Chapter Text
These were the sort of events that General Wei Shun, Field Marshal of the Western Jin army, absolutely hated.
The Great Hall of the Golden Palace of Jin had been decked out in bright red and golden blossoms in celebration of the recent victory if the Alliance of the Southern Kingdoms against the Northern Kingdom of Dali. It had taken almost a decade. Thoroughly defeated and pushed back into her own boundaries, Dali would not be a likely threat for at least a generation. The Four Kingdoms settled back into an uneasy truce.
The royal family were seated on their gilded dais at the front of the hall with two rows of tables arranged either side of the central stage. The military were seated on one side and the civil service on the other, in order of rank. Lower ranked officials were seated at the very end of the hall, far from the king’s glory.
The three initial victories against the Dali in the northern valleys, and his hand in the final battle, had seen Wei Shun promoted from Captain to Lieutenant General and finally to General Field Marshal. Despite just having seen his thirtieth summer, Shun was awarded the privilege of wearing two peacock feathers in his helmet. The change of his Mandarin square from bear to lion befitted his new rank and seated him at the second row from the front with the other first tier Generals. He tried not to twitch in the unfamiliar confines of the heavy silk of his new official robe.
The musicians were placed at the front left of the royal dais. The clashes of the cymbals jolted through him. His hands scrabbled and closed around the hilt of the sword at his hip. Shun closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. No longer on the battlefields… This was no longer a cry for battle.
For want of nothing better to do with his hands, Shun raised the copper flask of rice wine to his lips, draining it for the third time - or was it the fourth? - that night. He could feel the red flush that spread from his cheeks down his neck. His skin throbbed. A servant at his elbow stepped forward, filling the vessel to the brim as soon as he had put it down on the table again.
There was a whisper of conversation towards the front. Sudden laughter exploded through the hall. Shun looked around and forced the corners of his mouth up and barked out a laugh of his own to join everyone else. He was close enough to the royals that night for the King to see if he didn’t laugh at a joke and take insult.
The music changed into a low rumble of drums that made Shun’s hands twitch again towards the hilt of his sword. He shook his head to try to clear it. If only the air didn’t feel so thick and hot. A group of dancing girls spread into the hall, each holding a cluster of yellow chrysanthemums. Applause rippled around him. Shun raised his hands to clap and his red silk sleeve caught the side of his flask and he had to bite back a curse as he righted the vessel just before it spilled its contents. He tucked the annoyingly long pieces of fabric under the table. It would mean that he could barely raise his hands above the height of his chest, but better that than embarrassing himself in clear view of the king and the full ranks of all the other civil and military leaders.
Things had been far easier when he was Captain - when his robes were embroidered with a rhinoceros and he was seated far back with the masses.
“I have heard that the king may be showing off a new one."
Shun turned to the man seated next to him who was clearly leering at one of the dancers. General Mao, he reminded himself. A third cousin of the king himself and leader of the Dali’s movements in the East. An excellent strategist but, at times, slow to move and take hold of an opportunity. He inclined his head. They may be the same military rank now, but the other man was of far more noble birth.
“Lord Mao, I am surprised that the king has found someone who could possibly improve on his already perfect troupe,” He murmured softly. “The slave handlers must have exceeded themselves this year, although I have heard that you did bring prime stock back from the East.”
Mao didn’t even bother to tear his eyes away when he answered Shun. It was clear that least one of these girls would be joining Lord Mao’s bed that night. “Oh, there have been plenty of new slaves this year in the capital, but this one is different. It is said that he comes from the king’s personal collection.”
It was at that moment that the drums softened and wistful tune from a single flute filled the air. The Ghost’s Dance. The music was designed for a single dancer, the mournful lullaby farewelling lost souls. It was one of Shun’s first memories after The Great Flood. He had stared in wonderment in the Square as a local woman had moved through the paces of the spirit of Death, scraps of white paper fluttering from every step she took.
The next dancer stepped out of the darkness into the hall and Shun started when he realised it was a man. That was something new indeed. Death was always traditionally performed by a woman and Shun could not remember any male dancers in the royal troupe previously.
The dancer was as graceful as any woman, or perhaps even more so. Stripped to his hips with oil glinting off lithe muscles, he moved from table to table. Soft white chrysanthemum petals slipped out of his fist as he walked, covering the floor of the great hall like snow. A flash of a shoulder revealed two tattoos, one the standard character 奴 for ‘slave’ and, just above it, the character for ‘convict’ 犯 inked in dark blue. His hair was not bound in the top knot of the free main but pulled back into a long braid that snaked down his back. The brown leather encircled his throat was a stark contrast to his pale skin. Shun must have been far too long with his men in the Northern valleys because it was the sight of this dancer that finally made his cock stir beneath his robes. He leaned back a little. The wine burned as he swallowed it. A mere dancing slave could easily be requested for the night, but if this really was a slave from the king’s personal collection there would be far too much risk to even hint at an attraction.
The twang of qin had joined the flute as the music built up to the final climax. The man was spinning in the center of the room, petals billowing out away from his figure. There was something about that posture and that body that almost looked familiar. Shun shook his head and put his flask down firmly. The wine must have been going to his head if he honestly thought that one of the king’s slaves was familiar. Perhaps this wasn’t the new dancer Lord Mao spoke of. Perhaps it was someone else entirely. Then, the light from a lantern caught the figure’s eyes and Shun stiffened.
This could not possibly be.
Lan?
“Does my dancer interest you, General Wei?”
Shun started. He turned away from the figure towards the voice that had cut through the final chords of the music. The young King Ming-wang was seated in the centre of the golden dias. In the lamp light, he looked younger than his twenty three summers. He wore the crown, with its curtain of beads, as befitted the formality of the ceremony. When he dipped his head the beads dipped forward, hiding the lily white skin and delicate features that the royal family were famous for. On one side sat the Ninth Prince, Mingyu, gaunt and buried in blue silk that looked far tobo big on his small frame. On the other was his uncle and former regent, the Grand Duke.
“Ah, Esteemed Majesty,” He could feel his face burn as he stumbled to his feet in a deep bow. “I...your dancers are graceful indeed.”
The dancer had lowered himself to his knees, his back bent is a perfect bow with arms outstretched in a kowtow towards the King.
Laughter met his words. “My dearest General, there is no need to hide if you truly admire one of my things - uncle?”
The Grand Duke stood. He had ruled for almost nineteen years while waiting for his nephew to become of age and guided the Kingdom of Jin through most of the chaos that surrounded the threat of Dali invasion. He was a pale, slender man whose silver-streaked brows arched over a fierce hawk like stare.
Shun tried to keep his eyes focussed on the table in front of him.
The Grand Duke’s lips thinned into a colourless smile. “Our Blue Orchid here is quite talented, is he not? I can promise he is also talented in other ways - although he was a little stubborn at first.” Another laugh from the King, “Still, he knows his place, now, and I know I have not yet properly rewarded you for your successes this season. Gold and land are one thing, but it is all a little impersonal, is it not?” He leaned down towards the King for a moment. A exchange passed between the two of them before the Grand Duke straightened again. “You have serviced our Kingdom well. Why don’t you accept our Graceful Flower, here, as a personal gift?”
Shun started - hard enough to accidentally glance up and catch the smirk on King Ming-wang's face. The whole room had turned silent. This must be a joke. The King - was he about to give away a slave from his personal collection?
“I have heard that the two of you may have some history together. It amuses me to gift him to you,” King Ming-wang said.
Shun sucked in a breath. His eyes raked over the slave’s back but it revealed no clues to him. The king could not possibly be referring to who he thought he was. Lan was dead. Lan had been dead for at least four years.
Shun clasped his hands together and bowed more deeply. “Of-of course, esteemed majesty. Your gracious servant is grateful for your majesty’s generosity and kindness.”
Two claps punctuated the air from the King’s own hands. Suddenly, the hall was filled with applause. “Bind the slave and prepare him to be transported to the General’s quarters.”
Shun’s face flushed more red as he lowered himself down to his seat. His cheeks were glowing. He could see that the dancer - his new slave - had risen to his feet and was moving away from the center of the hall to the slave handlers. Shun craned his neck forward. All he could catch was a glimpse of a profile that was too far away to be anything familiar. His stomach clenched. Could it possibly be?
Lan’s head was spinning as he stepped from the great hall into one of the slave’s processing rooms. He dared not to believe it when he had caught sight of Shun’s profile at the second table. Of course Shun would be in the room. Shun had passed the imperial military examinations more than twelve years ago and ascended into Captaincy ten years ago. Every military rank from captain upwards was required to join the civil service officers in the celebrations. Lan had just hoped that Shun’s eyes would be hidden amongst the crowd, not seated at the second row from the king himself. Lan had never believed that Shun would stop at just the rank of Captain but - Heavens - how long did it take for a normal military captain to ascend to the rank of General Field Marshal?
A cuff to the back of his head knocked Lan from his thoughts. He dropped to his knees, eyes downcast and bit his cheek in an effort to school an expression that tried to appear respectful.
Bao loomed over him, one hand rubbing idly at his obese stomach.“You missed two steps at the end.” Lan’s shoulder’s tensed. His nails tried to curl into the hardwood floors. Fat fingers gripped Lan’s cheek, forcing his head upwards. It was an effort to keep his eyes focused on the ground. Through his lashes, Lan caught sight of a cruel smirk plastered over the handler’s face. “It’s a pity that I can’t deal your punishment tomorrow as you deserve, but I am sure your new master will have much more than that in store for you. Do you think he’s forgotten what you said to him ten years ago? Most of the court has not.”
Lan could feel his ears burn. Did Shun remember him, remember them? Ten years, after all, was a very long time. Perhaps the Heavens would finally smile upon him, and Shun would have wiped his existence from his memory. ‘Why would I choose to marry a peasant born man raised in the mud who is too uncouth to understand anything of culture or nobility?’ Of course, those words in-and-of-themselves were rather difficult to forget when they were spat out in the palace grounds within earshot of most of the court. Lan tasted blood in his mouth. Now Shun owned him. Ten years was a long time for a man to have to plan his vengeance.
“I am sure that my new master will seek to treat me as I deserve, sir,” The inside of his cheek stung as it stretched when he spoke. “Will you be taking me to his rooms, sir?”
Bao snorted. “Oh once we have you nicely trussed like the little present you are, you’ll be delivered to the general’s townhouse. I’m sure he’ll enjoy you nicely, there.”
Lan couldn’t suppress a shudder. A townhouse? Why wouldn’t Shun have apartments within the palace like every other visiting Official? The last four years - had he actually also resided within the walls of the Capital?
A second cuff set Lan’s ear ringing. He bit his tongue and raised his wrists, one crossed above the other. Smooth rope criss-crossed his wrists, binding them firmly together, the knot finishing with a couple of strands loose for a makeshift lead. So, he would be running through the streets tonight. Lan’s stomach twisted and he could taste acid at the back of his throat.
Fingers tugged at his trousers and the cool air hit his skin as they were suddenly yanked down to his knees. A quick slap to his bottom and Lan obeyed. He leaned forward, head down toward the ground, legs spread and arse in the air. There was a pressure, a burn, and then a pop, as a plug forced its way into him. Lan grunted. Rough fingers lifted his cock, slipping a ring onto the base of his length, and then his trousers were pulled back up and knotted in place.
“A little present for the brave general, and a little bit of our special oil to ease the night for you, lucky boy.” It felt as if the plug began to burn. A warmth spread through his abdomen, straight into his cock. Lan gasped. The yanghuo oil?! He shifted his hips but that only knocked the plug against his prostate. Already, his cock was starting to tent his pants. Plugged, and ringed, how long was he going to have to endure? What if Shun chose to celebrate the entire night?
Fat fingers curled through his hair and tugged, hard. Lan choked before he remembered his words. “Thank you, sirs, for your kindness in preparation.” He gasped and squirmed again. There was laughter all around and his arse stung with two more spanks. Another yank to his hair brought him to his feet.
“Look, the slut’s all eager to spread his legs for his master.”
It wasn’t just the effect of the oil that made Lan’s cheeks flush. He couldn’t keep his hips still. For the first time in three years tears pricked at his eyes, but he didn’t dare to wipe anything away. There was a jerk at his wrists and Lan had to bite back another gasp as he stumbled forward, trying to keep his balance and the plug in his arse as still as possible at the same time. This was going to be a long walk.
It was deep into the night by the time the celebrations drew to a close. Shun yawned and swayed on his ride home. He smiled gratefully at the servant who was still out waiting for him at the front and handed his horse’s reins over with a sleepy wave. He would find his new slave tomorrow, he decided, once he had a good night’s sleep. Shun’s eyes were heavy with wine, and his fingers itched to rip off the blasted silk robe. He stumbled down the hallway - one, two, three steps - when his feet caught on something. Shun toppled forward. One hand slammed up against the wall and he managed to right himself before he fell flat on his face. He scowled, turning to see what it was and his eyes widened. Right in front of his bedroom was a half naked, bound man.
"Fools, they just left you here?”
It was a cold night and the slave was clearly shivering and flushed. Already unwell? Shun’s hand encircled the man’s bicep, yanking him to his feet and in through the door into the warmth. At least now he can finally have a proper look at the slave’s face.
He was looking away but Shun reached out and cupped the man’s cheeks, forcing them to meet face to face. The sight was enough to send an icy wave of shock over him. Those round eyes, the same shade of the mahogany table that he once polished as a kitchen boy all those years ago - that pointed nose. He would recognise it anywhere.
“Lan? Lan, it really is you.” There was no mistaking it, he would know Lan’s face anywhere, even if it had been ten long years since he last saw the man. “You - you’re meant to be dead!”
“Well, I’m not, master,” The words were soft, with no bite to them. They made Shun frown. For a moment, he doubted his own conviction. He remembered how Lan, just shy of fifteen and brimming with confidence had declared that he would be the best candidate in his years in the Scholar-Official’s Civil Examinations and Shun had better keep up. If the Lan he knew had found himself a slave the first thing he would do would be to spit in his new master’s face. What could have happened to change Lan so?
Despite, or perhaps because of, the warmth of the room Lan was looking even more flushed - and there was quite an obvious tent in his pants. The other man was also shifting from foot to foot, and - Gods - his wrists were still bound. Scowling at his own forgetfulness, Shun reached out to undo the knots.
“Lan, you don’t seem yourself.” The rope had left long angry marks in the other man’s wrist. Once, Shun would have reached out without a thought to try to rub the obvious pain away but Lan took take a step back and shrunk away from him.
“They...I was prepared for you with yanghuo oil, master.” The words were so softly spoken that Shun almost missed them. Lan still refused to meet his eyes. Shun’s eyes widened. “Yanghuo?” Yanghuo oil was one of the strongest aphrodesiacs and it was never entirely certain whether it was actually legal to use. He had heard of certain brothels forcing it amongst their less willing whores. A single drop couple make man or woman desperate for sex many times over.
Lan’s hands slipped from his and he stepped back. He had unlaced his trousers before he fell to his his hands and knees and the sight of it made Shun suck in a breath. Lan was red, and hard, his cock bound with an ivory ring, an ivory plug teasing the opening of his arse. All the blood in Shun’s body immediately flowed straight into his cock.
“Please, master - I am not allowed to find completion without your permission.” Lan’s hips twisted and the plea was breathy and soft. How many times had Shun wanted the other man to come and beg him to take him back as a lover? Yet, even if Shun still had a thread of anger left in him it evaporated at that sight.
“Take them off,” Shun’s voice came out as a croak. He sat on his right hand to avoid the temptation of reaching for his groin. When Lan reached behind himself to remove the plug, Shun had to look away with a groan. In all the different ways he had dreamed they would meet again, it was never this.
The bedsheets bunched underneath Shun’s fingers. This was not Lan, he reminded himself. This was all the oil. The last time he had seen the man it had been clear that Lan had neither wanted his touch nor his association.
“Touch yourself.” He was not going to force himself upon his old lover when he was in this state. “Use the plug, bring yourself to completion as many times as you need.”
Shun forced himself to his feet as Lan obeyed his order. He couldn’t watch any more of this without losing his own control. “Continue, don’t follow me,” His voice broke a little at the last of his words and he managed to hobble to his door, slamming it behind himself as he emerged to the open hallway.
He needed to find air and cold water.