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8/29, Day 5 - Sun and Moon / Minor Character Appreciation
8/30, Day 6 - Snow / Destiny
8/31, Day 7 - Like Knows Like / Two Unlike Things / Free Space
Happy creating!! Please use these prompts however they inspire you, whether it be literally, figuratively, in combination, etc. Late submissions will also be happily accepted :)
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You asked for prompts, so here's one that's been rattling around my head: The dynamic of Ma/Zhu/Baoxiang post series has got to make for something interesting, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!
For @radiantemperorweek for...a late Day 2, "haunted"?
He doesnât let himself know how many years itâs been, when the Emperor finally comes for him. Â
âWang Baoxiang,â the Hongwe Emperor says.
âZhu Yuanzhang,â he replies, since apparently theyâre using names that donât exist anymore, and perhaps Eâperhaps others have been correct, that heâs never known when to stay quiet.
The Emperor flashes a sharp, toothy grin and steps into his tiny room without waiting for an invitation. Not that he needs one, not that the sluggish impulse to extend one came in time. The Emperor glances around the cramped space, taking in the barely-existent window and tiny cluttered desk, the angle of his head insect-like and the sheer vigorous energy of his presence filling the space enough to choke on.
Baoxiang stares at Zhuâs eyesâheâd almost made himself believe that heâd imagined the bulging intensity of themâand forces himself to breath like his body isnât already starting to shiver with coming fear, his throat tight with anticipation, expectation, waitingâ
âYouâve come to kill me,â Baoxiang finally says when he canât take it any longer, vaguely aware of his nails biting into his palms, of the grime embedded beneath them.
Zhu hums without glancing up from the careful, simple, plain-charactered scroll Baoxiang is ready to deliver tomorrow morning, and Baoxiang remembers in the manner of one searching for the river bottom beneath his toes that Zhu Yuanzhang was a monk, once, before everything. âWell, I do know some consider Spring in the Yingtian a fate worth than death. But I find it rather invigorating, personally. It really makes you feel.â
Baoxiang can see the differences in her now that the wave of dull, so-itâs-finally-come-has-it shock has retreated into something closer to resignation, something more like relief than Baoxiang cares for even as that reflexive fear trembles in his fingertips, in his bowels, the instinct to beg, to plead, to curl into a ball and give in and go limp⌠Â
Itâs the extra age on Zhuâs face, maybe, more than just sevâmore than just the passing yearsâ worth. Or perhaps the thread of more measured consideration beneath the restless energy, a well of weary calm. Or perhaps itâs just that the watchfulness is easier to see than it used to be, less concealed, or Baoxiang just more used to recognizingâ
âWait.â Baoxiang straightens. âYingtian?â
Zhu gives him an amused look from where sheâs poking at a scroll that really should remain private. âThat is still where the imperial seat resides. Iâm sure news out here isnât that slow.â Â
It is not so much that Baoxiang has felt dulled and hollow, slow, ever sinceâitâs not that he almost feels purposefully slow, some days, trying not to listen for newsâ
Itâs not so much Baoxiang, as the absurdity of the implication, that it takes him so long to put it together. âYou want to bring me to the Capital?â Zhu just gives him a patient look, lips switching into a smile, and under other circumstances Baoxiang might be needled enough to snap back, but, âFor my execution?â
Zhu raises her eyebrows, a single glance seeming to point to Baoxiangâs lack of weapon, and uselessly frail body even if he had one, his isolation when surely there are guards outside, as if the Hongwe Emperor would need them, as if Boaxiang could ever hope to best even a one-handedâ âShould I have to transport you, to kill you?â
Baoxiang considers the number of elaborate, lengthy, well-attended executions that used to take place in Dadu, and holds his tongue.
âWhy, then,â he finally asks, distantly aware of his heart pounding hard enough to make him want to vomit and wishing in that dull, achy way that he still had elaborate sleeves to fuss with, jewelry to flash. âIf notâI have no hostage value.â
Zhu gives him an interested, intrigued look. âNo?â she asks, finally facing him and somehow seeming to perch even standing, and Baoxiang feels like an old, worn part of himself is trying to slip grave-cold back into his skin.
Wariness has him holding his hands carefully flat, his face carefully stillâZhuâs face flashes with amusement, and Baoxiang quickly rearranges it from something vaguely disdainful into neutrality. Itâs like he can sense the pieces on the board just waiting for him to turn his head, like he can feel the threads he could grip and tug and pull, warp and weft, like his fingers are already shaping around an ink brush he can wield more precisely than any swâ âYou sent me away.â
Zhu shrugs. âApparently not permanently.â
Baoxiang stares, refusing to think the name he knows despite his best efforts and trying not to shake with the feeling of having missed something critical, of having miscalculated, of standing in front of the Prince of Henan with that old venomous sharpness rising up in his veins, the urge to strike back the only wayâ âWhy would I come back.â
Another shrug, a shockingly coy look on a face such as that, and that venomous thing pulses at the sense of being played with. âSeyhan is there.â
He would be, Baoxiang barely stops himself from saying with a boiling rush of emotion like he hasnât felt sinceâHe would be. Seyhan was always devoted, in his way, and Baoxiang feels like some wriggling thing batting between a hunting catâs paws, the urge to press for moreâis he a secretary, still, a tutor, is he well, has he grown, does he look likeâsubsuming into a desperate, seething rage at being set up to ask.
âSeyhan,â he says, voice rough as if with screaming, entire body taut. âThatâs all you have to offer me?â
The Emperorâs head slowly tilts, his shifting, restless energy suddenly giving way to utter stillness, and Baoxiang gulps around the sensation of having been walked to the edge of a cliff. â âOfferâ,â the Emperor echoes, slow, the kind of intent Baoxiang learned as a child to fear suddenly filling the room, âAnd who else is left, that I would offer you?â
Who, not what, a strike as effective as any fist. And maybe, Baoxiang thinks as he is unable to stop himself from baring the teeth against the pain of itânever able to stop, no matter how Eseâmaybe this is the only way this Emperor can strike, these days, finding himself still lacking the usual number of fists to strike with.
But to a man used to armies at his back, to allies, when Baoxiang had been used to always, always, being so painfully aloneâŚ
âAnd I am solely to blame, for that?â Baoxiang hears himself asking as if dining with the Prince of Henan, his voice polite, eyebrow arched, the type of invitation to continue giving Baoxiang openings stab into that used to have Ouyangâs face twisting with fury, and his fatherâs jaw tightening and the Emperorâ
The Emperor looks across the long, still silence at him.
Then Zhu huffs, gesturing with her missing hand as if to purposefully draw attention to it, that toothy, quick smile back on her face. âI am not asking for myself, of course.â Baoxiang does manage to restrain himself, this time, perhaps because his heart has taken up residence in his throat. âI find myself, as all Emperorâs do, at some point, in need of an heir.â
It takes Baoxiang a long moment to realize the rusty, jagged noise filling his small room is his own laughter. âAn heir,â he repeats, practically spitting the word. âYou want meââ
âNot you,â Zhu huffs.
As if he believes she ever thought heâd think otherwise. âOf course not,â Baoxiang agrees, venomous. âAnd so it really does all come back to needing to stick your dick into something when you donât have one.â
The Emperor gives him a sharp look, one Baoxiang is more than familiar with, anger and dislike and the desire to be anywhere but with him andâ
âYou already have,â Baoxiang says, entire body tense enough it feels he might snap, âan heir.â And he has not heard newsâhe has not listened but surelyâif something had happenedâ
âWeâve seen,â Zhu says after a moment, smiling, magnanimous, âwhat happens when thereâs only one of them.â And oh, Baoxiang thinks, struggling to breathe, perhaps the Hongwe Emperor does know how to play this game, too, or at least has learned it.
âAnd so the greater Emperor of the Ming has come all this way,â Baoxiang finally says, rough, âbecause you want me to be your stud.â Again, he swallows back, not that it wonât be heard. Â
âWell,â she shrugs, flashing another of those grins, âI never did learn to ride like Ouyââ
âAnd you expect me to actually believethat you would trust me to do it?â Baoxiang cuts in, suspicion blooming through his chest. âIâm to believe you would choose me? What, for my manliness? My vigor?â
âYou donât have to believe anything about me,â Zhu says mildly as if she didnât raise a resistance and topple an empire on the power of belief. âAs for mybeliefâI was informed that my trust in you was also not required,â she says, wry, âas it is not me you would be bedding.â
Baoxiang is not slow, this time. In a breath he finds himself drowning. Buffeted by memories of her, and of the pleasure he used to find in her arms. Of who he used to be, that person who could have that, who could find such simple, joyous pleasure in another. Who could give it and receive it in turn and oh, the idea that he could even for a moment becomeagain someone who...
The thought is too much like more, for one such as him. Too much like hoping, when hope has never treated him well, or kindly.
Baoxiangâs body is tight with the familiar feeling of inevitability, lungs tight as if full of water, as he finally says, âAnd what happens if I say no?â
He has the brief satisfaction of seeing surprise flash over Zhuâs face, the expression somehow exaggerated, comical even, on her features. âWill you?â she asks curiously, as if it doesnât matter, as if the Emperor of the Ming would travel all this way to accept a denial.
âYouâll what, kill me?â Itâs dangerous knowledge for one such as him. One who travels, who scribes, who pass gossip and print mockeries, who knows how to wield a finely crafted word and Baoxiang remembers well enough just how easy it was, back then, to fan the flames of rumor. âTry to use the child against me?â
Zhu gives him a long, level look, and Baoxiang wishes suddenly, intensely, that he was as he used to be, not as he is now. Someone who could meet that look and not feel so flayed open, so evaluated and picked over and seen without his permission. He wishes he had ever been that person.
âI donât think I would choose to release you from this, no,â Zhu finally says, eyes flicking around the hovel, and Baoxiang burns, resentment seething thick and familiar in his chest  as the Emperorâs gaze lingers just past Baoxiangâs shoulder where he knows nothing at all is there, nothing except his ghosts. âAnd I donât think you need more chains than you have.â
Baoxiang swallows the bitter, old urge to turn and look, to try to catch a glimpse that he knows is not there, was never there. He feels as if his face has been shoved into the acrid, bitter smoke of a poorly made cookfire. âSo there is no choice.â
Zhu gives him another long look, thoughtful this time. âThere is always,â she finally says, âa choice.â
Baoxiang glares, clenching his useless fists and his chest aching, hollow, like an old, sucking wound. Choiceâas if the requests of an Emperor have ever allowed for such a thing. As if Baoxiang has ever had the luxury of it, has ever had that power, has ever done anything but run ahead of his fate ever since he first chose it.
âSome would say Iâm foolish, to offer you this,â Zhu suddenly says, a self-deprecating twist on her lips and her tone making it clear she knows Baoxiang would number among them.
 Itâs an invitation, a hand extended in mutual understanding, and Baoxiang circles it, wary as he would be of any offered hand. âThey would be correct.â
Zhu nods like it doesnât bother her. âBut we have both, I think, seen what comes of doing what must be done. Of what is supposed to be done.â She looks down at her stump, not even hidden in her sleeve, and Baoxiang shudders. âAnd,â the Emperor adds, glancing around the barely-upright excuse for a structure Baoxiang is currently occupying, âI think we have both seen what comes of refusing to accept what we are told.â The Emperorâs flaying, bulging gaze comes back to him. âOf trying something different.â
Baoxiang swallows, feeling like he might shake out of his skin if he has to respond.
âAnd so for Yiingziâs sake,â Zhu Yuanzhang says, âWe will refuse to accept what we are told, and we will try something different once more.â A cricket-like cock of her head. âYes?â
Baoxiang stares, feelingâtoo much.
Zhu studies him another moment, finally adding, so wry and fond and exasperated that Baoxiang feels like this is what it must be like to be run through, âYingzi would prefer not to see war again, if she can help it.â
An impossible dream, Baoxiang doesnât say. Impossible to even wish for, let alone speak aloud, let alone hopefor. Let alone ask of an Emperor to deliver to her.
âAnd it might be nice, wouldnât it, to sleep again,â Zhu says softly, and Baoxiang longs for it, misses it almost as much as he missesâsometimes imagines he actually has it and rouses bitter to find that it was just a pale imitation, just the haze of formless, taunting dreams that allowed him to even more a moment believe he was once again at peace.
Baoxiang doesnât ask how Yuanzhang could possibly know such a thing, because Baoxiang knows exactly how, and to hear it said aloud⌠âYou took my throne,â Baoxiang says instead, hoarse.
Another cock of her head. âYou killed my friend.â The Emperor holds up his handless forearm as if to admire it, and brings his manifest blazing to life. âSo perhaps we are even,â he says from within the brilliance of it, Baoxiang finally blinking the blur from his eyes to find himself alone once more in his single room, feet still sore and hand aching from scribing and face sun-crisped from the radiance.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Radiant Emperor Series - Shelley Parker-Chan
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: General Ouyang/Esen-Temur, Esen-Temur & Wang Baoxiang
Characters: Wang Baoxiang, Esen-Temur, General Ouyang (The Radiant Emperor Series)
Additional Tags: Fix-It, Brothers, Radiant Emperor Week 2024, The leopard doesn't make it tho
Summary:
'Ouyang's a general,' said Esen defensively. 'Of course he values skill in a warrior.'
'Tell yourself that. But when was the last time Ouyang introduced you to a friend?'
When the Spring Hunt is rained off, Baoxiang is forced into a change of tactics.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming