Archive of Our Own ^beta

The cafe Wushan Palace hides itself deep within the city, nestled so perfectly within a narrow alley that few ever realize it’s even there. It does little to make itself stand out, the courtyard gate that serves as its entrance so unremarkable, you could hardly be blamed for assuming it was just old residential housing.

Yet, if you were brave enough to push open those gates, the truth would unveil itself. A lush garden welcomes you, a sliver of nature hidden in the bustling city. Golden chrysanthemums turn their faces towards you–joined by roses, jasmine, osmanthus, lavender, more flowers than you could possibly name. They push against the garden path as eager as children desperate for your attention. Overlooking them all stands a beautiful haitang tree; when the wind blows just right, pink petals rain down upon you.

As Chu Wanning pushes his way into that walled garden, he takes notice only for a moment of these sights. His mind is elsewhere, turned towards the heavy bag upon his shoulder and the research held within. His eyes scan over the flowers, looking toward the courtyard’s walls, desperate to find secrets its owner did his best to draw attention from. However, despite the siheyuan inspiration, it seems only one door remains for Chu Wanning to cross: the one at the end of this path.

With nowhere else to go, Chu Wanning hurries his steps. They fill the quiet of this lonely little garden, ringing like a warning bell for whoever waits at the end of his journey.

Pushing past that solitary door, he finds another surprise. The room he stumbles into is almost… intimate. The light is low, more akin to the atmosphere favored by a bar than the cafe that Wushan Palace likes to claim it is.  What little light pierces through the shadows reflects upon golden accents, dragons dancing across the dark purple wallpaper. They seem almost alive; Chu Wanning cannot help but turn his gaze away for fear they may start moving. It brings his eyes to the sparse seating provided by this little cafe. Barely enough room for more than one or two patrons. Though, given how Chu Wanning seems to be the only patron here, perhaps the owner knew his niche.

Yet, despite how incongruous all those things seem, the air is filled with the rich scent of coffee and baked goods, as alluring as any cafe that caught Chu Wanning’s attention as he passed its open doors on an empty stomach.

…A stomach which seems intent on distracting him from his current mission, letting out a growl he cannot begin to hope went unnoticed.

“Welcome to Wushan Palace,” a voice greets, low and husky. The man it belongs to is the only other person within this small room. Chu Wanning assumes he must then be the owner. If not, he’s certainly a brave employee.

The man on the other side of the counter is younger than Chu Wanning expects, a youthful, boyish charm paired with a roguish grin. He’s handsome in a way almost as addictive as candy, the kind of beauty that keeps you coming back for more and more, even though you know in your heart it’ll only hurt you. 

He wears a silk black shirt, unbuttoned so low there barely seems a point in wearing anything at all. When he shifts, Chu Wanning sees a flash of brown on his chest that forces red to his cheeks, his eyes venturing for safehaven elsewhere.

They land upon bare, toned forearms. The muscle apparent even as they perform nothing more than cleaning a small tea cup. Sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his skin is painted dark red with tattoos that in the reflection of gold accents seem almost like flames curling up his skin.

With nowhere else to look, Chu Wanning forces his gaze up to the man’s face and finds his heart stuttering in his chest. The man’s eyes are almost… hypnotic, if Chu Wanning were the sort of romantic type to use those words. Perhaps it was nothing more than a trick of the light–the dark purple wallpaper leading his eyes to see things–,but in the black of this man’s irises, he swore he saw a hint of violet.

He seemed more model than barista. Ill-fitting to the setting he’s been placed in. Yet here he was.

The man wipes away the last few droplets of water clinging to porcelain and places down the cup, letting it join its doppelgangers in a neat row along the counter. “What brings you here?”

Chu Wanning tries his best to still the pounding in his chest, finds the effort useless, and gives up.

The true answer to the question lies in the small business card buried at the bottom of his bag. It had been a risk to break into Miss Song’s apartment. If he was caught, he’d be lucky if all he got was a lengthy stay in an interrogation room.

But he’d needed to know; he’d need to confirm if his hunch was right. He had been, something he’d known as soon as his fingers had brushed against the business card wedged between a bed and wall–the edges crumpled, the ink faded as if fingers had worn over the words.

Wushan Palace opens its doors for you.

The very same business card that had been found in every single missing girls’ room.

“I’d… heard good things about you. From a friend.” Chu Wanning says. It’s not technically a lie, so much as a half-truth. He’d known one of the missing girls–a young woman by the name of Luo Xianxian–if only from when she’d begged him to help her prove her innocence when her fiancé’s family had accused her of theft.

When he’d heard her name spoken again, this time with accusations of skipping town to avoid charges, he’d regretted not helping her sooner.

Chu Wanning's fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, and he takes a step towards the counter. 

The man studies him for a moment, and something flickers to life in his eyes. When he speaks, the words fall from his lips like honey, slow and languorous. “Is that so?” He gestures to a stool opposite of him. “Then take a seat. My name’s Mo Ran. I’m the owner.”

That sparks Chu Wanning’s attention. He takes the seat without hesitation. It’s more comfortable than he expects. As he sinks into it, he realizes just how much tension he’d kept in his body from the feeling of it melting away. “It’s a nice place you have here.” He sets his bag down in the chair beside him. “It’s strange that you don’t have more customers.”

Mo Ran nods as he spins on his heels towards a well-stocked shelf behind him. Jars containing dried petals and coffee beans line the shelves. “By my own design, if I’m honest.” He grabs a jar among the many without hesitation, studies it for a moment before placing it on the counter. 

“Wushan Palace’s mission is to provide our customers with the best experience we can offer.” He tosses a glance over his shoulder, offering a toothy grin, like he’s letting Chu Wanning in on a secret. “I’ve found in my years working here that it’s easier when the connection we can make with our guests is more… personal. Harder to do when you’re swamped with people rushing in and out.”

Mo Ran laughs, light and airy as he reaches for another few jars. He moves deftly, like a magician. Chu Wanning hardly blinks as he watches him set a small pot to boil in the same motion he plucks a gaiwan from a row of tea supplies, both traditional and western.

“What kind of experience do you offer?” Chu Wanning asks, leaning forward to watch as Mo Ran delicately portions the dried tea and flowers into the vessel of the gaiwan. He needs no other measure beyond his eye, which makes no mistake with its estimates. 

Once the water hits the leaves, the aroma of sweet, floral tea fills the air.

“Whatever we think our guest needs,” Mo Ran replies. “Oftentimes, it’s different from what they think they need. People are like that, you know. They say they want one thing, but in truth, we need another. I learned that myself when I was young. Funny, isn’t it?”

He reaches for the tea cup he’d previously put away. A small delicate thing.  Along its body, a haitang blooms. It seems fragile in his hands, yet Mo Ran holds it so carefully as he pours the fragrant tea into it.

Chu Wanning doesn’t even realize how his eyes had begun to lower until he’s awoken by the soft sound of the teacup being placed before him.

“Your first cup.” His fingers seem to caress along the branch of the haitang tree as he pulls away.  “I hope you enjoy, Xiansheng.”

“I… didn’t order anything yet.”

Mo Ran's smile grows only wider. “I know.”

Hesitation creeps up Chu Wanning’s fingers. Would it really be wise to drink something from this place, when the thing that had brought him here were disappearances? The place certainly seemed sketchy enough… But he’d watched Mo Ran make the tea. Moreover, the victims so far had only been women. Whatever strange things were lurking behind the curtains of this cafe, he certainly was not its type.

Not wanting to give away his suspicions, Chu Wanning picks up his cup and takes a sip.

As soon as tea hits his tongue, his eyes widen in shock. A sweet honeyed floral osmanthus taste softened by the roasted, earthy taste of oolong. Though Chu Wanning had always inclined himself to sodas and energy drinks when his need for caffeine hit, he found they seemed pale in comparison to this.

“...Delicious.”

Mo Ran’s eyes crescent in delight. “Thank you. We make all our tea here. You may have seen the osmanthus you’ll be drinking today’s siblings as you walked up.”

Chu Wanning nods, though finds he cannot not bring himself to pull his lips from the rim of his cup long enough to offer any more than a hum.

For a moment, Mo Ran sys nothing more, seeming to simply bask in Chu Wanning’s joy. After a bit however, he leans forward, so close Chu Wanning could once more see beyond the barrier of his shirt.

He tears his eyes away, only to find them locked with those dark, almost purple eyes.

“If it’s not too much, can I ask about your friend? Considering how we run our business, we remember most of our clients.”

“...My friend?” Chu Wanning asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then his mind breaks from the fog, remembering why he’s here. “Yes, her name was Luo Xianxian.”

“Ah, her! Yes. I remember her.” Mo Ran’s expression falls, taking on an almost pitying look. “A pretty young girl, though she was clearly heartbroken. I offered what comfort I could, but I’m afraid it wasn’t enough. The scars on her heart were obviously deep. How is she doing?”

This felt like a trap, but at the same time, Chu Wanning struggled to believe Mo Ran’s expression was not earnest. But if it was, could it be possible that this shop truly had nothing to do with the disappearances? Chu Wanning struggled to believe that could be true… And yet, if Mo Ran could offer any hint as to the truth… “I haven’t seen her in some time. After we last spoke, I lost contact. I was hoping you might know something.” 

Mo Ran shakes his head. "I can't say I do."

Chu Wanning sighs, placing his now empty tea cup down. Mo Ran does not even wait for him to ask before refilling it. A moment of quiet, contemplative silence fills the air as Chu Wanning sips at his new cup.

Different than the last, more complex in the notes. It feels him with a daring impulse.

"Then... I don't suppose you know the name Song Qiutong, do you?"

Mo Ran's quirks an eyebrow and taps a finger against the counter. "You have a lot of friends, don't you?'

“Yes, I suppose... you could say that.”

Mo Ran does not answer immediately. Instead he places the gaiwan down and reaches towards a small display to pull from it a small bowl. Inside are three small tangyuan. At sight, Chu Wanning's stomach once more comes to life, making known that as delicious as the tea may be, it cannot satisfy the hunger churning inside.

However, instead of placing the dish down in front of Chu Wanning, to his surprise, Mo Ran moves out from behind the counter. With a graceful ease, he beckons Chu Wanning to follow him towards a small table set off in a corner. 

Like a tether has been wrapped around his neck and Mo Ran holds the lead, Chu Wanning finds himself following without question He sits down on the chair that Mo Ran holds out for him and waits patiently as Mo Ran does the same.

Without the counter separating him, the atmosphere feels… almost intimate. This area of the cafe is even more secluded than the rest, making it feel as though it were some shadowy corner lovers may curl up in. The tight quarters leave Chu Wanning pressed close to Mo Ran, their knees brushing beneath the table. Up this close, Chu Wanning can smell the cologne Mo Ran wears, a deep, earthy firewood scent. It clings to the back of his throat, even once he’s downed the rest of his tea. 

“Chu Wanning,” Mo Ran says, plucking up one of the tangyuan from the bowl with his fingers. His voice is low, a whisper that pulls Chu Wanning closer with its softness. “Why are you here?”

It’s a cold-water bath of a question, something Chu Wanning hadn’t expected. In the back of his mind, the part of the brain used to calling the shots when humans were prey, tells him that he did not tell Mo Ran his name.

His mouth, however, moves of its own volition. “I’m investigating the disappearance of several women who came to your shop. Luo Xianxian, Song Qiutong, they're both-”

Chu Wanning’s sputters as the tangyuan in Mo Ran's hands is pressed against his lips. He yanks his head back, but finds he’s held in place by a hand upon his jaw. The pad of a thumb strokes his cheek and curls until a sharp… claw begins to scratch down his face, sharp enough to draw blood. It doesn’t stop until he's opened his mouth.

Long fingers slips inside, placing the small tangyuan against his tongue. It fits almost perfectly, as if it were designed for him. As the intrusive fingers slide from his parted lips, they drag across his lips, painting them wet and shiny.

Chu Wanning bites down upon the offering. It gives beneath his teeth, so soft he can imagine the hands gently kneading the dough. Sweet, nutty, almost caramel, the sesame filling assaults his tastebuds as it bursts. Just as the tea was, it’s beyond perfection. 

It is not enough to blind him to the scene transpiring before his eyes.

The expression on Mo Ran’s face has not changed, still curious and gentle. Yet, out of the corner of Chu Wanning’s eyes, he watches as everything else does. The red tattoos along Mo Ran’s arms have sparked alight, trailing up until they catch upon his black shirt. It burns away, revealing beneath it skin painted with markings glowing red and gold. In the black of Mo Ran’s hair, large horns emerge. Scales trace along the curve of Mo Ran’s jaw, and those hypnotic eyes, burning violet, have turned slit as a snake.

When Mo Ran grins, his teeth are sharp, fanged. “No, Wanning.” He says, as though scolding an impetuous child. “I mean, why are you really here?” 

Chu Wanning can feel his heart accelerating in his chest, though in truth cannot tell if it is for a logical fear or an emotional… Something he dare not acknowledge. “I told you already!”

“You had every chance to leave.” Mo Ran says, ignoring Chu Wanning's outburst. He traces his fingers down Chu Wanning’s chest. The sharp claw cuts easily through the fabric. “I’m sure some part of you knew you should.”

Chu Wanning shivers as he feels Mo Ran’s hands slide inside his shirt and encircle his waist. With ease, he's pulled from his chair, dragged onto Mo Ran's lap. The man feels bigger than he had before, or perhaps it's just Chu Wanning who feels smaller.

“But you wanted something, didn’t you?” The honeyed tone of before returns, darker now. Chu Wanning shivers as he feels Mo Ran brush his lips along his throat, feels the scrape of fangs drag along his pulse. "Do you want me to show you what I did for those girls, Wanning? Exactly what Wushan Palace offers?"

There is an outcome where Chu Wanning is smart. Where he runs away from Wushan Palace, returns better prepared to fight the monster that lingers beyond its doors.

There is an outcome where Chu Wanning pushes from Mo Ran’s arms, where he fights and avenges all the girls who went missing by this monster's hands.

This is not that outcome.

The world around Chu Wanning has faded to nothing more than the way Mo Ran feels thrusting into his pliant body. He gasps, open mouthed and wet, drool sliding down his chin, as he’s dragged back onto a thick, hard cock. It’s larger than it has any right to be; with every thrust he swears he almost feels it in his throat. It’s as inhuman as its owner. The ribbed shaft drives him mad with every thrust; the tapered head seems to almost target that spot inside of him that makes him see stars.

He does not know how long this has gone on, cannot tell if it’s been hours or days. His thighs are wet with cum, his stomach feels as though it’s bulging with Mo Ran’s seed. He is sure the bruises of Mo Ran’s hands on his hips must be near black.

He feels less as though he is a human–more plaything. Mo Ran seems to see him as much. He’s stopped barking orders for Chu Wanning to move and instead has chosen to manhandle him into whatever position brings him the most pleasure.

And the worst thing about it is that Chu Wanning desperately craves more. His voice is hoarse for every moan that has been torn from his throat. Half of what paints his thighs is his own. He hears a low, pitiful whine as Mo Ran’s hips still and realizes with what little shame remains that it's his own voice. He shudders as he feels Mo Ran’s teeth bite down upon his neck. It joins the dozens of other marks blooding his throat. A spark of pleasure ignites in Chu Wanning’s chest at such a sign of possession.

A long tongue drags across the wound, lapping at the blood. It stings only for a moment before Mo Ran peppers his throat with kisses.

“-going to keep you forever.” He hears Mo Ran babble, his voice almost as crazed as Chu Wanning feels. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Baobei? Stay with me, Wanning. Be mine.” 

He does not know why Mo Ran asks, when Chu Wanning has already given his answer a thousand times.

“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”