The mirror.
Wei sat before it in the predawn darkness, the room lit only by a single oil lamp that cast trembling shadows across the silk-draped walls. The flame's reflection burned in the glass like a captive star, and beside it, his own face stared back at him, a face that had belonged to a young man once.
He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. The skin there was smooth, unnaturally so, pulled taut across bone structure that had been sculpted by the finest magical surgeons in Shanghai. At a glance, in dim light, he could pass for twenty. Perhaps twenty-five. A man in his prime.
He pressed his fingers against his jawline and watched, as the skin shifted. Not sagged but moved as something separate from the muscle beneath. Like a disgusting clump of flesh.
"Master Wei."
The voice came from behind the silk curtain that separated his private chamber from the rest of the apartment. Young. Soft.
"Enter."
The curtain parted. Hao stepped through, his bare feet silent on the polished wood. He was fifteen, perhaps fourteen, the age of consent in China. His hair was the color of wet ink, cut short and practical, and his eyes, those large, dark eyes that had first drawn Wei's attention at the orphanage, were fixed on the floor in perfect, practiced submission.
He wore only a thin robe of pale blue silk, the fabric clinging to shoulders still narrow with childhood, coupled with his smooth skin made him seem almost feminine. In his hands, he carried a lacquered tray bearing a porcelain cup of steaming tea and a small jade box, the morning's paste.
"Set it on the table."
Hao obeyed, his movements precise, economical. He'd learned early that wasted motion irritated Master Wei. That silence was preferred.
"The wives?" Wei asked, not looking at him.
"Madame Lin requests your presence at breakfast. Madame Zhao is still sleeping. Madame Chen..." A hesitation, barely perceptible. "Madame Chen was crying again last night."
Wei's lips tightened. Chen was the youngest, barely sixteen, purchased from a failing merchant family in the provinces. She had not yet learned to hide her tears, to accept her position.
"Tell her to prepare herself. I will visit her chambers tonight."
Hao's eyelashes flickered. He had helped the wives prepare before, had held their hands afterward while they wept or stared at nothing.
"Yes, Master Wei."
Wei finally turned to look at him. The boy was beautiful. That was the tragedy of it, or perhaps the comedy, Wei had never been able to decide which. Beautiful in that delicate, androgynous way that certain children possessed before adolescence roughened their features. His skin was flawless, unmarked by time or treatment, glowing with the natural vitality that Wei had been chasing for a century.
"Come here."
Hao approached without hesitation, stopping precisely where he always stopped, close enough to touch, far enough to require permission. Wei reached out and cupped the boy's chin, tilting his face toward the lamplight.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect."
Hao didn't flinch. Didn't react.
"Apply the paste."
Hao's hands were steady as he opened the jade box. The paste inside was gray-white, glistening with the crushed pearl and mana that gave it its potency. He dipped two fingers into the mixture and began to apply it to Wei's face.
Wei closed his eyes. The paste was cool against his skin, soothing the constant, low-grade burn of the failing treatments. He could feel it seeping into the cracks, binding the separated layers, holding him together for another day.
"The contract," he said, not opening his eyes. "The one from the CPC. What do you know of it?"
Hao's fingers paused for only a moment before resuming their work. "Only what I overheard, Master Wei. A target at Hex Academy. A substantial payment."
"Substantial." Wei's lips curved. "It is more than enough for three treatments. Three full treatments at the Su Clinic, with enough left over to maintain my household for a decade.."
"One witch."
"Yes." Wei opened his eyes, catching Hao's gaze in the mirror. "One witch. A child, really. Seventeen years old. They say he's the reincarnation of some Western king. How difficult of a capture could this possibly be?" He laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "I can't believe the Communist Party is giving up that much for someone as young as him."
Hao finished applying the paste and stepped back, his hands folding into his sleeves. He didn't speak. He had learned not to offer opinions unless asked.
"You wonder why I tell you these things," Wei said.
Hao's eyes remained downcast. "Master Wei's thoughts are his own."
"Indeed." Wei rose from the chair, his silk robe whispering against the floor. "But sometimes, a man needs an audience. Someone who will listen."
He crossed to the window and pulled aside the heavy curtain. The city below was stirring, the first gray light of dawn revealing the crowded rooftops and narrow streets of the witch quarter. Somewhere out there, his target was waking, eating breakfast, preparing for another day of whatever pathetic routine constituted his life.
"Three treatments," Wei repeated softly. "Three treatments, and I can maintain this." He touched his face. "For another decade, perhaps two. Long enough to find a more permanent solution. Long enough to..." He trailed off.
Behind him, Hao stood motionless, a perfect statue of obedience. Wei turned and looked at him, really looked, taking in the smooth skin, the clear eyes, the youth that radiated from every pore.
"You know," Wei said slowly, "there are other ways. Other treatments. The Su Clinic experiments with transfers, Elara Shaw once proposed a spell that could force a reincarnation, I've heard a major family overseas has been experimenting with it, moving the soul from one host to another. They say it's dangerous. They say it's possible." His eyes lingered on Hao's face. "But if it really were possible you would be willing, wouldn't you?"
Hao's expression didn't change. "Master Wei has given me everything. My life is his."
"Yes." Wei smiled. It was not a kind smile. "It is."
He turned back to the window. "Prepare my hunting clothes. The black silk, the ones with the reinforced seams. And send word to my contact in the city, I'll need updated surveillance on the target's movements."
"Yes, Master Wei."
Hao bowed and retreated through the curtain, his footsteps fading into the depths of the apartment. Wei remained at the window, watching the city wake, his fingers absently tracing the sealed tears on his face.
One boy. One witch. Three treatments.
Madame Lin was waiting in the dining room when Wei emerged, her posture perfect, her face composed in that mask of pleasant neutrality she had perfected over two decades of marriage. She was fifty-three now, though she looked younger, the treatments he provided for her were less extensive than his own, but sufficient to maintain the beauty that had first caught his eye when she was thirteen.
"Good morning, husband." She rose and bowed, the movement graceful despite the stiffness in her joints that the treatments couldn't quite hide. "I trust you slept well."
"Well enough." He took his seat at the head of the table, and she began to serve him, rice porridge, pickled vegetables, thin slices of smoked fish arranged in a fan pattern on a ceramic plate. The food was simple, traditional.
"Hao informed me of your plans for this evening," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "I will ensure Chen is prepared."
"Good." Wei picked up his chopsticks. "She continues to struggle with her position."
"She is young." Lin resumed her seat, her own bowl untouched before her. "She will learn, as we all learned."
Wei ate in silence for a moment. Lin had always been an excellent cook, among her many other virtues. She had given him no children, none of his wives had, a consequence of treatments begun too young, but she had given him stability, order, the comfortable routine of a well-managed household.
"I will be traveling soon," he said. "A contract. Perhaps a week, perhaps two."
Lin's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "I see. Shall I prepare your travel supplies?"
"No. Hao will handle it." He set down his chopsticks. "While I'm gone, you will manage the household as always."
"If you do not return," Lin said quietly, "I will ensure your affairs are settled according to your wishes. The apartment will pass to me, as we agreed. The other wives will receive their stipulated allowances."
"And Hao?"
Lin's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. She had never approved of Hao, though she had never spoken against him. The boy's presence in the household was a quiet humiliation, a reminder that Wei's appetites extended beyond what a proper wife should acknowledge.
"Hao will be provided for," she said. "As you have instructed."
Wei nodded and returned to his breakfast.
The evening came.
Chen.
Her chambers were at the far end of the apartment, as distant from Wei's own rooms as the architecture allowed, a concession Lin had made years ago, when it became clear that Chen would never adjust to her position with the quiet acceptance of the other wives.
Wei paused outside her door. From within, he could hear soft weeping, quickly stifled. The sound of someone trying very hard to be silent and failing.
He pushed open the door.
Chen sat on the edge of her bed, her face blotched and swollen from crying. She wore the silk robe he had sent ahead, pale pink, embroidered with cherry blossoms and her hair had been arranged in an elaborate style that must have taken one of the servants an hour to complete. She looked beautiful, in that fragile, wounded way that had first attracted him at the merchant's auction.
"Husband." She rose and bowed, her movements stiff with barely contained terror. "I am honored by your visit."
"Are you?" He crossed to her and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were red, swimming with fresh tears. "You don't look honored. You look like a little girl attending her own funeral."
Her breath caught. "I'm sorry. I'm trying. I want to be good for you, I want to—"
"Hush." He released her chin and stepped back. "I'm not here for that tonight."
Confusion flickered across her face, quickly replaced by wariness. "Then...?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. A contract. I may not return." He watched her try to process this, the conflict between hope and the knowledge that showing hope would be punished. "If I don't return, Lin will handle the arrangements. You will receive your allowance, enough to live comfortably. You may return to your family, if you wish, or remain here."
"I..." She swallowed. "Thank you, husband."
"Don't thank me yet." He reached into his robe and withdrew a small jade bottle. "This is for you. A treatment of your own when you get into your late twenties, not as extensive as mine, but enough to maintain your youth for another five years. Perhaps ten, if you're careful."
Chen stared at the bottle. "Why?"
Wei considered the question.
"Take it," he said. "You must keep that innocence of yours, I don't want it any other way."
Her fingers closed around the bottle. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, husband."
He turned and left without another word.
The night deepened. In his private chamber, Wei sat alone before the mirror, watching the paste on his face begin to crack as the hours passed. It would hold until morning, barely. After that, he would need another application before he could show himself in public.
The door creaked. He didn't turn.
Hao's reflection appeared in the mirror behind him, a pale ghost in the lamplight. The boy wore traveling clothes now, dark, practical, the kind of garments that wouldn't show blood. His face was as blank as ever, but there was a slight tension around his eyes, the careful control of his breathing.
"You're afraid," Wei said.
Hao's expression didn't change. "Master Wei is very perceptive."
"Of course I am." Wei turned to face him. "What frightens you, Hao?"
Hao was silent for a long moment. Then, very quietly: "If Master Wei succeeds... if he receives his treatments... what becomes of me?"
A transfer. Taking the essence of a willing donor, a young, healthy, beautiful donor, and using it to rebuild his own failing body.
"You wonder if I will sacrifice you to save myself."
Hao didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Wei rose and crossed to him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the boy's skin. He reached out and cupped Hao's face in both hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze.
"You are perfect," Wei said softly. "Young. Beautiful. Everything I have spent a century trying to preserve. And yes, if the treatments fail, if there is no other way, I will use your body as my own."
Hao's breath caught. His eyes, those large, dark eyes, finally met Wei's without flinching.
"But," Wei continued, "that day is not today. Three full treatments, Hao. Three. Enough to maintain this body for years. Enough to find another solution. Enough, perhaps, to let you grow old and die naturally, as you were meant to."
He released the boy's face and stepped back.
"So you see, your fate and mine are aligned. Help me succeed, and you may yet escape the purpose for which I purchased you. Fail me..." He smiled. "Fail me, and we both know what happens."
Hao's hands, hidden in his sleeves, were trembling. But his voice, when he spoke, was steady.
"I will not fail you, Master Wei."
"Good." Wei turned back to the mirror, examining his reflection one final time. The paste was holding. For now. "Now go."
Hao bowed and retreated, his footsteps fading into silence.
Wei sat alone in the lamplight, watching his reflection, watching the cracks slowly spread beneath the surface of his borrowed skin.