𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔥𝔢𝔫「 红颜祸水 & 锐不可挡 」|| ƒᴇʀᴀʟ x ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏsᴏғᴛ

[prettysoft]

A brief survey of the audience told Chao all she needed to know. Not a second more was spent eyeing Zhaoyang, but her inquisitive gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. There was a fine general addressing her, and Chao curtsied in acknowledgement. Why, for some inexplicable reason she pondered if the eldest commandant was angered by her presence? While it was not outwardly crystal clear that she despised both siblings and the general - one more than the other - her eyes focused on the prize. She flashed Zhaoyang a favorable smile, conspicuous enough, but she hoped Zhaoyang saw it. She wasn’t paying attention to her, but Zhaoyang fixed her face to scowl whenever she glanced over. She wanted her to see the disdain, but not at the cost of being discovered.

Hello to you, too. These muddy waters were ever changing, and when Chao earned a second to herself - one thing remained true. These were her enemies, even the hospitable General Wencheng, whose den was in need of a lighter touch and a colorful palette swap. Huiling rushed to bring a chair for her, and Chao batted her eyelashes and held her eyelids shut for a second longer. A place to sit in the general’s quarters? Not a seat at the table where friends and officials gathered, but a seat that wedged her foot into the general’s highly secured door. Less wedging, since the general invited her.

Chao coaxed her caboose down into the chair; loose green tea leaves steeping into the water floating with pretty petals. She pretended to be clueless, to not know why they called her up to the west wing as the general explained why he had summoned her. Doll-eyed, but with a glint of allure in her purple irises. She preferred to be quiet, though if she really wanted to, could be quite the talkative one. It appeared the general could use a friendly female face in his presence, though she guessed there was no shortage of ladies to wait on him. Wencheng’s kindness surpassed Zhaoyang and Kaixuans’s initial first impressions, but what sort of man he must be to raise the entitled litter to be as they were. There was warmth, however, that seduced Chao when she half-way froze to death in the bear cave. Yang-er, hm?Chao contemplated hurling that nickname at Zhaoyang sometime, in private. Her intuition told her that Zhaoyang’s previous temperament and hot-headed behavior was all a show, and that she would slink away unscathed by the commandant. The comforting way Zhaoyang embraced and supported her back in the cave was genuine, that connection couldn't be faked. Chao desired to remind Zhaoyang of that confusing time, but at a later date.

Now faced with an option - an option to decide for herself. A new path, smoothed over by her life-saving actions that night. Liberty? It was like a light at the end of the tunnel. Chao never wanted for such a thing, the thought never crossed her mind. Yet, Chao was inclined to ask for it. “Freedom…” She canvassed the room, before pausing to observe the general. ”Freedom to choose my own reward?” The words freedom struck a chord in the general's face; their gazes intruding upon one another. Though competent enough to be a physician or Zhaoyang’s lady-in-waiting, neither of those options appealed to the recently developed sense of individuality. “As you know, my chemistry with the commandant is undeniable. We make a wonderful team.” Chao emphasized chemistry, and glanced at Zhaoyang. "If she snags her silk, I can mend it - and if she requires a song to sleep peacefully, then I will sing her to sleep."

No longer could heathens burst into her room for any reason at all. She would be hard-pressed to admit that her time at the Shen’s estate hadn’t changed her for the better, that she was happy more often than not. Her metamorphosis from a murderous courtesan to a lady of respectable nature was in the works. Maybe, she could attempt to be a decent lady in waiting to Zhaoyang. Her life was anything but simple, but a change in occupation without the weighted expectations of sex or poetry might enrich her day. “I would be honored to be a lady-in-waiting to the revered Zhaoyang. Does she accept?”

 

[ƒeral]

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Chemistry? Undeniable? Wonderful team?! Zhaoyang’s jaw clenched so hard that her jawline visibly twitched. Despite her standoffish demeanor, it would be obvious to any onlooker that she and Wencheng shared a good relationship. Not necessarily close - neither of them were particularly the warm and fuzzy sort - but her commitment to her family was self-evident. With that in mind, she really, really hoped that father wasn’t getting any ideas. At twenty-eight, she should’ve wed half a decade ago. Han Shu’s pregnancy relieved some of the pressure on her shoulders, but this particular area absolutely remained something Wencheng and her did not see eye to eye on. That Chao was playing it up was not helping.

To his credit, Wencheng did not make the ultimate decision despite all of his probing. He could be pushy, but an 'entitled litter' only resulted from being given too much agency, right? And so, he simply shot Zhaoyang a look, the kind of look that said ‘it’s your call, but it would be rude to refuse at this juncture.’ Zhaoyang could care less about courtesy and pleasantries, but despite her ample misgivings about the former courtesan slash spy, an important detail that she certainly hasn’t forgotten, she found it…surprisingly difficult to say no to those disturbingly genuine lilac-grays. Which was just more reason to refuse, and yet…

“The wise teacher said that one should repay good with good,” because of course she had to quote an old dusty tome, “I will consider my obligation to you satisfied with this reward.” A simple yes was too hard. She offered a carefully neutral look to Chao, neither angry nor friendly, just tense. This whole conversation was unnerving, or maybe something about her new attendant was just throwing her off. “Excellent, it is decided then. Song Chao, I will additionally reward you with five bolts of silk from the finest tailor in the capital, as well as five golden yuanbao to assist with your acclimation into your new position.” Wencheng seemed exceptionally pleased with this outcome. “Now then, I have much to do, we will have to finish this game another time, Yang-er.” And, having gotten his way, he was now politely shooing his guests away. It was so typical that Zhaoyang could just barely resist a groan.

“As you wish, father,” but of course, certain appearances had to be kept, even in their relative privacy. Such was the price of nobility. She rose smoothly, adjusting the folds of her robes with a sweep of her left arm - that she was already comfortable using said arm was telling of her recovery. There was a pause, and she realized with a start that she had almost exclusively referred to Chao as ‘you’, usually with quite a bit of snark or accusation involved. “...Chao.” That was going to take getting used to, but she could afford to show a little grace for the coming days ahead. “Come, I will send men to fetch your belongings from the East Wing later.” Now that thought brought her a modicum of satisfaction. She wasn’t juvenile enough to engage in a tic-for-tac with Kaixuan, but the latter’s refusal to acknowledge his dishonorable behavior absolutely incensed Zhaoyang’s stick-in-the-mud tendencies. And now that she was quite literally snatching his latest preoccupation from under his nose, with a decree from their father no less, the tension between the two of them would only mount. Zhaoyang found that she did not care, not when he did not deny the bruises and yet would not make reparations for his behavior.

Excusing herself from General Wencheng’s abode, she made her way into the courtyard, towards the direction of the West Wing. There were a number of matters that required her attention, chief among which was that monstrous bear and what became of it. And yet, she found herself unable to focus on the far more important subjects, far too preoccupied with what to do with her current company. The first time she summoned Chao into a courtyard, she had nearly strangled the same woman in the name of interrogation. It had been winter then, howling gales and a frozen landscape painting a suitable scene. And now, beneath a shining sun and on a warm spring mid-afternoon, Zhaoyang found herself at a loss.

What do people usually say in these situations? Her expression was suitably detached, even as she struggled with the mundanity of…well, a conversation. “My wounds are much improved. Doctor Wenyan remarked that the utilization of monk root had been critical in that result.” That she circled back again to the same topic was telling of her deeply ingrained sense of honor. She cleared her throat before adding, “he said that I could have lost the arm.” Her tone was nonchalant, but for someone as invested in archery as her, that thought was almost unthinkable. “Whatever reason you might have had, you still have my gratitude.” Was this the world’s most long winded way to say thank you? Quite possibly. It was clear that ‘kind’ was not a look Zhaoyang knew how to wear, and so she settled for something closer to blank. “Given your remark on the freedom to choose your own reward…how about I allow you to choose your own room?” Of course, she wasn’t a gracious enough host to offer a tour of the West Wing to Chao herself. As soon as they made it back to her wing, Chao was summarily passed off to the nearest servant, whilst Zhaoyang proceeded to her study. There was paperwork she needed to tackle, matters of state for her review, a new lady-in-waiting was unexpected, but she wouldn’t allow it to interfere with her routine.

​

 

[prettysoft]

That Zhaoyang did not glare or violently push Chao to the doors she innocently came through, signaled a bellwether that old dogs can learn new tricks after all. Based on General Wencheng’s friendly disposition and honorable reward system, that one of his two children turned out well-disposed made sense. That his daughter shared in his rationale and good-natured mannerisms aligned with her new impression of Zhaoyang. In addition to her fresh, rightfully earned status as a royal attendant to Zhaoyang, the general granted her more silk in which to have elegant outfits sewn that would be worthy of Zhaoyang’s attendant. To act indifferent in the face of hospitality and kindness… Well, not even Chao could achieve such a feat. Her assigned occupation in the Shen estates worked to her advantage, and she expressed that with a subtle bend of the knees. Climbing the tightly guarded ranks in the noble, military family in a short span of time was more than Chao hoped for, and she planned to send word to the capitol when deemed safe. Her head dipped at a slight angle; a wordless acknowledgement to General Wencheng and Zhaoyang. She was thankful that she was dressed beautifully in the presence of her superiors, and prayed that one of them could be bewitched to forgive her when the time arrived.

Chao stood up straight; reading the cue that the General offered as their surprisingly gentle boot from his game room. Her eyelids lifted in brief shock - that the commandant spoke her name at all stunned her existence. It sickened her, the way her mouth parted in disbelief that Zhaoyang behaved in an amicable way. To see that the commandant regained mobility in the once cursed arm validated her in her medicinal skills. That, if she weren’t a spy and assassin - that her knowledge could be put to better use. She briskly walked to catch up with Zhaoyang, Huiling closing the door after them.

The once calloused and mute commandant had undergone her own change, and Chao viewed Zhaoyang under a new light. The sunlight, and the defrosted trees sprouting with bulbs and blossoms put a new perspective on her link with Zhaoyang. It begged the question - would she finally administer the antidote to her poisoned blood? Chao flattened her hand to the side of her thigh, scraping her nails over the painted silk and tensing. “Saving your life was never a question, Zhaoyang.” Chao said, lids lowering as she browsed the commandant’s expression out of her peripheral. No confrontation? No bumping heads? Chao’s bosom rose as she pulled air into her lungs and Zhaoyang relayed her next message.

My own room? Here I thought we would be sharing one together. Chao’s indignation was constant, but the commandant’s kind tone suggested she wasn’t in the mood to be mean. Hence, why Chao kept her thoughts close. A stepping stone in their endless pond to nowhere, or a destination filled with blood, and mistrust. To no one’s shock, Zhaoyang left Chao with a servant, but Chao seized the moment to make a meaningful selection, one that should be based on leisure, but quite the opposite. She chose a room in a small Houzhaofang western to the main estate. She felt a natural feng shui to the room, but mostly just liked that there was a window providing an easy means of escape. But, her old living situation in the erfang needed addressing. The real Song Chao’s diary, along with her mini-hanfu was hidden away in a secret compartment, incriminating evidence if she ever thought of it! Chao made haste of the corridors and garden path leading up to her room, practically pulling the screen door off the frame. A puff of air escaped her lungs when her lilac irises landed on the hunched over form of Mistress Fa standing in the middle of her room.

“Song Chao.” Mistress Fa spoke Chao’s name as if an omen or hex was attached to it - there was no warm welcome to cut the ice from her strained voice. A harsh edge and deep seated wrinkles crowned her heavily hooded eyes. “Did you really believe that I would not learn your true identity? You are nothing more than a pitiful imposter. I could have you executed, you know.”

Common sense governed Chao’s next movements, as she entered her bedroom and sealed the door behind her back. “Mistress Fa!” She yelped her enthusiasm, unlike her visitor whose disappointment was clear as day. The accusations caught her off guard, but there was a calm in the way she addressed her. “You are blind - How can you confirm that I am an imposter?” She concealed her true worries, that her heart beat in its ribcage like a bee trapped in a jar.

“For your masterful deception I will not throw you to the wolves, but there is one thing you will do for me.” Mistress Fa chuckled nonchalantly, expecting the courtesan to be shaken by her revelations. To humor Chao with an explanation was laughable.“That you believe you are anything more than a puppet is comical. You are no courtesan, and you should count yourself fortunate my bear spared your life.”

A sharp gasp fled Chao’s quivering lips. Genuinely shaken, Chao wondered what the circumstances for Mistress Fa’s visit were and if she intended to earn a spot on the Qin’s shitlist. “That was your doing, was it?” Chao sneered and glared fiercely; sweeping her long sleeve over her hips and boldly stepping to the blind woman. “Consider what you are doing. You are too haggard to be of any use to my General, but it won’t be pretty for your girls. A battalion of ravenous men, is this what you want for them?” Truth be told, it wasn’t what Chao wanted for them either, and she was at a loss for words. Whose side was she on? “Leave this instant.”

Mistress Fa muttered angrily, condemning and blaming Chao - calling her all sorts of devils and whores. Chao’s backside remained to the door, and Mistress Fa left the way she arrived. She dropped to her knees, drained, yet undefeated. With a moment to herself, Chao plucked the floorboard to reveal... The secret compartment had been ransacked, everything was gone. Chao clutched her hands to her abdomen, the room spinning. No! Only a few entries were written by Chao, but the loss stung. Mistress Fa played a dangerous game, one that she was going to lose.

Absolutely fucked, Chao buried her face into her delicate sleeves, contemplating chasing the senior. She made the decision to stay in place, to remain at the estate and return to her unfurnished bedroom in the Houzhaofang. The doleful lady-in-waiting passed out for a few hours, awoken to the creaking of the floor boards as servants brought in her decorations and furniture.

 

[ƒeral]

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Commandant. Zhaoyao clamped her teeth together, biting the immediate rebuke back. While she valued talent over social status, the military was inherently hierarchical. Titles earned with blood and sweat were worn proudly, and besides, it was plainly disrespectful for a courtesan to use her superior’s given name. Lady-in-waiting. She mentally corrected. Hers, to be precise, and she supposed that merited some latitude. But mostly, she just wasn’t in the mood to provoke a fight. Their narrow encounter with the monstrosity had certainly painted Chao in a new light, and Zhaoyang wasn’t quick to forget to whom she owed gratitude. Instead, she simply offered a terse nod, led the way to the West Wing, then made herself scarce.

​

“The Commandant does not allow for assistance with her attire and ablution.” Like most other ancient houses, the House of Shen had no shortage of servants and training in place to instruct said servants. It was scarcely a bell’s toll past sunrise, and already a fleet of servants had already come and went. Some, to introduce themselves, polite as can be. Others, just to sate their curiosity, having not yet had the pleasure to meet the already infamous Song Chao. The present speaker, a matronly woman in her early fifties, had other tasks at hand. Namely, to attempt to ensure that the new lady-in-waiting didn’t get disciplined on her first day.

“You do not need to trouble yourself with her meals or other basic necessities, we have a system in place for that.” A well-oiled machine, now with a new cog in play. Wherever would Chao fit? “She generally does not like being disturbed in her study.” That was every other sentence by this point. Surely the politest way to say that Zhaoyang wanted everyone to get the fuck out of her general vicinity. “But,” there was a pause, The elderly servant gave Chao a look that verged on concern, before adding, “it is a lady-in-waiting’s duty to assist with putting scrolls away, washing her ink brushes, and so on, and so forth.” All tasks that naturally must take place in said study, which had just been described as a ‘do-not-disturb’ zone.

She looked like she was on the verge of saying something else, before changing course, “I wish you a bright future.” Read: don’t die on day one.

​

“Ah, Song Chao, excellent timing!” A nervous looking middle-aged man waylaid Chao mid-route to the study. Judging from the way he wore his hair and the medicinal smell lingering on his clothing, this one was likely a doctor. “We haven’t met, I am Wenyan.” He remembered his manners halfway through, introducing himself. “I told the Commandant that her arm wasn’t well enough to practice yet. But, as always, she simply does as she pleases.” His whiskers were practically floating from how hard he puffed, clearly irate. “I have heard that you have some skills in medicine.” At that, he nodded approvingly. “Here,” he thrust a bundle of herbs, bandages, and other assorted supplies at Chao. “Perhaps she would be more receptive to you, heavens know that her stubbornness knows no bounds.”

He was right, of courses, as doctors often were. However, Zhaoyang did not regret her decision. It was often said that repetition was the key to mastery, and she would be damned if she missed her morning practice two days in a row. Out of consideration for her injury, she went easier than usual, but that blood seeped from the bandages demonstrated that easy did not suffice. At present, she sat before her kang table, penning a response to a report laid out before her. Having just come back from the practice yard, she smelled faintly of fresh sweat and was clad far less formally than usual. A simple black robe was belted at the waist, the cropped sleeves intended for freedom of movement. Bandages peaked out from beneath the hem of the sleeves, more red than white.​

 

[prettysoft]

​

The introduction to her new status as lady-in-waiting continued painlessly and without incident into the next day. She acclimated to her appointed tasks, half-listening to and humming through the speeches with adequate timing to the mundane conversations. Great. Her new job entailed doing her best not to piss Zhaoyang off, which Chao actively failed at. Being a lady-in-waiting to a woman who seemingly wants for nothing and depends on no one, was harder than it sounds. Said tasks were more like rules and commandments, a clear guideline so that her presence did the minimal amount of damage to the servants' efficient system. So I won’t lift a finger, dust or clean up after her. Cooking her meals is out of the question. Doing that left her with more free time than being a courtesan ever afforded her, and more time to spy on the Shen’s loyal subjects. After learning that undressing the commandant was not on anyone’s agenda, she humored herself with the idea that she could be the one to change her mind and see her in the buff. To see the agile dire wolf without its cloak and chest plate would surely be an honor. The steamy picture in her head intruded on her normal thoughts, at random moments when she should have been pondering important matters relating to the serious mission at hand. But, Zhaoyang wandered into her mind more than she liked to admit. It was either the former, or the scheming and miserable sorceress Mistress Fa that clouded her compromised judgment.

The blind hag saw through her disguise and the only way to shut her up was a hefty reward. Recently, Chao gained a small fortune and found a better use for it. It was before the dawn of a new day, when everyone in the Shen estates slept and Chao slipped into the shadows unnoticed. She was no more than a fly on a wall, and returned with a lighter conscience and clearer head. The five silk bolts awarded to Chao were promptly delivered to Mistress Fa - in exchange to keep their relationship confidential and her (temporary) silence about impersonating the imperial courtesan. Mistress Fa was an artfully crafted hanfu, an unraveling fabric that needed mending, or a loose thread that only needed to be snipped before the whole piece was unrecognizable to them both. Fa’s strength was in her perceptive and wise nature, she knew that anything from the Shen estate was of high value and one of a kind. Chao hoped by exercising patience with the woman, that her karma may be balanced. The messy solution was to follow through with her threat. Thankfully, Fa graciously accepted her silk bolts with pity in her eyes. For now, she was off the hook, and almost finished with her work day.

Floral print clogs tapped upon the garden stones as she transitioned onto the polished wood. On a familiar path to the study, Chao half-lifted her head to the impending footsteps happening her way. A man that spoke with respect and smelled of mint and alcohol. Chao judged the medicine man as he explained himself. She bowed her head in understanding, confidence as she rose at the waist. “Then it is fortunate that I have arrived. How can I help?” The doctor shoved the basket into her arms, and Chao raised it up to analyze its contents. “Leave it to me.” Chao heartily smiled at Wenyan, and continued on her merry way.

Crossing the threshold into Zhaoyang’s study, her chin pointed down in modesty. Chao immediately noted her style of dress to be lax and loose - not so loose that Zhaoyang’s silhouette drowned in the black robes, but that the minimal drapery and plating painted an alluring picture. She fancied the way the sweat trickled down her biceps and forearms, but recalled the doctor’s plea for help to get her take it easy. Progressing toward the kang table, she looked closely at the commandant’s arm and the bloodied bandages. It was all she could notice, though seconds before she fixated on how stunning she looked coated in sweat.

“Commandant, I have specific orders to see to it that your arm does not suffer at your hands.” Chao smiled prettily, as if her insolence was a desirable trait to have in a lady-in-waiting or doctor. Bending at the knees, Chao placed the medicine basket on the ground; her yellow-orange sleeves sweeping upwards as she scooped up the ink bottle and set it on the mantle with the bonsai. Her wrists and hands were engulfed in the wing-like sleeves as she crouched down to fish through the bundle of Wenyen’s supplies. Scissors, to cut the bandages free. “If you will not take it easy, then this arm will not heal.” She said, in an all-knowing tone and a persistent waggle of her finger. “What were you up to, anyway? Your muscles are warmed up.” Chao's hands drifted over the bandages, her touch cold compared to the heat of Zhaoyang's skin. Two swift snips and Chao crumpled the cloth into her hands for disposal. She leaned over, assessing the damages and pleased with the healing progress. "Imagine how nicely this would heal if you mind the physician. Maybe it is not physical healing that you need." Chao murmured, as she pushed Zhaoyang's sleeve up and out of her way.

 

[ƒeral]

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Was Zhaoyang surprised to see Chao? Not really. The bold spy was quite unlike any other woman she was accustomed to. Despite having been threatened in great overabundance & suspended within an inch of her life, Chao rivaled the proverbial newborn calf in foolhardiness - seemingly unafraid while staring down fanged predators. No, Chao was a way even beyond that. She appeared to derive amusement from prodding at Zhaoyang, as if tempting the mercurial noble to snap. So much so, in fact, that the dire wolf accustomed to servility and dread faltered. Zhaoyang was quiet for a time, pausing her writing to stare at Chao. Because who in this entire estate dared to speak to her in such a manner? And, where another servant would have immediately prostrated him or herself beneath that frosty gaze, Chao just kind of…plodded along.

“Did Wenyan put you up to this?” It needn't be asked; the answer was obvious. She asked anyway, mostly to make conversation. It wasn’t that she wanted to talk to the uppity woman, but because she wasn’t ready to kick Chao out quite yet, and staying mute in the face of such insolence was unbecoming. As for why her tone wasn’t quite as biting as it could have been, well, obviously that was just her being a gracious lord. The good general-- Zhaoyang forgot the rest of that quote, swallowing down a hiss.

It didn’t hurt; Chao was clearly practiced at this. What had Zhaoyang falling silent again was the liberty her brand new lady-in-waiting took. Not waiting for a command, not even for permission, Chao just marched right ahead like she owned the place. That should annoy her. A recent upgrade in status notwithstanding, a subordinate ought to be deferential and demure before her lord. It should annoy her, but instead, she found herself distracted by the innocent touch. Because much as no one within these walls dared to snark at her, the mere thought of unwanted physical contact - any physical contact, really - with the glacial Commandant would probably be enough to cause an anxious soul to faint.

Zhaoyang, by and large, disliked people. Enjoying touching other people was so far out of the realm of possibility that she didn’t even know what to do with the idea. And so, that idea was neatly folded like her many somber-colored robes and safely tucked away in the same way she might sheath a blade. Only, unlike her well-maintained weapons, which she often revisited, this thought was clearly marked for ‘never’. “Morning training,” she grumbled out the terse response, redirecting her gaze back to the scroll she meant to pen. Out of sight, out of mind. Or something along those lines. Except her ink brush remained hovering above the parchment, as she found her earlier train of thought lost in some other dimension.

“It appears to be healing regardless,” she scoffed at the idea of anything to the contrary. “Enduring deepening pain is the path to ascension.” The scholar who said that probably didn’t mean it in this context, but Zhaoyang was very much the type that knew better and argued anyway. One might even say that agreeable was not a word in her vocabulary. “Although,” she finally set her brush down, turning half way to capture Chao’s wrist with her right hand, her grip warm on account of time well-spent at the practice yards. “That rather unfortunate encounter with the bear yielded something useful. As it turns out, your chi is shockingly compatible with mine.” Despite finding the idea of training with someone else distasteful, Zhaoyang was obsessed with martial arts enough that she would never pass up any opportunities for faster advancement.

“You will add meditating with me to your list of duties.” Decreeing suited her much more, and this - taking control of the situation and effectuating her terms - came naturally. Barking out orders was decidedly preferable to navigating the very confusing sentiments Chao stirred in her. “On that note, from now on, other than from my Father, you take orders from no one but me.” Not Wenyan, and most certainly not Kaixuan. She was not being petty, nor territorial. This was her turf, and Chao was now her direct subordinate. This was merely a matter of pride. As for why she continued to not hate Chao's proximity, well, because, uhm, she loved martial arts and Chao could be of assistance with that... ??​

 

[prettysoft]

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Chao acted according to her status, within reason, being that Zhaoyang was suspiciously more attractive after saving her life and allowing a sliver of kindness to peek through. Adding onto the fact that Chao was dangerously close to getting under Zhaoyang’s skin, yet her superior held back the edge and authority that Chao was accustomed to whenever she toed over the line that was her designated station. The charade of being an imperial spy, a courtesan and a lady-in-waiting was plenty to keep her basket full, but Zhaoyang was shockingly cordial with her and seemed to be mellowed out - likely from exercise. Though she appeared courageous, Zhaoyang’s manner of speaking disturbed her. Clearly the first born commandant intended to showcase just how capable she is in any and all matters, especially after being forced to hide out from the cursed bear with her. Although Zhaoyang acted casually; Chao sensed the unease beneath their robes but she masked it well. The physician shoving his responsibilities onto her was a meaty bone, because Zhaoyang was unapproachable otherwise, but he wasn’t her superior. She didn’t consider it a mistake, because she wasn’t afraid of being reprimanded. Tending to her commandant’s wounds, and in the future, meditation would provide a right to access, so to speak - to all the Wei secrets. From where Chao was seated, the commandant wasn’t in a rush to be rid of her. She relaxed with the idea that Zhaoyang’s ability to sympathize with her could create new outcomes for her, elevate her to a new status where she did not have to take orders from any one woman or man.

That sounds like a step in the right direction. So, she would meditate, and dress her wounds as she was advised. In retrospect, Chao had taken too many liberties and could see Zhaoyang’s hand moving in slow motion and her strong and agile digits capturing her skinny wrist. Chills raced up her spine, and it reminded Chao that she was not a spineless creature, though she felt it. She had successfully redirected her blows and gone toe to toe - fist to fist with the Wei commandant and yet, the rosy hues infused into her collagen rich and youthful skin indicated she was interested in more than just trading blows. The hold was escapable, but Chao maintained the smug smile on her plump lips.

“Yes, Commandant Zhaoyang…”

Chao’s ambitious and free-hand landed over Zhaoyang’s parchment and she prayed the ink had dried, sliding it to the side. “But, when it pertains to matters of your health, then I will do what is necessary.” Chao’s sense of danger was heightened by her blatant disregard for orders, but it thrilled her in the same way that sparring might excite a seasoned warrior. Fear wasn’t in her vocabulary, but danger was her favorite word. As if in familiar territory, Chao seized Zhaoyang’s wrist and forcibly connected her breasts with Zhaoyang’s frontside, and her chi rejoiced as it drifted up and into the commandant’s. “Stay still.”

 

[ƒeral]

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---

Yes, Commandant Zhaoyang. That was the expected response, the proper response. Before Zhaoyang could so much as marvel at how Chao was listening for once in her lifetime, the uppity lady-in-waiting was quick to dispel any misconceptions. Zhaoyang might have sighed or frowned - maybe both - at the unsurprising disobedience, but she didn’t get that far. Because see, this was why she typically left disciplining to her retinue of servants. There was no risk in those scenarios of proximity. Worse, of an impossibly soft and malleable body squishing into her, close enough that she was at risk of drowning in the woman’s preferred fragrance. Zhaoyang froze, shock-still but for the widening of her eyes, entirely unprepared for the strange way she reacted to Chao’s adjacency. The steady thrum of her heart spiked to a tempo usually obtainable only at the end of an arduous sprint, but it was her mind which committed the most unspeakable treachery - she could vividly recall that night about a week prior, when she had hastily demanded Chao to strip whilst in pursuit of the masked assailant. The imagery of what was now pressed against her had her inhaling sharply to no avail, and for a second, she entertained the most absurd of thoughts. Running.

But no. Never mind the fact that the very notion of cowardice offended her, this was her study. One does not retreat from one’s own quarters (yes, of course she slept here on more than one occasion, what of it). She caught the scroll pushed aside by Chao in her peripheral vision, and, much like how a drowning man might grasp at straws, she fixated upon the same as her remedial action. “Now look what you’ve done,” jabbing at the rice paper, she glowered at where the ink had smudged as though the gravest of sin had been committed. Shifting her weight to a knee, she pivoted away from the awfully intimate arrangement, breathing easier with some sorely needed distance between their bodies. Retreat was still an option, but that felt like losing. And if there were anything Zhaoyang hated more than touching other people, it was losing.

As such, she flexed her fingers around Chao’s wrist, as if to cement her authority, before wrenching her other hand free with laughable ease. Adjusting her position such that she was seated behind Chao rather than face to face, she tried to ignore the burn creeping up her cheeks in favor of ensuring that the timbre of her voice did not deviate from the norm. “You will rectify your mistake immediately. I expect an impeccable copy of what I’ve penned thus far, sans this unsightly blot.” It was easier said than done, being that just about everyone had their own styles when it came to calligraphy. Take Zhaoyang’s, for example, her rows and columns were orderly and precise, unsurprisingly, but the font itself was more unrestrained than might be expected. Her brushstrokes spoke of power and fervor rather than the immaculate elegance of a more courtly script. In short, difficult to copy. “In fact, you are not leaving until I am satisfied with the results.” Finally relinquishing her hold upon Chao’s wrist, she pulled a blank parchment over, square and center. There. Who's flustered? Zhaoyang? Absurd.​

 

[prettysoft]

​

Chao’s snow globe irises lit up for all of a fleeting moment as the indestructible and tyrannical Commandant Zhaoyang folded to her touch, like an aversion to cold water. Chao subtly smirked as Zhaoyang's body melded into her own. The commandant appeared nervous, which was a peculiar sight to see for someone so composed. Zhaoyang was forged in the kiln of Shen, heralded by all as a fearsome warrior, a champion for valor and strength. The thrum of her muscles and the irregular heartbeat pressed to her bosom said all, but that. Were Chao’s cool fingertips too much for the commandant? Perhaps it was the familiar scent of goji berries tickling her senses, or any number of wrongdoings that Chao often committed. In Chao’s view, Zhaoyang acted as if she may infect her like a deadly pox sweeping through the palace and wanted nothing more than to distance herself - if only for a split second. Her once inviting and caressing chi shriveled up, a mockery of what they allegedly shared in the cave. Where Chao’s lips should have twisted into something resembling displeasure and offense, Chao locked in on the commandment as if a snake in the grass; trailing a dire wolf too large for her to take down with brute force.

Her digits tensed around Zhaoyang’s wrist, a lighter touch than the commandant ever afforded her in their earlier days. The commandant tolerated Chao’s brazen lack of disrespect, to a degree that baffled the secretary and her mischievous demeanor blurred into one of sympathy, all of which went away when the commandant brought her attention back to the parchment blotted with ink. Chao’s pout quivered for all of two seconds, her knuckles in her free hand whitening as she made a fist around nothing, and Zhaoyang stood behind her after brushing her hold off so easily that it was comical. Comical for anyone watching, that is. It is just a smudge. The tiny splash of ink was no more than a blemish; a freckle on the skin, if that. Chao did not outwardly oppose the direction of their meeting, but an intrusive memory brought back her younger years in General Taiji’s camp, attending lessons on calligraphy with her peers. Her penmanship was lauded as the weaker of her comrades and she practiced day and night until she reached perfection. It was sifu Aiguo standing over her shoulder, tapping her with the tip of her cane as Chao dozed off while drawing sloppy brush strokes on her parchment. Chao was once a trouble maker, someone with an air of unseriousness. Not much had changed. It was her ambition to excel and determination to be better than the rest that astonished her teacher, and later the commandants of the Qin. She was not going to make-believe that she could replicate Zhaoyang’s calligraphy down to the letter, but could try. And she worked best under pressure, so Zhaoyang’s breath rustling her plum colored tresses had little effect on her, only that it sounded good behind her.

Chao tucked her loose, flowing sleeves and smoothed the silk down her forearms, preventing any future mishaps with the ink. She dabbed, no, lightly dipped the xuan brush into the vial and the brush fibers filled with black liquid. She approached the parchment and pressed delicately with the tip; rich and dark ink soaking into the parchment. She moved with caution, like she had all the time in the world to complete the somewhat daunting task. Zhaoyang lingered behind her for the time being, and Chao’s ears reddened as she neared the end of the scroll. “Practically indistinguishable from the real thing, yes?” Chao placed her hands onto the desk, batting her lengthy eyelashes dramatically. "My liege, are you satisfied with my performance today?"

 

[ƒeral]

---

---

Indestructible - or at least as close to it as possible - was one of the most prized qualities in a weapon. Much as she cherished her hefty Xuantie bow, Zhaoyang aspired towards the same aspect in her own nature. To be as sturdy as the oak tree, clinging tenaciously to earth with its many roots. To be as durable as the great bell atop the famed monastery, ringing with resonant depth and utterly uncrackable. But, and perhaps this was where it all went wrong, the most enduring of weapons were not only tough, but they were supple. Even the gleaming edge of steel must be capable of some give and take, lest the metal snap at the first vigorous impact.

For a woman who preferred a comparison to weapons rather than silks, Zhaoyang was…absolutely terrible at this ‘bending’ business. Oh, she knew the value of strategic retreat of course; that came with the territory of commanding battalions of archers. But in anything other than military feats, she was stubborn, intractable, more ornery than the proverbial bull. And, and, if that wasn’t already bad enough, Chao’s very existence was practically the antithesis of her zen garden. Despite both being lovely - and smelling good, goddammit why does her mind keep generating these completely unnecessary and unhelpful details?! - it was like Chao existed to trample whatever sense of calm and peace Zhaoyang could muster.

That was not to say that there was nothing left of her icy demeanor - actually, the comparison between herself and a block of ice was more fitting than ever, with how stiff she currently presented. Rigid though she might be in her attitude, Zhaoyang always carried herself with the fluid grace of a skilled martial artist. A fluidity entirely absent as she stood steely as a broadsword behind Chao. Her substantial height advantage meant that she had a top down view of Chao’s attempt at mimicry. Which was definitely what she was scrutinizing. The calligraphy. Not the swan-like neck partially concealed in orchid and velour, the exquisite slope of trapezius leading towards the shoulders. Chao’s skin, devoid of powder, was somehow finer than fresh fallen snow and -- well, it really wasn’t that reminiscent of the wafer-like skin of a steaming pork bun but... If not, why did she kind of want to bite it??

Her conundrum came to an abrupt end when Chao spoke again, calling to attention the fact that she had completed her assigned task. Which Zhaoyang would have definitely noticed if she had been paying attention, but alas. She could pretend, at least. “I’m not displeased.” She hmph’ed, unwilling to indulge Chao’s insistence on praising herself. “For your first attempt, it is…better than anticipated.” Now that she had time to actually squint at the characters, even Zhaoyang had to admit that Chao’s brushwork was quite impressive. There lacked a certain strength underlying the strokes, but the boldness was conveyed in spades. More than adequate to call it quits here, even for her strict standards. Except there was a teeny tiny problem. Put succinctly, she wasn’t ready to call it quit. “Let’s try it once more,” before she could think better of it, she already had a hand around the back of Chao’s, gripping far more gently than before. “This time, I shall show you.” Guiding rather than compelling back to the inkbrush, her fingers outlined Chao’s as she pulled a fresh parchment over and began to demonstrate her preferred technique. Her chin was practically tucked over Chao’s shoulder, hovering with enough proximity to be considered inappropriate between lord and vessel when--

“Commandant!” A very out of breath soldier burst through the door, clad in the camouflaging colors preferred by scouts. Zhaoyang tensed, smearing the parchment in her discomfiture, realizing precisely how this looked now witha newcomer on the scene. Which was just the completely incorrect conclusion! She was not holding Chao. This was merely a matter of ensuring that Chao’s calligraphy was up to par. That the soldier respectfully lowered his gaze was simultaneously better and worse, because Zhaoyang’s keen gaze did not fail to note the doubletake, like the man had thought she was Kaixuan for a second there. The truth that this kind of behavior was most certainly more in Kaixuan’s wheelhouse than hers annoyed her more than she cared to admit. Instead, she simply frowned and barked out a terse “report”, all the while subtly easing herself backwards so she wasn’t quite literally shadowing Chao.

“Beichuan, Laochuan, and Xinchuan villages are under attack,” the scout platoon chief knelt, snapping out of his surprise into well-trained military discipline. “At least five dozen Qin steeds heading towards each, perhaps more. The information available does not suggest a full frontal offensive, but rather raids. The perimeter troops are already mobilizing towards Laochuan and Xinchuan and should be there to meet the enemy head on, but,” and of course there was as but, because Qin raids were nothing unusual, but rather a sigh-inducing certainty now that winter had passed. “My men report that Luyin rides at the forefront of the mounted battalion heading towards Beichuan; Colonel Zhongde requests immediate assistance.” That made Zhaoyang sneer. Luyin was a familiar name, a renowned swordmaster who was as good at dueling as he was at fleeing. Meaning, an old foe that had evaded her wrath one time too many.

“Very well,” She raised her voice, allowing it to carry, and addressed the servants that nervously waited by the door. “Ready my horse, I will meet the Colonel swifter than the northern wind." Before Chao could get a word in, assuming she were so inclined, Zhaoyang was already speeding out of her study, freshly dressed injury be damned.
​

 

[prettysoft]

The praise was long overdue, and Chao expected nothing less than what Zhaoyang doled out - it seemed the commandant prided herself on being…immune. Immune to her wicked smile and girlish charm, the pleasant entertainment that she could offer a lord like Zhaoyang. Chao contained her next exhalations and stilled as if paralyzed by the closeness of Zhaoyang’s chin to the dip between her shoulder and neck. It was a queer way for an overseer to treat her secretary, but sensed that Zhaoyang wasn’t immune to her flowery fragrances and soft skin after all. Her confusing patterns were a paragon as to why a woman like Chao needed to enter the fortress and dismantle the Wei military family once and for all. Actually, it pulled a heartstring she hadn’t been aware of until now, and dare she admit, but Zhaoyang had grown on her. She was confident, but the training she received did not prepare her for Zhaoyang’s hand laying over her own. One could not forget that commandant Zhaoyang alone held the elixir to the toxins poisoning her over time, and the outcomes of her fate were still undecided by the commandant. Knowing this, it didn’t feel any less pleasurable to be close to her again, to be nearly wrapped up in her arms. The secretary obeyed, least out of fear but to observe Zhaoyang in this state where her guard was lowered enough to see her for who she could be. A committed pupil, Chao ached to know what came next for the two of them, but the scout entered without so much as a knock or pre-announcement, distracting Zhaoyang to the point of being indiscreet. The soldier was none the wiser, and Chao huffed inaudibly to herself.

Chao knew the best way not to misstep was to make herself scarce, and being tied up between Zhaoyang and the messenger - there was nowhere to go. Her ears tensed as he relayed the information to Zhaoyang, and it was good news to hear that the Qin were gaining momentum in the Wei territories; conflicted as she was about neighboring villagers being captured. If Luyin was leading there were sure to be more bloodshed than necessary, even by war standards. Mindful that she was under the scrutiny of servants and soldiers, she slanted her head in respect. The loss of Wei land and lives was a tragedy; her worst nightmare even. Chao conveyed to the room her humanity, but they glossed over her as as if a lily in vase. That was for the best. She left feeling her worst; turning up empty handed but walking away with the knowledge that the Shen’s were vulnerable. With the most level-headed and sensible one off to battle, there was no one to protect them but the guards. The thought panicked instead of excited Chao, but she meditated on what her next move should be.

---

At the forefront of the march into Beichuan, a line of militia with shields and long swords advanced on the frightened civilians. Beyond that, crossbow men with gunpowder arrows. General Luyin rose above the heads of his convoy, towering over the tallest man. His blackened indigo armor and long robes were a signature, as well as the dadao the size of a small human tied to his muscular back. It should have weighed him and his horse down, but neither broke a sweat carrying the extra weight. The one handed cleaver was inconsequential to him, his enormous build quite unlike anyone else in the land. The burning fires made for an arid atmosphere and Chao could not see through the smoke, but from her perch in the trees she saw their chis and one or two others in stealth on the low tiered rooftops. The fabled swordsman Luyin is said to have killed one hundred Wei footmen with his final remaining arrow, and Chao knew him to be a formidable foe through the rumors of his conquests. He was the illustration of a hardened warrior; a mature scar stretched diagonally over his eyelid and extending to his brow bone. His permanent scowl presented him as an angry man, someone not to be trifled with. He didn't so much as fidget when a villager's cry echoed somewhere in the forests. Though the Qin had done minimal damage to Beichuan, Luyin and the rest of his forces broke through a line of villagers wielding farmers tools.

 

[ƒeral]

The familiar weight of her golden-bronze lamellar armor provided a modicum of comfort in these troubled times. It was easy for the idiots cowering within the imperial capital to denounce the Shens in peacetime, to claim that they have grown ambitious with military prestige and avaricious with coffers fattened with the spoils of war. Those who grew up accustomed to the scent of incense and perfume could never understand those immersed in iron and bloodshed. Being unfairly impugned offended every last marrow in her body, though Zhaoyang could not profess to hate the imperial spy (or so she thought) sent to scrutinize her every move. Chao…annoyed her less recently. She chewed on the strange thought as she rode silently towards Beichuan. The asinine barking of imperial dogs notwithstanding, Zhaoyang was sworn to her countrymen. Qin would not tremple her turf unimpeded whilst she still drew breath.

As she drew closer to Beichuan, it became apparent that the circumstances were more dire than she first anticipated. A badly injured rider crossed her path two-thirds of the way there, bringing harrowing news - that the Qin riders had been nothing but a distraction while the main forces flanked from the side, that Luyin’s forces numbered in the hundreds rather than the initially suspected five dozen, and that Colonel Zhongde’s battalion had been decimated, with the Colonel’s present whereabouts unaccounted for.

Zhaoyang’s brows knitted deeper with every word. Hundreds of soldiers, including crossbowmen armed with gunpowder? Due to incorrect intel, she had departed hastily, bringing only five dozen heavy cavalry in order to minimize time lost in transit. Logically, she ought to turn back and return with greater force to secure Laochuan, a village closer to Wugui and strategically significant. But doing so would be the same as condemning Beichuan to massacre. Unacceptable, in other words.

“Huixiao,” she signaled the Captain trailing her steed. “Lead the men through the woods. You will seek for an opportunity to flank the archers.”

“But Commandant, that would mean-” Huixiao immediately protested. He was familiar with these parts and knew that circling behind Beichuan would lead to significant delay. By the time he arrived, the entire village would likely be lost. Zhaoyang silenced him with a look. He understood with a start that she surely knew of the same, and he was wasting valuable time pestering her for an explanation. “Yes Commandant.” Huixiao responded far quicker this time, barking the orders down the chain before immediately taking off.

Smoke rose in the horizon as Zhaoyang rode closer. The village was burning. There was not enough time to wait for Huixiao to flank, she had to go now. Drawing her bow, she spiraled up from her horse and used her steed as a springboard, leaping high into the air for a better vantage point. Through the haze of smoke, she picked out a half dozen men ransacking a building. Without a second’s hesitation, she loosed an arrow after each. Her still injured arm stung from the rapid-fire sniping, but she ignored it in favor of surveying her surroundings. What remained of Colonel Zhonde's battalion attempted to hold off the Qin infantry, aided by pitchfork and hatchet wielding farmers. Qin crossbowmen surrounded the village, thinning the Wei numbers through the chaos. A fourth of the village was already on fire, and the rest would doubtlessly soon follow.

She needed to buy time.

Leaping onto a still intact roof, she inhaled before shouting. “Dogs of Qin,” chi infused each word, broadcasting her voice above the crackling flame and clash of weapons. “You have forfeited your lives with your wanton atrocities. I, Shen Zhaoyang, shall collect your heads in the fallen's name.” As her voice fell, what remained of Wei troops immediately rallied, heartened by her arrival and falsely assuming that reinforcements were in tow. The Qin troops were not so poorly trained as to turn tail and run, but it was not hard to see their fear. Shen Zhaoyang’s name was the equivalent of death. An equivalency she drove home with another hail of arrows aimed at the forward most infantrymen, who, this time, wisely hid behind their shields. Which was fine, because she only sought to slow their advance. As the proverb went: in order to defeat the enemy, first capture their leader. “Luyin, are you going to continue hiding behind your dogs like disease-ridden vermin? Face me, coward!”

If Luyin joined the fray, his crossbowmen must pause on firing more gunpowder laden bolts toward the village lest they accidentally injured their General. That was exactly what Zhaoyang was banking on.​