Chapter Text
Huo Ying had dragged himself too deep into this quagmire, and now there was only one way out.
Was it loyalty, naivety, or something deeper and more covert that had kept him tethered to the prince’s side all those years? It had to be significant enough, seeing as 17 years isn't a short period of time. Surely it wasn't the reins, the chains the Crown Prince forced around him that clinked at every step, the ones that pulled him raw, and choked blue? The ones that shackled Huo Ying to the prince much too tightly while giving him just enough autonomy to delude him into thinking he had freedom, choices, perhaps even liberation? Or was it the blood and tears that drained out from every inch of him each time he tried to regain himself and make it to the prince’s next demand alive, still useful?
Perhaps it was just duty, a lifelong debt that Huo Ying had chosen to repay to his saviour who rescued him from the Shadow Guard camp. Nothing screams ‘I will repay you with my life’ more than giving up your potential future for someone who won't even spare a glance at you. But even if it were merely duty, there was still absolutely no justification for the horrid maltreatment Huo Ying had to endure during his time as the prince’s subordinate.
The most compelling and sensible reason that Huo Ying had stayed—voluntarily or not—would be because he hadn’t been allowed a say in it. He never really did have an option in anything, seeing as most of his life had been dictated for him in one way or another since young. So, much like the fact that he had been kidnapped and groomed as a Shadow Guard against his will as a child, it would only make the most sense that he’d been forced up to the role of the Crown Prince’s bodyguard, and then later, Commander of the Imperial Guards.
To nobody’s surprise, he had indeed been threatened with the punishment of death to become Shuqian’s bodyguard, to serve the prince for eternity. However, that still wasn't exactly the reason he had accepted.
None of these reasons are why Huo Ying chose to take the pain, the constant beatings, the feeling of worthlessness that cut so deep it tricked him into believing that he really truly was nothing more than expendable fodder, a servant. Just another black dog.
Whatever burrowed deep into his heart and carved him out was why.
The invisible string, a mere feeling. Huo Ying had let something ineffable dictate his life and his worth. He let himself hurt in the prince’s grasp, and he convinced himself that his feelings were reciprocated, however true that was. The fear of death wasn't the reason Huo Ying had stayed, it was his heart. Huo Ying had decided to serve the Crown Prince for life not because he was afraid of execution, but rather because he had been worried that if he declined or ever tried to leave, he’d lose the chance to get closer to Shuqian. Back then, even if Shuqian had never proposed the idea of Huo Ying becoming his personal bodyguard, he would’ve found a way to convince Shuqian of it.
Truth is, that feeling had first manifested all the way back at the exact moment when Shuqian had saved Huo Ying from beneath the white in the Shadow Guard camp that had blanketed the kingdom that night. A cliché ‘knight in shining armour’ moment that sealed his fate ever since. Clad in the same vibrant red he always seemed to have on, the prince had jumped into the deep end and fished out that poor boy from his own decrepit pit and turned him into his own killing machine, a warrior in his shadow.
Battered, ghastly pale, and half-dead due to hypothermia, through heavy-lidded eyes and teetering on the edge of consciousness, Huo Ying had been instantly charmed by the rosy-cheeked prince. Even as a child, Shuqian’s features had appealed to Huo Ying like no other, which had left him musing as to how an adolescent boy could possibly have such an alluring, gorgeous face—one that even the most stunning of women could not match up to.
That lovely face of Shuqian’s only captivated Huo Ying even more as the both of them got older, forcing everything else out of Huo Ying’s mind till the only thing that clouded his head was the prince. Throughout the years, Huo Ying would find himself occasionally fantasizing about how the prince would react to an impromptu confession, and if he’d ever possibly accept it. More often than not, it ended in a tinge of sorrow and humiliation as he would have to remind himself each time that the prince didn't even consider him human, that he’d probably have Huo Ying executed for having those thoughts and feelings towards him.
But even if Shuqian could never reciprocate Huo Ying’s feelings for him, as long as Huo Ying could continue working closely under the prince, he’d feel satisfied and fulfilled enough.
Essentially, they did grow up together. Huo Ying followed him through everything, never breaking apart, not when everyone else seemed to turn away from the prince after they got what they wanted. And throughout those years, this strange feeling grew larger and bolder, fed by the countless small intimate moments that happened between the two men. It anchored in Huo Ying's head, made up a million reasons to pledge loyalty to the prince for life, and he ate up every single one of them.
So he swore, and got it in his head that throughout life and death, thunderstorms and all, he’d only ever serve one master—his Crown Prince.
Huo Ying never revealed his desires. Not to Shuqian, not to the servants, and barely to himself. They were taboo, something shameful he had to hide. They plagued his mind constantly, never pausing to give him a break, forever present, taunting him.
He was a filthy mutt, a brainless animal. Subservience was something he was well familiar with, just following orders and carrying out plans. Bruised and tamed since young, Huo Ying has only ever known a life that has entailed nothing but suffering. He was simply just a mere commoner who had happened to be at the wrong place at the right moment. What's more, a stupid man. Illiterate, like a 5-year-old. God, was he really pathetic.
A tool, something to be used. Bloodshed was his world, despair his only friend. He might not have been born and bred to become a murderer, but he was forced up to the role quite easily. Maybe that said something about Huo Ying. Someone who took and uprooted the lives of others without so much as a second thought at the command of the prince, he could not have been more different from the type of person who was fit to love someone like Shuqian. Noble, astute, revered and feared.
The Crown Prince, someone held in the highest regard. Escorted by guards everywhere he went who would announce his presence to not just the lowly commoners, but even the smallest of critters that dared peer at him. His upbringing had been nothing short of lavishness. Pampered and sheltered all his life, he was a clear stranger to any form of the ordinary people’s hardships.
He wore silk garments like common garbs, and indulged in the fanciest of meals daily as if they were staples. Brought up in the royal palace, he even had his own royal suite. He lived, breathed, and slept while servants busied themselves with whatever he requested. Shuqian was someone who people considered, someone noticed. One who others actively looked towards for guidance. One whose words impacted the kingdom heavily, the one who could potentially change the fate of not only Nanhui, but Jibei as well.
He deserved someone who could match him. Royalty, someone in similar circumstances. Someone who understood his desires and goals. Someone who Huo Ying was not and could never be. A disgraceful shadow puppet will never be worthy enough to feel anything for someone who wields power like a birthright.
Huo Ying cherished what he could. Whenever he failed to carry out a task properly, or when Shuqian just felt the need to calm his nerves and release any pent-up rage from whatever bullshit he had to endure in the royal court, the prince would resort to abusing him. Out of everyone Shuqian could have chosen to beat half to death, he had always landed on the little guard. To Huo Ying, that told him that the prince still thought he was useful, even as just an outlet for his violent tendencies.
Fortunately for Huo Ying, the beatings didn't come frequently as he’d rarely screw up, and because the royal court never really upset the prince enough, thankfully. However, they were always consistent—whippings, slaps, then throwing Huo Ying to the ground—like the prince had a checklist for that sort of thing. The whippings were Huo Ying’s personal favourite. The strikes from the whip always came down sharply, cracking across his back, leaving raised welts and heavy indents. Sometimes, the end of the whip would break through his skin, spattering blood, and leaving his raw flesh lacerated and visible.
They stung, so much so that Huo Ying would almost pass out from the overwhelming pain each time, but he’d always just barely grip on to consciousness. Even when he just merely shifted, or when his clothes brushed against the deep wounds, the searing pain would course down his back, forcing him to keep as still as he could while the prince would continue his relentless assault.
Huo Ying loved every second of the torture, craved it even. The idea of Shuqian marking his back like his personal canvas for all to see aroused him greatly, though he'd never say it. Even if it would eventually send him to his grave, it was all he wanted—to be needed as a punching bag, for everyone to know who his master was. He accepted anything the prince did to him with grace and much desire, even anticipating the next time he’d get the chance to be dehumanized again.
The slaps Shuqian delivered always felt like an immense blow to the face—literally. He’d wind his arm back, then whack Huo Ying’s cheek with all the strength he could muster, leaving behind an imprint of his palm that wouldn’t fade for days. The resounding echoes of the impact would reverberate throughout the prince’s room, illustrating just how powerful they were. The sheer force of the slaps would give Huo Ying whiplash and send him slamming onto the hard floor, where all he could do was lay there like a cur at the end of its nugatory, futile life.
When the prince felt satisfied, he’d order Huo Ying to get out of his sight, and Huo Ying could only crawl out at an excruciatingly slow pace—thanks to the injuries he’d sustained.
When Huo Ying had been assigned to the Sixth Prince’s mansion under the guise of protecting the Sixth Prince, he had met Shen Song—Shuhe’s sharp-tongued yet warm-hearted physician friend. After that, whenever Shuqian would kick Huo Ying out after he was done beating the tar out of him, he’d trudge back to the Sixth Prince’s mansion in search of the doctor.
Shen Song never turned him away—he couldn't, not after he learned about the damage inflicted onto poor Huo Ying. He’d treat and dress the wounds, grimacing every time when he saw how deep the whips penetrated through Huo Ying’s flesh, how severe they were. Even if he knew it’d be in vain, he’d still beg and plead with Huo Ying each time to stop allowing himself to be pushed around by the Crown Prince, to quit going back to being Shuqian’s slave.
It didn't take a prodigy to figure out that if Huo Ying kept being subjected to that excessive amount of brutalization, his body would one day collapse under all that physical trauma. Even if Shen Song were a miracle doctor, there was about a zero percent chance that he’d be able to drag Huo Ying back from the heavens if the mistreatment continued with just how dire his injuries were. The last thing the physician wanted was for Huo Ying to meet his maker early.
Maybe it was due to his obligation as a public servant to see every single one of his patients through their ailments, or perhaps because there was a more personal and sensitive motivation that directed Shen Song—his unrequited affection for the other man.
Despite being one of the most illustrious physicians in Nanhui—being the Sixth Prince’s personal doctor and friend and all—what haunted Shen Song the most wasn't the innumerable number of deceased, rotting bodies or gruesome maggot-infested wounds he'd seen, but rather his own heart. Falling for his own patient would already violate the code of ethics he had sworn to uphold indefinitely when he first became a practitioner, but to be enamoured of someone who solely relied on him physically to survive? That felt predatory, especially when Huo Ying was that much younger than him, and when he had seen the guard’s exposed upper body on countless occasions—even fantasized about it whenever his mind became preoccupied with the other man.
Huo Ying knew—Shen Song wasn't exactly the best at keeping his feelings secret—but regretted that he could not return the affection the physician felt for him. Despite the glaringly obvious choice between a stable, gentle man who could provide the warmth and respect he deserved and a tyrant prince who ground him down like dirt, try as he might, Huo Ying could only feel for the wrong man.
Even when presented with someone who genuinely loved him, flaws and all, Huo Ying still chose the prince—in his eyes, Shuqian was his only option. Not even Shen Song could pull him out of this one.
Most people never broke through Shuqian’s intricately crafted defenses, or saw through the facade he never let down, such that it would come naturally to him as the years passed. Huo Ying did, but it came at a steep price of reducing himself to nothing more than a skilled blade in the eyes of the prince. When Huo Ying was finally seen as a subhuman of sorts who wouldn't utter a word to anyone much less judge him, did the prince feel guarded enough to let himself seep through the cracks of his ever-so-slightly crumbling walls.
The first time Shuqian ever felt comfortable enough to be weak and vulnerable for once in front of his most trusted right-hand had been a few years after they had first established their relationship. Huo Ying had been summoned into the prince’s quarters and commanded to bow deep till his forehead had practically fused to the same hardwood floor that had seen him beaten raw several times before. It made the prince feel secure, so of course the mutt would comply with his demands. With no intruding eyes prowling about for once, Shuqian finally tore down the shield he had built, line by line.
Secrets unspoken and revealed spilled out, laid bare only for Huo Ying’s ears. Insecurity and shame thrummed within the prince’s suite that night as he rambled on nonstop, his once-flawless image giving way to someone more authentic beneath the callous, stone-cold hollow of a prince. Huo Ying took in everything with indifference—he had to, or Shuqian would have noticed. He was the Crown Prince, for god’s sake. He didn't need pity, not from lesser beings, and absolutely not from his shadow.
Thunderstorms were the bane of Shuqian's existence. Since his adolescent days, the prince had despised them. Every time he’d hear the storming rain pour overhead, the young prince would hide—in the kitchen cabinets, under his duvets, even sometimes in the bathtub. It wasn't the rain he was terribly afraid of—he actually quite enjoyed it when the droplets would patter down on his neatly-combed hair during light showers. It was when the palace would seemingly shake with the strength of a thousand men whenever thunder clapped its way into his eardrums. The canorous echoes always managed to locate him regardless of whatever hiding place he’d chosen.
Thunder made Shuqian feel small. He was the Crown Prince, yet every time it struck, he felt powerless to stop it, like a sitting duck that could only accept his fate. Sure it was dramatic, but it was real to him.
It wasn't unusual for children to be petrified by thunderstorms, but Shuqian was a prince. Out of all the fears he could've had, a natural occurrence was most humiliating. A prince shall show no weaknesses and fears for he is unfit to rule over the common people if he is unable to first rule himself. Shuqian had disposed of most of his childish traits as he grew older, but this fear seemed to stick to him like the thunder itself.
Before that night, Huo Ying had been unaware of the prince’s aversion to thunderstorms. He guessed that the prince had been concealing this phobia from him and the world, nervous that the people would ostracize him. Huo Ying had chided himself internally for lacking attention towards the prince, for his ignorance about Shuqian’s distaste for thunder.
Now that the prince had opened up about it, it only made sense for Huo Ying to take action. It was then that he had offered to accompany the prince on thunderstorm nights. Not out of pity, but because it was a duty he should've been doing a long time ago. And perhaps also because that meant Huo Ying would get the chance to gaze at that pretty face when Shuqian was asleep, at his most vulnerable, but obviously he had chosen to keep that part to himself.
Surprisingly, the prince had accepted. And that was when the routine started. A few years later, it still continued to hold—till it didn't.