Song Chang was many things all over. Smart and strategic? Many have said that. Brave or even heroic, why not? But patient and even-tempered were definitely not adjectives most people would use to describe him.

  Song Chang was pissed, more than usual and that was saying something. He had arrived home after almost a week of non-stop traveling, going from Yan’an Town all the way to the gods’ asshole No-name Village, only to return with nothing but a crying young man and his dignity and respect in shambles.

  The entire road back his knee ached like a burning pit from hell. That accompanied by the scorching summer sun constantly blaring him in the eyes, and so by the time he arrived home he had one of the worst migraines of his life. He was in pain, tired and humiliated. All Song Chang wanted to do was dive head-first into his bedding the moment he stepped off the carriage.

  Alas, fate, and more importantly Li Zhong, had further plans to torture him. He was barely halfway out the carriage door when the old housekeeper rushed over to him, rambling on and on about angry townspeople and disputes between peasants and something about the granary—oh, that gods’ damned granary, Song Chang just wanted to burn it to the ground at this point.

  It was as if every time he dared step off the premises of the manor something just had to go amiss. Life really was punishing him with this shitty job. At least Hepo County was far away from the imperial capital, he supposed. At least his family and old comrades didn't have to witness the shitshow that had become of the once great General Song. It didn't matter what the emperor had said, being a county magistrate was, in every shape and form, torture at its finest.

  He groaned, burying his face into the palms of his hands as he hunched over the heaps of paper that had mounted up on his desk during his two weeks away from Liming Manor. He had been working himself to the bone for the past three days, but every morning it seemed as if there were even more things to do than the day before.

  He peeked out barely from between his fingers, only to catch Zhan Wei’s scoffing face, though the senior scribe pretended he did nothing of the sort. His desk was piled even higher with documents. Somewhere, half a room away the junior scribes were doing most of the small and menial, but not any less dirty work, while the senior accountant was angrily etching down numbers as scrolls were practically flowing off his desk.

  Somewhere outside these cramped walls Song Chang could hear two guards laughing away under the awning, probably hiding from the sun before someone was to catch them and usher them back to their post. In front of the window, a small bird of some sort was singing from the branches of the magnolia tree before flying off in a frenzy.

  He could hear so many things, but nothing could take his mind off what he felt. And that was the terrible sharp pain radiating from his knee, practically paralyzing his calf and feet with cramps. Song Chang wanted to claw the skin off his own face.

  He clenched his jaw, finally letting his hands drop to the table with two very loud thuds that sent brushes rolling everywhere and ink splattering on the sleeve of his robe. Zhan Wei snickered under his breath, glancing out from behind his glasses for only a moment to level him with a look similar to what one would give an unruly child throwing a tantrum. That's probably how the senior scribe thought about Song Chang anyway.

  Song Chang swallowed the retort that was just on the tip of his tongue with difficulty. “I'm going for a walk. I need to stretch my leg.” he hissed out between gritted teeth instead. And because this place makes me want to hang myself, he carefully didn't add.

  He waved off the attendant that rushed over swiftly with the cane in her hand, and with clenched teeth he walked out on his own. He'd spent far too long cooped up pouring over documents and ledgers. After three days of doing nothing but paperwork his leg felt as if a burning piece of firewood had been attached to him instead.

  The county magistrate shut the door of the study maybe a little too harshly, almost hitting the poor attendant on the face who rushed out behind him. A small, awful and angry part of him wished he had. But then again, it wouldn't have been fair for the poor girl who was only trying to do her job. And it wasn't her fault Song Chang was stuck alone in a shitty job, with a horrible, aching leg.

  Somedays, he almost wished the physicians had just cut it straight off when they had the chance. At least that would've spared him a lifetime of pain and humiliation. Maybe then he could've been celebrated as a truly outstanding and heroic ex-general, and not just some poor fella who got his knee pierced through so bad that the emperor benevolently stuffed him far away from the capital, as if he'd never existed at all. If he had to live the rest of his life as a cripple, then he might as well have something to show for it.

  Song Chang exhaled harshly, his hands gripping tightly into the railing. He just needed some time away from that stifling study and those judgmental gazes watching him wherever he went, criticizing the way he walked, talked and worked.

  Song Chang just needed time, that's what he'd been telling himself for the better part of the past two years. But what good had time ever—

  A sudden something slammed against his side, completely knocking the breath out of him, his hands on the railing just barely keeping him up on his feet. A sharp pain shot up his leg and he let a frankly uncouth curse leave his mouth.

  Porcelain shattered against the tiles of the corridor floor, each sharp tinkle sending shards flying as hot tea and pastries splattered everywhere. There was a shout, the voice maybe even louder than the profanity that slipped from Song Chang's own lips.

  He only saw white for a good few moments. He gripped the railing just short of actually splintering it. Song Chang blinked his eyes open, shapes and colors swimming in his vision before disappearing.

  “Oh my gods… Oh my gods— I’m… I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!” a voice scrambled as he heard the porcelain twinkling on the ground. As Song Chang's vision began to clear and the ringing in his ears slowly came to a halt, he began to register the source of the voice.

  The form of a young man clad in servant’s robes was kneeling on the ground, hands shaking as he tried to sweep together the broken pieces of the tea set with his bare and slowly bleeding hands. Song Chang couldn't see his face very well and he couldn't place that voice anywhere.

  But before he could ask the clumsy servant to rise so he could take a better look at him, and maybe give him a scolding or whatever lords are supposed to do to their servants, his attendant jumped out from behind him.

  The girl puffed up her chest, putting on a downright furious expression as she began yelling. “How could you?! How dare you hurt the lord?! You good-for-nothing!”

  The boy seemingly didn't dare to look up at the face of being yelled at. He wiped his face with his sleeve, continuing to try and pick up the small shards. “I didn't… Please, no, I didn't mean to! I swear, I just— I didn't—”

  “What? See him?!” A-Fang, the attendant girl who was still gripping Song Chang's cane in her hand, leveled the unknown servant boy with a nasty look.

  The boy finally looked up, Song Chang's mind blanked for a moment. Tears streamed down from two equally dark doe-eyes, sliding down across rich, tanned skin. The revelation of the boy's origins struck Song Chang as if it was a lightning bolt sent straight from the Heavenly Realm.

  The servant’s lips trembled; he averted his eyes as if ashamed. “Well, yes…” he stuttered, looking down at the mess he'd made. Before the girl could continue berating the poor boy, Song Chang raised his hand, signaling for her to stand down.

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  “A-Fang, that's enough.” he said with a tight exhale. He couldn't bear to see him scolded, and frankly, the yelling was making his headache worse. “I'm sure it was an accident.” Song Chang said.

  A-Fang gave him an exasperated look. “Lord Song…” Song Chang merely waved her off which she took as a sign to take a couple steps back right into the man's shadow.

  “I'm fine. No harm done. You, rise.” Song Chang said, clearing his throat. Well, he wasn't entirely fine, his leg was still hurting like hell, but they didn't need to know that. The young man slowly rose, his knees visibly shaking as he stood, hands gripping the sides of his clothes so hard that the cuts on his hands started seeping blood into the fabric. Song Chang frowned. “You're, ahem…?”

  “Yue Xing,” the servant said after a brief hesitation, before quickly adding “...Lord Song.”

  Song Chang recognized the young man quickly after seeing his face. Yue Xing was the boy he had been ‘graciously gifted’ by that damned village. A slave, they had called him, but Song Chang kept no slaves. The revelation was less than appealing. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Their first and only meeting hadn't been quite great, not even a little great. The very first night after meeting Yue Xing Song Chang could barely get in a wink of sleep. No matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't shake the image of the poor young man crying his heart out, so scared and alone. It was ridiculous. He was a man well accustomed to human suffering, death and war, yet all he could think about was Yue Xing's face for nights on end. It was eating him alive.

  Once back at the manor he'd made sure that the young man was adequately welcomed. He had instructed housekeeper Li Zhong to make Ye Huiqing, the warmest person he knew around the place, show him around. And it wasn't as if he was purposefully avoiding Yue Xing for these last three days, it was simply that he was a magistrate and Yue Xing was a servant, which meant their days took up entirely different routes.

  Okay, maybe Song Chang was avoiding him just the tiniest bit. But only because he knew he had made a huge mistake when accepting him as if he was an object to be possessed. But he had gone too far now, and it wasn't as if Song Chang wanted to send Yue Xing back to a place that was so open to selling him away at the earliest convenience.

  A small part of him was convinced he did the right thing. He had seen what No-name Village was like. Yan’an Town and Liming Manor were like the imperial palace itself compared to those conditions. He hoped that maybe at least poor Yue Xing could have a slightly more comfortable life here.

  Song Chang cleared his throat, pulling himself back into the present. Without thinking, he reached into his robes, pulling out a handkerchief. “Here, wipe your hands and face.” he said, because looking at the bloody fingers and tear-streaked cheeks made his heart twist indescribably.

  Yue Xing stared at the handkerchief for a moment, eyes blank as if thinking that accepting it would bring down some great punishment. Slowly, he extended his trembling hand and took the soft piece of fabric between slender fingers. Song Chang frowned slightly at how bony Yue Xing looked. He would have to do something about that. After all, having such a thin servant would surely start rumors about mistreatment in the manor. And rumors were the last things Song Chang needed on his plate at the moment.

  “I'm sorry,” Yue Xing spoke again, his voice a wobbly squeak. “I've made such a mess. I'm so sorry.” Song Chang cast his eyes down at the floor—pieces of the pastry stuck to his boot, tea slowly seeping under the loose tile that had been bothering Song Chang for months now, and the small pile of broken porcelain sitting just in front of Yue Xing's feet.

  He shook his head, exhaling softly. “It's fine. You said it was an accident. No harm done.” Song Chang said, and he practically saw the tension melt out of Yue Xing's shoulder.

  “Still, I apologize sincerely. I was just running late because Auntie Ye called on me at the last minute, because one of the other boys got ill last night and there was no one else to replace him. So, I was rushing as fast as I could to the East Hall but then I got lost and then I started rushing more and I just… I didn't see you at all.” Yue Xing's tongue let quite loose as he rambled on for a good minute while twisting the handkerchief in his hands, filled with anxiety.

  Song Chang listened quietly. At the mention of the East Hall, he furrowed his brows. “Why were you sent to the East Hall?” Song Chang asked.

  Yue Xing looked up at him with his big dark eyes, tears still drying in the corners, he blinked and asked back. “Well, isn't there a meeting right now?” he said unsurely.

  “A meeting?” Song Chang looked at him dumbfounded for a moment, before his face fell and he felt as if a bucket of icy-cold water was dumped on him. “Oh my gods, there's a meeting!” he shouted, maybe louder than he meant to.

  He scrambled around for a moment, he hurriedly checked up at the sky, only to see the Sun had already begun a steady descent down towards the peaks of the mountain. The meeting was supposed to be around noon!

  And how could he have been so foolish? Of course, the super important meeting with the town council was that day, they have had the date settled for literal months! This was going to make him look like the worst magistrate to ever exist!

  Despite his leg, Song Chang began to run, or at least the closest equivalent he had to running, which was a very powerful walk of sorts. He was already halfway down the corridor when he heard Yue Xing shout after him, still standing in the midst of his own destruction.

  “Lord Song, Your—Your handkerchief!” he called out, the embroidered handkerchief waving in his hand. Damnit, Song Chang thought, but he was already running late.

  “It's fine, just keep it for now!” he blurted hurriedly, before disappearing behind the corner with A-Fang hot on his heel.

  ○ ? ○

  Song Chang was definitely one of the strangest men Yue Xing had ever met in his life. Though not strange in a bad way, but rather in the one that had him standing in place for a good few minutes just thinking 'What had just happened?’

  Song Chang had long since disappeared from his line of sight by the time Yue Xing could finally shake the weird feeling in his head and crouch down once more to continue picking at the shards. Carefully, he pulled the porcelain into a small pile, then in absence of a broom he just sort of gently nudged it into a corner with his feet.

  His walk back to the kitchen passed in silence. Once there he hesitantly told Auntie Ye what had gone down. The woman listened carefully, nodding along before patting him on the shoulder and telling him not to worry about it at all, she would send someone else instead.

  With no job to do, Yue Xing sat under the awning in the courtyard connected to the kitchen. From here he could faintly see the lights seeping out from the Eastern Hall as the Sun slowly dipped down the horizon’s line.

  He looked up at the sky, burning in colors of orange and red, he could see the moon slowly beginning to shine brighter.

  He reached quietly into his robes, pulling the small, cream-colored handkerchief out and setting it across his lap. The fabric was very nice, probably worth more than everything he ever owned combined, and the small lotus embroidery looked very refined. In the corner there was a small rectangle with some characters inside. Yue Xing supposed it must be Song Chang's seal—he was merely guessing though, he couldn't read them at all.

  In any way, it was such a shame to see it stained with specks of blood. He would definitely need to wash it before returning it to Song Chang.

  Yue Xing sighed, running his hand along the ridges of the embroidery one last time before he folded the fabric and placed it back into his robes for safekeeping.

  He looked up at the sky once more. The moon was shining bright, majestic and elegant, and if he squinted just right, he could see the faint spots of stars that dotted the sky. It all made him feel so small and insignificant. Was he really named after such beautiful things? Probably not. But one couldn't blame him for hoping he was.

  When he was beginning to feel drowsy, he quietly walked back into the kitchen. The kitchen was a mess, prime dinner rush time. Yue Xing found himself an unattended corner and sat down on a sack of rice, tipping his head against the wall.

  He touched his chest, to feel the outline of the handkerchief, just to make sure it hadn't gotten lost on that short walk back. Once he found it in its place, Yue Xing hummed content. Despite the frenzy of the kitchen, Yue Xing dozed off quietly in the corner.

  The next few days passed in a monotonous fashion. Yue Xing helped where he could, or was allowed to. He kept his head low, and avoided looking around for so long. Yue Xing was more than sure that the news of his little run-in with the magistrate had already travelled around the manor.

  People were talking about him even more than before. Yue Xing wasn’t deaf, he heard every little murmur when he passed by, every whispered remark and swallowed laugh.

  It was human nature, of course, to gossip and ask questions. It was no wonder that everyone was curious where a young man had suddenly popped up from around the same time around when Song Chang returned from his trip. He was rather not inclined to hear what they had to say about him.

  Four days after the incident, he was starting to hope that maybe the others had moved on to some other raunchy piece of gossip. As it turned out, he was terribly wrong.