Chapter Text
“Xiao-Jiu,” Luo Binghe cooed tenderly, his lips curling up slightly at the sight of the barely visible furrowing of Consort Shen’s brows. He knew, and he knew it well, that Shen Jiu loathed to be called anything remotely affectionate. Not just from him—the emperor—but from anybody. And because of this, Binghe ignored the inexplicable stir the look induced in his chest, a feeling of something Binghe could only describe as some sort of decay.
Luo Binghe also knew, and perhaps he was the only person alive who still knew, that this aversion to affection had stemmed from Shen Jiu's past, a past that differed drastically from his current life, which could be compared to that of a pampered palace cat. Because Shen Jiu had been raised as a slave, dressed up in pristine robes, and treated well in the public eye only to be tormented sexually, physically, and mentally behind closed doors and beneath the cover of the night. Luo Binghe knew this, and yet, he continued to do practically the same thing.
"Xiao-Jiu," Luo Binghe repeated, this time leaning down to whisper it directly into his ear, which twitched in response to the cold of his breath. Shen Jiu turned in the bed, looking at him with an irritable expression that caused another well of decay to burrow deep into Luo Binghe's heart; still, his smile remained.
Impatient and upset with what seemed to be the world, Shen Jiu replied very unceremoniously. "What?"
“Aren’t you even a little saddened?” Luo Binghe questioned, his hand kneading gently into the damp skin just around Shen Jiu’s inner thigh, and on instinct, Luo Binghe glanced up. Quickly. Quickly enough to catch the revulsion on his concubine's face. Luo Binghe had noticed over the many years they had been together that for a moment, for just a moment, Shen Jiu's emotions would spill through his carefully curated facade. His hatred, his resentment, his undying need for vengeance. All of it bubbled up, unable to contain itself; it boiled inside of that small body until Binghe could almost lap it up from his sweat. Looking at that expression, Luo Binghe absentmindedly thought, Oh, how I wish to.
“Why in the heavens would I be sad?” Shen Jiu asked, holding a hand to his forehead in exasperation, covering his expression, perhaps because he knew it was riddled with repulsion from the physical contact. So, Luo Binghe grabbed his wrist and removed his hand easily, rubbing his wrist with his thumb. He wanted to see his expression. He wanted to remember it, because even if it caused him pain, it still belonged to Shen Jiu.
Looking directly into Shen Jiu's dark eyes, Luo Binghe began to speak with a grin on his face. “I’ve been fucking that pupil of yours,” Luo Binghe’s voice dropped to an almost sultry whisper. “I’ve been visiting you less and less…aren’t you afraid of fading away?” In that instant, Shen Jiu abruptly shoved Luo Binghe’s wrist away and sat up. Amazed at such a visceral reaction, Luo Binghe hurriedly sat up in the same manner and continued, “Oh, so you really are upset!” Shen Jiu was looking at him with an expression he had not seen before; in all of the eleven years he'd known this man, he had never seen such an expression. It made his chest ache unpleasantly; it made his loins twitch with interest, two contradicting feelings. Ah, well. Two things can be true at once, can they not?
“You’ve just had your way with me, and he’s the first thing you bring up?” Shen Jiu asked, and to anyone else he would have seemed jealous. But he was not. And Binghe knew that. Because Shen Jiu was not the type to express jealousy blatantly, and he was not the kind of man who did things without intention. He was clearly coming up with an excuse for a reaction he had not been able to hide. Consequently, Luo Binghe was not amused. Shen Jiu was smart, but he was also boringly predictable. Was he protecting his pride? Or was he protecting something else? A more personal, dangerous secret Luo Binghe had not figured out yet? Like a cat, Shen Jiu was quite territorial. He just went about it in a very strange way, ways that changed depending on a number of variables.
Luo Binghe was creepily observant, especially when it came to his favored palace cat, Shen Jiu. He saw right through him, through his antics. His deflections. But what good would cornering an already frightened cat do? He did not wish to get scratched, to make him do something irrational when this was the calmest moment they'd ever had in a long, long while. So, Luo Binghe played along with his usual feigned smile. “Jealous?”
Shen Jiu’s expression twitched for a moment before he regained his composure, most likely thinking he had successfully concealed his true feelings, whatever they may be. That minute, hardly visible twitch on his face should have been imperceptible. But it was not. In fact, to Luo Binghe, the twitch of discontent might as well have been screamed in his face, because like a beast with no other prey to fixate on, Luo Binghe noticed everything.
Smoothly, the concubine finally replied, “Very.” This was a lie so blatant it was almost insulting. Did Shen Jiu truly think he was so dense?
Luo Binghe suppressed the urge to laugh. Inwardly, he pondered on how this man in front of him could have both the gall to lie to an emperor and the self-control to suppress his immense hatred and feign to be upset over diverted attention. “Well,” Binghe began, draping a muscular arm over Shen Jiu’s shoulder and forcing him to lay back onto the pillow, following suit himself. “Don’t feel too threatened, Xiao-Jiu. I’ve known you for too long to replace you so easily.”
Shen Jiu hummed, and Binghe continued. “Don’t you remember? Me, a nameless dog wandering around that backwater town and seeing you, practically leashed to that man, dressed so pristinely. I thought you were a young master of an esteemed household; I’d never seen robes so clean.” Binghe’s hand trailed down to Shen Jiu’s waist, ignoring the prickles of heat shooting up his veins each time he touched the man's skin. With Shen Jiu wordlessly lying beside him, Luo Binghe had no other choice but to continue. He had grown to hate silence.
“In the dead of night, you’d snuck out and come to me on the outer wall of your master’s estate. You were older than me, taller. I had to look up at you." There was a pause, just for a moment, and then the emperor continued. “The first thing you’d said to me was, ‘Do you wander from town to town freely?’ At first, I thought you were going to report me for being so close to the estate walls; I thought you were going to order those strong looking men to beat me. But you didn’t, Xiao-Jiu. What did you do?”
Shen Jiu pursed his lips, looking quite unamused with Luo Binghe’s reminiscing. Hearing his stubborn silence, Binghe lightly pinched his side and answered for him. “You begged me to take you with me—” Shen Jiu slapped his hand away angrily, hastily correcting him. “I asked. I didn’t beg you of anything."
Chuckling quietly to himself, Binghe responded, “Yes, yes. You asked me, and I said, ‘You’ll accompany someone like me?' Why?’ And I remember, quite vividly, Xiao-Jiu, you saying that I should make myself someone worth accompanying." Luo Binghe nuzzled closer, noticing but choosing to ignore the stiff resistance from Shen Jiu. “So,” he continued anyway. “I asked you, what would that be? A butcher, a cultivator, a farmer?” Shen Jiu huffed, but the tension in his limbs gradually melted. Good, he’s tiring. Luo Binghe thought to himself, loosening his grip slightly and lowering his voice. “You told me, why aim for something so lowly? To be worthy of me, you must become something great.”
There was yet another beat of silence, and Luo Binghe wondered if he should continue his ramblings. He glanced down, seeing his concubine struggling to keep his eyes open. These days, Shen Jiu would sleep quite early. Binghe didn’t visit him much, not anymore, but he had eyes everywhere. He knew every little habit, every meal, and every snack snuck beneath the cover of night, as every single servant who visited Shen Jiu promptly reported back to Luo Binghe. Still, his palace cat was quite sneaky, and it seemed he was being even more so these days as servants have begun reporting back less and less, meaning Shen Jiu was trying hard to be undetectable. “Sleepy already?” Luo Binghe asked, raising a hand to thread through the silky strands of Shen Jiu’s inky black hair. “Why is that, Xiao-Jiu? Have you been doing something you’re not supposed to?” Shen Jiu instantly stiffened, eyes shooting open.
Luo Binghe’s expression remained the same, his heart aching just slightly. “Xiao-Jiu, I know you…” Shen Jiu was stiff as a board, his chest so close to Binghe’s own that the emperor could feel its frantic pace. It was fluttering like the wings of a freshly injured butterfly, faltering and inconsistent.
I know you are planning to kill me.
He wanted to say it; he should have said it months ago when he’d found out. His palace cat was prissy; his palace cat was pampered; his palace cat was loved. His palace cat, still, no matter what he did, hated him. That was something he could not change. Luo Binghe did not know how; he did not know when—but he knew Shen Jiu would kill him, or at least attempt to. The signs had been blatant, poorly hidden, like the sudden interest in herbs, specifically poisonous ones; the sudden confinement to his room; and the sudden meetings with various apothecaries. Luo Binghe had not wanted to believe it, but when he'd drunk one night and thought about it, how could it be anything else?
“You know what?” Shen Jiu bit out, looking up at him with an expression that Luo Binghe found both exciting and unpleasant. It was too worried, too uncharacteristically frantic—ready to pounce. That expression was frightened, but on Shen Jiu, on his features, he'd managed to twist it into a rather pretty painting of fear.
“I know…" He trailed off before settling for, "…you're tired.” Abruptly, Luo Binghe got up and threw on a thin inner robe and a wrinkled outer robe to make himself look presentable. Well, presentable enough. It was late at night, and in the dark, you would be more focused on identifying his face than the state of his clothes. Besides, his second destination wasn’t particularly far; it wasn't unlikely he wouldn't encounter a single soul.
Shen Jiu exhaled in what Binghe assumed to be relief, pulling the duvet further upwards to cover his body. Looking at him so closely after such a long time, Luo Binghe found that the cheap imitation he had brought in really could not compare to Shen Jiu’s beauty. Shen Yuan was the street rat he’d seen while strolling about the city while undercover on his lonesome. He and Shen Jiu had gotten into a screaming match, as they often did, and Luo Binghe must've wanted to blow off some steam. The cause of Shen Jiu's rage, Luo Binghe did not know, couldn't really remember. Back then, when Shen Jiu was younger, he was much more reactive. A single touch could set him off into an inconsolable frenzy of throwing dishes, scratching, and kicking. These days…he hardly moved a muscle, even when they slept together. Every movement, it was as if his very soul were protesting it. Protesting him.
Luo Binghe remembered spotting Shen Yuan slumped against an alley wall, nothing but skin and bones. He'd been reminded of his past and, feeling a bit generous, had decided to buy the boy some food. But upon meeting his gaze, he'd been met with beauty so similar to Shen Jiu's that it just had to be fate, a peace offering from the Gods. He'd taken him home with him to the palace that same day. So, ever since Shen Yuan’s eighteenth birthday, when Luo Binghe had tested him out, the boy had been fun enough. But he didn’t really make Binghe feel any urges except for his usual insatiable sadism, but mostly because he was unbelievably easy to bully in bed. He was as pliant as putty when touched, really a seasoned whore. It was only when Shen Yuan had turned his head to the side did any real emotion erupt in Luo Binghe's chest, because at that certain angle, he resembled Shen Jiu completely. Really, they could have been identical.
Ever since that discovery, he’d visited him anytime he could. Fucking him witless, wishing it was Shen Jiu. Imagining it was Shen Jiu. With every single fiber in his being, the emperor wished Shen Jiu would be so pliant and would not reject his love and body with everything he had. He wished, so hopelessly it was like trying to reach a bottomless pit, that Shen Jiu would take him so readily. While sleeping with Shen Jiu brought an aching pain to Luo Binghe’s heart, sleeping with Shen Yuan while pretending this his young, pliant body belonged to Shen Jiu—he felt at ease, if only for a brief moment.
Luo Binghe was just about to leave, one foot halfway out of the bedchamber door, before Shen Jiu asked him. “Are you going straight to your chambers?” Luo Binghe paused just before the door. He was not. After this knowledge had once again been shoved in his face, he had intended to go straight to Shen Yuan’s chambers, wake the boy up, and bully him until he was a sticky mess in his palms. After a bit more thinking, wondering why Shen Jiu would ask such a strange question, it clicked. Ah, Luo Binghe deduced silently, he doesn’t want me to go to him.
This then raised the question, a dangerous one. Why?
“I’m going to bother that student of yours. Or would 'disciple' be a better word?” Luo Binghe said easily, turning to face him properly. After all, you two are quite close, are you not?"
Drop vague hints, act like you know what you do not, study his reaction, and get to the truth.
Shen Jiu stared at him, a stare Luo Binghe had not seen in years. This look gleamed with youthful anger, an anger that had nowhere to go—anger that would explode in just a single second. Shen Jiu had not exploded in a very, very long time, at least to Luo Binge’s knowledge. It was almost… exciting.
Luo Binghe’s heart raced and a smile painted his lips, eager to see a form of reaction other than pungent disgust from his favorite concubine. “Ah? Did I say something wrong?” Luo Binghe pressed, coming closer; with an almost childlike, frantic sort of curiosity, he persisted. “What is it? You don’t want me visiting him? Is this your earlier jealousy, is this—”
“Sleep with me.”
Luo Binghe stilled in place, freezing like a statue. “What?”
“Sleep with me now." His pampered cat whispered, opening his arms. “Don’t go to him.” Luo Binghe’s heart beat frantically now, eyes widening. Was this a dream, a cruel joke played on a demon like him from the gods above? Without questioning it further, Luo Binghe eagerly pounced on Shen Jiu, pushing him down on the mattress. To his surprise, that man grabbed his face and kissed him with what Luo Binghe wished with all of his heart was eagerness. But the blessing of ignorance was not bestowed upon a demon like Luo Binghe. He knew, and he knew it well, that Shen Jiu was not kissing him for any reason he wanted. Contradictions riddled his concubine, but one thing had always remained. Hate. Hate. Hate.
Shen Jiu hated him.
Luo Binghe loved Shen Jiu.
But Shen Jiu hated him.
Luo Binghe pulled back, his eyes half-lidded. He was panting; he was doing everything he’d told Shen Jiu to never do. For once, he was the clumsy one. Like a little kid, alone and forced to wander for shelter, he fumbled. He fumbled with his feelings; he fumbled with Shen Jiu’s body—he fumbled while discerning Shen Jiu’s intentions and motives. His relationship with Shen Yuan.
He fumbled through it all like a blind buffoon, one that saw too much and nothing at once.
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Shen Yuan looked up at Shen Jiu with wide eyes; he had thought, after Shen Jiu’s outburst two weeks ago, that he would never come to see him again. After all, he had taken his favor, had practically humiliated him without ever meaning to. That was perhaps the biggest slap in the face you could deliver to someone who taught you everything you’d ever learned. But still, sitting across from him was an elegant, distractingly pretty-looking Shen Jiu. Shen Yuan’s hands felt clammy, and he became hyperaware of his own appearance, hoping it was satisfactory. “Consort Shen,” Shen Yuan gave him a low bow. “I’m pleased to be in your presence.”
Shen Jiu didn't waste his time with pleasantries, instead reaching behind him to reveal sticks of incense and a brown pouch, which he plopped down on the table between them. “You will burn these every day, every night. Burn them.” Shen Jiu said, and then he opened the pouch, revealing over a hundred powdery white pills. “You will take these twice a day, once at night and once in the morning. Do not skip them.”
Shen Yuan furrowed his brow in confusion, eyes flitting between the objects and Shen Jiu’s face, which he now noticed had taken on a far more tired look, with subtle eyebags beneath his eyes that it seemed he'd forgotten to hide. Worry curled in Shen Yuan's gut, and he wanted to ask if Shen Jiu was alright—but he knew if he did that he'd probably be yelled at. It took him a while, considering he was still on rather thin ice from what had occurred weeks ago, to build the courage to ask anything. But after a moment, he had succeeded. With a wary tone, he said, "Consort Shen, what are these?”
“Do I need to explain my every breath to you? Consider this a gift. The pills will help with…numbness and pleasure; yes, your pain will turn into pleasure during coupling, and your discomfort will greatly be reduced. However, do not light this incense without taking these pills," Shen Jiu explained hastily, but to Shen Yuan, who’d probably figure out his fellow concubine was pulling things out of his ass if not for the fact that he was completely distracted by the word "gift."
“A gift from you?” Shen Yuan asked, his heart beating steadily but insistently beneath his skin, a smile sneaking its way onto his lips. In the years Shen Yuan had been beneath Shen Jiu, he had not once received a gift from him. Eagerly he reached out to touch the incense sticks, beaming as he did so.
Shen Jiu then promptly smacked them out of his hands, his patience unbelievably thin today. “Take the pills before touching the incense! It contains a very potent drug; it can be toxic if touched without taking the pills.”
Shen Yuan gulped and then nodded apologetically, holding his subtly aching hand and looking up at Shen Jiu with a smile he still could not contain. Shen Jiu frowned, turning his head to avert his gaze. “Stop looking at me like that." Shen Yuan hastily adjusted his expression and blurted out an apology, but what he did not see were the rapidly reddening ears of the concubine across from him. An awkward silence passed between them before Shen Jiu spoke again. “Take the pills now.” Shen Yuan grabbed the pouch, picking up a pill, which dusted the tips of his fingers with a white powder. Wearily, he looked over at Shen Jiu, a man who had tried to kill him many times, a man who he still harbored shameful feelings for despite that. But just because he felt for him did not mean Shen Jiu felt the same; he could probably be trying to kill him at the moment! Eliminate the rival. The thought caused a mix of dread and sorrow to steadily burrow in his chest.
Wary, Shen Yuan asked. “...A-Jiu, where did you get these pills?”
“...”
It was silent, and Shen Jiu only gave him that look that screamed, “Question me one more time, I dare you.” So, Shen Yuan hurriedly shut up and swallowed the pill, chasing it down with a nearby cup of water. Immediately, he clutched his stomach and doubled over, groaning in pain as pulses of something flowed through his veins and muscles. He felt inexplicably nauseous, as if he might throw up every meal he’d never even touched today. Holy shit. Holy shit—he's really going to kill me. He really hates me. A-Jiu hates me. He hates me; he wants me dead. Shen Yuan's panicking only made his pain worse, and he was clutching the fabric of his robe as if the harder he gripped, the less the pain in both his heart and stomach would hurt.
Shen Jiu watched, with clenched fists and furrowed brows, but did not move. Shen Yuan hacked and coughed, retching and clutching his throat. His body, it seemed, was rejecting the pill. But no matter how much he gagged and drooled, that pill would not come out, as if it were lodged into the very flesh of his stomach. He could not vomit, and he was left on the painful precipice. Pathetically, Shen Yuan crawled toward the only person he could, the very person who had caused this pain. He gripped Shen Jiu's pristine green robes, rumpling them beneath his grip and looking up at him with teary eyes. Their eyes met briefly before Shen Jiu forced his own away, seemingly unable to look directly at Shen Yuan. I must look repulsive, retching all over him. Shen Jiu reached into his sleeve and lit the incense. The minute the smell touched Shen Yuan’s nose, the gagging ceased and the nausea faded.
He collapsed onto Shen Jiu, huffing raggedly and burrowing into his body. Shen Jiu's arms did not settle around him, but they did not push him away either. Breathlessly, Shen Yuan said, "I… I do not think I can take those pills—”
“You will take them," Shen Jiu interrupted. His tone was clipped, and it allowed little room for any protest. Still, after facing what Shen Yuan still half believed to be an assassination attempt, he protested anyway.
“B-but—!”
Big mistake, of course.
Shen Jiu roughly grabbed Shen Yuan’s hair, forcing his head upwards so he was looking directly up at him. He pulled their faces close, noses nearly touching. His patience had run as thin as the wisps of smoke wafting around the room from the incense. “You’ll take those pills. Twice. Every single day. And you will burn that incense every single hour of the day, do you hear me?” Shen Yuan stared up with wide, fearful eyes, his words catching in his throat and coming out as a useless, gasping sound that only seemed to irritate Shen Jiu. “Do. You. Hear. Me.”
Shen Yuan quivered at the tone, his pulse jumping skittishly beneath his flesh. His belly felt as if a rush of overwhelming heat had passed through, and it was rushing right where it shouldn't. Teach me a lesson. The thought barged into his mind unbidden, and Shen Yuan felt his face flood with shame. He had almost died—possibly by the hands of this very man—and he was getting humiliated, and he'd just thought something so shameful. Gods, just how far gone was he? Pushing his ashamed desire down, Shen Yuan stammered out a hastily thought reply. “Y—Yes, Consort Shen, I hear you.” Shen Jiu let go, allowing him to plop on the floor, right on his butt.
For a moment they just stared at each other, with Shen Yuan looking over at him expectantly. That’s it? Nothing else? Nothing at all? Shen Jiu stood, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?" Shen Yuan pressed his lips together, fixing his posture and bowing.
He wet his lip, squeezing his fists shut and averting his gaze. "Nothing, Consort Shen."
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Sleepless nights, sleepless nights. Shen Jiu had not slept adequately in a number of days, as preparations regarding his plan to murder the emperor had taken an extensive amount of time. He’d planned it out over various nights; using Shen Yuan, somehow, someway, he would use him. Because the emperor was too smart, he knew Shen Jiu too well, and Shen Jiu would not be surprised if he knew that he was up to something. In fact, his earlier behavior should have been proof enough.
Sitting in front of his mirror, combing the long, inky strands of his hair for far too long, Shen Jiu pondered countless what-ifs. What if Shen Yuan didn’t do as he said? What if he forgot to take the pills? What if the pills don't work? What if the slow-acting poison from the incense seeps into his lungs and weakens his muscles until he's bedridden and unable to move until his heart fails? What if Shen Jiu, accidentally, killed him instead of the emperor? What if his plan didn’t work? What if Luo Binghe, that wretched demon, remained unaffected?
A corrosive feeling burrowed deeply into Shen Jiu’s chest, and he felt inexplicably repulsed. He closed his eyes and stilled his trembling hands. Alone in his pavilion, he knew by this time of night Luo Binghe was likely ravaging Shen Yuan. Just a walk away, the man he—addmitedly—loved was being fucked by the man he hated. A night ago, he’d acted irrationally, asking Binghe to stay just so he wouldn't have his way with Shen Yuan out of envy. Thankfully, when he began to act coldly again, Binghe once more grew disinterested and went to the younger concubine again.
Shen Jiu tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that having Binghe encompassed in that incense was crucial to the plan. So, he ignored the aching in his chest, and Shen Jiu moved to sit on his bed, looking down at his fingers, which had begun to take on a purplish hue. After touching the incense, the tips of his fingers had grown numb. This was both reassuring and worrying, as it meant it was potent enough to have effects within a short timeframe, but it also meant it was strong. To take out Luo Binghe, you needed something unbelievably powerful, something you would not suspect. But to take out Shen Yuan, you only needed a hand and a couple of words. Shen Jiu was…he was worried. Because even if he succeeded in killing Luo Binghe, if he killed Shen Yuan at the same time, what was the point? After killing Binghe, Shen Jiu has not a doubt in his mind that Shen Yuan will probably hate him. But Shen Jiu had always been selfish; he had always been greedy. And he was no different now, because he would still take Shen Yuan with him despite his hatred.
Shen Jiu was flawed, and he knew that. But he had no reason to improve himself; he had not a single thing or person he wished to change for. After all, he was rotten down to his heart, a fact he had accepted long ago. But then, two years ago, Shen Yuan had been dumped upon him. And Shen Yuan had been everything Shen Jiu wasn't. He was sociable; he smiled after every beating, easily picking himself up from a beating that would have left Shen Jiu angry and brooding for days afterward. At first, it had only made Shen Jiu resent him more. But now, it seemed as if he were looking at his second chance. Because Shen Yuan was everything Shen Jiu could have been—would have been if he weren't so stained, so resentful. At the thought, Shen Jiu let out a chuckle devoid of humor. That's too presumptuous.