“Not my face! Not my face!” Liu Deyi managed to cry during a brief lull. But Xiahou Lian—being Xiahou Lian—made sure every slap landed squarely across Liu Deyi’s features. Each hit its mark without fail. The relentless strikes disoriented Liu Deyi; his head spun from the assault, and stars twinkled in his eyes.
After a few dozen more slaps, Xiahou Lian finally stopped. His hands throbbed, his shoulder wound burning from the strain. He couldn’t tell whether it was bleeding again.
“Grandfather Sixi, spare me!” cried Liu Deyi.
Xiahou Lian grabbed Liu Deyi’s head and yanked it toward Shen Jue. “Begging me for mercy is pointless! Beg your father for forgiveness! Go on—call him Daddy!”
“Daddy Shen, spare me!” Liu Deyi sobbed. “Please make him stop before he kills me!”
Shen Jue gave Xiahou Lian a dark look. “You’re his grandfather, but I’m only Daddy?”
“Sorry, sorry. My mistake!” Xiahou Lian punched Liu Deyi again. “Can’t you speak properly? Call him Grandfather Shen!”
“Oh, mighty ancestors, I beg you to let me go this time! I swear I’ll never do it again!” Liu Deyi didn’t dare voice any grievance. He wailed miserably, his swollen, bruised face streaked with tears.
Xiahou Lian stood and dusted off his robe. “Fine. I’ll let you off this time. But if it happens again, I’ll kill you, you bastard.”
Liu Deyi struggled to his feet and staggered away. Once he’d reached a safe distance, he turned back and spat at Xiahou Lian and Shen Jue. “You little brats! I’ll make sure you pay for this! Remember that!” he shouted. Then he ran off, clutching his head.
Xiahou Lian scoffed. “Coward.”
Shen Jue knew that they might be eating spoiled food over the coming days, but he didn’t mention that. Instead, he called to Xiahou Lian, “Let’s go. Everyone must be starving.”
Xiahou Lian agreed and followed him. Shen Jue walked with his head bowed, deep in thought, and didn’t say a word.
Now that his energy was returning, Xiahou Lian had wanted to help with Shen Jue’s work. When he realized that the other boy hadn’t returned, even though the night grew late, he’d gone out to look for him. After only a few steps, he’d spotted the eunuch pressing Shen Jue against the wall, hands wandering. Enraged, Xiahou Lian hadn’t thought twice; he’d just swung his fist directly at the eunuch’s face.
Homosexuality was prevalent in their dynasty. Emperor Chengzong and Emperor Muzong were both famously homosexual. During their reigns, the leaders of the Directorate of Ceremonial had used flattery and flirtation to win their positions and the emperor’s favor, leading to chaos in the court. As the saying went, “When the upper beams are crooked, the lower beams warp as well.” The palace became increasingly decadent. Eunuchs with even a modicum of power were no longer content with just women and preyed on men as well. The same was true of the common folk: Male performers began to regularly sing and play the zither in brothels, much to the delight of the wealthy and powerful. Even Garden-operated brothels featured such performers. That was reputedly how Xiahou Lian’s Qiu-shifu had started his career.
Some might have found all that tolerable, but Shen Jue came from a prestigious family. How could he endure that kind of humiliation? Xiahou Lian felt a pang of sorrow, but he was awkward with words. No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t think of a way to console Shen Jue.
Speeding up a few steps, Xiahou Lian took the meal box from Shen Jue’s hands. He glanced sideways. The sunlight bathed Shen Jue’s face in a warm golden glow, though his expression remained blank, his skin as pale and sickly as ever. His thoughts had grown increasingly difficult to guess, leaving Xiahou Lian feeling perplexed.
After passing through the palace gate, Shen Jue set down the meal box and went inside. Xiahou Lian delivered the food to the mad consorts’ chambers. Some were singing or embroidering, but Consort Gao was flailing around. Her hair was adorned with a bouquet of feathers, giving her the look of a puffed-up rooster. The old eunuchs said that Consort Gao had deteriorated lately, growing madder. Once, she’d spent her days sitting on the wall, calling for the emperor; now she scaled the rooftops, declaring herself a legendary hero. Xiahou Lian chased her around for a while before she finally sat down to eat obediently. Duties complete, Xiahou Lian skipped his own meal and rushed to Shen Jue.
Entering the room, Xiahou Lian saw Shen Jue standing shirtless by the washstand. Shen Jue had a good physique; his skin was as pale as jade, his muscles well-defined, and his limbs were long and graceful, though somewhat thin. Unlike Xiahou Lian, whose countless scars suggested that he’d walked through fire and blades, Shen Jue had smooth, unmarred skin. His back was turned, and Xiahou Lian could only glimpse his disgusted expression and clenched teeth in the bronze mirror. Wet cloth in hand, Shen Jue scrubbed madly at his shoulders and arms where Liu Deyi had touched him. Although Liu Deyi’s hands had only grazed his clothing, Shen Jue seemed to want to scour off his own skin.
Xiahou Lian snatched the cloth from him. “Stop scrubbing!”
“What are you doing?!” Shen Jue shouted angrily.
“Are you going to scrub your skin off?!”
“Mind your own business! Get out!”
Shen Jue’s furious expression made Xiahou Lian feel somewhat relieved. His deadened look earlier had unsettled Xiahou Lian far more.
“Stay still.” Xiahou Lian opened a cabinet and grabbed a bar of soap. He worked it into a lather on Shen Jue’s shoulders and arms, massaging them gently with his palms. Though Xiahou Lian’s hands were calloused from years of saber practice, they felt oddly soothing against Shen Jue’s skin.
Ears flushing red, Shen Jue muttered, “I told you to mind your own business.”
Xiahou Lian rolled his eyes. “You should be grateful. I’m going out of my way to serve you, and here you are complaining. I’m never this careful, even washing myself.” Indeed, Xiahou Lian had never been so meticulous in his life. He treated Shen Jue like a priceless piece of porcelain he was afraid to break or damage, behaving almost as if he wished to polish the other boy to a flawless shine.
He couldn’t have explained why, but Xiahou Lian felt that Shen Jue was born to be revered and worshipped. With his striking looks and scholarly intellect, who could possibly have measured up? He should’ve been serving in the imperial court, making his mark on history—if not for his descendants, then at least for the sake of his own legacy. But fate had dealt him a cruel hand, and now he was a eunuch. His ambitions had been reduced to dust, future children now a mere dream. Worse, he had to endure humiliation at the hands of scoundrels like Sixi and Liu Deyi. How could anyone not have felt anguish and resentment?
Fate was hard to defy. If the heavens wished you to fall into the mud, then even if you grew golden wings, they’d be melted away.
Xiahou Lian tamped down the ache in his chest. He dipped the washcloth in water, then gently wiped the soap from Shen Jue’s arms. The cloth soaked up the fine lather to reveal smooth, clean skin beneath. The soap’s osmanthus scent left a subtle, sweet fragrance lingering on Shen Jue’s arms.
“Done. You’re clean!”
Shen Jue tilted his head. “My face too,” he said softly.
Xiahou Lian obliged. He moistened the soap and gently rubbed it over Shen Jue’s face, then massaged it in with his fingertips.
Shen Jue felt an odd sensation, as if a feather were tickling his heart. He wanted to push Xiahou Lian’s hand away but couldn’t bring himself to act. While he hesitated, Xiahou Lian finished cleaning him. He withdrew his hand and tossed the washcloth into the basin, leaving Shen Jue with an inexplicable sense of loss.
There were people in the palace who treated Shen Jue kindly, but he always remained cautious, building walls around himself and keeping a polite distance. When he suffered, he bore it silently. It was nothing new; he was accustomed to enduring. But with Xiahou Lian, he let his guard down.
How nice, he thought. He was like a stray dog wandering the vast world, fur dirty and paws worn, who’d suddenly found shelter from the wind and rain. However many beatings or hardships he faced outside, he at least had a place to rest from now on.
But perhaps that was too optimistic—his shelter was clearly a bit drafty. As Xiahou Lian returned the soap to the toiletry shelf, he lost his grip and sent it tumbling to the floor, where it picked up a new coating of dust.
Shen Jue’s face darkened. “That’s the only one I have.” Complaining that the palace soap smelled strange, he’d spent two months’ wages to have this osmanthus-scented soap delivered from outside.