Silly Zone

Something shifts in the air. The pressure in the room increases, becomes oppressive in a way that Shen Jiu has never felt before. 

He’s not the only one to feel it. He Bao’s breath stops in his chest, Fu She stumbles back, shrinking down, pale and quiet. The room grows quieter, darker, as the sudden change seems to affect the flickering flames in the lanterns as well, smothering and suffocating them– it’s as if the cave is expanding, engulfing everything. 

As if the beast has awoken and is getting ready to glide down.

The Emperor’s eyes have shifted again, that quick glance from before is suddenly not so much a glance anymore but a stare. 

A deep and unsettling stare aimed directly at Shen Jiu. 

The image of himself, spat out as a mangled piece of flesh, flashes in front of his eyes for just a second. But he doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t shrink back in fear like Fu She. 

He refuses.

It’s an impulse stronger than himself; it’s something that moves alongside his need to survive, despite often going against it. It’s pride. Even during all of He Bao’s attempts at training him, he’s always too stubborn and proud to bend fully. To fully submit for a better chance at survival. 

Now, under the sudden scrutiny of the Demon Emperor… He still doesn’t. He holds the demon’s gaze like he’s the one beneath him. Because pride is all that’s left for him and it's all that will remain after.

Something shifts again, the pressure lessens ever so slightly, breaking the unnatural stillness that had taken over the room. What Shen Jiu had thought were carpets suddenly move and he realizes that it wasn’t carpets, it was hair. Long locks of pure black hair move as if made of liquid darkness, reaching up and up, slowly becoming more defined.

As they move, Shen Jiu can see the eyes of the Emperor move as well. He stands up and descends from his throne into the feeble light of the room. 

An almost synchronised shuffle is heard as the demons in the room take a step back, as if the Emperor should not be approached under any circumstances. They are probably right.

The demon at the end of the stairs bows to the emperor while taking a quiet step back, being mindful of not stepping on the moving mass of hair.

Fu She doesn’t move from his spot, however, he breaks out of his terror enough to bow down to the Emperor too. He Bao does the same, while still keeping Shen Jiu in his arms. His hold is too tight for comfort, almost bruising.

The Demon Emperor emerges fully from the darkness, and he’s more humanoid than Shen Jiu imagined. Were it not for his insane hair, he might have mistaken him for a simple human. The Emperor is broad and tall, dressed in thick and luxurious black brocade; the golden zuiyin pulsating on his forehead matches the colour of his eyes now that he gets to see it better. 

When he reaches the last step, his eyes are still fixated on Shen Jiu.

Fu She is trembling under the pressure, while He Bao seems almost to be holding out a little bit better. If not for the way his breathing is still stuck in his chest. 

The Emperor’s hand reaches out, towards Shen Jiu’s face, and he– closes his eyes. 

Bending for the first time under the pressure.

Then he feels the muzzle being taken away, crumpling and being snapped like it's nothing more than a dry leaf. 

“Xiao-Jiu,” the Emperor says. His voice comes from deep within his chest. Filled with an emotion Shen Jiu isn’t able to identify. It makes the entire room quiet down further.

Shen Jiu opens his eyes to find the demon still staring at him, eyes pushed into crescent moons by his bright smile. 

No one has ever smiled when seeing Shen Jiu.

He finds his mouth unobstructed for the first time in hours, his jaw aches in discomfort, but he finally can speak properly and he– he doesn’t know what to say to this creature. He doesn’t know if he should speak at all. It would be smarter to be quiet, would it not? Not to draw its fascination any further. 

Is that even possible? What has drawn his attention in the first place? and most importantly…

“How do you know my name?” He asks. His voice comes out sharp, like an insult rather than a question. Because the alternative would make his voice too quiet, too scared.

The demon’s smile grows even larger, as if it could split his face in two for just how ecstatic he is. His hands reach for Shen Jiu, and He Bao is smart enough to just let him go. 

Shen Jiu, foolishly, attempts to squirm away before the Emperor can get his hands on him, taking the moment he’s passed from hand to hand to try and free himself. 

It’s futile. 

The Emperor’s hands are not something he could ever get out of; they’re careful, almost gentle, not bruising as He Bao’s, but unbreakable. He doesn’t need to shift or to adjust his hold, he’s already got Shen Jiu with the firm grasp of someone holding their most treasured possession. 

Those eyes appear even more golden from upclose. 

His hold tightens, and Shen Jiu braces for pain. Only for the Demon Emperor to wrap his arms around him, holding him tight, tight so tight at his chest that he feels he may be attempting to hide him inside his ribcage. Store him inside his heart.

“Xiao-jiu, Xiao-Jiu, Xiao-jiu–” he repeats like a prayer, “It really is you. I’ve been waiting for so long.” 

His head is slotted in the crook of Shen Jiu’s neck, rubbing his forehead against his shoulder like a cat rubbing their scent against their owner’s legs. Shen Jiu can’t help but hold his breath as a weird— Laugh? Sob? Leaves the lips of the demon, right against his shoulder, making him feel the vibration of it more than the sound.  

”I’m never letting you go, Xiao-Jiu. Never again.”

Those words are final. Shen Jiu can feel it in the way he says it. They are an unbreakable oath. 

He’s in the hands of a madman. 

What else did he expect? Even He Bao had called the man a nutcase– This must be some delusion. His end has only been postponed.

What’s it gonna be? A few more months of being a plaything? A few more years? Shen Jiu will take them. He will take whatever scraps he can get, anything on the far off chance that he may be able to do something. To reclaim something. There’s so little to reclaim when all you have is pride.

The demon turns away from the crowd, Shen Jiu still in his arms, then he stops. His head turns just enough to look in the direction of Fu She and He Bao. There’s an unnatural tilt to it, like he’s not a living being, but an inanimate object, like he’s an old tree, twisted by age and being moved by the wind. His smile is gone, leaving a facsimile of a face behind it. An empty mask that doesn’t show any emotions. 

“You have two hours,” he says.

Fu She blinks, confused, “Wha–”