A chill, sharper than any winter’s blade, settled upon Jian Li’s spirit. Since the ignominious affair of the Imperial Garden Scrolls, Lord Hao’s polite facade had withered. The scion, once a careful study in courtly grace, now wore his disdain like an unfastened sash, openly frayed for all to see.
His favored seat, once a quiet solace beside Jian Li during their shared studies, now lay empty for mere moments before Xiao Mu, the young scholar from the distant southern provinces, filled it. Xiao Mu, with his unassuming manner and guileless eyes, had become Lord Hao’s constant shadow, his presence a dull ache in Jian Li’s chest.
Jian Li’s outward comportment remained a meticulously carved jade, serene and unblemished. Yet, beneath the calm surface, a tempest raged. He yearned for the recognition he felt was his due, the quiet respect he had once commanded, now stolen. Shame gnawed at him, a viper in the silken folds of his robes. He would not, could not, allow himself to appear a pathetic, discarded thing.
The thought of exchanging pleasantries with Lord Hao, as if the rift were merely a trifle, was a mockery Jian Li could not bear. He retreated into himself, a spiral of melancholy his only companion. Sometimes, a flicker of petty vengeance would ignite, brief and hot, but it always guttered, consumed by the demands of decorum.
Lord Hao, a man notorious for his unpredictable temper, now seethed with an open envy Jian Li found childish. The reason, a transparent truth etched in every glance, was Xiao Mu. It was for Xiao Mu that Lord Hao now bore Jian Li such an icy animosity, an animosity that stung more acutely than the former friendship had soothed.
A bitter bile rose in Jian Li’s throat when he thought of Xiao Mu. The young scholar had been no possession of Jian Li’s, yet he had stolen Lord Hao’s companionship and, in doing so, incited Lord Hao’s hatred. The injustice of it curdled Jian Li’s blood. He saw Xiao Mu as a cunning serpent, even if his venom was unintentional.
Logic was a fragile thing against the onslaught of feeling. Blaming Xiao Mu became Jian Li’s anchor, a necessary cruelty to weather his own wretchedness. Yet, Jian Li was a man of calculated steps, a scholar of the empire’s intricate dances. He knew well that Xiao Mu was but a puppet in Lord Hao’s tempestuous grasp. Thus, no hostile glance, no sharp word, ever passed Jian Li’s lips towards the southern scholar.
He harbored too much embarrassment, a deep-seated revulsion at the thought of revealing his own unseemly jealousy. To lose his composure with Xiao Mu would be to paint himself a fool, a desperate claimant. Such an act would only solidify Lord Hao’s disdain and whisper rumors of an “unbecoming attachment” among the courtly observers – a fate far worse than mere estrangement.
“This… this is a torment beyond words.”
Jian Li's fingers tightened on the edge of his writing desk, knuckles stark white against the dark wood. He loathed this suffocating prison of his own making, loathed it more fiercely than Lord Hao’s chilling hatred. A sudden, unwelcome image of Advisor Wei, his blunt and often irritating companion, flickered through his mind. Wei, with his coarse sensibilities, would surely find Jian Li's anguish utterly contemptible.
*“So, Li-ge is just a man with the shadow of the moon upon him, then?”*
The imagined words, dripping with scorn, sent a tremor through Jian Li’s frame. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. The thought of Wei’s knowing, disgusted gaze was a terror, a nausea-inducing image. He would rather perish than allow such a secret to become public.
Friendships at court were fleeting, dictated by the shifting winds of power and favor. As Lord Hao’s disinterest in Jian Li became evident, his former associates gradually melted away. Amusingly, it was Scholar Ming, often a quiet outlier among Advisor Wei’s boisterous circle, who sought Jian Li’s company yesterday with a trivial query.
“Master Jian, Advisor Wei inquired after your whereabouts earlier.”
“Oh? For what purpose?”
“He did not say. Merely sought you.”
Scholar Ming’s eyes, usually downcast, met Jian Li’s for a fleeting moment. It was a clear signal. The unspoken court consensus now placed Jian Li firmly within Advisor Wei’s orbit, far from Lord Hao’s gilded cage.
Yet, the threads to Lord Hao’s faction were not entirely severed. Occasionally, in the training grounds or by chance during morning salutations, polite greetings were exchanged. This was mostly limited to Envoy Chen, a man whose cautious nature was well-known.
“Master Jian, a good morning to you.”
“Envoy Chen. And to you.”
Jian Li recalled an awkward exchange with Envoy Chen, who had leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. His breath carried the faint scent of plum wine.
“Lord Hao has been... unusual of late. The intensity of his regard for Xiao Mu... does it not feel... unseemly?”
Jian Li must have betrayed a flicker of something, a tightening around his lips, for Envoy Chen seemed to take it as agreement. The envoy continued, describing Lord Hao’s possessiveness, how he would press Xiao Mu into the seat beside him, his hand gripping the young scholar’s arm with a desperate fervor.
Jian Li’s jaw tightened. His voice, when it came, was a carefully measured whisper of ice.
“Such matters hold no interest for this humble official.”
Envoy Chen, chastened, recoiled immediately. Lately, the envoy had been observed attempting to ingratiate himself with Advisor Wei’s more pragmatic coterie. He was, it seemed, quietly seeking an exit from Lord Hao’s darkening shadow. Perhaps his whispered confidences were merely a clumsy overture.
Today, as often happened now, it was only Advisor Wei and Jian Li who remained in the secluded study hall, the last of the day’s scholars having departed. Wei leaned against a lacquered pillar, his gaze, a strange mixture of frankness and disinterest, fixed upon Jian Li. Whether he truly saw Jian Li, or merely regarded him as another piece of furniture, remained uncertain. Annoyed, Jian Li turned his head, choosing to ignore the man.
“Li-ge.”
“Advisor Wei?”
“A chilled dew-drop confection, after the bell. The emerald-mint from the imperial kitchens was quite palatable last week.”
Advisor Wei, disregarding Jian Li’s deliberate slight, spoke with a lazy nonchalance. He tossed a polished jade sphere from hand to hand, its rhythmic click echoing softly against the silence of the hall. The sphere bounced erratically, threatening the delicate porcelain vases, yet no one dared utter a word to the advisor.
He possessed a brazen indifference, a selfish disregard for the prevailing atmosphere. Jian Li watched the jade sphere’s chaotic path, his brow furrowed, his patience fraying. His irritation, a rare breach of his usual composure, sharpened his tone.
“The confection you consumed entirely yourself, you mean? Was it not purchased for your sole enjoyment?”
“Not entirely. I merely found the hue pleasing to the eye.”
“And my preference held no sway in your decision?”
“How was I to divine your wishes? You offered no counsel.”
The jade sphere rolled to a stop by the feet of a junior attendant, who hesitated, then awkwardly retrieved it. He placed the cool, smooth stone into Advisor Wei’s outstretched hand. Wei casually spun the sphere between his fingers, offering a dismissive nod to the retreating attendant.
“My gratitude, lesser scribe.”
A truly insufferable temperament. “Lesser scribe, tedious scholar.” Every utterance grated upon Jian Li’s nerves. It defied all reason that a man as boorish as Advisor Wei now spent his days shadowing Jian Li, not Lord Hao. Wei shared meals with him, sat beside him in courtly lectures, and walked with him through the palace gardens. Lord Hao’s company was easily obtainable, should Wei merely seek it.
The thought, a sudden, piercing clarity, compelled Jian Li to speak without his usual careful consideration.
“Why do you no longer seek the company of Lord Hao these days?”
Advisor Wei, in the midst of idly tossing and catching the jade sphere against the wall, froze. He turned to Jian Li, a puzzled frown marring his usually impassive features.
“You broke ties with him,” Wei stated, a simple truth.
“I did?”
“Indeed. You and Lord Hao.”
“I am well aware. I am the one who suffered the rupture. So, how does this concern you?”
“Your pronouncements grow stranger by the day. It concerns me because you are my sworn brother.”
Advisor Wei’s gaze, uncomfortably direct, swept over Jian Li. Unease prickled Jian Li’s skin. He averted his eyes, posing a counter-question.
“Yet, you were also a sworn brother to Lord Hao.”
“Truly, you possess a curious humor. Are you suggesting you are not my sworn brother?”
Wei’s tone was now incredulous, his finger pointing accusingly at Jian Li.
“No, I am your sworn brother. But you were also sworn to Lord Hao. Why, then, do you align yourself with me?”
“Well, because my knowledge of you precedes my acquaintance with him.”
“What peculiar reasoning is this? Our acquaintance began through Lord Hao, did it not?”
“Li-ge. What utter nonsense are you spouting? We shared a bond even in our first year at the Imperial Academy!”
“When was this?”
“Indeed, you are a callous wretch. In the imperial refectory, our gazes met, often and without fail!”
“Ah… those moments.”
“So, was I the sole architect of this camaraderie? You deceiver. That is precisely why, upon finding ourselves in the same study cohort, I approached you first! And you would deny this? Unfathomable. I am truly disheartened.”
“Oh.”
“Unfathomable. Simply… unfathomable. How could you inflict such a slight upon me?”
“Forgive me. I offer my apologies, truly.”
Jian Li mumbled a hasty apology, a sudden, disquieting recollection stirring within him – those awkward, yet undeniably frequent, encounters from their first year. So *that* had been Wei’s interpretation of camaraderie. Jian Li felt a strange sense of being defrauded. How could those charged glances be construed as anything but veiled hostility? Wait, could it be that the first to suggest sharing a meal was not Lord Hao, but… Advisor Wei?
The realization struck Jian Li with the force of a thunderclap, leaving him momentarily stunned. It was unsettling, even shocking. Yet, unwilling to delve further into such intricate emotional tapestries, he merely nodded, feigning understanding.
“Very well, very well. I comprehend. My apologies, Advisor Wei.”
“I was profoundly vexed, just now.”
Advisor Wei glared briefly, then shrugged. Sometimes, the workings of his mind remained an impenetrable labyrinth to Jian Li.
“And furthermore, Lord Hao behaves with truly unsettling abandon these days.”
“…”
“The man is utterly consumed by some madness. He has always been somewhat unpredictable, but this… this surpasses all bounds.”
Wei gripped the jade sphere with four fingers, lazily spinning it around his temple with an index finger. The image conjured thoughts of Envoy Chen and other courtiers who had, with varying degrees of awkwardness, attempted to discuss Lord Hao’s strange fixation. From these fragmented whispers, Jian Li gleaned one clear truth: Lord Hao’s reputation was in precipitous decline.
“Unnatural affection.”
The whispered phrase, the most feared and damning stigma in the Celestial Empire, sent a cold tremor through Jian Li’s being. His body quivered almost imperceptibly at the thought. Simultaneously, a wave of profound relief washed over him – relief that his own secret remained hidden, veiled from the judging eyes of the court. Did this relief signify a self-preservation that outweighed even his lingering affection for Lord Hao? Unease flickered within him. He looked at Advisor Wei’s face, feeling like a heretical priest concealing a forbidden text before the Celestial Emperor himself.
“Indeed, it falls upon me,” Jian Li murmured, a strange laugh, part fear, part derision, escaping his lips. It was a bitter jest. To others, he was now Advisor Wei’s most trusted confidant. In truth, he was no different from any condemned man, branded with an unholy stigma. Only a few moons prior, he had been Lord Hao’s closest companion. And yet, here he was, hiding, having merely evaded the jaws of a filthy trap. He had only avoided capture. That was all.
---
It was the hour of the tiger, before the first blush of dawn. A small, tightly rolled scroll, bound with a thread of common hemp, appeared unexpectedly outside Jian Li’s chamber door. A summons at such a pre-dawn hour. Half-ensnared by sleep, Jian Li wondered if the preceding day’s anxieties were merely a dream’s cruel deception. Even though he had assiduously avoided seeking Lord Hao, his heart still leapt, a frantic bird, at the fleeting thought that the missive might be from him.
He rubbed his eyes, pressing hard against the lingering fog of sleep, and peered at the scroll’s unfamiliar binding. His feelings were a tangled knot. A part of him prayed it was merely a mundane request from a minor ministry, easily dismissed. But as his fingers unrolled the parchment, he knew with a sickening certainty it was not from Lord Hao.
*“Li-ge, forgive this intrusion at such an unseemly hour. Could you grant a moment outside your gates? My deepest apologies. Truly. Just this once. This one time.”*
Lord Hao would never offer such a plaintive apology. Never. Among Jian Li’s peers, only two men addressed him with such informality, and of those two, only one bore such an air of abject desperation. How had Xiao Mu, the timid scholar, even discovered Jian Li’s private residence? The moment he deciphered the message, Jian Li’s face twisted into a scowl. He wanted no part of Xiao Mu. The boy was always an unpleasant presence, a living reminder of Jian Li’s fall from grace.
Yet, despite his every instinct, Jian Li rose from his sleeping mat. His fingers, stiff with the morning chill, fumbled with the fastenings of his outer robes. He walked to the threshold of his chamber but stopped, resting his forehead against the cool, dark wood of the doorframe. A deep sigh escaped his lips, heavy with unspoken burdens.
“A pox upon this…”
It was all so overwhelming, a knot of visceral dread tightening in his gut. No other phrase could capture the intricate, bewildering mess of his emotions. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. He, who prided himself on his vast vocabulary gleaned from countless imperial texts, found himself without a single word to encompass this profound, entangled wretchedness.
It was simply… too complicated.
The hatred he nursed for Xiao Mu, the vivid memory of the boy’s tear-streaked, bruised face from that fateful day, the desperate weeks Jian Li had spent trying to sever the unholy bond between Lord Hao and Xiao Mu – all swirled into a nauseating eddy within him. Biting his lip, Jian Li fiddled with the intricate bronze knob of the door. Then, with a silent oath, he closed his eyes and turned it with a decisive twist.
In the small courtyard, the cold pre-dawn dew clung to the air, a herald of autumn’s sharp embrace. To avoid the wet grass, Jian Li stepped carefully onto the cool, polished marble stones that formed a path. The chill of the hour caused him to draw his jacket tighter around him. His bare toes, peeking from the front of his slippers, carried him across the courtyard, past the skeletal branches of the winter plum, to the ornate front gate.
He paused, a slight click of his tongue, then grasped the heavy bronze handle. The creak of the hinge, mournful in the quiet dawn, made him flinch. He opened the gate slowly, deliberately.
Beyond, illuminated by the faint glow of a distant lantern on the paved street, stood Xiao Mu in his rumpled scholar’s robes. His head hung low, and he idly scrawled invisible characters on the ground with the tip of his shoe, a nervous habit.
“...Xiao Mu.”
At Jian Li’s voice, Xiao Mu’s head snapped up with the speed of a startled deer.
“Li-ge! Li-ge!”