Meng Yao bows his head and keeps his gaze lowered as Huaisang's lover leaves, respectful and demure, picture perfect. He waits until Huaisang addresses him again as he enters.
Regardless of the length of time since meeting with Mingjue, Meng Yao hasn't bothered to change. His clothing is still torn at the front, though he absently tries to keep it closed with one hand now as if to preserve his modesty even now. Armor, armor. Clothing was armor, and his armor was--
He blinks, shaking his head partially to clear it and partially in answer to Huaisang. "If you were... occupied, I wouldn't want to interrupt." Which is the truth, in a lot of ways. He looks at the door, thinking about Huaisang getting a lover to leave because Meng Yao had appeared. He hadn't needed to do that. He feels-- Untethered. It's disturbing and annoying, in that vague way when one is aware of what their feelings are doing and why, and doesn't like that lack of control he has over the reaction.
"You could have said no. I didn't know someone was here."
"You're my submissive, you're my responsibility, I care about you, you wouldn't turn up unannounced unless it was important." Pouring his wine, Huaisang takes a seat on the couch, looking expectantly at Meng Yao as he waits to hear what this is all about. "Besides, you didn't interrupt anything but the cuddling. I hope you didn't wait long, I don't check my messages during sex, obviously."
Sipping at his wine, Huaisang lifts his brows in silent query.
Meng Yao hardly reacts to that, though he shakes his head to say that no, he didn't wait long. "Still..." He mutters, trailing off. Huaisang didn't have to. He didn't have to care about him. He shouldn't care about him. Why...?
He remains standing, fingers rubbing lightly at the frayed material of his clothes, grounding himself. Now that he's here, he finds he's at a loss of how to start.
"My mother--" He begins, that abruptly cuts himself off, seeming startled. However he'd wanted to start this, that hadn't been one of them. He hesitates, debating--mention Mingjue, or continue on this trail first? They fed into each other, one way or another, so in the end he chooses to continue. "My mother... Set expectations for me I could not ever hope to fulfill." He speaks a tad haltingly, very different from the usual elegant pace of his speech. Even when he'd confessed his crimes there'd been an almost melodic cadence to it. "If my father had been a better man, it would have been different. But anyone who met him for any length of time could have--should have--been able to tell he was anything but. My mother was highly educated and intelligent."
Meng Yao falls silent again for a moment, his expression distant and brittle, his voice hollow. "And still..." Still she seemed to believe there could've been something and had instilled in Meng Yao a sense of needing to get what he 'truly deserved,' at all costs. That his own happiness and security came only with this success.
Huaisang tenses ever so slightly at the first mention of Meng Yao's mother. In some ways, and towards his mother, Meng Yao had been ever so filial. While his actions toward his father had been anything but filial, his mother was quite literally a god to Meng Yao. Huaisang remembers the immense statue of Guanyin in her honor, with her face, with the intention of deifying her.
"And still," Huaisang echoes, gently. He pats the couch at his side, inviting Meng Yao to come and sit with him.
Huaisang has known for a very long time that it was Meng Yao's mother who ruined him. His father was a thousand times more selfish, more cruel, more wicked, and Meng Yao's mother had meant the best for him, but when Huaisang had spent years putting together Meng Yao's story, he realized that it was Meng Yao's mother who had damned him the most. When Meng Yao said that he had no choice, it was because to do other than he had done would be the worst betrayal of filial piety. He wondered sometimes if she had laid a vow upon him. Know that your mother's soul will never rest and never reincarnate until you have become your father's rightful heir and taken your place upon the golden throne. Did that not excuse a thousand deaths, even the ten abominations, if it was done according to the laws of filial piety?
"I had her respectfully buried, you know," Huaisang said. "After I removed her body from the temple and laid traps in the empty coffin. Quietly and anonymously, but once it was done, once you were dead, I had her laid in a simple, decent grave."
Opening his arms to Meng Yao, he pulls him close, nuzzling his cheek against Meng Yao's hair. "Hěnjiǔ hěnjiǔ yǐqián," he begins, making it into folklore in order to remove it from their emotional immediacy. "There was a prostitute who was renowned through the cultivation world for her intelligence and beauty. She could recite dozens of poems with depth of emotion that made men weep, and it was said that those she drew into her arms could never again be fully satisfied in the arms of any other. She did very well for herself, commanding the highest place in the brothel, the highest rates in the province, and common men would save up for months in order to afford a night in her bed. She even had some lovers among the lesser nobility and a few powerful cultivators, and these ones used to tell her..."
Dipping his head, Huaisang whispered softly in Meng Yao's ear. "You have the elegance of a princess and the wit of a scholar. You could be the prize of any noble court. Your beauty and charisma outshines any noble lady I have ever seen."
Sitting back again, Huaisang taps a fingertip under Meng Yao's chin to lift it. "And she believed them.
“It was unfair in every measure that she was forced to whore herself, to accept any stinking, pock-faced oaf into her bed and into her body for the price of a few coins, while noble ladies of lesser beauty, lesser grace, and no wit at all were spending their days eating sweetmeats and playing the guqin, while the xiao she most often played was made of flesh.
“Though she had better sense than to say as much to anyone, this envy wormed deep inside of her heart. The other whores began to distance themselves from her, disliking the airs that she put on, the way that she began to act like she truly was a noble lady, and it was only a matter of time before that truth within her heart became the truth of her life. She became more picky about her clients, more disdainful towards those who were ugly or uncouth, and before long there were whole days and nights that would pass without her having any client at all.
“But at last she got her chance.”
Huaisang’s hand dips into the qiankun pouch at his waist, drawing out a couple of pieces of a pajama set. He gives Meng Yao a soft nudge, encouraging him to change into the alternate outfit so that he can be more comfortable while Huaisang keeps talking.
“A Sect Leader from one of the great cultivation sects came through the city where she lived, and he asked for the best whorehouse in town and the best girl in the house. And the prostitute imagined that he had come here for her, that word had reached him of her beauty and skill, and that he had sought her out for what she was: the most talented prostitute in the cultivation world. The truth was, he never even knew her name.
“As she prepared herself for him, she … neglected a certain preparation that every prostitute knew. This, after all, was her chance. She would dazzle this Sect Leader and win his heart, and then he would take her to his court. How would he be able to resist, after all, once he had the acquaintance of an unparalleled beauty, talented and charming, who could outshine any lady in his court? Of course this was an inevitable outcome, but the prostitute was smart and resourceful, and she knew better than to leave anything to chance. She knew that this particular Sect Leader had no heir. He had a wife, but she was frigid and overbearing, and everyone knew that she had not yet given him a son. What greater gift, then, could this charming beauty offer him than a male heir to stand at his side?
“She lit a candle to Guanyin, and then she took the Sect Leader to her bed.”
He closes his eyes, feeling a wave of relief he hadn't expected. IT had always been a worry in the back of his mind-- what had happened to his mother, whose body had no longer laid in that coffin? Would Huaisang have destroyed it, as he had destroyed his brother's body? He'd never asked, never wanted to know, because if Huaisang had there could be no capacity for forgiveness in Meng Yao's heart.
Tears fill his eyes and shamefully he finds himself weeping-- Huaisang could be lying, of course, but Meng Yao has his doubts. If he'd destroyed his mother's body, Meng Yao thinks he might have saved the information to destroy him with it, just in case. He lets himself be drawn into Huaisang's embrace, again feeling the strange reversal of their roles. How many times had he drawn a weeping Huaisang--fake or otherwise--into his arms to soothe and comfort? And now it was Meng Yao who cried instead, feeling like his heart was torn apart once more, like he was mourning the loss of his mother all over.
And perhaps he both was and wasn't. He'd mourned for his mother the first time, had been mourning in some small ways for all of his life, clawing desperately to get to the top and fulfill her wishes. She could have nothing in life, so he would give her everything in death. But now he mourned for the loss of the woman he'd thought--had convinced himself--that he'd known. Mothers were gods in the eyes of their children and it was always difficult to come to terms with their humanity.
He doesn't particularly want to hear this story, feeling a familiar reluctance and resistance to it, but he says nothing. He lets Huaisang speak and listens to the story that's familiar in all the worst ways. He untangles himself to undress and re-dress with a mechanical efficiency before he takes a seat on the couch again.
"He stayed with her for a week and a day," he murmurs, half-continuing the story. "And in the end he told her he had to return home, but gave her a pearl button, swearing it was a token of his adoration for her. That it meant something."
He'd held onto that pearl for years until he could give it as proof of who he was to his father, only to be cruelly mocked and laughed at right before he was kicked down those stairs. To this day he had a rather silly aversion to pearls. He closes his eyes, pressing a hand over them with a shaky breath.
Huaisang nods, drawing Meng Yao back into his arms, tucking Meng Yao’s head against his chest. He resumes speaking, voice low and soothing.
“The sect leader was pleased with her, of course. How could he not be? He told her that she was the loveliest woman he had ever slept with, and that he wished he had a woman like her as his wife rather than the sour shrew he’d actually married. She urged him that she would be glad to warm his bed every night, to be the glittering jewel of his court, and he promised that as soon as he returned home, he would send a carriage to collect her and to bring her to his side. To prove his words, he gave her the gift of a pearl button.
“It was the most beautiful and valuable thing she had ever owned. She wove it into her hair and wore it proudly. Soon, the other prostitutes in the house began to hate her. She refused all clients, insisting that she was now the mistress of a Sect Leader. Any day now, he would send for her. But as the weeks passed and no carriage came, the matron of the house eventually had to threaten that if she would not take clients, then she would not eat. So she took clients again, watching her flat belly as it began to swell.
“She sent to him with the joyous news that she carried his child, and yet more weeks passed without a word. At last, the awful day came when a client complained about her. That itself was not so rare, for a client to complain about her lofty attitude, but in this case, he complained not only that she was too proud, but that she was fat and pregnant, and that the pearl that she kept bragging about was only polished alabaster.
“Everyone heard. The other whores laughed and mocked her for her alabaster ‘pearl’ that she had bragged so much about, and the matron of the house made the decision that she would take no more clients until the pregnancy was resolved. Because she would not give up the baby, the only charity the matron would give was to allow her to sleep in the kitchen. Warm beside the fire, but tormented constantly by the stink of onions and rotting offal.”
Even Huaisang hadn’t expected his story to go on this long. He begins to work on Meng Yao’s hair, unraveling it slowly and combing his fingers through it.
“Still he did not send for her. But that was all right. She understood. His wife was shrewish, after all. She had been jealous of her husband’s passion and eagerness for this whore, and had used her connections to prevent him from bringing her to the court. As for the fake pearl, she understood that too. It was all he happened to have with him at the time. Probably he’d meant the cheap trash for his own wife! Once she was at court, at his side, where she belonged, he would apologize for the embarrassing necessity and shower her with better gifts.
“At last the child was born. A boy, and perfect in every way. His mother loved him endlessly, and sent word to the sect leader of the joyous news: his heir had been born.
“But horribly, tragically, there had been another birth on that cold winter morning. Another boy, also perfect in every way. The son of the sect leader’s legal wife.”
Huaisang presses his face into Meng Yao’s hair. There are so many tragic parts of Meng Yao’s story, and Huaisang’s heart does ache for him. “So, again, there was no response. The prostitute’s career was ruined. Though she was allowed to stay on in the house with her son, she never again had the finest room at the top of the house, and she never again was so desired to be booked up days or weeks in advance, and she never gave up the certainty that she deserved a place in a Sect Leader’s court. It had been stolen from her by that other woman, that other baby boy.
“But there was still hope. Because her son, her baby boy, he was sweet and clever, a beautiful and attentive child. Because of him, the hearts of some of the other prostitutes softened toward her again, and a few of them helped her to care for the child and to spoil him a bit, helped her to save up a few coppers to pay for his schooling. Many of them still hated her and bullied both her and the child, but at least a few could not help but love him.”
Huaisang nuzzles at Meng Yao again, hugging him tight. Now that he's finally ready to consider the possibility that his mother was not without flaw, Huaisang wants to reshape his view of her story. She was not evil, but just talented enough and just self-centered enough that the combination became her own downfall.
He hates it, it's hard, he doesn't want to because he knows. He's lived it, after all. He heard the sneers from other prostitutes, whom his mother had convinced him were simply jealous. His mother had been beautiful even as she fell ill, even when she had to break her pride to take clients--for him, she'd tel lhim. She was doing this for him, to help him, to better him. And he had thought--if not for him, would she have found work elsewhere?
But there had been good ones, too. Sisi and others who had helped his mother get the books and pamphlets on golden cores and the sects. Kind rogue cultivators who delighted in teaching a child a few of their tricks because it was nice to have someone attentive and want to learn. The prostitutes who taught Meng Yao how to smile through the pain, to flatter and deescalate tense situations. To demure and flutter his eyelashes and catch the light in just the right ways. They taught him the rhythm of their words, to make everything sound like a recitation, how to laugh and sound like he means it.
His best acting coaches, his worst critics other than himself. Whispered education of things his mother never wanted him to learn; the kindly prostitutes told him it was bedroom knowledge he needed, because one day he would need to know it. His mother insisted he never would, because he was made for something greater, he would never need to know these things. He learned to bandage wounds and what herbs worked better than others, what medicines that most learned houses didn't consider, didn't like, because they were for brothels. Most of his early years were filled with the more prominent memories of beatings or from helping to heal his mother from her own from brutish clients or shrill, angry prostitutes.
His fingers curl into Huaisang's clothes as he weeps like his heart is being destroyed. It's exhausting, cathartic, and makes him feel hollow and ill. He weeps until he feels he has no tears left, gasping for air.
There's a long pause as he keeps on petting Meng Yao's hair, just holding him and letting the shards of his own past shift in his heart, cutting the wounds anew but perhaps settling finally letting the old wounds scar over and begin to heal.
"Morality is a complicated thing," Huaisang says at last. "You and I know this better than most. Every day I held court there were issues without clear, fair, easy solutions. Law conflicting with justice, conflicting with mercy, conflicting with filial piety. People like da ge and er ge, paragons of justice and honesty, but the honesty and strict lawfulness within the hearts meant they could never see the injustice around them, even when it was directly under their nose. Filial piety can require you to steal and murder, to use people like pawns, to break every dictum of law and morality. Filial piety to one parent can even require impiety to the other parent. And in the pursuit of filial piety, of trying to achieve the one thing that a mother desired above all else, the only way her spirit would find peace, it could lead one to feel as though one had no choice but to commit the worst of crimes. You know full well that there's no crime I wouldn't commit if it meant the hope of securing my brother's peace and reincarnation."
Once again the parallels between them are almost laughable. There was nothing Huaisang wouldn't do--nothing he hadn't done or pushed or encouraged--if it meant vengeance for his brother. Likewise, there's nothing Meng Yao hadn't done to try and secure his mother's wishes for him.
It felt-- Odd. He's not sure if it was freeing to have these shackles suddenly fall away. Did he feel lighter? "I don't know what to do," he admits in a murmur. "Who am I anymore?" And he laughs a little, bitter and uncertain.
"That's up to you," Huaisang murmurs, resuming combing his gentle fingers through Meng Yao's hair, holding Meng Yao's head to his chest. "You have to figure it out for yourself. I'm so proud of you for realizing this and being able to say it. Your mother loved you, but she set you up with expectations that were impossible to fulfill. Now that you can no longer follow that course of action, and now that you have begun to regret everything that happened because of it, you must decide for yourself who you want to be, what path you want to follow."
Sighing once, Huaisang rests his cheek against Meng Yao's hair again, holding him tight. "You have many people beside you, to help you and to guide you until you decide on your course. Some people take a lifetime to figure it out. Take your time."
It seems like too much right now. He'd never had the luxury of shirking duties and obligations; even now in Duplicity he continued to give himself projects and work to do, not letting his mind or his body rest. Even with sex he saw it as another thing to be scheduled into his day. Schedules, rules, everything planned out to allow himself as much control as possible in a world where he had so little. In the act was the only time he felt he could let everything go and drift away. In the moment, he could be everything and nothing all at once and it was deliriously freeing. Scarily so. The freedom, the floating, content feeling he got, was frightening in how much he enjoyed it. Because all that could be used against him, something else that could be used as a weapon and pulled out from under him.
He doesn't want to think right now. He doesn't want to think of a future, of who or what he could become when he's not sure what the options even are, when he's afraid to see what the are in the first place. He'll think on it later, of course, see what he's even allowed to do in this place and go from there, but for now? It's all a bit much even for his ever-busy brain.
He feels sick to his stomach still, and he closes his eyes and just breathes. "Things should have been so different..." He murmurs, sighing deeply. After a moment he begins to pull away, rubbing at his face and sniffling, trying to pull the remains of his dignity around him.
Huaisang holds him as long as he needs, finally sitting up when Meng Yao stirs. He pours another cup of wine, drinks half of it at a gulp, then holds it out to Meng Yao. "Drink this. It will help settle your nerves. Then we'll go take a long bath and get some sleep."
Rising to his feet, Huaisang gently helps Meng Yao up, looping a possessive arm around his waist as he leads the way upstairs and starts the bath. They're both very used to Huaisang's routine of aftercare by now, but this time Huaisang adds some scents and bubbles to the bath and lights candles, making it all as indulgent as possible before he slides into the water and snuggles close.
Though he knows that something set all this off, he doesn't ask. Meng Yao will give him the relevant information. The rest of it is Meng Yao's either to keep private or to confide. Strangely enough, Huaisang trusts him now. He knows Meng Yao down to his soul, and knows that he has never been so devoted to Huaisang as he is now.
This, the routine of it, is grounding too. The more familiar and ritualized it is, the better Meng Yao feels going through the motions of it all. The addition of other scents and the bubbles isn't jarring enough to bother him either, within acceptable parameters of 'off script,' and he finds himself relaxing in Huaisang's care.
The floating feeling begins to ease in, a weightlessness to his mind as he lets himself drift and be taken care of, helping Huaisang where he could to get him undressed and bathed. He says nothing during this time, not until they're snuggled in the hot water and he feels like it's alright to mention something.
"I never admitted it before. To myself or out loud." He murmurs, speaking up at the ceiling, watching the steam of the bath drifting upwards. "I... ran into your brother." And he waits, just for a second, but when there's no adverse reaction or sudden explosion of feeling at that he begins to relax again. "You already know he's here, then."
"I know." Huaisang tucks his head against Meng Yao's shoulder, comfortable and dozy in the bath. "I was very surprised when you said it. To me, it had long been one of the signifiers that you would never truly repent, one of the constants that I never thought you would be capable of questioning. That you had no choice, that all your crimes were excusable, and that your mother was a paragon above question. People are complex and flawed. All the excuses you gave and yet you never once blamed her, even though I always thought her influence on you was the best excuse you had about your crimes not being your fault."
Nodding at the statement about his brother, Huaisang makes a soft affirmative noise. It's a tense subject, of course, but Huaisang's in a very good and forgiving mood considering that he has his brother alive again. "I'm glad the two of you both got out of the interaction with your heads intact."
"It as through talking to him that I was able to admit it," he murmurs, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "He doesn't believe me, I think. I suppose I can't blame him, but I...I told him to talk to you. Because he'll believe anything you say."
Which is putting a lot of power in Huaisang's hands. There is always the looming fact that Huaisang could destroy him too easily here. He had a legion of very loyal, very powerful lovers who wouldn't bat an eyelash at eliminating Meng Yao or doing whatever it was Huaisang wanted. He couldn't be killed permanently here, but there were plenty of ways to keep a man alive and their soul dead. But it was different with giving the information over to Mingjue, though Meng Yao would be a little pressed to explain how it was different. Maybe because it'd be so much more personal if it was Mingjue, someone he actually had an attachment to.
Edited (forgot a sentence or two) 2020-09-27 05:41 (UTC)
Huaisang already has an immense amount of power in his hands, and he knows it, too. All those powerful lovers and allies willing to fight for him. He's very quietly made himself a power player in the city, a dangerous man to cross, and yet he's utterly content with his life just the way it is. He has no desire to go up against the city or to create an organization of any kind. He simply wants to enjoy his lovers and his pretty fashions.
"I will," Huaisang promises. "Don't worry about him. You belong to me. It would be illegal and dishonorable for him to touch you without my permission, though he is entitled to some punishments. I'll discuss the matter with him."
Reaching down into the water, Huaisang begins to lightly caress Meng Yao's cock, offering physical pleasure to help calm him down and get him out of his own head.
A soft exhale, a sigh of relief and he relaxes further in Huaisang's embrace. There's a chance he's lying--there's always a chance, at any given moment, that either of them are lying, but he's willing to take the chance right now.
Who knew that he could use Huaisang's possessiveness to his advantage like this? Well-- Alright, Meng Yao had the idly idea of it a while ago, but it was only recently he's come to see how he could actually use it.
The hand sliding between his legs startles him a little and he gasps, pressing his head back. "A-Sang... You don't have to--"
"Aren't I allowed to play with my toys?" Huaisang asks sweetly, giving Meng Yao's cock a squeeze. His smile has turned wicked, that frequent expression he has which promises that everyone involved is going to have fun--whether or not they want to. "But all right, if that's what you want."
He pulls his hand away, as though he's somehow misinterpreted Meng Yao's polite objection as some sort of request. Sitting up, he reaches over the side of the tub, opening a little chest that's just within reach and drawing out a little vibrator. It's on the small side, only about four inches long, with a bulb at the end designed to nestle against a prostate or g-spot. Near the base is a little projection shaped like a butterfly, evidently designed with the wings to stimulate the labia and the little silicone proboscii to nestle against a clit.
Tapping at Meng Yao's legs to get them to part, Huaisang nudges the toy against his entrance, pressing firmly and twisting a bit. There's nothing but water to ease the way, but that evidently isn't about to stop Huaisang from a slow but determined process of working it inside.
Meng Yao makes a soft noise, not sure if he's protesting the squeeze or being called a toy--it doesn't particularly matter either way, his mind sharpening as Huaisang moves. It feels like he's waking up again, watching Huaisang with a wary curiosity.
Truthfully, Meng yao hasn't played much with the various toys offered in this place, except the ones Huaisang had brought out before. Not that he wasn't curious about them, it just hadn't been a high priority to explore them as of yet. He sort of wishes he'd taken the time now.
"A-Sang--" He gasps softly, brow furrowed in concentration as the toy forces its way inside. The stretch burns more than usual since he's not been prepared, but it's not enough to be really painful or make him stop Huaisang. Once it's settled inside he remembers to breathe again, shaking his head a little. "Is this helping me, or you?" He asks with a breathy laugh.
"Mostly you," Huaisang answers, sweetly cheeky about it. He taps it a few times to make sure it's in the right spot, then turns it on. It only has two settings, low and high, so Huaisang starts it on low. He knows how perfect this toy is, with the bulb nestling against the prostate inside while the butterfly extension teases the sensitive skin of the perineum and stimulates the prostate from the outside.
Content with the toy doing his work for him, Huaisang performs his favorite little bath charm that heats the porcelain and keeps the water hot, and then settles against Meng Yao's shoulder again, comfortably dozy.
There's a gasp and he jerks, sloshing some of the water almost out of the tub as he does so. It's low enough to not make him squirm too much right off the bat, but it's a decidedly very different feeling from anything he's had inside him before.
He takes a breath, trying to--not really ignore the vibrations, but focus beyond them. It doesn't go so well, but at least he puts in the effort. He tried, right? He begins to tremble and takes another breath, hands curling against the sides of the tub as he moans. "A-Sang," his voice is like a plead and he turns his head, trying to seek out a kiss.
"Mm," Huaisang replies with a little laugh. "Relax, A-Yao. Enjoy." Giving him that kiss, Huaisang lingers in it, soft and sweet, trying to calm him. "You're safe," Huaisang murmurs against his lips. "I want you to unwind. If you'd rather that I just stroke you, I will. I want you to relax and feel good."
He knows what a tangle Meng Yao's emotions are, after whatever happened between him and Mingjue and the intense confession and their conversation downstairs. He's been through a lot. Huaisang just wants to let him melt into pleasure and praise, and then to put him safely to bed. "My A-Yao," he continues murmuring praise between kisses and warm smiles. "You're safe. I have you."
He's not used to this pleasure that builds slowly and draws itself out. For him, it was usually a brutal pace and overwhelming waves that crashed over him, forcing and keeping him under until he gave in to the onslaught of it.
Huaisang's kisses and praise make him ache. "Why?" He asks softly, though he fears he'll never truly understand it. He doesn't understand Xichen's love either even as he accepts it for what it is, but he can't help but ask anyhow.
"Mm, why what? You had a rough day and I want to help you recover from that. You're valuable to me. Because of your usefulness, your skill, your devotion and protectiveness toward me despite it all. Because you're a weapon that I don't want in any other hands than mine, because I don't trust anyone else to keep you calm and tame and satisfied. Because you're one of my favorite toys, and the more I play with you, the more delightfully you respond."
Nipping sweetly at Meng Yao's ear, Huaisang makes a soft, possessive rumbling noise in his ear. "Any other questions?"
Each comment feels like a strike against his heart, but not particularly in a bad way. It's not all praise, exactly, but mixed in with more logical statements-- that he's useful and dangerous and Huaisang wants him in his hands rather than anyone else's.
It's a bit nice, he thinks, to have someone be possessive of him like this. To value his skills in a way few others--family included--ever had. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, but he supposes he does have one more question, voice breathy.
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Regardless of the length of time since meeting with Mingjue, Meng Yao hasn't bothered to change. His clothing is still torn at the front, though he absently tries to keep it closed with one hand now as if to preserve his modesty even now. Armor, armor. Clothing was armor, and his armor was--
He blinks, shaking his head partially to clear it and partially in answer to Huaisang. "If you were... occupied, I wouldn't want to interrupt." Which is the truth, in a lot of ways. He looks at the door, thinking about Huaisang getting a lover to leave because Meng Yao had appeared. He hadn't needed to do that. He feels-- Untethered. It's disturbing and annoying, in that vague way when one is aware of what their feelings are doing and why, and doesn't like that lack of control he has over the reaction.
"You could have said no. I didn't know someone was here."
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Sipping at his wine, Huaisang lifts his brows in silent query.
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He remains standing, fingers rubbing lightly at the frayed material of his clothes, grounding himself. Now that he's here, he finds he's at a loss of how to start.
"My mother--" He begins, that abruptly cuts himself off, seeming startled. However he'd wanted to start this, that hadn't been one of them. He hesitates, debating--mention Mingjue, or continue on this trail first? They fed into each other, one way or another, so in the end he chooses to continue. "My mother... Set expectations for me I could not ever hope to fulfill." He speaks a tad haltingly, very different from the usual elegant pace of his speech. Even when he'd confessed his crimes there'd been an almost melodic cadence to it. "If my father had been a better man, it would have been different. But anyone who met him for any length of time could have--should have--been able to tell he was anything but. My mother was highly educated and intelligent."
Meng Yao falls silent again for a moment, his expression distant and brittle, his voice hollow. "And still..." Still she seemed to believe there could've been something and had instilled in Meng Yao a sense of needing to get what he 'truly deserved,' at all costs. That his own happiness and security came only with this success.
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"And still," Huaisang echoes, gently. He pats the couch at his side, inviting Meng Yao to come and sit with him.
Huaisang has known for a very long time that it was Meng Yao's mother who ruined him. His father was a thousand times more selfish, more cruel, more wicked, and Meng Yao's mother had meant the best for him, but when Huaisang had spent years putting together Meng Yao's story, he realized that it was Meng Yao's mother who had damned him the most. When Meng Yao said that he had no choice, it was because to do other than he had done would be the worst betrayal of filial piety. He wondered sometimes if she had laid a vow upon him. Know that your mother's soul will never rest and never reincarnate until you have become your father's rightful heir and taken your place upon the golden throne. Did that not excuse a thousand deaths, even the ten abominations, if it was done according to the laws of filial piety?
"I had her respectfully buried, you know," Huaisang said. "After I removed her body from the temple and laid traps in the empty coffin. Quietly and anonymously, but once it was done, once you were dead, I had her laid in a simple, decent grave."
Opening his arms to Meng Yao, he pulls him close, nuzzling his cheek against Meng Yao's hair. "Hěnjiǔ hěnjiǔ yǐqián," he begins, making it into folklore in order to remove it from their emotional immediacy. "There was a prostitute who was renowned through the cultivation world for her intelligence and beauty. She could recite dozens of poems with depth of emotion that made men weep, and it was said that those she drew into her arms could never again be fully satisfied in the arms of any other. She did very well for herself, commanding the highest place in the brothel, the highest rates in the province, and common men would save up for months in order to afford a night in her bed. She even had some lovers among the lesser nobility and a few powerful cultivators, and these ones used to tell her..."
Dipping his head, Huaisang whispered softly in Meng Yao's ear. "You have the elegance of a princess and the wit of a scholar. You could be the prize of any noble court. Your beauty and charisma outshines any noble lady I have ever seen."
Sitting back again, Huaisang taps a fingertip under Meng Yao's chin to lift it. "And she believed them.
“It was unfair in every measure that she was forced to whore herself, to accept any stinking, pock-faced oaf into her bed and into her body for the price of a few coins, while noble ladies of lesser beauty, lesser grace, and no wit at all were spending their days eating sweetmeats and playing the guqin, while the xiao she most often played was made of flesh.
“Though she had better sense than to say as much to anyone, this envy wormed deep inside of her heart. The other whores began to distance themselves from her, disliking the airs that she put on, the way that she began to act like she truly was a noble lady, and it was only a matter of time before that truth within her heart became the truth of her life. She became more picky about her clients, more disdainful towards those who were ugly or uncouth, and before long there were whole days and nights that would pass without her having any client at all.
“But at last she got her chance.”
Huaisang’s hand dips into the qiankun pouch at his waist, drawing out a couple of pieces of a pajama set. He gives Meng Yao a soft nudge, encouraging him to change into the alternate outfit so that he can be more comfortable while Huaisang keeps talking.
“A Sect Leader from one of the great cultivation sects came through the city where she lived, and he asked for the best whorehouse in town and the best girl in the house. And the prostitute imagined that he had come here for her, that word had reached him of her beauty and skill, and that he had sought her out for what she was: the most talented prostitute in the cultivation world. The truth was, he never even knew her name.
“As she prepared herself for him, she … neglected a certain preparation that every prostitute knew. This, after all, was her chance. She would dazzle this Sect Leader and win his heart, and then he would take her to his court. How would he be able to resist, after all, once he had the acquaintance of an unparalleled beauty, talented and charming, who could outshine any lady in his court? Of course this was an inevitable outcome, but the prostitute was smart and resourceful, and she knew better than to leave anything to chance. She knew that this particular Sect Leader had no heir. He had a wife, but she was frigid and overbearing, and everyone knew that she had not yet given him a son. What greater gift, then, could this charming beauty offer him than a male heir to stand at his side?
“She lit a candle to Guanyin, and then she took the Sect Leader to her bed.”
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"Oh." He feels--
He closes his eyes, feeling a wave of relief he hadn't expected. IT had always been a worry in the back of his mind-- what had happened to his mother, whose body had no longer laid in that coffin? Would Huaisang have destroyed it, as he had destroyed his brother's body? He'd never asked, never wanted to know, because if Huaisang had there could be no capacity for forgiveness in Meng Yao's heart.
Tears fill his eyes and shamefully he finds himself weeping-- Huaisang could be lying, of course, but Meng Yao has his doubts. If he'd destroyed his mother's body, Meng Yao thinks he might have saved the information to destroy him with it, just in case. He lets himself be drawn into Huaisang's embrace, again feeling the strange reversal of their roles. How many times had he drawn a weeping Huaisang--fake or otherwise--into his arms to soothe and comfort? And now it was Meng Yao who cried instead, feeling like his heart was torn apart once more, like he was mourning the loss of his mother all over.
And perhaps he both was and wasn't. He'd mourned for his mother the first time, had been mourning in some small ways for all of his life, clawing desperately to get to the top and fulfill her wishes. She could have nothing in life, so he would give her everything in death. But now he mourned for the loss of the woman he'd thought--had convinced himself--that he'd known. Mothers were gods in the eyes of their children and it was always difficult to come to terms with their humanity.
He doesn't particularly want to hear this story, feeling a familiar reluctance and resistance to it, but he says nothing. He lets Huaisang speak and listens to the story that's familiar in all the worst ways. He untangles himself to undress and re-dress with a mechanical efficiency before he takes a seat on the couch again.
"He stayed with her for a week and a day," he murmurs, half-continuing the story. "And in the end he told her he had to return home, but gave her a pearl button, swearing it was a token of his adoration for her. That it meant something."
He'd held onto that pearl for years until he could give it as proof of who he was to his father, only to be cruelly mocked and laughed at right before he was kicked down those stairs. To this day he had a rather silly aversion to pearls. He closes his eyes, pressing a hand over them with a shaky breath.
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“The sect leader was pleased with her, of course. How could he not be? He told her that she was the loveliest woman he had ever slept with, and that he wished he had a woman like her as his wife rather than the sour shrew he’d actually married. She urged him that she would be glad to warm his bed every night, to be the glittering jewel of his court, and he promised that as soon as he returned home, he would send a carriage to collect her and to bring her to his side. To prove his words, he gave her the gift of a pearl button.
“It was the most beautiful and valuable thing she had ever owned. She wove it into her hair and wore it proudly. Soon, the other prostitutes in the house began to hate her. She refused all clients, insisting that she was now the mistress of a Sect Leader. Any day now, he would send for her. But as the weeks passed and no carriage came, the matron of the house eventually had to threaten that if she would not take clients, then she would not eat. So she took clients again, watching her flat belly as it began to swell.
“She sent to him with the joyous news that she carried his child, and yet more weeks passed without a word. At last, the awful day came when a client complained about her. That itself was not so rare, for a client to complain about her lofty attitude, but in this case, he complained not only that she was too proud, but that she was fat and pregnant, and that the pearl that she kept bragging about was only polished alabaster.
“Everyone heard. The other whores laughed and mocked her for her alabaster ‘pearl’ that she had bragged so much about, and the matron of the house made the decision that she would take no more clients until the pregnancy was resolved. Because she would not give up the baby, the only charity the matron would give was to allow her to sleep in the kitchen. Warm beside the fire, but tormented constantly by the stink of onions and rotting offal.”
Even Huaisang hadn’t expected his story to go on this long. He begins to work on Meng Yao’s hair, unraveling it slowly and combing his fingers through it.
“Still he did not send for her. But that was all right. She understood. His wife was shrewish, after all. She had been jealous of her husband’s passion and eagerness for this whore, and had used her connections to prevent him from bringing her to the court. As for the fake pearl, she understood that too. It was all he happened to have with him at the time. Probably he’d meant the cheap trash for his own wife! Once she was at court, at his side, where she belonged, he would apologize for the embarrassing necessity and shower her with better gifts.
“At last the child was born. A boy, and perfect in every way. His mother loved him endlessly, and sent word to the sect leader of the joyous news: his heir had been born.
“But horribly, tragically, there had been another birth on that cold winter morning. Another boy, also perfect in every way. The son of the sect leader’s legal wife.”
Huaisang presses his face into Meng Yao’s hair. There are so many tragic parts of Meng Yao’s story, and Huaisang’s heart does ache for him. “So, again, there was no response. The prostitute’s career was ruined. Though she was allowed to stay on in the house with her son, she never again had the finest room at the top of the house, and she never again was so desired to be booked up days or weeks in advance, and she never gave up the certainty that she deserved a place in a Sect Leader’s court. It had been stolen from her by that other woman, that other baby boy.
“But there was still hope. Because her son, her baby boy, he was sweet and clever, a beautiful and attentive child. Because of him, the hearts of some of the other prostitutes softened toward her again, and a few of them helped her to care for the child and to spoil him a bit, helped her to save up a few coppers to pay for his schooling. Many of them still hated her and bullied both her and the child, but at least a few could not help but love him.”
Huaisang nuzzles at Meng Yao again, hugging him tight. Now that he's finally ready to consider the possibility that his mother was not without flaw, Huaisang wants to reshape his view of her story. She was not evil, but just talented enough and just self-centered enough that the combination became her own downfall.
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He hates it, it's hard, he doesn't want to because he knows. He's lived it, after all. He heard the sneers from other prostitutes, whom his mother had convinced him were simply jealous. His mother had been beautiful even as she fell ill, even when she had to break her pride to take clients--for him, she'd tel lhim. She was doing this for him, to help him, to better him. And he had thought--if not for him, would she have found work elsewhere?
But there had been good ones, too. Sisi and others who had helped his mother get the books and pamphlets on golden cores and the sects. Kind rogue cultivators who delighted in teaching a child a few of their tricks because it was nice to have someone attentive and want to learn. The prostitutes who taught Meng Yao how to smile through the pain, to flatter and deescalate tense situations. To demure and flutter his eyelashes and catch the light in just the right ways. They taught him the rhythm of their words, to make everything sound like a recitation, how to laugh and sound like he means it.
His best acting coaches, his worst critics other than himself. Whispered education of things his mother never wanted him to learn; the kindly prostitutes told him it was bedroom knowledge he needed, because one day he would need to know it. His mother insisted he never would, because he was made for something greater, he would never need to know these things. He learned to bandage wounds and what herbs worked better than others, what medicines that most learned houses didn't consider, didn't like, because they were for brothels. Most of his early years were filled with the more prominent memories of beatings or from helping to heal his mother from her own from brutish clients or shrill, angry prostitutes.
His fingers curl into Huaisang's clothes as he weeps like his heart is being destroyed. It's exhausting, cathartic, and makes him feel hollow and ill. He weeps until he feels he has no tears left, gasping for air.
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"Morality is a complicated thing," Huaisang says at last. "You and I know this better than most. Every day I held court there were issues without clear, fair, easy solutions. Law conflicting with justice, conflicting with mercy, conflicting with filial piety. People like da ge and er ge, paragons of justice and honesty, but the honesty and strict lawfulness within the hearts meant they could never see the injustice around them, even when it was directly under their nose. Filial piety can require you to steal and murder, to use people like pawns, to break every dictum of law and morality. Filial piety to one parent can even require impiety to the other parent. And in the pursuit of filial piety, of trying to achieve the one thing that a mother desired above all else, the only way her spirit would find peace, it could lead one to feel as though one had no choice but to commit the worst of crimes. You know full well that there's no crime I wouldn't commit if it meant the hope of securing my brother's peace and reincarnation."
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It felt-- Odd. He's not sure if it was freeing to have these shackles suddenly fall away. Did he feel lighter? "I don't know what to do," he admits in a murmur. "Who am I anymore?" And he laughs a little, bitter and uncertain.
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Sighing once, Huaisang rests his cheek against Meng Yao's hair again, holding him tight. "You have many people beside you, to help you and to guide you until you decide on your course. Some people take a lifetime to figure it out. Take your time."
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He doesn't want to think right now. He doesn't want to think of a future, of who or what he could become when he's not sure what the options even are, when he's afraid to see what the are in the first place. He'll think on it later, of course, see what he's even allowed to do in this place and go from there, but for now? It's all a bit much even for his ever-busy brain.
He feels sick to his stomach still, and he closes his eyes and just breathes. "Things should have been so different..." He murmurs, sighing deeply. After a moment he begins to pull away, rubbing at his face and sniffling, trying to pull the remains of his dignity around him.
"I don't think I've ever felt so exhausted."
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Rising to his feet, Huaisang gently helps Meng Yao up, looping a possessive arm around his waist as he leads the way upstairs and starts the bath. They're both very used to Huaisang's routine of aftercare by now, but this time Huaisang adds some scents and bubbles to the bath and lights candles, making it all as indulgent as possible before he slides into the water and snuggles close.
Though he knows that something set all this off, he doesn't ask. Meng Yao will give him the relevant information. The rest of it is Meng Yao's either to keep private or to confide. Strangely enough, Huaisang trusts him now. He knows Meng Yao down to his soul, and knows that he has never been so devoted to Huaisang as he is now.
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The floating feeling begins to ease in, a weightlessness to his mind as he lets himself drift and be taken care of, helping Huaisang where he could to get him undressed and bathed. He says nothing during this time, not until they're snuggled in the hot water and he feels like it's alright to mention something.
"I never admitted it before. To myself or out loud." He murmurs, speaking up at the ceiling, watching the steam of the bath drifting upwards. "I... ran into your brother." And he waits, just for a second, but when there's no adverse reaction or sudden explosion of feeling at that he begins to relax again. "You already know he's here, then."
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Nodding at the statement about his brother, Huaisang makes a soft affirmative noise. It's a tense subject, of course, but Huaisang's in a very good and forgiving mood considering that he has his brother alive again. "I'm glad the two of you both got out of the interaction with your heads intact."
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Which is putting a lot of power in Huaisang's hands. There is always the looming fact that Huaisang could destroy him too easily here. He had a legion of very loyal, very powerful lovers who wouldn't bat an eyelash at eliminating Meng Yao or doing whatever it was Huaisang wanted. He couldn't be killed permanently here, but there were plenty of ways to keep a man alive and their soul dead. But it was different with giving the information over to Mingjue, though Meng Yao would be a little pressed to explain how it was different. Maybe because it'd be so much more personal if it was Mingjue, someone he actually had an attachment to.
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"I will," Huaisang promises. "Don't worry about him. You belong to me. It would be illegal and dishonorable for him to touch you without my permission, though he is entitled to some punishments. I'll discuss the matter with him."
Reaching down into the water, Huaisang begins to lightly caress Meng Yao's cock, offering physical pleasure to help calm him down and get him out of his own head.
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Who knew that he could use Huaisang's possessiveness to his advantage like this? Well-- Alright, Meng Yao had the idly idea of it a while ago, but it was only recently he's come to see how he could actually use it.
The hand sliding between his legs startles him a little and he gasps, pressing his head back. "A-Sang... You don't have to--"
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He pulls his hand away, as though he's somehow misinterpreted Meng Yao's polite objection as some sort of request. Sitting up, he reaches over the side of the tub, opening a little chest that's just within reach and drawing out a little vibrator. It's on the small side, only about four inches long, with a bulb at the end designed to nestle against a prostate or g-spot. Near the base is a little projection shaped like a butterfly, evidently designed with the wings to stimulate the labia and the little silicone proboscii to nestle against a clit.
Tapping at Meng Yao's legs to get them to part, Huaisang nudges the toy against his entrance, pressing firmly and twisting a bit. There's nothing but water to ease the way, but that evidently isn't about to stop Huaisang from a slow but determined process of working it inside.
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Truthfully, Meng yao hasn't played much with the various toys offered in this place, except the ones Huaisang had brought out before. Not that he wasn't curious about them, it just hadn't been a high priority to explore them as of yet. He sort of wishes he'd taken the time now.
"A-Sang--" He gasps softly, brow furrowed in concentration as the toy forces its way inside. The stretch burns more than usual since he's not been prepared, but it's not enough to be really painful or make him stop Huaisang. Once it's settled inside he remembers to breathe again, shaking his head a little. "Is this helping me, or you?" He asks with a breathy laugh.
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Content with the toy doing his work for him, Huaisang performs his favorite little bath charm that heats the porcelain and keeps the water hot, and then settles against Meng Yao's shoulder again, comfortably dozy.
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He takes a breath, trying to--not really ignore the vibrations, but focus beyond them. It doesn't go so well, but at least he puts in the effort. He tried, right? He begins to tremble and takes another breath, hands curling against the sides of the tub as he moans. "A-Sang," his voice is like a plead and he turns his head, trying to seek out a kiss.
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He knows what a tangle Meng Yao's emotions are, after whatever happened between him and Mingjue and the intense confession and their conversation downstairs. He's been through a lot. Huaisang just wants to let him melt into pleasure and praise, and then to put him safely to bed. "My A-Yao," he continues murmuring praise between kisses and warm smiles. "You're safe. I have you."
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Huaisang's kisses and praise make him ache. "Why?" He asks softly, though he fears he'll never truly understand it. He doesn't understand Xichen's love either even as he accepts it for what it is, but he can't help but ask anyhow.
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Nipping sweetly at Meng Yao's ear, Huaisang makes a soft, possessive rumbling noise in his ear. "Any other questions?"
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It's a bit nice, he thinks, to have someone be possessive of him like this. To value his skills in a way few others--family included--ever had. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, but he supposes he does have one more question, voice breathy.
"A-Sang, touch me?"
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fin~