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On his first day in Xianzhou Luofu, Yingxing commits a felony.
Not on purpose—it happens entirely by accident. He’s making his way from Exalting Sanctum to his new workshop in the Artisanship Commission, mulling over a quandary with one of his projects when he has a breakthrough, the idea seizing his mind. Whipping out his jade abacus, he rapidly types in design specifications, sparing only enough attention on the road to make sure he doesn’t run into anyone—he has drafting-on-the-go down to a science by now. But when he finishes the calculations, lifting his head from the abacus, he finds himself nowhere near the paved road he had been walking. Instead, he is standing in the midst of a forest of bamboo trees.
“Where on Xianzhou is this?” Did he wander into a private garden somehow?
There’s a faint trail beneath his boots. He’ll just turn around and follow it back out.
Or, that was the plan, but the trail forks into two, he takes the left, and then into three, no footprints on any of them to indicate which had been recently trod. He checks his jade abacus—still working, but no signal. Looking around, he can’t see a single sign of civilization, only the swaying bamboo trunks, the canopy of their leaves overhead so thick that it blots out the sun. There are no voices to follow, no sounds of the city, only the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves and the chirping of small critters.
“First day here and I’m already spectacularly lost.”
Sighing, he takes out a pocket knife, scoring the bamboo lightly to mark his path. As he walks along, studying his surroundings, there seems to be something inorganic about this place. Odd geometric patterns in the placement of the rocks in areas, the mathematically precise distance between trees. He confirms the strangeness when, on doubling back, he finds no marked bamboo at the previous fork in the road, and a different branching configuration of the path to boot.
Yingxing swallows.
Steadying himself, he thinks it over logically. “Some kind of illusion or array?” If it’s a mechanism… he can figure it out. “If not, I’m fucked.” Going forward, he pays meticulous attention to his surroundings, moving half on intuition, analysis of the strange patterns running in the back of his mind. He’s not sure how long he’s been walking but the sky has darkened and he’s started to feel thirsty when he hears it—the sound of a guqin.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” He calls out. There is no reply and mysteriously, he can’t pinpoint where the music is coming from. It does give him a vague direction though, so he follows the melody, beautiful but sombre, still scrutinizing the landscape for those patterns—in the stones, the flora, the fallen leaves. He’s more wary than relieved when the strum of the strings gets louder, uncertain of who—or what, his mind whispers—he will find.
Finally, the endless forest of bamboo falls away to reveal an exquisite garden lined with cherry trees, the moon shining high above—hours must have passed since he first entered.
A distance away within the shelter of a pavilion is the guqin player, back turned to him. Yingxing can only make out a curtain of dark hair and the person’s silhouette, clad in white robes—but Yingxing has an eye for beauty, that’s all he needs to know that the elegant figure must be gorgeous. As if caught in a spell, Yingxing watches the graceful motions of hands over strings, the slight sway of a dignified back, until abruptly, the person’s head snaps up. The sharp pluck of a string, and then something whizzes by leaving a sting on Yingxing’s cheek, a few silvery strands of hair falling to the ground. Touching his fingers to his face, they come away wet with blood.
Holy shit. Was he attacked with a guqin string? Yingxing’s martial arts are excellent, but he hadn’t even seen the person move. And…
He turns his head to see the two bamboo trunks behind him severed clean through. Yingxing gulps.
“Who goes there?” An authoritative voice demands—a man’s voice. The man has turned his head towards him, but Yingxing is too far to make out his features in the dark of night.
“Apologies for intruding. I got lost—”
“Lost?” The man’s tone is severe. “This is not a place that one can wander into without purposely doing so. Speak sooth or the next strike will cut your throat.”
“I am telling the truth. I—” A string twangs. “Whoa! Hold on! Please just—hear me out for a second!” Yingxing’s mind races for an explanation, something— “There were these patterns.” He describes the last two he saw before clearing the forest. “So I just went by those patterns, following the sound of your guqin and found myself here.”
There is a long silence.
“Close your eyes,” the man orders.
It wouldn’t make a difference if the man chose to attack him anyways when he wasn’t even able to follow his motions, so Yingxing obeys.
“Keep them closed or I will pluck them out.”
Does this man have to be so violent with everything?
“I apologize if I’ve trespassed—it was unintentional. Is this place…prohibited?” Yingxing inquires, wondering just where the hell he has wandered into.
“It is forbidden to enter; these grounds are not meant for common eyes. I will now obscure your sight with a cloth and you will tell me precisely how you came to be here.” The voice is right in front of him. A soft blindfold is tied around his head. “Start from the beginning.”
Fortunately, Yingxing has a photographic memory. He recounts every detail—which fork he took, what objects seemed deliberately placed, which path choice was made purely on intuition and which he felt the patterns were pointing to.
At the end of his narrative, there is an astonished silence.
“Who are you? No ordinary man could have—” the man clears his throat. “That is, introduce yourself.”
Yingxing lays a hand over his heart, giving a small bow. “My name is Yingxing, a craftsman newly arrived from Zhuming after completing my apprenticeship with Master Huaiyan.” He drops his teacher’s name, hoping the man will be more lenient on hearing it.
“A mere craftsman could not have passed through the forest, General Huaiyan’s apprentice or not,” the man says skeptically.
Yingxing smirks. “Well, you’re correct, because there’s nothing mere about this craftsman. I’m also an inventor, proficient with mechanisms.”
“Do you have knowledge of formations? Wards? The trap formation surrounding this place is not something that can be calculated.”
“Formations and wards… You’re talking about spellwork?” The only one Yingxing knows of in Xianzhou is the Cloudhymn of the Vidyadhara… “I’m not familiar with spellwork, so it seems I have, in fact, calculated my way out of your formation.”
“You’re very arrogant,” the man criticizes, sounding irritated.
“I’ve done what you deemed impossible, so is it arrogance? Or is it confidence.”
“Hmph. Show me your hands.”
Yingxing removes his gloves, tucking them into his pocket and holds his palms out. Cool fingers feel over his skin, lingering on the calluses.
“Your hands bear the marks of a sword wielder.”
“I’m a decent swordsman.” Yingxing can’t call his martial arts excellent in front of this man.
“Yet you did not draw your weapon.”
“…I didn’t see you move. As I said, only decent.”
“A craftsman as well as a swordsman?”
“I hate to be modest, but I’m kind of a genius,” Yingxing drawls.
The man harrumphs. “Yet you would have remained within the maze of the forest had you not been led out by the sound of my guqin.”
Huh. The formation must have been made by this man if he’s so touchy about it.
“I’d argue that since I progressed far enough to hear your guqin, I was already on the right track. It just would have taken me longer.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Uh…what?”
Strong fingers pinch his chin. “Open.”
Yingxing parts his lips uncertainly.
“Dry mucous membranes—you’re dehydrated. You must have been in there for quite some time.”
“The sun was in the sky when I entered the forest,” Yingxing confirms. “What time is it now?”
“Eight in the evening.”
Four hours? No wonder he’s so parched.
“Come with me.”
A hand grips Yingxing’s elbow, guiding him forward. Unable to see, he stumbles twice and nearly falls once, but the man catches him at the waist and sets him back on his feet, the show of easy strength making Yingxing’s pulse beat a little faster.
“Have a seat.” A light pressure on his shoulder comes with the command. Yingxing lowers himself, feeling around to discover a bamboo mat beneath him. He hears the sound of liquid splashing into porcelain, and then a cup is being pressed into his hand.
“It’s water,” the man informs him. “Drink.”
Yingxing doesn’t need to be told twice. He downs the small cup and holds it out for more.
“Thank you… Ah, how should I address you?”
“There is no need for you to address me,” comes the cold refusal.
“Your Lordship, then? Your Highness?” Yingxing is only half joking, fairly certain this man is someone of high station.
“You’re very cavalier for someone who has been caught committing a felony.”
A felony… it’s that severe a crime? Ah, damn.
“I beg your forgiveness.” Yingxing goes to kneeling, palms on his thighs as he bows his head, hair slipping forward over his shoulder. “I did not mean to trespass. Could you let me off this once? It’s my first day here in Luofu…” he adds pitifully.
Sharp nails drum slowly against the tabletop. “I suppose you haven’t seen too much of what you should not,” the man muses.
Yingxing imagines he can feel the weight of the man’s regard on him in the ensuing thoughtful silence.
…Interrupted by the hungry gurgle of Yingxing’s stomach.
Heat creeps into his cheeks. “Please excuse me, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“You are a decidedly troublesome interloper.” A sigh. “Raise your head. I have some culpability in your current predicament. The defensive formation I placed should have turned you around and eventually led you back out. I had not anticipated that someone would be so clever as to proceed into its depths and become ensnared.”
So it’s not just physical power packed into that small frame he had seen. That’s… kind of hot.
“You will forget what you have seen here,” the man orders. “And I’ll pretend this never happened. As for refreshments, I only have tea and snacks to offer.”
“Thank you for your grace, Your Highness. Anything would be fine, really, I’m starving.”
Curiously, the man does not protest the title.
Yingxing blinks behind the blindfold when a slender hand takes his own, gently and meticulously wiping his palm and fingers clean with a damp cloth. After, a small pastry is placed in the center of his palm. Yingxing snacks on white bean pastries, taro puffs, and osmanthus cakes, each placed in his hand one at a time.
The man must have a sweet tooth.
In between, his hand is guided to the warm refilled teacup by a cool touch, a fragrant floral scent drifting up.
“Drink slowly,” the man chides when he gulps it down. “This is Jin Ya tea from Yaoqing.”
Yingxing knows nothing about tea, but it does taste very nice. “It’s an honor to share this fine tea with such lovely company.”
“Begrudging company,” the man corrects dryly.
“Begrudging yet gracious.” Yingxing puts on his most charming smile. It turns into a wince when a thumb presses into the cut on his cheek.
“If you call this gracious, I’m loathe to find out what you would consider cruel.”
“I’ll concede that corporeal punishment is rather forward for a first date,” Yingxing says blithely. Something about the stern, prim manner makes him unable to resist teasing.
There is a sharp intake of breath. “Shameless. Do not presume I will tolerate such—such impudence just because I have absolved your transgression.”
Deciding not to push his luck anymore—he’s satisfied with the reaction he got and he still needs the man’s help to get out of here—Yingxing behaves for the rest of tea time. The man fastidiously cleans Yingxing’s hands again when he’s finished eating. After a moment’s pause, he dabs the crumbs from Yingxing’s lips as well with the soft cloth.
Having his hands and mouth wiped like a child, it’s both demeaning and rather intimate, the resulting effect… titillating. And oddly sensual, blindfolded while a beautiful stranger runs silk over his lips…
Yingxing pulls his fanciful thoughts back on track. “Thank you for the tea and snacks. Would Your Highness be so kind as to show me the way out?”
“Rise. I will guide you through the formation.”
A hand grips Yingxing’s elbow again. He only makes it a few steps before he trips on something. “Ah, I think I’ll need you to remove the blindfold. Otherwise, it’ll take a long time to blunder my way through, even with your assistance.”
“Hm.”
Abruptly the world tilts and Yingxing’s face is pressed to soft silk, securely held by arms beneath his knees and back.
“UM—”
“I will not drop you,” the man says, sounding annoyed.
“No, no, I didn’t think you would. This is just—too undignified for a man of my age. Please put me down,” Yingxing pleads. “I can walk just fine.”
“I don’t have so much time to spare to watch you stumble about. Besides, only you and I are here, there is no one else to see; so there is no problem,” the man says in a sensible tone, already walking forward.
“It’s called self-respect, Your Highness. Can you please leave me some face? I’m too old to be carried,” Yingxing begins to struggle in earnest, but something cold swiftly binds his wrists together.
“Then allow me to reassure you that my age certainly exceeds yours.”
“That’s not the point.” When Yingxing tries to wriggle his legs out of the man’s hold—he’s really strong—his thigh is jabbed sharply in three places.
Instantly, his leg goes limp.
“What did you do to me?!” Panicking, Yingxing tries to knee the man in the chest. A few more jabs and both his legs are rendered useless.
The man’s arms tighten—whether to restrain or to reassure Yingxing isn’t sure. “Calm yourself. I merely sealed your pressure points. If you agree to behave, I will unseal them at once. If not, we can continue like so.”
Yingxing is speechless with indignation. What kind of madman casually paralyzes someone? No—how did he even do it in the first place?
He tries to curl his toes, but nothing from the thigh down obeys him.
Yingxing swallows.
“I’ll—I’ll be good. Can you please give me my legs back?”
Two taps and Yingxing can wiggle his toes again. He lies obediently in the man’s arms this time, resigned to the disgrace of being princess-carried by a slender beauty through the forest.
A despotic slender beauty.
“Are you always this forceful?” Yingxing asks faintly.
“Only an exceptionally foolish individual would be so audacious as to assault my person,” the man informs him.
“No, no, I assure you, I’m definitely the one who was assaulted here,” Yingxing protests. He frowns. “I don’t see why you won’t let me remove the blindfold. You’re going to redo the formation anyways, so it doesn’t matter if I see the path.”
Unless there’s some trick to it?
“You’re too clever for your own good. The less you see the better.”
Yingxing sighs. “Can you release my wrists then? I don’t allow bondage before the second date.”
The cool flowy feeling restricting his hands—water-based magic. Cloudhymn? In conjunction with medical expertise… his hypothesis that the man may be a Vidyadhara is seeming more likely.
The man huffs but unbinds Yingxing’s wrists. “Bondage on the second date, corporeal punishment on the third? Quite the libertine then, are you?”
Yingxing squints behind the blindfold.
Is he being slut-shamed? Or is that personal interest.
He shrugs. “Pleasure is pleasure. I have no hard and fast rules, I just go with the current.”
The man hums in acknowledgement.
Once he relaxes, Yingxing finds that it’s actually rather nice—being carried. The sensation of arms surrounding him is cozy and a pleasant fragrance lingers on the man’s collar—like blooming lotus flowers and what he can only describe as the scent of water. The man’s steps are as measured and even as the slight rise and fall of the chest Yingxing’s cheek rests upon, his tranquil aura soothing. Before he knows it, Yingxing is drifting off, held securely in the man’s arms.
“Yingxing.” Something cold and liquidy flows over Yingxing’s cheek. “Yingxing, wake up. We have arrived.”
“Mn?” Yingxing sluggishly opens his eyes, confused by the darkness obscuring his vision until the man reminds him, “You may remove the blindfold once I have left.”
The forest. The guqin.
…The beautiful tyrant of a stranger.
“Apologies, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
“It is of no concern.” The man sets him down, steading Yingxing with hands on his arms until his footing is stable. “Follow the paved road and turn right at the fork. Do not stray from the path again.”
“Thank you for your aid, benefactor.” Yingxing bows his head. “May serendipity allow us to meet again,” he adds forwardly.
“Hmph. Had you been discovered by anyone else, grave misfortune would have befallen you.”
“And so it is my blessing, that Your Highness was the one I encountered.”
“I would have cut your throat if you had knowingly trespassed,” the man says dismissively.
“No, you wouldn’t have.” Yingxing denies with certainty, and a bit of amusement at the man’s contemptuous air, partially feigned.
The man mutters under his breath, but Yingxing can’t make out the words. No doubt something disparaging.
“Be off with you then, rascal.” The presence seems to fade—an obscuring spell?—but pauses. “Ah, that’s right. Welcome to Luofu, craftsman Yingxing.”
When Yingxing checks the mirror after returning home that night, he finds no wound on his cheek—healed without a single mark.
**
It’s an unforgettable first day in Luofu, but his mundane life plods on and Yingxing is caught up in a whirl of activity—setting up the workshop, furnishing his living quarters, hiring assistants, reviewing apprenticeship applications. The list of things to do seems to have no end.
In the blink of an eye, several weeks have passed and autumn has arrived.
Tonight, Aurum Alley is bright with festival lights, festooned with streaming banners between the buildings. The streets are lively with excited festival goers, both locals and tourists alike, crowded with street performances and shop stalls.
Yingxing wanders through the hubbub savoring the specialty snacks and desserts, watching the games and impromptu street shows. It’s an enjoyable night, but he doesn’t share the infectious excitement of the crowds, removed from their exuberant cheer.
It’s a little lonely, with Baiheng away on a mission and Yingxing not having been here long enough to make any close friends, too busy getting settled.
Near the end of the night, the vivacious throng suddenly turns into a wild stampede, even Yingxing’s sturdy form swept up by the flow before he realizes what is going on; everyone is rushing to claim a good spot to see the famed Lion and Dragon Dance that closes the festival.
That’s when Yingxing sees him, a slight figure at the side of the road, pinned between the streaming masses and the wall of a building. Yingxing would recognize that elegant silhouette anywhere, clad in flowing white silk robes, a veiled hat obscuring their face.
He had thought he might never see that man again. Not wasting a second, Yingxing elbows his way through the crowd to the man.
“Excuse me,” he says and plants an arm on the wall to bodily shield the man from the surging crowd.
Yingxing gives the man a curious once over. The man’s martial arts are outstanding, more than a level beyond Yingxing’s so he should be more than capable of withstanding the rush. Unless… is he being cautious of his own strength, worried that he might harm the common folk? Unused to being in such close proximity to civilians… definitely some highbrow lord.
“Pardon my rudeness, Your Highness. You looked like you were about to be swept out to sea,” Yingxing explains with a hint of teasing.
“Do we know each other?” The man returns frostily. “Your assistance is both unsolicited and needless.”
“Perhaps, but won’t you grant me the honor of returning the kindness you showed me the other day?”
The brim of the hat tilts up, but Yingxing still can’t make out the man’s features, the veil enchanted to be near-opaque.
“…Hmph. Still such a silver-tongued wastrel.” The man sounds unimpressed, but Yingxing is gratified to see he has relaxed out of his previous troubled tension.
Their bodies are mere inches apart, but Yingxing maintains the distance between them, getting the sense that the man is uncomfortable with being crowded.
A few minutes later, the rush has passed them by.
Yingxing steps back, absently straightening his mussed hair as he looks in the direction the crowd had gone.
“It’ll be impossible to get a decent view of the Lion and Dragon Dance,” Yingxing muses. He sees the figure at his side droop slightly—the man wanted to see the performance that much? A longtime Luofu resident should have witnessed the spectacle numerous times already, or so he would have thought.
Tapping his lips thoughtfully, Yingxing studies their surroundings. “There is one more option: we could go to higher ground.”
There is a stunned silence, and then, “You want to go to the roof? Surely that must be illegal.”
“Is it?” Yingxing challenges. He grins when the man doesn’t affirm, uncertain whether such a law exists.
The man cranes his neck to assess the buildings. “I’m not going to climb up to the roof like an ape.”
Yingxing’s smile widens with mischief. “Then please allow your humble servant to bring you up, Your Highness,” he says with a little bow, hand over his heart.
The man takes a wary step back, and then another when Yingxing straightens and follows, moving in exactly~ the direction Yingxing needs him to.
“Rascal, what do you intend?”
One more step. Perfect.
Yingxing glares sharply behind the man, back going rigid. “What’s that?”
The man turns instinctively to look.
A second of inattention and Yingxing sweeps the man into one burly arm. Dashing into the space between buildings, he leaps up to kick off one wall, rebounding to the other side to catch his foot on a windowsill. Using the leverage, he springs up to grip the edge of tile with his free hand, hauling them onto the roof.
Triumphantly, he smirks down at the stiff figure in his arms. “Didn’t I say I’d return the favor?” Yingxing purrs.
“You dare,” the man growls.
Sensing danger, Yingxing quickly urges him. “Look over there, isn’t this a fantastic view now?”
The man doesn’t look, first laying one gloved hand against Yingxing’s collarbone—a subtle threat—before turning his head.
The silence this time is sullen agreement.
“Let’s go one level higher.” Yingxing takes them to the top. By then, the performers are taking the stage, but their altitude here is still a bit too low…
“I think this would be better, Your Highness. Please don’t murder me until you’ve confirmed you’re dissatisfied.”
The hand spasms near Yingxing’s neck. “What—?”
Yingxing shifts the man in his arms, hoisting him up to sit on one shoulder. The man’s hand grabs the collar of his shirt for an alarmed moment, but Yingxing steadies his position with his forearm over the man’s thighs.
“There. Isn’t that picture-perfect? Best seat in the house.”
The man splutters. “This can hardly be called a seat.”
“Shh, it’s starting. Can you see the stage?”
As the clang of gongs rings out, announcing the start of the Lion and Dragon Dance, the hand gripping Yingxing’s shirt goes loose. “Oh,” the man whispers, seeming entranced by the scene playing out below them. Absently, his hand moves to brace on Yingxing’s far shoulder.
Yingxing is inordinately proud to note that they probably do have the best view from here, even if the, ah, seating isn’t the most comfortable.
The performance is lively and enjoyable to watch, even if Yingxing has seen its counterpart on Zhuming. After the show has concluded with a final display of fireworks, Yingxing slips the man from his shoulder, catching him briefly against his chest, and lowers him to the roof tiles.
Is it his imagination or did those slender hands linger on Yingxing’s chest for a moment?
“It was a lovely performance, wasn’t it?”
“Mm,” the man agrees.
“It would’ve been nice if we’d run into each other earlier,” Yingxing muses. “Festivities are always best enjoyed with company—if you’d deign to grace this humble one with your presence, of course.”
Hm. They’re still on the roof. “Shall I take you down?”
With a disdainful sniff, the man steps off the roof and floats down to the ground, landing lightly in the alley.
Yingxing gapes.
The hat is tilted up—to better appreciate Yingxing’s gobsmacked expression most likely.
“Aeons above. Who is he?”
A high ranked Vidyadhara with such skillful Cloudhymn… Surely not. Shaking his head, Yingxing makes his way to the ground in a very normal way, though now it makes him feel like a plebian.
Or a primate…
“I would not have joined you,” the man says when Yingxing drops down in front of him.
Huh?
Oh. Yingxing’s earlier comment… Ouch. Is that a flat-out rejection?
“I missed most of the festivities, having been kept by my duties,” the man goes on to explain. “I’d just arrived when we met.”
In Yingxing’s opinion, the man hadn’t missed out on much, but the subsequent sigh contains so much wistful disappointment that it makes his chest ache with sympathy. The shops are already closing up, but maybe…
Impulsively, Yingxing tells the man, “Wait here” and hastens over to the food stalls. Turning on the charm, Yingxing flirts and flatters shamelessly, managing to persuade a few of the uncles and aunties to sell him their leftover wares. He returns, arms brimming with success, cardboard boxes and paper bags filled with everything from savory steamed buns and meat stuffed flatbread to custard cream filled wheel cakes and candied haws.
“I’m afraid I can’t provide the genuine experience of strolling through the excitement of the festival, but I think I’ve rounded up a decent sampling of the festive foodstuffs if you’d like to have a taste.”
The man is silent for so long that Yingxing’s confidence wanes, starting to feel a bit silly. A few snacks are a meager substitute and hardly enough to capture the festive cheer.
His doubtful musings are halted when the man finally speaks. “Thank you.” The soft gratitude in his voice puts Yingxing at ease. “I would like that very much.” The hat turns to surveil their surroundings. “The tables and seating have been put away though…” the man trails off. He stays in place, making no move to return to his residence.
If the man is reluctant to bring the foodstuffs to his house for whatever reason…
“How about we go back to my place then?” Yingxing offers. “It’s a bit messy but I can warm up the food for you.”
The man nods quickly in agreement. Beaming, Yingxing leads the way to his home. Dropping the goods off in the kitchen, he takes his guest to the cozy seating on his wood floored rooftop deck with a view of the city lights.
“You seem excessively fond of rooftops,” the man comments dryly.
The area is furnished with white cushioned armchairs surrounding a square dining table, a lazy lounge chair to one side and a charcoal grey firepit table on the other. Glass-paneled railing borders the space with an assortment of greenery on three sides, colorful flowers peeking out between low shrubbery.
Yingxing shrugs, going to light the firepit to provide some warmth in the chill of the night. “It’s nice to come out for some fresh air every once in awhile and it has a lovely view of the moon and stars.”
“It does at that,” the man concedes.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back shortly after I warm up the food.”
After popping the goods into the oven or microwave as needed for a quick heat, Yingxing brews a pot of his best tea, and brings it all up on a tray. When Yingxing shoulders through the doorway, his guest is standing at the railing faced away from him with his hands folded behind his back but quickly adjusts his veil and comes to sit with him at the table as Yingxing unloads his laden tray.
“My tea selection is rather basic, but I do hope it will suffice.”
The man shakes his head, simply saying, “Thank you for this.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Pouring the tea, Yingxing hands a cup to the man. His guest is still keeping the veil on, so Yingxing obligingly turns his chair to the side, looking out at the view to give the man some privacy to eat. “Was there anything in particular that you wanted to see at the festival?” Yingxing says to make conversation, sipping his tea.
“Nothing in particular,” the man replies after an extended pause.
“Paper cutting or sugar painting maybe?” Yingxing names the childish activities, trying to tease out an answer. His brows rise when the pause this time is even longer.
“The cuttings can be quite intricate and I’ve heard that sugar painting is a delicate art,” the man mumbles.
Yingxing contemplates the confirmatory nonanswer.
A resident of Luofu would have been to these festivals more than once. But perhaps a lord like this one wouldn’t have been able to participate in the more commonplace or childish activities, needing to maintain an appearance becoming of his station.
Had it not been allowed even when he had been a child though? The thought is a little sad.
And easily remedied.
“If that’s all, then we can do our own paper cutting here and I can make you a sugar painting.”
The quiet sounds of eating halt.
“Sugar painting is a dedicated lifelong profession.”
Yingxing smirks. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m a genius. Any craft I’ve seen once, I can replicate.”
“…I’ll look forward to your efforts then,” the man challenges him.
“Let’s adjourn to the kitchen after. We can work at the counter.”
“Mm,” the man agrees.
At the light touch to his elbow, Yingxing looks over to see a plate of mooncake fourths, two of each flavor, being pushed towards him. “Mooncake is meant to be shared.” The hat is tilted down and slightly to the side. “It’s too much for one person.”
Yingxing smiles brightly. “Indeed, joy and fortune taste sweeter when shared in good company.”
His grin widens, practically able to feel the eyeroll as the man mutters in exasperation. “Who said anything about all that. It’s just cake.” He refills Yingxing’s teacup though and nudges it in his direction, a silent request.
To tell the truth, Yingxing had only been partly teasing. Though he can’t speak for his guest, he finds that the same mooncakes he had tasted alone are more delicious when eaten with this lovely companion beneath the beauty of the full moon.
**
His Highness doesn’t have much talent for crafts, his handling of the scissors a tad wobbly even after Yingxing draws out the patterns for him on vermillion red paper, walking him through where to fold and cut step by step. The result is adequate—the character for fortune inside a diamond border embellished with a few flowers.
“It’s shabby,” the man pronounces through the veil, harsh in his self-criticism.
“Nonsense, it just needs some tidying.” Yingxing holds his hand out for the paper.
The man grunts, handing it over.
“This is quite good for a first attempt,” Yingxing counters. He folds the paper once and again, trimming it here and there. The work should be something the man is proud of for himself, so Yingxing only straightens and smooths a few areas. Unfolding it, Yingxing shows the man the final piece, fine enough to display on the wall of one’s home. “See?”
The man carefully takes the paper from Yingxing.
“I suppose it’s not too terrible.”
Smiling, Yingxing puts it in a clear sleeve and a protective folder to take home with him.
“Weren’t you going to show me what a master craftsman can do?” the man prods.
“So I am.” Yingxing considers what pattern he should cut.
The man is a Vidyadhara, a lordly descendent of dragons…
Yingxing’s motions are swift and precise, vermillion snippings rapidly piling up on the table beneath. The man has leaned forward in his seat, watching Yingxing’s hands intently.
When Yingxing reveals his elaborate masterpiece, the man huffs out a small laugh.
The paper cutting is intricate and gorgeous of course, a bold fortune character in the center surrounded by exquisite patterning.
…Mischievously flanked by two leaping carp, a waterfall in the background.
“Insolent,” the man chides, though his tone is amused. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
“Cloudhymn magic: you’re Vidyadhara.”
The man hums, holding Yingxing’s cutting up to the light to better admire it. “Perhaps. You do fine work,” the man allows. “May I have this?”
“Certainly. I made it for you after all.”
The paper cutting goes into another plastic sleeve, tucked away into the folder.
“Ready for the sugar painting?”
The hat tilts. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”
“Can you see well enough through that thing?” Yingxing gestures at the veil. “If not, I can promise not to look.”
“The veil is enchanted to be clear from my side but thank you for offering.”
“Excellent. I’ll get started then.” Rolling up his sleeves, Yingxing busies himself around the kitchen, cooking up the golden sugary syrup to use for the painting. “You’re lucky I was gifted this marble slab of a pastry board to use as a surface.” He heaves the rectangular hunk of marble onto the counter. “What shall I paint for you, dear customer?”
The man huffs. “A proper dragon then, if you can manage it, master artisan.”
“As you wish, your Highness.” Fetching the syrup, Yingxing tests it on a corner of the marble, dripping the golden liquid from the ladle into a star shape. Having gotten a feel for it, he begins his ‘painting’. He starts with the outline of a dragon in flight, it’s maw open in a roar. Gradually, he fills in the details, eyes and whiskers, sharp taloned claws, gossamer strands form scales and wispy tail fur. The full figure is drawn in under two minutes. With a few extra seconds, Yingxing drizzles an additional puff of clouds before putting down a popsicle stick. By then, the syrup has cooled and hardened, but remains pliable enough to remove from the surface with a spatula.
“As requested, a dragon.” Yingxing hands the delicate sugar dragon-on-a-stick to the man. “If my customer is satisfied, I do accept tips,” he adds cheekily.
The man receives it with both hands, holding it as if it is something precious, even though these drawn candies cost less than a dollar on the street.
“It’s not just for looking. Go ahead and have a taste,” Yingxing urges when the man simply holds the candy, presumably staring at it in awe. It seems the man really hasn’t ever gotten one before, despite sugar paintings being a snack commonly seen at any fair or festival.
“I couldn’t possibly eat something so beautiful,” the man exclaims.
Yingxing chuckles. “Alright, I can wrap it up for you to stare at for awhile longer. Be sure to eat it in a day or two though or it’ll go stale.” Rummaging through his drawers, he finds a clear plastic baggie to slip over the top, securing it with a twist tie. “You should try one fresh though. How about I draw something you won’t mind eating?”
“Hmph. Such as a fish?”
“Heh.”
There’s still plenty of syrup warming on the stovetop next to Yingxing. Ladling some up, he begins painting again. The silence from the man this time is mildly outraged as a goofy, googly eyed dragon forms on the marble, its tongue lolling out most unbecomingly.
Upon receiving the sugar dragon this time, it half disappears under the veil as the man immediately chomps off its head.
Yingxing laughs aloud.
“How is it?”
“It’s delicious.”
The candy is no more than melted sugar, but the entire experience lends it a certain charm.
Yingxing’s eyes crinkle. “I’m glad you like it.”
Another snap as more of the dragon is consumed. The man mumbles.
Yingxing cocks his head. “I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
The hat tilts down, fingers turning the candy stick.
“…May I have another?”
Yingxing’s smiles warmly. “Of course. I’ll make as many as you like.”
If this is the only place the man can fulfill these small wishes, then Yingxing will indulge him as much as he can.
“Shall I draw a fish this time?” Yingxing inquires blandly.
“I do not want a fish.”
A moony-eyed lion also successfully makes its way into the man’s stomach, while a brilliant phoenix is wrapped up for takeaway.
**
“You have my sincere gratitude for indulging my whims, Yingxing.” The man gives him a small bow as Yingxing sees him off at the door.
“Not at all, Your Highness.” Yingxing returns the bow in equal measure. “It was my honor to do so and a most enjoyable way to end my night.” Straightening, Yingxing waits for a farewell that doesn’t come, the man dithering in the entryway.
“…Dan Feng.”
Yingxing blinks. “Pardon?”
“My name is Dan Feng. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Yingxing.”
Yingxing is stunned for a second, before hurrying to respond. “Likewise. It was lovely to meet you as well, Dan Feng.” He has never felt so joyful on receiving a name, positively glowing inside. “May fortune allow our paths to cross again.”
Dan Feng chuckles quietly, the sound sweet to Yingxing’s ears.
“You don’t need fortune to meet me, only skill.”
Yingxing straightens, the words cementing a suspicion in his mind.
“I won’t extol your talent, as deserving as it may be, since you seem to already be overflowing with self-confidence,” Dan Feng says wryly.
Yingxing’s lips twitch with amusement. “Hey now, it’s always nice to be appreciated. I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”
“Then allow me to say that it was my good fortune to have encountered you.”
“Such high praise. You’re going to make me blush,” Yingxing jokes, to hide that he is a little flustered. “If skill is all that is needed, then I’ll see you again soon.”
Suddenly, Dan Feng is in Yingxing’s space, a cool hand covering his eyes as soft lips press against his cheek. “Your tip. Don’t keep me waiting, Yingxing.”
A breeze brushes over Yingxing’s skin and then he is blinking out into the empty night, face feeling hot and blood pounding in his veins as Dan Feng’s teasing words linger in his ears.
…
Yeah, okay, now he’s extra motivated.
Looks like it’s time for Yingxing to take that Furnace Master title.