The Sword Spirit Chose a Nobody for His New Master novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Three Nights Under Watch

No elder can lift the blade but it sings for the water carrier, so the Hall locks the pair in a guard cell for three nights. In the dark under the guard lamp, the spirit has his first release in a man's hands.

The test took place in the Sword Yard, under torches, with every elder of the Hall sitting in a row.

The sword lay on a black lacquer rack in the middle of the yard.

Hanjue stood behind Chuhe with his hands folded.

"One at a time," said Elder Pei. "Whoever lifts it holds it."

The first elder was a stout man with a white beard.

He took the hilt in both hands, braced his feet, and heaved.

The sword did not rise.

The second elder could split a boulder with her palm, and she could not lift it either.

The third tried, and then the fourth.

Yan Jingyi stood at the edge of the torchlight with his arms folded and his jaw tight, watching them fail.

Elder Pei came last.

He did not strain.

He laid one dry hand on the hilt and said a short word under his breath, and for a moment the blade shivered.

Then it went still again, heavy as the mountain.

Pei's thin face did not change, but he took his hand away slowly.

"Shao Chuhe," he said.

Chuhe walked up to the rack and lifted the sword one-handed.

It came up as light as a bundle of reeds.

It gave a long clear note, and every torch in the yard leaned toward it.

"Put it down, please," Chuhe whispered. "You're showing off."

The note stopped.

Somebody laughed in the dark, and was shushed.

"Very well," Pei said. "The bond is real."

He let it sit a moment.

"The Hall's old law says a true bond shows itself under the strain of nearness."

"For three nights the bearer and the blade will sleep in the Tomb guest cell, within arm's reach, with a guard at the door."

"If they quarrel or part, the bond is false."

"And if it isn't?" said Chuhe.

"Then you may keep your toy," said Pei, and smiled for the first time.

It was not a good smile.

The cell was a small stone room with a single cot, a water jar, and a lattice door.

A guard lamp hung outside it on a hook.

The guard himself walked up and down the corridor with slow, bored steps, and stopped at the end each time to yawn.

Chuhe sat on the cot with the sword across his knees and looked at the lattice.

"They can see everything," he said.

"They can see the cot." Hanjue stood in the dark corner, where the lamp did not reach. "They cannot see here."

"I wasn't asking that."

"No." Hanjue crossed the cell in two steps and sat down beside him. "But I want you to touch me."

Chuhe put the sword on the floor.

His hands were not entirely steady.

"You've been in the stone three hundred years," he said. "I don't want you to do something because I'm the first person who showed up."

"I have wanted nothing for three hundred years." Hanjue's voice was rough.

"Today I wanted a bun, and then I wanted your mouth, and nothing else since. Do not tell me that is the stone."

Chuhe looked at his face in the dark.

The guard's steps went down the corridor and away.

Chuhe reached out, took Hanjue by the front of his robe, and kissed him.

It was better than the first one.

Hanjue's hands came up, rough palms on either side of his jaw, and held him there.

They kissed until Chuhe forgot about the lamp.

His own hands found the silver sash and tugged, and the black robe fell open off one pale shoulder.

Hanjue shivered all over.

"Cold?" Chuhe whispered.

"No." His breath caught. "I did not know skin was so loud."

The word made Chuhe grin against his collarbone.

He pushed the robe down further, and kissed the long line of his throat, and felt the pulse jump under his lips.

Hanjue's head tipped back against the cold wall.

"Tell me what to do," he said, his voice thin. "I will do it. Tell me."

"I'm not telling you anything." Chuhe's own voice had gone low. "Just feel."

He slid his hand down the hard, flat plane of his chest and kept going.

Hanjue let out a low sound he clearly tried to swallow.

Chuhe unknotted the sash of his trousers and pushed the cloth down over his hips.

"Look at me," he said, because he had to.

The grey eyes opened, dark and wide and desperate.

Chuhe wrapped his callused fingers around Hanjue's hard cock.

The shaft was thick and burning hot against his palm, already leaking a wet bead at the tip.

Hanjue gasped his name.

Not Master.

Just "Chuhe," cracked down the middle.

Chuhe felt that word go straight through his chest.

He stroked the hard length from root to tip, his thumb rubbing the slick head while his other hand held Hanjue's neck.

"I've got you," he whispered. "Quiet. Fuck into my hand."

Hanjue pressed his face into Chuhe's shoulder and bit down on the grey-brown cloth, his hips jerking forward into Chuhe's fist.

His whole long body went tight, then shook as Chuhe pumped his cock faster.

He was so hot and hard against Chuhe's palm that every pulse felt like live iron.

It took no time at all.

Hanjue came hard across Chuhe's fingers in hot white ropes, making a soft, ruined sound into Chuhe's shoulder.

He held on to Chuhe with both arms as his cock gave one last shudder in Chuhe's slick grip.

They stayed there.

The guard's footsteps passed the lattice again and went on.

"Is it always like that?" Hanjue said at last into the cloth, and his voice was wet.

"I have no idea." Chuhe was laughing a little, helplessly. "You're the first person I ever did that to."

"I will do it to you," Hanjue said, muffled. "I will learn. I will do it as many times as you want."

"Another night," said Chuhe, and kissed his temple. "Sleep. Or whatever you do."

He wiped his hand on the blanket and pulled the robe back over those shoulders.

Then he lay down with Hanjue's silver head against his chest.

For a while it was only breathing.

Then something scratched at the lattice, softly, like a cat's claw.

Chuhe froze.

The guard lamp showed a tall shape on the other side, in white and blue.

Yan Jingyi's braid hung over one shoulder with all its gold rings, and his handsome face was pale and set.

"Don't make a sound," Yan said, low and fast.

"Pei means to retire the blade at Midwinter, Shao Chuhe, and you with it. I'm the only one in the Hall who'll tell you."

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