Although the members of the estate tried their best to hide the tragic turn of events, almost everyone in the little town overlooked by the castle knew of the young master’s near-death accident. It has been told that the young master was cursed while playing around in the Lord and Lady’s prized rose garden, and that through the thorn of a rose, a nightwalker had tried to poison the young master to death. Some whispered that the nightwalker had cursed the young master out of spite; some shook their heads and muttered that it was that the nightwalker was jealous of the Lord and Lady’s prosperity – still others hypothesize that it was the boy himself who had accidentally did the nightwalker wrong and brought the curse upon himself.

 

Of course, the rumors were soon dispelled less than a week later when a grouchy old gardener of the estate let slip one drunken night at one of the local pub that the young master wasn’t poisoned at all. The drunkard had lost a month worth of pay in a bet, and instead sold the secret that the young master was found at the base of the cliff, nearly cracked his poor little head open on the rocks and lost so much blood from it that he’ll most likely never be the same again. While the old gardener swore on his dead mother’s grave that the young master was most likely running around causing trouble and fell off the cliff, the gossip happy serving girl was soon telling the whole town about how the young master was possessed by a ghost who wished revenge on the nobles – and her story in turn became more and more colourful which each telling, until eventually most people in the village had heard the story of how the Lord and Lady themselves tried to sell the boy to the devil in exchange for the safety of their towns.

 

While the people of the town debated over the Lord and Lady’s actions in sacrificing their own son for the sake of their people, whether the rumor was true or not was never confirmed even though the simple minded towns-folks swears by the story. Nevertheless, the young master was to be sent off to the monasteries with a handful of servants after he recovered nearly a year later, which only fuelled the gossipers further in their beliefs. By the end of that month, more than a handful of people started muttering under their breath that the Lord and Lady regrets selling their boy and is trying to save their only son by sending him of to the sanctuary of the holy place.

 

Jackson had hear all of the stories before, running off into the village by the town occasionally to play with the other boys since there were none in the monastery that were his age. He had never paid any mind to most of the stories since sword fights and skipping stones was way more fun, but he couldn’t help but wonder now as he wiggled around in his uncomfortably thick robes, struggling to keep up with the brother sent to fetch the young master and his

 

“Stop messing with your robes so much and bring up your posture,” the brother sighed as he turned to wait for Jackson to catch up, “there they are.”

 

For once, Jackson did as he was told as he looked onwards at the small party ahead of them. There were only two carriages while more than ten people crowded around. A particularly well-dressed man stepped out from one of the carriages as he turned to talk to the driver, before gently patting the horse on the shoulder and walking forward towards Jackson and the monk.

“Ah, Brother Yixing, correct?” the man called to them joyfully, “I assume that you are here to lead us to the right place.” Behind him, the party and the horses looked relieved at the words, bodies seemingly relaxing at the promise of rest after their long travel.

 

Brother Yixing bowed courteously towards them, before silently praying over the party. “You are correct, and how may I address you and your party?”

 

“Suho’s fine,” the man stated, clapping Brother Yixing casually on the back, “now if you don’t mind joining us in the carriage, I do believe we have some topics to discuss before settling the young master down at the monastery.”

 

Following Yixing to the carriage, the first thing Jackson noticed was the small voice that called for Suho from within. Suho excused himself before stepping in, and only minutes later did he invite Yixing and Jackson into the carriage as well to continue the journey.

 

“As you can see,” Suho sighed, “the young master is still not well. It is his parent’s belief that the fresh air of the countryside and time away from the suffocating gossip surrounding the town would be good for the young master’s health, but alas, they are afraid of sending their child so far. Thus, the monastery. Not only is the air clearer and the minds purer here, we also believe that the genuine care and prayer from the monks and blessing from the holy spirit will also aid in the young master’s recovery.”

 

YIxing and Suho continued to discuss the accommodations for the stay, but Jackson simply stared at the shock of silvery gold hair on the pillow in Suho’s lap. The boy was taller than him but looked much thinner, the fabric of the heavy blanket that coved him in the hot humid air was wrapped awkwardly around the small frame, and the body curling up into Suho’s warmth seemed at that moment even more fragile. Compared to the boys in the village, the young master almost seemed as if he would disappear on himself, and Jackson had a particular urge to give his own strengths and energy to the other boy so he wouldn’t look quite as small and pathetic. His thoughts didn’t last long as their party stopped at the mansion right beyond the orchards owned by the monastery, and shuffling outside became prominent as most of the party began moving items from the second carriage into the building.

 

At first, Jackson thought maybe the young master wasn’t actually going to stay with them, but his doubts were soon cleared as he heard a tiny voice asking to wish goodnight to his friends who have come with him.

 

“Of course,” Suho whispered to the young master, before carefully shifting to pick up the boy.

 

The first time Jackson truly saw the young master, he would never forget, for even though the young master’s face was sickly pale and screamed of death, his smile as he turned to greet Jackson and Yixing was warmer than the heat of an iron stove in the coldest of blizzard nights.

 

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier.” The voice was still soft and barely there, but Jackson heard every word as clear as the tolling of the clock tower bell. “My name is Mark, the son of the Lord and Lady Tuan. Please take care of me.”

 

The young Jackson had concluded then, that the reason why Mark was in such a state must be because god had wanted to claim, too soon, his angel back.