Chapter 8: Gu Mang Has It Rough

HOW COULD THIS BE…? How could it be empty?

It was as if a ladleful of ice had been tossed into boiling water—the roiling waves momentarily ceased, but the thick mist remained.

In this hazy fog, Mo Xi wondered vaguely, Clearly, clients have come to his room, so why isn't there a single white cowrie in his jar?

Xihe-jun was strict, stern, and self-restrained, like an indomitable walled city. Nothing could make this fortress light the beacons of warning. Except for Gu Mang.

Ever since the old days, whenever Gu Mang was involved, Mo Xi was prone to losing control, becoming easily enraged, reckless, and impatient—even to the point of losing his composure and ability to think.

Later, when he became a commander, years of ruthless war had sharpened and refined him further. But he still hadn't been able to control this selfish little impulse.

In front of Gu Mang, Mo Xi wasn't the highest-ranked general of Chonghua. He was nothing more than an ordinary young man—one who was less and less able to control himself, and more and more desperate to know how Gu Mang had been these past two years.

Had they disgraced him and then not even paid him for it?

And…how had Gu Mang become so calm, so calm he was almost apathetic? In the face of such a rise in favor and fall into disgrace, could anyone really be so calm ?

"Waste of money!"

A furious shout came from outside, interrupting Mo Xi's thoughts. The sound of footsteps quickly followed, and a woman cursed as she stalked toward the room.

"He can't do anything right and only fucking knows how to make clients upset! That traitor should've been hanged ages ago! I truly don't understand what compelled Wangshu-jun to spare his shitty life!"

Mo Xi's brow furrowed.

This was the manager of Luomei Pavilion, Madam Qin.

A long time ago, as a gesture of friendship, Wangshu-jun had asked Madam Qin to choose a dozen different beauties to send to Mo Xi's army. But no matter how Madam Qin tried to persuade Mo Xi, and no matter how extravagantly she described these beauties, he had refused to keep the people she sent. More than anything, Mo Xi had made note of that sharp and shrill voice, which was so irritating it made his head hurt.

"He can't cry or smile, can't flirt or fuck. Every time clients leave his room, they end up cursing me out." The woman raged, her shadow already dark on the window paper. "What a total waste of money!"

How could Mo Xi be this unlucky? The news that Xihe-jun was visiting brothels would shake the nation to its core, and word that Xihe-jun had snuck through the back door to visit a brothel would further stupefy all of Chonghua.

And if word got out that Xihe-jun was secretly visiting a brothel to bed his mortal enemy? That would blow the top off Chonghua's capital city.

Mo Xi wrenched Gu Mang's face toward him, his rough breaths brushing Gu Mang's cheeks. "Where can I leave?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Gu Mang coughed, gasping for air. "The words outside will change color when a client's here. She won't come in."

"I'm not a client."

Gu Mang's eyes widened. "Then…"

During the brief span of their conversation, Madam Qin's flickering shadow had reached the doorway. Just as she was about to push open the door, Mo Xi glanced to the side. "Don't tell her I'm here."

The door opened. Nigh simultaneously, Mo Xi let go of Gu Mang and darted behind the decorative screen.

Madam Qin entered, a pipe in her hand. She exhaled through red lips, filling the room with the cloying scent of smoke. Gu Mang couldn't stop himself from sneezing quietly.

"You cough and choke every time I come to your room. I keep hoping you might die." Madam Qin rolled her eyes. "But even though I've kept you for all these years, you sure aren't dead yet."

She sat down at the round table, taking a few more puffs from her water pipe. "Great General Gu, there are only three more days in this month," she said maliciously. "I won't bother comparing you to those who earn thousands of cowries, but even the ugliest and most disagreeable of your brethren can sweet-talk and welcome clients with a smile well enough to earn their keep." She glanced at him. "What about you?"

"…I don't have any money."

"I know you don't!" Madam Qin chewed on her pipe. "You can't do anything right. Your face is acceptable, but you have no other skills."

Gu Mang sneezed softly again.

"Why bother pretending to be frail and pitiful?" Madam Qin was growing angrier, and she raised her voice to berate him. "Look at yourself! What do you have in that rotten jar of yours? Keeping you around only loses me money all year long!"

Gu Mang said nothing.

"Wangshu-jun may have forbidden me from laying a finger on you, but if this continues, I'll kill that dog you keep in the courtyard!"

As soon as Gu Mang heard kill that dog, he spoke up. "I did as you said."

"Bullshit. You think I'm stupid?"

"They don't give me money. They tell me I am a…" Gu Mang paused before saying that word aloud, "…traitor."

Mo Xi heard this from behind the screen. Although he couldn't see Gu Mang's expression, Gu Mang's voice was as unmoved as before. He seemed to be expressing something wholly insignificant, without a hint of guilt or shame. To him, the word "traitor" seemed light as a feather.

"Traitors shouldn't earn money," Gu Mang continued. "They say what I do for them is my duty."

Through the gap in the screen, Gu Mang's silhouette was solitary and helpless.

"It's what I owe them."

Madam Qin sputtered. "Yes, indeed, you're a traitor," she said angrily, "but what does this have to do with me? Of course you owe them, but I'm running a brothel, not a charity. Why should I lose money on you?! What's more, those noble clients curse me out every time!

"How many times have I told you to serve those lords? I can't ask for money—you're the ones who have to entice them to pay. At least the others can coax some coin out of their clients, but you? Great General Gu, can you?"

Gu Mang was silent. After a while, Madam Qin's voice became even sharper, shrill enough to pierce the sky. "What are you glaring at me for? How dare you! Get on your knees!"

Mo Xi assumed Gu Mang wouldn't kneel—or, at least not immediately. But reality once more defied his expectations. Gu Mang didn't seem to care; it was as if he wasn't aggrieved in the slightest. He knelt down in front of the woman.

Mo Xi braced his hand against the icy wall beside him, his ears ringing with rushing blood. Gu Mang actually…

He didn't have time to finish the thought before he heard the crack of a whip. Mo Xi was inarguably a god of war who'd braved great battles, but this sound shocked him to the point of trembling. His pupils contracted as cold sweat beaded on his back.

Through the narrow gaps in the screen, Mo Xi saw Gu Mang kneel in front of Madam Qin. That madwoman stood up, coalesced spiritual energy into her palm, and thrashed Gu Mang savagely on the back with a scarlet whip.

This woman seemed to pour all her pent up resentment over her losses onto Gu Mang. She whipped him hard another twenty or thirty times before coming to a panting stop.

Throughout the process, Gu Mang made not a single sound, not even a muted groan, as if he didn't care about the degradation or the pain.

Once Madam Qin had her fill of beating him, she retracted the spiritual whip. She picked up her pipe again and took a few drags to soothe her heaving chest. "You know that people find traitors even more disgusting than their enemies, right? So you better work harder to flatter them and make them obediently give you their money!"

"Flatter…" Gu Mang echoed, as if trying to understand this word.

"If you don't earn anything next month, not only will the clients beat you, I won't let you off so easily either! You better think about that!"

Madam Qin left in a furious huff.

When Mo Xi emerged, Gu Mang's back was still toward him as he knelt on the floor. His silhouette seemed entirely serene. His collar was open wide, pale skin visible over the hem. Above was his neck, bent like a curl of smoke; below was scarlet, looking like burning embers.

Too much about Gu Mang was unnatural. He seemed too much like a stranger, too quiet, too apathetic toward life or death, humiliation or praise. There were so many questions Mo Xi wanted to ask, but as he stared at the blood still dripping down Gu Mang's back, what came out of his mouth was: "Are all of your wounds…from her?"

"Not all of them." Gu Mang stood up. "When you guys come, most of you beat me."

Mo Xi was speechless.

"She beats me more than anyone." Gu Mang answered without sparing Mo Xi a glance, absorbed in his own business as he walked to the water basin.

Mo Xi was about to reply when he saw Gu Mang shrug off his robe. Gu Mang tossed the bloodstained garment aside and picked up the basin to pour its contents over himself with a thunderous splash.

That back of his seemed to be enchanted—it trapped the invincible General Mo in a nightmare.

In Xihe-jun's memories, when Gu Mang was young, his back had been very pale, his skin like glistening jade fished out of a creek. Later on, when Gu Mang grew up, his back had become straight, broad, and fiercely muscled, like a bowstring pulled taut.

Finally, after they went to war, the harsh elements and scorching sun had slowly burnished Gu Mang's skin the color of honey. When he bathed in the river at dusk, a shrug of his shoulders sent water droplets rolling down his back, like a great army chasing the shifting sand dunes of his shoulder blades. They streamed down in a wild, rugged line—but the path cut off abruptly at his narrow waist, sinking beneath the belt of his uniform pants.

Back then, there had been sparingly few scars on Gu Mang's back. His scars were mostly on his front—for instance, on his chest or abdomen.

But now, in the dim yellow lamplight, the back that Xihe-jun knew so well was unrecognizable, covered in whip scars, knife wounds, and mangled magic burns. It was difficult to locate a single patch of unharmed flesh, not to mention the bloody cuts from the beating moments ago… How much must that have hurt?

But Gu Mang seemed not to care. He indifferently poured cold water over himself to wash the blood away.

Mo Xi's heart was in disarray. He hadn't wanted to say anything, but somehow, he was unable to look away.

He thought of Gu Mang in their academy days, standing with his back to Mo Xi and sighing with exasperation. Shidi, you work too hard. Can you still move your legs? Come here, get on my back. I'll take you home.

He thought of Gu Mang on the battlefield, fierce and unyielding, their backs pressed together. Shidi, don't rush ahead. Stay by my side.

Mo Xi closed his eyes in silence. In the end, he asked, "Where's your wound salve?"

Gu Mang's eyes were somewhat unfocused, as if he didn't understand what Mo Xi was saying. "Wood…salve?"

"What about bandages?"

"Bandages?"

Mo Xi didn't know whether what he felt right then was anger or hatred, resentment or some other inexplicable pain. "You should at least have a bottle of blood-clotting powder."

Gu Mang stopped moving and turned to look at him. After a few seconds of thought, he finally understood, but he shook his head. "No need. It will heal."

He continued to splash cold water over himself, then haphazardly dried himself with a towel. Finally, he stepped over to the low camphor wood wardrobe, took out a wrinkled robe, and put it on, just like that.

Seeing how thoughtlessly he moved, Mo Xi's frustration roared even louder.

He had seen many prisoners of war. There were those who were unyielding, those who were obedient, those who wanted to die, and those willing to change allegiances.

But Gu Mang was unlike any prisoner he had ever seen. Mo Xi didn't know exactly what the current Gu Mang was like; he sensed not the slightest shred of familiarity, nor the slightest sliver of human emotion.

Gu Mang didn't shed tears, feel shame, show terror, or cast blame. He didn't even seem to feel pain.

After a long pause, Mo Xi asked, "Gu Mang, what exactly are you thinking?" He didn't expect Gu Mang to answer; he only spoke because his chest felt impossibly tight.

But to his surprise, Gu Mang did reply, and his reply was very honest: "I want cowrie shells."

Mo Xi had no words.

"Other people here have them, but I don't. No one's ever given me any."

Mo Xi gazed at him, watching Gu Mang's expression as he spoke. That sense of strangeness intensified.

"Everyone says I shouldn't want them." As Gu Mang talked, he looked toward the fragmented remains of his jar before bending to pick up the shards and put them on the table. He looked as placid as ever, but Mo Xi gradually realized his expression seemed somewhat bewildered, as if there were something Gu Mang didn't understand. Gu Mang turned to look at him. "You're the first person to give me a cowrie shell."

Mo Xi was momentarily silent. "You know very well why I gave it to you," he replied stiffly.

Gu Mang didn't immediately respond, instead continuing to assess Mo Xi. This was the first time since Mo Xi's entrance that Gu Mang had looked at him carefully, without the disinterested blankness he used to appease clients.

Then Gu Mang reached a hand toward him.

"You still want it?" Mo Xi stared down at him. "Didn't you want to give it back to me earlier?"

"I want it."

Mo Xi felt a surge of frustration. In order to stop wasting breath on Gu Mang, in order to avoid getting even angrier, he took out another golden cowrie and passed it to him.

Gu Mang didn't say thank you. He took the shell, holding it in both hands, and lowered his head to inspect it. Then he turned to look at the shattered jar on the table. After some thought, he walked to the bed and dug under the soft mattress until he found a brocade pouch.

Gu Mang was about to open the pouch and put the cowrie shell inside when Mo Xi realized something. He stood up, his heart going cold.

"Hold it."

Gu Mang froze.

"What's that in your hand?" Mo Xi's voice was low and dangerous, each word dripping with threat, as if they would be splintered between his teeth with the slightest exertion of force. "Take it out."