Pearl Diver

by foxflowering

Summary:

Sailors, take warning. A green-tailed siren haunts the Southern Seas — and he's kind of a hot mess.

 

Something about the mid-sun sky seemed a little cursed.

Maybe it was the humidity. Maybe it was the taste on the air: seasalt and brine and low-grade despair. Maybe it was the yellow sun, so searingly, gaslight bright.

Maybe it was the fog.

The road was covered in fog. It was an awful fog, really. Thick, muggy. Umbral. More than anything, it reminded Lang Qianqiu of steam rising off a teacup. Smoked Bohea tea, maybe. Once upon a time, his mother had loved Bohea tea.

Alongside General Pei, Lang Qianqiu rode in silence. His horse snuffled patiently as they trotted over the dirt-and-dust trade route. The horse was imperial stock, proud and powerful. His name was Guìhuā — osmanthus . Lang Qianqiu had named him for the cakes, not the flowers.

Out on the backwater road, both Lang Qianqiu and the General looked rather wildly out of place. Pei Ming was every inch the dashing military man; rugged, roguish, broad-shouldered and handsome in his red raiments. Lang Qianqiu shared his effortless air of nobility — but not his age nor his experience. General Pei Ming was going on twenty-nine. Lang Qianqiu, the late naval commander’s son, was no older than twenty.

They were on their way back from a rebel skirmish on the eastern border. Pei Ming was pointed in the direction of the Imperial City, eager to claim his accolades. His medals. His wine. His women. Lang Qianqiu wasn’t terribly interested in either women or wine. The medals were alright.

Still, he had another target in mind. Another destination, too.

Two days prior, a letter had reached him on the battlefield —

The sea-witch was spotted again. Hairtail Place.

The message had been detailed in a shaky, overexcited scrawl. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Lang Qianqiu had promised a hefty reward to any informant whose tip led Lang Qianqiu to the capture of the creature in question.

Now, out on the road, they were just three miles short of Hairtail Place; the region’s one and lonely seaport. A pretty blunt name for a fishing village, Lang Qianqiu thought. Blunt, but apt. The locals survived almost exclusively off the trade of the eponymous fish. Lang Qianqiu rather liked hairtails, himself. They made for a decent stew.

Lang Qianqiu glanced over to his companion. General Pei Ming was holding his horse’s bridle somewhat idly with his right hand. His left hand was rummaging about in the collar of his robes, likely hunting for his flask.

“The sea witch was last sighted on the outskirts of the village,” Lang Qianqiu said at last, gesturing in the direction of Hairtail Place. “Right along the seashore. According to my source, there’s a small boatyard on the southwest end of the village, a mile or two off from the main port. Nothing fancy, just a simple dockyard with a couple old fishing boats. Apparently, a local fishmonger saw the witch sitting around fifty feet out, primping and singing out on the rocky cove.”

Pei Ming hummed. His left hand emerged, gripping the silvery body of his personal reserve. Hawthorn wine with dark brown honey. Lang Qianqiu never touched the stuff. The scent alone was woozying.

“Oh-hoh? And the fishmonger lived?”

“Mn,” Lang Qianqiu inclined his head. “The old man was hard of hearing. Saved his life.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“In a sense,” Lang Qianqiu agreed earnestly. “I only pray the sea-witch is still in the area. I’m not keen on letting him slip through my fingers once more.”

Pei Ming didn’t respond to that. Not immediately, anyhow. For a minute or two, they rode in companionable silence — undercut only by the sound of hooves beating against the tradesroad, gulls crying, and the occasional fishpacker’s wagon trundling by. The scent of seabrine of algae grew stronger and stronger as the road veered towards the coast. The cool, salty tang of it sent a lance of pained nostalgia through Lang Qianqiu’s heart.

(The harbours of Yong An seemed so distant, so unreachable.)

Pei Ming cleared his throat.

“You got a game plan, kid?”

Not a kid, Lang Qianqiu wanted to protest. A Lieutenant General. Student of the great Fang Xin. Heir to the esteemed House of Lang.

Instead, he answered squarely: “I guess I’ll start by asking around. The villagers might have more information on the siren — where he feeds, where he nests. Ideally, I’ll be able to rent or borrow a fishing boat from the local dockyard. The rest is very simple, General. I’ll track the murderous siren to his cove, spear him like a pike, then collect his head. Easy.”

“Not scared you’ll get gobbled up?” General Pei lifted a thick brow. “A siren’s song is an intoxicating thing.”

Lang Qianqiu shook his head.

“I brought wax, General Pei! Wax and my saber. If anyone should be scared, it’s that damned sea witch.”

“Full of spitfire, aren’t you?” Pei Ming rolled his eyes, then yawned. His mouth cracked open as wide as a cat’s when he yawned. “Hoh, that’s youth, isn’t it? Well, at any rate, this old General prays you resolve the matter quickly — and, er, painlessly. Siren-killing is a nasty business. I’d hate to see you floating facedown on the lonely river.”

“Never fear, General Pei,” Lang Qianqiu said, his grip tightening as the fork in the road came into view. “I’ll report back to the Imperial Palace in three days time. With the sea-witch’s head in tow, naturally!”

Pei Ming sort of laughed at that. He had a loud, handsome laugh, though Lang Qianqiu wouldn’t call it especially kind.

“Sure thing, kid,” he said, slowing his horse to a standstill where the battered tradesroute met the stone-surfaced highway. There was a crude, battered signpost at the center of the crossroads. Imperial Road ahead. Hairtail Place, two miles south. “Deliver your report to Ling Wen Palace once you arrive.”

Lang Qianqiu winced. He wasn’t very good at writing reports.

“... Yes, sir.”

“Also, try not to get blood on the tiles. They’re still scrubbing gore off from the last time I tagged a yaomo . Do you remember that? Fearsome thing. Frightful teeth. Very chatty. Now, as for the head of the witch…” Pei Ming stalled. He hemmed and hawed for a moment, absentmindedly patting at his nightblack stallion’s muscled flank. “Eh, do as you please. Just don’t leave it where the smell might linger.”

“Er. Yes, General.”

“We’ll rendezvous at the house of Ming Guang. I’ll have an assignment readied for you by then,” Pei Ming said. He gave Lang Qianqiu an up-and-down look. Lang Qianqiu wasn’t very good at reading facial expressions, but he knew concern when he saw it. “So. Be safe, kid.”

Lang Qianqiu attempted to reassure Pei Ming with a smile. People liked his smile. It was big and broad and bright, and Lang Qianqiu had excellent teeth.

“I will!”

Pei Ming stalled for a moment, still running his hands over his horse’s sides. His look of concern didn’t seem to abate. Rather, it deepened. He looked like he had something more he wanted to say. Something important.

But what he actually said was this: “Alright.”

Pei Ming turned his eyes to the horizon. The clouds banked above the foothills were thick, tenebrous. Maybe a storm would touch down on the bay. Maybe it wouldn’t.

The General clicked his tongue and tapped his horse on the rear. Pei Ming’s horse began to amble forwards, rousing itself into a lively canter. Lang Qianqiu watched them travel down the Imperial Road, growing smaller and smaller until they completely disappeared over the vanishing line.

Then he was alone. Alone with the smell of the sea.

Well, there was no worth in pondering that. Lang Qianqiu wasn’t very keen on brooding. He was, however, keen on action.

And he was very, very keen on delivering on some long-overdue justice.

Lang Qianqiu straightened up, whistled, and yanked his horse’s bridle in the direction of Hairtail Place.

The witchhunt was on.

---

 

Here’s the thing. The heart of the matter, if you will.

Lang Qianqiu’s parents died a terrible death.

In his mind, there was no doubt about it. No delusions to be harboured. No pie-in-the-sky hopes of a quick and painless end. 

At sea, there was no such thing as a good death. Lang Qianqiu knew that. Knew it well, even. He was the only son of lifelong mariners — he’d sat through endless horror stories of high seas. Stories of sailors meeting a pathetic end by starvation, slumped listlessly over the forecastle. Stories of navymen convulsing their way to a grisly death by illness, their lips slick and bloody with scorbutic rot. Stories of overboarded men bobbing over the water like bits of cork, clinging to debris. Screaming for help that would never, ever come.

If the waves didn’t take them, the cold would.

And if the cold didn’t take them…

Well. The ocean was full of hungry beasts.

Now, the naval officers of Yong’An had several beasties to watch out for. Naturally, fierce corpses were to be expected. They floated over top the water, bloated and gape-mouthed, deathly still until the scent of fresh meat reached their noses. Then, there were the panlong — water dragons — always blithely unsympathetic as their teeth crushed the hulls of imperial battleships. Then, you had your run-of-the-mill demons. Water spirits. The Four Horrors of the Southern Seas: The Plaguebringer, The Shipsinker, The Crimson Marauder — 

And the Lantern of the Sea.

The green-tailed siren.

Objectively speaking, sirens were beautiful. Intensely beautiful, even. Their bodies were slender, their eyes were bright, and their faces were sweet and pleasing. Their scales were legendarily fine and lustrous. So was their music. Many carried tortoiseshell instruments; others relied on nothing more than their own enchanting voices. They were lovely. Singularly lovely.

They were also singularly vicious.

There was no gentle way of putting it. Sirens were flesh-eaters. Their beautiful faces hid elongated, carnivorous teeth — designed by the cruel hand of nature to snap and rip and tear. Their perfect bodies disguised a nature that was more animal than human. 

Their lyricism masked an insatiable hunger for human flesh. 

The Lantern of the Sea was the hungriest of them all.

Named for the distinctive glow of his bioluminescent tail, the Lantern held a special notoriety among sirens. Not content to simply lure the occasional foolish wastrel overboard, the Lantern specialized in manufacturing large-scale shipwrecks in order to glut himself on hundreds, even thousands of fresh corpses.

Lang Qianqiu’s mother and father had perished in one such shipwreck. Their bodies had never been recovered.

Not entirely, at any rate.

Oh, sure — a few scattered remains had washed up to the shore. A finger. A femur. A blown-out left eye, pupils collapsed. But who could say whose was whose?

The villagers of Hairtail Place were simple folk. Terse. Guarded. A little backwater, fiercely superstitious. Almost unilaterally poor, too, and not too fond of the Imperial military — if their reactions to Lang Qianqiu’s sword and armour were of any indication.

They were less reticent, however, when Lang Qianqiu loudly announced his intention to smoke out the siren plaguing their waters.

“The siren hunts in the eventide,” one boat-builder husked, his rheumy-blue eyes pinging back-and-forth as he spoke. “His tail glows green beneath the murky waves… and his song lures foolish stragglers deep into the open bled.”

“You’ve seen him?” Lang Qianqiu asked, tacking Guìhuā up outside the local inn.

“I have,” another woman said. Her expression hardened. “Luckily, I had wits enough to abandon my station immediately — ‘fore the nasty bugger could open his foul mouth and sing.”

One by one, the eye-witness testimonies filtered through.

“Aye. I’ve seen him, too. I caught a glimpse of him at the brink of dawn — and shit, the light of day does that wicked creature no favours. The legends say that sirens are all divine beauties, but believe me when I say that’s a fuckin’ crock of shit. The Lantern looks like some kind of drowned rat. Bloodstained, fetid.”

“We sent two local mercenaries to gut the fish-man, but the siren overturned their boats and devoured them whole.”

"Dashixiong told me that all sirens were human, once. When a human dies with a heart full of rage... and that human is buried at sea... a siren is born. That's what dashixiong said."

“He seems to have made his home on the eastmost shore. For the time being, we’ve banned our people from nearing the connecting dockyard. We left many boats behind. Gear, too. You’re welcome to use whatever you find.”

Hearing this, Lang Qianqiu was able to reach a couple of conclusions.

For one: simply rowing up to the siren was probably a bad plan. The siren had the overwhelming advantage in the water. There was nothing preventing Lang Qianqiu from ending up like those two unfortunate mercenaries — stranded on the surf, treading water, waiting for death.

More helpfully, it seemed that the siren was nocturnal. Or… uh, crepuscular, at the very least. He seemed to hunt between the hours of twilight and dawn.

This information presented an opportunity. If Lang Qianqiu took advantage of the afternoon sun, he could row up to the siren’s lair and (assumably) catch him while he was still asleep.

As Lang Qianqiu made his way down towards the boatyard, a little hand latched on to the back of his robes.

“Mister soldier?”

Lang Qianqiu turned around. A little boy was clinging to the hem of his robes. His overlarge, hempen clothes were streaked with grime and slick, and there appeared to be a split in the knee of his scuffed-up pants. Maybe he’d slipped on the pier. Poor thing.

“Hey there, little guy,” Lang Qianqiu said, flashing a smile. “What’s your name?”

“… Gu Zi.”

“Well, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

Lang Qianqiu went on smiling like a dope, waiting for Gu Zi to let go of his robes. But he didn’t. He went on clinging like a vise, wringing the fabric between his dirty hands. There was some profound, child-sized emotion swirling in his mud-brown eyes.

“Um…” he said. He had a faint, fearful voice. His eyes kept darting down to the resined hilt of Lang Qianqiu’s sword. “I was listening to you talk to the fishermen… about the mermaid...”

Mermaid, huh?

“You mean the siren,” Lang Qianqiu chastised him, gentle but firm. “The Lantern of the Sea.”

Gu Zi didn’t seem terribly convinced.

“... Are you going to hurt him?”

“Am I, ah...” Lang Qianqiu stopped dead, digesting the question. The bald truth was that Lang Qianqiu was going to hurt the siren. Very badly. Fatally, hopefully. But Lang Qianqiu had a feeling that this wasn’t the answer Gu Zi was hoping to hear.

That said, it wasn’t in Lang Qianqiu’s nature to lie. Not even to a child. And least of all to flatter his own image.

“Listen, Gu Zi,” Lang Qianqiu said, settling a big palm over the pommel of his sword. It was blessedly cool to the touch, a balm against the gaslight sun. “Hunting beasts is what I do. It is my duty. My legacy, in a sense. It’s ugly work, I know — but necessary. Necessary and just.” Lang Qianqiu paused, taking in Gu Zi’s look of fraught expectation. “This siren is one such monster. So, yes. He is my prey.”

Gu Zi’s eyes went wide with obvious horror.

“You — you admit it? You’re really gonna hurt him?”

“Yes.”

“That’s horrible!”

Lang Qianqiu’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.

Was it horrible? Was it really? Was it really, really so terrible to strike down a wicked beast? Lang Qianqiu’s thoughts turned black and angry. Men throwing themselves overboard, their bodies slipping feet-first into a moondark sea. Blood rising, clouding with the sand and silt and salt. Blooming beneath a white-tipped wave. Foaming. Dispersing. The famished, frantic siren below, all teeth, all need. His green tail flicking up, spasmodic and jointless.

The bodies disappear into the water. The siren drags them down into the heart of the world. The sea churns, the sea wails. The sea heats and the sea cools. Fingerbones and teeth and disconnected mandibles wash up to the shore. They look like shells. They look like driftwood. They don’t look human. They don’t look human at all.

“You think so?” Lang Qianqiu asked, the flint of testiness in his tone. Gu Zi’s little fingernails rasped against the fabric of Lang Qianqiu’s shirt. Gu Zi’s fingers were very small and very dirty.

“The mermaid is nice! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“The siren is a cannibal, Gu Zi. A cannibal and a killer. He’s — he’s a danger to this community. A danger to you. To everyone in this village."

“No way!” Gu Zi shook his head fiercely, his stringy hair flying all over the place. “That's not true! The mermaid is nice! The mermaid wouldn’t hurt anybody, he’s really nice!”

The dark feeling passed. Lang Qianqiu took pause, really processing Gu Zi’s words. Why on Earth would he think that?

A beat. Lang QIanqiu covered Gu Zi’s small hands with his own, easing them away from his robes. He met Gu Zi’s gaze head-on. His boyish little lips were wet and trembling —  so terribly gripped with emotion. Like Lang Qianqiu hadn’t threatened a dangerous monster, but a beloved family pet.

“How could you possibly know that?” Lang Qianqiu probed.

“I…” Gu Zi seemed to struggle with that one. His eyes slid down to the filthy ground; salty-slick mud clinging to the tattered soles of his shoes. “I just…”

He trailed off, stymied. Undeterred, Lang Qianqiu continued to press him.

“Have you seen the mermaid, Gu Zi?” Lang Qianqiu asked. He had a new thought. “Have you… spoken with the mermaid?”

Gu Zi scraped his shoe through the damp and grit. His expression showed some conflict. Some guilt. Lang Qianqiu felt a stab of inexplicable pity.

“I was hanging out at the boatyard,” Gu Zi murmured, his voice so thin and so small. “My dad brought a lady home, then kicked me out of the house… before I could find something to eat… so… I was really hungry. I was sitting on the pier… this was before they closed the beach. It was a little cold. That’s when I saw something shining beneath the water. It looked like some kind of green light.”

“The Lantern of the Sea.”

Gu Zi jerked his chin up and down.

“He poked his head up over the water, and — and his eyes were so bright! Just like his tail! They looked like green stars. I was really, really scared, but he didn’t do anything scary. We just talked a little. He’s a little rough, but I promise you, he’s really nice! When I told him I was hungry, he dove down beneath the pier and fished up a really pretty bracelet! He told me to sell it and buy rice.”

“Really, now.”

“Really!” Gu Zi said. “The mermaid is really nice, okay? He's super, super nice. So you should all just leave him alone. Maybe if you just talked to him, you… you’d agree for sure!”

Lang Qianqiu doubted it.

He mulled over Gu Zi’s story. The siren rising out of the dark water, his eyes burning through the night, tossing a muddied bracelet onto the cedar dockyard. He found it difficult to believe that the siren harboured some secret heart of kindness. This was the Lantern of the Sea they were talking about. The siren had probably taken one look at Gu Zi and decided that the kid wouldn’t make for a very tasty meal. Gu Zi was small for his age. Skin and bones, really.

The siren was probably hoping to fatten Gu Zi up for future pickings. Truly despicable.

Lang Qianqiu gave Gu Zi a long look, his heart softening. Poor thing. Filthy, malnourished. Just a bundle of rags clinging to a witch’s ill-intentioned kindness.

It didn’t seem like Gu Zi's father was taking very good care of him. Internally, Lang Qianqiu vowed to do something about that before leaving the village.

He was, after all, a steward of justice.

“Thank you for telling me,” Lang Qianqiu said.

Gu Zi shuffled.

“Are you still gonna hurt the mermaid?”

The answer, frankly, was still yes. 

“When the time comes, I will make the right choice,” Lang Qianqiu said.

Gu Zi hesitated, then nodded.

“Just give him a chance, mister. He’s really, really nice. Oh! Maybe if you ask him, he’ll bring you something shiny too? Like… a ring, or a coin, or a hairpin...”

Back at home, Lang Qianqiu was already overburdened with shiny things. He smiled all the same, reaching out to ruffle Gu Zi’s lank hair.

“If I pick up a fancy new hairpin along the way, I’ll bring it straight to you, Gu Zi.”

“... I’ve never worn my hair up with a pin before.”

“You’ll look very handsome, I’m sure,” Lang Qianqiu said. “I must away while the sun is still in the sky — but I’ll, ah.... I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

Gu Zi’s posture visibly relaxed.

“Thank you, soldier gege.”

“It’s Lang Qianqiu.”

“... Qianqiu-gege.”

Lang Qianqiu laughed, “Okay, okay, fine. Qianqiu-gege.”

Gu Zi smiled. He had a precious little smile. Pink gums, teeny little pearly whites, a little scrunched-up nose. There was a scabbed-over scrape on the slope of his chin. Silly little boy. Was he very clumsy? Feeling strangely paternalistic, Lang Qianqiu patted Gu Zi on the head. Gu Zi smiled all the wider. His smile was completely without guilt, without manipulation. He seemed to like having his head patted. He seemed to like it quite a bit.

With startling clarity, a lone thought manifested: This boy deserves all the candy in the world. Every last speck of it.

“When you see the mermaid, can you tell him something from me?” Gu Zi asked. His smile stumbled, slipped and then fell.

“Hm?”

Gu Zi lifted himself up onto the tips of his toes — he looked like a little ground-feeding bird, his twitchy little nose canted up towards the sky. He curled his tiny fingers, beckoning Lang Qianqiu near. Lang Qianqiu obliged. He leaned in close, and Gu Zi put his wet little mouth up against his ear. 

Gu Zi’s voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper, “Tell him I’m really sorry. I… didn’t do as he asked. I didn’t sell the bracelet. I kept it. It’s back home, underneath my pillow.”

“Wait, why —”

“I just like to look at it,” Gu Zi said, his voice catching on a rushed breath. “Just for a few seconds at a time, you know, when it’s very late or very early and I’m alone on my futon and my dad is snoring away. I just like to look at it. It just looks so pretty beneath the moonlight. It looks so magical. Like something from another world.”

Lang Qianqiu reared back to shoot Gu Zi a quizzical look.

“It means that much to you?”

Gu Zi nodded.

“It’s my treasure,” he said. Then, with a note of burred sheepishness that was honestly kind of tragic, “My only treasure.”

---

 

The sandy shore was hot and crunchy and smelled terrible. Rotting algae and dead fish, Lang Qianqiu supposed. It seemed that closing the beach had lead to some sort of ecological imbalance. Or was the siren simply fudging with the local ecosystem?

Lang Qianqiu stepped onto the wooden pier, scanning the connecting shorefront. A couple dead hairtail were visible along the waterline, deep wounds criss-crossing their flanks. Some even appeared…  very strangely mangled. Mutilated. Chewed-up. Was the Lantern of the Sea a fan of hairtail filet? Or was he hunting for sport?

The fog was beginning to disperse. The sky ahead was cloudless and blue. The sun was brutal. Lang Qianqiu toyed with the waxen earplugs in his pocket, wondering if it’d be appropriate for him to strip down a layer. The pier was closed, wasn’t it? There’d be no passing ladies to gasp and chide him for his brutishness. Maybe once he was out on the water.

Lang Qianqiu’s boots beat against the banked wood at a measured, reverberating tempo. He rounded towards a mid-sized sailboat, tied sloppily — hastily? —  up to the stern line. The back end was littered with various fishing paraphernalia: meshwire nets, tackle, a beat-up cooler that might’ve been hiding a few jars of homebrewed hooch. The sail hung limp and loose, unfastened.

Lang Qianqiu hopped up to the side of the boat, grabbing at the bow pulpit to steady himself. Then, he jerked in surprise.

There was a boy sleeping inside the boat.

He looked just a little younger than Lang Qianqiu — maybe seventeen or eighteen. He was dressed in a single loose-fitting cotton robe, verdant green and generously sized. Sleep had rucked the robe up in all sorts of strange ways, leaving the boy’s throat and collarbones rather scandalously exposed. He was probably rather good-looking. He was probably even beautiful, all things considered, but Lang Qianqiu felt nothing but annoyance.

“Hey!” Lang Qianqiu said, affronted. He nudged at the boy’s shoulder with his foot. “Hey, wake up! Are you from the village?”

With a displeased moan, the boy stirred. He cracked an eye open — a muddy hazel-green. He gave Lang Qianqiu a quick, blearly glance. Then, he closed his eye again, rolling over with a grunt.

“Don’t just go back to sleep!” Lang Qianqiu said. He dropped down to one knee, giving the boy a light shove. “Hey, I’m being serious! Don’t you know the pier is closed?”

“Ugh,” the boy groused, his voice rough with sleep. “Fuckin’ killjoy. Bet yer — bet yer real fun at parties.”

“Fun has nothing to do with it,” Lang Qianqiu fired back, affronted. “This beach is closed for a reason, you know. It’s dangerous out here.”

A snort.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh. There’s a man-eating siren lurking about,” Lang Qianqiu warned the young layabout. “I wouldn’t take the matter so lightly if I were you.”

The boy rolled onto his back, regarding Lang Qianqiu a little more intently. He settled his hands over top of his stomach, lax and unguarded and completely at ease with himself. He began to hum softly, his interest apparently piqued.

“Hm. Hm, hm, hm. A siren, huh?”

“Indeed. A rather vicious one at that.”

“Ya don’t say.”

Lang Qianqiu folded his arms one over the other, not liking this boy’s flippant attitude.

“I suggest you head back home to the village. What are you doing out here anyways? Slacking off?”

“Just soakin’ up the afternoon sun,” the boy grinned, displaying a truly impressive set of pearly white teeth. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about this siren, eh?”

Lang Qianqiu cocked his head to the side, his brows tugging into a pronounced frown.

“Why, is this the first you’ve heard of him? The entire village is abuzz.”

The boy flicked his braid over his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“Ehhh, well. Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. But I wanna hear it from you.”

Lang Qianqiu shifted his weight from foot to foot, mulling that little comment over. In the end, he decided it was a fairly harmless request.

“They call him the Lantern of the Sea,” he said. “He’s counted among the Four Calamities — all fearsome scourges of the Southern Sea. The Lantern is, more precisely, a green-tailed siren. A sea-witch. He’s notorious for orchestrating mass-casualty events in order to slake his prodigious appetite. He’s migrated to these waters for reasons unknown — and seems to haunt these shores after dark.”

“Ooh, scaaary,” the boy cackled, apparently delighted. “Is he very ruthless?”

“Without question. His victims number in the hundreds.”

The boy perked up at that. How very tasteless. Perhaps this was all a very exciting campfire story to him. What a callous young thing.

“Is he very beautiful?”

“I —” Lang Qianqiu blinked, taken-aback. “The jury’s still out on that. Sirens are famously fair of face, but the Lantern was described to me as somewhat akin to a drowned rat.”

The boy frowned.

“Shit. Well, forget that — is he very strong? He’s gotta be ferociously strong, right?”

“He’s certainly deadly in his own right,” Lang Qianqiu said, thinking back on all that he knew of the Lantern. “But he’s most certainly the weakest among the Four Calamities.”

The boy’s features flashed with annoyance.

“Oh, c’mon. Come fuckin’ on. You really think the Lantern is weaker than that yellow-bellied, bleedin’ heart Crimson Marauder? That’s crazy-talk. That’s shit-eatin’, scumfuck crazy-talk, bucko.”

“... Please don’t call me bucko.”

“Well, what should I call you?”

“My name, ideally.”

“I don’t know your fuckin’ name.”

“It’s Lang Qianqiu.”

“It’s Laaang Qiaaanqiu,” the boy mimicked, nasal and nasty. He jabbed his thumb towards his own chest. “Well, you can call this venerable one Qi Rong.”

Qi Rong worked up a great big mouthful of spit, swished it, then hocked it out onto the tattered floor of the boat. Pt-too.

“Charmed,” Lang Qianqiu deadpanned.

Qi Rong pushed his fringe out of his face and snickered, bad-natured mirth written up along every square inch of his body. The body in question, however, was frustratingly attractive. More than once, Lang Qianqiu found himself forcibly tearing his eyes away from the pale slope of Qi Rong's neck. The lyrical slip of his waist and legs.

Qi Rong, by comparison, was much more forward in his own staring. His gaze pinged up and down the length of Lang Qianqiu's body, utterly shameless in his air of assessment. Eventually, his eyes landed somewhere between the glinting lamellae of Lang Qianqiu's chestplate and the resined hilt of his sword.

“You military, Qianqiu-xiong?”

“A Lieutenant General, yes.”

“Ehehe, my oh my. Now there’s a fancy-ass title.”

“I bear it proudly.”

“I bet, I bet,” Qi Rong smiled, a hit of wolf in his well-kept teeth. "What brings a fancypants officer like you out to the middle of assfuck nowhere?”

“The Lantern of the Sea is my quarry,” Lang Qianqiu answered earnestly, leaning forwards. “I’ve been hunting him for some time now, but he’s proven an elusive target.”

“Oh, really.”

“Really.”

“You gonna try and slice ‘im up with that shiny sword right there?”

“That’s the idea.”

Qi Rong tipped his head back and let out a long laugh.

“Oh, baby. Ain’t you worried about gettin’ munched up? The — the siren’s got his magic song, don’t you know?”

“I have earplugs,” Lang Qianqiu said. “You needn’t worry overmuch. I’m a very skilled hunter.”

“Wow, mister. Is that so?"

Lang Qianqiu offered him a brave smile.

“Mn. I daresay I’m a fair match for any sea-witch.”

Qi Rong laughed again. He had a somewhat abrasive laugh — a violent laugh. It seemed to shock its way out of Qi Rong’s skinny little frame, sawing through the seaside air with a blunt, serrated edge.

“Ah, you’re so fuckin’ doomed, baby,” Qi Rong sighed, his laughter tapering off.

“Laugh if you like. I know what I’m capable of.”

“Oh, of course you do,” Qi Rong’s lips twitched. “Oh, poor Qianqiu-xiong. You probably won’t even be very tasty. You look sinewy. Tough. Hard to chew.”

“Enough of this,” Lang Qianqiu snapped, somewhat irate. He rose to his full height, glowering over Qi Rong’s hunched figure. “I’ve a siren to slay. Get off my boat.”

“Your boat? Your boat? Like hell this is your boat.”

“It is now,” Lang Qianqiu said. “I’m commandeering it. Now, off.”

He gestured towards the pier emphatically. Indignant, Qi Rong scrambled to his feet. Like this, standing face to face, he was nearly a head shorter than Lang Qianqiu. 

That… probably shouldn’t have been endearing. But it was. Just a bit.

“I got here first! Pick another boat.”

“Don’t be childish. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“You’re the one whose bein’ childish, trying to order me around! You know, havin’ a fancy fuckin’ title and a fancy fuckin’ sword doesn’t give you license to boss me around —”

“I’m trying to protect you, little fool. You and your village.”

“Fuck that stupid village,” Qi Rong hissed. “It’s a shithole.”

Lang Qianqiu pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine building somewhere between his eyes.

“Leave of your own accord, or I’ll toss you into the water. You pick.”

Qi Rong’s eyes flashed with panic.

“Qianqiu-xiong, you wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Qi Rong’s flailed in Lang Qianqiu’s direction, his hand darting out to grip the edge of Lang Qianqiu’s robes. Lang Qianqiu blinked, his eyes drawn down to the curve of Qi Rong’s wrist. His hands were smooth and small and neat, but his fingernails beds were filthy. Lang Qianqiu could see the sand and grit trapped below the whites. The sight struck him as distinctly strange. Worthy of note. Had Qi Rong been clawing through the low tide? What for — seashells? Oysters? Loose change? Or maybe...

“Qianqiu-xiong,” Qi Rong wheedled, something of a whine in his tone. “Qianqiu-xiong, be reasonable. Look, look, we got off on the wrong foot, okay? Let’s you and I be friends.”

It was Lang Qianqiu’s turn to laugh.

“You want to be friends.”

“Yes, yes, the very best of friends,” Qi Rong said. “How about we set off together, hm? This boat is the smallest in the harbour… and it’s meant to be sailed by a crew of two at the very least. Wouldn’t you like this gracious one’s assistance?”

“Your assistance?”

“In hunting this fearsome siren, naturally,” Qi Rong said. “I have excellent sea legs, you know, ahaha…”

Lang Qianqiu lifted his brows.

“You’d hunt the Lantern with me?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure! Nothin’ better to do out here.”

“Can you sail?”

“Uh-huh,” Qi Rong nodded emphatically. He reached over and touched the boatmast — running the heel of his hand down towards the boom. “I was born on the sea, Qianqiu-xiong, an’ I know this stupid pond like the back of my hand.”

Lang Qianqiu’s eyes flicked towards the untied mainsail, billowing aimlessly against the half-hearted seaside breeze. He frowned, his gaze flicking up and down the length of the boat. The hub. The backstay. The stern. Qi Rong was correct in one regard — this vessel was not designed to be operated by one lone sailor. A second pair of hands would be enormously helpful, especially if the siren were to engage them on the open water.

Lang Qianqiu didn’t like the idea of relying on Qi Rong. For the five minutes they’d known one another, Qi Rong had proven himself capricious, petty, shallow, rude, and thoroughly ignoble. However. If such a partnership could ensure the death of the Lantern...

“It’ll be very dangerous,” Lang Qianqiu hedged.

“I’m as brave as they come, baby.”

“... I only have one pair of earplugs."

“Ehehe, if the siren sings, I’ll just cover up my ears, okay? Or you can tie me to the mast. Your pick.”

“If you become a hindrance —” 

“You’ll toss me overboard, right, right. I fuckin’ get it.”

Lang Qianqiu shifted his weight from foot to foot, deliberating. Having a local guide was an unequivocal, obvious boon. His father would press him to accept it, wouldn’t it? If it meant the advancement of justice? Lang Qianqiu swallowed his pride, forcing a level expression.

“Okay. Okay. Fine,” he said.  “Help me disembark, Qi Rong.”

“Yessir, Qianqiu-xiong, ehehehe…”

Qi Rong’s ensuing grin was downright snotty. Like a little kid who’d just won a petty argument. Light on his feet, Qi Rong brushed past Lang Qianqiu, his hands flying up with a shocking precision to fuss with the halyard’s fastenings.

“Sirens typically nest in cave pockets, grottos, or rocky coves,” Lang Qianqiu said, sizing Qi Rong up carefully. “If you know of any sea caves along this coast, perhaps we could start there.”

Qi Rong’s eyes were shining, moon-bright.

“Right, right. This noble one shall be your guide.”

 

 

---

 

 

And so they went.

First south, then southeast, combing the rocky coast. Qi Rong, true to his word, led Lang Qianqiu to several rocky outcroppings and cave walls that might make for ideal siren nests. Slowly, as silently as possible, Lang Qianqiu sailed up towards the shoreline and bid Qi Rong to wait. Sword at the ready, he stalked over the stones. Eyes attuned to the darkness, hunter-honed. Searching for the telltale flash of something green.

He didn’t find a trace.

Two hours passed. Two hours of shots in the dark, two hours wasted. Each and every cave was empty, save for the scent of damp, a handful of saltwater crabs, and the ceaseless drip-drip-drip of stalagmites.

A frustrating turn of events, to say the least.

“Back already?” Qi Rong teased as Lang Qianqiu hauled himself aboard for the fifth time. “And no siren head in tow, huh?”

“It is possible,” Lang Qianqiu acknowledged, his teeth gritted, his feet landing aboard, “that the siren has moved out of the bay.”

“Awww, poor Qianqiu-xiong. Giving up?”

“I…”

Lang Qianqiu’s jaw worked. He didn’t like the idea of giving up. In fact, it was rather contrary to his personal code. But, if the siren had truly migrated beyond the waters of Hairtail Place… then…

Qi Rong was laughing his stupid, braying donkey laugh.

“Ahahaha, fuck! Look at your fucking face! You look like somewhat took a fat shit in your congee. Poor, poor baby. I guess even the great Lieutenant General Lang Qianqiu has to admit defeat every now and then, eh?"

A wretched little aside. Pernicious, really — and blatantly bait. But it also just so happened to be the perfect bait; one that had Lang Qianqiu’s hackles rising all but instantly.

“I never admit defeat,” he responded hotly. “Not when justice is on the line. We'll search until sundown."

Qi Rong clapped, whooping and hollering.

“Ah, what panache! What spirit! What fire! Not that it’ll get you anywhere, ehehe — but this noble one likes to see it."

Lang Qianqiu pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to kick something.

“Quit messing around and help me raise the sail."

"Yessir, soldier man."

They pulled back out into the bay, settling into the familiar rhythm of boatwork. Lang Qianqiu watched as the nose of the dragged its way through the foamy blue-and-green — white-tipped, frothy waves forming where the water broke against the fishing boat’s hull. Yellow sun. Blue sky. The salty scent of water; the silver-backed glint of darting hairtails. And then there was Qi Rong; infuriatingly, intolerably attractive with his sleeve rucked up to his elbows. The lustre of daylight in his nightblack hair.

Lang Qianqiu took a sip of cool air over his teeth.

What a waste of a decent face.

They slowed their pace at the center of the bay, the boat bobbing at a near-halt. Lang Qianqiu scanned the horizon, assessing the rocky shoreline several kilometers ahead. Qi Rong, less interested in examining the topography, was rummaging through a nearby cask.

“Naughty, naughty,” he preened as he lifted a ceramic wine vessel free. Lang Qianqiu’s eyes, ever-traitorous, flickered towards his face. “Looks like somebody left their booze onboard. Hey, you think it’s any good?”

“No drinking on the job,” Lang Qianqiu said automatically.

“Stick-up-ass,” Qi Rong rolled his eyes, prying the lid off the jar to peer inside. An ambery liquid was swirling around the fired-clay brim. “C’mon, Qianqiu-xiong. Relax. Why don’t we have a pull?’

“We’re siren-hunting, Qi Rong.”

“Yeah, and we haven’t found heads or tails of your damned siren, have we?” Qi Rong fired back. He shook the wine vessel in Lang Qianqiu’s direction. “C’mon, baby. Sit your ass down, have a sip. It’s important to take a break every now and then, y’hear? Clear your head.”

"You think alcohol is going to clear my head?"

"Ehhh..." Qi Rong paused to consider that. "A small dose will, I think. Might help you relax for three entire goddamned seconds. Maybe get that stick to scoot a half-inch outta your ass."

Lang Qianqiu shuffled in place, momentarily at a loss. A break did sound nice. Very nice, really. He’d been scrambling from place to place all day — departing from the border camp, riding with Pei Ming, interrogating villagers, searching for the sea-witch. 

“Maybe… maybe just a short break.”

Qi Rong beamed.

He dropped down to the floor, beckoning Lan Qianqiu with a gesture. Lang Qianqiu followed him down slowly. The bottom of the boat was warm with the afternoon sun. Lang Qianqiu stretched his long legs out leisurely as Qi Rong went on tittering and fussing over his pilfered booze.

“What is that, anyhow?” Lang Qianqiu asked, nodding towards the ceramic jar. “A local brew?”

“Might be,” Qi Rong said. He tilted the liquid up towards the sunlight, squinting his eyes to examine its viscosity and hue. “I think it’s millet huangjiu.”

Qi Rong held the jar out in Lang Qianqiu’s direction. Lang Qianqiu leaned forwards and took an experimental sniff. He scrunched his nose up all but immediately, struck with a wave of intense disgust.

“That smells terrible!”

“Idiot. You’re not supposed to sniff it,” Qi Rong scoffed. “You’re not even meant to taste it, not really. This ain’t a sipping wine.”

“How am I supposed to drink it without tasting it?”

“You gotta knock it back,” Qi Rong said. “Like this.”

With a touch of the theatrical, Qi Rong lifted the jar to his lips. Lang Qianqiu watched, transfixed, as Qi Rong knocked back a swallow. Qi Rong’s raven braid lolled over his shoulder as he drank, his throat bobbing ever slightly. Qi Rong smacked his lips noisily, then laughed. He was always laughing. Always tittering, always crowing, always braying like a bird of prey.

“Shite,” Qi Rong said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “That is terrible. Absolute fuckin’ swill.”

“You should just toss it overboard.”

“Nuh-uh. Not before you try it.”

Lang Qianqiu laughed nervously.

“Try it? After that endorsement? Why on Earth should I do that?"

“Because,” Qi Rong said, and that was that. He shoved the jar off into Lang Qianqiu’s lap, liquid swirling over the brim to darken the knee of his robes. “Go on. Drink.”

Lang Qianqiu stared down at the jar doubtfully. He wasn’t much of a drinker. It didn’t mesh with his lifestyle — drink was a vice, after all, and vice was the providence of weak-willed men. Lang Qianqiu was strong; strong like his father, like his father’s father, like the father before him.

That being said, it wasn’t like Lang Qianqiu had never chanced a single sip of wine in all his life. He wasn’t a child. He’d snuck a few tastes in here and there— usually at weddings, where refusing the stuff felt like something of a slight. The palace spirits hadn’t agreed with him, and Pei Ming’s private reserve was naught but stomach-turning.

That being said, he could hardly back down from Qi Rong’s challenge.

Lang Qianqiu mustered up his courage and raised the jar to his own lips. Attempting to mimic Qi Rong's reckless bravado, he tipped it back and took a reckless drink.

The taste was nothing short of a sensory assault. Like piss and vinegar and fermented malt. This is a chemical weapon, Lang Qianqiu thought, aghast. Stomach lurching, he swished the huangjiu over his teeth. Ah. Oh dear. The alcohol was in his mouth. Oh no. Oh dear. He was going to have to swallow it. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Lang Qianqiu crawled over to the side of the boat to retch. Qi Rong exploded into a fit of bad-natured laughter.

“Bahahaha, fuckin’ hells, Qianqiu-xiong!”

“Blugh-uh,” Lang Qianqiu goaned. A most intelligent response. He fumbled for the canteen at his hip, desperate to wash the taste of homebrewed hooch from his mouth. “That… that was disgusting."

“Poor fuckin’ baby, can’t handle his liquor! Ahaha! Fuck, that’s funny. You’re not much of a drinker, huh?”

“... Not at all, no.”

Qi Rong's smile took on a somewhat enigmatic slant.

“Me neither, to be honest,” he said. He eased the wine away from Lang Qianqiu, tucking the ceramic jar between his criss-crossed legs. "A sip here and there is all fine and dandy, but I don’t like bein’ drunk.”

“Ah."

"See, I don’t get fun drunk . I just get stinkin’ miserable — kinda like my daddy before me.”

“... It’s a good thing you don’t drink, then.”

“It is,” Qi Rong said, a touch of darkness in his tone. A glower. He plucked at the pale length of twine encircling the wine vessel’s brim. “Hey, Qianqiu-xiong. You been huntin’ this siren a long time?”

“Couple years now.”

“Why’s that? Trophy hunting?”

“No, nothing like that,” Lang Qianqiu said. “It’s... personal.”

“Personal? How personal are we talking? Personal like a rash on your dick? Personal like a bleeding-heart love letter? Personal like a knife in the back?”

“He killed my parents.”

“Woof. That is personal.”

“Yeah,” Lang Qianqiu said. “It is.”

Qi Rong scooted a little closer. His hazel-green eyes were strangely luminous, strangely lunar. They were distantly reminiscent of good omen stars. Green starlight. Green stars. Where have I heard that before?

“Why’d he kill ‘em?” Qi Rong asked.

Lang Qianqiu balked at that.

“Why?”

“Yeah. Like, what was the reason?”

“What reason could he possibly need?” Lang Qianqiu countered, affronted. “This siren... is truly vicious, Qi Rong. Heartless, mindless. Savage to the soul. He kills for killing’s sake. He kills for wicked sport, he kills out of malice, he kills out of hatred for humanity — and for his own bottomless hunger for death. He kills because he is a killer.”

“Maybe he was defendin’ himself. You ever consider that?”

“No,” Lang Qianqiu said.

"No? I mean, it's possible, isn't it?"

"It's not possible."

"Why not?"

"My parents were honorable folk. They wouldn't attack an innocent creature without cause."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that.

Qi Rong tipped his head back and laughed. Lang Qianqiu watched him, quietly enraptured. It was the first and only time that Qi Rong’s gnashing laughter had actually struck him as something beautiful. But it was. It was a beautiful laugh; rich and bitter and dark, like oversteeped tea. Black tea, smoked tea. Wuyi tea. Bohea tea. The sound rose up into the air and drifted away on a briney, ozonic breeze.

Qi Rong was beautiful too. Cruelly. Regrettably. His mothwing lashes were flush against his cheekbones. His black braid, so thick and so strangely wolfish in texture, was lolling aimlessly over the slope of his narrow shoulder.

There was a nobility to this laugh, Lang Qianqiu thought. An aristocratic ire. Lang Qianqiu had initially written Qi Rong off as a nobody — some dirt-poor fishmonger’s layabout son. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps his birth was somewhat higher. The village elder’s son, maybe? The head priest's boy?

“Oh, you,” Qi Rong said, studying Lang Qianqiu through the fan of his lashes. “So fuckin' blunt. Ah, well. You probably have the right of it.”

“I know I have the right of it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Qi Rong said with an idle flick of the wrist. “Don't get cross with me, baby. And don’t think I can’t sympathize. My parents are dead too, y'know. Have been for a long, long time. Now, my father was a foul, wife-beatin’ piece of dogshit — I curse him every day. My mom, though? She did right by me. Kissed my hair, sang me lullabies. Called me her little sand crab. Such a stupid little nickname, right?"

“... You must miss her.”

“Miss her? I guess. In my own way. She feels pretty damn distant from me now — like someone I knew in another lifetime, or in a dream," Qi Rong said. He edged a little nearer. "How ‘bout you, boy? You miss your mama?”

“Yes," Lang Qianqiu said. A truly automatic response. "Between her duties at court and my tutelage, we didn’t see much of one another. I regret that.”

“I get what you mean," Qi Rong said. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth, glancing back down into his lip. "Fuck, this is some real depressin' talk. It’s souring my damn wine.”

“The wine was already plenty sour.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Qi Rong smiled. He lifted the jar up to his nose, took a long sniff, then mimed the act of gagging. “Ugh. I hate this shit. What was I thinking? I’m dumpin’ this out.”

“Feel free.”

Qi Rong crawled towards the edge of the boat. He hoisted the jar up and began to pour its contents out into the bay. Lang Qianqiu drew his knees up towards his chest, watching with a vague sense of satisfaction as the ambery wine tumbled down into the foamy surf. Qi Rong chucked the jar out for good measure, and it sank down, down, down out of sight. Perhaps a hermit crab would make its home inside.

“Talk to me about something fun, Lang Qianqiu,” Qi Rong said, advancing on hands and knees. “This whole siren-slaying business is gettin’ me down.”

“Something fun? Like what?”

“Y’know. Puppies, rainbows, yellowfin trout. Sliced apricots.”

“I prefer peaches.”

“Picky bastard. It was an example.”

Against his better judgement, Lang Qianqiu began to smile.

“Here’s something nice,” Lang Qianqiu said. “I met the cutest little kid while I was riding into town. Gu Zi. Do you know him?

Qi Rong glanced up, his expression showing some surprise. Then, he smiled back. It was a shockingly pretty smile. In fact, Lang Qianqiu would go so far as to call it pure.

“Gu Zi? Yeah, I know him,” he said. He’s — he’s a good kid. Real sweet.” His expression darkened a touch. “Kinda a miracle, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“His dad,” Qi Rong said. Then, his tone of voice savouring strongly of bitterness, “He’s a real piece of work. Boozer, womanizer. Beats the shit out of that poor kid. Prolly the reason Gu Zi is such a timid little runt.” Qi Rong allowed for a brief pause, then added, “I’d sure like to get him away from that asshole.’

“Understandably,” Lang Qianqiu said. He paused momentarily, considering his next words with care. Then, drawing upon what little Qi Rong had shared about his own father, he said, “I... I suppose you wouldn’t wish for him to suffer as you did.”

Qi Rong pulled his knees up towards his chest. For a long moment, he said nothing at all, and Lang Qianqiu was afraid he had well and truly offended the younger man.

Then, his voice low and cool as the tide itself, Qi Rong spoke.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Overhead, a gull cried out. The boat shuddered against the tide, water lapping up against the sides with a slick, steady sound. The distant shorefront looked hard and wet and pale.

“... Ah,” Lang Qianqiu said. “I’ve made our conversation grim again.”

“Gee, you fuckin’ think?”

“I’m sorry,” Lang Qianqiu said, wilting slightly. “I’m not very good at thinking before I speak.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Qi Rong sniped, but his voice was strangely without rancor.

Lang Qianqiu inclined his chin in Qi Rong’s direction.

“Perhaps something can be arranged,” he said. “For Gu Zi, I mean. I have contacts in the imperial capital. Temples that look after orphaned or abandoned children, cultivators seeking younger disciples. Gu Zi’s father may resist the idea, but perhaps if the House of Lang applies pressure —”

Qi Rong's eyes went very, very large.

“You’d do that? For a kid you just met?”

“Do you object?”

“No!” Qi Rong all but shouted. Then, a little abashed, “No. I don’t object. I just don’t see your angle.”

“My angle?”

“Yeah, your angle. Your grift. Where you get your beak wet.”

“Why do I need to get my beak wet?”

“I'm just being realistic,” Qi Rong said. He blew a stray lock of hair out of his face, his expression guarded. “I’ve been around the fuckin’ block, okay? I know where the wind’s blowing. Everyone’s tryin’ to get their beak wet. Everyone’s after something.” 

Lang Qianqiu shook his head, incredulous.

"This isn't a shakedown, Qi Rong. I'm not after anything. Not from you, not from Gu Zi."

"Then —"

 “It’s the right thing to do," Lang Qianqiu said firmly. "That's all."

Curled up on the damp floor, Qi Rong eyed Lang Qianqiu with the wariness of a mistreated pet.

“You’d really help him? Just like that?”

“If it’s within my power, yes."

Qi Rong yanked his gaze away. He made this little sound: tsk, tsk.

“... You’re too good to be true, Qianqiu-xiong.” 

"Too good to be true? Don't be silly.

"I’m not being silly. I’m bein’ sincere, believe it or not."

Lang Qianqiu wasn’t so sure that he did.

He was also becoming increasingly aware of just how much time they’d whiled away. Sundown was fast approaching; Lang Qianqiu’s window of opportunity was fast fading. With renewed determination, he pressed the heels of his hands against the softwood flooring. Slowly, with great care, he began to push himself upright.

It was always a challenging thing, rediscovering one’s bearings. Lang Qianqiu settled his hand onto the rough-hewn bow, reorienting his senses. Finding his sea legs, as it were. The little fishing boat rocked and swayed beneath his feet, ever at the mercy of the slow-rolling tide. 

Qi Rong stared up at him, his white cheeks wind-chafed. His green eyes so strangely direct, strangely focused with some large, inexpressible emotion.

This look struck Lang Qianqiu as extraordinarily familiar. Granted, he’d last seen it on a much younger, more guileless face — Gu Zi’s.

It was wonderment, and it was desperation. Hurt and hope.

How very odd.

Wordlessly, Lang Qianqiu extended his hand. Qi Rong looked at it. Then, his eyes began to dart around the boat — from mast to pulpit to daggerboard, to the deep blue sky above.

“Shit. You're a decent man," Qi Rong said. His tone of voice was uncharacteristically circumspect. "I… don't think I've really, actually met a decent man in a long time."

Lang Qianqiu frowned. "Are we such a dying breed?"

"From my perspective? Yeah. Yeah, you kinda are."

Then Qi Rong’s small, soft hand was in Lang Qianqiu’s own, and he was allowing himself to be manoeuvred back onto his feet. Qi Rong’s hand was shockingly bloodless. So cold, so white. White as calcite powder; as clamshell paint.  The sand and grit and loam beneath Qi Rong’s fingernails was, by comparison, shockingly dark.

Lang Qianqiu covered Qi Rong’s hand with his own, silently mesmerized. How could Qi Rong be so terribly cold? It was as though the afternoon sun hadn’t reached him at all. Hadn’t so much as touched him.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Qi Rong,” Lang Qianqiu said.

“You don’t fuckin’ know me.”

This was demonstrably true.

“I’d like to,” Lang Qianqiu said.

Qi Rong laughed a little at that.

“Aiya, poor fool. Your mistake.”

Then, very softly, he began to hum.

Lang Qianqiu found himself standing up a little straighter at the sound. Heavens above, Qi Rong’s voice was lovely. Lovelier than he could’ve possibly anticipated. Mellifluous, sweet. Honey-soaked. And all without words, without lyric.

He could listen to it all day. All night.

Ah, not that they had time for such a thing. They were busy. They were hunting.

… What were they hunting again?

“We should…” Lang Qianqiu wetted his lips. “We should, ah… set back out. The, the siren… he…”

He trailed off, stymied. Why exactly had he sailed out here, again? It… was because of a siren, right? Was that important? It certainly felt important, but he couldn’t recall why. It was becoming progressively harder to think. His mind felt all sorts of muddled. His thoughts seemed to travel through honey — their passage arduous, slow and sundered, sapped, yet so sweet.

Gods, but Qi Rong looked beautiful.

“Qianqiu-gege,” Qi Rong said, sotto voce. The hint of a song in his voice. A velvety, musical burr. “This isn’t funny anymore.”

Lang Qianqiu tilted his head to the side, confused.

“I’m sorry?”

Qi Rong reached out, framing Lang Qianqiu’s face with one cold, pale hands. His eyes were so bright. Like green starlight, green moonlit. Or a paper lantern...

“I thought it’d be funny,” Qi Rong said. “Y’know, sailing out with you. Watchin’ you scramble about, turnin’ over every leaf and stone, scrabbling over the cove… trying and failing to find your precious siren. I thought it’d make for a good laugh, you know? And then, in the end, I’d get a good meal out of it.”

“A... meal?”

“Yeah, y’know,” Qi Rong said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the shell of his ear. “I was gonna eat you.”

Eat him? That registered a fuzzy note of displeasure in Lang Qianqiu’s brain. He didn’t want to be eaten. That was bad, right? His hand began to wander towards the hilt of his sword. This situation… Something was wrong. His mind was struggling around the shape of some realization, some pearl of thought.

Qi Rong batted Lang Qianqiu’s hand away from his sword.

“Hey, relax” he said.

Lang Qianqiu curled his fingers away, ashamed. He didn’t want to make Qi Rong angry. Beautiful Qi Rong, wonderful Qi Rong. Qi Rong with his braid like wild silk, his half-exposed shoulders, his pink lips.

No. No. Those eyes. That song. This, this is...

Lang Qianqiu turned his cheek away from Qi Rong’s hand, closing his eyes. He could hear his former master’s voice in his mind: Focus, Young Master Lang!

“How can I relax?” Lang Qianqiu struggled to say. “You were… going to… no. No, no, this is—”

“I said relax, big guy,” Qi Rong sing-songed. He stroked the pad of his thumb across Lang Qianqiu’s cheekbone. The motion was more comforting than Lang Qianqiu ever wished to admit.  “I don’t wanna eat you. Not anymore. You’re perfectly safe with me, my lord, ahaha...”

Safe? Was he safe?

“Mn,” Qi Rong smiled. “Yer safe an’ sound, Lang Qianqiu.”

Ah. He must have spoken aloud.

Qi Rong went on humming quietly, still stroking his cheek Lang Qianqiu’s cheek with one hand. Even in his blurred state, Lang Qianqiu recognized that he was being coaxed. He was being coaxed same way Lang Qianqiu might coax Guihua, his imperial-issue horse. He pictured himself feeding Guihua from his hand, rubbing fondly at his well-groomed flank, then cajoling him into riding into the maelstrom.

Lang Qianqiu closed his eyes. He felt his hackles rise and then fall — beguiled. He supposed that made him Qi Rong’s beast of burden; his pet.

In the moment, under the spell of Qi Rong’s song, that felt okay.

“Lang Qianqiu,” Qi Rong said. “You brought earplugs, yeah?”

Lang Qianqiu nodded. They were at the bottom of his pack, carefully wrapped in a silken cloth.

“Nice, nice. Hey, why don’t you toss them into the water?”

“If you say so,” Lang Qianqiu said.

He rifled through his pack blearily, retrieving earplugs he’d prepared for the hunt. Wait, why did I bring them? Ah, well. It probably didn’t matter. If Qi Rong said he didn’t need them, then that was that.

Lang Qianqiu tossed the earplugs. They landed soundlessly on top of the water, bobbing along the surface. Entranced, Lang Qianqiu watched as the white-tipped surf began to carry them away, further and further until they were gone.

“Isn’t that nice?” Qi Rong beamed. “Doesn’t your pack feel a little lighter?”

“I guess,” Lang Qianqiu said.

Qi Rong patted Lang Qianqiu on the arm with his free hand.

“Ahahaha, well, I bet we can do better than that,” he said. “Like that fancy fuckin’ sword, for example. It’s heavy, right?”

“It is.”

“You should toss that, too.”

“Toss it? Toss it overboard?”

“Scabbard and all.” 

“If… if you're certain...”

Lang Qianqiu unhooked his scabbard, grabbing his sword by the sheath and lifting it upright. The silver pommel was shining beneath the fading sun.

He went ahead and tossed it overboard. Unlike the earplugs, it sank straightaway.

“Ehehe, there she goes! Right down to the seafloor,” Qi Rong’s smile widened into a toothy, boyish grin. “Hey, doesn’t that feel good?”

“I do feel lighter,” Lang Qianqiu said doubtfully.

"Isn't that lovely?" Qi Rong purred, winding his arms about Lang Qianqiu's neck. 

"I… I suppose…" Lang Qianqiu worked his jaw, still clawing through smoke, wrestling for clarity. “Still, I have the strangest feeling… that something isn’t… isn’t quite…”

He screwed his face up in deep concentration. Qi Rong made a sound of annoyance, unimpressed.

"Stupid man. Why are you resisting? Hey. Hey! Look at me. Look at me."

His grip on Lang Qianqiu tightened, the once-tender hoop of his arms becoming a vise. A bridle. He began to sing again, his voice full and true. 

His song was so lovely, Lang Qianqiu felt himself near tears.

Focus, Young Master Lang!

"Stars above, but you're beautiful," Lang Qianqiu said, angry about it, full of blame. "I thought you were beautiful the very moment I laid eyes on you. Robes a wreck, eyes shut, sleeping in the daylight..."

The siren is nocturnal. He hunts between the hours of twilight and dawn.

"Beautiful? Me?"

"Yes."

“You really thought so?”

“Yes.”

"You wanna kiss me?"

"Yes," Lang Qianqiu said. He leaned in. Qi Rong's excited breath was coming fast; hot little pants going hah-hah-hah. They hit Lang Qianqiu in the face, smelling strongly of liquour and seabrine.

He is eager to be kissed.

It was an erotic thought, but it also made Lang Qianqiu irrationally angry. It galled him.

He thinks I am a sure thing. He thinks he has me dancing in the palm of his hand.

Focus, Young Master Lang!

From the depths of Lang Qianqiu’s song-drugged brain, a lone thought emerged: Wicked bitch!

With that thought, the spell was broken. Lang Qianqiu snapped out of it.

He acted immediately, lancing up against Qi Rong with the untamed fury of a feral bobcat. He grabbed Qi Rong by the hair, wrestling him to the ground. Qi Rong swore loudly, obscenely, thrashing against Lang Qianqiu with his teeth bared, his limbs flailing angrily.

"You're the Lantern!" Lang Qianqiu snarled, fighting to pin Qi Rong's body to the floor. "You deceitful little —" 

Qi Rong jabbed at Lang Qianqiu's face with his elbow. A dirty little maneuver, hardly warlike — still, Lang Qianqiu’s nose crunched painfully beneath the impact. Lang Qianqiu flinched, blood dripping through his philtrum and into his mouth. Qi Rong took immediate advantage, scuffling wildly until he was straddled on top of Lang Qianqiu.

Qi Rong’s nostrils were flared, his breaths coming harshly out of his nose. His inhuman green eyes were blazing, fierce. His scandalous robes had rucked off of one shoulder in the brawl, exposing a rather enticing slice of his lean, pale little chest.

“Would you quit freakin’ out — I said I wasn’t going to eat you!”

Lang Qianqiu snarled, “A likely story, witch!”

“It’s true!” Qi Rong howled. He was a crafty little creature, sure, but Lang Qianqiu had the advantage in both height and weight. He flipped Qi Rong back over, making a violent grab for Qi Rong’s wrists. “Fuckin’ hells, you — all I wanted was a kiss! I was gonna let you go afterwards!”

“You’re lying! You were lulling me into a sense of security — so you could kill me!”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead ten times over, you stupid, dogfucking son of a —”

“Shut up!”

“ — I won’t shut up, I won’t, because I'm the vicious, scumfuck sea-witch you despise, and my voice is my power, it’s the only power I have in this miserable fucking world — ”

The boat rocked and shuddered and groaned as they scrapped.

“Why the hell would a duplicitous little snake want a kiss!”

“‘Cause I like you!” Qi Rong yelled. "And you like me!"

"As if I'd ever like a murderous sea-witch!"

 "Gimme a break, you're — you’re the one who’s hard in his pants!”

Lang Qianqiu could’ve throttled Qi Rong just then, and he might’ve, but that would entail releasing his hold on Qi Rong’s wrists. So he did the next best thing: he surged downwards and crushed his lips against Qi Rong’s in a fierce, hateful kiss.

It was a strange kiss. An antagonistic kiss. Qi Rong was bitey. He kissed with gnashing teeth, attacking ruthlessly at the swell of Lang Qianqiu's lower lip. Lang Qianqiu responded in kind. He bore down on Qi Rong, kissing to bruise.

It was a cruel and painful kiss. 

It was utterly arousing.

The sea beneath them was white and busy with churning. The angry surf whipped and roared as Lang Qianqiu furiously wrenched Qi Rong’s robe open, exposing his small, beautiful body.

Qi Rong lay panting, his throat bobbing, his back slightly arched up off of the ground. He allowed himself to be stared at. So Lang Qianqiu stared. Milky-pale thighs. Lips pinked, swollen, brutalized. A heaving chest, obscene. Pretty, rosy nipples begging to be teased. Qi Rong’s cock was drooling against his belly. Lang Qianqiu felt some base, animal feeling well up from deep within him. A primal response to beauty.

Lang Qianqiu began to fumble with the straps of his armour. Qi Rong went for his belt. There was so much want in the air. So much angry, seething desire. It filled the spaces between them, heavy like a dowager’s perfume.

I want to fuck him to death.

“You’re so hot,” Qi Rong panted, sliding his hand past Lang Qianqiu’s robes. He pressed the heel of his palm up against Lang Qianqiu’s hardness, feeling his girth. “So — so hot, you’re burning up, baby. Do I get you this fuckin’ worked-up? I can feel your pulse pounding in your cock. Are you hot for this, hot for me, hot for the oh-so-awful siren?”

Lang Qianqiu didn’t have anything to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all. Gritting his teeth, he batted Qi Rong’s groping hand away. He descended upon the younger man mercilessly, biting a path down from Qi Rong’s throat to his chest. Qi Rong moaned. It was a truly intoxicating sound — a touch of siren-song in the timbre of his voice, perhaps? At any rate, it was shameless. Obscene.

Wicked whore, Lang Qianqiu thought. The suddenness and intensity of his vitriol was shocking even to him, and for the briefest of moments, he felt the hot grip of shame.

That didn’t keep him from playing with Qi Rong’s body, though. Far from it. He massaged at Qi Rong’s pecs, bitterly satisfied by Qi Rong’s pathetic whines for more. Flush with greed, Lang Qianqiu brought his lips to Qi Rong’s nipple — the velvety little nub standing stiff against his hot tongue. Qi Rong thrashed all the harder, so needy, so sensitive. Wicked whore. Wicked whore! And what do we do with wicked whores?

We give them what they're asking for: wicked treatment.

"Qiangqiu-xiong, Qianqiu-xiong, s-show mercy on — unh!"

Lang Qianqiu's teeth rasped over Qi Rong's chest. Qi Rong keened, rutting up against Lang Qianqiu's broad, hard body.

“Mercy? What have you done to earn my mercy?” Lang Qianqiu asked.

Qi Rong’s ensuing moan was carried on the breath of a laugh.

"H-hahh, such heartlessness! I — I take it back, you're no decent man, you're a brute. A nasty, perverted brute —- ohhh, hahaha, but I still like you, hahhh,” Qi Rong said. He wrapped his arms around Lang Qianqiu’s shoulders, holding him close. Lang Qianqiu’s big body covered his lean frame completely. "Y'know, I found somethin' else on the back of this ship — mn, oh God, right there — it was, a… a little jar of slick. I had a good laugh over it, thinkin' — thinkin' the local sailors were prolly passing the time together. Now, I got other thoughts in my head. Real nasty ones. That makes us a perfect match, right?”

“A perfect match? You and I? Ridiculous!”

“Is it really?” Qi Rong put his mouth up against the shell of Lang Qianqiu’s ear, whispering on a hot and heady breath, “I mean, we’ve both got the same filth on our minds, don’t we? You wanna fuck me. You wanna stick your cock in me, rut me like an animal. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I should tear your throat out,” Lang Qianqiu rasped. Qi Rong practically giggled at that.

“Yeah, but you won’t,” he said. “C’mon, boy. The oil’s in back. Open me up.”

There was a beat. The sounds of harsh breathing. Lang Qianqiu's black-eyed harangue, dagger-like, mad with fury. Qi Rong's naked set of shoulders; a wretched smirk.

Perhaps some stitch of his spell yet remained. Yet lingered. Lang Qianqiu found himself wrenching his own body upright, hastily fumbling towards the supplies in back.

Qi Rong laughed and laughed and laughed.

How hateful.

How darling.

---

A feeling of boyish shyness came over Lang Qianqiu as he slicked up his cock. It was a brief feeling — just a flit of nerves, really. For a period of maybe three seconds, it overrode his fury, leaving him dizzied. Disoriented. Overwhelmed.

His cock was hot in his hands, and Qi Rong was eyeing him with a look of unmasked desire, and...

He’d never done this before.

Y’know. Sex.

Lang Qianqiu had avoided sex for the same reasons he’d long avoided alcohol. Sex was a distraction, a pollutant. It was the vice of baser, lesser men — dirty old ministers snooping around low-dollar brothels.

It wasn’t that Lang Qianqiu had never understood the appeal of sex. He was a red-blooded young soldier: he was no stranger to attraction and arousal. He’d just found the urge easy to suppress. To overcome.

Now…

Well. Things were different.

Lang Qianqiu swallowed hard, his throat bobbing noisily. He wasn’t worried about pleasing Qi Rong, or not pleasing Qi Rong. Gods forbid. If anything, he was nervous that he’d make a fool of himself. He didn't want to give Qi Rong any further ammunition to taunt him with. He truly, truly couldn't bear the thought of humiliating himself further before this wicked thing.

Lang Qianqiu lowered himself to his knees before Qi Rong’s body. His very, very naked body. He tried not to tabulate the ethical cost of this: fucking his own self-declared nemesis, his most despised foe.

He... he just wanted him so badly. And he wanted to make Qi Rong hurt. Hurt in a way that mattered.

Qi Rong was lying in his belly, his head resting on top of his forearms. He kicked back and forth aimlessly, pale little feet flying up into the air. The curve of his spine was exquisite. And then there was his ass. It was an excellent ass by anyone's standards: round and smooth, with just enough fat on it to warrant a good, hard slap. Lang Qianqiu couldn't resist the temptation to give it a few good swats, Qi Rong thrashing about and whining with each strike.

"Qianqiu-xiong, uhnn — you dirty sadist!"

Undeterred, Lang Qianqiu slapped Qi Rong’s ass again — this time, with two slick fingers buried inside the tight furl of his hole. Qi Rong squeezed down reflexively on impact. The sensation was incredibly, incredibly lewd.

It was wonderful to touch him without inhibition. Without guilt. Without moral considerations. Lang Qianqiu rolled a pert handful of Qi Rong's pink, handprint-adorned ass, feeling the give of it between his fingers.

“Would you prefer it if I were gentle?” Lang Qianqiu asked, his tone suffused with bitter sarcasm. “Held your hand? Whispered honeyed words? Made love to you?”

 He dragged the wet head of his cock between Qi Rong’s cheeks. Half a tease, half a threat. Qi Rong whimpered at the sensation regardless, cheeks clenched around Lang Qianqiu's cock, the tight furl of his hole fluttering needily.

“Fucker. I might.”

“Well, tough luck,” Lang Qianqiu said. “You’ll see no tenderness from me.”

The head of Lang Qianqiu’s cock caught on the rim of Qi Rong’s hot, dripping entrance. Qi Rong stiffened at the sensation, canting his his upwards ever slightly — chasing Lang Qianqiu’s cock. So hungry to be fucked. 

Like a bitch in heat.

“Do you remember them?” Lang Qianqiu asked, the velvety burr of danger in his voice. “Commander Lang, Lady Lang. My parents. Do you remember butchering them?”

“... Your bedroom talk leaves somethin’ to be desired, gege.”

Slap.

“Answer the question.”

For a long moment, Qi Rong said nothing at all. He just lay there: prone, facedown, ass-up, weak and naked, limbs thin and trembling. There was the sound of wind whistling through the sails. The creaking of the boat. The soft, liquid sounds of seawater lapping up against the vessel’s softwood sides.

Then: “No, I don’t remember them. And why should I? Do you remember every meal you’ve ever eaten?”

Lang Qianqiu’s mind went white with anger.

Wicked, vile, disgusting, wretched and evil — 

How dare you? 

Lang Qianqiu fingers found Qi Rong's hips, the pads of his fingers digging into the flesh above his pelvis. He tilted his hips back, pausing only to admire the fluid arch of Qi Rong’s spine — 

How dare you make me want you?

— then, he speared Qi Rong in one long, merciless thrust.

Qi Rong wailed.

The pressure of Qi Rong’s tight little hole was incredible — so hot and so wet, he thought he might melt. Lang Qianqiu rocked his cock back and forth, his thrusts shallow and slow. He had no idea what kind of expression he was making — likely one of a struggle. It was taking so much for him just to adjust to the sensation of being sheathed in Qi Rong. He was… overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the tactility of sex. The musky scent of it. The sensation of sunlight on his shoulders. The sweet grip of Qi Rong’s body. He’s taking me so well.

Lang Qianqiu withdrew, pulling his cock out until only the tip remained inside. Then, he slammed back in, fucking Qi Rong to the root.

“Hahhh, too, t-too fast!” Qi Rong stuttered hoarsely between panted breaths, his eyes wide. “S’too much, wait —”

Too bad, Lang Qianqiu thought.

Lang Qianqiu closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and went to work stuffing Qi Rong full of his cock.

Qi Rong scrabbled at the floor beneath them, desperate for something to hold onto. Some purchase. He didn’t find much, though, so every punishing thrust of Lang Qianqiu’s hips shoved him somewhat further up against the floor. The only thing keeping him even marginally secure was the grip of Lang Qianqiu’s hands on his waist; firm, dominating. Bruising.

“Qianqiu-xiong, I— I mean it, s’too much, you’re gonna —hahhh, gonna fucking break me, uhhhnn —”

Weak and pitiful, Qi Rong reached back to paw at Lang Qianqiu. Lang Qianqiu batted his hand away without so much as batting an eye.

“That’s the idea.”

Qi Rong laughed brokenly.

“Hahaha… hhahhh… fuck, an’ you call me vicious…”

“You are vicious,” Lang Qianqiu huffed.

Qi Rong pressed his forehead against the floor below, his shoulders shuddering.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, fuck, I’m never gonna close again, I feel, I feel so open… I’m ruined, ruined forever, haha… mnn!”

A powerful thrust sent him skittering up the floor, his hands pressed up against the stern. Lang Qianqiu gave him an impatient swat on the ass.

“Quit whining. And lift your hips. Higher. Higher.”

Moaning pitifully, Qi Rong complied.

The sun was coming down all around them. Red sky. A white slice of evening moonlight. Big, handsome clouds, as billowy and soft as lambswool. Qi Rong’s hips were mottled with fresh bruises, his ass adorned with a brand-new handprint. The sea seemed to go silent. Lang Qianqiu could hear nothing but the sounds of their joining; the slap of skin on skin, too-loud and too-wet and utterly, utterly debauched.

It didn't take long for Qi Rong's strength to flag. Honestly, it took maybe two minutes of sustained fucking, tops. Lang Qianqiu pinched Qi Rong's asscheek, annoyed when Qi Rong was trembling too hard to keep his ass properly raised. Likewise, Qi Rong's skinny little knees scraped and skidded over the softwood boarding. Pathetic. He was as tremulous as a newborn deer: dewy-eyed, mewling, snivelling like a well-chastised student.

"Hahaha... hahhh... Lang, Lang Qianqiu... s'too much, it's too, too big..."

"What'd I say about the whining?" Lang Qianqiu reproached him. He punctuated his displeasure with a particularly brutal thrust; Qi Rong made a sound that was half a yelp, half a keen. His ass, now properly red, sank down another few inches. Lang Qianqiu tutted. "Look at you. All talk, no stamina. And here I thought swimming was meant to improve core strength. Is the mighty Lantern of the Sea truly such a pushover?"

Qi Rong turned his feverish cheek against the floorboards. His lips were slick with saliva. His eyes were glassy, unavailable. He did not appear to be listening. He didn't even register as fully lucid. Lang Qianqiu sighed.

"Pathetic creature," he said. He prodded at Qi Rong's waist. “Turn over. On your back. C'mon, quick."

A moment passed. Finally, something registered in Qi Rong's dazed expression. Something like comprehension. He lifted himself up onto his elbows — shaking like a leaf all the while — and began to rotate himself onto his back.

And fuck, did he ever look lovely like that. Flat against the ground, so weak and so helpless. Legs spread. The slate of his stomach quivering. Lips kiss-bitten. Nipples peaked. Cock drooling; so hard and so rosy and so wet. Wet like a little girl. His hole was red and swollen, clearly much-abused. Pre-come and slick frothed ever faintly at the rim, clinging to the fat tip of Lang Qianqiu’s cock.

There was that dichotomy again: wicked and lovely. Lovely and wicked.

Lang Qianqiu bent Qi Rong in half, maneuvering his ankles up over his shoulders. In response to this manhandling, Qi Rong made the softest of sounds. It was a breathy little thing — a mewl, perhaps. Or something similarly kittenish. A sigh, perhaps. Or a whine.

“Q-Qianqiu-xiong… pleeease...”

It sounded like defeat. Like surrender. Like a white flag waving over a sinking ship.

And that?

That was priceless.

Lang Qianqiu groaned, burying himself to the hilt inside of Qi Rong. Qi Rong’s toes curled with pleasure, his cock twitching as Lang Qianqiu seated himself deep within. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

Priceless, priceless, priceless.

---

 

When a human dies with a heart full of rage...

And that human is buried at sea...

A siren is born.

They lay together, felled like mangroves: trapped in the dusky, nocturnal moments between evening and true night . The sky was dark, but not yet black; it held the luminous darkness of mulberry flesh, with that vestigial sliver of sunlight clinging for life over the waterline.

There was the musky, heady oeillet soliflore of sex. Like cream and ylang-ylang and sour milk and sweat. Oh, and there were ocean sounds. Obviously. The boat creaking, waves shushing. But the gulls were all quiet, all hiding.

Qi Rong’s leg twitched. Lang Qianqiu pushed himself up to look at him properly. There was come on Qi Rong’s belly. A little on his chest, too. And, of course, there was come trickling sluggishly from his still-wet, still-loose hole.

“Hey, loverman, solider boy. Is this the part where you kill me?” Qi Rong asked, tracing the outline of Lang Qianqiu’s body with one finger. Lang Qianqiu pushed his hand away, unnerved.

“I…” Lang Qianqiu’s head was spinning. “Quiet, witch."

“You don’t have a sword. You’d have to be pretty creative,” Qi Rong said.

“You’re probably well-trained in martial forms, though,” Qi Rong said.

“Hand-to-hand combat, things like that,” Qi Rong said.

“You could probably choke me out,” Qi Rong said.

“You could probably hang me with the mainsail,” Qi Rong said.

“You could probably crush my trachea,” Qi Rong said.

“I hear a knee blowout into a curb stomp is all kinds of deadly,” Qi Rong said.

“Look, there’s gotta be some kinda tackle gear ‘round this boat you can fashion into a weapon. A net knife ain’t much, but it could prolly sever a vertebra or two with a little hard work and dedication,” Qi Rong said.

Qi Rong’s eyes were burning. They washed the boat in a strange green light. He seemed to be in the slow, arduous process of transfiguration. A small number of lustrous scales now dotted his forearms and shoulders. These too were bioluminescent. Was his blood in the process of cooling itself? Would gills open up in his neck? Would Lang Qianqiu get to see his tail? Perhaps it also glowed. Perhaps it was very beautiful.

“Why the fuck are you telling me this?” Lang Qianqiu asked.

Qi Rong shrugged.

Lang Qianqiu pushed his hair out of his face. It had an unpleasantly waxy feeling to it, all sweaty and gross. Askew. Qi Rong's hair was all askew, too, having mostly slipped free from the loose braid that had been holding it prior.

A thought knocked free from the back of his mind.

"Gu Zi asked me to tell you something," he said. 

Qi Rong startled a touch.

"... Gu Zi?"

"Yeah. He wanted me to say sorry."

"Huh?"

"He didn't sell the bracelet," Lang Qianqiu said. "He didn't use it to buy rice."

"... Fuck."

"He kept it instead. He keeps it under his pillow."

"Stupid fucking kid."

"It's his treasure," Lang Qianqiu said, feeling obligated to defend Gu Zi's choices.

Qi Rong shook his head, "He doesn't know what it's worth."

Qi Rong put his hands up over his face. Lang Qianqiu went on looking at him. He was the only thing really worth looking at: the lone light in a sea of blackness. Literally, of course. Not metaphorically. 

Finally, Qi Rong lifted his head.

"You gonna kill me or what?" 

Lang Qianqiu went on staring at him.

His quarry, his white whale. The boy with the nasty laugh who liked apricots. Who had a mom who loved him and called him a little sand crab. Who didn't like to drink, but liked to talk. Who was crass and not very smart, but protective of kids. Who ate human flesh, but also sought kisses... and died in terrible anguish... and was easy to bully in bed...

The correct thing to do in this situation would be to kill him. To find some fillet knife in the back hatch and gut him open.

It would be correct. But it didn't feel right.

Lang Qianqiu wondered if he was a horrible son.

"I'll give you a head start," Lang Qianqiu said. "Five days. Swim swiftly."

Qi Rong seemed to balk at that.

"A head start?"

Lang Qianqiu cast a glance over the still waters, now black as ink.

"If I'm riding with Gu Zi, I can't very well ride with a severed head strapped to my horse," he said. "I said I'd take Gu Zi to the capital, didn't I?"

Qi Rong's eyes flashed.

"... You did. Yeah."

"Yes, well," Lang Qianqiu swallowed hard. His mouth felt incredibly dry, all gummed up with emotion. "Gu Zi would be very cross with me if I killed you now. So, I... I'm putting a temporary moratorium on all that. He deserves that much."

"He does," Qi Rong said.

There was a shuffling of robes. Qi Rong leaned up towards Lang Qianqiu in the dark, his brilliant scales arcing like fireworks in the salt-studded darkness.

He kissed Lang Qianqiu.

Lang Qianqiu's lips slid shut instinctively when Qi Rong's mouth met his own. It was not a loving kiss, but it was not hateful either. It was a frighteningly mysterious kiss: mysterious in its intent, its beauty, its driving purposes. It was closed-mouth, almost soft. Just a firm press. An oath-sealing kiss, perhaps? How strange.

Lang Qiaqiu did not turn his face away.

Then, just as quickly, the boat rocked hard. Lang Qianqiu flailed out, reaching instictively for something to steady him.

His eyes shot open; he was alone in the darkness, alone on the boat. Qi Rong was nowhere to be seen. But a large, cacophonous splash to his left gave him a pretty clear idea of where he had gone.

Lang Qianqiu threw himself to the edge of the boat, gripping the rail at full force.

He was just in time to see a luminous green tail slip beneath the waves, diving deep down into darkness. Into the hearr of the world.

Five days was a long time, he thought, but also incidentally no time at all. He straightened up, rightened his clothes, met the pale eye of the rising moon with firstborn pride and firstborn shame.

He had misunderstood his enemy.

Next time...

Next time, he would not.

The eventide winds were balmy and slow. The stars bulletted the sky like brooches on a lady's cape. Lang Qianqiu had never liked to sail in the dark, but the present circumstance left few alternatives.

Lang Qianqiu readied the sails.

He made way for the harbour.

Notes:

i had initially meant to post this during mermay. now it's july. i feel a bit bad... my fishfucking fic doesn't even have any fishfucking. i was 6k in when i realized cloacas just aren't my jam.

this came out weird. okay bye back to writing ballet fic

>>>> foxflowering @ twitter <<<<<

follow me. so i will be. So Popular