Ash and Honey [BL]

Fu Ran's back was firmly planted on soft cushioning, and his eyes locked with a simplistic white ceiling. A shift of his arm against luxurious silks encouraged him to embrace the comforts. This was far more lavish than his bed back at An Xian Yun Peak.

However, a familiar scent assaulted his nose. A hint of burnt wood, with a subtle undertone of sweetness.

A smell of high-class royalty, and a sweetness of deceptive lies, sent tremors through him. And yet, that all faded with a single moment of exasperation. Well, there is no helping it, he told himself. Reassurance of his own mind was in little supply, but he moved through habit. Thin white robes threatened to pull away from his body as he slid his legs off the edge of the bed.

He knew his current identity well: Fu Ran was a modest fortune teller. Though the extravagance might lead one to believe otherwise. Like a magnetic pull, he ended up sitting in front of a large vanity mirror, covered in a variety of gold accessories.

His eyes caught his reflection. You look terrible, as usual.

Tired was more of his staple decoration, rather than these gems and trinkets. So, he grabbed up his small makeup compact and covered the offending darkness. Even against his throat, the colors of purple and black had to be corrected.

A hiss escaped his lips when his fingers pressed against the sore spots.

"Perfectly practiced," he muttered with a shaky breath. "You've done this hundreds of times."

Finally his face was polished. Some areas were particularly stubborn, but makeup could only do so much. To finish his look, he plucked a red ruby earring. There were six gems hung off of one another, and it hung a few inches down to his neck. The stark color of red was bright against his pale skin. 

Fu Ran's lip quivered noticeably in the reflection, and his brows couldn't hide the tensions. 

"She will be here soon," Fu Ran muttered. He quickly adorned himself in some of the finest robes. They didn't suit his tastes in the slightest, being a bright garish amber.

He'd barely managed to perfect each layer when, as rehearsed, a few knocks sounded.

"Coming," Fu Ran answered.

A young looking woman answered the door. Her eyes lowered into a resigned expression of respect. She wore a snowy light teal color on her robes and her hair was adored in braided pigtails and tied behind her back. 

"Seer Fu, should I guide you as always?" She bowed and lowered her head, but Fu Ran lifted his hand.

"I know the way." 

The girl was startled and she looked at him with confusion. This was the quickest way to be left alone to his own grievances. 

"Um…" The girl shifted her weight from foot to foot and then turned away. "Very well, I understand." A restrained hint of urgency washed over the room as she turned to leave. There were no longer leftover feelings of guilt from his abrupt words. The clearer, and more concise he was, the less he had to say at all.

Yes, walking these halls alone was much better.

Gold excluded from every step. His steps echoed against gilded tiles, and shimmering decorations lined the halls. What point is there in opulence, when there is no elegance? Even the white walls were oppressive, with no window in sight, not on this entire floor. It was so suffocating. 

At the end of the hall waited a large set of double doors. A lone guard, as usual, crossed his arms and waited. He wouldn't even spare Fu Ran the dignity of a glance, as he opened the door without so much as a comment.

The Hall of Sovereign Peace—Fu Ran scoffed.

Behind the doors was sparsity, in fact, the major decorative feature was a lovely lavender screen in front of a pedestalled chair. It barely obscured a shape, the shape of a man.

A large figure took up the entirety of the seat, sat upon the throne like he ruled the entire world. Even his pose was one of striking confidence. His chin propped onto a bent wrist and a leg crossed over the other.

Fu Ran could feel an acknowledgement, even before a thunderous, "Enter," responded. 

He entered. The doors shut. And he took his spot in the center of the room. Falsified respect urged him to bow and lower to his knees. "If I may give my regular report, Your Highness," Fu Ran's tone was of reverend. 

"You may." 

"Come on the eighth month in the Lunisolar Calendar, the same attack already predicted is to still occur." It was the same thing that he always said.

"So efforts have done nothing to change the predicted outcome?" The emperor's tone did not change. It remained flat and nearly uncaring.

"No. It is regrettable." He sympathized.

"You may be excused."

"I have some advice—" He did not say that. This dream willed him to mess up by putting words in his mouth, as if to impart its knowledge. I already know everything you want me to know, Shi Wei Ji. Fu Ran bit his lip, but the words had already left his mouth.

Curse this dream. 

Fu Ran felt a shift in the air, and he wore a placid smile. However, beads of sweat began to cling to the back of his neck. His practiced perfection was ruined. This slip up wasn't even his own. He held his tongue, he knew to do that. And yet his body went against his wishes.

The emperor shuffled on the throne. "Advice…?" he asked. Such a simple word felt like a knife against Fu Ran's cheek.

I want to wake up—

Fu Ran covered his words with backtracking panic. "---May this insignificant fortune teller ask for forgiveness, Your Highness?" 

A plea wasn't good enough. The emperor stood, and pressed against the thin veil of purple.

A hand extended. His fingers twisted into the fabric. And he yanked.

Like heavy cracks of shattering metal, the circlets that held the curtain popped off from the railing and shot off in all directions. They rolled across the floor in tiny broken pieces.

"Advice you say?" the emperor asked again. His scowl took center stage over his darkened expression. Amidst otherwise fine features, a vein sat at his temple, and his jaw tightened in a grimace. "Have you not spoken enough?" 

Fu Ran tensed.

A step. The Tyrant Emperor took a single step, and Fu Ran's exterior shattered. 

His palms flattened to the ground and he lowered his head. "I apologize—" No matter the will he had to force his heart beat to steady, even the rhythmic thought of calm down, did nothing.

The footsteps stopped, and a pair of gold enlightened boots paused just shy of Fu Ran's vision. "Look at me," the Tyrant Emperor growled.

Fu Ran's neck snapped upwards, and his breathing halted. Run away? He tried it before. Fight back? It ended only in pain. Obeying was the safe choice, after all this particular dream was one of the easier ones to bear.

But still, his jaw tightened reflexively when the Tyrant Emperor kneeled to his level. A gaze of inescapable terror, gold devoid of everything. 

"This voice of yours has caused nothing but problems." The emperor's tone was accompanied by the chilling act of gentle subtlety. 

A palm pressed to Fu Ran's cheek and the messy stray bangs were brushed from his vision. Why was a living man's hand so cold like ice? There was a shift among the amber hue—he didn't miss it. A change from the look of adornment, to one of annoyance.

It's not real, Fu Ran reminded himself. The press of a palm turned into a single finger, and trailed to the nape of his neck. It's not real.

The Tyrant Emperor was so close his breath could be felt. It was the only thing warm about the man in the slightest. But even that was too hot and heavy; oppressive just like his damned castle.

Fu Ran took in a few preemptive breaths of air. It's not re—

The emperor's hand moved swiftly, like a predator's lunge. A clenched fist stole any breath from the fortune teller, and the tightness enveloped him. 

The thumb pressed just below the curve of his jaw, and suddenly the Tyrant Emperor stood, lifting him in the process. Fu Ran's feet lost the gentle comforts of a foothold, and a plea escaped in a strangled choke.

"You're too loose-lipped. You had to tell them where you were… and now I'm dealing with the trouble. Why did you have to go and do that…?" 

Fu Ran choked on a breathless gasp and his hands clasped the emperor's sturdy wrists for support. It might have looked like he was trying to form more words of begging pleas, but behind his wordless struggle were curses.

Damn you, Tyrant Emperor! His eyes squinted nearly shut. Damn you to death!

With all of his might, Fu Ran couldn't prevent a reactionary tear streaming down his cheek. It rolled all the way onto the Tyrant Emperor's hand, and he startled.

Shocked amber eyes cleared. Like the rage had appeared, it vanished into nothing and he recoiled. As the finger's loosened, like a sack of rice, Fu Ran tumbled to the ground. His wrists barely had the strength to hold his own weight.

Mindless hacking, choking, not at all the picture of elegance he wished to be—Fu Ran was curled onto the ground in a heap of himself.

The emperor said not a damn word and turned on his heels. Only when he pressed his weight into the cracked door did he sound. "You are dismissed," he said, empty and blank.

There were no thoughts left in Fu Ran's mind. 

Curses and words of hate, negativity and dred. He pressed his forehead to the cold white tile, and his body heaved, mocking a sob. 

He didn't have to look twice to know that the most recently applied makeup was ruined, likely staining the Tyrant Emperor's fingers. He would have to reapply it. Again.

Fu Ran didn't move. The best parts of the nightmares in between scenes of torment as these were the moments when he managed to breathe. He let his body crumple to the floor weightlessly.

A sudden voice made him jolt. "Shizun?"

Fu Ran shot up like he'd been struck. Amidst the overbearingly white tiled floors stood a small boy. Golden eyes looked at him with worry, pity, and sorrow.

Wan Yu?