December 2018

Ming Lim winced as another wave of pain rolled over his head. The headache was so bad he'd had to stop practicing. It hurt so much, even the snowflakes floating gently down made too much noise! His feet were on autopilot as they dragged him to the T-station. Without paying any attention to his surroundings, he got onto the correct train and forced himself to not lean against the window to get some relief from the ceaseless pain. I should have cabbed it. Or called for a ride-share. His fellow passengers talked, loudly, trying to be heard over the click-clacks and squeals of the subway car. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. My head hurts so much. Just shut up. Please. The headache combined with the car rocking; his stomach roiled, pushing its contents up into his throat. Don't get sick, he begged his stomach. Not that he'd be the first person to get sick on the train. Probably not even the first person today. Shut up, he begged his fellow passengers. Miraculously, they seemed to have heard his pleas and the only noise on the train became the train itself. He stumbled off at the next stop and headed up the stairs to call for a ride home. Thank you, he thought towards his fellow passengers. Please feel free to resume your noise.

So he missed hearing his fellow passengers start talking even louder than before as they complained and swore about their lips being glued together.

His ride share driver was mercifully quiet and the car well insulated, so there was no engine noise. He leaned on his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and massaged his temples. And saw something red drop onto his trousers. Two more drops splashed down before he moved a finger to his nose and it came away stained with blood. "I'm sorry," he told the driver. "My nose just started bleeding; do you have a tissue? Don't worry, it's just on me, not your car."

The driver passed back a box with a muttered, "Damn coke heads." Ming Lim wanted to tell him he didn't do drugs; arguing with a complete stranger was a waste of time when he felt like his brains were trying to pulse their way out of his skull. Instead he simply held the wadded tissues tight against his nostrils and prayed for this nonsense to go away.

Sheng Lin was polishing Bichen's scabbard with a soft cloth when Lim arrived home. "You look horrible."

"Headache. Do you have stuff I can take for it?" He wasn't looking forward to having to walk upstairs or pawing through his medicine box for pills. To his surprise, Sheng Lin held his wrist instead of looking for medicine. Apparently, the other man was just as insane this evening as he was on other days, because he immediately ordered Lim to lie down on the couch and called Chen Song instead of getting a bottle or aspirin or ibuprofen or something. Ming Lim couldn't see the conversation but he imagined Lin was telling Song some ancient Chinese medicine nonsense. He hoped his former bodyguard was telling Lin to stop playing around and get the damn medicine. Apparently not, because as soon as Lin hung up on Song, he called Michael and ordered him to come home immediately for a matter of life and death. It's just a headache, he thought weakly. A migraine. Not a matter of life and death.

Cold fingers on his wrist startled him. Chen Song was taking his pulse and looking concerned. When did you two start having sex?

"What?" Ming Lim's voice screeched and he dry heaved from the pain. "I'm not having sex," he lied.

You're dying. Stop lying. Chen Song's hand movements were curt. You have a headache, a nose bleed, and your eyes are bloodshot. Half of your meridians are blocked and the other half are in disarray. His hands dropped to his sides as he looked over at Sheng Lin.

Sheng Lin bustled over to place an ice pack under Ming Lim's neck. "You're having a qi deviation right now. And it's a bad one. Once Michael gets here, we can talk him through how to heal you…. Xiànzài... we need to know some information to help you. We already know you're lovers. We're not going to tell your parents, if you're worried about that. Or our other housemates. To help you heal, we need to know: how long have you been having sex?"

Ming Lim shifted on the couch. He wasn't sure if he was more uncomfortable from their questions or his headache. "What is a qi deviation?"

Sheng lin sighed at the attempt to divert the conversation. "When we were young, cultivators were identified as young as seven and trained, slowly, to learn how to keep their meridians clean and clear so that spiritual energy can pass through them easily. Even rogue cultivators who learned on their own, develop these skills because it takes them so long to learn how to cultivate. But with you and Michael…. Since the day he was born, maybe even the day he was conceived, the two of you have been connected. Your golden cores are linked, bonding you to each other. Sex enhances that bond, increases your abilities to use spiritual energy. But it does nothing to help you control the energy or keep your pathways clear.

"The way your body looks right now… it's obvious that your Core is out of sync with the rest of you. Your meridians show you've been practicing cultivation without the proper preparation, training, and growth. The only way this happens is through sex with your bonded cultivator."

Ming Lim took the tissues away from his nose and felt more blood start dripping towards his lip. He'd never had a bloody nose that lasted this long. Chen Song silently handed him a new wad of tissues. It's only going to get worse. Right now it's only two… once all seven of your qiqiao start bleeding, we don't have a lot of time to stop it. If your brother was here, he could play the Song of Clarity for you, and you would be fine.

"I don't have a brother," Ming Lim insisted. Is Chen Song as insane as Sheng Lin? This cultivation stuff they were talking about... it had to be nonsense. There was no way it was real. Cultivation was just a TV show or novel thing. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Like the stuff that Michael did couldn't be real. Like the way he felt they had been lovers in a previous life wasn't real. There had to be some sort of trick. What's that thing Americans say? That movie with the red shoes… ignore the man behind the curtain? Where was the little dog to finally pull it down so he could see that fat little man playing with the machine?

"You had a brother: Lan XiChen. He was a good man. A truly good man."

Ming Lim's head exploded in even more pain. There were images, hundreds, maybe thousands, of them, battering at his brain: all of a young man wearing various shades blue with a serene face and eyes that held a smile even when his mouth did not. His hair was held back by some sort of silver thing and a blue ribbon was tied around his forehead. Then there was another image, clearer, growing larger and larger of a laughing young man in white sitting on a wall holding what looked like that wooden sword, Suíbiàn, and two porcelain jugs saying, "Lan Er'Gōngzǐ."

And then he knew nothing else.

When Michael arrived a few minutes later, it was to see his boyfriend lying on the floor, his head surrounded by blood soaked towels. He dropped his bags and ran, "Ming Lim!" The older boy had blood trickling steadily from his nose, eyes and ears. And there was blood on his chin and shirt, too, evidence that he had coughed up blood earlier.

Sheng Lin, grabbed his wrist as he knelt next to the unconscious boy. "He's going through a qi deviation. There's still time to fix this, barely, but you have to do what I say without asking questions."

Michael shot a worried glance at Lin, "What's a?"

"No questions," the tattooed man interrupted. "Place your hands here and here," he said pointing to Ming Lim's abdomen and heart. When Michael did as ordered, Lin continued. "Concentrate on the bond between you. Close your eyes and focus. See the link." Lin placed his palm flat against Michael's abdomen. "Here, the link should be here. Do you see it?"

Michael shook his head. "With my eyes shut, all I see are red and green circles."

"Don't use your eyes! I know you know what I'm talking about. I know you've been cultivating." Michael opened his eyes in a silent question. "Magic. You've been doing magic. Find the place you use to make it happen and 'see' the link between you." Michael closed his eyes again and this time 'looked' the same way he 'felt' when he cleaned out his bum.

And there it was. A long, pulsing, golden cord as thick as his index finger connecting two things of glowing something in their bellies. His eyes opened wide in astonishment and then they got even wider: he could 'see' lines traveling up and down Ming Lim's body. Lines that looked wrong, felt wrong. They pulsed a sluggish purple or an angry red. "I see it," he whispered, completely amazed.

"Do you see the meridians?"

"Yes," he breathed. So that's what those lines were.

"Transfer your spiritual energy to them. Start with the ones near his head and work your way down to his feet. Clean them until they run blue and healthy."

A blue light shown under Michael's hands, which would have freaked him out if he hadn't already drawn glowing blue runes. He had no idea how to 'transfer his spiritual energy' or what 'clean them' meant, but he could feel something leaving his body and could see the red and purple meridians slowly turning blue.

"You can stop now," Sheng Lin said gently when all the meridians were blue and peaceful. "Let him sleep for a while. When he wakes, I'll have him play the Song of Clarity."

Michael held up a hand to interrupt. "What the fuck did I just do? What's a qi deviation? What was wrong with him?" He was exhausted, mentally and physically: his hands were shaking. And his mind kept repeating magic. This is fucking magic!

Chen Song was wiping away the blood from Ming Lim's head and hair. Sheng Lin held out a hand to help Michael to his feet. "Lái." Come. "I'll make you some tea. I'll put lots of honey in it to help you regain your strength. Explanations can wait until after Ming Lim wakes up." While they waited for the water to boil, Sheng Lin asked. "I do need to know…. How long have you two been having sex?"

"We're not having sex," Michael lied. "We're both guys. We like girls." Sheng Lin calmly looked at him until Michael started squirming. "Since a year ago, September," he finally admitted in a whisper. And mentally apologized for outing his boyfriend after promising not to.

Sheng Lin spooned out tea leaves and covered them with boiling water. "If it was that long ago…. No. Something different. What changed in the last month or so?"

"Nothing changed," Michael insisted.

"Of course something changed. Two months ago you couldn't play with the lights the way you can now. Did you swap positions?" Sheng Lin sounded unsure. Despite being over a thousand years old, Wen Ning was as virginal as he'd been the day he died. He'd picked up more than a basic understanding of sex over the millennia, but with no practical experience, or any interest, he hadn't bothered to research past the basics.

Michael was quite sure his entire body was redder than a cooked lobster. "We haven't changed anything." Then he thought of something that had changed. "We got tested for STDs and stopped using condoms…. Does that count?"

August 2013

Lan Qinyang and Song ZiChen stepped out of their rental car, blinking in the harsh Indiana sunshine. The man they were here to meet, Levi White, stepped out of his barn wiping his hands on a stained cloth. "Morning folks! What can I do you for?"

She smiled at his friendliness even as she internally shuddered at his poor English. She'd fire any of her employees who spoke like that. "We're here to see if you can manufacture a sword for us. My associate, here, participates in traditional Chinese sword fights and dances."

Levi scratched his blond head. "Well I never made no chinese sword, but if it's iron or steel, I can make almost anything. Do you got prints or a design?"

Lan Qinyang was quite aware of his abilities. She and Song ZiChen had followed this man around for nearly the entire summer as he traveled from between State and Renaissance Fairs all over the eastern part of the country. They had watched him making rings out of nails for small children to play with as well as knives that customers could purchase (and then sharpen on their own). The walls of his demonstration booths were covered in blunt edged swords, knives, and iron roses as well as samples of the gates and grills he could produce. He was definitely a master smith, and skilled enough to make his boast a reality.

She suspected that he was capable of a lot more than simply making a sword.

Song ZiChen opened the car trunk and pulled out Fúxuě. With a slight bow, he handed the sword to Levi. Lan Qinyang, 'We would like something similar to this blade."

Levi looked at Song ZiChen, "What? He don't speak?"

"His tongue was cut out by insurgents," she lied. "He understands English."

"Huh." Levi scratched his head again. "Well, I don't give discounts, not even to war heros, but I do thank you for your service." Both Lan Qinyang and Song Lan blinked at the man, failing to understand what he was saying. "Well, come along, then. Come into my office. I got the AC running so it'll be cooler. I'm Levi White, by the way. Call me Levi. I still feel like someone calling out for Mr. White is looking for my dad."

"Qinyang Lan and Song Chen," she answered, pointing to first herself and then ZiChen, remembering to put their family names last. "If it's easier, you can call us Yang and Song." She had noticed Americans had a hard time with the 'q' sound.

"Thank you for that," Levi nodded his head. "I'm terrible with foreign names. There's this Indian from India family moved into the town and goes to my church. I try to get their names right, but they've got like fifty letters in each name! No matter how hard I try, it seems I just say gobbely-gook. I'll get it eventually. That family's got the patience of the saints I swear. How they haven't started screaming at us for butchering their names I'll never know. I mean my wife starts fuming when Pastor calls her Ann instead of Anna, so how these folks just smile while my tongue gets all tied up in knots is beyond me. Anyway…. Let's take a look at what you got."

After about an hour of Levi pouring over the sword and writing notes about what he saw, a heavily pregnant woman walked into the office without knocking. "Hey sweetie pie… oh. You've got company." She quickly knocked him on the shoulder and hissed, "You got customers sitting here and you didn't even offer them a glass of water?"

"We're fine," Lan Qinyang assured her. "I have water in the car if necessary."

"Oh. All right then. I was just about to make some lunch. Would you like some? It's not much, just ham and cheese sandwiches. Or there's a Chinese restaurant downtown… I could order from there if you'd feel more comfortable eating your own food…. Then again," she shrugged, "I heard American Chinese food is more American than Chinese, so you might not like it after all. I don't know." She rubbed her tummy grimacing. "Oh that was a strong one. He got me right in the bladder."

Lan Qinyang smiled. It appeared that pregnancy issues crossed all borders without regard for ethnicity or customs. The women in her maternity wards did the exact same thing as this one.

"I'm Anna," the woman continued. "At least come on up to the house for some iced tea. I've got plain, and you can add lemon if you want, sweet, and I've even got a jar of mint tea." Lan Qinyang nodded her acceptance. It never hurt to be friendly.

Once in the kitchen, Anna made two glasses of tea, and brought them to the living room where Lan Qinyang was waiting. Anna plopped her bulk onto an easy chair and sighed heavily. "Oh it feels so good to get off my feet! You got kids?"

"One, a boy. He's still in China, and I miss him."

"You got a good looking husband back there. Whooeee." He fanned her face like she'd seen smoke. "I love my Levi dearly, but I still can look!"

Lan Qinyang shook her head. "Song Chen is merely an associate. My husband is with our son." She nodded at the other woman's stomach. "When are you due?"

"September twenty-fourth, but the OB says due dates are like weather predictions."

"My doctor said something similar. May I take a look? I'm certified as a general practitioner in China."

"Sure. Go ahead. I'm gonna have ten people up my hoo-hah next month anyways." Anna leaned the chair back exposing her stomach. "Oh. Every time I get off my feet I remember how tired I am." She let out a large yawn. "'Scuse me!"

What is a hoo-hah? "I'm not going to go up anything. I'd like to take your pulse and feel the baby if that's all right with you. You look like you're retaining water."

"Go right ahead, doc." Lan Qinyang knelt next to the chair and took Anna's wrist. After a few minutes, Lan Qinyang held her hands above Anna's swollen belly, "May I?" Upon receiving a nod, Qinyang lightly touched a few places. "The good news is that your water retention is normal and at an acceptable level. Stay in the air conditioned rooms as much as possible. Your baby is doing just fine, she's happy and healthy."

"I'm having a girl?" Anna's voice was slurring a bit.

"Sleep well." Lan Qinyang took the glasses to the kitchen sink and then went back to the barn. The child was healthy, happy, and had the same something Qinyang saw in Levi. The question was whether the something was inert and untouchable or did he know how to use it?

Levi was leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, closely examining Fúxuě. "There's nothing special about this sword," he opined. "I'm in touch with master smiths from all over the world, even ones in Asia that don't speak English. I've seen their work, though. Any one of us can reproduce this blade; so why'd you come all the way to me?"

"I'm not looking for just a blade. I'm looking for a master smith who can… look past the obvious. Was I wrong to come to you?" This was the sticky part. First, was he capable of recognizing spiritual blades: she was pretty sure he was. Second, would he admit to it: she was pretty sure he wouldn't unless pressured. And third, could he make one. Uncle Lan had told her that, in his day, out of fifty smiths trained to make swords, only perhaps one would succeed in the ability to make a spiritual sword. Those artists were highly sought after by the Sects, and even those who stayed apart from a Sect could command huge sums for a sword.

Levi sheathed Fúxuě and stood up in one smooth movement. "It's a sword; there's nothing not obvious about it."

Song Lan frowned as much as his face would permit. He's lying. I can smell his fear. He held out his hand and called his sword to him. Levi's face drained of all color as he watched the sword fly across the table, unsheathing itself so that the blade's handle came to one hand and the scabbard to the other.. But there was no panic, no amazement, no surprise.

Lan Qinyang, He's seen a sword do this before.

"Witchcraft!" Levi finally yelled. But it was more of an afterthought, not a genuine concern.

"Cultivation," The Secretary corrected him, firmly. He knew about spiritual swords, had seen one before. Maybe even made one himself already. I will get my sword. "So you've seen a spiritual sword before. Did you make it?"

Song Lan pointed Fúxuě at the other man's heart. Levi nodded, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. "A few years ago…." he finally admitted. "I threw it down a dried up well and it kept flying back up to me. I couldn't even take it to the preacher to get him to exorcise it."

"Spiritual swords prefer being with their person over being thrown away and vice versa. You have a gift, Levi White. A gift that disappeared over a thousand years ago. A gift from the gods that should be celebrated and honored, not hidden. I promise you, we honor your gift and are willing to pay accordingly. I need you to exercise your gift and make some swords. Just one for now. I will come back for the others in a few years." Resistance is futile.