Phew, this, and last three chapters, is my new update. Just finished exams, and this was the FIRST THING I jumped to. xD Yipee! I hope you enjoyed reading the update so far!
"You're pulling a little too hard, child." Yao said pleasantly, despite the fact that his maid, having had no previous experience in grooming, was yanking hair right out of his scalp.
Then again, Yao could always groom himself. But, he decided against it, just to amuse himself with how much worse the service here could become.
Ever since the conquest, Yao's new bosses had been showering him with silk and jewels, in apology for having taken over his land, and to hush the ideas of rebellion that they had thought were in swimming in his head. Now, he didn't have to dress, bathe, nor pamper himself. Instead, they had assigned him half a dozen servants who tended to his every whim. Yao thought it was ridiculous that they believed such superficial treatments would make him forget who he really was.
Yao could only chuckle bitterly at this. Even if he had the will to rebel, had he the strength left?
When the renovations did come, Yao made sure that he himself stayed loyal to the previous dynasty, or at least, his aesthetic appeal. He shirked away from Manchurian garbs like a bad cold, and there wasn't a thing they could do about it. He was China.
In fact, Yao welcomed any brave soul who dared to push him down to the ground and shave his head, like they had done to his children. He always enjoyed a good fist fight.
Besides, all he had left in the world now were the clothes on his back and what laid upon his dressing table. They couldn't possibly think of those as a threat to their empire.
No matter how much wine they poured down Yao's throat, the stabbing pain in his chest still could not be numbed. It was there, and would always be there, as an echo of his children's cries. But, this was the life of a nation, wasn't it? Bathed in glory, yet writhing in pain. An impossible paradox.
Yao's torturously slow dressing routine was cut short by the announcement of a guest's arrival. He quickly snatched the opportunity to stand up and walk out of the door, his loose hair billowing behind him. He told himself to slow down his walking pace, to not make himself seem unnecessarily eager. But, today was his birthday, and someone had always been arranged to visit him on this special day every year, perhaps to remind him that the European grandfather clock sitting by his bed was ticking, and that he was getting older.
He arrived at his living room, and took a seat upon his throne. The guest walked up to him and knelt down, only rising after Yao had given him permission. The guest was one of Ivan's people. He took a small wooden box out of his knapsack, presented it to Yao, and prepared to take his leave. Yao offered him a room in the guest's quarters, which he politely declined. Shaking his head, Yao thought that maybe he should write to Ivan to stop sending his messengers onto such perilous journeys.
He looked down at small box, which fit perfectly well upon his own small palm. On it was a childish, scribbled painting of a dragon, at which Yao smiled endearingly. At least Ivan tried, right?
He took the box into the room beside his bedroom. It was at least four times as large, in which stood dozens of shelves and cabinets. They contained pottery, china, and other decorative knick-knacks that must have cost a fortune. On the far left corner was a chest filled with jewels. Necklaces of bleach-white pearls, thick golden bangles, handfuls of loose diamonds large enough to befit the empress' fingers. Yao had no idea what to do with any of these things, other than keeping them in this room for display. Though, no one except for him ever came to browse, and only on rainy, lonely days.
For the past three hundred years, Ivan would always send one of his men to visit Yao on his birthday. Having lived for so long, Yao would have viewed this day of the year as any other, if it weren't for Ivan's punctual reminders. Ivan never missed it, and it was almost eerie how on-time he was. Yao wasn't sure whether the boy knew that these men were not sent on casual evening strolls, but on a mortally dangerous journeys. Then again, whether Ivan cared was another matter.
Yao must admit that he really missed Ivan, and hoped he would have the chance to see him someday. Despite the ongoing tension between their bosses, Ivan wrote to him all the time to keep him updated about his life, and also just for the sake of writing to him.
"Hey Yao! Today, I saw the ocean for the first time in my life. I found a pebble that was the roundest one I have ever seen, and I think you may like it too. Love, Ivan."
When the messenger of that specific package asked Yao about the contents of the box that he had been ordered to never open, he was spared a white lie. The man had spent over eight years of his precious human life delivering it, and lost his left foot and right eye in the process. Yao supposed it was to keep him from killing himself upon hearing the despairing truth.
Yao chuckled and shook his head. Ivan would always be Ivan.
He decided to open his birthday present, and set the lid carefully on the shelf next to a matryoshka doll. In it contained a neatly folded slip of paper. Frowning in curiosity, he set the other half of the box down, and unfolded it.
"Look behind you," it read, or so did Yao's limited knowledge of Ivan's language would tell him.
Before Yao had gotten to turn his head, Ivan had jumped out of nowhere and crashed him into an embrace. Yao, who had always remembered Ivan to be that little boy, did not count the years quick enough. He thought that the man who was practically strangling him was some foreign spy, and without a second's hesitation, gave him a hard punch in the stomach. Ivan's tummy jiggled a bit, and bounced Yao's fist right back out.
"Yao, that tickles!" Ivan giggled. He refused to let go, and instead snuggled even more cozily with him. Ivan had always remembered Yao to be really tall, and wondered what poisonous thing he must had eaten to make him shrink so much. Hugging him now was like hugging that pet fox he used to have.
Upon hearing that very same voice, oozing with innocence, Yao looked up, and received confirmation that the grinning, full-grown man holding him was his Ivan. Except for the frightening difference in height, not much had changed about him. Same pinchable cheeks, heart-melting smile, and violet eyes that seemed even brighter than before.
He didn't bother wondering how Ivan went through the gates of the Forbidden City alive, or how he was able locate and enter his room so quietly. Yao was just glad to have Ivan back, and didn't care that he was half a head taller, and not to mention, a little wider.
"Ivan missed Yao so much!"
Yao sighed. There was no point in lying to him now.
"Me too," he admitted.
Yao was glad that everyone in the palace was in the midst of a large royal family reunion, and they got the garden to themselves.
They were walking down the sun-paved veranda, with Ivan occasionally running ahead to stalk a pair of butterflies, or staying behind to curiously decipher, with the faked air of an oriental scholar, the Chinese letters that have been carved into the wooden beams. Loose flower petals danced in the summer breeze like scented snowflakes, only to be stomped onto the ground by Ivan's eager feet. Yao shook his head. He found it worrisome, and a little endearing, that Ivan's character hadn't changed at all. Ivan sprinted to the edge of the deck a little too eagerly, and tripped on his feet, falling onto the ground below. He climbed back up and dusted himself off, giggling like a little girl, despite how thick and husky his voice had become. Yao stood on his tiptoes and dabbed at the bits of dirt in his hair with his sleeve.
"Be careful, okay? You could have hurt yourself!" Yao warned, poking an annoyed finger at his chest. "Look what you did!" He gestured to the thorny rose bush that, thanks to Ivan's bottom, had been crushed into a bowl shape.
Ivan nodded, more than eager to obey. He wrapped his arms around Yao, snuggling him, while forgetting, or perhaps not caring that they were in a royal palace. For the hundreds of midwinter nights he had spent in the Kremlin, he often dreamt about how warm and cuddly Yao's body would be. He couldn't wait to grow big enough to be able to hold him. Yao was much warmer than the frosty bedsheets.
With a slip of the tongue, Ivan found himself proudly uttering the one piece of truth he had been holding onto for so long. "I love you."
Yao froze, immediately ceasing his petty attempts to shake himself free from Ivan's iron grasp.
He didn't question his own hearing abilities. They were perfectly fine. It was just...
Yao had known all along how Ivan felt, but he thought he had a little more time to formulate his comforting rejection, one that would still preserve the friendship that he had come to treasure.
Carefully unhooking Ivan's arms from his own waist, Yao turned back to meet the eyes of the other man, who was still smiling proudly at his admission. Yao reached his hands up and held his cheeks with both hands. He asked, slowly and clearly, looking into his eyes as he did, "Ivan, do you have any idea what you are talking about?"
Ivan's smile descended. His sudden, steadfast gaze etched into Yao's eyes like a wrought chisel, sending shivers down his spine.
"Yes, Yao, I do." He answered, in a deep, firm tone. Ivan reached a hand to his own face, and cupped Yao's from below. He caressed his downy skin, barely, delicately, as if he was afraid to prickle it with his own dry fingertips.
It wasn't like Yao had never been treated like this before, but since it was Ivan, of all people, he began to feel mocked, almost insulted. Quickly retracting his hand onto his chest and taking a step back, Yao demanded, "Why?"
"Because there is only one person in the world who is good to me." Ivan replied, as if it was an eternal, indelible fact. He had tried to grab his hand again, but stopped himself.
Yao paused, and chuckled politely. "You are speaking nonsense, Ivan." He said with a tight smile, waving a flouncy sleeve in the air dismissively.
"And Yao is going to enlighten me on what love is?" He challenged.
Yao's face fell upon hearing those words, and bit his lip. He didn't particularly care for the tone that Ivan had used, nor the emphasis, the extra pinch that he had given when saying his name. As the most elementary form of intuition would suggest, it implied a number of things about Ivan's knowledge, all of which Yao wished weren't there.
Perhaps Ivan knew about the life Yao lived behind silk curtains?
To be honest, Yao would want to die if Ivan knew the truth about him. As acerbically as he would attempt to justify himself to other people, when it came to Ivan, he just wished that his past could be as erasable as cheap ink.
"...You and I still have to spend the whole day together. Please don't ruin this." Yao said finally, after realizing he had spent too much time staring at blank space, while Ivan stared at his own feet.
Yao took Ivan's hand and lead him away to see the peonies, which bloomed more vibrantly this time of the year than any other. He did his best to avoid his gaze as they walked, and to maintain the uncomfortable silence. Yao tried to convince himself that flowers were nice to look at, and so was the clear sky and wispy clouds. Even watching bees fly too and fro was more preferable than having to face those eyes he had once adored so much, and still did. But, he could feel those purple orbs boring, no, stabbing the back of his head.
Inwardly, he felt regretful and afraid— Regretful, that Ivan was going to be melancholy for the rest of his stay. Afraid, of the seemingly inexorable end to their friendship.
How could Ivan possibly knew what love was, when Yao, being more than twice his age, was still clueless?
Ivan peeked out the window of his carriage, absent-mindedly waving to Yao's fading figure. When it finally disappeared, Ivan let out a lonely sigh, and plopped down onto the hard wooden seat. The contents of his dinner jiggled in his belly uncomfortably as the horses trotted down the rocky path.
He had a long, boring trip back home to look forward to...
Ivan came to visit with the hope that he could bring Yao back with him, because he really could use someone to talk to, besides Bela, of course. But now, he realized how much of a stupid idea that was. No one would want to live at his house if they had a choice. It was so cold, and everyone starved to death in the winters. Ivan probably wouldn't bear to see Yao like that, and though it hurt to, he admitted that it was a good thing Yao had rejected him.
He cracked a wide grin, exposing his gleaming white fangs to the dark.
No matter, he could try harder next time, right? Ivan could buy Yao prettier gifts, and visit him more often. Teehee, there is no point in being sad anymore, because he knew they would be together in the end. By tenderness or by force.
Oh, just thinking about Yao made Ivan giggle. It made him so happy.
:D Please review! I'll be working on other shorter stories over the summer as well, but I won't forget about this one. This will be my first priority, but I also need to expand my horizon.
Notes:
- After the rise of the Qing dynasty, the Manchurian-lead government forced Chinese men to shave their heads as a sign of loyalty to the new regime, and harshly prosecuted anyone who refused. Examples of the Manchurian hairstyle can be found on Google- "queue".