#pass baiyi onto him when he's a master

[mount-everwhite]

I've always seen it as the passing of the master's sword to the disciple when he became a master himself (this based on the idea that Rong Xuan was no longer there to earn it himself). But I love the idea of such a sentiment attached to it, that his idiot boy Rong Xuan was out there in a world he could no longer navigate and QHZ hopefully using it as a means to help him, expressing the desire of his master - brilliant!

Forgive me if you have explained elsewhere but why do you think Ye Baiyi was willing to part with the sword his beloved made him, and give it to Zhou Zishu’s master? Maybe they explain it in canon but emotionally I can only think that was devastating for him and he had to have some profound reason for doing so

I don't know if I saw it somewhere or if I headcanoned it but I think he gave it to Qin Huaizhang (ZZS's master) as a "thanks" for keeping an eye on Rong Xuan, so he valued the sword enough to know it'll protect "his boy". Rong Changqing was still alive then when the trade happened so Ye Baiyi had the real thing right there. Some headcanoned that Longbei was actually made for Ye Baiyi and Baiyi for RCQ so they always have the other at their side but that's just a cute headcanon. Either way, the Baiyi sword also started as a "sword with no name" and it's not clear when it earned Baiyi's name, if it was gifted to him by RCQ, if Ye Baiyi claimed it or if Qin Huaizhang named the sword after Ye Baiyi who gave it to him (meaning it was Baiyi protecting Rong Xuan if it came to it).

I love Ye Baiyi's story so complex and tragic and beautiful and we have so many gaps in it despite it being the driving force behind everything that happened in Word Of Honor ; ;

[pixelatte]

"Paint Peeling"

Summary: Zhou Zishu drinking and dining with his found family in the Si Ji Pavilion.

A/N: Haven't written in a while! Excuse the sloppiness (and the shit summary) because this is the product of 3 a.m. brain rot. Also, idk how to format text in the mobile app.

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The scent of sandalwood permeates the air as the curtains sway with the whispers of the late afternoon breeze. Zhou Zishu is reclining on a chair, immersed in meditation, when the door opens.

The sight that greets him is a familiar one; he knows that silhouette haloed by soft sunlight too well. Even if his vision has become a blur of colors, he can tell that its Wen Kexing. Nobody can swagger around with that much confidence but him.

Zhou Zishu squints a little, hoping to catch the details of Wen Kexing's refined features: the subtle lift of his lips as he smiles, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes as his pupils shine in happiness. But it is futile effort. Zhou Zishu cannot see, not to the extent that he wants to at least. He does not sigh but the urge to do so is there.

There is an abundance of affection in the other man's greeting. "A-Xu," Wen Kexing says, and immediately Zhou Zishu is glad that he can hear the voice that he loves so much.

Zhou Zishu shakes his head and huffs, crossing his arms. "What is it this time?"

There is a clink of ceramic. Another jar of wine.

"Let's drink," Wen Kexing suggests.

Wen Kexing's preferences are as exquisite as the man himself. Zhou Zishu does not confess that he cannot taste the alcohol anymore. That its quality is wasted on him, but Wen Kexing's enthusiasm compels him to swallow his disappointment.

Zhou Zishu glances at the window towards the smudges of orange and deep red. "Isn't it too early?" He cocks an eyebrow, curious.

"Coming from you?" Wen Kexing asks and then adds, "Never. It's never too early for you."

Zhou Zishu shrugs, his outer robe parting and falling off his left shoulder, but does not disagree. It is true, after all. He finds comfort in his routines, and sharing a drink with Wen Kexing is one of them. Besides, Wen Kexing has occupied the vacant seat adjacent to his. It is too late to refuse.

They are elbow-to-elbow and the heat radiating from Wen Kexing is soothing. He is blindsided by the desire to close the miniscule distance between them, but he does not. Instead, he settles for observing Wen Kexing as he pours for both of them.

As always, Wen Kexing serves him first.

Zhou Zishu raises his cup in a toast and Wen Kexing returns the gesture. The alcohol is gone in one gulp. There is a stinging sensation in Zhou Zishu's throat, but nothing registers on his tongue.

Wen Kexing comments, "it's good."

Usually, Zhou Zishu has an input on Wen Kexing's offering, but tonight, he stays silent.

Because of his reticent nature, Wen Kexing does not catch onto his facade. Then again, Wen Kexing is no fool. A martial artist of Wen Kexing's calibre must have noticed his symptoms. Aside from bleeding from his orifices, his recent dizzy spells have become so obvious that even Zhang Chengling - that ignorant, little idiot - has been throwing him worried glances.

If that is the case, then Wen Kexing may be as good of a pretender as Zhou Zishu is.

Wen Kexing takes his pause as a cue to continue. Between his sips, he rattles on and on about literature, dredging up obscure poetic references about star-crossed lovers. Of course, Zhou Zishu lets Wen Kexing drag him into the discussion, although he is less interested in the language of romance that Wen Kexing is fond of.

Neither of them is a lightweight, so Wen Kexing talks while Zhou Zishu listens, patiently and attentively. There are snatches of information that Wen Kexing discloses once in a while, and it is up to Zhou Zishu to collect them - random pieces of the puzzle that is Wen Kexing. Zhou Zishu does not have the complete picture yet, but he is willing to wait for Wen Kexing to open up his shuttered heart.

It is a dangerous gamble, Zhou Zishu thinks, but he has two years left to be with Wen Kexing, who claims himself to be other half of his soul. A pity because soulmates are rare in this world, and for them to meet under these circumstances is pure torture. However, it is also a blessing.

Zhou Zishu has spent his days slaughtering innocents in the name of an ambitious master, witnessing his sect crumble under the fruitless struggle for power, and drowning in the crushing weight of his guilt.

There is no atonement for him even in death, so he has decided to embed the nails onto his body as penance. He will not bow to the gods for absolution; he is not worthy. The effects of the punishment are his burdens to bear.

And yet, hope has blossomed in the form of Wen Kexing, Zhang Chengling, and that mysterious immortal, Ye Baiyi. Perhaps there is a chance for him to turn over a new leaf. He understands that there is no miracle cure all for his ailment, but they rely on him so much that their desperation is bleeding into him.

He wonders, how much is he willing to compromise and surrender so he can keep this family of his? Certainly, they are an unconventional trio, but they slot together seamlessly - as if their roads have been predestined to converge. The trials that they have endured must have been the price to pay for the slice of heaven that they have here in the Si Ji Pavilion. It comforts him that the ghost of his home has become their sanctuary.

Zhou Zishu does not realize that he has zoned out. The moment he emerges from his reverie, Wen Kexing is staring at him, in that straightforward manner of his. It is not without heat because Wen Kexing is passionate to the core, but there is a thread of dread there, barely breaking through the veneer of flirtatiousness.

Thankfully, there are footsteps on the patio to distract both of them.

"Shifu, shishu," Zhang Chengling salutes, "It's time for dinner." He does not enter without their permission, lingering outside and carrying a tray of food.

The brat's balance has improved, Zhou Zishu notes with satisfaction.

In between his martial arts training, Zhang Chengling has also learned how to cook under Wen Kexing's efficient tutelage. Zhou Zishu is a menace in the kitchen, piling chilis into the dishes that he whips up(1), much to Wen Kexing's and Zhang Chengling's mutual mortification. He has been banned from offending their delicate palettes and wasting ingredients ever since.

"Come in, come in," Wen Kexing orders, his sleeves fluttering as he ushers their disciple in.

'Their disciple,' Zhou Zishu repeats to himself, and he has to stop himself from inhaling too sharply. It is a sentiment that surprises him, even months after he has officially inducted Zhang Chengling as his first disciple. It is too surreal.

Zhang Chengling is setting their bowls and chopsticks, and arranging their meal on the table. In the beginning, he has floundered around with his errands, earning a reprimand from Wen Kexing here and there. Being a young master from a prestigious sect, learning these practical skills has not be a necessity for him. He is a reflection of Zhou Zishu's younger self, pampered and sheltered, the opposite of Wen Kexing's ruined childhood.

The bitterness of the opportunities lost between him and Wen Kexing is too potent, and his mask cracks for a second.

"A-Xu, what's wrong?" Wen Kexing inquires, and immediately Zhou Zishu hates how transparent he has become.

"Shifu?" Zhang Chengling echoes the concern in Wen Kexing's voice.

Zhou Zishu is frowning at them, but the sentiment behind it is one of tenderness. "I'll be fine," is what he settles for.

These days, he has been alternating between his physical and emotional pains, only to be soothed by their presence. He does not tell them that the nails are dulling his senses, but he does not hide the signs of his internal injuries anymore. He allows them to fuss over him until their nervous energy is spent. Strangely, it is a cathartic and therapeutic exercise for all of them.

Both Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling accept his admission, albeit with great reluctance. Neither of them pressure him for answers, and he is grateful for their consideration. None of them will betray the semblance of trust that they have established, regardless of the secrets that remain hidden.

When Zhang Chengling passes Zhou Zishu his portion, he is assailed by the scent of spices. Ah, what a filial child Zhang Chengling has become.

Meanwhile, Wen Kexing is tutting in distaste. He demands, "Why is the master being spoiled by the disciple?"

The thought of Wen Kexing's irritation over seasonings - seasonings, ha! - almost startles a laugh out of Zhou Zishu, but the wet rattle of blood in his chest prevents him from doing so. Instead, he grabs onto Wen Kexing's arm and squeezes it to pacify him. Wen Kexing wilts instantaneously, melting into the touch.

Zhou Zishu is not a tactile person, but he is aware of Wen Kexing's craving for constant contact. If it is the hand holding, the hair combing, the hugging that comforts Wen Kexing and chases the phantoms of his past away, then Zhou Zishu will indulge him.

Likewise, Zhang Chengling is so attuned to the fluctuations in their moods that he either leaves them to their own devices or wiggles himself into the embrace. The teen has become as shameless and ridiculous as Wen Kexing.

They fill the empty spaces of the Si Ji Pavilion with their activities, eclipsing the shadows of Zhou Zishu's discipline brothers and sisters. The nails are a curse - a permanent reminder of their sacrifice - but if Wen Kexing and Zhang Chengling can rouse him from his nightmares, then that is enough.

In his life that is as fragile as glass, Zhou Zishu is content.

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(1) Inspired by Zhang Zhehan's cooking. I saw a clip where he put so much chili and pepper that he ended up choking and coughing on the fumes. ZZH, the spicy child!