CHONGHUA HAD SEEN a sudden period of growth over the past few years. All sorts of restaurants, big and small, had popped up in the capital like bamboo shoots sprouting after the rain. However, the place Mo Xi brought Gu Mang to was clearly an older establishment.
The Soaring Swan.
This restaurant had once been one of the finest in Chonghua's capital. In those days, only aristocrats could afford its shockingly high prices. But in recent years, The Soaring Swan's haughty attitude had softened, likely due to competition. This old swan had no choice but mimic the nearby songbirds that offered good food at cheap prices; the menu was no longer so outlandishly expensive, and ordinary cultivators could afford to dine here. Despite these changes, the old swan's time was slowly but surely ticking away. It was the dinner rush right now, yet the premises were desolate, with scant few carriages stopping outside.
Mo Xi entered the restaurant with Gu Mang mindlessly trailing his every step. The owner, an obsequious, portly man with the surname Liu, rushed over at once. "Aiya, Xihe-jun, long time no see. Here for dinner?"
"A private room, please."
"Of course—the old one?"
Mo Xi paused. "Mn."
Proprietor Liu led them both up to the second floor and to a private room at the end of the corridor. Its delicate entrance curtain was crafted of tortoiseshell bamboo, and a thick carpet embroidered with celestial bodies covered the floor. Mo Xi still remembered the first time he'd brought Gu Mang to this room. After following Mo Xi through the door, Gu Mang had been stunned speechless by the sumptuous trappings of luxury. He'd spent an age gathering himself, only to ask, face ashen—Just to double-check, Dage, are you paying? If not, I couldn't afford it even if you sold me.
But like the restaurant's fame and glory, the carpet's once-shimmering golden threads had been dulled by a layer of dust. Mo Xi flipped through the menu, but his thoughts were such a mess he couldn't focus on the words. In the end, he snapped the intricately embroidered menu shut and pushed it toward Gu Mang.
"You choose."
Gu Mang was still toying with the bronze plaque on his collar and started at the sound of Mo Xi's voice. "I can't read."
"There are pictures. The scroll has been imbued with spiritual energy, so you can see how the dishes look."
So Gu Mang opened the menu, holding it up as he perused it with care. "I want this one...this one...and this one..." He alternated between jabbing periodically at the menu and biting down on his finger in a daze. "So hungry."
Mo Xi was silent. He had turned his face away and was no longer looking at Gu Mang. When Gu Mang noticed this, he asked, "Are you still mad?"
"No."
Gu Mang thought for a moment, and then said, "Don't be mad. You're also important."
Silence.
If the emotion in Mo Xi's eyes had been jealousy, most of it faded instantly at these words, darkening into sorrow. He glanced at the pitch- black slave collar on Gu Mang's neck and could not find the words or energy to reply.
In the end, every twist of fate in his life had been tied to Gu Mang. Without the Gu Mang of yesteryear, the Mo Xi of the present wouldn't exist. If he cast aside the hatred of two warring nations, what could he hate Gu Mang for?
When his family was tearing itself apart, it was Gu Mang who held out his hand to him. When he had no reputation to speak of, it was Gu Mang who kept him company. When he had been at his wit's end, it was Gu Mang who encouraged him with a smile. He owed him a debt of grace.
Don't worry, everything will be all right. How bad could it be? Even if your uncle screwed you over, you're still a noble. Look at me—I'm a slave and I'm not even worrying, so why are you? If there comes a day when your uncle really leaves you without a place to go, I'll give you half my room to live in and half my food to eat, okay? You still have me.
How much had Gu Mang done for him? Back when Mo Xi's future had been uncertain, when he was being bullied in the military, Gu Mang had been the only person who cared about his feelings or whether he'd eaten his fill. Mo Xi was aloof and stubborn, and the aristocratic young masters he lived with all looked down on him. He had lost his father young, and his mother had remarried despite the scandal it sparked. If she had another child, Mo Xi's circumstances would become even worse.
Those other nobles would sometimes toss Mo Xi's rations to the ground. Gu Mang, who couldn't bear to see this floundering young master bullied, always set aside some of his own food for Mo Xi. But the rations slave cultivators received were quite unappetizing, and though Mo Xi never complained, Gu Mang could tell that Mo Xi merely endured them. Thus, Gu Mang came up with a plan: every few days, he'd beg cash from his buddies, telling them he needed to buy makeup and accessories for a girl. Then he'd quietly buy his shidi a few treats to cheer the poor thing up. At that time, everyone in the troop said Gu Mang was too fickle, and his buddies heckled him for his unfaithfulness.
"Two days ago, he wanted to buy a jade pin for Xiao-Lan. Today, he's here looking for money again, saying he wants to buy a flower pin for Xiao- Die. Ahh, this skirt-chasing scoundrel."
Lu Zhanxing, Gu Mang's best friend back then, had asked, "A-Mang, what happened to you? You never used to be so extravagant. Did you go wild after joining the army?"
Gu Mang responded by shamelessly sticking his hand out. "Bro, could you spare me some coin? I'll do your laundry for a month."
"Who's caught your eye now?!" Lu Zhanxing exclaimed.
Gu Mang made up a name on the spot. "Old Wang's daughter from the next village over."
Lu Zhanxing g stared. "She's only six! You're insane!"
No one knew the truth. No one knew that the deranged spendthrift skirt-chaser Gu Mang was using the excuse of visiting brothels to slip away to the closest city and wash dishes for a run-down restaurant. He'd disguise himself with a spell and change his clothes so no one could tell he was an officer from the garrison troops. He washed mountains of soup and rice bowls with such enthusiasm that even the proprietor stared in admiration.
"Young man, why don't you come work here full-time? I'll keep paying you this much."
Even under his disguise, Gu Mang's eyes were still bright as the stars on a summer's night. "Thank you, sir, but I can't abandon my other responsibilities..."
"Oh, that's a pity." The proprietor patted him on the head. "It's rare to see such a hardworking youth."
Mo Xi's Gu-shixiong suffered in secret and exhausted himself in silence, all to take care of him. And Mo Xi had no clue what he did—not until he saw his comrade's bloodstained letter and realized he was in love with this man three years his senior.
At that time, Mo Xi had charged through the snow, seized by an irrepressible need to find Gu Mang and confess his feelings. However, when he arrived, Lu Zhanxing was the only one in the tent.
"Gu Mang? They dragged him out to the brothel in the city!" Lu Zhanxing had told him." "You know what they say—youth isn't meant for abstinence! Ha ha ha!"
In that instant, Mo Xi felt as if he'd been dealt a sharp blow. He struggled to rescue his calm, but failed to control his feelings. He leapt onto a horse and sped to the brothel Lu Zhanxing had named, but only found a few of Gu Mang's friends there. Gu Mang himself was nowhere in sight. His chest burned with an unstoppable fire. Refusing to give up, he searched every shop in the nearby village, going through them one by one. At last, he found the alleged brothel-goer Gu Mang in the kitchen of a little restaurant.
Gu Mang was cloaked in an illusion spell, so Mo Xi shouldn't have been able to identify him. But he kept careful watch, and when Gu Mang looked up from the washing-basin, Mo Xi caught his eye. In that single glance, Mo Xi recognized his Gu-shige.
Mo Xi's heart—which had ricocheted between the disappointment of hearing "Gu Mang went to a brothel" to the shock of seeing Gu Mang elbows deep in a pile of dishes—was devastated. Suddenly, he had no idea how to confess his feelings. His chest roiled with passion, and even the gaze he directed at Gu Mang was scorching.
But impulses start off potent, and wane as time passes and consideration sets in. When Mo Xi had first thought to confess, he didn't find Gu Mang in the tent. When he angrily rushed to the brothel intent on dragging him out, he again didn't find Gu Mang. Now that he had finally found him, that uncontrollable fervor was no longer so urgent. He caught his breath in the windblown snow, then strode to the latticed door and flung it open, sending the chicks in the courtyard into a frenzy with the commotion. He walked straight toward the bewildered Gu Mang.
He saw Gu Mang's hands submerged in the water. If he wished to avoid exposing himself as a cultivator, Gu Mang couldn't use magic, and it was a cold winter—his fingers were red and swollen. Mo Xi felt a sudden lump in his throat. When he thought about his own status at the time, he didn't know what right he had to speak those words of confession, what right he had to ask even more of Gu Mang.
He yanked Gu Mang off the little stool without a word. Lowering his long lashes, he cupped Gu Mang's freezing hands in his own. He held his shige's hands and rubbed them between his palms. "Doesn't it hurt?" he murmured.
But Gu Mang grinned and shrugged it off. "What's a little frostbite? That's nothing—men look better a little rough around the edges." Gu Mang scratched his head with hands swollen as radishes, the tip of a sharp canine showing in his grin. "Your Gu Mang-gege is the handsomest."
It was a ridiculous sentiment: no one would find a pair of hands like frozen radishes handsome. But what did Gu Mang care? What he meant was, Since you're in the army, in the same troop as me, and you're my shidi, I can't let you be wronged.
It wasn't as if Mo Xi had never tried to dissuade Gu Mang. He'd told Gu Mang that he was being too generous, and that Mo Xi's future was uncertain; this grace might not be something he could repay. But army ruffian Gu-shixiong only laughed, his long lashes frosted over in the cold night. "Who said anything about repayment? You're in my squadron and you're my brother, so I need to protect you."
"But I..."
"Enough with the buts. If it really bothers you, make note of everything you owe me in a scroll, and return it all with interest once you've made your mark." Gu Mang ruffled Mo Xi's hair with a smile. "Aiyo, my precious princess is such a finicky little fool."
Mo Xi watched that youthful and lively grin widen in the glow of the light. Right then and there, he secretly decided he would repay Gu Mang with the best of everything he had, and more. He would seek out the rarest treasures and the most splendid finery and give them all to him. He wanted to take care of this man for a lifetime.
But what happened in the end? Gu Mang had given Mo Xi salvation, and Mo Xi repaid him with that pitch-black lock around his neck. And the last bit of irony to top it all off: this was the best he could give Gu Mang. After experiencing the kind of betrayal and hatred he had, after his heart had frozen like cold steel, this was the last thing he could give him.
So this was the "lifetime" they'd share.
The dishes had been ordered. Mo Xi continued to sit silently, arms crossed as his mind wandered.
"You're still unhappy," Gu Mang said.
Mo Xi glanced at him. "I swear I'm not."
Gu Mang persisted. "Why are you unhappy?"
Silence.
"Is it because you don't like it here? We can go somewhere else."
Mo Xi sighed, extricating himself from his memories. "Why would we go somewhere else? The food here is really good. You used to have a few favorite dishes, but I don't know if you ordered them."
"My favorites...from before?" Gu Mang murmured.
"Like I said, we used to know each other."
Gu Mang thought this over as best he could before giving up. "Sure, if you say so."
This restaurant had many Shu-style dishes, but Gu Mang was no stranger to chokingly spicy food: Western Shu (Modern-day Sichuan province) was one of Chonghua's allies, and Gu Mang had once traveled there to assist their military when war ravaged the country. Before then, he'd been someone who couldn't bear the tiniest hint of spice, but that trip had transformed him into someone who could down a plate full of chili pepper chicken doused in red oil without the slightest change in expression.
But could was not the same as would. Mo Xi knew Gu Mang still preferred local cuisine. In those years when Gu Mang had defected to the Liao Kingdom, Mo Xi wondered if he ever saw the grape wines on the table and missed the steamed buns and meat pies of his homeland—whether he ever regretted it, if only just a little.
In contrast with Chonghua's typically mild fare, everything about this restaurant was intense. The kitchen was in plain sight, separated from the dining area by a cloth curtain. The guests on the lower floor could hear the furious sizzle of oil and the crisp sounds of spatulas striking pans. From time to time, gouts of flame would flare up from the woks, casting a crimson glow over the entire kitchen.
The waiter brought over a dish in each hand and another balanced on his head. "Yuxiang? eggplant, cold tossed chicken, a basket of guokui flatbreads. Gentlemen, please enjoy your meal while it's hot. It won't taste as good cold."
Gu Mang reached out and silently lifted the bamboo basket from the server's head.
The flatbreads were kneaded with lard and filled with meat: the dough was stuffed with minced pork, ground peppercorns, and glistening, tender green onions. The pancakes were brushed on both sides with lard and baked in a furnace. Even from within the basket, they gave off a delicious aroma of char. Gu Mang wasn't fond of green onion, but after he had removed all the offending pieces, he found the pancake very much to his liking, carefully clasping it in his hands as he took bite after bite.
The rest of the dishes arrived one by one. The glossy twice-cooked pork trembled delicately and shimmered between their chopsticks. The tender hearts of the boiled cabbage were soaked in rich chicken broth, leaving behind a refreshing, lingering sweetness. The stir-fried pork kidneys had been scored such that the slices of meat curled charmingly when seared over high heat with garlic shoots. The scent of the kitchen's smoky blaze still wreathed the dish when it was brought out, the texture both tender and crisp.
The flavors of these dishes were simple yet fierce; a single bite was enough to clear one's head. The numbing spice of the peppercorns made the nose and tongue tingle. None of the dishes on this table used costly ingredients, but they were still incredibly delictous—the expense of them was in the exquisite skill of the cooks, which had been the reason for this restaurant's exorbitantly high prices in the past.
"Yum," Gu Mang said, and then mumbled to himself, "It feels like I've eaten it before?"
At this, Mo Xi's already lukewarm appetite cooled yet further. He set down his chopsticks and turned to look out the window at the streets and paths below.
Gu Mang licked his lips. "What's wrong, Princess?"
It took a moment for Mo Xi to register those words. His head snapped up. "What did you call me?"