It is the late evening that finds them together again, Emperor latching his brittle, blase finger for the delicate jade cup, the matted crystal such a pleasant company with the singeing alcohol billowing viciously in its belly, whilst the Bard gently plucked for the taut strings of his wooden instrument.

-”Sing.” Curtly ordered the Emperor, tired burnished eyes fluttering close as he leaned slightly backwards in an insouciant posture, yet nonetheless, back firm and stiff beneath copious layers and layers of gaudy silk falling over his frame akin to an undulating waterfall with vibrant, haematic satin, his posture rigid beneath gilded ornaments of sapphire, ruby, celadon crystals and eburnean stones.

The Bard was silent, mute, posture unchanging as he became a semblance to a chiseled statue of marble, dulcet eyes falling almost to a close as his head lowered to his chest, countenance shy and contemplating. He was a young man of an expressed jaw-line and fine, sharp nose, hawk-like eyes etched beneath two straight eyebrows and above a pair of chiseled high cheeks with delectable lips, certainly most sensuous feature of all, shaped like a thin delicate bow, angling softly beneath his refined nose. His skin was a delectable, savoury ivory satin, blushing a comely rosy hue from the summery sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains rippling on the light summer breeze.

-”Sing.” The Emperor ordered again, visibly exacerbated by the unresponsive nature of Bard’s response. “Sing, Jongdae.”

The hawk eyed musician raised his head, copious amounts of fabric rustling in the stifling silence of the room as the Emperor sipped his drink quietly, Jongdae’s sleeves running up his lithe arms to his bony elbows.

His graceful, gentle fingers latched for the strings, pulling them with ease as he recited in harmony with the pulls, his mellifluous voice such a pleasant timbre in the otherwise still room.

At Lord Si's house, flowers fill the path,

Myriad blossoms press the branches low.

Constantly dancing butterflies stay to play,

Unrestrained, the lovely orioles cry.

The Emperor sighed in contentment with the act, his head lulling on his shoulders in utter pleasure as the intricate ornaments hanging from his gaudy, tawdry crown merrily clattered together in the same lilt with the music. The delicate flowers outside merrily followed along, their small petals puerielly dancing on the wind as the ivory fingers pulling for the strings increased in their apprehensive rhythm, allotting to the slightly tensing atmosphere in the room.

The Emperor briefly covered his succulent lips with a silken handkerchief carrying an embroidered vestige of the empire, the pleasant hoary hue reflecting the jacinthe glimmer of the dying sun being voraciously swallowed by the vast horizon as the tilleul leaves rustling on the sizzling cries of the breeze outside quieted down. He coughed. Once, twice, each cough louder and more violent than the one before. Lurching forwards, the Emperor gripped for his robe, chest heaving as he pressed the silken handkerchief to his mouth, devastated at the sight bestowed upon him once his coughing fit calmed down. There, on the smooth material gliding over his skin were laid daubs of fresh blood, small and scarce, but there nonetheless. Conceiving his flabbergasted expression, the Emperor pulled on a facade of utter calm and audaciousness he was renowned for. The heavy and intricate ornaments hanging low from his head jingled as he shifted in his position, coming to sit impeccably straight. Noticing the lack of presence of the music in the air, he snapped acridly at Jongdae to continue playing.

-”Yes, Your Highness.” Jongdae curtly replied, bowing his head low before his fingers deftly continued to pluck the taut strings to form an artful melody streaming through the air and dancing with the wind.

The blazing sun was kissing the vast line of the horizon as the evening approached lazily, carrying the scent of dried persimmon cooked in alcohol and smoked meat in hotchpotch, along with peculiar notch of Chinese cabbage coming from the kitchen.

It was rather late for a full meal, Jongdae concluded, but His Highness Emperor felt famished and starving, and therefore required for eunuchs to settle the table in the White Crow Pavillion where he had a perfect sight of the blooming garden. Dismissing Jongdae curtly, the Emperor hissed for the maids to bring him more alcohol and dried plums to nibble on the help him alleviate the horrendous burning in his stomach.

His sordid coughing did not cease in its bitterness, splatters after splatters of vivid blood staining the silk, turning into a burning contrast of dying life against something already dead.

The Emperor lurched forwards suddenly, heaving for air as a fiery sensation spread wild and unfettered in his lungs and down his stomach, latching for his limbs. His frail hand fell against golden bowl filled with dry persimmon, the caustic noise breaking through the stale stillness of the Pavillion effortlessly.

As blood gushed through his parted mouth akin to plumes of black smoke rising from the fireplace, the maids shrieked in horror, screaming for help as their Lord came to his fall, death awaiting him with open arms.

Gliding down the hallways, feet but a mere kiss against the dark flooring as the gaudy silk falling down his frame trailed after him, the emollient hue of celadon complemented Jongdae’s fair velvet of skin. The palace was vast and hallways a vexed maze of ornated walls and intricate railings and absolutely breathtaking paintings that had Jongdae’s mind dizzy with the abundance and opulence of luscious gold decorating the pillars and everything around him.

Out of nowhere, a hand latched for his upper arm, gripping tightly for the sinewy muscle, and pulled him to the side through the white paper panels painted with an image of reed swinging on the wind which slammed shut upon Jongdae’s emerging into the closed off room. He found the proprietor of the hand staring at him arrantly and shamelessly, thick black brows furrowed in concentration as he gazed at visibly smaller form of Jongdae’s.

-”Your Lordship!” Jongdae gasped in his broken Chinese, quickly falling to his knees to bow in front of the Crown prince in front of him.

-”Do be over with the formalities, I have no time for them.” The Prince hissed, dismissing the matter with his elegant hand, his robes rustling as he quickly moved around the room. “Have you done what I requested?”

He inquired in a formal tone, the deep, emollient hue of his voice brushing against the brittle paper panels and dissipating in the stillness of the air.

-”Yes my Lord, the whole bag I was given. It is now only a matter of time. If the time has not come already.” Jongdae replied, gathering his robes and standing up in hurry to follow after the Prince who swiftly opened a door at the back of the room and escaped into the narrow hallway behind, disappearing behind the wall painted red, a shade akin to blood.

-”Will you grant me my freedom now?” Jongdae inquired, rushing after his Lord as the latter’s long legs swiftly marched over the wooden flooring, the hallway they were using clearly not used that often, it indicated by the lack of care for the chipping paint on the walls and lack of decoration on the walls.

-”Only if you have truly succeeded. If not...” The Crown Prince halted his steps, abruptly turning around to face the Bard. “Emperor’s army will have our heads. Quite literally, at that.”

Just the very thought of having his head separated from his body and the idea of death had Jongdae clutching for his robes as a sudden lurch of coldness overcame him and he lowered his head in reply, not daring to meet eyes with the Prince.

-”Where are you going, my Lord?” He asked, their feet making quiet noise in contrast to prior silence.

-”Somewhere where not even servants enter, a quiet and desolate place where we can talk freely. It is but too dangerous to dwell here for too long. These walls have ears themselves.”

Jongdae was afraid to inquire more and therefore satiated himself with the scarce information received, trailing after his lord like a little mouse feeding on his master’s shadow. The hallway took them through a very narrow and incredibly vexed passage through the palace, oftentimes requiring of them to climb up or down a flight of stairs, but in general seemingly retaining the same ground level. The hallway ended with barely noticeable door, them easily pushed open into what seemed to be an unkempt garden size of a very small room where only a few birds dwelled that flew away as soon as they emerged into it. The Crown prince closed the door with a nimble move of his refined hand as soon as Jongdae entered, startling the other man.

-”My Lo-”

-”Quiet.” Intercepted him the Crown prince. “Use my name here and no other mean to call me.”

Jongdae looked flabbergasted, mouth gaping open as he stared incredulously at his Lord, hawk like sharp eyes filling with palpable worry and mingling curiosity. Yet, despite that, he could not bring himself to utter the latter’s name so easily, not with the gnawing sense that it was simply wrong to address the other so informally.

-”My Lord, what nonsense are you speaking?” He asked, trailing after his Lord as he paced around the garden, clothed feet bending the grass under their will and the long layers of his gaudy robes falling prey to the protruding thorny branches emerging from the seemingly placid plants.

-”Only few know me by my name. You among them.” The Crown prince whispered, lips pulled into a tight, restrained smile.

“Wufan.” Jongdae breathed out breathlessly, head of silken locks falling to his chest as he bowed in front of his Lord, quietly spilling details of their plan.

*

Quiet was the boat as it swam over the river bathed in a familiar warm hues of orange cast by the war fires devouring the palace. Jongdae looked up towards the sight, emotionless like a painting and posture equally, morbidly still, as he watched unfazed the palace burning down. Their conspiracy was discovered before Crown prince could obtain the throne, leading to an all too predictable war for the golden seat of power located in the heart of the nest that was the palace.

-”Isn’t it beautiful?” Jongdae asked quietly Joonmyeon who wrapped the silken lapels of Jongdae’s robe back together as other’s head continued to stare at the wretched sight despite the painful angle it was in. “Yet sad. I wonder what the outcome will be.”

Joonmyeon wordlessly stared up, finishing with tying the thread around Jongdae’s waist and adjusting the robes to hide the Emperor’s love marks on Jongdae’s body, feeling the other involuntarily shiver in disgust when his fingers brushed them ghostly.

-”You are free now, leave all regrets to sink down into this river. We are going back home.”

Jongdae turned his head around, fire to his left atop the hill burning like a midnight sun, unfazed eyes staring right into Joonmyeon’s soul.

-”Home.” He whispered, pale, decadent fingers tracing butterfly touches over Joonmyeon’s cheek.