Threads 477-Grudge 1

AN: Trigger Warning

The scents were different, but somehow all too familiar. Floral incense that masked earthier odors was a mix she would never forget. But it was cleaner here, a faded scent drifting from the laundry rather than suffusing every breath of air. Wood polish and pricy wine were the scents du jour there.

And why would it be otherwise? She, Ming Xia, was no low class mortal piece, but a work of art, a beauty great enough to be allowed a few precious spirit stones, which would preserve her exquisite beauty for a hundred years and more.

Her darling Wei Jun had told her so. And any day now, he would receive his promotion to the fifth rank of the ministry and take her away from this sordid business. This, too, he had sworn to her on a dreamlike journey out beyond the roots, standing under the full moon.

Ling Qi’s consciousness spasmed, peeling away from the identity of this other woman. She was not some climber, a concubine who hung her worth on who she… / Ming Xia hugged herself. From whence had come this awful cold and creeping revulsion, as if she should be ashamed of her own skin, her beautiful voice, and many talents? Why would she—?

Colors blurred, a spike of pain throbbed in Ming Xia / Ling Qi’s head.

The vase rocked, and her fingernails punched through the polished wood of the tabletop, crackling with shards of growing ice / Ming Xia pressed a hand to her temple. This awful headache!

“Oi, oi! Qi, don’t yank so hard! You’ll break something!”

Sixiang’s voice took her from a panic / The warm breeze coming from the gate soothed her head and stole the chill.

Ling Qi forced herself to calm / Ming Xia resumed her walk through the courtyard of the brothel.

She… She. Was… I was Ming…

She was Ling Qi, riding behind Ming Xia’s eyes.

Colors settled, pain receded, and the ache in her spirit became a twinge, more akin to a pulled muscle than a limb being torn off. She was not Shu Yue. She could not become another person.

Not if she wanted to come back from it.

There was not a whole person in this vase, but the mask it held was detailed enough to become her face if she wasn’t careful. Already, she had slipped up and gone too deep too quickly. There were filaments of Ming Xia running through her spirit and anchored in her meridians.

At least, she understood the first point of this exercise. A whole person could have swallowed her up far more easily, even with her techniques. She appreciated far more the nuances of her own method.

Now, she had a chance to learn better how to escape from too deep a dive.

“I gotcha, Qi. It’ll be no different than combing out the tangles, yeah? No one knows better whats you and whats not.”

Ling Qi had missed being able to rely on Sixiang, but after the tribulation with the Emerald Mourner, it wasn’t the same. She watched Sixiang’s work, observing the touch upon her mind and spirit, where she bled, where Sixiang bled, picking at the thorns there. The knowledge she had earned in the Nightmare King’s dream was not something she could forget.

And she shouldn’t. Trusting someone so deeply…

“Please. I need to focus on keeping the distance between myself and the mask steady.”

Too far, and she would rip her meridians. Too close, and she would be Ming Xia again. She had to stay as she was, like a swimmer just skimming under the surface of the water. It felt like she was trying to hold a house over her head.

Despite everything, she still trusted Sixiang.

Ming Xia shook herself again. There it was again, that strange ache. She’d been having those more of late, flashes of heat, soreness, and more. She had not said anything yet to the madam. Surely, she was only a little ill. There was that illness of the stomach that had gone around, hadn’t there? Yes, she had probably consumed something made from the tainted shipment that had caused that. A trifle. Nothing to worry anyone over.

Especially if it would make her late to her meeting with her beloved.

Ling Qi felt a sick churning in her stomach. She could smell the self-deception in this mask like the stink of rotting meat. But that was not the real thing that made her so uneasy.

Love. Deep, unthinking, total infatuation. It felt like being immersed in tar, or perhaps honey for its eye-watering sweetness. She felt her spirit recoil whenever Ming Xia’s thoughts went to this Wei Jun. She had thought of men as handsome before. She had even felt the stirring of something more when Meng Dan spoke or when Xuan Shi had made his earnest plea by the lakeside, but this felt almost like drunkenness, like she had just downed a wineglass of unwatered delusion nectar, rather than a thimbleful.

Love what you’re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Unconditional. Without doubt.

As she struggled to stay in that narrow band of safety beneath Ming Xia’s face, and she met the man through her eyes, her own senses told her that he was tipsy with it, too, although far less drunk than Ming Xia was. A woman who was only barely awakened could not see that though.

They were so sickeningly happy.

“C’mon, Qi, that’s a bit much even for you.”

Ling Qi separated herself as much as possible from the sensations. Lips and… and…

Improper. Beyond improper!

That wasn’t the problem, though.

Sixiang didn’t reply. They knew, too. They might not be a nightmare of tragedy like their cousin, but they knew that that vase was not a container for happy masks. It was a vessel for a grudge. Or maybe, that was the point. Ming Xia’s grudge did not bother Sixiang in the same way.

Their silence felt uncomfortable, almost guilty.

“People fall apart. That’s part of me, yeah. ‘S why I’m not scared. Even if this Ming girl were still alive, I’d take her apart from the inside out and pull you free of her, if it came down to it. This? Spooks can get mad that I broke their vase later, if that’s what you need.”