Chapter Text
“Is that...a white hair?”
Dongfang Qingcang freezes in front of the bedroom mirror. He twists his torso at an odd angle to better see the back of his head.
Xiao Lanhua snickers softly at his antics, before crossing the room to put him out of his misery.
She had simply meant to tease him, but when she comes to stand directly behind him, to her great surprise she discovers that there is in fact a lone silver white strand nestled within his long hair.
Eyes wide, and before she can reason herself out of the impulse, she plucks the single hair from his head.
“Ow!” He spins around. “Xiao Lanhua, what is the meaning of this?”
She shows him the strand, holding it up between them for him to examine.
“Perhaps this means you are getting old, Da Mutou?”
He flashes a stubborn glare at her, one she knows not to take seriously.
While his panic amuses her, a part of her does wonder if perhaps this gray hair is a sign of more to come, a leftover memento from their ordeal removing the Evil Qi earlier today. She can only hope no other after-effects make their presence known. She will never forgive herself if that is the case.
“Would it really be so bad to have white hair?” she asks softly, changing her tone. The effect on Dongfang Qingcang is immediate. His entire posture bends, his face softening. “I think you looked quite distinguished and handsome. Sometimes, I think about it still.”
“Do you prefer Benzou with white hair, Goddess?”
She peeks at him from beneath her lashes.
He only addresses her so formally when they’re in public. Or when he’s cross with her. Or sometimes, to tease her back...just before they fall into bed....
Fighting a blush, she saunters up close to him and boldly wraps her arms around his waist, lifting her chin to keep her eyes fixed on his.
Slowly yet expertly (she’s had years of practice, after all), she reaches up to remove the looping golden root crown adorning his head, marking him as Moon Supreme. He visibly relaxes under her touch, as though he has been anxiously awaiting her touch to do this very thing.
With the weight of the decoration removed, she sees the change come over him, so subtle anyone else would miss it. But she senses it—in the way the tension behind his eyes dims; she knows it—in the way his hands curl just a bit tighter around her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.
Next she removes his outer mantle and unhooks the attached ceremonial belt. It is an intimate act, one primarily reserved for Shangque. Or wife.
And is it necessary for her to lean across him like this, pressing her own body up against his, her arms stretched and looping behind his back? No, it is neither necessary nor the traditional method of removing a belt.
But he does not refuse her.
His lips twitch, a small smile sneaking its way across his face, like he can no longer keep it at bay. Ah yes, here he is. Her Da Mutou at last, buried beneath layers of uncertainty and ceremony.
“There. Isn't that better?”
Eyes closed, he hums his approval, his lips twitching again.
She runs her fingers through his silken hair. “I prefer you...just like this.”
She then finds a brush. Spinning him around, she takes her time brushing his hair, making sure to devote equal care to every angle.
“Shall I call for the servants to warm the bath?”
He says nothing, his head bent so low that she suspects he has fallen asleep standing up.
She nudges him gently. “Come, let me take care of you.”
“Wait.”
His eyes meet hers in the mirror before he half-turns, half-pulls her around to face him. His hands are gentle yet firm, cautious yet protecting.
“Xiao Lanhua...today, when we entered Shuiyuntian and Yun Zhong proclaimed that you had been repatriated—”
“Da Mutou. You must not pay any attention to the things Lord Yun Zhong says. You know he only says such things because he does not understand. Besides, my repatriation was complete when you restored me in the land of Xishan.”
He nods once, solemnly. “The land of your people,” he supplies.
She gasps. “No! It was complete because you were there.”
She had been unkind then, right after her return, to place duty above love, refusing to acknowledge her affection for him. But she knew herself. Had she dropped the facade of the impassive, detached goddess for even one moment, the burden of losing him again would have been too great. She had not wanted to break his heart a second time.
They ended up breaking each other’s hearts again anyway.
Only to be reunited once more, all pains forgiven, all sorrows forgotten.
Or so she thought.
What has brought these old doubts back to the surface? Was their encounter with the Evil Qi enough to spur such sorrow?
Surely he must not think her fickle enough to return to Shuiyuntian after all she has done to be with him. Did her entrance into the Fuju Cave mean nothing? And what about all that time she waited for him to come back to her?
“Da Mutou...what does duty matter, when the most important duty of all is to protect the people we love? You taught me that.”
He gives her a half-smile, a genuine one, since it is directed at her.
“You do not regret marrying me, then?” she asks quietly. “Even though I was too weak to remove the Evil Qi myself this time?”
His frown is severe, outraged. “Xiao Lahnua, you are not weak. You never have been weak. Would I have chosen a weak woman for my wife?”
She smiles, set at ease, and leans deeper in his embrace.
“I am exceedingly proud of you, Xiao Lanhua,” he says against her shoulder, his breath tickling her skin. “Your power is stronger than ever.”
“So is yours. We saved the three realms again today. Together. ”
He says nothing more than a firm “mmm” in approval. He will not discuss the Glazed Fire this night, but no matter. She will pester him with questions tomorrow. For now, they must rest.
Fingers curling around the fabric of his robe, she hugs him close, suddenly anxious to hold him and be held by him. Perhaps they are both a little desperate after their ordeal today.
Glazed Fire warms the fireplace.
Piles of silk and fur blankets warm her skin.
And Da Mutou warms her soul, filling her veins with his love.
He whispers into her hair, “Xiao Huayao, let me love you.”
She lets him.
And he does.
This is where she belongs.