THE CHAMBER OF ICE in the prison was lightless, airless. Its interior was no larger than a cowshed, but the walls were a foot thick, and it was barred with three layers of gates. Every serious case involving the imprisonment and interrogation of unforgivable criminals was conducted within its walls.
No gods above, no escape below. A bleak prison cell filled with the midnight wailing of ten thousand ghosts.
Who knew how many prisoners had died upon the bone-chilling stone bed in the Chamber of Ice, and how many years' worth of coagulated blood had seeped into the cracks of the heavy, ice-rimmed bricks.
"Treat him quickly. Stop the bleeding. It is His Imperial Majesty's command that this person does not die."
In the dim prison, the warden irritably gave directions. The healers who answered to him rushed back and forth in the cell, scrambling for spiritual medicines and magical implements, while younger disciples rushed to pour out the bloody water wiped from the wounds.
The warden clapped a hand over his forehead, sighing. "My god, Wangshu-jun was too vicious. What even happened here…?"
In their frazzled haste, they suddenly heard someone announce from outside, "Xihe-jun has arrived!"
The warden nearly bit off his own tongue.
Wangshu comes, Wangshu goes, Xihe comes after Wangshu goes; were they the sun and the moon, taking turns to rise in the east and set in the west, not stopping until they had killed Gu Mang?
If he were merely some traitor, they could kill him and no one would care. How many people had ever left an interrogation in the Chamber of Ice alive? But His Imperial Majesty insisted that this person was to remain alive, so if these two noble masters kept having their fun, the sucker who'd have to mop up afterward would be him!
Cursing inwardly, the warden nevertheless put on a warm and enthusiastic smile to greet his visitor. "Aiyo, Xihe-jun's here. This subordinate was too busy to welcome you. I am remiss, and I ask Xihe-jun to forgive me, and not to find fault with someone as—"
—low as this subordinate didn't leave his mouth before Mo Xi lifted a hand to cut him off. He didn't spare the warden a single glance as he headed straight into the Chamber of Ice.
The warden rushed after him. "Xihe-jun, you can't. Gu Mang is covered in wounds—he's not even conscious. Even if you wanted to interrogate him—"
"I wish to see him."
"But Xihe-jun…"
"I said I wish to see him," Mo Xi said angrily. "Do you not understand?!"
The warden was stunned.
"Move aside!"
How would the warden dare to stop him? He swiftly turned to let Mo Xi pass, then followed right behind.
The Chamber of Ice was suffused with a bitter cold. The only source of light was a faint blue flame lapping in a skull-shaped lamp. Gu Mang lay on a stone bed, his white prisoner's garb dyed scarlet, crimson water dripping from the blood grooves in the stone. His face was terrifyingly pale, his eyes wide and unseeing.
Mo Xi walked to his side in silence, betraying no perceptible reaction.
"Wangshu-jun suspected that he had something to do with the Mansion of Beauties murders," the warden cautiously explained. "So he used the Draught of Confession on Gu Mang and tried the Soul-Recording Spell to dig memories from his head, but nothing worked."
Mo Xi made no sound. He gazed at the body on the stone bed. The surrounding healers were hurriedly treating the curse wounds on his body, but Gu Mang's injuries were numerous and deep. As it stood, they couldn't even slow the bleeding…
"See, Xihe-jun?" The warden grimaced. "As I said, he's close to death. Even if you wanted to interrogate him right now, he wouldn't be able to answer a single question. Earlier, Wangshu-jun used all sorts of methods and still left infuriated, so he likely didn't succeed either. Why don't you return another day…?"
"Get out."
The warden blinked.
"Get out!"
The warden scrambled toward the door, his face contorted. He watched Mo Xi drive off the healers one after another, and it took all his courage to shout at Mo Xi's retreating back. "Xihe-jun, His Imperial Majesty wants Gu Mang alive! Remember to have some mercy!"
Xihe-jun had already lowered all three gates with a wave of his hand.
The warden suppressed the urge to weep as he gave instructions to his disciples. "Um, go get that Divine Tincture of Life I keep at the bottom of that one chest. Once Xihe-jun comes out, I suspect only Divine Tincture of Life will keep that little traitor alive…"
The room was now empty save for two. This narrow, sealed world was just as the folk songs said: no gods above, no escape below. The walls were a foot thick, separating those within from the rest of the world— leaving only Gu Mang and Mo Xi.
Mo Xi walked to the side of the bed, lowering his lashes to look at Gu Mang's face. After a few moments of stillness, he abruptly reached out and lifted him to sitting.
"Gu Mang." Mo Xi's mouth opened and closed slightly. His face was still as stagnant water, but his hands were trembling. "You'd better wake up."
Gu Mang's only response was to stare from those unfocused eyes.
Both the Draught of Confession and the Soul-Recording Spell devastated their target's mind. It wasn't so bad if they obediently confessed, but if they happened to resist, they would feel as if their organs were burning and their innards were tearing apart. Many strong, unyielding individuals might withstand beating and torture, but these two truthcompelling techniques would still drive them crazy.
Furthermore, Mo Xi knew that the Liao Kingdom often cast forbidden secret-keeping spells on the bodies of their soldiers and generals to keep military secrets from being divulged. If such forbidden Liao techniques had clashed with Murong Lian's Soul-Recording Spell, they would doubtless result in double the agony.
Mo Xi swallowed thickly. This was the first time he had seen what an interrogation did to Gu Mang with his own eyes.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Gu Mang had betrayed him, had tried to kill him. His hands were stained with blood, and his crimes could never be pardoned. But…
This was also the man who had once abandoned everything before the throne, caring nothing for his life, his rank, or his future prospects as he fearlessly shouted at the emperor merely so his soldiers could be properly buried.
This was also the man who had once kept Mo Xi company by a bonfire, roasting meat and chatting with him, smiling at and teasing him, as Mo Xi sat, wordless, by his side.
This was also the man who had once, in bed, murmured to Mo Xi that he loved him.
That spirited, valiant war god's body had seemed as if it would never cool. That youthful, brilliant young man had seemed as if he would blaze passionately all his life. Yet all that remained was this scarred and wounded ruin in front of Mo Xi's eyes…
At that, a thought occurred to Mo Xi, clear as day. He had been away from the capital for a full two years. In that time, how many interrogations of this sort had taken place? So many people wanted to pry words from Gu Mang's mouth and obtain the secrets of the Liao Kingdom. Exactly how many times had he been brutalized beyond the pains of death? How many times had Gu Mang's agonized howling gone unheard?
As Mo Xi's pain deepened, his reason was swiftly disappearing.
The two of us will always be together; no matter how hard, I will endure until the end.
Shidi…
Mo Xi squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly no longer able to bear it. Clenching his jaw, he pulled Gu Mang into his arms. Radiance gathered in his hands as he pressed them against Gu Mang's back and passed the purest, most potent spiritual energy he possessed into that bloodstained body.
Mo Xi knew he shouldn't do it—he would be discovered, and he had no way to explain why he'd rushed in to personally heal Gu Mang's wounds.
He understood that he should give Gu Mang over to the prison's healers. These people wouldn't defy the emperor's orders and let Gu Mang come to further harm, and Murong Lian's work might not have been fatal.
But…Mo Xi couldn't hold back. His heart seemed to have been snatched away and torn apart, tormented as it had been by more than a decade of love and hatred, unanswered yearning and stubborn attachment.
It was as though if he didn't take hold of this body before him—if he didn't personally pass him spiritual energy—he would be the one to die in this Chamber of Ice.
Most of the wounds on Gu Mang's body had come from Murong Lian's holy weapon, and they healed with awful slowness. In the process of stopping the bleeding and treating Gu Mang's injuries, Mo Xi's military robes were almost entirely soaked. As Gu Mang's limbs gradually began to recover, he unconsciously began to shudder, his bloody hands quivering incessantly.
After a long while, Gu Mang started to mumble. "I…don't know… I don't know…anything…"
Mo Xi had been silent this whole time, not saying a single word as he held Gu Mang. He didn't dare be too intimate, as if any closeness were a colossal sin. But he refused to let go; he felt his own heart would stop if he did. He closed his eyes, slowly sending vigorous spiritual energy into Gu Mang's body.
Other than Gu Mang's half-conscious mumbling, there were no other sounds in the Chamber of Ice. Eventually, amid this hush, Mo Xi heard him mutter something new:
"I…want, I want…a…"
Mo Xi was stunned. "What?"
Gu Mang's voice softened further, almost as faint as a mosquito's buzz. Tearful, trembling, shaking: "home…"
This final word drifted down, soft as willow fluff, but it exploded in Mo Xi's ears like a clap of thunder.
Mo Xi stared down at Gu Mang's face and found that his eyes were tightly closed. His long, dark lashes, laid over the purplish shadows below his eyes, were wet. Gu Mang had choked out those words in a dream.
Many years ago, Mo Xi had once kissed Gu Mang's fingers in the throes of love and desire and said earnestly, "I've been named Xihe-jun by the emperor. In the future, I'll never need to bow to my uncle's whims again. No one can make me do anything. No one can stop me from doing anything. I will achieve everything that I promised you. Wait for me. I mean it."
Before this moment, Mo Xi had never dared to speak of "meaning it" or "the future" to Gu Mang—because Gu Mang had always looked as if he didn't care, and like he didn't believe him.
But on that day, Mo Xi became Xihe-jun. He was no longer merely the young Mo-gongzi under the thumb of his uncle. He finally had the courage to promise a future to his beloved, as if he'd saved up long enough to afford a presentable treasure, and was carefully and cautiously offering it to the one he loved with wholehearted delight in hopes it would be accepted.
Mo Xi wanted to carve out his entire heart. He wanted to swear all the oaths in the world, just for a word of acknowledgment from Gu Mang.
Mo Xi had said so many things that day in their bed. Gu Mang had smiled as he patted Mo Xi's hair, and let Mo Xi fuck him relentlessly, unstoppably. He seemed to listen to and understand everything, yet he also seemed to find his little shidi merely adorable—a little dummy. No matter how fierce Mo Xi became, no matter if he was or wasn't Xihe-jun, his Gu Mang-gege would cherish and indulge him for a lifetime.
"What do you like? What do you want?" Mo Xi asked.
Gu Mang didn't say anything, didn't ask for anything. In the end, after the point Mo Xi couldn't count how many times he'd come inside Gu Mang, after he'd fucked Gu Mang into tearful delirium, Gu Mang spoke.
Whether because his thoughts were scattered, or because he was completely spent, Gu Mang tilted his head back to gaze at the inky swirls of the huipatterned canopy and mumbled, "I… I want…a home…"
Mo Xi was stunned. He suspected he would never in his life forget Gu Mang's expression when he said these words. Gu Mang had always been such a smiling, carefree man, but when he said this, he didn't dare to look Mo Xi in the eye. He was such a confident person, but in that moment, only hesitance and fear remained.
It was as if Gu Mang was begging for something unspeakably precious, pleading for a fantasy he could never hope to attain.
After saying this, Gu Mang closed his eyes, tears rolling down from their reddened rims. Mo Xi wasn't quite sure whether they were the tears Gu Mang usually shed when they went to bed.
Mo Xi realized then with impossible clarity that the invincible General Gu was, in the end, still an orphaned slave. He had been beaten and cursed at for more than twenty years, without a true home that he could call his own, without a single person he could call family.
Mo Xi felt a painful pressure in his heart, an unbearable ache. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Gu Mang's wet and trembling mouth. In the spaces between their gasping breaths, he stroked Gu Mang's hair and whispered, "Okay. I'll give it to you."
I will give it to you. I will give you a home.
This is the first time you've asked me for anything. Even if it's a joke, even if it's nonsense, I'll take it seriously.
I know your life's been horribly hard. So many people have bullied you, toyed with you…so you don't dare accept what others give you. You don't dare believe what others promise you. But I would never lie to you. Wait for me.
Wait for me. I'll do my best—upon battlefields of blood, I'll make my name, I'll use all my war-won merits for the right to be with you. Wait for me.
I will give you a home.
Mo Xi's past self had fervently—naively—made this promise in his heart.
It won't take too many years; it won't be too long. I will give you a home. I want to stay with you, always.
Heartsore, the young Mo Xi had stroked his Gu Mang-gege's face, begging him with such imploring need.
Gu Mang, wait a little longer for me…won't you…?