smoke & mirrors 。

"...Bad," Xie Lian suggests after a moment of silence, when Mu Qing repeats Feng Xin's unfinished 'this is'. Though that's probably an understatement; on the bright side, at least all three of them are in clear agreement about just how bad this new information is. He watches Mu Qing pace back and forth and mull over the questions that he and Feng Xin have proposed-- the latter's last question, about the emperor's potential schemes, being the most primary of importance. Holding some kind of vengeful vendetta against them wouldn't be necessarily logical at this point, but neither are many of the decisions the former ruler of Wuyong has made, so there's no ruling it out at this point.

Regarding the marriage itself, if their guoshi was already prepared to defend his choice in marrying the other-- using the excuse of keeping a closer eye on him-- that would seem to imply that he expects it to be a long-term situation. He could have volunteered to be a roommate otherwise, or any other host of close contacts that could have watched out for him; though Xie Lian supposes that with what Jun Wu must get paid through his government position here, maybe a roommate for financial reasons was out of the question, and marriage was the better option? He's not certain.

A prickle of discomfort-- more than just a prickle, in fact-- runs up the back of his arms at Mu Qing's note about the emperor feeling like a fool. They all surely know that such a thing could be enough to tip the other's balance over into instability, and historically, that's not a good sign. "No, I can't imagine he would be happy about that," Xie Lian murmurs, before refocusing his energy on action rather than nebulous anxieties. They can theorize all they want about what their elders might be thinking, or what they might be planning, but there's nothing the three of them can do to control any of that. All they can control is themselves, to which end: "We need a plan," he says, thinking as he speaks. They need to decide how to maneuver around this obstacle in the safest, clearest way. "We need to look out for guoshi's safety, and watch out for Jun Wu-- we shouldn't risk angering him, but we can't allow him to get any ideas, either."

the archer lifts one brow, nodding in response to xie lian's end to his sentence. that about sums it up, really. bad is about all that can be said about the situation, unless he really wants to get into how completely, totally screwed they seem to be, especially if the emperor decides that all of this is somehow on the crown prince again. not that that would make any sense, but neither had blaming xie lian for any of the other shit he'd blamed him for, so feng xin isn't really feeling super confident in their safety here! and he's sure that his friends are feeling about the same way right now, they've got to be on the same page, even if all three of them are doing an incredible job at keeping themselves composed right about now.

"i mean, that has nothing to do with us, though. none of us even realized he didn't remember at first. if he looked like a fool, it's because of whatever the hell wiped his mind." feng xin comments, immediately ignoring his earlier train of thought about how blaming them for this would be nonsensical, but also entirely in character for white no face. but he can't help but think that, if the emperor thinks he was made a fool, then certainly that means he thought he'd acted foolish, didn't it? not that it's an argument he's stupid enough to make to the emperor, if he was enough of an idiot to speak to the elder god. "we definitely do, but i have no idea where we could even start." they hadn't had a plan the last time, they'd just thrown everything they could at the emperor and prayed it was enough to keep him down. but they'd need a bit more subtlety than that this time around, something feng xin has never much specialized in. "woah, woah, why do we need to look out for him? i'm not saying we let him die, but he's willingly putting himself in a close relationship with someone he knows is insane. wouldn't it be better for him if we just keep away from him? i feel like him being around us would cause problems with the 'not risking angering the emperor' thing."

So instead, Mu Qing nods in confirmation: it is bad indeed. 

Lucky for them, there’s still the crown prince to offer some great advice, informing them that they need a plan. He would’ve made a comment if it weren’t for the fact that his next words ring even more ludicrous. Mu Qing’s face twists, looking as though he must’ve misheard. “What do you mean, we need to look out for Guoshi’s safety? He willingly got married to him. I’m sure he’ll be fine— we’ll be busy enough looking out for you— ourselves—” There’s no reason any of them should be wasting their energy on the state preceptor; both because it’s unnecessary, and because he. does. not. want. to. And also, because it’s better for all of them (and especially Mu Qing himself) if they keep their distance from either party. In a strange turn of events, Mu Qing finds himself fervently nodding along with Feng Xin, of all people. “There’s nothing for us to gain from sticking around either of them. If we start spending more time with Guoshi, the emperor might only grow suspicious and assume we are plotting against him. If we’re going to come up with a plan, it should involve only the three of us,” he says, demonstratively gesturing at the three people in question (and not in the least because that would reduce the risk of anyone finding out anything they shouldn’t). “I suggest we find a way to take his memories away again.”

@mvsicinthedvrk

But he’s here, and he came of his own volition this time; Chiye didn’t even have to try and trick him, put someone else’s name as the host of the party, or put someone else’s address down. He knew it was Chiye’s party, and Chiye’s birthday, and he still showed up on purpose. Chiye’s chest warms from within at the realization. “I wanted you here,” he says, his voice deep and honest though slightly slurred, each word sliding into the next like syrup as he relaxes in the other’s presence. Even if he weren’t far past intoxicated, he’d be just as open about his desire to see the other, though the drunkenness does add to his candor, along with the fact that there’s no other guests at the party worth paying attention to anymore.

Zechuan does have a very demanding job… which, by nature, is partly Chiye’s fault. Damn. “After midnight is too late,” he replies dismissively, almost in an instant. “Next week I’ll lock everyone out past ten.” Someone in the tech department should be able to key the doors to do that, or he’ll find someone outside the company he can hire who can. He can’t have employees (Zechuan) staying all night at the office (when Chiye’s not there), not when there’s other places they could be (Chiye’s apartment). Or elsewhere, he supposes, but clearly that’s the most important place. His other employees can do their work at home if it inconveniences them.

His attention is drawn back to the gift in the other’s hand when he taps it into his palm with a light sound. Zechuan’s teasing him, pretending he won’t hand over the present just because it’s a few minutes after midnight. If he’d gone to all the work to pick something out, and wrap it up, he wouldn’t turn around and walk out with it-- or maybe he would; Chiye can’t put it past him, because the man makes no sense to him sometimes. He thinks that if Zechuan did such a thing this time, though, it'd only be to make Chiye chase him into the hallway, or wherever he feels like leading him; so he still feels fairly confident when he says, pleased, “You’ll still give it to me though.” 

But he doesn’t reach for the gift yet-- instead, he turns around to face the rest of his party, doing somewhat laborsome calculations about where to lead the other. His other party-goers are mostly still busy minding their own business, drinking and laughing, or swaying to the music, or collapsed on furniture here or there, but it does leave few places they can go that aren’t already taken up by other bodies. He decides to figure that out later. Getting Zechuan out of the entryway and into the apartment proper is the most important thing, so he can’t slip away when Chiye’s not watching. “Come in, I’ll get you a drink.” It would be only drink he’s personally poured for someone other than himself this evening, but that’s besides the point. There's plenty left at the bar, and the ice isn't all melted yet; and it's important to be a good host, now that it matters.

I wanted you here.   

But is it really that simple a statement? Before Zechuan’s mind gets the chance to drift into dangerous territory, Chiye graciously decides to follow up with a comment that’s far less ambiguous. Most employees don't care to stay past six, and there’s absolutely no reason why anyone working overtime should be locked out at the strike of ten. In fact, it is necessary, sometimes (even if that had not been the case today).

And yet, somehow, even without any clear benefit to locking up early, Zechuan doesn’t doubt that Chiye would follow up on his words— just to prove that he can. With a smile, he promises placatingly, “In that case, I’ll do my best to finish my work before the newly implemented office curfew.” 

Chiye is right, though, that he would still hand over his gift even if it had no longer been his birthday. Mostly because his gift hadn’t originally been intended as a birthday gift, until the man’s birthday had slowly crept closer and turned it into the perfect opportunity. With each tap against his hand, there’s a subtle vibration reverberating through his skin, featherlight aluminum against the pillowed surface. The USB; meant for Chiye’s eyes, and Chiye’s eyes alone.

The pen that lies on top of it, however, could’ve served as a gift between any two business associates; even the small gyrfalcon he’d had it engraved into it could easily be overlooked. That makes it easy to counter the other’s cockiness. “I could save it for the next birthday I’m invited to,” Zechuan says, the box stilling inside of his palm. He slowly raises his gaze to level with Chiye’s, as if to tell him: take it, then, if you’re so convinced. His eyes flicker with intent, the shadow of a grin curling at his lips. 

And then Chiye offers to grab him a drink, and the moment passes. 

Zechuan follows after the host as if nothing had ever happened, once again letting his gaze wander the room. If his only intention had been to wish Chiye a happy birthday, he could have already done so at the office. One drink, at least, he can agree to that—that should have been a given when he’d showed up at the door. There’s no need for Chiye to try and convince him to stay, though it is painfully obvious that the man hadn’t thought his own reasoning through, either. Feigning ignorance, Zechuan looks at him with a gaze of utmost innocence, and a smile to finish it off. “The long climb up here has made me very thirsty,” he admits, “I should hope to have at least one drink, before making that trip another time.” There’s no need to be more explicit in pointing out the flaws in the man’s logic. 

It seems, however, that his long trip had only been the first of Chiye’s many complaints. His eagerness to make him stay for a moment longer almost toes the line of being laughable, if it weren’t for the man’s sincerity. He’s asking him to stay, because he genuinely wants him to stay. Zechuan’s convinced he might throw a fit if he refuses; perhaps forcefully restrain him, even, with all the alcohol in his system. And then, he thinks, a fleeting thought, wouldn't it be tempting to see him try? There’s no reason for him to stay much longer if the party’s almost over, is there? 

And then, again, I want you to stay. 

"Hey," Chiye says by way of simple greeting, stepping out from the hot, crowded air of the loud apartment and onto the long balcony that runs along the length of the main living room. Lott's not the only person out here at the moment-- a few people are sharing a cigarette out on the other end, and others are lounging on the patio furniture and laughing, empty beer bottles already scattered across the table-- but Lott's familiar sullen profile is hard to miss, and it's now or never for Chiye to grab a minute of conversation with the other. With how spread out his guests are throughout the space of his penthouse apartment, and the sheer number of people that have already come this early in the evening, it's been impossible to greet every individual person on their arrival. Unless he parked himself at the door, which would be a dull way to spend the night, there's no way he could keep track of everyone who comes and goes. It's by luck alone that he's managed to cross paths with his friend, so he approaches, bracing his arms on the railing next to Lott. He should be kind to his friend, especially considering that he'd made it over here to celebrate Chiye's birthday. But also because it's his birthday and he should gain some advantage, he feels as though he has the right to tease the other: "Did you bring Cassie with you?" he asks, feigning ignorance about the disaster he'd heard secondhand from at least two different mutual sources by now.

Shae quietly counts to ten, letting her irritation simmer inside of her. It’ll come out eventually, she knows— it just doesn’t have to be here. But Hilo's strained relationship with Lan is one thing; his polite way of dismissing her is nothing short of condescending, and she can just feel the mockery that rings in his voice, no matter how subtle. “You refused to acknowledge Lan until after you burnt all your bridges with him. I could hardly expect you to be perceptive,” Shae says in response to his non-apology, her sarcasm mimicking Hilo’s. There are a great many things she’d rather do than look forward to finishing this conversation with him elsewhere, but for now, it is the best she could get. “I’ll look forward to it,” she forces out, any attempt at sincerity failing miserably.

wolf's respite.

Chiye lounges on the sofa, feet up on the plush footrest. He'd had a good day, and a good party, until the environment had begun to quiet down and he'd started thinking. Now he finds himself only half-following the nearby conversation as he stares at his phone and tries to decide with the last partly-sober vestige of his mind whether he should give his phone to a friend to hold, so he doesn't start texting things he shouldn't. Because everyone he'd invited had come tonight (plus plenty of people he hadn't) except the person he'd most hoped would show. He doesn't take it as a complete rejection; it's only another challenge-- but how he's meant to deal with it when the other won't talk to him beyond bare minimum, he doesn't know. Even after the masquerade, nothing's changed. Does he need to bribe someone in the government to host another party, so he could steal another date? That's someone else he could text, the government. Someones. People. He's got to know someone. (It may be too late, for taking his phone away to do much good.)

In his periphery, he can tell that across the room one of the other wealthy company heirs he'd invited is unsurprisingly entertaining himself by bullying someone at the door, but it's not in Chiye's nature to care much; either they'll talk their way in, or they'll give up and wish they'd come sooner, before the drunk socialite had decided to play act at being a bouncer. That, or it's a neighbor come to complain about the noise, in which case they should already know that it's fruitless when Chiye can just pay off the building owner for any trouble by later next week.

It's only when he hears the distant notes of Shen Zechuan's voice in response that Chiye attention zeroes in on the door, his head jolting up with an impressive swiftness. Whatever his dick-ish friend been saying exactly, his tone at least had sounded-- unacceptable. Avoiding stumbling over his feet, and the ottoman, he makes his way to the door within a few wobbly paces so that he can loom over the other. "I didn't know I hired a doorman," he says somewhat dangerously, before lifting an eyebrow. No one here would dare argue with Chiye when it's his party, his apartment, his birthday (or it had been, until an hour ago).

But then again, the man's on the far side of drunk, and drunk men do often tempt fate. So the other laughs off Chiye's warning, making no effort to stop ogling Zechuan. "I didn't know you'd be--"

"--stop talking," he adds, immediately cutting him off before he makes it worse for himself. Then Chiye grins without a hint of friendliness and claps the man on the shoulder just a little too hard. "Go get another drink, or--" It takes him a split second to think-- "--hold a towel outside the bathroom if you're so desperate for a job." The man grumbles and rolls his eyes at the scolding, but he does lurch away, off to either find a new target or make trouble elsewhere.

That’s not a surprise— it’s his birthday, after all, and if past events are any indication, the other isn’t always concerned about his own limits. Zechuan’s face betrays no amusement as Chiye gives his guest a good talking-to, pretending to divert his attention elsewhere. That doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it, at least a little. He waits patiently for the birthday boy to take care of the situation, his gaze darting across his surroundings with interest. Contrary to what his first impression might have led him to believe (people crashing into him, someone throwing up in the elevator, the hold-up at Chiye’s front door), the party wasn’t a complete mess. The majority of the guests were entertaining themselves with animated conversations, or trying their best to rhythmically sway to the music. Their eyes are unfocused, and their movements clumsy, but the overall atmosphere isn’t half bad. 

Zechuan watches as one of the guests tries his best to pour himself a drink, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. Though, when half of the drink is poured directly onto the floor, the man decides to just drink straight from the bottle. He should hope that Chiye has taken some precautions to prevent people from falling over the balcony railing— that’d be quite the hard fall, if they’re sober enough to feel a thing. 

But watching drunk people is only entertaining for so long, and Zechuan obediently shifts his attention back to Chiye when spoken to. There’s no greeting, only a somewhat surprised acknowledgment of his presence. He can’t blame the man—he had considered not showing up, at some point. 

Still, Zechuan feigns innocence when he looks up at Chiye, curious, as if he’d been wrong for assuming otherwise. “You’re the one who invited me,” he notes melodiously, “was I not supposed to take your invitation seriously?” He would’ve fought back his smile at the man’s next accusation, if he’d been prepared for the sheer petulance that colors his voice. There’s nothing left from the man’s typical imposing presence (aside from his height—that’s harder to disguise), and it’s not because the alcohol has rendered him a meek puppy. He’d been perfectly fine commanding the pretend-bouncer just a minute ago; it’s only now that he’s showing this different side of himself. Despite his tardy arrival, Zechuan highly doubts there had been others to witness this behavior tonight. 

And no, he certainly had not gotten attached to anyone in that same foolish manner as the crown prince had done—and he wouldn’t, either. If the state preceptor had meant to insult him with this assumption, he could consider the attempt a failure. The more concerning part of his speech was the fact that even Mei Nianqing proclaimed the emperor to be unpredictable and unstable. If looking like a fool was what had caused Jun Wu’s distress—if he’d clearly voiced his displeasure with them—that should be enough of a reason to worry about potential consequences. The easiest way to deal with said unhappiness would be to make sure none of them remembered Jun Wu’s ‘foolishness’, and the easiest way to deal with that would be to— “He lost his memories once, we could take them from him another time,” Mu Qing says, then hastily explains, “he was happier without his memories. We’d be doing him a favor.” And if that wasn’t a potential solution, they could all simply pretend to have lost their own memories.

He rubs his forehead and tries to think through the situation logically. Jun Wu had never forced Mei Nianqing into marrying him before when he'd had his memories, so it would be odd for him to coerce the man into such a thing now out of the blue. In that case, it was more likely they got married when the former had been unaware, but how, when guoshi was clearly fully aware of who the emperor was and what he'd done? He shakes his head, musing under his breath, "He scolded me for my choice of partner, once. I really don't think he has any leg to stand on..." But Xie Lian's expression turns more severe when he addresses Mu Qing again to clarify: "Did guoshi say if the former emperor's memories came back before or after their marriage? And did it seem like he-- guoshi-- was in immediate danger, or did he imply immediate danger to anyone else?"

@tragcdysewn

if mei nianqing had told him himself, it had to be true, because who the hell would lie about doing something so horrifically stupid as further involving yourself with white no face? only the freak who’d decided to stay in prison with him when he was defeated the first time would even consider that as a possibility! but this is even beyond some stupid feeling of responsibility, holy shit! “i knew they had some weird, fucked up relationship, but this is…” ‘yikes’ was about the only thing that felt appropriate here, but he’s sure mu qing will immediately call him an idiot if he describes it as such, so he lets the statement trail off rather than finish it. though, xie lian’s concern for the timeline of this whole mess is a valid one, and one he hadn’t even considered until his friend voiced it. he kind of thought the elder man was a fool, but he didn’t want him to be in danger from whatever stupid attachment he still held to a friend from centuries ago. admittedly, feng xin could kind of relate to the intense feelings of guilt it all reeked of, but, then again, his friend hadn’t slaughtered thousands, so he’s still coming out ahead of mei nianqing in that department. “yeah, when did this all happen? is he alright? and is the emperor getting ready for some massive revenge scheme that’s probably going to involve killing us all?”

Unfortunately for Xie Lian, that does not mean he can resist the chance to throw a dig at Crimson Rain when the opportunity presents itself on a silver platter. “One truth does not negate the other—two truths can exist at once,” he says, almost dismissively so. It’s not as though the state preceptor had been the only one to judge the crown prince for his poor taste in partners; that opinion was shared by many others (Feng Xin, Mu Qing… and then some…). Before he goes on to reply to his questions in earnest, he first makes a point out of rolling his eyes at Feng Xin’s beautifully articulate way of expressing himself. “This is….?” he repeats in similar fashion, not waiting for the man to actually answer. Instead he starts to pace from one side of the room to the next, visibly considering the many questions asked. Not that he actually has the answers to them, but since the other two seem to be under the impression that he must at least know something… “The emperor’s memories returned only recently, so I assume they must have married before that. Guoshi also said that he thought it would help him keep an eye on the emperor, and I don’t think he would’ve led with that when proposing. He didn’t imply immediate danger, but he did mention that his lack of memories had made the emperor feel like a fool. He’s not happy.” And that should be enough of a concern to begin with. It also leads him to answer Feng Xin’s final question: “Not yet, though guoshi never made a point out of excluding the possibility altogether.” 

Unsurprisingly, Anden puts a quick end to their hypothetical back-and-forth, just as he's starting to realise there’s nothing else he can say in his defense. Nothing that’ll help his case, at least. “You’re the one who mentioned swapping masks,” Lott retorts airily, though with a haughty, sharp edge to his words. “Whatever. There’s no need to convince me, but it sounds a lot as if you’re trying to convince yourself.”