013. be careful with your heart

Just as Xueyu was stepping away from the pair of doctors attending the wounded men to scan the alleyway for any sign of the missing prince and his prized pupil, it seemed he found what he was looking for. The swordmaster’s eyes immediately snapped to the boys suddenly materialized before him, wide and then impossibly stern during the split second silence he took to make sense of their tangled crash-landing limbs, their affections and closeness poorly obfuscated by the confusion of reappearance.

“LAIKE,” the older man gruffly commanded the attention of his shadowstalker, casting a shadow larger than himself as he stood tall before the braided pair.

“Sh-shifu?!” 

That hazel-eyed boy so commanded was a gasp, a breathless ache, his wind all knocked out by the fall. He was aghast and red in the ears as he bristled, trying to find some middle ground between extricating himself from his tangle as quickly as possible and remaining considerate to the prince that had treated him so kindly, made him feel so wanted. 

“Yuhui!” the eldest Tian iterated in much the same tone as the swordmaster but with a slight edge of worry coloring his words. The mouth of the alley was already blocked by the Tian family’s guards, ready to take the pair of men away as soon as their injuries were treated and stabilized. Leaning down, the heir took his brother by the elbow and tried to help him up. “What happened, Yu’er?”

“Lady Jiling sent us here to find you all after my treatment so Laike could get the food and sweets he was promised.” Yuhui clutched his brother’s hand and stood, meeting his eyes with a fleeting sparkle before focusing down to straighten his silks disheveled by the fall. “We were talking and I was taking him to see the arena, you know, pointing stuff out as we walked, but then those guys—there were three of them, by the way—cornered us and were going to kidnap me, even though I was going to give them the rest of my money.” The middle child of the Tian clan turned to Xueyu, speaking directly to him. “Laike was protecting me. We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

The oldest man of the group seemed to accept this explanation with a curt nod; it was obvious he did not want to cause a scene by accusing the younger heir of dishonorable conduct with his disciple in the middle of an already confused ordeal. Still, his eyes did not stray from his boy, bearing down in a harsh mixture of anger and disappointment as he let the youth find his own feet.

Laike rose, hands held behind his back, all tense shouldered and rigid spine with his head held high, even when his eyes were blank and directed low. He could feel his master’s gaze burning holes in his skin wherever he laid his disappointed pit-viper stare, felt his disapproval sear through his veins till his judgement gripped him tight. Gods, how Xue’s harsh look closed the youth’s obedient throat; he tilted his brows up at the center in his attempt to remain quiet through his keeper’s silent rage.

“We should lock these men up,” Xiao commented, more concerned with his brother than the two Luanshi men and their wall of tension. “And we should get you home.”

“What about Miyan? Where is Miyan?” Yuhui’s dark eyes swept down from Xueyu to the boy he was fond of, mouth settling into the placidiy of a natural frown for all the trouble he’d caused Laike.

“She is with Chongwei and Jiewei. We will locate and return her home safely, Young Masters, do not worry.” Xueyu started toward the street, motioning with a standoffish hand for his student to follow behind.

“I guess I’ll see you next week,” Laike offered quietly in Yuhui’s direction, sight of shaded gold dragging the ground as he followed behind his teacher.

“See you, Laike,” the middle prince offered back a little too sweetly for the tone of a passingly polite farewell. “I hope you have a safe trip back to the mountain… and thank you for protecting me. My parents would surely agree that they are in your debt.” It was a last ditch effort to lessen any punishment that would befall the youth from Yunji’s hollow darkness. As much as Yuhui often loathed his status, he was unafraid to use it to his advantage when it really mattered.

“Farewell, Master Xueyu,” Yu added when they were almost out of range, voice raised, a chiming bell above the settling roar of the busy market streets.

“Practice hard for your next lesson, Young Masters,” was all the response the Tian boys were given before the bobbing heads of Xueyu and his study were lost to the density of the crowd.

Laike was an awful liar. 

Whenever there was mischief afoot on Yunji, Chongwei always demanded he remain the strong, silent backbone to her fast talking grift. Even Jiewei agreed: Laike trying to lie his way out of trouble was a death sentence for all things fun.

Laike’s honesty was so anticipated that when the Weis cooked up catastrophe on the mountain, Xueyu went directly to that shadow woven disciple for an explanation, no matter what obstacles the sisters put in his path. But now, the boy had his head bowed in shame. He offered no explanations because he had none; he didn’t know why what he’d done brought such dishonour to his master; didn’t understand why his master was suddenly so ashamed of him. 

Was it because Yuhui was a prince? Was it a matter of status, of courtly positions? Was Laike not good enough for that boy his mentor had brought him down the mountain to serve?

Or was it that he’d touched him at all? Was he meant to be solitary? Was he intended to remain unwanted? 

Obedient and meek, the youth kept pace with his master’s shape cast long on the ground, not daring to look up.

When they turned a corner, Xueyu’s step relaxed. As they passed an open stall selling a world of colorful silks and hand-spun tassels, the master swordsman glanced back at Laike with his stern eyes only just beginning to soften. 

“Was he being honest?” The man finally asked, pausing briefly to allow his student to walk alongside him. “Or was Prince Yuhui spinning lies to keep your activities secret?”

“Yuhui was telling the truth,” the boy who wouldn’t lie to his master confirmed. He continued to refuse the swordmaster’s staredown as he confessed to the rest, even though it hadn’t been prompted. “We stopped at a noodle shop and I wanted to see the arena where you’ve won so much glory. We walked and talked, and we were cornered by three men, and they did attempt to kidnap him, so I protected him. He just… left out a moment or two.”

“What else happened then?” Xueyu looked ahead, dodging a small girl who was running the wrong way up the long aisle spilling forth into the street they strode. His shoulders slumped in a barely noticeable display of disappointment—he’d been looking forward to spoiling Laike with all the food he could eat for being so studious and accomplished at their home, sweets galore, as much as he could squirrel away into his depthless shadow hands. 

Laike paused, steps slowed as he swallowed hard. 

“Yuhui asked me if relationships were forbidden on the mountain, and we talked about desire and suffering and want,” the boy began slowly, chin tucked. He’d really been looking forward to spending this afternoon proudly at his master’s side—instead, this walk was pain, every step a punishment for a wrong he didn’t entirely understand. “He took my hand and asked me if I’d like to know what it was like to be wanted. He told me he could show me with a kiss. And I said yes.”

By now, the boy had stopped entirely, lip between his teeth to keep his confusion from spilling into emotional distress. 

“Is that where I went wrong, shifu? For wanting to feel that? Or is it just that it was him?”

Suddenly alone, Xueyu looked back then returned to his student’s side. He placed an arm around the boy’s shoulder encouraging him forward.

“Well, first of all, you should not be doing that in places like these where you can easily be taken advantage of and I’m very disappointed that it happened. You’re lucky that more damage was not caused to you or the Prince. Second, I’m not like Lady Jiling. It’s not wrong to want to feel things like that, Laike, no. Everybody wants to feel desired, everybody has those types of feelings. What’s wrong is to act upon them when they’re only going to lead you down a thorny path.” He kept the youth of shadows close, guiding him along in their search for the three teen girls. 

Xueyu would have never thought a trip to the city would bring about the conversation they now engaged in. These new experiences opened up a labyrinth congested with too many more, branching paths of hurt and heartache. The swordsman who watched this child at his side grow and blossom from a clever boy to a competent teen to a wise and respectful young man was not sure if he was ready to watch the world take Laike away from him just yet.

“Yuhui is a prince,” the older man continued. “He may not be the immediate heir to the throne but there are protocols embedded deep into his life. His availability should always be viewed at arms length—it’s not unheard of for royalty to keep relationships outside of their main commitments but think about this and wager it against what you want for yourself: you are an extremely special person, Lai. Do you really deserve to be a dalliance to someone who can have whatever he wants at any given moment?”

Laike wavered under his mentor’s wing, finally looking up to catch the edge of his jaw, not yet ready to meet him eye to eye. “Am I stupid for thinking he actually liked me?”

“You’re not stupid,” Xueyu countered, stern in his insistence. “Maybe he does like you but… maybe that doesn’t matter. Do you understand what I’m saying here? I just want you to be careful with your heart.”

“What do I do, then?” The boy’s plaintive gaze finally found its way up to Xueyu’s eyes. That lithe thing leaned into his master’s weight; he was always heat seeking like a lizard, like a snake, body heat a treasured reassurance from this father figure he’d held so high for the past twelve years of his life. “I don’t know how to be careful with that—a heart.”

“It’s like with anything, Lai. Assess the situation, do your best to anticipate what’s next and plan your course of action based on everything you know, everything you have seen. If something doesn’t feel right, then maybe it isn’t. If your desire is telling you one thing and your sense is telling you another, take the time to bridge the gap between them.” The man looked over to the boy, that narrow thing that nearly matched his height. “Jumping into anything head first is a bad idea. You know this, right?”

“I’m sorry I cut people’s hands off,” the boy grumbled, an apology laced with great labor. It was a confession of a smaller guilt: responding too brashly for the level of threat, jumping head first into the fray, losing himself to the immediacy of the fight. Even as a child, Laike responded to both threats and surprises like an animal; a lifetime of tutelage on self control did little to change this. “They deserved it though.”

“I wouldn’t go lobbing off the limbs of everyone that tries to rob or harm you, but to protect a prince, it was okay. I’m proud of you for doing what was right, even though you were outnumbered.” Xueyu always downplayed Laike’s fighting ability for humility’s sake, spoke of his gifted pupil like his skills were comparable to the rest of his students—he wasn’t; they weren’t. Not in the slightest. The master swordsman knew that it was the three men who were truly at a disadvantage against his shadowstalker. “Losing a hand is a small price to pay for their actions. Now they will have to answer to the justice of King Tian.”

He gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and let him go. “If you didn’t save any room for food, then we can get some things for later, but you have to hide them from everyone, understand? The Weis already accused me of playing favorites today.”

“I want to bring sweets back for the little ones,” Laike imparted, immediate in his priorities. He was beginning to ease back into the casual rapport he shared with his teacher, the closest thing he had to a father. Head dropped a little with a grin beginning to take root on his sharp features. “It’s been nearly an hour since I ate—you think I can’t clear your wallet?”

“I would honestly like to see you try,” Xueyu said in the beats of a dare, brows dipped like the doubt that crossed his features was genuine. This was the sort of match-up he would always be willing to lose; the man knew, first hand, how much joy food brought the fighter. “I mean… unless you don’t think you can, or are too scared of stuffing yourself to sickness.”

“Puking just means I can keep eating.” Laike’s joke bore overtones of a threat. The degree to which he believed his statement was rendered questionable by the serious look on his face—as though Xueyu had struck him with a challenge and dropped it in the dirt; as though Laike had just stooped to retrieve it, covered in mud, with every intent to make the perpetrator pay. 

“Just remember: when you’re bent over in the gutter clearing your stomach to prove a point, I did not make you do this.” Xue smiled and guided them to a wheeled cart serving steaming buns, plump and pale and glistening in the bright sparkle of day. “You better tie that hair up tight, boy, I’m not holding it back for you either.”

“Thanks Dad,” the boy laughed, hands shoved into pockets as he followed along. For now, crisis had been averted; Xueyu’s inevitable loss had been staunched. Once again, Laike grinned like he was simply the boy Xueyu raised from feral child to skilled young man and no one stood between them.