threatening to surpass it. He had always been a hearty eater, but now it was almost frightening. Old Qu, thinking the Heir was still at an age for growth, constantly pressured the kitchen to provide tonics and supplements, hoping the boy would grow sturdier and taller. Bai Jiu still stood a full head taller than him; it would take several years of growth spurts to catch up.
After the meal, Bai Jiu began to treat the bruises. Xin Yi stripped off his upper garments and lay prone on the bed. It was only then that Bai Jiu saw the extent of the damage—bruises mottled his entire back. Bai Jiu’s brows knit tightly, but he didn't say a word. Training with Meng Chen was Xin Yi’s own choice. Though the boy claimed he wanted nothing to do with Beiyang’s affairs, that was his home. His father and brothers had spent their lives shedding blood for that land, and he carried his own silent devotion in his heart. If he didn't speak of it, no one could tell him to stop because of pain or exhaustion. To do so would be to belittle him, to insult his pride, and to pierce his heart. Bai Jiu had never suggested he quit; he merely let the heartache churn in his chest, fighting the urge to kick Meng Chen out, summon Ji Baiyue to take over, and hide Xin Yi away in his arms to be pampered and protected.
Bai Jiu’s hands were meticulous. Xin Yi, lying on his stomach, asked with a smile, "Am I getting sturdier?"
Bai Jiu hummed in affirmation, his hand skimming over the youth’s waist. "I can still span it with one hand, but you are certainly more powerful."
Xin Yi rested his chin on the pillow. The touch tickled, making him chuckle. "No one has a waist that thin."
Bai Jiu’s fingertips slid along the inner curve of the waist, feeling the tightening musculature. In this short time, Xin Yi hadn't gained weight, but he had hardened; even the lines of his abdominal muscles were becoming defined.
The more Bai Jiu touched, the more Xin Yi laughed. But wherever those fingertips passed, a searing, numbing heat followed. Xin Yi’s laughter gradually subsided, his breathing becoming uneven. Bai Jiu stopped, looming over him, bracing himself on his arms. "Turn your head."
Xin Yi turned, dazed, and Bai Jiu kissed him with a sudden, predatory intensity, as if he meant to swallow him whole. Xin Yi’s tongue went numb under the onslaught. He let out a muffled gasp as Bai Jiu flipped him over, pinning him beneath his weight, the kiss turning feral and heated.
When he was finally released, Xin Yi’s face was flushed, yet he began to laugh again. Bai Jiu leaned down to nip at his neck. "What are you laughing at?"
The bite sent a shiver through him. Xin Yi squinted, his voice trembling. "Every time... every time we try to apply medicine, something happens..."
"And so you keep getting hurt just to make me apply it." Bai Jiu pulled a quilt over him, wrapping him up and pulling him into his arms. "Who taught you such wicked ways of seduction?"
Xin Yi chuckled softly. "My Lord... My Lord taught me well."
Bai Jiu ruffled his hair and gave his forehead a light flick. "Sleep for a while. I’ll wake you when it’s time."
Xin Yi nodded, pressing his face against Bai Jiu’s chest, lulled by the warmth. Bai Jiu closed his eyes as well, his hand rhythmically patting the youth’s back. Before long, Xin Yi was fast asleep. Bai Jiu’s hand didn't stop, continuing the gentle, steady patting.
***
Outside, a rider spurred his horse toward the palace gates. From his vantage point at Xiaoxiao Pavilion, Xiao Jin—who was currently stuffing his face—spotted the "Dream Boat" insignia embroidered on the rider’s lapel. He shoved the last bite of a sweet bun into his mouth, tossed a few silver coins to his subordinate, and said, "Go to the Pingding Manor. Tell the Prince of Pacification: the tiger is returning to the mountain."
The subordinate hurried off. Xiao Jin picked up a handful of pine nuts and leaned against the railing, tossing them into the air and catching them in his mouth. Despite his youthful, "baby-faced" appearance, his mind was heavy with thought, making it hard to tell if he was contemplating or merely brooding. As he watched his subordinate ride off, a familiar figure ascended the stairs.
"Hey!" Xiao Jin waved. "Isn't this Lord He? What brings you to a place like this?"
*Shouldn't a member of the 'Pure Stream' faction be at Buer Teahouse drinking tea?* he wondered. *What is he doing at Xiaoxiao Pavilion?*
He Anchang looked up and saw him. Since the elder Lord He had been friends with the Marquis of Huiyang, He Anchang walked over to offer a greeting.
As the cold, aloof official approached, Xiao Jin couldn't help but pull his robes tighter and shiver. Seeing He Anchang carrying a plate of buns, he asked curiously, "Lord He likes the buns here?" He leaned in for a look. "Aren't those red bean paste?"
He Anchang ate one with such poise and elegance that Xiao Jin—who usually engaged in eating contests with Xin Yi—felt his scalp go numb. He had always thought He Anchang was extraordinary—extraordinarily stiff. Not just in the capital, but in all of Great Lan, few could match his rigid decorum. But Xiao Jin had been terrified of this type since childhood: men who looked refined and cold but possessed a heart of pure, uncompromising fire—men who would shoulder the weight of the world and sacrifice themselves for the common good at the drop of a hat.
He was terrified of him, more so than of Chichi or the pheasants.
He Anchang, oblivious to Xiao Jin’s internal monologue, finished the bun and looked away, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
Xiao Jin tossed a pine nut. "These are the best bean buns in the capital. You won't find them anywhere else."
"They are not good," He Anchang said after trying another. "Not good at all."
Xiao Jin stared. "Is your tongue... ahem, I mean, you have discerning taste. These buns... Jingsheng-ge—that is, Lord Xie Jingsheng—they’re his favorite. Back in Qingping, he used to nag my sister every day, saying she couldn't get the flavor right. You really think they’re bad? Maybe you should try my sister’s cooking sometime."
He Anchang’s hand froze mid-reach. He turned his gaze to Xiao Jin. "Xie Jingsheng?"
Under that gaze, Xiao Jin instinctively pulled his legs in and straightened his back, looking like a student before a stern schoolmaster. "Yes, him." Then, remembering that He Anchang and Xie Jingsheng had never gotten along, he added quickly, "That old rogue."
He Anchang’s brow twitched, a ripple of emotion crossing his expressionless face. "Old rogue?"
Xiao Jin sat even straighter. "Yes, he..."
"What did he do in Qingping?" He Anchang’s hand moved again, picking up another bun.
"He... he flirted with the local girls..." Xiao Jin couldn't actually remember what Xie Jingsheng did; he had been too busy causing his own trouble in Qingping. His brain stalled, and he began to babble nonsense.
He Anchang chewed the bun slowly.
"Oh, and he provoked the local ruffians."
He Anchang chewed even more slowly.
"He was always helping the young widow across the street carry things..." Seeing He Anchang eating a bun as if he were consuming a person, Xiao Jin’s skin broke out in goosebumps. He stood up, trembling, to take his leave. "Lord... Lord He, I... it’s time for my shift at the Capital Guard Commandery..."
He Anchang calmly handed him a bun, as if offering a reward. "Go then. Eat your fill."
Xiao Jin took the bun with both hands and retreated. Just as he mounted his horse to leave, he heard an old man nearby exclaim, "Oh? Who is that up there?"
A refined man supporting the white-haired elder looked up. "That is Lord He of the Secretariat."
"He?" The old man tilted his head, thinking hard. After a moment, he laughed. "Ah, yes. Little He’s son." He looked up at He Anchang with a nostalgic sigh. "For a moment, I thought it was the Marquis of Huiyang."
"You’re getting muddled again, Father. The Marquis has been gone for years..."
Xiao Jin’s horse broke into a gallop. The late autumn wind whipped against his face, cooling the heart that had just begun to warm. The bun in his hand lost its heat. He suddenly pulled the reins, the horse rearing with a sharp neigh, and tossed the bun into a narrow alley. A stray dog lunged for it instantly. Xiao Jin watched the bun disappear, a sudden pang of regret hitting him.
He raised a hand and slapped his own cheek, muttering under his breath, "Pathetic!"
***
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