Jian Li possessed a formidable, almost unnatural, self-possession. His existence, a carefully cultivated orchid within the Imperial Academy, had been pruned and shaped by his parents’ exacting hands. He recoiled from the very notion of baring his vulnerabilities, a weakness he deemed worse than any physical wound. Thus, even when faced with tempests of emotion, his demeanor remained as unruffled as a still pond.
Such composure often led others to view him as a figure of quiet dullness, incapable of true passion or ire. Yet, it was not an absence of feeling, but a deep-seated refusal to let any disturbance ripple his surface. Each past sorrow, every slight endured, had forged another layer upon a protective shell. Over seasons, it grew thick, almost impenetrable; few external forces could truly pierce it.
This held true even for the volatile orbits of Lord Xuan’s inner circle.
Such resilience allowed Jian Li to maintain a respectable, if peripheral, position within that coveted company. His parents, knowing him to be a diligent son, held no cause for concern. To preserve his painstakingly built standing, however humble, remained his paramount desire.
“Li, do you never weary of such earnest company?”
“Master Ren, my duties afford little time for frivolity.”
“A pity. Your brow often seems carved from polished jade. A moment of true mirth might soften it.”
“As might a moment of quiet reflection soften your restless spirit.”
Master Ren merely chuckled, idly tracing patterns on the polished jade worry-stone he perpetually held. His taunts, sharp as they were, rarely found purchase. Lord Xuan, for all his boorishness, had always found Master Ren’s irreverence amusing, a jester granted unusual leeway.
“Still, Ren, you know many a promising acolyte. None among them catch your eye for… deeper companionship?” Lord Xuan’s voice, a low rumble, broke through the afternoon quiet of the Orchid Pavilion. He lounged on a silken cushion, his gaze, however, lingered on a distant, unassuming figure bent over a scroll at the far end of the hall.
“What manner of companionship do you seek, my Lord?” Master Ren asked, a sly glint in his eyes.
“One with spirit, perhaps. A gentle mien, a youthful grace.” Lord Xuan’s words were laced with an unspoken intent, as obvious as a banner unfurled in a stiff wind. Since his adolescence, Lord Xuan had been a creature of raw impulse, his desires unrestrained by the niceties of courtly expectation. His harassment, lacking all subtlety, grew only more brazen with each passing month.
By this late summer, Scholar Lin, the subject of Lord Xuan’s attention, had been utterly isolated. But even such complete ostracism seemed insufficient to satisfy Lord Xuan’s capricious nature.
Lord Xuan’s immediate companions, acolytes Chen and Bai, for instance, would always linger, awaiting his lead. Other acolytes, however, would vanish the instant the midday gong sounded, fleeing the pavilion’s oppressive air.
In his first year, Jian Li had been part of Lord Xuan’s closer coterie. But by the second, that changed. Acolyte Chen had once remarked, “Li takes his repast with Master Ren now, does he not? Such a deliberate eater.” Without a word from Jian Li, he found himself subtly excluded.
Most galling was Lord Xuan’s utter indifference. Whether Jian Li remained or departed made no difference to him. A bitter tang rose in Jian Li’s throat. He had once, hesitantly, queried Lord Xuan:
“Am I truly so slow in my repasts?”
“Naturally. You sit, chewing like an aged ox, while the rest of us conclude within minutes.”
“Indeed, we are often late for our Go matches because of your measured pace.”
“…Ah.”
“We have a challenge against the Jade Dragon cohort today. Take your repast with Master Ren.”
His pride, a fragile thing, forbade him from pleading. Besides, the constant indigestion of his first year had likely stemmed from his hurried attempts to keep pace. And the thought of clinging to Lord Xuan like barnacles to a ship’s hull disgusted even him. So, he offered no protest, no plea.
Just like that, he was out. His will, his desires, mattered not at all.
Feigning indifference, he met Master Ren’s gaze across the emptying pavilion. Master Ren, stretched languidly across his desk, idly flicking his jade worry-stone, merely observed him before asking, his tone a casual ripple:
“When do you intend to partake of your midday meal?”
“…”
“I generally wait for the second bell, some ten minutes hence.”
“Yes, that suits me well.”
In truth, Jian Li had never observed such a schedule. But his survival instincts, honed by years within the Academy’s subtle hierarchies, demanded adaptation. If he wished to remain within any circle, even Master Ren’s, he must conform. The first time he shared his repast with Master Ren alone, he left half his food untouched, citing a sudden lack of appetite. Master Ren, observing him with an arched brow, remarked:
“Do you, at your age, still possess the palate of a fussy child?”
“What concern is that of yours?”
“Truly, you are like a pampered infant.”
“Even esteemed adults do not partake of steamed river eels with a cloying honey glaze,” Jian Li retorted, glaring. The man’s presumptions grated on his nerves.
During their first year, Jian Li and Lord Xuan had been nearly inseparable. But by the second, those moments had dwindled, largely due to Master Ren’s presence. Yet, Jian Li held no right to complain; Master Ren, by birthright and temperament, outranked him.
Master Ren and Lord Xuan’s circles often overlapped, a chaotic mix of scions from powerful houses and lesser acolytes who chafed against rigid expectations. These were the kind who would forge dismissal chits or vanish from lessons, exploiting the lax attention of tutors too comfortable in their own positions to verify attendance.
Lord Xuan, ever mindful of his parents’ watchful eyes, usually remained until the end of formal instruction. As for Master Ren, whose reputation for mischief was nearly as notorious, Jian Li had once dared to ask why he bothered to remain.
“Do you truly believe me so pathetic?”
“No, but your companions… they often shirk their duties.”
“Companions? What nonsense is that? They are not my companions. They are dross.”
“What?”
“An acolyte’s duty is to attend lessons and acquire knowledge, is it not?”
“…That is true.”
“Do not lump me with such dross. It vexes me greatly.”
“Forgive me.”
“I sought not an apology.”
Master Ren’s statement, while entirely reasonable, rang with absurdity, coming from a man whose so-called friends skipped lessons weekly. Regardless, Jian Li spent most of his second year in their shared orbit. He considered it a sacred space, one no other acolyte dared intrude upon. It would have been perfect without Master Ren, yet, surprisingly, they found a strange equilibrium. Jian Li did not like him, but neither was he so intolerable as to provoke an outright departure. He was merely… annoying.
But Scholar Lin’s presence soon turned even those days into a quiet torment.
Today, however, felt subtly different from the usual. A faint rustle of anxiety stirred within Jian Li.
“Damn them. Acolytes Chen and Bai, those useless brutes,” Lord Xuan cursed, clutching his head as the fourth period neared its close. His voice, edged with frustration, cut through the quiet. Hearing it, Jian Li turned, a flicker of anticipation stirring within him, and asked:
“Have they absconded again, my Lord?”
“Worthless dolts.”
“A regrettable turn. With whom will my Lord take his midday repast?”
Jian Li’s fingers, gripping the back of his chair, trembled almost imperceptibly. A tendril of hope, delicate as a spider’s silk, unwound within his chest. Lord Xuan sighed heavily, then turned to Master Ren, who sat beside him.
“Ren, I shall join your table today.”
“Do not. No one issued an invitation,” Master Ren replied, blunt as an unpolished stone.
“Continue to wag that insolent tongue, and I shall see it silenced.”
“Gods, today’s vexations truly tempt me to strike your countenance, Lord Xuan.”
“Dare you attempt it, fool?”
“Brave words for one who would otherwise sup alone.”
Jian Li could hold back no longer. He interjected, his voice carefully controlled, yet betraying a tremor. “Come, let us all partake together. We cannot allow my Lord Xuan to dine in solitude.”
His desperation, he knew, must be evident. Lord Xuan smirked, a triumphant gleam in his eyes, and glanced at Master Ren with a sly grin. “You see? I possess truly devoted companions.”
“…”
“What say you, Ren? Is Li not quite… useful?”
Master Ren merely scowled, sweeping Lord Xuan’s writing brush-pot from the desk with an audible clatter. Whether Master Ren held any affection for Jian Li mattered little. What mattered was that Lord Xuan would join them for the midday repast.
It had been so long since they had shared a meal. Jian Li felt a thrill so profound he forced himself to consume dishes he normally disdained. Yet, Lord Xuan paid little heed to his own food. His eyes, like a hawk searching for prey, scanned the length of the pavilion. Jian Li, engrossed in Lord Xuan’s movements, did not notice Master Ren casually pilfering sweetmeats from his own tray. Then, without warning, Lord Xuan’s chopsticks clattered to the floor, his free hand seizing the arm of someone passing nearby.
Looking up, Jian Li saw it was Scholar Lin.
“Sit here,” Lord Xuan commanded, indicating the empty seat beside him. “You have no other companions, in any case.”
Scholar Lin’s face flushed crimson. His eyes darted nervously, settling briefly on Jian Li before he bit his lip and slowly, reluctantly, took the seat Lord Xuan had indicated.
Jian Li felt a cold shock. He was dumbfounded. Since when did Lord Xuan concern himself with Scholar Lin’s lack of companions? And the very reason Scholar Lin had no companions was entirely Lord Xuan’s doing. Lord Xuan utterly abhorred anyone who dared approach Scholar Lin.
A bitter, acrid taste filled Jian Li’s mouth.
Unconsciously, Jian Li slammed his teacup onto its saucer. The sound, sharp and jarring, echoed through the suddenly hushed air. Only Scholar Lin reacted, flinching and glancing nervously at Jian Li. Lord Xuan, however, remained fixated on Scholar Lin, utterly oblivious. Damnation. At that moment, Jian Li felt the protective shell he had so painstakingly constructed over years begin to splinter. He tried to halt it, to maintain his carefully wrought composure, but he could not. Perhaps he had reached a breaking point he had never known existed.
Clinging desperately to denial, Jian Li snapped at Scholar Lin. “Scholar Lin. You may leave.”
“H-huh?”
“Do not heed Lord Xuan. Depart. It is permissible.”
“Li,” Lord Xuan’s voice, dangerously low, cut through the air.
When Jian Li told Scholar Lin he could leave, Lord Xuan, who had ignored the jarring sound of the teacup, finally ground his teeth and glared. That glare, however, only solidified Jian Li’s resolve. He fixed his gaze stubbornly on Scholar Lin.
“I shall attend to this. You may go.”
“Ah, o-okay.”
“And my Lord Xuan, cease this charade at once.”
“Indeed, I concur,” Master Ren chimed in, his words muffled by a mouthful of candied ginger. His sudden interjection felt entirely misplaced. He chewed and swallowed with deliberate slowness, then glanced between Jian Li and Lord Xuan, an irritating smirk playing on his lips. “What are you staring at? You are quite spoiling my appetite.”
As always, Master Ren’s unnecessary provocations grated on Jian Li’s nerves. That man was insufferable, no matter the circumstance. Ignoring him, Jian Li turned back to Lord Xuan. “Leave Scholar Lin be.”
“Who are you, insignificant acolyte, to dictate my actions?” Lord Xuan shot back.
“It is an annoyance for the rest of us to witness.”
Jian Li did not blink as he met Lord Xuan’s furious gaze. Lord Xuan slammed his fist upon the low table. The sudden impact made Scholar Lin, who sat awkwardly, flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. Master Ren, on the other hand, chuckled lazily, raising a hand as if in surrender.
“Count me out of this.” He took a languid sip of tea, then added, “Let us decide by consensus. I am neutral. Li wishes him gone. Lord Xuan insists he remains.”
Master Ren was one of the few who called him “Li,” a casual familiarity Jian Li found irritating every single time. That irritation, sharp as a needle-prick, slipped into his tone now. “Cease your meddling. Your vote possesses no weight.”
“Why not? There is another person right here.” Master Ren, unfazed, smirked and pointed at Scholar Lin, gesturing with a casual flick of his hand. “What? Is Scholar Lin not a person?”
“You are deranged.”
“Why does he remain silent? Allow him to voice his own desires.”
As if Scholar Lin could possibly speak in this charged atmosphere. Jian Li sighed at Master Ren’s thoughtless antics, picked up his spoon, and idly stirred his rice. Just then, Lord Xuan tapped his finger on the table.
“If you declare your departure, you are a dead man from this moment forth.”
Tears began to well in Scholar Lin’s large eyes, which glimmered as he looked at Jian Li, pleading for succor. Damnation. Jian Li pressed his lips together, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “It is well. I shall prevent him,” he said, trying to reassure Scholar Lin.
“Li,” Lord Xuan growled, his voice tight with barely contained fury. Jian Li forced himself to meet his gaze, feigning a calm he did not possess, but felt an overwhelming urge to shatter. To suppress it, he looked up at the intricate carvings of the pavilion ceiling for a brief moment before lowering his head and replying, his voice almost nonchalant, “What?”
“You…”
Lord Xuan clenched his fist, glaring with an intensity that felt as though it could burn through Jian Li’s very being. Still, Jian Li had to endure. His instincts screamed that he could not abandon Scholar Lin to Lord Xuan’s caprice. Yet, Lord Xuan’s focus shifted back to Scholar Lin.
“I-I will go,” Scholar Lin stammered, his voice trembling.
“…”
“Th-thank you, Li.”
Scholar Lin hurriedly rose and departed, his footsteps unsteady, almost a shuffle. As soon as he was gone, Lord Xuan turned abruptly, his gaze like a viper’s. He now fixed his full, terrible attention upon Jian Li.