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The frost of winter bites through the thin air at the top of the mountains, only kept at bay by the harsh burn of wine in the pit of his stomach. Like long-smoldering coals, he harbors a smothered anguish that did not quite belong to him, gnawing at the edges of his hazy mind. He breathes in once, as if inhaling the ancient qi of the mountains and earth itself, the rhythms of mortal life thrumming under his scales. Then exhales, black smoke from charred lungs coiling tight around his quarry.
It's your move, er-ge.
Her smile is placid, unfettered. Pale blue spills around her in a waterfall despite the frozen mountains around them. She claims to be enlightened and unaffected by worldly concerns, as if apathy could be an anchor to her ephemeral form. He thinks it is cowardice at best.
The board between them has reached a stalemate. It always does, even when he is allowed to make the first move. She is a strategist, after all. But time has no meaning for him nor his sister.
The laguid sleight of her hand betrays her intent. She intends to tip the balance once again, as easily as offering wine to the earth.
He bares his fangs, raising his own hand in retaliation, defiance-
-
“Uncle Lee! Hey, Uncle Lee!”
Waai Fu leans over a dozing Lee, eclipsing the yellow lamp hanging from the ceiling. He lies prone on the couch in the common area of his office.
“Huh?” The Lung slowly blinks awake with a furrowed brow. He doesn't remember falling asleep, yet here the girl was, chastising him again for… slacking off, probably. Or, wait. That wasn't right.
He squints, realizing his glasses aren't perched on his snout. They've been resting on top of his head against his horns. When he slips them back on, bits and pieces of the day begin returning to him.
A sea of crimson fills his vision when he glances around, making his sleepy pulse quicken. That must mean…
...Yes, the entirety of his office was decorated in shades of red and gold, with New Year’s decorations hanging from the walls. That's right - he came back from Shangshu about a week ago and spent the days leading up to the New Year incredibly busy.
On one hand, he stocked his kitchen with groceries and treats, all picked out with Waai Fu at his side as they browsed the street markets. On the other… well, what kind of New Year would it be if Lee’s Detective Agency didn't steer Lungmen away from crisis yet again? With many prominent business and political figures returning to Lungmen, it wasn't surprising they'd have their share of troubles following them back from abroad. Taking on difficult cases before the holiday meant he was adequately compensated, and it more than made up for his impromptu absence.
The scent of spicy broth and seafood permeates the common area as the only lingering remnant of the night’s dinner. Out of the four guests he invited to his office, Waai Fu seemed to be the only one left.
Concern is plain on her features when he takes too long to answer. “Uncle Lee, are you okay?”
“Eh? What makes you say that?” Lee’s sharp gaze lazily slides back towards her. “I didn't have that much wine with dinner.” It was only a cup or three. And Aak, with his keen doctor’s intuition, hadn't said anything as he gulped down another mouthful of nianjiu. No doubt the boy would've made a cheeky remark about ruining his liver if that was the case.
He stretches slightly, because at his age, sleeping on the couch posed a real danger to his back. His tail slaps carelessly against the cushions as he tries to get feeling back into it. The ragged tailfin had been uncomfortably squashed under his own weight the entire time.
Waai Fu doesn't budge from her spot when she straightens her posture, her hands poised on her hips. Her tail flicks from side to side in agitation. “You passed out on the couch after eating, which wasn't anything new, but you were frowning and tossing in your sleep. You even slept through Aak and Hung’s fireworks!”
Huh. Lee perks up his ears at the mention of fireworks - outside was unusually quiet for New Year’s in Lungmen. That meant it must be the early hours of the morning, after the plethora of borderline illegal pyrotechnics and raucous festivities died down in the streets.
“Did they accidentally light one of my scrolls on fire again?”
“No, Uncle Lee.”
“That's good.” He pats his stomach before hauling himself upright. “All that tossing and turning must've been from the huoguo. Now that you mention it, I kind of have a stomach ache. I’m getting too old for you to use the spicy soup base every time.”
Lee yawns and feigns scrubbing the remaining drowsiness out of his eyes. Despite feeling like he joined the land of the dead for ten thousand years, he hadn't gained any restful sleep out of it. It was the same thing he noticed while holding onto that goblet in Shangshu.
Waai Fu remains unconvinced, her brow still knitted together. Was she really that worried? Lee is starting to feel a little bad now.
“Ai, what's with that look? I'm still a little tired from my trip is all. The second I got back there was work for me, too,” Lee looses a dramatic sigh, shaking his head and making stray strands of hair tickle his snout. “Can't an old man take a nap in his own house without his kids worrying he's croaked?”
Usually, the girl protested against being treated like a kid. Instead, she ignores the teasing and gives him a pointed look. “Uncle Lee, did something happen in Shangshu?”
The little kit who clung to his leg was getting scarily perceptive. It turns out his detective skills had taken after all.
“Nothing too exciting. I delivered the cup to my friend, had a drink with him, and spent the rest of the time sightseeing. Shangshu is more beautiful in summer, though. When school lets out, you should take a trip there to hike up the mountains.”
Waai Fu looks taken aback at the suggestion. “I can't do that! Who else is going to help you keep the agency running?”
“We’ll call it a graduation present for my most reliable employee,” Lee replies easily. “Oh, and… there was something about your father that I meant to tell you.”
Waai Fu’s spine immediately straightens, nearly a flinch at the mention of Huai Tianpei. She had been careful not to pester Lee about it when he returned, holding herself back so the nebulous whereabouts of her father wouldn't spoil their tradition of enjoying the New Year together.
Lee noticed, of course. He thought it might be cruel of him to give her hope like this and decided to wait until the celebrations waned. Now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject.
Waai Fu is an honest girl. The myriad of conflicting emotions is plain in her eyes. “...Did you find him there?”
“Unfortunately, I didn't. But I was given a reliable lead and I'm looking into it. All you have to do is focus on your studies.” It's not what she wants to hear, but it's all he can offer. Maybe he wouldn't be the one attending her university graduation ceremony, too.
“Ugh, that's impossible now…” the girl mutters to herself, holding her head.
Lee resists the urge to ruffle her hair. “Want me to fry up a niangao for you?”
Back when she was still adjusting to living under his roof, the sweet cake always helped take her mind off spending another New Year without her father. Lee recalls it fondly: a young Waai Fu with chubby cheeks shyly following him around the kitchen until she gave into her voracious appetite.
The years have gone by too quickly. She won't be swayed by the promise of sweets anymore. Waai Fu simply sighs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “That’s okay. It's late and I should be getting back to my dorm. Hung and Aak already left, too.”
“Ah, that reminds me…” Lee rises from his seat and strides across the room.
He reaches the lacquered coat rack and fishes through the inner pockets of his jacket. Inside the pocket closest to his chest is a small, red envelope, graced by an ornate finbeast on the back. There were ones for Aak and Hung, too, but he'd have to catch them the next time they showed up for a shift.
He beckons Waai Fu over and presses the slightly bent hongbao into her hands. Where his scales are deeply scarred, Waai Fu’s hands were still youthful in comparison, despite the harsh training regimen she subjected herself to. It was another reminder that she had a bright future ahead of her - that Lee could give her this much, if nothing else.
The corners of his eyes turn warmly upward. This, too, had become a tradition of sorts. Each year, he put a little bit of his earnings away to relieve a chunk of her tuition. “Study hard, okay?”
“Thanks, Uncle Lee.” Waai Fu smiles and bows her head in gratitude. Always proper, even though they were practically family. “We cleaned up your kitchen while you were asleep, so you don't have to worry about putting anything away. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”
Lee sends her off with a lazy wave. “Of course I will. Haven't I always?”
-
The reality was this: the dreams of Sui did not stop once Lee left Shangshu.
With the goblet out of his hands and the matters at Wangshui Field resolved, his regrets should have been left behind in Yan. Liang Xun was the one who would carry on the part of himself he cast away for a fruitless dream and Lee would return to his modestly hectic life in Lungmen. And yet…
Lee stands outside of the Doctor’s office in the Rhodes Island landship, shifting glossy meditation balls around his gloved palm. He privately wonders if he should slip inside and make himself comfortable while he waits for the Doctor to return. Their couch is a surprisingly good place to nap and their stash of tea leaves is exquisite, full of unique and exotic blends from lands across Terra.
It would save him from the awkwardness of being out in the open, anyway.
Lee is idle, but at the same time, he's being covertly strict about the way he carries himself, even forgoing the usual cigarette that found its way between his fingers. It was imperative to pretend he had urgent business. That way, he wouldn't get ambushed by the landship staff and the pile of work they were saving for him.
Entering the Doctor’s office by picking the lock and possibly coming across confidential documents strewn across their desk posed a security risk. At the very least, such a scene wouldn't look good if they wanted to foster an amicable business partnership. Mutual trust was key, even if he was tempted to brew himself a cup of tea with their electric kettle.
Why the Doctor? Simply put, he deemed the Doctor a good point to start his investigation. It wasn't that he needed them specifically for a diagnosis, or any of the members of the medical team. If he wanted to treat the nightmares, he could have Aak cook up one of those dangerous mixtures that would surely send him into a comatose state devoid of dreams. But that would only be alleviating the symptoms.
No, this problem required a more direct approach at the source before it worsened.
He intended to ask one of the Sui fragments taken in by Rhodes Island. According to Hung, their temperaments weren't the greatest thing to work around, but the Doctor was known for getting on with the more eccentric of their employees. They had to listen to them if they were on the payroll, anyway.
Lee didn't want this to interfere with his work, but more importantly, he didn't want to worry the kids with something they couldn't fix. Best to be discreet about it. They did a commendable job holding down the fort while he was gone, even taking care of his beloved finbeasts.
He raises his eyes from beneath the brim of his hat and casts his gaze about. The halls are meticulously maintained, but conspicuously empty. Rhodes Island landed in Lungmen for the foreseeable future, and no doubt a large number of operators wanted to enjoy the festivities in the streets. There were also those who had origins in Lungmen or Great Yan; it was likely they were off to pay respects to Wei Yenwu and the True Lung and pray for another prosperous year.
He pockets the meditation balls with a light snort. To Lee, Wei Yenwu and the True Lung were mortal men - nothing more, nothing less. He was only superstitious about Yanese traditions when the occasion favored it. There was power in the way qi flowed through the earth and merit in living a pious life, but a man must contend against fate with his own hand in the end.
That was how he decided to live his life after being humbled as a brash youth. He thought this way of living prevented his judgment from being clouded. Perhaps this was some kind of karma for being so arrogant.
Lee didn't put much stock into Sui and all its divine blessings, but not for the reasons one might think. While the Jiangdong Li clan did not possess a direct claim to the throne, their blood as Lung and prosperous mercantile business garnered them a prominent stake in Yan’s aristocracy. As a child, Lee was in close company with other merchants, politicians, and even members of the imperial family. Mentions of Sui were frequent when currying favor with those with connections with the True Lung. Empty flattery and fervent prayers were indistinguishable by the time he was old enough to leave home.
His family impressed upon him the importance of pursuing a good future. They urged him to inherit the family business or take up politics to further ascend the raging waterfall of Yanese society. He was well-versed in the six arts, a skilled merchant, and brilliant child when it came to navigating etiquette. It would not be a stretch to say he was blessed. Yet all of it loomed over him in the shape of Sui’s long body, descending upon his dreams like a vengeful ghost the more he yearned to run from Kong Tung and all of Yan.
The New Year and its promised beginnings make him terribly nostalgic. There was a personal saying he adhered to: reminiscing without wine or company was a dangerous affair. But he found himself indulging more and more often since his return, his tangled thoughts drifting over the mountains like careless clouds. Lee is reminded of a specific memory as he leans against the wall of the corridor, a heavy sigh leaving him.
Back then, Yan seemed like a stifling cradle more than anything. Too youthful was he to see she was a frozen picture of beauty: she was cloaked in a layer of white, her mountains and rivers preserved in perfect stillness. The only source of warmth was the tea in his stomach and the friends at his elbow as they took refuge in a teahouse.
Liang Xun was due to take the court examination when spring arrived. It was a crux of his budding career that would determine his future. Though he lacked natural brilliance, he was hardworking. At best, the Ministry of Personnel would assign him a seat in the Capital due to his merit. At worst, he would be a mandarin’s errand boy. Lee told him on more than occasion that settling for a position within his home prefecture wasn't bad at all, especially when he claimed he wanted to do right by all the people who raised him. There was still time to reconsider.
Liang Xun was too honest to simply settle. Not when his dreams began to encompass the whole of Yan and her children. He’d been locked up in his dorm with scrolls and brushes strewn about, muttering about policies and history in his sleep. It had taken a hefty amount of coaxing to lure him out of his room for a bit of fresh air.
The exams weren't for another few weeks, yet he looked as though he had taken on the seven transformations of the candidate. Liang Xun’s arduous journey into the realm of politics was just beginning and here he was, losing hair on his pillow.
Huai Tianpei joked that Lee should enter his name among the sea of scholars, just to score highest in their class with his sharp wit and steal a few maidens’ hearts while he was at it. Surely he'd be able to conjure something equally insightful and biting to stun the selection of straight-laced proctors. Lee wryly replied that he could only hope to achieve tanhua without being known as the Jiangdong Li’s sheltered gongzi, open disdain for politics and study aside.
It had been a careless remark, but it was the first, small act of rebellion after graduating from the academy. Speaking it into existence made it feel all the more tangible when he led a life steeped in pointless courtesy. He resolved to accomplish things with his own ability rather than depending on his family’s history and power. Foolishly, Lee thought that he had been honored throughout heaven and earth by jumping just a chi out of water, that he could accomplish something no one else could.
If he was someone like Liang Xun, he could have been content to be an official of the imperial court. His expertise could have landed him a position in the Ministry of Revenue or a similarly comfortable seat. If he had been more like Huai Tianpei, he wouldn't have been discouraged from his path so quickly. Lee lacked the noble heart and same single-minded passion, too muddled by his own hubris to pursue something worthwhile.
Things didn't go the way he hoped. One moment, it was the cusp of spring, and the next, he was in the midst of a declining autumn. Such was life. At the very least, he would like to return to his shamelessly lazy way of living without being plagued by the remnants of an ancient deity.
“So we meet again.”
Lee’s head snaps up at the dreamy voice floating through the corridor.
“Miss Ling.” He blinks in surprise at the elegant woman, who once again appeared through the thick mist of his reverie. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.”
Then again, it wasn't an entirely outlandish turn of events. If two of her siblings had taken refuge at Rhodes Island, surely the same courtesy would be extended to her. Now that he had somewhat of an idea of how the Ministry of Rites and the Sui Regulator wanted to control their existence, perhaps Rhodes Island was the only bastion of freedom they were afforded on Terra.
She tilts her head, swinging the clay gourd of wine hanging from her wrist. “Really? Had we not already met in a dream?”
If it wasn't for the sight he saw with his own eyes at Zuanjiang peak, she could masquerade as a fellow Lung. The cryptic verses that fell from her lips betrayed her true identity, reminiscent of the classic poets he studied as a youth.
Lee lets a cordial smile play on his lips. “That we have. I just thought you were still confined to the peaks of Shangshu.”
“Indeed, under different circumstances it would have been the mountains and me until only the mountains remained.” Ling pauses, a passing wistfulness entering the hazy landscape of her eyes. “But times have changed. There's no shame in following where the wine flows.”
Lee silently wonders what could have transpired after vanquishing Sui back into the ether. “Last I recall, there were three of you staring danger in the maw; are your sisters not with you this time?”
“Nian was called upon for an external project. Dusk… well, she is still reclusive as ever.” Ling’s gaze sweeps over the empty stretch of hallway. “Our prior meeting has given them much to ruminate on. If you're looking for them, it may prove to be an arduous feat.”
A soft, dry laugh escapes Lee’s throat. “It can't be more arduous than searching for you around the peaks of Shangshu.”
The whole thing had been dubbed the Shangshu Incident in the reports. Looking back, Liang Xun was extremely lucky he didn't make the wrong choice. What garnered him a generous promotion could have just as easily labeled him a traitor if things went slightly wrong. Not that it would make him regret the decision if he was put to death or incarcerated. He had the same righteous stubbornness as he did when he was a youth.
On the eve of his departure, Liang Xun eventually confessed that he saw Ling making a toast to the heavens in the wake of a catastrophe. That was what compelled him to deceive both the Ministry of Rites and the Sui Regulator - he was never one to betray a friend, let alone a hero who had saved his homeland.
Lee, like his precariously balanced network of intel between all the different factions of Lungmen, remained largely impartial to the existence of the Sui fragments. As an exorcist, he conducted the rites on occasion, but he wasn't particularly devoted to appeasing the Sui outside of showy divination. What the Ministry of Rites and Sui Regulator eventually agreed upon would no doubt find its way to his files thanks to his contact in Yan, or perhaps if Liang Xun was feeling particularly generous once he settled in the Capital.
For now, Ling was just another operator at Rhodes Island. At least she seemed more agreeable to conversation than her sisters.
“It was merely a matter of time until my brother’s gift was delivered.” Ling tilts the mouth of her wine jar towards him, the dark scales on her arm gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “Fancy a drink while you're here? Celebrate the New Year with me, since my dear siblings refuse to further entertain me.”
On any other occasion, he’d gladly keep her company; leisurely spending a late afternoon with a beautiful woman was Lee’s ideal way to pass the time. But circumstances had the potential to become dire, and he'd rather not delay anymore. “As much as I'd love to share a round of wine with you, Miss Ling, I’m afraid I’ve come with somewhat of a dilemma…”
…Now, what was the best way to explain that the harrowing visions he experienced in Shangshu had yet to fade, and he couldn't tell if some thread to the goblet remained unsevered, or if it was simply his exhausted mind tormenting itself?
She holds up a hand to spare him that particular ordeal. “You needn't say it. Though our brother’s influence no longer holds you, you still dream of him, correct?”
Lee can only nod. It was true the visit to Shangshu dredged up a number of unpleasant memories, but he was keenly aware of which ones belonged to him. Foreign splotches of sound and color splashed across his senses like messy inkblots. Another’s lingering will was always present right beside him. It took on the form of thick, choking smoke spilling forth from an incense burner that threatened to smother him once more.
“If you lack vigilance, a black piece may find its way to you again.” Ling softly clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “I warned against making a substitution. And now, you have yet to wake, unsure if what lies at your feet are simply waning moonbeams, or a wraith reflected in the frost of winter.”
The words seem to be more to herself than for him. Ling leans forth and stares at him intently for a long moment, tapping her chin with one delicate claw. Lee is struck with the sensation that she is looking through him, rather than at him. Perceiving something invisible to the untrained eye, like all the times he muttered about evil spirits and bad fengshui to calm a client’s anxieties.
“I propose we make a wager,” Ling says finally as she draws back.
“Oh? What kind of wager?”
“If you believe you possess the last of his will, then we shall settle it for certain this time.”
Lee blinks, the implications slowly coalescing until he realizes what she's insinuating. His tail swishes in amusement. “No offense, Miss Ling, but my weiqi skills leave much to be desired. The only reason I escaped his hold was because he forfeited at the last moment. Why, I’m sure you’d be able to end the game in just a few moves.”
“He is fickle, yes. But perhaps that premature end left things unresolved for both of you. If nothing else, there's no harm in a friendly game.”
Would it be any different than reliving the same dream over and over? He isn't sure. Ling was born from the same entity, so she doubtless had a better idea of how to rid him of his problem than anyone else in his network across Lungmen and Yan. In fact, fortune must be smiling upon him to address the matter before it affected his work.
“...Alright. So, when you win, what would you like? Nothing’s too much of a challenge or hassle for Old Lee’s Detective Agency.”
Ling’s pale eyes take on a gleam of mischief. “I don't believe it will be too much to ask of you, my friend.”
-
The soft clack of weiqi pieces fills the room as they gather into small bowls in a cascade of ivory and ebony. The air is somber this time, devoid of Ling’s soporific whimsy. It feels as though Lee is conducting a rite for a client, drawing upon heaven and earth to divine something just out of reach.
“What are the rules?” Lee asks as he eyes the blank board. Something like this in Rhodes Island’s dormitories wasn't unusual, as he occasionally saw operators betting against one another. None of them are present in the room now, though, creating a near-silent atmosphere.
“Hmm… by the time I drain this bottle of wine should suffice.” Ling shakes the gourd by her elbow, sloshing its contents about. “Would you like to partake as well?”
His mouth twitches into a half-smile, partially betraying his trepidation. “No thanks. I fear my judgment will only worsen.”
Ling makes a hum of affirmation. “Then the first move is yours.”
Lee pinches one black chip between the fingers of his glove. A creeping unease makes him stare at the piece longer than necessary through the tinted lens of his glasses. He feels as though he is standing on the precipice of a mountain peak, one step away from falling into the unknown. There was little that cowed him these days, yet for some reason, he finds himself hesitating.
When he finally places the black stone on the board, a potent sense of deja vu immediately washes over him, nearly nauseating.
Ling takes a swig from her jar, patient as ever. Her tail swishes contently behind her as the wine settles in her stomach. “Recall not the dreams, but the words I said to you upon our parting.”
White moves as Ling sweeps her hand across the board with a confident, precise motion —
— then black, when Lee sets his second piece, like putting another foot in front of the other in a rigid march.
“The question that determined who we were and our seniority: Who am I?”
White.
“It may just be a single question, but most would find answering it rather difficult.”
Black.
“How so?”
White.
“You and your siblings overcame this question to assume a physical form, but those of us born with one take it for granted. Most people go through their entire lives without finding an answer to it. Men can dedicate themselves to a cause, but when it comes down to it, they don't know who they truly are.”
Black.
“Not all possess centuries to ponder it... Yea, to wander valley and mountain, open plain and sea’s edge - to drink of the joy, the sorrow, the strife, the times of peace… though they may never find an answer, is it necessary? If a man deems a cause worthy, does it not become him?”
White.
“You're saying if you believe, then it must be so?”
Black.
“When the butterfly dreams of being a man, does it not carry the heart of a man upon waking? Does the sorrow not stay with it?”
White.
“Unfortunately, that's not how things work for us mortals. A man can dream all he likes, but that doesn't necessarily mean he will be able to grasp them. Once his cause crumbles, he will follow suit. And if his cause was not clear from the first? Well, who can say what fantasy he was chasing.”
Black.
“Then mayhap the key is to stop dreaming. For the moment you cease to seek something out, it will appear before you.”
White.
“You already know it's within man’s nature to dream.”
Black.
White.
Black.
“Mister Lee, you're an accomplished master of exorcism and purification. You must be aware that a troubled mind makes you more susceptible to the evils in the world.”
White.
“Yes - to bear a clear mind and possess a calm heart. One of the core tenets of being an exorcist.”
Black.
“It's just as so for us. Should we waver, we would return to being formless. Aimless.”
White.
Black.
“I'm familiar with the Jiangdong Li clan. Though my pursuits were largely limited to military strategy and the arts, mercantile histories were not entirely out of my reach. Coin is what allows life to flow through Yan, after all.”
White.
“...And what exactly did you learn about them?”
Black.
“Nothing of note. It had been some years since I last descended the mountains for wine. I heard their roots ran deeper with each venture as if another river beneath Yan, though there was naught of an heir to continue the family’s illustrious legacy.”
White.
Lee sighs. The girl was sharper than she looked. Wine did nothing to dull her intuition. There was no point in trying to fool someone who watched over Yan for centuries.
“I'm sure they're doing fine without an heir.”
Last he heard, their claim over the region had yet to be relinquished after generations. The Jiangdong Li’s humble beginnings were planted when merchant families still existed in a precarious position. Only after generations did public opinion and policy shift to allow merchants to stand alongside scholars and officials. The Jiangdong Li clan prospered as a result, becoming a domineering power in Kong Tung and a cornerstone of Yan’s economy.
Kong Tung wasn't a place he could return to. All he could do was piece together scraps of various reports and rumors, like an outsider looking in on his old life.
Black.
“Is that what you believe?”
White.
“What else is there to believe?”
Black.
White.
“What's so funny?”
Black.
“Well… you remind me a little of my er-ge. He told me he found you in a daydream. That may be why he was able to drag you into his game.”
White.
“Possess me, you mean.” Lee snorts in disbelief. “And how am I like your er-ge? You're old enough to be this washed-up carp’s ayi.”
Black.
Ling titters. “Time means little to me. But if you must, call me Ling-jie .”
White.
“Are you adding that to our wager?”
Black.
“Not necessarily.”
White.
Black.
White.
A grain of truth sits nestled between their idle banter. Despite having met her through a scattered series of coincidences, Lee feels like he's known her for an impossibly long time. Perhaps it was the comforting air of ageless experience she possessed, dwarfing his own seasoned repertoire. Or perhaps it was the effect of supping upon her brother’s dreams, the misplaced familiarity thick enough to bite down on.
The words finally escape Lee in a wispy sigh: “...It didn't have to be a letter.”
Black.
“Is that what drew you to Shangshu?”
White.
He nods. “It's not like we live in some era in the past, where the only method of communication is ink and paper. Though the Detective Agency may not be the most grand operation, we have our ways.”
Virtual consultations would get annoying quickly, but the agency’s phone number and website were readily available. Word of mouth was the most reliable way to garner a reputation in Lungmen. That was how most found his services, both as a detective and as an informant.
Liang Xun could have easily called or sent an email if he needed a private investigator. The letter came precisely because he didn't want a private investigator; he called upon him as not the Magistrate of Shangshu, but as Liang Xun, who sought a meeting with an old friend.
Black.
“Those from dynasties past oft said poets and scholars alike entrusted a piece of themselves into each brushstroke.”
White.
The correspondence had been short and curt, without wasting breath on superfluous ornamentation. Just like the way Liang Xun spoke.
Lee makes a vague noise of agreement. “Maybe that's what compelled me to leave so quickly.”
He skimmed over Liang Xun’s calligraphy for proof of sincerity when the envelope reached his hands. He could imagine it clearly with each meticulous brushstroke on the parchment: Liang Xun dutifully grinding his own ink despite his station, his head bowed in concentration by wan lamplight as he penned his veiled missive.
And Liang Xun - he was never fond of schemes, but he knew how to be discreet and obscure when the occasion demanded it.
The letter was an open palm. There could have been a trap within the neat characters. Yet it was an invitation all the same, one that dared him to confirm the shared history between them.
It lured him to Shangshu flawlessly. Lee wanted to know if Liang Xun was still a man deserving of his friendship, if all the regrets that began welling up beneath the calm, tranquil surface of his careless facade were unfounded or not.
Black.
“And your answer?”
White.
“He was the same as he always was.”
Black.
“What does that make you, then?”
White.
“Just a fool, probably. One who was nearly swallowed up by old sentiment and things that didn't come to pass.”
Black.
White.
“Human life is transient, waning and waxing like the moon. It's a fundamental truth of the world. Too many people spend time focusing on how to get ahead, or dwell overlong on the past. They miss what's right under their noses when they don't stop and appreciate the present…
“That's what I tell the youngsters, anyway. Easier to preach it to them than take my own word, eh?”
Black.
“It is true that a commander who only sees the outcome of a battle without paying mind to the field before him is doomed from the first move.”
Ling pauses, glancing at the board. White wraps around black in a bleached maw, turning the surface into a field of snow.
“Life is not without its own struggles, even if you confine yourself to the present. Appreciation and sorrow go hand in hand. It's what makes mortals such as yourself so admirable from afar. Perhaps that is why he chose you.”
White.
“Who, Liang Xun or your brother?”
Black.
“Whoever you think would suit you more.” Ling pauses before taking another sip of wine, eyeing the mouth of her jug with a discerning gaze. “Ah, it would seem I am out of drink. Let’s see the board, shall we?”
Lee doesn't have to look to know he's put up a pitiful fight. Ling captured far more of his pieces than would leave him with a respectable amount of face.
“I regret to say it’s your loss, my friend,” Ling informs him unabashedly.
Lee massages one of his temples. “I should've had that Liang Xun teach me more about weiqi while I was still in Shangshu.” He studied the game as a young lord, but he never had any patience for it when pursuits like martial arts and exorcism seemed far more attractive. He readjusts his glasses before leaning back in his chair to stretch. “So, what would you like from me? I’m all ears.”
Given what he knew about her, Lee imagines she’d ply him for information about happenings in the Yanese Capital, or ask for one of the rare wines given to him by some prominent figure in Lungmen’s underground.
Instead, Ling claps her hands together in giddiness. “Splendid! I have heard tell of your wondrous cooking skills from my comrades. I would like to savor some myself before you return.”
Oh, right. Whenever he came to Rhodes Island to check on the kids, he’d make food on occasion to combat the boredom of waiting around for the Doctor. Some of the more shameless operators regularly begged him to man the cafeteria each time he dropped by. Lee doesn't particularly mind; the logistics personnel routinely forgot to hand over the lengthy list of missions they were thinking of including him in if he distracted them with a plate of stir-fry.
He cracks a slight smile at her. “That can be arranged. Any requests?”
-
“The pots and pans won't turn into Waregeists again, will they?” Lee jokingly asks as he rifles through the shelves and cabinets.
“Not unless you wish for a few helping hands,” Ling huffs a laugh under her breath. “And even then, I cannot guarantee their cooperation. They tend to be fussy around strangers, you see.”
“That's a shame.” Lee recalls being swarmed by the troublesome things during his stay in Shangshu, swathes of ornate pottery brought to life by the goblet’s magicks.
At first, he thought there was something wrong with his eyes as they darted in and out of his periphery. A lack of sleep, maybe, when the Sui fragment relentlessly seized his dreams in a vise of vivid memory. Above all, there was a foreign sense of familiarity watching them dart about, akin to fondness. Well, there have been stranger occurrences.
Navigating the Rhodes Island kitchen is familiar from years of living by himself, then with a fuzzy head poking around his apartment. The days of being a spoiled young lord who indulged in sumptuous meals made by servants are faint and faraway. The renowned Mr. Lee of Lee’s Detective Agency now spends his time cooking up meals for the hungry youths taking refuge in his office.
Lee gathers the wavy strands of his hair together and ties it into a loose ponytail. Then he rolls up his sleeves, revealing the array of scars etched deep into his scales. Ling does not pay mind to any of it, readily lending a length of twine and handing him an apron with the decorated end of her staff. She leans against the entryway and watches him with an expectant air.
Without the glow of liquor dusting her cheeks and turning her eyes glassy, Lee is all the more aware of a keen strategist sizing him up. It makes him feel a little awkward, honestly - he's not going to run out as soon as she looks the other way, okay? He always keeps his word, no matter how arbitrary.
He returns his attention to getting his materials together. Rhodes Island had a generous selection of cutlery and ingredients in its cafeteria. It was to be expected that such a grand operation that placed an emphasis on health would accommodate even the most difficult patient. As the saying goes, food and medicine were often synonymous.
This, too, reminds him of flickers of his youth. When he, Liang Xun, and Huai Tianpei were fresh out of school without a single coin to their name, Lee frequently took on jobs at restaurants. Coupled with an upbringing that allowed him to sample the finer dishes in Great Yan, he eventually learned to give simple meals a refined taste no matter how paltry the ingredients. It made him popular at the few places he rotated between, with the owners even offering to let him take over the business when they retired. Of course, he never took them up on that offer.
The Rhodes Island cafeteria isn't much different from working in a restaurant. The staff generously let him use the facilities, eagerly awaiting the culinary surprise that he would craft. Luckily, a decent amount of operators are Yanese or Lungmenites - everything stocked within his own kitchen is available here.
If Jaye was here, Lee would hand the responsibility off to him. He’d probably have a better idea of what would suit an immortal god-fragment’s wine-soaked tastes. Or rather, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to market his wares to new customers. Old Tung taught the boy well; he was something of an expert at giving finicky tourists a taste of Lungmen’s finest.
He's no Tung, but Lee pauses in consideration before finally opting for a dish he made fairly regularly: liang mian huang.
Ling traveled the length of Great Yan, but she hadn’t yet made it to Lungmen’s night market. Why not bring a bit of it to Rhodes Island’s kitchen?
Lee mentally runs through a list of ingredients while Ling lightly hums a folk tune that carries through the room. He’s careful not to knock anything over with his tail each time he rounds the counter - the maids back at the estate scolded him plenty for it since his tail was unlike a sleek Feline’s or silky Kuranta’s. It was an unmistakable mark of his lineage; his ancestors were people beloved by the water before they became merchants. A Lung’s strong, shimmering tail reflected that, another symbol that was a divine blessing from Sui himself. Lee’s mottled scales have dulled from age and his tail fin sports tears from reckless scuffles. Hardly a measure of his status these days.
When he was younger, he had yet to mask the way it shamelessly mirrored his brash temperament. His fins smacked against unwary shins and knocked over family heirlooms on more than one occasion. Only after years of etiquette lessons did he learn to carry himself in a way that betrayed none of his intent. Now, he can't remember the last time he carried himself without some sort of pretense; even his surface-level sloppiness was a practiced act ingrained into his mannerisms.
Ling and him seem to be alike in that regard, if nothing else. She lazily uses her tail to swipe her gourd from the floor before she brings it to her lips. Inside is a recently opened brew of Guixing, a parting gift from Shangshu. The scent of it is sharp and heady, but she has yet to waver where she stands.
“Did you know I was coming?” Lee finally asks as he deftly chops his way through a crisp stalk of green onion.
“Some meetings are always predestined.” Ling peers over his shoulder. “Be sure to create a surplus. I hear there is a squadron coming back soon.”
“So you did. I just cooked an entire New Year’s dinner earlier this week, and now you're putting me to work again?” Lee gripes half-heartedly, but it doesn't stop him from tossing the noodles into his wok once it starts smoking over the stove.
All of Lungmen was practically off-duty for the week, and the same applied to the rest of Yan. Then again, not everyone adhered to the same customs. Auspicious beginnings were just another day to those unfamiliar with them. He mentally makes a note to gently persuade the Doctor into taking the holiday off next year.
Tempting them with his cooking ought to do the trick. He could even consider this an early investment. The rich sizzle of oil and roar of heat do little to deter him as he fries the noodles. Lee’s hands are marred by calluses and burns on his scales, reminders of accidents both in the kitchen and the streets of Lungmen. He tugs at the high collar of his shirt, loosening it slightly to relieve the stuffiness gathering around his gills.
“Did you not partake in revelry for the holiday?” Ling asks.
She's made herself comfortable against one of the counters, watching him with idle intrigue. Ling’s tail flicks behind her playfully. The tufted tip seems to be partially dyed in ink upon closer inspection, making Lee silently raise a brow. He didn't think someone would be uncouth enough to use their tail as a brush, of all things. He can only imagine it would chafe his fraying fins terribly.
Then again, Ling existed on the boundary between mortal and immortal, dream and reality. Traditional brushes would be claimed by time and rot; perhaps it was easiest for her to rely on herself when the seasons passed unpredictably. Or perhaps she'd simply developed some eccentric tastes over the eons - it was difficult to fathom Ling following needless decorum when treating with politicians and tacticians alike.
“Trying to get into one of Lungmen’s restaurants would be impossible. Tourists flood the more popular spots and the hidden gems in the back alleys are either packed with locals or closed to spend time with family,” Lee replies, using a long pair of chopsticks to expertly prise apart the noodles. “It's not always bad to celebrate quietly among friends.”
“I myself did the same. I took solace in the turn of the heavens while partaking from a half-full dish. The city below glittered warmly with life, belying the cold from upon high,” Ling lilts with a flourish of her hand. “With whom did you celebrate?”
“Just the three kids who help me out on occasion. And Old Tung’s boy - I finally convinced him to take off for New Year’s, if only for a couple hours.” Jaye showed up on the agency’s doorstep, ate dinner and politely answered all of Lee’s prodding, then promptly returned to his finball stand. Lee took no offense to his haste; he recalls Waai Fu mentioning that Jaye offered his goods to wide-eyed children drawn out from the slums by the festivities.
“Ah - are they yours?”
Lee lets out a surprised bark of laughter, fangs openly bared. “Do I really seem that old? Although, I guess it wouldn't be unusual for someone my age to have a few little ones already.”
Huai Tianpei got a head start before Lee even began entertaining thoughts of a lady friend. And that frigid Liang Xun was actually courting a woman after all these years; had he not seen it for himself, he wouldn't have believed it.
As for Lee… well, it seemed like the number of strays under his roof only seemed to grow. Maybe it was for the best that he never sired any himself. His status as a Lung could pose complications down the line; the noble blood flowing through his bastard would inevitably chase him to the ends of Yan. Most considered children a way to carry on their legacy. Lee knows well the crushing weight of such a burden.
He shakes his head with a smile. “No, I gave Hung and Aak part-time work and a place to stay when they were having trouble getting back on their feet. Waai Fu has been with me since she was young. Her father asked me to look after her while he left to pursue his own dao.”
Aside from Waai Fu, who was finishing up her education, he didn't really expect any of them to stay for this long. Hung was an upstanding young man; though he hit a rough patch some years ago, Lee was certain he could easily do well for himself. Taking in Aak, on the other hand, had been an admittedly impulsive decision. Lee had little to offer the boy aside from a roof over his head, but the busywork kept him from veering into less savory pursuits.
The kids became a constant in his daily life without realizing. But if they wanted to leave, he wouldn't stop them. It wasn't in his nature to meddle needlessly.
“Ho? How admirable of you.” A trace of amusement enters Ling’s voice.
“Not really. I just wanted to give those kids a chance to find something of their own. Lungmen is the kind of place that'll eat you alive without the right connections.”
“Still, you have people to spend the New Year with. Is that not something worthy of celebration?”
The candid question briefly catches him off guard, staying his hand from where it had been meticulously tending to the noodles.
“It is,” Lee says, surprising himself with his own sincerity. “Of course it is.”
-
After the commotion in the Rhodes Island cafeteria has died down, Lee finds himself at the top of the landship, leaning against one of the bright yellow guardrails. The tall lamps illuminating the path to the roof cast it in a lonely glow.
This top deck was always sparsely populated compared to its interior. It was naturally colder, made more inhospitable by the slowly thawing winter. He and the Doctor occasionally had their business meetings here, overlooking Lungmen while the winds carried their words far above the perpetual blanket of smog and mortal chaos. Lee wonders if this is how Liang Xun felt beholding the villages and houses nestled between Shangshu’s mountains.
A spring breeze threads through Lungmen’s towering buildings. Ling is perched high on one of the structural beams, uncaring and free. She mysteriously slipped out during the fuss in the dining hall, now basking in the dusky evening as if a dozing figure plucked from a painting.
Lee sticks a cigarette between his lips and flicks his lighter on, shielding the small flame from the elements with his gloved palm. He breathes in the familiar taste of nicotine before exhaling in muted relief. The coiled terseness in his shoulders noticeably fades once he’s away from all the excitement.
Ling descends from her perch, gracefully landing next to him without a sound. “I pray we do not meet in your dreams tonight, but you are always welcome to accompany me if that is the case.”
“My thanks for your hospitality,” Lee courteously replies. There had been no marked change that he could discern, after everything. Only time would reveal if this little ritual accomplished anything.
“You brought the black piece to me. It was only fair that I helped you be rid of it.” Ling waves her scaled hand dismissively. “So? What say you? Have you found an answer?”
For all his sage wisdom freely dispensed to those younger than him, Lee found himself without a solid answer. He tilts the cigarette between his fingers, watching wispy trails of smoke disappear into the air. “Unfortunately, I haven't. Sometimes, I wonder if this is even what I'm supposed to be doing.”
Who am I? In the end, he still didn’t know.
Mirth enters her drowsy mien, her lips delicately quirking upwards. “I must agree. Many said you should have opened a restaurant rather than an investigative agency.”
“Very funny,” Lee deadpans before taking a long, indulgent drag. Waai Fu would scold him again if he came back smelling like smoke, her keen Feline nose able to distinguish between Lungmen’s haze of smog and Lee’s pack of favorites. Luckily, she was spending time with her friends at school this week.
He sighs. White smoke fogs up his glasses. Would his family back in Kong Tung be proud if they knew what he was doing? It wouldn’t be hard to guess where he ended up - Lee’s Detective Agency, registered in Lungmen without using a false surname. In their memory, he was an arrogant young lord who abandoned his responsibilities and rightful legacy. But it's not like he held disdain for the people who raised him. He can only hope that on occasion, he was remembered fondly.
“Do you think of Yan often?” Ling asks, reading the furrow of his brow with ease.
“More than I should these days,” Lee admits.
“Then why not return?”
The suggestion was simple enough. There was the opportunity to leave this behind each time he visited Yan. The sight of Liang Xun, still brimming with hope and unwavering to his cause, reminded Lee of everything he squandered over the last decade. After the affair with the goblet, it would have been easy to hop on Shen Lou’s boat and disappear into the thick fog layered atop Shangshu’s rivers. To start anew, or assume another veil of anonymity, far from a place that knew his name and face.
If he was being honest, throwing it all away never once crossed his mind.
“I left because I thought Lungmen would be different, but it turns out everything’s the same no matter where you go. It's not a bad thing, exactly. That's just how humans are.” Lee smiles dryly to himself. “I’ve visited Yan over the years for business and there isn’t a place for me there. Not anymore.” His most recent trip to Shangshu cemented the fact.
…Aiyo, why is he so chatty around this girl? Around anyone else, Lee took care to scrub any mention of the past from his speech. Yet here he was, reminiscing about his bygone youth like an old man around someone who was practically a stranger.
He’s not discontent with this life. He isn’t. It’s just…
Ling hums thoughtfully with a drawn-out tone. “Why did you make Lungmen fare?”
The question tugs him out of his idle musings. Lee gives Ling a bemused look from beneath messy strands of hair. “Huh? You're in Lungmen, Miss. It would be a pity if you didn't taste some of the food.”
“And it was indeed divine,” Ling nods. “Why, I felt compelled to compose a verse in the aftermath. Perhaps it could even lure my sister from the confines of her painting.”
“A feat akin to moving heaven and earth? Ha, that's quite the compliment.” A low rumble of laughter sits in the back of his throat. If his cooking could deal with the worst of a moody teen, then it wouldn’t be a stretch to extend it to the fickle temperament of a god fragment. “Don’t tell me you’re craving something else already. You’ll have to make another wager the next time I stop by and check on the kids.”
“Nay, my request was thus: I wished to partake of a dish from your home,” Ling recites, the words smoothly falling from her lips like an expertly poured stream of wine. “Then why not a recipe native to Jiangdong?”
She’s a shrewd thing, Lee has learned. But he’s not entirely opposed to what she’s getting at.
Lee shrugs before sticking the end of his cigarette back between his lips. “Ah, well. Who knows?”
They stand together for a long moment, watching the blinking city lights in the cold and the dark. The permeating chill reminds him of the mountains, but there is no prolonged sense of solitude that overtakes him like it does in his dreams.
It’s rare he spends this much time at Rhodes Island. Usually, he’s back in Lungmen by sundown unless there was a mission that required him to stay in the dorms. A change of pace isn’t bad, though. He doesn’t mind the company.
When Lee finally glances up, taking in the sight of the twin moons overhead, Ling is already gone.