A chill, thin as ancient silk, seeped into Jian Li’s bones. The Imperial Academy, usually a sanctuary of scholarly pursuits, now felt like a vast, hushed mausoleum. Its lacquered wooden floors gleamed with the ghostly reflections of high arched windows, stretching into a labyrinth where whispers carried farther than shouts. Here, amongst the sons of ministers and scholars, a silent, ceaseless struggle for dominance unfolded. Every polished corridor, every sun-dappled courtyard, concealed the stark geometry of power: a pyramid. And Jian Li, bruised and aching beneath his robes, felt himself precariously balanced on its lower slopes.
His left arm throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. Fingers, usually so steady with the brush, trembled slightly as he fumbled with a loose thread on his sleeve. A weak breath hitched in his throat. He looked at the backs of his peers, slumped over their desks. Peach-colored napes, bent heads, a sea of jade-green robes. Ahead, Imperial Tutor Xiao, a man whose placid demeanor belied his razor-sharp intellect, sat reading from a worn bamboo scroll, its slats whispering as he turned a page. Students were either engrossed in their assigned calligraphy practice or, having surrendered to the morning's weight, dozed lightly.
“Awaken, those whose minds wander,” Tutor Xiao’s voice, a calm river, flowed through the hall. He rustled the scroll again.
Fifth period. Jian Li had been attempting the fifteenth character of the prescribed essay on imperial governance. He set his ink-stick down, its dark gleam mocking his wavering resolve. His eyes drifted to the empty seats, two in particular.
Ren Shen’s was vacant. And so was Wei Lin’s, a young scholar from the Eastern Provinces, known for his delicate brushwork and even more delicate constitution. Both were absent, a gaping void that pulsed with unspoken stories. No one expected them tomorrow. Not unless the tremors of the scandal reached an unimaginable peak, or some unforeseen twist entangled their fates further.
Jian Li lowered his gaze, his vision blurring over the intricate strokes of his own flawed characters. The brush felt impossibly heavy.
He had once believed he understood Ren Shen. Had convinced himself he was the one who truly saw the man, beyond the imposing exterior, beyond the reputation. A quiet pride had bloomed in him, a secret comfort, even when Ren Shen had shown favoritism to others, praised their works with a warmth Jian Li yearned for. He had clung to the notion that his deeper insight, his quiet admiration, set him apart.
Propped his chin on his hand. The bitter taste of that self-deception filled his mouth. Such arrogance.
What would people think, if they knew the venomous thoughts that now curdled within him? The answer was chillingly clear. He would be cast down, not merely to the bottom, but beneath the very foundation of the pyramid, trodden into the dust like a discarded, ink-stained scroll. A terrifying prospect, this insidious desire, this yearning for a closeness that was both forbidden and humiliating. It had to be buried deep. So deep that not even Ren Shen could sense its faint tremor. So deep that Jian Li himself might forget its existence.
But Ren Shen had not hidden his desires. Or so the whispers claimed. The entire Academy now knew of Ren Shen’s… *unnatural affection*… the scandalous rumors that had entangled Jian Li himself.
Glanced around, a subtle turn of his head. Everyone remained hunched. Pressed his lips tight. Ahead, in the aisle, a crumpled petition, once pristine, lay forlorn, scuffed with footprints.
Suddenly, as if a watchful eye had caught him, Jian Li buried his head in his desk, feigning exhaustion, mimicking the slumbering students.
Then, slowly, he turned his neck, subtly shifting his gaze. It fell upon the back row, on a figure partially obscured by a raised arm. Lord Xian. His face, half-hidden, appeared carved from pale jade, sharp angles and shadowed hollows. It held a sorrowful, almost deathly pallor.
“...”
Jian Li found himself staring at Lord Xian’s aristocratic profile before his gaze drifted to the exposed wrist. Lord Xian had grown even taller in the past months. The Academy uniform, once a perfect fit, now revealed too much skin. Around one wrist, a simple dark cord, intricately knotted, stood out vividly—a symbol of his family’s ancient, unyielding traditions. Lord Xian, son of the Grand Tutor, embodied the unassailable power of the capital.
Despite his formidable aura, Lord Xian did not exude wealth in the vulgar sense. His eyes, though perpetually shadowed beneath heavy lids, held a sharp, calculating glint. A gauntness marked his cheekbones, lending him a perpetually haunted, yet piercing, aspect. His very presence projected an atmosphere of grim intimidation, devoid of the soft excesses of pampered nobility. Instead, his face spoke of profound deprivation, of a melancholy weight that seemed to have settled deep within him. Combined with his imposing height, he was undeniably the tallest student, it made him doubly formidable.
Yet, Lord Xian’s demeanor often confounded expectations. He seemed indifferent to the fleeting concerns of others, almost as if he actively erased events from his memory. He possessed an air of “detached ownership of nothing,” a quality that paradoxically added to his mystique.
Notably, Lord Xian displayed no conventional regard for wealth. He rarely noted what others spent, nor did he concern himself with their pleas for funds. If the whim struck him, he might casually toss a handful of silver to a nearby supplicant, as if coin held no intrinsic value. Sometimes, he loaned money, only to forget the transaction entirely. Stories circulated of students attempting to repay him, only for Lord Xian to regard them with genuine puzzlement.
Still, his generosity was capricious. He indulged random requests when in a favorable mood, yet coldly refused those truly desperate. Even with his closest allies, Lord Xian could be cutting. Jian Li once overheard an account of how Minister Li’s son, upon seeing Lord Xian’s prized falcon—a creature he rarely displayed—had eagerly reached out to stroke its feathers without permission. Lord Xian had seized his wrist, pushing him away so abruptly that the minister’s son had stumbled to the ground, sprawling like a surprised frog.
At the apex of the social hierarchy, figures like Lord Xian and Ren Shen shared one striking trait: a complete disregard for others’ opinions. This very indifference, in its own way, anchored them to the pyramid’s peak.
Why did they, with their own hands, grant the keys to their world to such uncontrollable predators? No matter how Jian Li pondered it, the irrationality baffled him.
And yet, Lord Xian, heir to the Grand Tutor, spoke often of his family’s ancestral code, a strict regimen of discipline and propriety. He was the type of scholar who memorized entire Confucian classics, yet his actions often bordered on the irreverent. He abstained from drinking and gambling, but his words often lacerated like a sharp blade. The tenets he claimed to follow seemed selectively applied.
They said his family code viewed deviation from natural order as a profound failing. Was that why Ren Shen’s rumored conduct, and Jian Li’s own entanglement, filled Lord Xian with such quiet disdain? Licked his dry lips. A strange sense of relief washed over Jian Li, knowing he hadn't been caught gazing for too long. Had he been, he might have ended up like that trampled petition, discarded and forgotten.
Yet, even in that moment, a desperate question surfaced: if Ren Shen and he had remained as they were, a mentor and his diligent student, would Ren Shen have shielded him? The thought rose, unbidden, dragging with it memories Jian Li desperately wished to suppress. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the wave of nausea that churned in his gut, as though his meager lunch threatened to resurface.
No, of course not.
How laughable, that he had once harbored such a foolish hope. To Ren Shen, he was nothing. A mere academic curiosity, a distraction to pass the time. The truth had been starkly evident in Ren Shen’s eyes during their last encounter, a cold, indifferent gaze as he struck Jian Li down. He had resisted this knowledge, but it had stared him in the face.
Ren Shen sinned openly, if the rumors were true. Jian Li, too, was a sinner—a sinner of ambition, of veiled desires, of a desperate yearning for recognition that bordered on impropriety. But he, Jian Li, hid it. And so, Ren Shen might face the wrath of the Empire, while Jian Li, for now, remained spared.
A faint, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips, barely a whisper against the silence of the hall.
“...So, as long as I don’t get caught, that’s all that matters.”
Perhaps the Celestial Mandate, in its inscrutable wisdom, possessed a personality akin to Lord Xian’s.
His gaze shifted to the desk near the Tutor’s podium. An unusual pang of pity struck him for Wei Lin. Poor soul, caught in the clutches of this unfolding scandal. He had lacked the strength to resist such monstrous, seductive power. Fragile, helpless Wei Lin, so unlike the imposing scholars who usually garnered Ren Shen’s attention. He should have fled the moment the whispers began, fool.
Knew he was not a virtuous man. He was selfish, self-serving, and perhaps this was his deserved punishment. Sometimes, a dark thought flickered: If one must pursue forbidden affections, why not choose someone sly and calculating, like Jian Li himself? At least then, life might be simpler, more navigable. Why fall for someone so innocent, so earnest, only to end up suffering for it?
These days, his thoughts were different.
Yes. Of course no one could ever truly love someone like him. He knew himself too well to believe otherwise.
Once, he had believed he could have it all. Arrogant, conceited Jian Li. Jian Li, who thought he understood the intricate dance of the court at eighteen. Wicked, vile Jian Li. Pitiful Jian Li, who had no one to comfort him, so he endured everything alone.
That day, he could not bring himself to finish the fifteenth character. He used his supposed illness as an excuse to lie slumped over his desk, a single thought echoing in his mind: *At least I am not as ruined as Ren Shen or Wei Lin*.
Rumors about Ren Shen and Wei Lin, and Ren Shen’s alleged proclivities, spread like wildfire through the Academy. Whether they were exaggerated or grounded in truth, no one could say for certain. There was no way to discover the truth. Ren Shen’s own cohort, those scholars who had once orbited him, had scattered, as if ripped out by the roots. The few who remained were too preoccupied with forming new alliances to concern themselves with the fallen, inadvertently fueling the scandalous whispers even further.
“Master Li, pray tell, who held the closest counsel with Scholar Ren?”
“Scholar Ren… ah, that would be Lord Xian.”
Overheard this exchange as he passed by on his way back to the classroom before dismissal. The Homeroom Tutor had asked, and a classmate, eager to please, had answered. Feigning ignorance, Jian Li entered the room. The Tutor glanced nervously between him and Ren Shen’s empty seat, his fingers drumming against the podium. Then, as if abandoning some unspoken inquiry, he announced:
“Let us conclude.”
The moment dismissal ended, Jian Li grabbed his satchel. As he slung it over his shoulder, a hand fell lightly upon his back. Lord Xian.
“Jian Li. Walk with me.”
Looked into his unsettling eyes. He knew. Had always watched Ren Shen and Lord Xian’s every interaction, knew that the one Lord Xian most frequently sought out was Ren Shen. After a brief pause, Jian Li demurred.
“My apologies, Lord Xian. I have urgent studies with my private tutor.”
“Later, then.”
“My evenings are dedicated to calligraphy practice.”
“Unfortunate. Most cling to empty vessels, dragging themselves down.”
“They are your peers.”
“Life demands optimization. Clinging to the tarnished only dulls one’s own luster.”
“Ha.”
Let out a short, hollow laugh at the sheer audacity of it.
Right. This cold pragmatism was why he and Lord Xian, despite their vastly different stations, sometimes found a strange, unsettling kinship. Their twisted values seemed to align in unexpected ways.
“So, those you favor—Master Hu, Scholar Yong—they are ‘tarnished’?”
“If you insist on such terms, then yes, largely. But you are… different.”
The backhanded compliment left Jian Li feeling profoundly uncomfortable.
“What is that supposed to mean? Your words are cruel.”
“No, they are not.”
“You are so cruel.”
“Hmm. The Ancestral Code dictates truthfulness. ‘Speak not falsehoods.’ I merely state what is so, Jian Li.”
Honestly, Lord Xian was worse than Jian Li. At least Jian Li did not so brazenly dismiss his associates as dross.
“That is why I am a man of integrity.”
“...Indeed.”
“Since I am such a man of integrity, may I accompany you to your residence?”
Lord Xian blinked twice, a slow, deliberate movement. Jian Li looked at his unreadable face for a moment before a cold resignation settled over him. He nodded.
“As you wish, Lord Xian.”
As long as Lord Xian did not interfere with Jian Li’s precarious survival, there was no reason to refuse. To secure one’s fragile place in the hierarchy, one sometimes had to endure the company of even greater predators. Lord Xian’s presence, though unsettling, offered a strange, brutal form of protection against the unseen forces swirling through the Academy.
---