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Language:
English
Series:
Part 7 of ArchiveWriter's Hidden Ocean 藏海传
Stats:
Published:
2026-01-03
Completed:
2026-01-03
Words:
2,580
Chapters:
4/4
Kudos:
13
Bookmarks:
2
Hits:
85

Parallels (Zhixing POV / Rating: M+)

Summary:

Follows ‘Heaven’ with a small leap: They’ve faked their death and are on the run, more or less, across the North-Western desert. They take shelter at an inn.

Oblique intimacy between men. Zang Hai x Zhixing, for a whole raft of reasons, but mainly seniority, their existing relationship, and the context in which they live. Physical closeness growing from slowly evolving feelings on a hard-won foundation of mutual respect. A love as cool and deep as the ocean in Zang Hai’s name, and as consuming as liquid fire in Zhixing’s case. I feel this suits their characters.

No technicalities. No four-letter slang because there are better words to describe affection and intimacy. Tough, restrained tenderness but no fluff.

Notes:

Fanfiction is fast-food (and often enough junk-food). I still like to lean on history for inspiration, even in fairytales. Around the canon period, it would have been unthinkable for a younger man to take the lead in a male / male relationship since it would have broken more social boundaries than a man taking a male bedmate. Relationships were nuanced and influenced by seniority in age, social standing, wealth and learning, a long stretch before personal feelings. Those factors often aligned on a gradient, or were assumed to do so: Older age was associated with being wiser, more powerful, wealthier, more socially respected, able to offer patronage, and entitled to deference.

Chapter 1: Desert (Chapter Rating: G)

Chapter Text

oOo

 

Zhixing closes his eyes and groans as he slides deeper into the tub. He’s stark naked. It’s the first time in months that he’s able to have a real bath. It’s only a wooden tub with plain water, but it’s deep enough to immerse himself to his chin if he bends his legs, and the water is almost hot, with steam rising into the cold room. A small room at a ratty inn, by the only water source within five days on camel-back. There’s no telling whether the place is safe or a bandit’s nest, but he’s got bow and crossbow within reach on top of the pile of dirty clothes, and his sword at hand – it’s across his lap, in the water with him. He’s wrapped the upper part of the blade in a rag, to be safe yet ready to use in a blink. It feels comforting.

He hears Zang Hai’s quiet footfall as he moves around, checking the bare wooden cot for bedbugs, assessing the aura of the place, looking at the position of their quarters within the compound. The inn consists of a square-shaped yard surrounded on three sides by stables, stores, and a squat building with a kitchen awning out front, and a massive gate. On the groundfloor of the main building, food and drink are served to travellers. A wooden staircase leads to a gallery on the first floor, with five guest rooms, all looking towards the gate. The well – a hole hacked into the hard, dried-out ground, in the middle of the yard – has its own roof. Outside is only sand, sand, and more sand – a different kind of sea stretching to the hazy horizon.

Zhixing still feels mildly incredulous that they should be here, that Zang Hai should be in this place, with him. But they are, and he is, and Zhixing grows warmer than the bath warrants when he recalls the wry glance Zang Hai spared the sword in the water. Or perhaps what it covers. A shiver runs through his body and sparks through his meridians. After that kiss Zang Hai had allowed, back in a ruined village amid snowbound mountains, they haven't touched again. He hadn’t forgotten but reliving it is different – Zang Hai’s iron control, his composure, this forbidding stillness that hides so much and seems so unbreachable. The distance he seems to carry within. It drives Zhixing crazy, but he bides his time. He can wait. He can be patient. He’s learned patience from Zang Hai, and he won’t disgrace his teacher. He no longer is a spoiled youth, but a man, and he’ll prove himself worthy of Zang Hai, as often as required, as long as they both breathe. He’s fine with this, and he’s certain of himself. 

 

oOo