Ash and Honey [BL]

Through the cracked-open doorway, a figure dressed in all white stood still. Long, stringy hair nearly touched the floorboards, and each step landed with the unmistakable sound of bare skin against wood.

"Shizun?" Lin An asked.

Wan Yu shook his head and whispered, "It's not Shizun."

The bland white mask had been removed, now hanging at the man's hip. His features were fully exposed, laid bare for all three disciples to see. Everything about him mirrored their beloved teacher—his face, his stance, the familiar weight of his presence. Everything except the look in his eyes.

Resentment. Restrained anger.

He's not Shizun, Wan Yu reminded himself. Shizun would never look at me like that. Even in his worst dreams, his Shizun has never worn such an expression.

Now that his sect siblings were free, there was only one thing left for him to do. Wan Yu tightened his grip on the training sword and held it straight out.

The impostor paused, tilting his head as if amused by the boy's stance. He sighed. "I didn't want to do this by choice…" His gaze drifted down to the creaky floorboards, voice weighted with something unreadable.

Then, as if a mask had slipped back into place, his lips curled into a smile. It was no longer pretending to be warm, instead it twisted into something uglier. "You haven't changed one bit, brat." Hatred clung to his words like venom. The smile wavered, faltering into something closer to a grimace.

With the precision of a seasoned swordsman, he swung the metal rod in his hand. It cut through the air like a blade and met Wan Yu's training sword with a sharp, jarring clang.

Wan Yu barely had time to react. He lifted his blade just in time to block, but the impact sent him staggering backward. Metal screamed against metal, the sheer force tearing the sword from his hands and hurling it across the room.

"Wan Yu!" Lin An dropped to her knees beside him.

"What the hell?!" Meng Xiao barked in disbelief. "Hittin' your own disciples now, Shizun?"

The impostor took a step forward, plucking the fallen training sword from the floor. 

Now that he had a more dangerous weapon in his hands, Meng Xiao moved to step in front of the other two. His eyes were darkened, and he bristled like a startled cat. "Back up," he warned.

The impostor looked unnamused. "I'm only after Kuwei Jun." His teeth clenched as he raised the weapon above his head.

Wan Yu gasped, struggling to push himself up, but Lin An held him steady. Her voice trembled. "Shizun, this is Wan Yu! Surely he hasn't offended you so gravely that you misremember him!"

"Run!" Meng Xiao shouted. "Lin An, take the baby and go!" Rarely did his voice shake with anything other than rage, but Wan Yu heard it. His words quivered. He had no weapon to fight back—he must have been planning on taking the strikes with his body.

"No!" Wan Yu whined. You'll die!

Meng Xiao's head snapped backwards. His brows were furrowed and he snarled like a beast. "You fuckin' back-talk your Shixiong?"

"Lin An! Leave!" He snapped again. 

Lin An yanked Wan Yu to his feet in a panic. Her breath hitched, like he was on the cusp of tears, but she threw Wan Yu halfway against her hip and stumbled in a run.

Even outside, the sounds of battle raged. The farmhouse look, and furniture broke with a slam. Meng Xiao could fight as hard as he wanted… but if the impostor had even a fraction of the real Shizun's power, then he wouldn't last long.

Lin An breathed a shaky sigh, and it jumbled into a sob. "Don't fall, Don't fall." She repeated quietly.

Barely down the street, the sounds of crashing inside the farm house vanished. Lin An shuddered, her feet slowing, and then stopping altogether. Her chest no longer rose and fell against Wan Yu. She was frozen like a frightened animal.

"Shixiong?" she whispered.

The door creaked open again. 

This time, a ghastly white figure stepped out, streaked in messy trails of blood. His expression no longer looked human, there was no shift of anything akin to an emotion—a dark blankness.

I have to… Wan Yu reached towards the house and his hand shivered. 

He opened his mouth to yell, and his feet stepped forward. However he didn't get far before he felt completely weightless.

"No! No, no, no!" Lin An chastised Wan Yu and threw him over her shoulder. She ran fast, but…

The man in white was faster—he was like a demon catching up fast. "Shijie." Wan Yu clasped onto the back of Lin An's robes. "Shijie…" he repeated. Thirty paces away turned into 20, and then into 15. Gripped with panic, Wan Yu didn't know how to voice his panic. 

Shijie! 

The impostor was faster and stronger than some newbie disciples. Wan Yu had a better chance of saving the other two if he just…

The earth trembled beneath the man's bare steps, the weight of inevitability pressing down on them. Wan Yu understood his place in things. He had learned young that some battles weren't meant to be fought—only survived.

He twisted in Lin An's grip, shifting his weight.

Forgive me for this, Shijie.

His foot caught the ground, hooking in front of hers.

Lin An gasped. When she lifted her foot mid run, she was tripped by Wan Yu's intervention. They both hit the ground hard, and tumbled into several rolls.

Wan Yu sat up, before Lin An could recover. The man wearing their Shizun's face had already arrived.

"Kuwei Jun… If I could end your life here, I would." The blade in his hand glinted under the dim light, its tip hovering before Wan Yu's throat. His words were like ice, and his eyes were colder still. "But you are still useful even like this." Despite the words, he still raised his blade as if to strike.

Wan Yu stared up at him, breath catching. The weight of the moment pressed against his ribs with a thumping beat. His pulse thundered.

Fear.

It crawled up his spine, and lodged itself in his throat. His hands clenched, nails anchoring himself into the dirt. 

Wan Yu snapped. "I'll go with you. Please just—"

The sword came down.

His mind barely had time to process, before soft shades flashed in his vision. Pinks, flowers, a brown braid.

Shijie.

Lin An threw herself forward, covering him. And a stray blade carved into her back. 

She didn't even scream—her voice caught in a pained gurgled gasp.

Her weight slammed into him, nearly taking Wan Yu down with her. She was trembling. Blood dripped onto his hands where he touched her back, hot and slick.

"...ijie, no." His voice sounded strange. Distant. "...lease—Don't …ie."

He couldn't force the words out. Please, don't die.

She didn't answer. But something inside Wan Yu cracked.

His breathing hitched—shallow, desperate.

The fear that had clawed at him now sank its teeth in deep. A horrible, aching pressure swelled in his chest. 

"Shijie, Shijie!" His voice broke into a sob. His hands clutched at her, unwilling to let go.

Even when hands yanked and pulled, or when a familiar voice warned "Let go!" Wan Yu didn't loosen his grip.

His vision blurred.

"Don't leave me!" The words were strangled, torn from his throat. Names spilled from his lips—Lin An, Shijie, Shixiong, Meng Xiao—a desperate, jumbled mess. His own voice was foreign, hoarse, scraping against his throat.

A sharp blow struck him.

It was a sharp pain that quickly became nothing at all: blackness.

***

Bei Zangli's night lights still gleamed—the festivities roared on.

No one listened to the screams echoing from the quiet farmland.

Children ate sweets, roughhoused, and shrieked in delight. Adults drank and reminisced about old times. Elders laughed and gossiped about who might be next to visit in the dead of night.

Had they heard the screams, they might have dismissed it as another restless soul soon to join the festivities. Perhaps they would have welcomed him with open arms.

But had they truly listened, had they cared to hear the raw and broken cries of a boy who didn't even know he could scream like that.

They would have heard a pitiful wail.