In his shock, he fled the cradle of those arms with a frantic desperation, his first instinct a frantic retreat. As the felt blankets fell away, he glimpsed the General’s form, clad only in white under cloth. The shock was a cold tide. His mind raced to the visceral, searching his own body for the violation he feared. Finding himself unmarried, his buttocks dry and no feeling of foreign intrusion, the hollow ache of his spirit finally subsided into a sharp, defensive anger. He snatched a tunic to shroud his nakedness, his eyes fixed upon Yujien in a silent glare.

Yujien, still drifting with sleep, his brows deeply furrowed, opened his eyes and regarded the youth’s vigilance with a faint amusement. “I did not touch you,” he murmured. His gaze drifted to the disordered fabric in the boy’s hands. “You divested yourself of those garments.”

Qu Fongning’s disbelief was a wall. He retreated further from the bed’s edge. “And why,” he demanded, “must I sleep in this place?”

Yujien propped himself upon an elbow, a slow yawn escaping him. “You clung to me with the tenacity of one drowning. When I sought to release your hand at midnight, you answered with your teeth.”

Qu Fongning’s eyes fell to the General’s left shoulder. There, etched in the bronze skin, were two rows of livid impressions—a map of violence that spoke of a bite delivered with singular ferocity. He recoiled from the evidence, his voice a sharp denial. “One cannot know whose mark that is. Do not cast your slanders upon me.”

The General watched him with a smirk. He gestured to the bruised flesh. “You are welcome to compare the alignment.”

The heavy fog of overhang still clouded Qu Fongning’s thoughts. It took a heartbeat for the implication to register—an invitation to repeat the act. Fury ignited within him. He wiped his mouth with a deliberate disgust, as if to purge the very taste of the man, before preparing to leap from the bed. Yet as he moved, he found his military breeches lay abandoned near the entrance, and one boot had vanished entirely into the shadows. He was forced to don his inner shirt with his back turned, only to find the ties severed and the buttons torn away. The ruin of his clothing was a testament to a night he could not recall. He cast another final, venomous glance at Yujien.

Yujien sat up, his hand pressing against his temple as if to steady a migraine. He watched the youth struggle to knot the remnants of his shirt before retrieving a single sock from the folds of the bedding. He tossed it toward him. “Yours,” he said.

The gesture only stoked the fire of Qu Fongning’s resentment. What use was a single sock? He snatched it with a dark look, pulled it on with trembling hands, and prepared to depart.

Yujien watched his movements, before voicing, “Do you remember what you said yesterday?”

Qu Fongning froze, his profile turned stiffly to stare at him. “What did I say?”

Yujien rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The wine claimed you long before the journey’s end. You were singing upon Guo Wuliang’s shoulder. But when I approached, your eyes found me, and you lunged with the fury of a wolfhound. Your shouts and blows left the camp in a state of shock.” He touched his jaw and said vexedly. “Your strength is a thing I’m finally learning to respect.”

Qu Fongning observed the bruise beneath his stubble and then his own hand, where the skin over his knuckles was split. He felt no remorse, only rubbed his hand in a pose of victory.

“I attempted to settle you in your own quarters,” Yujien continued, “but you would not let go. You struck anyone who dared to approach. In the end, I was forced to bring you here. I spent the night listening to a litany of ten thousand curses against my name. To hear Guo Wuliang speak of your sleepless nights, one would never guess you possessed such vitality.”

“How did I curse you?” Qu Fongning interjected.

The General understood the boy’s heart too well. He offered the truth in fragments. “You claimed I was a stranger to love, that I had betrayed the sanctuary of your feelings. You asked why such a man as I should return at all—suggesting I might have better served the world by dying at the Hill of the Falling Goose. It was a blurred recitation, yet one sentence remains perfectly lucid: you called me a cold-blooded beast, and then confessed that it was for this very beast that you pined.”

Qu Fongning’s breath hitched. For a moment he didn’t know how to rebuke him, and merely stared. “You found joy in being called a beast?”

“In the confession of your affection,” Yujien replied with a smile, “I found a great deal of joy.”

A surge of blood rose to Qu Fongning’s face. “I was drunk. I remember nothing. They signify nothing.” He abandoned the search for his other sock and stepped onto the cold earth to retrieve his coat.

“A draught of forty-year Fen-jiu is a trial for any man,” Yujien said from behind him. “That final toast you offered—was it a hope that my wounds might prove fatal? If I had truly perished, you would grieve.”

Qu Fongning the military coat, at the words, his back stiffened. He remained silent for a moment before turning. “Yes. My heart would grieve. What of it? What is there to do?”

The directness of the admission caught Yujien off guard. The General fell silent, then spoke. “To know you labored through the night for the Moon-Star Law… that, too, brought me joy.”

Qu Fongning offered a wry smile and pulled on his coat. But as he moved, the world dissolved into a gray mist. The room spun, and he felt himself falling backwards.

Before he could strike the earth, a powerful arm caught him by the waist and pulled him into his arms. The pain in his head was a rhythmic throb, and he caught his head. “Your constitution for wine,” Yujien sighed against his hair, smiling, “remains as wretched as ever.”

Qu Fongning did not answer. He waited for the vertigo to pass, then attempted to push himself away. He found his shoulders pinned by a weight he could not shift. “What more does the General require?” he asked, his voice thin with exhaustion.

Yujien did not release him. He looked into the boy’s eyes with a searing, desperate intensity. The catch turned into an embrace.

“Ningning, come back to me.”

Qu Fongning’s face remained unchanged and rose to meet his deep gaze.

“No,” he replied, his voice a flat, immutable stone.

Yujien’s coarse thumb traced the curve of the youth’s cheek. “Does this separation bring you joy? You hate me with such fervor, yet you wither with worry at the first whisper of my shadow. Last night, you wept in my arms, begging for my death so that you might be released from your own agony. To hear it… it wounded my heart.” He touched the boy’s lips. “If you were whole without me, I would leave you to yourself. But you are a creature of sorrow in your exile, and that I cannot permit.”

Qu Fongning pulled away, looking at the bed.

“I remember no tears. I remember no such words.”

Yujien forced him to meet his gaze. “Ningning. Do not lie. In these two months, has there been a single day when I was not in your thoughts?”

Qu Fongning matched his gaze in a fit of stubbornness, mist gathered in his dark eyes. “I cannot forget you, but my heart… it cannot pass over what was done.”

Yujien drew him closer, his words softening into a murmur. “Do you still not understand?”

Qu Fongning shook his head weakly. “No. I have thought for a long time. I have even admitted to myself that in that situation, your choice was the only logical path. You paralyzed your enemies and preserved your men with a single, brilliant stroke. If I were merely your officer, your student, or even your hound, I would have walked into the fire for you, serve the nation with my whole heart.”

Yujien’s hand stilled near the boy’s ear. “But you cannot do so as a lover?”

Qu Fongning’s voice quenched into a calm. “No. I cannot distinguish between the ‘subject’ and the ‘soldier’ in your eyes. You cannot treat me as a man while demanding I act as a dog.”

A flicker of pain crossed Yujien’s eyes. His throat twitched. “Then I shall demand it no longer. I will not force it upon you again.”

Qu Fongning nodded and said quietly. “Yeah, I will not demand of you, and you shall not demand of me. So… be it. Don’t mention the word ‘love’ again.” He struggled to rise and arranged his clothes, his head throbbing with a renewed violence.

Yujien watched him, a sigh ghosting across his lips. “I find I miss the days of your tantrums,” he whispered.

“I was a child then,” Qu Fongning chuckled, his back turned. “I have grown.” His head still ringing, he reached for his outer coat, but his hands betrayed him.

Yujien draped the garment over the boy’s thin shoulders. “And if I insist upon speaking of it?”

Qu Fongning pulled the coat tight, a reckless, self-destructive smile touching his lips. “You are my master, my sovereign, the Commander General of our forces. You possess the power and the rank to insist. But this heart of mine… it does not have the strength for a second sacrifice. I do not possess your poise; I cannot take up and cast aside as you do.” Pausing, he lowered his lashes. “I beg of you—let me go.”

Silence in the ger. Outside, the distant rhythm of drills drifted through the winter air. As Qu Fongning’s bare feet touched the ground, he was seized and cast back upon the bed. Yujien hovered over him, his face—usually a mask of marble—contorted with a rare, jagged anxiety. “I cannot let you go, does that suffice?”

Qu Fongning looked up, meeting that burning gaze with an eerie serenity. “It is of no use.”

Yujien pressed him deeper into the blankets, his hand brushing the stray hair from the boy’s brow.

“Return to my side. Ningning… I beg of you.”

His nose prickled. A sharp ache rose in Qu Fongning’s throat, yet his gaze remained dry.

“General,” he repeated, “it is of no use.”

“Are you still consumed by that single grievance?” Yujien’s voice rose, his composure fraying. “Ningning, you are possessed of such intellect—why don’t you understand?”

Qu Fongning slowly shook his head. “It is you who doesn’t understand. General, all my life, I just wanted a lover who, in the moment of ultimate peril, would choose to… live or die alongside me.” His chest was under too much pressure to breathe, as he said the last few words, he creased his brows.

Yujien surged upward, yet the weight of his presence remained a crushing force. His eyes, usually the color of the verdant heavens, were now a landscape of broken veins and fire.

“…I can be that lover.”

Qu Fongning’s inky eyes looked at him with a profound, quiet regret. “It is too late.”

Yujien’s lips trembled; he pressed his forehead against the youth’s. “One more time, Ningning. I will honor your will. I will compel you to nothing. We shall face life and death together.”

These were the words Qu Fongning had authored in a thousand dreams. Hearing them now, the armor of his stoicism shattered. He turned his face away, and the first tears fell onto the felt.

“I had thought that you would never yield. Not in this life.”

Yujien pressed closer, his face against the boy’s. “One more time?”

Behind closed eyes, a sequence of thoughts raced through Qu Fongning’s mind. “You said once that you did not understand my resistance. At first, it enraged me. But in the silence, I realized you were not deceiving me. You truly did not know.”

Yujien stilled. The weariness in the boy’s voice was the sound of a long-fought battle nearing its end. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure of his intention. “I will strive to know,” the General promised.

Qu Fongning offered a meek, tear-stained laugh. “General, normally, a man has no need to ‘strive’ for such knowledge.”

Yujien gazed at him, his expression one of profound labor. “Ningning, I am your senior by fifteen years.” He pulled the youth toward him, his voice a raspy shadow of its former self. “There are things… that are hard to learn in day.”

Qu Fongning’s lips remained sealed, but his heart thumped in his chest.

And he heard him speak by his ear. “Come back to me. Be my sun again.”

A shiver raced from Qu Fongning’s fingertips to his toes. His eyes were reddened even more, yet his lips curved into a tiny smile. “I suppose I have been elevated. I am no longer a monkey.”

Sensing the shift in the air, Yujien pulled back slightly, his eyes alight. “Is that an agreement?”

Qu Fongning withdrew his smile immediately. “I don’t know,” Qu Fongning muttered. “Give me… a few days to reflect.”

“I shall wait, until you are willing.” Yujien said softly,

The words struck a chord of memory in Qu Fongning’s mind. Before he could grasp it, Yujien pulled him into his arms. “Let me hold you.”

Qu Fongning considered the request. “Very well.”

No sooner had the word left his lips than he was seized by a strength like forged iron. The air was driven from his lungs; he gasped, caught in a grip that threatened to suffocate him. He had not anticipated such a violent embrace. He began to cough, feeling a sudden, warm dampness against his chest. “Your… your wound has reopened,” he managed to say.

Yujien gave him one final, crushing squeeze before releasing him. The linen on his chest was saturated with fresh blood, yet his eyes were bright with a triumphant mirth. “A strategist’s ploy,” he joked.

Qu Fongning said nothing. He rose and dressed in silence. As he reached the threshold of the tent, Yujien called his name one last time.

“Ningning.”

“Yes?” he replied, the habit of obedience returning unbidden.

Yujien stood bare-chested, the blood still seeping from his bandages. Against the pale light of the morning, the injury looked grave. He met the boy’s gaze and smiled. “It is nothing. I am very… happy.”

Qu Fongning blinked, a sense of bewilderment washing over him, and stepped out into the world. A fine, powdered snow was falling, covering the earth in a thin shroud. He looked toward the pale, wintry sun and exhaled a long breath. If I must endure this again, he thought, my life will be shortened by a decade. But perhaps it matters little. To cross blades with such a man is a fate that demands an early end. Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his temples, and he pressed his hand against his liver-gate pulse, his brow furrowing in agony.

~

The respite lasted less than half-a-day. He had barely returned to the Bureau to process the confessions of the Oghuz Market assassins when he was summoned once more to the General’s quarters. Winter had descended in earnest, and the garrison—wealthy with spoils—burned coal in earth channels that sent waves of heat through the tents. Qu Fongning unfastened the top buttons of his tunic as he entered.

Yujien beckoned him closer and placed a thumb-ring in his hand. “I nearly forgot,” the General said with a smile. “I doubted you would ask for it yourself. Come—let me place it upon you. When you are ready, you may wear it on your finger.” He noticed the boy’s curiosity regarding the ring on an obsidian chain. “Old Oyghr fashioned it for you.”

Qu Fongning allowed the General to loop the necklace over his head. Yujien adjusted the ring and brushed a lock of dark hair from beneath the stone.

Qu Fongning inquired whether there was other business. And “None,” was the reply.

Qu Fongning felt a surge of irritation. “You summoned me for this trifle?”

Yujien looked at him, his smile deepening. “Yes. I want to see you again.”

It was a sentiment Qu Fongning had heard a thousand times in their past; he had developed a certain immunity to its charm. He tucked the ring into his collar. “Then I shall take my leave.” He noted that the blood-stained bandages had been removed, and a fresh roll of linen lay untouched beside the General. “Where is your guard?”

“There is a festival for the first snow in Oghuz,” Yujien said, beginning to unroll the cloth. “They departed at dawn.”

Qu Fongning saw through the deception but did not speak of it. He took the bandages from the General’s hand. “I will tend to the wound.” He opened a jar of pungent ointment and began to cleanse the injury—a four-finger wide sweep where an iron arrow had grazed the chest. He looked at the jagged mark and thought, If only it had been a few inches deeper.

As the thought crossed his mind, he found Yujien watching him, as if reading the very ink of his soul. “My armor held,” the General said, answering the unspoken wish. “It did not penetrate.”

In the past, such a revelation would have brought a flush of shame to Qu Fongning’s face. Now, he remained composed, knowing that any attempt at concealment was futile. “A pity,” he remarked coolly. He lifted the General’s arm, his hands moving across the powerful muscles of the back to secure the dressing. When it came time to sever the cloth, he hesitated, then leaned forward and bit through the linen with his teeth.

It had been four months since they had known such proximity. The closeness sent a shiver across his scalp. He saw the heat rising in Yujien’s eyes—the General reached for him, his intent clear, only to arrest the movement at the last second. He touched the ring hanging at the boy’s throat. “When you returned,” Yujien murmured, “you wore this on a red thread. Was it intended solely to strike me?”

Qu Fongning tucked the ring back. “No. It was to return what was yours.” He stood and stepped back, his face a mask of calm. “To earn that thread, I served thoroughly…. with my mouth.”

The words were colder than the chill outside. Even the heat of the tent seemed to freeze into ice. Qu Fongning watched the shock bloom across Yujien’s face, and a faint, ghost-like smile touched his lips. “General, spare me this display.”

It was a long time before Yujien spoke, his voice ragged. “…Does it disgust you?”

Qu Fongning shook his head, as if speaking to himself. “No. It makes me waver.”

He turned and walked out into the snow.