Checkmate: War Of The Century [i/iii]
Sequel to: Checkmate: The Emperor's Last Wish
absolutely beautiful poster by paula. thank you so much.
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「
何处寻思念，南风寒逼尽。
人欲苦是非，江河在远处。
」
The night was foggy -- air denser than usual as the heavily guarded tent was brightly lit with three candles in, atmosphere tensed and the only audible sound was of a tired man’s own. Wu Fan settled behind his wooden table, brush in hand moving with speed and precision while he drafted up a new settlement.
Words that could only speak of sadness and agony, for the hundreds and thousands of lives lost for a war that could not be avoided. Igniting the sparks of tormenting memories, as Wu Fan was left to remember the horrible truth of wounds and death. There were moments of desperate war cries; and the First Prince was no longer sure if they were of victory, or in sad remembrance of their losses. How many lives has his sword taken, for all he sees is a piece of steel stained with the blood of his enemies. His Father, The Emperor of China held a celebratory dinner for the momentous victory, but yet, his forbidden lover, is still standing guard outside his tent despite the arrow the First General had taken to his left arm. Wu Fan does not question why Zi Tao does not watch over his father at a time like this, for he knows that protecting the First prince of China, was more than just his duly duty -- it was the responsibility of a lover.
‘My presence by Father’s side will not reverse the effects, for I am no immortal being, nor am I a doctor. The only thing left for me to do before the Great Battle of Borders, is to protect you, my Prince.’
The flap of his tent lifts a little, Zi Tao stepping in with a gentle smile on his face and a ceramic bowl of clear water in hand. He straightens his back, and shifts his feet, nodding slightly when the bowl was placed on the stool beside.
“Cang Ce brought it over, saying that the Second General has offered you a cup of wine.”
Humming in acknowledgement, Wu Fan continues his writing on the scroll, fingers tightly gripped on the inked brush. “I will have it later.”
Zi Tao kneels before his lover, hands placed on his knees and stares over timidly at the other. “Prince...”
Upon noticing the tone within his voice, Wu Fan looks up and lets both sides of his lips tug up into a subtle smile, as though he’s just glad for everything that is presented to him. Reaching out a hand to stroke the side of Zi Tao’s face with the back of his fingers, he chuckles when the other slightly leans into his touch; nuzzling and quickly pressing his lips onto Wu Fan’s palm.
“I promise to get you out of this war alive.” Wu Fan lets his eyes flicker down to Zi Tao’s lips, beautifully feline-arched. “So don’t die before I do.”
“And I promise to protect you, no matter what happens.” Zi Tao whispers, words meant for the man of his life.
A voice from outside interrupts them, with Wu Fan retracting his hand and Zi Tao standing back up. “Third General, the Emperor requires your presence at the dinner.”
Zi Tao looks over to the other, and in that moment, they were once again the First Prince of China, and the youngest Third General of China’s military army.
“I will be there as soon as possible.” He exclaims towards the entrance, staring at the trembling hands of his prince, “I shall take my leave now, I hope First Prince has a nice night.” and he walks out of the tent, Hou Liang following behind.
The tent was cold without a smile to warm Wu Fan’s heart, the remaining warmth of Zi Tao’s skin of his hands lingers in his mind.
How much tragedy could a man take, before he was to be granted rights to cry?
The First Prince sighs, and replaces the brush back down on the holder, while staring at the lengthy scroll of words he had written for the Manchus, in hopes of settling the war…
A war, which had been sparked by a man’s arrogance and another’s lover. Wu Fan doubts he would ever be able to forget the bloodshot eyes glaring right through him- the love of a Father holds for his dead son, killed in the most horrible way possible. A bowl of wine left untouched on the small stool next to him lays cold, specks of dust dancing around the candle’s flame and landing atop of the celebratory drink. The First Prince remembers asking himself, ‘How could man rejoice in victory and delight in the slaughter of men?’, and he scoffs at the thought, realising that he’s turning into the very person he had ever wanted to be.
I lift my drink and sing a song
For who knows if life be short or long
Man’s life is but the morning dew
Past days many, future ones few
The red string on his sword had long been dyed in a darker shade of red, dispersing within his guilt and pride he held for both the war and country. Gritting his teeth, Wu Fan gets up and steps out of the tent first time for the night, hands slightly jittering under the blistering cold wind, hitting him time after time. The soldiers perk up at the first sighting of their First Prince, holding their spears and swords closer to them as he walked past them, giving a nod of acknowledgement.
“Where’s Father?” he asks, body turning to look at the quaking soldier.
“He is in the base tent, First Prince.”
Wu Fan nods once again, before stalking off to the center tent; merry voices yelling in celebration and the clinks of their drinking bowl loud in contrast to the stark night. It’s then, when he wonders just exactly how different things might have been, had he not met Zi Tao. He might just have lost the battle, and in return, his life would have been lost altogether.
Wu Fan believes that he’s a cowardly scholar in an alternate universe, and he wonders if he’s really of such a person, dreaming of being the Prince of their country. Wherein his life has always been a long dream, and the next day, he would wake up only to find that he’s back at his study desk, calligraphy ink smeared all over cheap paper. He would refuse alcohol, for he gets drunk at the slightest drop of wine, and the scent of a burnt out candle would be his best friend. Wu Fan would cower at the smallest form of anger; be afraid of martial arts, be worried about not getting enough money to cover the imperial exam.
But then again, would he still be Wu Fan?
To be extraordinary, was the meaning behind his name. Yet, all he could ever feel for such a special name was of incognisant hatred. He does not know when it had all started, but he knows that it was the reason why he had fallen.
“Amongst the flowers is a pot of wine;
I pour alone but with no friend at hand;
So I lift the cup to invite the shining moon;
Along with my shadow, a fellowship of three.”
A lonesome bout of laughter follows, as Wu Fan sits back in his stool and lifts his cup of wine to the moon. A slumped back speaks of his despair and weariness towards the war, and yet, there was nothing he could possibly do to end the terrible situation. More than a two hundred men had been sacrificed a year into the battle, and the First Prince does not know how long more things would be prolonged for. He holds back a choked sob as the image of the soldiers’ families’ replays vividly in his mind, as they returned pairs and pairs of tattered straw shoes, and a couple of silver ingots.
“A poem filled with a beautiful desolation…” Wu Fan mutters, swirling the cup in hand. “A life with thorough emptiness and despair, and unrealistic sadness. To think, being born into the royal family is something to be upset about. How many more years shall this worthless bloodbath continue?”
“...”
And he chuckles, knowing that all he was, is a lonesome soul seeking for company in the darkest part of the night. He realises, that sometimes you may fall and scrape your knees, but in the war, there’s only one way out of life, and that is to-
“Fight!”
The terrifying yells of brave souls resound throughout the gay tent, every soldier feasting on meat and wine, each drunk out of their mind. Their loud chatters of how they’d taken another enemy’s life, and remembering the pained cry they had let out at their last moments only satisfied them a little more. Amongst the large crowd of men, sat a quiet Zi Tao by the Emperor’s side, replacing his father for the night as personal guard during his recuperation.
The Third General of the Imperial Army does not touch a drop of the alcohol poured for him, as he slides it to the other end of the table, and continues watching the merry-making of his fellow soldiers. Zi Tao shakes his head whenever the Emperor nudges him for a drink, apologising for his lack of alcohol tolerance, and only pours him a new cup of wine as though he was supposed to.
He had ended up having to escort the Emperor back in the latter’s drunken stupor to the Second General’s insistence, feet sturdy as the man leaning against him hobbles alongside. It is to his surprise when the Emperor grabs onto his arm while they were in the tent, and attaches a pair of lips to his neck. Without much struggling, Zi Tao pushes the Emperor off, eyes wide with shock, and a hand pressed against the same spot.
“Y-Your Majesty-”
Much to his dismay, the Emperor walks back to the same spot and snarls at him. “We are all lonely men in the midst of a war, why deny?”
The Emperor spins Zi Tao around, hands working on the knot of his armour, when a tight grip had landed on his wrist, and the other was staring right into his eyes.
“I-I can kill you right at this very moment, Your Majesty!”
“And your whole family would be sent out into the gallows for execution.” The Emperor’s voice was firm as the side of his lips tugs up into a coy smile, leaning in to his ears and whispering. “I know of the relationship the Third General and First Prince shares. But I will get what I want, no matter what I will have to do,”
Zi Tao freezes, his lips slowly parting as tears welled up in his eyes and resigned to his fate for the night, as the Emperor’s companion.
The sky was dark without a single speck of star, and the crickets continued their calls in search of a mate. The candles had long burned out, leaving a mild scent of wax lingering amongst the air and playing with the scent of desire.
Unwanted desire.
The harsh slaps sent against his skin when he had refused to touch the Emperor burnt deep into his bones, silent gasps of pain hanging between his gritted teeth and tears of unjust being unable to fall. Zi Tao’s stare was as hollow as an empty well- the last drops of happiness torn down, and away his faith had gone.
A promise to the First Prince broken, just like that. And it leaves him wondering if there was any hope to start.
Pieces of his heart mingled with the different articles of clothing thrown on the dusty ground, voice long hoarse from his pleas towards the Emperor to stop, that it’s not right, and the First Prince would find out. The blood between his inner thighs shimmered under the slight moonlight peeking in from the flaps of the tent, and the shadows of soldiers guarding outside only taught him of one thing-
“Man’s enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself.”
Zi Tao’s words were soft, yet firm to each tone. He shuts his eyes tight as he continued to put on his own clothes, and pushed away the Emperor once more, when the latter tried to press another kiss onto his collarbones.
“Your Majesty!”
And a resounding slap was sent across his face, as he was pushed down onto the make-shift bed once again; clothes that he had finally put on painstakingly coming undone, bare skin bruised and touched and sucked, that all he had been left with, was a heart full of grievance.
He gets pinned down beneath; body once belonging to the First Prince stained by a different man, sharing the same blood as his lover. Try as he does, but Zi Tao could not find the will in his mind to stop the sinful act being committed by the Emperor. As his toned legs were forced apart for another man, Zi Tao wonders if this had all been a part of a plan, that he was not let in on.
Because justice... does not live.
He had grown up learning the many teachings of successful warlords, and yet, nothing could possibly have prepared him for the amount of guilt and torment he had been put through with the man he had been taught to protect with his own life. To have the knowledge of martial arts from eight different martial art sects, but none of them are good enough to stop the bodily desires of others.
A war is just like a game of chess... It’s either a win, or a pathetic loss. You do not get benefits, and the men whom you have lost in the battle, could easily be replaced by others.
Just like a lover who has been dirtied by the hands of another, Zi Tao finds his words dying in his throat, knowing that someone has soiled as he is, will never be loved by the First Prince of China.
“-the way of the great learning involves manifesting virtue, renovating the people, and abiding by the highest good.” Wu Fan mumbles under his breath, footsteps light on the moist ground, straw shoes stained countless times with mud and dirt.
The air was dry when he’d approached his father’s tent, signalling the arrival of winter. He gets held back, however, by the guards standing a few metres before the entrance; intricately carved sheathed swords held right against him, refusing access. Frowning, Wu Fan demands for access. “Am I not allowed to visit my own father?” he asks impatiently, glaring at the imperial weapon in his face.
“I am afraid the Emperor has made clear instructions that no one is to disturb his time for tonight, Your Highness.”
“I have something urgent, regarding the plans for our left wing of soldiers.” Wu Fan’s grip tightens on the scroll he had in hand, “It needs to be addressed immedi-”
“Y-Your Majesty-!”
A choked sob breaks Wu Fan’s train of thoughts, staring over intensely at the tent.
“Was that...” He freezes for a moment, before springing onto his heels and trying to break through the guards. “Zi Tao!”
The guarding soldiers were one of the top few within the military, often standing in the front battalion with the First General. Trustworthy, loyal, and strong. But yet, resigning to the wrong fate.
“We apologise, Your Highness. But the instructions have been laid by the Emperor. No one is to disturb his time with the Third General tonight.” The slick sound of swords being unsheathed sends chills down the First Prince’s spine, and a hard impact lands on the back of his head, immediately knocking him out. The last thing he hears, if the guilty voice of the Battalion General.
The Emperor is always right.
--
Haha, hello! Sorry for the late and short update, but I promised to write it up, and so I will.
And I know this is REALLY shameless, but I'm looking for someone to converse in Mandarin with me XD I'm taking a major exam next year, and I need to ace my Chinese to get into the course I want to.
O levels, anyone? I'm re-taking it XD
Anyways, see you guys on the next update!