A curious unease began to stir within Jian Li. He found himself contemplating the unspoken currents that flowed between Scholar Lin and Lord Xuan after their lectures in the Grand Hall. It was a simple, dangerous curiosity, akin to glimpsing a forbidden scroll, yet it clung to him like the scent of burning incense. From his vantage in the rear of the hall, Jian Li often noted how Scholar Lin would linger, a shadow at the edge of Lord Xuan’s orbit, never quite walking beside him, but always within reach of his presence. The image of Lin, a scholar of notable bearing, trailing Lord Xuan with such silent devotion, settled in Jian Li’s mind. A premonition, cold and sharp, pricked at him. This was a box best left sealed, containing not merely despair, but a cruel, intoxicating hope. Yet, the urge to peer deeper, to understand the intricacies of their entanglement, proved a potent lure. “My mind wanders to ill ports,” Jian Li murmured to himself, the silk of his sleeve cool against his skin. He knew this path was fraught. Still, the following day, he found himself subtly altering his route after the midday pronouncements. He moved with a quietude born of long practice, keeping to the periphery of the courtyards, his gaze fixed on the figures ahead. Scholar Lin walked a respectful distance behind Lord Xuan, his attention unwavering, fixed upon the elder man’s retreating form. The scene was framed by peeling plaster on ancient walls, the glint of rusted bronze on a gate, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun – a tableau of the empire’s forgotten corners. Two men, one leading, one following. And Jian Li, a silent observer from the shadows. The entire spectacle felt… undignified. He turned away. Later, in the hushed solitude of his study, the lamp casting long, dancing shadows, Jian Li found a measure of satisfaction in his retreat. Curiosity was a serpent, but better to turn from its fangs than to suffer its venom. Better not to witness the full bloom of something so ungraceful. He was no fool to pry open the very gates of his own disquiet. Scholar Lin’s devotion to Lord Xuan deepened visibly in the following weeks. Lord Xuan, in turn, bore the weight of this attention with a subtle tension in his shoulders, a slight shift of his gaze that betrayed a growing discomfort. A bitter, almost illicit satisfaction bloomed within Jian Li’s own breast. Lin’s singular focus, though unsettling, at least diverted his gaze from others. At least Jian Li had not attempted to intervene in Lin’s early, clumsy attempts to garner Xuan’s notice. Perhaps this outcome was for the best. Jian Li laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the cool carved wood of his chair. His gaze drifted to the intricate celestial charts etched into the ceiling of his chamber. He had been born to privilege, an only son, spared the vulgar struggles of the marketplace. There was little he had ever been denied. He had believed himself untouchable. “A pox upon it,” he whispered. That illusion shattered the moment his heart, with foolish abandon, entangled itself with Scholar Lin. Lin, in his own way, had exposed the cruel, undeniable truth: not all desires find their fulfillment. And Jian Li suspected Lin, too, was now learning this same bitter lesson. The world, in its vastness, could be unforgivably cruel. He, Jian Li, had learned to master the currents of his own heart, to veil his true sentiments beneath layers of decorum. Scholar Lin, however, was a vessel too full, his emotions too raw, too undisguised in their pursuit of Lord Xuan. That abrupt, almost feral intensity must surely disturb Lord Xuan. Jian Li understood this rawness. He had known similar currents within himself. But while he had endured, Lin had not. Instead of cultivating gentle favor, Lin’s actions bred only reservation. For Jian Li, in his complicated jealousy, this suited his purpose well. “Continue in your blindness, I beg you,” he murmured into the quiet air. Or, perhaps, let Lord Xuan grow weary and depart. Jian Li harbored no illusions of Lin turning to him. This kind of ardent attachment, this burning need, terrified him. One sole wish haunted his solitary hours: for the day to dawn when his own heart no longer ached for Scholar Lin, and for Scholar Lin to find solace elsewhere. That was all. But the Wheel of Fortune, he knew, rarely spun according to such simple desires. Then came another shift. Scholar Lin, with an audacious disregard for established seating, moved his accustomed place in the Grand Lecture Hall. He took the chair directly before the rostrum, the very seat reserved for scholars of junior rank. He now sat directly ahead of Lord Xuan, his tall frame effectively obscuring a part of the master’s view of the teaching screen. The scholar whose seat he displaced, a minor Registrar, stammered a greeting to Jian Li and Scholar Wei, his face a canvas of embarrassment and discomfort. “Esteemed scholars,” he mumbled. Jian Li and Scholar Wei exchanged a brief, understanding glance, offering only a curt nod. The Registrar’s awkward cough hung in the air, unanswered. Neither felt inclined to offer solace. Lin remained silent in his new seat, his back to them, his posture rigid. Jian Li found himself praying – no, desperately wishing – that this stifling tableau of unacknowledged tension could persist, undisturbed, for the remainder of their studies. That someday, this moment would dissolve into a forgotten, indistinct dream. Another subtle alteration manifested. Scholar Lin, whose past escapades in the pleasure houses of the Outer City were once the subject of hushed, admiring whispers, seemed to have curtailed his indulgences. Or so it appeared. From fragments of gossip Scholar Wei gathered, Lin had not ceased entirely, but the swaggering boasts had vanished from his lips, the lingering scent of heady perfumes from his robes. For Jian Li, this was a small mercy. He no longer had to endure the tangible proof of Lin’s worldly appetites. “Lin, are you not indulging in your usual pursuits? Like so?” A student, Hu Jinfeng, swayed his hips with vulgar mimicry, cupping his hands low. Lin’s face tightened with sudden revulsion. He cast a swift, almost imperceptible glance towards Lord Xuan, then his voice, sharp with anger, cut through the murmurs. “Cease that base mockery, you oaf! Have I not commanded you to refrain from such displays?” “Why this sudden modesty, then?” Hu Jinfeng challenged. “If that topic crosses your lips again, Hu Jinfeng, you will regret your birth.” “Indeed, Scholar Lin—” “I said, be silent!” “...As you wish.” The other students, though outwardly deferential, conveyed a palpable disappointment. Lin, with his imposing stature and air of knowing worldliness, had once been the perfect conduit for the burgeoning curiosities of young scholars. His exploits had offered a vicarious thrill. The students in Lin’s usual circle were not novices; they had all navigated the clumsy shores of youthful experience. Compared to the truly innocent, their desires were more easily stirred. With Lin’s tales now absent, their attention shifted towards Scholar Wei. But Wei merely bared his teeth in an expression of pure disdain. “You filth-ridden degenerates.” “Ah, there he goes! Wei, with his usual pronouncements.” “A truly zealous devotee. What a pity.” Laughter rippled through the hall, fleeting and brittle. Most within the inner circle had, at some point, skirted the edges of the forbidden, yet Scholar Wei, for reasons unknown, remained untouched. Though they teased him as a jest, calling him “the Unblemished,” no one genuinely disrespected him. He was Scholar Wei, after all. He carried a certain lightness, a casual indifference that rendered his actions unremarkable and his words easily accepted. Many found this either charming or approachable, noting his demeanor rarely matched his formidable presence. “Cease that menacing glare, you dolt. You’ll have me soiling my robes.” “Indeed, his visage is truly fearsome.” “Do you imbeciles harbor a death wish?” Wei scowled, and the group erupted into laughter, though the jest itself held little humor. Other students, perhaps his outer circle of acquaintances, joined the cacophony with their forced mirth and chatter. Jian Li, seated amidst them, stared blankly at the inkstone upon his desk, lost in his own thoughts. His memory served him true: he had never felt the stirrings of desire for a woman. By that measure, he supposed, his nature was thus inclined from birth. He had felt arousal, certainly, when observing certain forbidden scrolls depicting both men and women, but never had his mind conjured the form of a woman during his solitary moments. The former, it seemed, spoke to the intensity of the scene, while the latter simply affirmed an absence of particular yearning. He had once ventured to a notorious tea house, dragged along by Scholar Lin, but had not even crossed the threshold. He lacked the appropriate tokens for entrance. He had simply waited outside until Lin emerged. Brothels? The very thought curdled his stomach. He could not comprehend the allure. Due to this, the scholars in his circle jokingly called him “Abstinent Jian Li,” but his abstinence, in truth, was a forced reality, shaped by the confines of his own spirit. Jian Li let out a soft sigh. The others were too engrossed in Wei’s sharp retorts to notice. Seizing the moment, he glanced at Scholar Lin, who sat in silent contemplation. Lin’s gaze was, as ever, fixed upon the back of Lord Xuan’s head, as Xuan diligently consulted a text across the room. And, as always, Jian Li regretted the glance. Why had he looked? Why had curiosity ensnared him again? To distract himself, he posed a question to Scholar Wei, a question born of disquiet. “Scholar Wei, do you truly intend to remain chaste until the rites of marriage are performed?” Wei, sprawled in his chair with an air of careless ease, suddenly directed his gaze towards Jian Li’s lower half. The intensity was so startling that Jian Li instinctively crossed his legs, a shield against the unwarranted scrutiny. What in the celestial heavens? “You are not my betrothed, why does it concern you? What, are you offering yourself?” A silence, thick and sudden. Of course. Wei always laced his humor with a biting edge. The others laughed. Jian Li kicked Wei in the shin under the table. Such were the rhythms of his days—over and over again, an endless repetition. --- In the quiet sanctity of his own chambers, where solitude often reigned, Jian Li frequently found himself lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, contemplating countless scenarios. Inevitably, these musings sometimes drifted into strange, fantastical paths. Today, he wondered what might have transpired had his affections turned towards Scholar Wei instead of Scholar Lin. It seemed, in the abstract, a less tortuous path. If he had loved Wei, he would have been spared the lacerations caused by Lin’s obsessive dance around Lord Xuan. Even so, his heart would still ache. Neither Scholar Lin nor Scholar Wei would ever return such a sentiment, after all. But at least his soul would not be consumed by the shadow of Lord Xuan. This train of thought spiraled into feelings of inadequacy and a quiet, simmering anger. In the end, he simply yearned for the day he would graduate, to become a mere stranger to Scholar Lin, adrift in the vastness of the empire. --- At some indeterminate point, Jian Li had begun, unconsciously, to place his hands beneath his desk whenever he sat. This habit had taken root firmly in his middle years of schooling, and its genesis was always the same – other men. As he idly traced the intricate carving on the wooden buckle of his ink pouch, his mind drifted. Should he? Or should he not? The faint, dry click of his nail against the seasoned wood filled the quiet room. Just as he applied a deliberate pressure to unfasten the pouch, a soft rap sounded at his chamber door. “Jian Li, are you deep in study?” “...Ah, no! I mean, yes! I am!” His heart leaped into his throat. This was clearly not the auspicious moment. Mortified, he buried his face in his arms. Confound it all. --- Lately, Scholar Lin’s actions grated upon Jian Li’s nerves with increasing frequency. Sometimes, when Lord Xuan’s gaze, fleeting and polite, fell upon Jian Li, Lin would deliberately interject, initiating a conversation with Xuan. Xuan, caught in the awkward space between them, would flick his eyes towards Jian Li, his lips parting as if to speak, only to press them together again. Then, as if wary of Lin’s potent presence, he would lower his head, responding in the faintest of voices. “Indeed… so it is.” Just so. Lord Xuan subtly sought out Jian Li more often now, and had even begun to address him with a familiar ease: “A’Li.” Aside from his closest family, almost no one used such a familiar diminutive, making the change a noticeable one. Xuan seemed to believe his caution made the gesture subtle, but it was not. The most aggravating part was Lin’s inability to conceal his profound discomfort whenever Xuan made any gesture of familiarity towards Jian Li. “Lord Xuan, please cease to trouble Scholar Jian Li while he is at his texts.” “Pardon?” “I bid you to leave him undisturbed. Is my meaning unclear?” “Oh… uh, indeed… my apologies…” When Xuan stammered and averted his gaze, Lin, with an immature vehemence, slammed his fist against the leg of the desk beside him. Jian Li pretended not to notice. Annoyingly, the guileless Lord Xuan appeared to believe that Lin no longer harbored any objection to his use of “A’Li.” He grew bold, using the familiar address with increasing casualness, as if it were now the accepted norm. “Ah, A’Li… my apologies for interrupting your concentration.” Jian Li stiffened, staring at Xuan in disbelief. Was Xuan so oblivious? Lin sat right there, a simmering storm. Sure enough, Lin pounded his fist on the desk leg again. Confound it all. “Hear me, Lord Xuan!” “...What is it?” The air around them soured instantly. “I warned you.” Lin’s anger was blatant, raw. “I told you not to use that familiar address, did I not?” “...W-well…” “His name is Scholar Jian Li. Refer to him by his full, proper title.” Lin’s gaze, sharp and almost predatory, swung towards Jian Li. Jian Li detested that look and instinctively lowered his head. At that very moment, Scholar Wei, seated beside him, casually draped an arm over Jian Li’s shoulder. His low, distinctive voice murmured close to Jian Li’s ear. “Scholar Lin, if you persist in this folly, you will truly seal your own undoing.” “What insolence do you utter?” “I speak of regret, scholar.” Wei smirked, and Jian Li felt a flicker of irritation. For one reason alone. “Scholar Lin,

The Unspoken Bloom