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Chapter Text

After assimilating the Hua Kingdom, Liang was once again the strongest country, the leader that East and West Wei looked to for guidance and protection. Now that exorbitant amount of resources wasn’t allocated to defending Liang’s borders, her citizens were more cheerful— at peace. Festive lanterns, colored banners and decorative ornaments lined the streets in anticipation of the upcoming holidays.  

Between the icy abysses that was Hua and the free-spirited, dreamlike days on Lang Ya Mountain, Jingyan felt as if years had elapsed since he galloped off as a hostage in exchange for peace. According to the war reports, he received credit for sending back vital intelligence to his father, sowing mayhem in Hua and annihilating the Chiyan Remnant rebels. No longer the castaway and the black sheep of the family, Prince Jing was now a victor who contributed to the war-effort.

There was just the matter of undoing his funeral.

General Commander Mengzhi, who was his royal father’s most trusted officer, flanked Jingyan as he made his way back to the imperial palace. For his protection, apparently. Jingyan would not be surprised if assassins attacked him on his way back, but not a single blade was drawn in his direction and not a drop of blood was spilled.

The calm before the storm? Or was there something even more insidious at play?

A clear, childish voice interrupted his thoughts: “You are not my father.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” Taken aback by the sharpness of his response, Jingyan drew in a breath to steady himself and closed his eyes. His stomach was a twist of nerves and his chest was tight, but there was no reason to take it out on the child. His hands reflexively tightened around the girth of his horse’s saddle before he simultaneously loosened his grip and released his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be brusque.”

“Things will be okay,” said Tingshen, who was masquerading as Jingyan’s son. Not that Jingyan welcomed the sudden responsibility or turn of events, but according to Mei Changsu, this was all part of the plan. A plan that Jingyan was wholly unaware of, despite the fact that it completely revolved around him and would reshape his future. “Mister Su has an answer to everything. He won’t let anything happen to us.”

Clearly, Tingshen had more faith in the plan than Jingyan did. Slowing his horse down so Tingshen didn’t have to risk falling to catch up, Jingyan checked that they were out of earshot and asked, “Do you trust him that much?”

Upon closer inspection, Tingshen seemed to have dried blood on his lips and blood had stained the skin below his nose. Did the boy recently get a nosebleed? Come to think of it, Tingshen’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin was paper-white. Something –guilt, maybe— fluttered briefly across Jingyan’s conscience, but Tingshen spurred his pony until he was in front of Jingyan and declared, “Yes. I either trust or I don’t. And I trust him, so I will wholeheartedly trust him.”

Jingyan chuckled, a quiet sound he brushed away before Tingshen looked back. Now that Jingyan knew the truth, the similarities between Tingshen and Prince Qi really were striking. Glancing over, Jingyan asked, “Now, was that an active choice you made or was the choice offered to you as the only option?”

Humor the child a little and send him on his merry way.

Not expecting an answer, Jingyan instead observed one of Mengzhi’s soldiers carry water to Mei Changsu’s carriage. Steam billowed from the waterskin, indicating that it was hot water. This was the fourth time since they began the march back to the palace. Come to think, they’d picked a lengthier than necessary road back to the imperial palace too.  

Intriguing.

Almost as intriguing as when Tingshen look him straight in the eyes to answer, “That’s the choice my father would’ve made, uncle.”

+

As the colossal gates to the imperial palace inched open, Jingyan paused to sneak a quick glance backwards, in the direction of Lang Ya Mountain. A fog had shrouded most of the mountain from view, but some greenery was still visible. At this time of the day, Lin Chen was likely tending to his garden or snacking while flipping through a book.

Lin Chen, who lived as he pleased, travelled to wherever his heart desired and stayed true to himself, was everything Jingyan wanted to be in his life. Jingyan had second-guessed Lin Chen and he’d also tried to distance the other man from himself, but he’d never met someone who was so genuinely carefree and selfless.

Free and unattached, like a leaf drifting down a stream, a flake of snow drifting down the sky, or a kite fluttering in the sky. But, also not someone to be reckoned with…

“-Your Highness!”

Startled back to the present, Jingyan blankly stared at the official who called out to him. It appeared as if his royal father had promoted a lot of officials in his absence. The man’s costume suggested that he was a tier three official, but Jingyan never saw him before. He’d have to spend days learning people’s name again. “What is it?”

“You have been staring off into the distance for the last fifteen minutes,” Mei Changsu cut in, dryly. The strategist was still in his carriage behind Mengzhi, who was far ahead of Jingyan, but he’d poked his head out. The whole procession had come to a curious, awkward, halt. Sounding displeased, Mei Changsu added, “I wonder what is distracting you so much, Your Highness.”

Fifteen minutes? Bewildered, Jingyan glanced around. The soldiers and officials were still in proper formation. Mengzhi wore an expression of polite confusion, but did not appear bothered. Tingshen, on the other hand, was glaring accusatorily at Jingyan. Turning back to the palace in front of him, Jingyan spurred his horse into a steady pace to catch up and answered, “I’m just thinking about how wonderful it is to go home.”

The imperial palace was anything but wonderful. Though the fine architecture and magnificent display of wealth and luxury felt like another world compared to the city streets, the temperature felt to have plunged now that Jingyan was within its stone walls. The wooden arches, painted red for good luck, appeared to be blood-colored under the angry, dark gray clouds.

There was, indeed, a storm coming.

Disquieted servants walked past Jingyan as he made his way to the throne room, young men and women carrying royal memorandums from the morning conference. Jingyan could not recognize a single face amongst the servants or guards. Strange, but no stranger than seeing Xie Yu’s handwriting on the royal documents.

Or seeing Xie Yu in place of his father in the throne room. Not on the throne, but close enough, given Xie Yu’s clothes. Jingyan gave the customary greetings reserved for greeting a regent, and Xie Yu returned the gesture with a polite one of this own. Mei Changsu, who was a few paces behind Jingyan, did not bow or extend a greeting to Xie Yu.

Jingyan asked as he rose from his bow, “Where is my royal father?”

“Sick,” said Xie Yu. There was a majestic but wooden chair next to the throne in which Xie Yu took a seat. Xie Yu sat in a way that favored his right side. The former marquis carried on his hips the “emperor-slaying sword,” a divine sword blessed by the previous emperor and had the right to punish the current emperor or royal heirs for evil doings. “He was bedridden with grief when we received news of your death in Hua. Your mother volunteered to look after him. They are both in a safe, comfortable arrangement.”

For now. Jingyan forced his facial expression to stay neutral and swept his hands behind his back. Xie Yu’s wife, Grand Princess Liyang, would not allow anything to happen to the emperor or Jingyan’s mother. But, if Xie Yu didn’t seize the throne fourteen years ago, when the emperor executed Prince Qi, out of love for his wife, what have prompted him to seize so much power recently?

As Jingyan turned the questions over in his mind, Xie Yu spoke again, “Who do we have here?”

There was no trace of unfamiliarity or genuine curiosity. Xie Yu and Mei Changsu were well acquainted with each other. Feeling like he was about to make a fool out of himself, Jingyan pushed his discomfort aside and answered the way Mei Changsu taught him to answer: “He is a prisoner I brought back from Hua. Their strategist.”

Thunder echoed in the far distance, angry growls that accumulated to a deafening bang that shook the smaller objects in the room. Lin Chen was supposedly afraid of thunder, but Jingyan was certain it’d only been an excuse to linger in his room. There were many of those excuses, each one more bizarre than the last. At the present moment, Jingyan could hear the smile on Mei Changsu’s face when the strategist mimicked, “I’m a prisoner, your royalty.”

Xie Yu’s laugh was disgusting, exposing black teeth and turning his eyes yellow in the lanterns’ light. The throne room was brightly lit, but Xie Yu’s features were eclipsed by malice and animosity. Once his head was no longer thrown back and he’d composed himself, Xie Yu briefly leered at Jingyan and scoffed. “Oh, you poor summer child.”

Jingyan lifted an eyebrow. If either Xie Yu or Mei Changsu was looking at him, they would’ve seen the expression of complete disinterest on Jingyan’s face. Straightening out his fur-lined cloak, Mei Changsu explained, “Schemes like bringing down a country and committing high treason require teamwork.”

“It’s a collaborative effort.” There were two porcelain teacups and a kettle on the desk used to hold unread royal memorandums. Xie Yu took one of teacups, blew on its content and took a sip. Appearing pleased, Xie Yu took another sip and continued, “I already have a puppet. I proposed to give you a swift and painless—“

Mei Changsu took a step forward. A forgettable gesture, but clearly intentional. His long cloak fluttered and swept across the ground. Something -like invisible daggers- seemed to pass between the two men and Jingyan felt as if he’d been frozen to the ground. Even the air inside the room felt to have stilled and died. Only the storm outside continued to howl.

Xie Yu grumbled and rolled his eyes. “He belongs to you, Changsu. I would never dare forget.”

Nonchalantly, Mei Changsu answered, “I love smart people with good memory.”

“Well, since I lost our bet, have some tea.” Xie Yu nodded at the cup in his hand. There was a familiar jade ring on his finger. The “emperor-slaying sword” stuck out at an awkward angle when Xie Yu adjusted his sitting position. The regent was definitely sporting a recent injury on his left side, but who was strong enough to hurt Xie Yu? “It’s at a comfortable temperature right now.”

“Phenomenal balance of sweetness and astringency,” Mei Changsu commented after he retrieved his tea and took a sip. ”I remember tasting a floral version in Hua. Absolutely reviling.”

“I would never drink any tea from Hua or while in Hua,” said Xie Yu. After draining his cup, he poured himself another cup. “Burnt leaves over-steeped in dirty snow-water is not tea. Nothing gets worse than their wine, however. Whoever invented baby mice wine deserves a painful execution.”

“You could’ve come to my humble residence for some quality tea,” said Mei Changsu. He’d only taken one sip before putting his teacup down. “Assuming King Yu doesn’t spear your removed head on a pike first.”

Xie Yu gave another one of his ugly laugh. “He still believes it’s my fault his father didn’t want him?”

Xie Yu and Mei Changsu exchanged a few more words, casual conversations about Lord Yu, the distribution of land that was once Hua, and the general state of affairs. Liang was in a good spot, strategically speaking. Neither West Wei nor East Wei were eager for conflict and North Qi was the only source of skirmishes. But North Qi was still recovering from a recent plague of locust and a consistent lack of rainfall.

Nihuang would arrive tomorrow to join them for a banquet. Jingyan’s return had coincided with his royal grandmother’s eightieth birthday, so even the sick emperor would attend the momentous feast. Which meant that Concubine Jing, Jingyan’s mother, would be at the feast and Jingyan would not need to go through the painful process of requesting permission to visit her.

Tomorrow would be an eventful day.  

+

The weight of the jade pendant he wore at his hips was rarely felt or noticed by Jingyan, but Jingyan keenly felt its absence with every step he took. Lin Chen would never know the story behind or the meaning of the pendant he gave, but Jingyan hoped Lin Chen could appreciate that it was a precious piece of rare jade.

A jade pendant for a hair tie Jingyan couldn’t bring himself to throw away. Maybe, just maybe, he was lucky he born a prince and not a merchant.

“You’re quiet.” They were in a passageway just wide enough to fit two people walking side-by-side. According to Xie Yu, the emperor had bestowed upon Jingyan an enclosure inside the imperial palace for the time being because termites had destroyed his courtyard while he was in Hua and intensive construction work was underway. Mei Changsu, who was leading the way, added, “Surprised? Upset?”

“Not at all,” Jingyan replied. Absent-mindedly, he reached for the edge of his sleeve and began fiddling with the silk. It’d been a while since he wore such expensive clothes, but the extravagance only brought with it a sense of melancholy. “Mengzhi moved forward to greet you, but held himself back to pretend he didn’t know you. But yet, he asked the soldiers to check on your medication and brought you hot water twice every hour. We also took a longer, but more even, road back to the palace, which I assume he chose out of consideration for you.”

“Your observation skills have improved.”

“You’re half a dozen steps ahead,” said Jingyan. Being able to walk in the hallways of the palace with his best friend once again was something that should’ve filled Jingyan’s heart with joy. How many times had he walked with Zhanying trailing behind him and pretended that it was actually Xiao Shu following him? His throat constricted painfully. Zhanying’s death was Mei Changsu’s fault, as was Yuan’s death and all the other casualties of Mei Changsu’s calculations. “As usual.”

Mei Changsu stopped walking. “You only expect me to be half a dozen steps ahead?”

Their conversations back then were different. Less calculated. Back then, they could talk about anything under the sun. The more nonsensical their conversation topic, the happier they were. At that time, the worst and best thing that ever happened to Jingyan was a spoiled five year old brat who called him by name and took his chestnuts.

What about now?

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Mei Changsu, who looked and acted nothing like Xiao Shu. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Xiao—”

Having his words snatched away by Mei Changsu’s lips was surprising enough, but what surprised Jingyan was an instinctive compulsion to push Mei Changsu away. Instead of shoving, his hands came to a rest on Mei Changsu’s shoulders, curling into the fur of the shoulder pads, and Jingyan allowed the familiar lavender fragrance to overwhelm him.

Xiao Shu’s voice, dismembered and barely recognizable, echoed in his mind, “That’s what friends do.”

Right as Jingyan began to feel comfortable with the advance, Mei Changsu had already disengaged and pulled away. “I know nothing compares to the sense of intense and immediate gratification that a distraction brings, but we must serve our country before we serve ourselves.” More quietly, “I can’t give you the simple, unhindered life you want.”

“No.” Jingyan touched his lips with the back of his hand. He wanted, more than anything, to wipe the kiss away, but refrained. Had there been any servants around? What if someone saw them? Considering that he supposedly had a son with an unnamed woman out of wedlock and hid the fact for over a decade, he was currently the most exciting topic for gossip. “It’s enough that you’re here.”

“I won’t always be here.”

“What—?” Jingyan stopped himself from asking what sounded in his mind like a redundant question. With Mei Changsu, he always felt like he was the last person to figure anything out and as if any vulnerability he showed would, eventually, somehow, be used against him in the future. More diplomatically, Jingyan replied, “That sounds ominous. Perhaps even a little frightening.”

“Stop it,” Mei Changsu chided. But he sounded pleased, as if Jingyan had caught on to something he’d wanted Jingyan to figure out. His gaze, as indecipherable as it was piercing, didn’t quite match the teasing smile on his lips. “You make it sound like you wouldn’t be here without me. I can’t be that important to you.”

Jingyan scowled – or maybe he had grimaced, he wasn’t sure. There were thousands of places Jingyan would rather be. Even camping at the East Sea’s military base, which served equal amounts of rice and sand with every meal, was preferable to residing inside the golden cage that was the imperial palace.

Not that he knew what Mei Changsu was trying to accomplish with all the warped word games. When Mei Changsu reached for his face, Jingyan knocked his hand away. Not forcefully, but with enough strength to convey a message. Icy anger shadowed Mei Changsu’s face and his eyes turned into flint, but the strategist did not react, except to calmly lower his hand.

“But it is strange that I’m here, isn’t it?” said Jingyan. Wiping away that kiss did drastically improved his mood. Cleared his mind and settled his stomach, at any rate. Made him feel less like a toy that Mei Changsu could reach over and fiddle with whenever he pleased. “You must have told Xie Yu something to convince him to let me live.”

“I told him you’ll kill your father for us,” Mei Changsu responded. His inflection was crisp, perfunctorily in its execution, but seductively soft. “Then, we kill you for treason. Is my answer to your satisfaction, Your Highness?”

In the past, Xiao Shu could not speak with this level of detachment and false respect even if he tried. Despite the sense of loss the tone triggered, the words were in line what Jingyan had expected to hear. His brother Jingxuan was still the crowned prince, but if Xie Yu wanted Jingxuan on the throne so he could remain the regent, he would need to kill the emperor before the emperor crowned a new heir.

Bitterly, Jingyan asked, “Is this the first time you’re not lying to my face?”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I love you.”

Whatever condescending remark Jingyan had been about to throw at Mei Changsu caught in this throat. His fingers curled into tight fists as Mei Changsu once again reached for his face. The gesture wasn’t loving, but it was gentle enough. Maybe even a little apologetic, but that could be Jingyan’s wishful thinking. After claiming his victory, Mei Changsu said, “The walls have ears and the windows have eyes. Watch your back, Prince Jing.”

Their dynamics had shifted. The moment lingered in the air, lengthening and weakening, before it dissipated. A servant, who had been quietly waiting just out of sight, opened an umbrella above Mei Changsu’s head to shield him from the storm. Jingyan watched Mei Changsu walk away, heading out of the court that was temporarily assigned to him.

The walls have ears and the windows have eyes. Jingyan, want to explore something? I found another secret tunnel.

Tomorrow, and every day thereafter, would be an eventful day.

Chapter Text

Servants bowed out of the way wherever he walked and the guards patrolling the perimeters all knelt before him in greeting. His new title and rank would be conferred and made official tomorrow, during the banquet, but he was to become the highest ranking prince after the crown prince. By title, he would be the fourth most powerful man in the country.

Tonight, there were other matters on his mind.

Much like Su Zhe’s residence, Mei Changsu’s courtyard was austere and minimally, but tastefully, decorated. As Jingyan made his way to the only lit room in the courtyard, the moonlight guiding his footfall trembled and wavered in intensity. Tonight was one of those dark, restless nights. With a sharp shake of his head, Jingyan silenced the servants who’d been about to announce his arrival.

Their meeting shouldn’t have ended like that.

The doors fell open noiselessly, almost expectantly, as Jingyan stepped into the warm, dimly lit interior. Mei Changsu briefly paused with his hand and brush poised above a manuscript, but resumed his activities without looking up before Jingyan closed the door behind him. “Your Highness.”

Mei Changsu’s disposition was different – Su Zhe was humble, courteous and polite. But Mei Changsu seemed to have no regards for formality and the nonchalance clung to him with a sense of arrogance—“what are you going to do about it?” Nobody was going to do anything, because Mei Changsu was Xie Yu’s crutch and Xie Yu was the most powerful man in Liang.

Kneeling into the seat next to Mei Changsu, Jingyan said, “I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier.”

Reaching for and touching Mei Changsu came hand-in-hand with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach and a thickness lodged in the back of his throat. If Jingyan had to put words to the churning feeling that tightened his chest and made it difficult to breathe, he’d call it suppressed repulsion.

Not that Mei Changsu was not one of the most beautiful men Jingyan ever met. Probably the most beautiful, if Jingyan was speaking from an objective point of view, but his actions were a manifestation of emotions he didn’t actually feel and the dishonesty disturbed him on a deeply personal level.

Because they were friends, because they were lovers, because he owed Mei Changsu his life and because….

“Jingyan.” In the end, Mei Changsu caught his wrists, reversed their position until his back was pressed against the ground. Mei Changsu’s hair, loose around his face, drifted over Jingyan’s neck when the other man bent down, pressing down on his torso. “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you want to continue doing this?”

Had he ever looked someone in the eyes and lied? Of course. Such an action was almost a necessity to survive in the imperial palace. Jingyan closed his eyes when the cold tips of Mei Changsu’s finger began trailing down his face, nails lightly scratching along the path of his jugular vein. Mei Changsu’s inflection was indifferent, almost contemptuous, when he murmured, “My lips on yours. Our bodies as one…”

He had enough self-control not to cringe or jerk out of Mei Changsu’s embrace, but Mei Changsu released him anyway. Grasping wildly for an excuse, Jingyan pushed himself up and began to say, “I just came here to apologize.”

The annoyance that flashed across Mei Changsu’s eyes was enough to stop whatever he’d been about to say. Jingyan winced. Hadn’t he spent most of his life deceiving himself about one thing or another? Why wasn’t he able to do it this time? Resolving to be as honest as he could, Jingyan said, “I’m still your friend.”

“I cannot be your friend because I love you and I am not going to force myself to pretend otherwise,” Mei Changsu snapped. A rare burst of emotion from a man who was normally stoic enough to put a wall to shame. Picking up his brush again to continue his work, Mei Changsu adjusted his sitting position and added, “No more pretenses. But we don’t always need a word for the bond we share with someone else.”

That was his cue to leave, but Jingyan didn’t move, except to sit upright and straighten out his clothes. Because he did not want to be alone tonight. On Lang Ya Mountain, Lin Chen frequently stayed until he was so deep in his slumber that even nightmares could not wake him up. Swallowing his pride, Jingyan asked, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course.” Mei Changsu’s brush danced over the paper, leaving one beautifully constructed character after another. Xiao Shu always had the most beautiful handwriting. Based on what was already penned into the manuscript, he was compiling a summary of all the recent diseases and plagues. Likely to guide a discussion for tomorrow’s morning conference with Regent Xie Yu and all the other officials. “There’s a spare bed in the room on the right side of the garden.”

That was another cue for him to leave, and Jingyan didn’t know why he found himself lingering. Mei Changsu never spent time with him for the simple sake of spending time with him. There was always something the other man wanted – intimacy, a call for action, a discussion for the next step in their plans. If not for his intrinsic worth as a most valuable chess piece, would Mei Changsu have even looked twice at him? Would Xiao Shu have returned to his side?

Still, tonight was not a night Jingyan wanted to spend alone twisting and turning on his bed, alone in the darkest place. “What are you working on?”

“Xie Yu wants a thorough chronical of all the recent catastrophes by tomorrow’s morning conference.”

“I wish I could be of more help to you right now.” He’d have to return to his own court eventually, but every minute he could spend away from his cold, lonely bed counted. Funny how he used to feel peeved, became inhospitable even, when Lin Chen insisted on sticking around until he fell asleep. What wouldn’t he give to hear one more of Lin Chen’s ludicrous excuses? “I just feel… useless.”

“So do I,” said Mei Changsu. He’d halted in the middle of writing a character, a briefest stumble that lead to a stray mark on the side. Knowing Mei Changsu, the man would rather rewrite the entire manuscript than have a botched character in something he intended to have others read. “Have you ever...”

Mei Changsu trailed off and Jingyan knew he wasn’t about to finish his sentence.

“I—“

“—aren’t actually sorry.” Just as Jingyan predicted, Mei Changsu placed the manuscript he’d been writing aside and pulled out a blank booklet to restart his project. At long last, Mei Changsu sighed and gestured at the spot next to him with a sweep of his sleeve. “Come here. Stay with me for a little while.”

Tentatively, Jingyan took a seat on the cushion. Tomorrow. He would refresh his friendship with people like Yan Yujin and Nihuang, he would discuss the pressing situations with the ministers and he would keep himself up to date so he could participate in the various conferences. Fill up his schedule so there was less of a void in his life and he wouldn’t need to impose upon Mei Changsu like this.  

Strange how Lin Chen never made him feel like a burden despite everything he’d done. Absentmindedly, Jingyan reached for a report about the locust plague lying on Mei Changsu’s desk. This one was written by a ministerial official in the northern district, proclaiming that the people in his city were suffering from economic hardship due to less trades with North Qi and requesting that more money from the royal coffers be allocated to his city.

Exhausting, how every report was similarly contrived and greedy.

“Lin..” The word left his mouth in a hushed whisper and his hand tightened into a fist around a pale spread of cloth. Jingyan had been dreaming about chasing a black and white rabbit —chasing Xiao Shu— until he collided into Lin Chen, who smiled and extended a hand. Reality, in the form of a dark room lit by a single candle and his position sprawled across a low desk full of memorandums, settled around him. Mei Changsu appeared to be done with writing his manuscript. The man was reading, and he’d looked up when Jingyan woke up.

Blinking the wariness out of his eyes, Jingyan shuffled his body to bring some feeling back into his stiff limbs and peered at Mei Changsu. It’d already been late when he visited Mei Changsu’s residence. Right now, the night outside was deathly silent and the murky darkness had stained much of the room’s interior. Confused, Jingyan questioned, “What hour is it? You didn’t go to bed?”

“You were sleeping on my sleeve,” Mei Changsu pointed out as he bookmarked his book with a bamboo leaf and set it aside, “How was I supposed to go to bed?”

Startled, Jingyan glanced down. He had been sleeping on the other man’s sleeve and he’d even grabbed it when he woke up. Jingyan wanted to ask Mei Changsu why the other man didn’t wake him up, but the question couldn’t make it past his lips. Watching Mei Changsu wince as the other man stretch out his arm (had his arm been bent at that awkward angle the entire time?), Jingyan rose from his seat with an uncomfortable feeling pressing against the back of his mind and said, “Sorry. Good night, I guess. Sleep well.”

Mei Changsu gave him a nondescript look and began to clean up his desk. “There’s only an hour until dawn. I won’t be sleeping.”

A strange emotion, something that felt like a love child between guilt and regret, sparked to life in the depth of Jingyan’s consciousness. He felt sorry -- not the kind of sorry where he’d say “I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier” because those were the right words to speak, but a genuine, heartfelt kind of sorry.

Swept away by the intense onslaught of thoughts he wanted to make sense of, Jingyan nearly missed it when Mei Changsu said, “There’s a spare bed in the room on the right side of the garden if you’d like to continue your slumber, Your Highness.”

This was a cue to leave; there was no way around it.

An hour before the banquet, Jingyan bumped into Yan Yujin, who was sneaking looks at the exotic dancers visiting from every corner of the country. The whole palace was alive, bustling with servants preparing for the event and court officials chatting amongst themselves.

Jingyan gave him a tap on the shoulder while he was peeking into the practice rooms and after Yujin caught his balance again, he swept himself into a dramatic bow. Jingyan gestured for him to rise, smiled and said, “Long time no see.”  

“So much has happened since you left,” said Yujin. Though they were around the same age, Yujin always appeared to be many years younger than Jingyan. “Though, you’ve always been more on top of court news than I am.”

“Not yet.” He had an impression of roughly what was occurring in each district of the empire and who’d attained what rank in in absence, but he still had to sort out the details later. “I’ve been away for too long.”

Yujin nodded in response and gestured at the hall where the banquet would be held. “Everyone who is anyone got an invitation.”

The other man was straightening out his clothes as they speak, brushing off stray pieces of fur. Vaguely, Jingyan recalled that Yujin like rabbits and had what some people fondly refer to as an army of rabbits. “Heard that they even extended an invitation to the elusive Master of Lang Ya Mountain.”

“Lin Chen?” Jingyan had spent the last hour dodging noblemen and was still avoiding the eyes of ministers who wanted to congratulate him and use the opportunity to curry a favor or two. Looking away from yet another dignitary who wanted to approach them, Jingyan asked, “Is attending?”

“Of course not,” said Yan Yujin. “Why would Master Lin come into the palace? There’s nothing he wants to see here.”

Lin Chen would not involve himself with politics and Lang Ya Mountain would not serve the emperor or his court. That was a rule established fourteen years ago. “Right. There’s nothing he wants to see here.”

“I heard that you met him in person,” said Yujin, his voice lowering by an octave. Jingyan could recognize the look of hero worship in Yujin’s eyes. “What does he look like and what kind of person is he?”

Jingyan tilted his head thoughtfully, his fingers seeking the edge of his sleeves again. There were plenty of stories out there about the so-called prince of life and death. Everything from embellished truths to outlandish claims. The more carefree and nonchalant Lin Chen was, the more people thought he was hiding deep, dark secrets.

An image randomly floated into Jingyan’s mind – a green bamboo mask with an ugly red grin, a swollen nose and square white teeth. That stupid idiot. Suppressing a small smirk, Jingyan began describing the ogre mask to Yujin in diligent detail, answering the horrified look on Yujin’s face with “What did you think he’s like?”

“I heard that he is the incarnation of Yanluo Wang.” Yujin was speaking in a hushed whispered now, as if fearful that Lin Chen’s shadow spies could come and kill him any moment. “And just like Yanluo Wang, he has a book which has the names of every single person living on this world. When he gets angry, he starts crossing names out and his shadow spies will kill those people.”

Which was far from the scariest or most farfetched gossip Jingyan had heard about Lin Chen. Dropping his own voice to match Yujin’s conspiratorial whisper, Jingyan said, “Maybe if you offer him enough rabbits, he won’t cross out your name.”

“What would he do with all those rabbits?”

What would Lin Chen do if he was given a lot of rabbits?

The answer was enough to leave a warm feeling in Jingyan’s chest for days to come. Enough to think that, maybe, Jingyan had the strength to deal with everything that was bound to happen because there were still good people out in the world.

But, keeping up with the exchange, Jingyan suggested, “Make soup out of them?”

Yujin’s jaw dropped. “That man is a monster!”

Both Jingyan and Yujin darted a look at the closed practice room door when several dancers inside gave startled cries and someone asked, “Who’s out there?”

Without another word, Yujin mouthed, “Run” and Jingyan ended the conversation with a single nod of his head. They ran in opposite directions, Jingyan heading back to his courtyard so the line of two dozen servants could help him dress for the banquet and Yujin to, well, whatever mischief he was next up to.

The banquet was an extravagant one.

His grandmother, the empress dowager, was seated in a large throne-like chair in the center of the room. To her right, was Jingyan’s royal father, who looked as if he’d underwent months of starvation. To her left was Empress Yan, who looked even more emancipated than his royal father.

Noble Consort Yue, the crown prince’s mother and the most opulently dressed person in the room, was seated right next to the emperor, but Jingyan’s mother, Consort Jing was seated in a corner that was almost hidden by swaths of sheer hanging from the ceiling.

The banquet began with everyone except the emperor kneeling before the empress dowager to wish her a long, healthy life. The empress dowager gave her permission for everyone to rise, but before people came up to present her with their gifts, the empress dowager pointed at Mei Changsu and asked, “You. Why are you standing so far away from me?”

Mei Changsu left his spot to walk to a spot before the empress dowager. “In response to—“

“He’s a nobody, my revered mother” said the emperor. Jingyan’s father gave into a long coughing fit before he continued speaking, “Like a stray dog Xie Yu picked up off the streets, but far less loyal.”

“Come closer,” the empress dowager ordered again, gesturing with her cane. The pearl on top of her cane, a jewel the size of a fist, briefly caught the light as she squinted at Mei Changsu, and continued speaking in a slow, melodic pace, almost to herself, “In banquets like these, I would always greet my favorite grandson first. My daughter’s son, Xiao Shu. But he hasn’t attended in the last fourteen years.”

An uncomfortable hush fell over the gathering. Mei Changsu stopped right before he reached the platform. Since he was not a member of the royal family, he was not allowed to step up onto the platform. The emperor cleared his throat, loudly.

“Still standing so far away.” The empress dowager gestured for Mei Changsu to walk closer, but Mei Changsu only knelt down and bowed his head. “What has my Xiao Shu been up to lately?”

“My revered mother, we all deeply mourn Xiao Shu death, but everybody is watching you.” The emperor glared at Mei Changsu and then gestured for Mei Changsu to step aside. Mei Changsu returned to his spot behind Xie Yu and the procession resumed. One by one, the attendees presented their gifts to the empress dowager— everything from exotic supplements, to rare drawings and lost treasures.

The net worth of the pile of present was possibly greater than the amount of gold in palace’s treasury.

When it was Jingyan’s turn to give his present to his the empress dowager, Jingyan took Tingshen’s hand, pulled him up to the platform reserved for members of the royal family only and Tingshen said, “Tingshen greets his revered great-grandmother. My father wish to present you with a spirit tree seed and I wish to present you with a poetry I compose to celebrate your virtues and accomplishments.”

The spirit tree seed, which Jingyan first found in the treasury in Hua, was the only one in existence. It was rumored that anyone who could grow the spirit tree would be granted everlasting life, but so far, the seed had remained dormant for over a thousand years.

A rather generic treasure.

Tingshen’s poem, on the other hand, stunned the whole court.

After the round of applauses, the empress dowager offered Tingshen a seat next to her and he took it, bowing in thanks. The empress dowager said, “You have your grandfather’s eyes and the shape of your face is practically the same as one of your deceased uncles, but you have almost none of your father’s features.”

Jingyan’s royal father scrutinized Tingshen, then glanced at Jingyan and looked at Tingshen again. Then, the process of conferring Jingyan with his new rank and title began. After the proceeding finished, Jingyan knelt in thanks and the court knelt before him after he rose.

Once Jingyan started returning to his seat, a buzz of hearsay and contempt began, starting with Tingshen’s origin.

“He is still a child born out of wedlock,” said one of the ministers sitting on the side opposite of Jingyan’s seat. “In fact, nobody in this room knew about his existence or relationship with Prince Jing until a week ago.”

“I would be concerned,” said Jingyan. He swept his arms behind him as he spoke, and then turned around to address the hundreds of court officials and noblemen. “If anyone in this room have such intimate knowledge about the intricacies of my personal life.”

“Well, Prince Jing has no reason to call a random boy on the street his son unless the boy really is his son,” debated someone else.

“What we fear, is that Prince Jing has been tricked into thinking a random boy on the street is in son,” came a voice from the back. 

“That’s perfectly believable,” someone said, and over half the court snickered.

If Jingyan adopted a boy of unknown family origin and called him part of the royal family, the punishment for both of them was somewhere along the lines of lifelong torture or execution by five horses. On the same note, accusing Prince Jing of randomly adopting a child into royal bloodline was just as unforgiveable.

Eyeing the sea of sneers and disdainful looks, Jingyan gritted his teeth and then forced a look of nonchalance onto his face. He was the son of the emperor and the most powerful marquis in the country. There was only one reason the whole court thought it was appropriate to disrespect him like this.

 “Why don’t you all step out,” said Jingyan. “Those who are convinced that I’ve committed the greatest crime of contaminating the royal bloodline.”

One by one, six officials stepped out a knelt before him. Two were the crown prince’s men. Four were inept sycophants who didn’t deserve their title. These were men who would jump at any opportunity to knock Jingyan down a notch or paint him as an unworthy son of the emperor.

Six years ago, two of these men had even suggested to his royal father to assign Jingyan’s mother to a local temple to help the servants with sorting herbs when they were short staffed. The four months of manual labor resulted in life-long arthritis for Consort Jing.

To these men, and most people in the court, Prince Jing was a spineless pushover who would simply internalize all insults and punishments thrown at him.

After a discrete glance at his royal father, Jingyan knew his father would approve of what he was about to do. Jingyan made a beckoning gesture with his hand and thirteen heavily armored guards entered the room. Mengzhi’s men. The six officials, who’d expected to debate Tingshen’s family origin and further humiliate Jingyan, looked up in surprise.

After bowing to his royal father and silently receiving the man’s permission, Jingyan turned to address those guards and said, softly, “Today is my revered grandmother’s birthday. There will be no blood spilt.”

Even those six idiots knew better than to loudly beg for their lives right now, but Prince Jingxuan’s men turned to him for help. Prince Jingxuan took a sip of his wine and asked a nearby servant for a refill. The leader of the guards knelt and said, “We will behead these fools at the end of the week.”

When the officials were dragged out, Jingyan once again addressed the crowd: “Who else wants to insult my ability to father a son?”

He’d used the formal ‘my’, an exclusive pronoun that reflected his new rank and all the power that came with it.  The court was quiet. No one was convince that the solitary prince who’d been hiding in the East Sea for the better parts of thirteen years actually had a son outside of his short-lived marriage, but the silence hung for minutes, until Tingshen knelt before him and said, “Father, I wish to undergo a blood test. Right here, right now. In front of all these people.”

Jingyan paused.

“I mean, why not.” That came from Jingxuan. He was speaking because he wanted to show the world that he wasn’t afraid even though Jingyan just sent six of his supporters to the executioner’s block. “It’s not like anyone can imagine you romancing a lady and having a secret affair when it was rumored that you never even slept in the same bed as your wife.”

Someone in the back murmured, “Well, maybe that’s why he never slept in the same bed as his wife.”

The laughter silenced when Jingyan began to search for the speaker, but it was Tingshen who first spoke.

“Why not, is because my father’s verdict on such important matters should not be so easily questioned.” Tingshen had stepped away from Jingyan, and walked closer to Jingxuan. “As for why yes, there is no need for the whole country to eventually debate a fundamental truth.”

Sensing his royal father’s displeasure at Tingshen’s boldness, Jingyan bowed in apology to the empress dowager, to his royal father and interjected, “Tingshen, who gave you permission to speak? Apologize to your uncle.”

Looking Jingyan right in the eye, Tingshen said, “I’m sorry, uncle.”

Blood test. The court remained silent as an imperial physician was brought in and clean water was poured into a bowl before everyone’s eyes. Wondering what sort of scheme Tingshen had in mind, Jingyan didn’t even feel the needle as it pricked through the skin of his finger and Tingshen only scowled briefly when the needle went through his skin. 

After performing the test, the physician took the bowl of merged blood around the room and announced, “Tingshen is, beyond any reasonable doubt, Prince Jing’s son.”

The emperor grunted. Jingxuan spat out his wine, which earned him a look of disapproval from the emperor. Xie Yu looked vaguely amused and Mei Changsu looked unsurprised. Jingyan couldn’t see his mother’s reaction, but he could almost sense her mind working to put pieces of the puzzle together.

As Jingyan walked back to his seat with Tingshen and the banquet continued, he saw Mei Changsu stifle another yawn. The whole room was filling up with music and dancing now. In mere minutes, the atmosphere had transformed.

In his peripheral vision, Jingyan saw Xie Yu carry a goblet of wine to toast his royal father. His father, who was presumably too ill to consume alcohol, gestured for Noble Consort Yue to drink on his behalf. As Noble Consort Yue took the goblet from Xie Yu, her sweeping sleeve fell back to reveal the pale skin of her wrist and she gave Xie Yu a coy smile in apology.

But, how did they pass the blood test? Narrowing his eyes, Jingyan gripped Tingshen’s hand and pulled him closer, into what would appear to be a fatherly embrace.

There a fleck of dried blood on the paper-white skin beneath Tingshen’s nose. Come to think of it, Tingshen’s health had been steadily declining since his return and servants had reported that Tingshen couldn’t practice his swordsmanship for more than a couple of minutes this morning. The constant nosebleeds and the bloodshot eyes.

Quietly, Jingyan asked, “Do you have idea how painful your death would’ve been if your measurements were even a hairbreadth off? How long have you been taking this blood diluting poison for?”

Chapter Text

The poison, believed to only exist in folk stories, worked to dilute a person’s blood so much that it could conglomerate with anyone else’s blood. Had Ting Shen taken anything except an extremely specific amount for his physique, he would’ve melted his organs.

“It’s what my father would’ve done.”

Ting Shen’s words were swept away by the music and festivities of the banquet. Currently, a poet from a county in the south was in a rhetorical competition with a composer from the north, matching stanzas and twisting each other’s word.

“And who told you that?” Mei Changsu? The man was currently chatting with Xie Yu and their eyes briefly met over the cup in Mei Changsu’s hand. Jingyan looked away, settling his gaze on half a dozen officials who paled and stopped talking the moment he looked at them. To Ting Shen, Jingyan added, “If you do everything your father would’ve done, don’t you think you’ll end up exactly like him? Executed by the father he put all his trust and faith in, branded in history as a traitor and an unfilial son?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my father like that.”

“Fine.”

“It was my idea,” said Ting Shen. He took a bite out of a cookie a servant placed before them, but looked like he was chewing on a pincushion. Hopefully, the boy’s appetite and health would return once he stopped taking the poison. There would be no further need. “Mister Su didn’t know I was taking the poison. He didn’t give it to me.”

“Don’t try to…” Jingyan began to say, then stopped. No, he wouldn’t put it beyond Mei Changsu’s moral code to poison a child, but Jingyan knew Mei Changsu resented dealing with medicine and poison. He couldn’t have prescribed such an exact dosage. “Where did you get the poison from, then?”

“Lin Chen,” said Ting Shen. Jingyan choked on the water he’d been about to take a sip from and swallowed down the coughing fit with another gulp of water. Lin Chen could’ve guessed what Ting Shen wanted the poison for. “He caught me when I tried to steal it and wouldn’t let me have it. I asked him whether he would rather risk my life or yours and he handed it over just like that.”

That glint of accusation in Ting Shen’s eyes was familiar, but the glint of triumph was not. Leaning down until he was eye-level with Ting Shen, Jingyan said, with the kind of deathly calmness that would’ve made Mei Changsu proud, “And you’re telling me this, because you want me to think Lin Chen is a monster who’d poison my nephew.”

Ting Shen’s wide eyes answered his statement. Though carefully crafted and inspired by the best, the child’s manipulation tactics were still juvenile. The triumph on Ting Shen’s face crumbled into trails of tears. A tantrum was brewing. Looking away, Ting Shen said, “You should’ve just stayed in Liang and never came to Hua. Mister Su would’ve been so much happier and Yuan-gege would still be alive.”

“You think I wanted to go to Hua?” He shouldn’t be speaking to a child like this, but Ting Shen’s words, and Jingyan wasn’t sure which specific part of his words, pained and angered him on a visceral level. Jingyan spat out, “I thought you had full faith in Mei Changsu and his plan.”

“I do have full faith in Mister Su,” said Ting Shen. The topic of their conversation glanced over, with mild curiosity in his otherwise apathetic gaze. Briefly, Jingyan scowled at Mei Changsu. Then, Ting Shen declared, “But I hate you. I hate you for coming into our life. I hate you for—”

A couple of ministers chatting nearby stopped talking. Instead of slamming his palm down on the table, Jingyan smiled and said, “Why don’t you speak louder so the whole banquet can hear you?”

Tingshen threw one last glare at him and ran off. After chewing and swallowing a few morsels of food, Jingyan turned his attention to the banquet again. The poet from the south had won, apparently. A couple of men in the flowing robes of an honorary baron and military unit leaders tried to approach Jingyan to congratulate him, but he sent them away with a single, bland, look.

This would be an inappropriate time to catch up with his mother and Jingyan wasn’t interested in hearing about anyone’s life. Nor did he want anyone prying into his. With Ting Shen confirmed to be his son from an unknown mistress, there were plenty of scuttlebutt to spin the gossip mill. Viciously phrased barbs to fuel Jingyan’s newly minted reputation as a heartless and bloodthirsty prince of the first rank.

It wasn’t until Princess Nihuang, now wedded and attired in clothes from North Qi, approached him that his mood began to pick up. The first words out of her mouth, accompanied by a sly smirk, were, “Who do you think can sneak away first?”

Nihuang won, by a large margin.

As soon as Jingyan stood up earlier, a handful of court officials whose ranks were too high for him to refuse attendance with stopped him for casual conversation. Once he found Nihuang, Jingyan greeted her with, “Congratulations on your union with Prince Nie Dou.”

The sun had set. There were a few servants sweeping the courtyard they were currently in, a wayside court he, Xiao Shu and Nihuang used to sneak away to. Most servants immediately looked away when Jingyan glanced at them, but one of them, a willowy girl with rather alluring almond-shaped eyes, held his gaze and smiled at him.

Jingyan ignored her.

From what Jingyan heard, Nie Feng’s death had been buried by a pile of jianghu hearsays and the spy who’d integrated herself into the palace to hold Jingyan’s mother hostage had been taken care of by Mei Changsu’s men. But he’d heard nothing about Nie Dou’s reaction to the recent resurfacing of the Chiyan Remnant.

“Welcome home.”

Nihuang was one of the few dignitaries allowed to carry a weapon into the inner chambers of the court and the hilt of her sword gleamed proudly with every step she took. Her outfit today was accessorized with some dangly adornments that Nihuang declared on multiple occasions that she would rather die than wear.  

As Jingyan pondered if he could throw in a “compliment” about Nihuang’s ladylike hairpin before Nihuang’s unsheathed sword found his throat, Nihuang said, “I can’t believe the empress dowager brought up Xiao Shu.”

Falling into pace next to her, Jingyan said, “Well, your marriage arrangement with Xiao Shu was the only union ever blessed by the empress dowager herself.”

Fifteen years ago, stories claimed that the empress dowager was so moved by their romance that she’d handcrafted nearly a hundred gifts in anticipation of their future union. But based on Mei Changsu’s confessions, he’d never been in love with Nihuang, not even when they were children…

The guilt that twisted Jingyan’s gut was uncalled for and, for a second, he intensely wished that Nihuang would never find out the truth. While looking away to clear his mind, Jingyan noticed that the willowy servant was still sneaking glances at him and Nihuang. Mostly him.

Making a mental note to ask someone to investigate the servant later, Jingyan gave a wry smile and added, “I was struck by a sudden memory of all the silly things you did when you were trying to catch Xiao Shu’s attention.”

A lot of it were bombastic challenges and (rather rightful) boastful crowing. After all, Nihuang had spent a lot of time with soldiers and that was how they were taught to catch someone’s attention. Under the guidance of female mentors, Nihuang had tried to wear dresses, but most of those attempts ended poorly when Nihuang felt the sudden desire to pull out her sword and challenge someone into a duel.

“No regrets,” said Nihuang. She flipped her hair, but managed to fuel the act with the same gusto as a warrior preparing to lead men into battle. “You only feel that kind of infatuation once in your life.”

Once in your life.

There were a series of thunderous bangs, which caused both Jingyan and Nihuang to reach for their swords. It turned out to be fireworks from the banquet. Nothing innovative, but Liang found a way to combine scrap metal with technologies that Liang pilfered from Hua. Mixing the scraps of Hua metal with Liang metal could create the loud rainbow explosions they were currently seeing. 

And, hundreds of miles behind the fireworks, beyond twisting shrubs and Jingyan Lake, would lie Lang Ya Mountain. Jingyan could almost visualize the beguiling twirl of a white fan that could double as a lethal weapon. Despite the smoke from the firework and all the man-made colors, Jingyan could still see the brilliance of the cosmos against the Stygian night sky. “Once is probably enough.”

“No kidding.” Nihuang, too, was looking at the fireworks and the metallic edge in her expression had softened slightly. “But, thinking back, I don’t think Xiao Shu wanted to marry me.”

Jingyan once thought he was infatuated with Nihuang, but he was unable to distinguish between wanting her and wanting to be like her. Despite his confidence in himself, he’d always felt like the weakest link in the trio. Xiao Shu and Nihuang were so similar on so many levels that Jingyan always felt like he was the odd man out.

Thinking back, the signs of Xiao Shu’s infatuation with him were there all along too. “But he would’ve loved you and treated you well.”

Or would it have been dark and possessive?

“He would’ve also abandoned me the second the person he really loved needed him,” said Nihuang. Jingyan sneaked a glance over, noting that Nihuang wasn’t looking at him accusingly the way he’d feared she would be. She was focused on the path in front of her, each footfall more confident than the last. “Would’ve been the love story of the century if it worked out, though.”

 “People also think the marriage between Xie Yu and Grand Princess Li Yang is the love story of the century,” said Jingyan. Which reminded Jingyan of how Noble Consort Yue “accidentally” revealed her wrist to Xie Yu when the regent was toasting the emperor.

 “Not anymore. I heard that they had a big fight and Grand Princess Li Yang stabbed his thigh with her hairpin,” said Nihuang. “But you know how little I care about these kind of gossips. I care about important things… Like, the Fortress of Fortitude.”

Jingyan had overheard snippets about the Fortress of Fortitude when he was arguing with Tingshen earlier. Apparently Xie Yu planned to send Jingyan to reclaim the fort and, since it was along the path back to North Qi, Nihuang would partially accompany him and assist him in battles.

“Last I heard, the Scarlet Tigers bandit gang took over the fortress,” said Jingyan. Zhan Ying had delivered that news to him shortly before his death. Casting one last look at the courtyard, Jingyan noticed that the willowy girl with almond-shaped eyes was still staring prettily at him. 

Nihuang grinned. The metallic edge was back. “Yes. And it’s time to reclaim it.”

Now that the war with Hua was no longer soaking up so much time and resource and Nihuang’s marriage into North Qi would ensure peace between Liang and North Qi for the time being, Liang finally had time to start dealing with internal conflicts.

“That Mei Changsu figure is coming along, too. Xie Yu’s too fond and trusting of a random strategist who already betrayed a lord, if you ask me.”

“Xie Yu doesn’t trust him. Or me,” said Jingyan. As a prince of the first rank, Jingyan had the privilege to stay in the imperial palace to help manage the kingdom and didn’t have to return to the East Seas where he’d been stationed. He also had access to many more confidential memorandums and archives, along with the permission to approve cross-state legislations.

From Xie Yu’s perspective, sending Jingyan away on a generally meaningless task of dealing with bandits and sending Mei Changsu along to supervise him would keep both of them out court and, thus, away from harnessing more power.

 “You still remember how to hold a sword, right?” asked Nihuang.

This was a running joke based on when Nihuang once knocked her wooden sword into his wrist and he couldn’t hold a sword for nearly two weeks. “If I don’t, will you remind me again?”

“Nope. But I’ll swoop in and save you,” said Nihuang. She patted his shoulder, a heavy-handed and brief smack that was common between good brothers in the barracks, and smirked. “The heroine flying in in a flurry of cotton and steel to rescue the unfortunate victim. That’s a tale as old as time, isn’t it?” 

Jingyan scoffed.

His skills with the sword was on par with Xiao Shu and Nihuang’s, but he’d never felt that reckless drive to win and be the best. For too many times, he’d let both Xiao Shu and Nihuang win by a large margin simply because he worried they would push themselves to exhaustion or injure themselves if they weren’t constantly reassured that they were undefeatable.

As a result, both Xiao Shu and Nihuang thought he needed their constant protection. 

“If this unfortunate victim ever needs the assistance of Liang’s most fearless heroine, you will be first to know,” Jingyan said, with his hands lightly clasped before him. Nihuang laughed, and then leaned in a little closer, eyes twinkling in a way that Jingyan knew meant nothing good was up.

“Hey, I think that girl has a crush on you.”

Once Nihuang sprinted off, sure that she’d had the last word, Jingyan added, “So it’d be the three of us.”

Now, that was a tale as old as time.

Surely, Mei Changsu was already aware that he would be leaving for the Fortress of Fortitude with Nihuang and Jingyan at the end of the week. Jingyan wouldn’t be surprised if the idea was Mei Changsu’s all along.

Instead of sitting behind the desk that faced the entrance, Mei Changsu was sitting at the desk that faced the east window, playing a foreign tune on the zither. The music didn’t stop when Jingyan entered and the first thing that caught Jingyan’s eyes was a high pile of unopened memorandums.

Knowing that Mei Changsu wouldn’t leave work unfinished, Jingyan confirmed with a quick glance that those memorandums were for him. Mei Changsu had, indeed, not only been expecting him, but also expecting him to stay for a while to finish up his work.

“I visited my mother earlier,” said Jingyan. Consort Jing hadn’t pried into Tingshen’s story, but she’d made an offhand comment that the boy reminded her of someone. She’d also given him twice the number of pastries and snacks compared to normal. Placing the woven basket from his mother down on an empty shelf, Jingyan said, “There’s no hazelnut pastries.”

“I don’t eat pastries,” said Mei Changsu. “But you can leave them here for Tingshen.”

Right. Because Tingshen was staying at Mei Changsu’s residence. It was explained to Xie Yu as a scheme to hold Prince Jing’s son by their side, but Jingyan knew it was Tingshen’s request. Taking a small plate to the table that the zither was resting on, Jingyan said, “Mother made some of your favorites.”

Which also happened to be little cakes that Jingyan disliked to a degree.

Jingyan heard one missed note, but there was no indication that Mei Changsu paid much mind to what he said. Earlier, when he was with his mother, Jingyan had questioned why his mother made pastries for a “random strategist” and she’d given him one of those mysterious smiles.

After a while, long after the moment became awkward, Mei Changsu said, “How can you still not understand? It’s been fourteen years. I don’t remember who I was and I don’t want to remember who I was.”

Jingyan mentally shrugged, but didn’t take the plate back. He settled into the main desk and picked up the first memorandum, breaking the delicate wax seal on the gold-trimmed booklet. A high ranking servant normally would have had these delivered straight to Prince Jing’s residence, but Mei Changsu likely intervened.

Taking a brush and dipping it into the freshly prepared ink, Jingyan began commenting on the memorandums. Most were eloquently articulated but practically useless law proposals and news reports for land that was newly assigned to him. It wasn’t long before he reached the reports relevant to the trip to the Fortress of Fortitude.

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” Jingyan asked.

Mei Changsu gave him a bland look, one that conveyed that he wasn’t impressed by Jingyan’s deduction skills. Jingyan returned the look, noting that even though Mei Changsu had lifted his gaze to stare at him, the music hadn’t stopped. His fingers, slender and fine-boned, drifted over the zither with nonchalant precision.

But I want to drift through jianghu - like a silent wave in the ocean, observing and learning just about everything. Jingyan started. He’d been wrong in thinking that Lin Chen was everything he wanted to be in his life.

Lin Chen was the kind of person Xiao Shu wanted to be.

Their unparalleled intelligence. Their occasional streaks of childish stubbornness. The way they both single-mindedly pursue any goal they set their mind on. Lin Chen was the kind of person Xiao Shu would’ve become, if not for the strings of fate and their preordained destiny.

“Fourteen years,” said Jingyan. He glanced down again, penning the characters for his request for weapons and supply for the pending battles. There was a misplaced stroke, but he simply crossed out the character and rewrote the word. “You’ve been Su Zhe for most of those years and Mei Changsu for the rest.”

After the request to the granaries, Jingyan picked up another booklet. Mei Changsu didn’t answer him, and the music continued peacefully as Jingyan penned a project proposal. The constant droughts in the south could be solved if the capital could allocate the resources to dig a canal from the southern province of a state to the northeast province of another

Dipping his brush into the ink, Jingyan began drawing out a rough draft of a feasible conduit system for the areas with floods to the areas with droughts. Even if his proposal would never be read by his royal father since Xie Yu would not allow that, he was still expected to do his job. “Back in Hua… Every step along the way… you didn’t give me any choice except to fall in love with that side persona of yours.”

“If I stop loving you, I will lose my only connection to who I was,” said Mei Changsu. “To continue loving you for the rest of my life was a conscientious decision that I surrendered myself to when I first saw you at the Battle of Beisha. I have less of a choice than you do.”

The crushing defeat at the battle of Beisha and how Hua slaughtered the soldiers that laid down their weapons and surrendered. That was the moment he’d start hating the Hua strategist Mei Changsu. Even today, he could not reconcile his mental impression of Mei Changsu with the man sitting in front of him right now. “At the end of the day, your love for me has nothing to do with me.”

“Have you ever doubted that I love you?”

Jingyan didn’t answer. He’d maybe even been repulsed by the man’s attraction at one point or another, but he’d never doubt that, not even when Mei Changsu looked him in the eye and told him otherwise. But, was love really all that mattered?

“That’s all that matters to me,” Mei Changsu replied, as if Jingyan had spoken his thoughts out loud. “I’ve made you the fourth most powerful man in this country and I will one day make you the most powerful man in this country. You will have all the choices you want in this world.”

And did Mei Changsu think Jingyan would ever make the same choice –same mistake— of falling in love with him again?

Watching Mei Changsu play the zither, Jingyan realized – No, Mei Changsu didn’t think that. Mei Changsu’s love for him had nothing to do with him. The other man was simply relentlessly confident in his own decisions, regardless of what Jingyan and others might think or do. 

How much did a person have to suffer before they could attain that level of soundless certainty about one thing they would continue to do for the rest of their life?

Jingyan thought he already understood the essence of who the other man was and they’d been intimate more than once, but there was something about this exchange in particular that felt like he was meeting Mei Changsu for the first time.

“Lin Chen said I can play the zither very well, but I can’t create any music because I don’t love music. What do you think, Your Highness?”

Lin Chen’s mere presence was always a force to be reckon with and though Jingyan never heard Lin Chen play any instrument, he could imagine that Lin Chen’s music possessed the same kind of passionate frenzy. Mei Changsu’s style, on the other hand… 

“Lin Chen is the type of person who doesn’t understand subtlety and sorrow,” said Jingyan. The kind of person who would take a look at a cup of tea and not understand why some people would think it was half-empty when it was clearly half-full. “Just like how you used to be.”

There were promotions to discuss, budgets to plan and resources to allocate. A whole foot’s worth of grievances and statutory proposals to go through with Mei Changsu, but Jingyan thought he just might too exhausted to even draw in his next breath.

Jingyan gestured at a scroll he just flattened out on the table. “Come look at this map with me. I’m not understanding…”

Tonight was going to be another long night.

Chapter Text

His royal father declined attendance with him due to an onslaught of maladies after the empress dowager’s banquet and Xie Yu’s inflection carried with it a palpable sense of smugness when he rattled the mission off to Jingyan. As Nihuang had informed Jingyan, he was to travel out to the Fortress of Fortitude, combat the Scarlet Tigers and reclaim the fortress.

To Jingyan’s surprise, Regent Xie Yu approved most of his requests for men, resources and supply, directing him to a province near the East Sea to redeem everything. In his absence, Xie Yu said dismissively, Crown Prince Jingxuan would be more than capable of handling all aspects of running the country.

An hour later, while Jingyan was preparing to head out, there was a knock on his door.

The girl with the almond-shaped eyes had much more make-up on her face this time and her clothes, new and emitting a flowery fragrance, were not typical for palace servants. Dipping her head coyly, she said, “This lowly servant is here with your breakfast.”

Repressing his frown, Jingyan opened his door wider and gestured for her to put the tray down, next to his draft of an irrigation system. He’d asked Yujin to investigate her and her files revealed that she’d joined the palace as a potential concubine for his father before Imperial Consort Yue demoted her and sent her to a wayward court.

So who sent her after Jingyan?

Jingyan would suspect Mei Changsu, but the man had shown subtle signs of displeasure even at the casual mention of a servant girl staring at him. Though their interactions as of late had been amiable to pass as information exchanges and administrative discussions between a lord and his vassal, Jingyan could sense the underlying tension and possessiveness.

“Just leave it on the table. I’ll ask my personal attendant to pack it for the road.” 

There was a flash of indignation in the almond-shaped eyes and her lips plucked into a pout that would’ve melted the heart of many men. Still, she was only a servant and she couldn’t disobey a direct order from a prince. She sashayed past him, brushing a silk-clad elbow against his belt.

After closing the doors behind her, Jingyan rubbed his arms, soothing the goosebumps that’d risen on his skin.

Deciding to just leave the food untouched on the table, Jingyan rolled up his architectural draft, wrapped it with a piece of silk and stored the piece of paper in the bookcase. He’d started working on the design for a canal earlier this week, but one idea led to another and he was rather fond of the irrigation system he just designed.

Around midday, the imperial palace shrank out of sight and Jingyan’s horse was once again cantering down the twisting roads leading out to the East Sea and the Fortress of Fortitude. Mei Changsu had, surprisingly, also chosen a bumpy horseback ride instead of the comfort of a carriage. Nihuang rode a war stallion from North Qi, a breed of horse that had longer manes and thicker legs than the breed typically used in Liang.

The plan was to ride to a province near the Fortress of Fortitude, claim two thousand men from the marquis there, and drive away the bandits. Jingyan grimaced. The marquis who presided over the province was the one who successfully pushed for Jingyan’s royal father to disown Prince Qi and “honor” Prince Qi as the son of a late duke.

Still, the marquis was unyieldingly loyal to Prince Jingxuan and Xie Yu. Thus, the brutish oaf of a man had risen rapidly through the ranks and was awarded the titular address of “The Auspicious and Filial Marquis of Abundance.” If Jingyan remembered correctly, the only things the man had in abundance was ego and foul breath.

During the whole trip, Nihuang had been sneering at Mei Changsu whenever he entered her field of vision and he’d responded to her condescending looks with utmost dismissiveness. Once what Jingyan thought was a mellow silence had settled, Nihuang commented, “What’s the point of riding into a battle if you’re not even going to carry a sword?”

To Jingyan’s surprise, Mei Changsu remarked, with an equal amount of disdain, “What’s the point of carrying a sword if your intention is to rest up at the base camp and wait until the fight is over?”

The emperor had decreed that, since Nihuang was a guest from North Qi, she could utilize her wit to assist them in battle but not participate in the bloodshed. Nihuang said, “And you, on the other hand, will accomplish oh-so-much with your thumbs up your ass, daydreaming about your next poem.”

“I’ve never composed a single poem in my life,” said Mei Changsu. “But maybe I should compose one about my lady’s gentle fairness and dainty manners. Wait…”

“Can the two of you stop it?” Granted, the journey was peaceful, the path uninterrupted and the scouts were actively securing their safety, but Jingyan hadn’t expected the same, childish, behaviors from Xiao Shu and Nihuang two decades later.

“Shut up.” They both spoke and turned around simultaneously, much to their mutual displeasure. There was no menace in their inflection, but Jingyan knew when his actions and words would go to waste. Better to just admire the golden-red specks of autumn leaves emerging within the lush foliage and appreciate the warm weather before the days turn cold and the nights turn long again.   

“I’ve never composed a single poem in my life either.” Nihuang’s mount snorted and stomped, crushing a thin twig beneath its steel-clad hoof. Of the three horses, only Nihuang’s was accessorized. With bells and a gauzy fabric that Jingyan would deem a tad lady-like. “But I’m suddenly inspired to compose a few choruses about your faithless character and hypocritical nature.”

“Who educated you? If you’re going to compose poems, you need stanzas, not choruses.”

“If you want to prove your worth, you need swords, not pretty words and grammatical correctness.”

“It’s pretty words written on a piece on yellow-dyed paper that sends thousands of men into war,” said Mei Changsu. There were small beads of perspiration on the man’s forehead, likely because he hadn’t ride out on horseback for a long time. “But I guess you’re too busy following orders to figure that part out.”

“As a previous marshal-commander of Liang, I was the one who wrote those words. Also, I write the prettiest words in Liang.”

With a quick come-hither motion, Jingyan gestured for his personal attendant to bring Mei Changsu the chrysanthemum tea that his mother brewed earlier. For Jingyan, but she must’ve known he wouldn’t drink any restorative tea “infused with balancing herbs and enhanced with a signature floral flavor.”

Mei Changsu accepted the tea-filled container without sparing a single glance at Jingyan’s direction before turning back to Nihuang to say, “No, you do not.”

“If you’re not as much of a coward as you appear, how about a calligraphy contest as soon as we set up camp?”

“What’s next? A chess match?”

Jingyan turned his focus to a couple of returning scouts as the two enthusiastically agreed to a chess match (best two out of three) and then continued to compete on who could name the most constellations. Mei Changsu won the constellation naming contest, but Nihuang quickly outdid him with the geography knowledge.

After several hours and many verbal competitions later, they crossed the perimeter of the municipal leading to the Fortress of Fortitude and Jingyan could see the marquis standing in the distance, ready to greet Jingyan and his entourage with refreshments and reinforcement.

The marquis, dressed in an impractical jewel-studded armor, also had a face that would put Lin Chen’s ogre mask to shame. Jingyan could understand how he inspired fear in lesser men and then misinterpreted their obedience as respect. “Your humble servant greets Prince Jing. I have received the message from Regent Xie Yu to assist your Highness. I am—”

Jingyan lifted his hand, two fingers lifted as if to brush something unnecessary away. “You only need to report your name and title to me if you can lead your men to victory at the fortress.”

From atop of his horse, Jingyan returned the man’s belligerent stare with a look of what he hoped was untouchable and unquestionable authority. He knew who “The Auspicious and Filial Marquis of Abundance” was, but, from the moment their eyes met, Jingyan knew the marquis would not relinquish any military power over to him and cooperation was a joke.

So, Jingyan might as well make him fight the battle as well.

 This was how Mei Changsu would’ve played the hand he was dealt— with strategic apathy and fastidious manipulations. For a second, Jingyan could almost imagine how Mei Changsu felt, with the bottom of his cloak sweeping in the space just above the snowy grounds of Hua’s palace as every official knelt before him in greeting.

Part of appearing as if you always knew more and knew better was simply a balancing act of faked nonchalance and a rapid integration of new information. Rather than attempting to contest the marquis for military power or deride the man’s ego, Jingyan could use both to his own advantage.

Eyeing the marquis’ retreating form and scanning the perimeter for Mei Changsu (who was speaking to some of the marquis’ counsel), Jingyan could almost hear the man’s indifferent but commanding voice. Mei Changsu looked up, but his eyes passed over Jingyan’s form as if Jingyan was invisible and Jingyan, too, turned away.

There was always something else, something better, to do.

By the time they approached the perimeters of the Fortress of Fortitude the next evening, the scouts and spies reported that they found the fortress completely emptied out. The large gates, guarded by massive stone kirins and embellished with metal spikes to render battle rams ineffective, were left open in welcome.

All the windows and doors in the fortress were open.

Jingyan stopped his own men from approaching, but the marquis ordered his own troops forward with an aggressive gleam in his eyes. The marquis’ qiang, tipped with a ferocious looking curved blade and held incorrectly by its owner, was already pointed at the opened gates in victory.

 The fortress was empty, but there was a sense of unease— something wasn’t the way it should be. However, even after careful scrutiny, Jingyan couldn’t see anything out of place. The Scarlet Tigers had simply abandoned this fortress before they arrived, possibly out of fear. 

“Strange,” said Nihuang.

“It’s empty,” said Mei Changsu. There was no surprise in his voice, but Jingyan heard the contemplative suspicion. “My spies did report seeing hundreds of bandits retreat a couple days ago.”

“The design of the walls makes this stronghold safe from ambushes,” said Jingyan. Motioning for his personal attendant to step forward, Jingyan gave the order: “We can set up camp in the courtyard and barracks, but I have an ominous feeling about the citadel itself. Tell the men not to enter.”

As Jingyan’s soldiers bustle about to carry out his order, the marquis returned, with his qiang still held as if it was a farmer’s shovel. Stopping before Jingyan, the marquis announced, “Your humble servant, The Auspicious and Filial Marquis of Abundance, is pleased to report yet another successful campaign. Your Highness.”

Slowly, Jingyan looked up from the map that he, Nihuang and Mei Changsu had been studying. Nodding his head at the jug of local wine in Nihuang’s hand, Jingyan asked, “What’s that?”

Before Nihuang could answer, Mei Changsu cut in, “Perhaps it is exotic grape juice. Maybe you’ll like it if you try it.”

Taking the “exotic grape juice” from Nihuang, Jingyan held it out with two hands. Knowing that the eyes of all the marquis’ soldiers were on him, Jingyan tilted the jug in a toast to The Auspicious and Filial Marquis of Abundance and then held it to his lips, swallowing all the wine inside.

He could practically see the marquis swell up even further with pride. As Jingyan gave the jug back to Nihuang, the marquis said, “I believe Your Highness should allow for a celebration over this bloodless victory.”

“Of course.” Jingyan had already returned his attention to the map. Earlier, Mei Changsu suggested a path of retreat for the Scarlet Tigers that Jingyan thought was feasible. A messenger would soon arrive at the palace with the report that the bandits fled, and orders to pursue the bandits would likely follow. “How else may I serve you tonight?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re giving him too much leeway,” Nihuang said once the marquis swaggered back to his own men. “I would’ve speared his head on his own qiang if he spoke to me the way he’d been speaking to you.”

“That skillset is called diplomacy and the virtue is named patience,” said Mei Changsu.

“The skillset you need to learn is called ‘knowing when to shut up’ and the virtue you need to practice is named respect.”

Sighing, Jingyan rubbed the bridge of his nose and excused himself, claiming that he needed a walk. By now, the marquis’ soldiers had all taken up residence within the comfort of the citadel and the marquis had gave his approval for his men to let loose and celebrate their easy victory.

By the time Jingyan had circled the perimeter of the fortress once, the marquis’ soldiers were at their rowdiest. Apparently, they’d helped themselves to the provision in the granary and alcohol in the cellar. There was a large, whole deer roasting on a bonfire, dozens of chicken and parts of a half-eaten cow.

The fortress might be safe from ambushes, but they still need to pursue the bandits tomorrow.

Scowling, Jingyan stepped into the dining hall and strolled to where the marquis was exchanging stories and chugging wine with his trusted officials and favored advisors. The marquis giggled, snorted and said, “Prince Jing, prince of the first rank, Honorary Royal Marquis of Loyalty and Valiancy. What are you doing out here instead of cozying up with your pretty lover?” 

Jingyan’s stomach did a double flip at the statement. But, no, he hadn’t been near Mei Changsu tonight or in the recent nights. These men couldn’t have seen anything. Calmly, Jingyan assumed a nonchalant posture, injected an unmistakable amount of contempt into his inflection and asked, “What are you insinuating?”

“Oh. Don’t play coy. Don’t pretend there isn’t something between you and the North Qi prince-consort.”

For a whole second, Jingyan contemplated the bizarreness of the accusation. Then, he realized – He’d taken and drank from Nihuang’s jug of wine earlier and, before that, she drank from the same jug. Nihuang was a married woman now. The way they used to treat each other may not be wholly appropriate anymore.

Jingyan simply said, “You misunderstood.”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” said the marquis. “We understand.”

Another obnoxious giggle-snort, followed by drunken hiccuping and, “We heard all about your philandering ways and bastard son. We understand.”

With a frustrated growl, Jingyan snatched the sword from a nearby soldier and direct the sharp point at the marquis. Jingyan only meant to scare the marquis—there was still half a foot between the tip of his sword and the man’s throat— but, the marquis let out a tortured, inhuman, scream.

A wave of panic rolled across the room. “What did the prince do?”

Then, several other soldiers in the room screamed. Before Jingyan’s eyes, colorful sparks of flame erupted on the marquis’ skin. Miniature fireworks began everywhere, sparks hitting the ceiling in rainbow bursts. By the time Jingyan remembered to breathe again, a white and blue fire had fried the marquis’ hair into crispy ash and curled his skin.

The man was dead long before his charred body smashed into the ground.

The sword Jingyan took fell from his hand.

All around Jingyan, the jugs of wine, the tables and the marquis’ men burst into fire.

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to save the marquis or these men, Jingyan began sprinting toward the large gates of the dining hall, toward the courtyard. His own men, roused from the screams, began exiting their tents and running toward the citadel. “Don’t come in! It’s Plogisplasm! Evacuate the perimeters. Evacuate!”

Later, when all survivors were rounded up and tallied, Nihuang asked, “How did the entire citadel and the people in the dining hall spontaneously burst into flames?”

Brushing soot from his robes, Jingyan shivered. The eerie chilly atmosphere when they first step foot into the Fortress of Fortitude. All the windows were open, allowing in a chilly draft. “They coated the dining hall and strategic corners in the citadel with a thin layer of weapon-grade Plogisplasm.”

Plogisplasm was a scentless, invisible concoction. Once the temperature reached beyond a certain threshold, it would combust into an unnaturally potent blue and white fire. The chemical was first invented in Hua and a diluted variation of Plogisplasm was used to create the fireworks displayed at the empress dowager’s banquet.

“What kind of cowardly nonsense is this?” Nihuang snapped.

“Someone taught the bandits how to use Hua’s advanced technology,” said Jingyan. Who? Likely someone who escaped from Hua, with deep roots in what used to be Hua’s palace. But King Yu was dead and the kingdom no longer existed. “Where is Mei Changsu?”

“He was last seen walking toward the library in the lower levels of the fortress,” said a soldier.

Jingyan had forgotten about the library. Underneath the fortress was a vast archive of books and historical records. The collection of literature, stored in dozens of enormous bookcases standing around a water fountain build in the previous dynasty, were deemed too impure and redundant to store in the library of the imperial palace but too valuable to burn.

Of course Mei Changsu would be interested in those books.

The fire, now burning a normal red and orange instead of blue and white, had consumed every corner of the fortress. Many of the marquis’ soldiers had safely evacuated the fortress, but the marquis, his closest confidants and the men drinking in the dining hall had all perished.

“Contain the fire, rally the survivors, and set up a military camp in the hunting ground located a quarter of a mile west of the fortress,” Jingyan ordered Nihuang. There was no way they could extinguish this unholy fire, but they should be able to prevent it from spreading into the nearby village. 

Without another word, Jingyan grabbed his cloak and turn toward the burning fortress.

Almost immediately, Jingyan felt a strong grip on his wrist. Without turning around, Jingyan knew it was Nihuang’s hand. Jingyan said, “I need to find him.”

Nihuang’s voice wavered slightly when she asked, “Exotic grape juice?”

Jingyan gave one quick nod.

Nihuang stopped the soldiers who tried to go after him as Jingyan poured a bucket of water over the cloak and ran toward the collapsing gates of the welcome hall. The Fortress of Fortitude was named as such because much of the fortress was built with large stone and marble slabs. The sparse amount of wood timber meant there wasn’t much combustible material to feed the fire.

Besides the fire burning up ladders, fallen door frames and furniture, the interior of the stone fortress was full of smog but not as much fire as one would expect. Jingyan had spent thirteen years of his self-imposed exile near or in this fortress. Even without a map or light, Jingyan could navigate the interior of the citadel.

The fire may or may not have reached the interior of the vast library, but, the great wooden doors of the library and the shelves and carts in front of the library door were all frighteningly easy to set ablaze. The great wooden doors themselves were polished with flammable colored oil. Anyone inside the library when the fire started would be trapped inside.

By the time Jingyan arrived, the wooden doors of the library had burned down. Pulling the wet cloak closer to his body, Jingyan closed his eyes and ran through the waves and waves of fire. After the fire stopped licking at his face and body, Jingyan abandoned the cloak and rolled on the ground several times to extinguish the fire on his clothes.

Jingyan could feel the prickling pain where the fire had burned welts into his skin, but, based on the amount of pain he felt, they must be minor burns. Nothing that could impede his movements as he ran through the smoke and bookcases, scanning for the familiar pale blue of Mei Changsu’s cloak.

At the back of his mind, insidious thoughts whispered to him: What if the soldier was wrong? What if Mei Changsu was already dead? What if…

If he and Mei Changsu both survived this fire, they would start again.

Leave behind the deceit, the betrayals, the façade of disregard, the pretense that everything was just dandy.

Mere seconds later, Jingyan found the Mei Changsu’s body partially buried by a collapsed pillar. Without much effort, Jingyan pushed the pillar aside and tugged Mei Changsu’s form out. The man was alive, just knocked unconscious.

Partially out of disbelief, and overwhelmed by the amount of relief he felt, Jingyan tugged the man’s arms around his shoulders, started pulling him toward the fountain in the middle of the library and murmured, “You damn weakling. Wait until Nihuang hears about this. She already figured out who you are… If you’re going to pretend you’re so smart and worldly, you better survive this…”

Thanks to the debris Jingyan pushed aside to forge a path into the library and Jingyan’s discarded cloak, the fire had spread into the library, greedily swooping from bookcase to bookcase. Some of the ancient texts, preserved with unidentified substances, would be explosive once the fire reached them.

As if to prove a point, a bookcase nearby knelt over and collapsed into a pile of burning books and crackling splinters, missing Jingyan and Mei Changsu by several meters

There was no way Jingyan could carry Mei Changsu out of the fortress, but there was an underground spring beneath the fountain. During flood season, Jingyan had ordered soldiers to reinforce the foundation of the fountain to minimize the water flow. But the hole was still big enough for two men to fit through.

At this time of the lunar cycle, and at this time of the day, the water in the underground spring should be flowing outwards, towards a nearby river.

Decades ago, Jingyan had practiced holding his breath and diving into the depth of the East Sea. All to find the biggest, brightest pearl for Xiao Shu. After that, he’d simply swam to prepare for battles against pirates and out of nostalgia.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Jingyan murmured.

With the fire nipping at his heels, Jingyan hauled Mei Changsu’s body through the center of the fountain, took a deep breath, and jumped in after him, dragging both of them into the spring underneath the fountain.  It’d once taken Jingyan approximately four minutes to swim through the underground spring, to the surface of the river, but he hadn’t done so while pulling along an unconscious person.

Gritting his teeth, Jingyan wrapped an arm around Mei Changsu’s waist and kicked toward the dark bottom of the underground spring. Swimming with Mei Changsu’s additional weight and only one arm was much harder than any of the swimming exercises Jingyan ever did or any ocean warfare he’d participated in.

Holding his breath always created a dull ache at the bridge of his nose and a pounding throb at the base of his skull, but he had plenty of practice overriding those discomforts. The water was cold, a stark contrast to the heat that Jingyan hadn’t even notice. Jingyan remembered the approximate direction of the opening to the river, but he’d have to feel along the watery depths for the exact position.

Jingyan doubt Mei Changsu practiced holding his breath in the recent decade, but Xiao Shu was once a stronger swimmer than Jingyan. With dizzy fondness, Jingyan remembered how Xiao Shu was crowned the underwater champion because he could hold his breath for over ten minutes. Nihuang had boasted that she could hold her breath for longer and could swim faster, but she wasn’t allowed to swim with them.  

As Jingyan pushed against the heavy pressure of the water, he distinctly felt something slide against his wrist. He opened his eyes just in time to see a white ribbon flutter away from him. It then caught on a kelp, indicating that Jingyan had reached the bottom of the underground spring.

He could chase after the hair tie, but he’d have to abandon Mei Changsu.

Turning away from the white ribbon, Jingyan continued to push against the water, beginning his search for the way out of the watery hell. His muscle started to protest, started to beg for relief, but Jingyan bit down on his lips to focus and persisted. Due to a lack of practice, his lungs were also weaker than expected.

Reminding himself that the journey of a thousand li began with a single step and nothing was too difficult if you do it one step at a time, Jingyan began to feel along the slimy, rocky edges of the underground spring. After finding the opening, the swim should be easier, since he would swimming in the same direction as the current and aiming for the surface of the river.

He didn’t want to die either. Not like this.

Chapter Text

The dry, coarse textile scratched his hand when he moved and the overpowering stench of fish left him no questions as to where he was. A quaint, unnamed, village just south of the Fortress of Fortitude that the rest of the country called the Fishermen’s Landing Point.

“I’ve never felt fabric as soft as the one you wore when we fished you out.” An elderly woman came in with his presumably washed and dried clothes, patted his cotton shirt before placing it on the bed. She then retrieved a basket of snow peas, sat down at a cramped table in the middle of the room, and began deveining the green pods. “I am Granny Fou. What’s your name?”

“Lin,” said Jingyan, because Xiao was the last name of the royal family. After identifying a critical burn injury on his left shoulder, a less critical injury on his lower right back and minor scraps all around, Jingyan added, “Su. Lin Su. Call me Xiao Su. Did you find another man? Around my age.”

“Yes!” said Granny Fou. She tutted when Jingyan pulled himself out of bed, but returned to deveining her peas. “The townsmen love him. In the two days since we rescued you and him, he’s already devised a new tool for detangling the nets and introduced a way to make clay dry faster.”

Those tools and technology likely already existed, just newly introduced to this small village. From the sounds of it, Mei Changsu suffered no injuries. No surprise. Wincing when he shifted his arm, Jingyan said, “Sounds like him.”

“You can’t use that arm for the week or so,” said Granny Fou. “We found you with burns all over your body. Some spots are all blistered and charred, but you’re lucky you jumped into the water quickly enough and our sage made a special concoction for you.”

The cloak had caught fire when Jingyan ran through the fallen library doors and the fur-trimmed neckline was the most inviting component of his wardrobe, as far as the fire was concerned. Beneath the white bandages on his shoulder was definitely one of those “blistered and charred” spots.

Sniffing at the air, Jingyan asked, “What is the concoction made of?”

“Crushed turtle bladders and toad poo.”

Jingyan frowned. The remedy was certainly effective, but …why? Was it possible to wash the paste off his body without offending Granny Fou? How soon could he do so? “Is that so?”

“Of course not, young man!” said Granny Fou. “But I am surprised by your reaction. You hold your composure as if your life depends on it.”

In a way, Jingyan thought. So roughly two days have passed since the incident at the Fortress of Fortitude. No doubt, Nihuang would have made her way to the hunting ground by now. So, as soon as Jingyan could find a mount, he and Mei Changsu better meet up with any approaching reinforcements and meet her there.

Vaguely proud of the fact that he was able to walk outside on his own, Jingyan found Mei Changsu sitting within a circle of locals around a large pot of roasted chestnuts. Mei Changsu, who had a chestnut in one hand and a knife in another, seemed lost in thoughts.

There were red flags and banners flying everywhere, perhaps a sign of an upcoming wedding or local holiday. As Jingyan examined one of the flags, wondering if any blessings were written on it, a fisherman commented, “We’re flying red flags to wish the new irrigation system good luck and celebrating a new canal.”  

“New irrigation system and canal?”

That was exactly what Jingyan was working on, drafts wrapped up in silk and left in the bookcase of his room. He hadn’t finalized his work: the irrigation system was missing a few hatches and the dam drafted into the new canal would not hold against the sort of flood experienced in the spring. So who stole Jingyan’s work and would they know better before undertaking the construction?   

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Jingxuan, has drafted an irrigation system and proposed plans to construct a new canal. His Majesty happily approved of both ideas and rewarded him handsomely,” said Mei Changsu. He’d wandered over without a sound. “Try a chestnut, Xiao Su. They’re delightful.”

Wondering how Mei Changsu already caught on to his clumsily invented new name, Jingyan took the offered chestnut as the fisherman said, “Story has it that a ray of divine light shone on the crown prince during the Heaven Offering Ceremony and his ancestors inspired him with the idea.”

The Heaven Offering Ceremony was a practice from decades ago, abolished long before the Chiyan Rebellion and Jingxuan likely only revived the practice to craft the story of how he received inspiration to draft canals and irrigation.

After chewing and swallowing the chestnut, Jingyan said, “Let’s hope he remains a genius.”

There wasn’t much to explore in the village. Many villagers, absorbed in their day-to-day tasks and work, only looked up to stretch their lips into an inviting smile before turning their attention elsewhere. Compared to the sun-darkened and wind-wizen skin of these locals, his paler complex was a clear giveaway of his foreigner status.

Mei Changsu, who was something of a local celebrity now, didn’t seek him out either. The man showed small gestures of assistance and kindness, but refused to meet his eyes. Even during and after a quiet dinner of fish, rice and snow peas, Mei Changsu tended to him, but did not say anything more than “Thank you for saving me.”

Unable to sleep that night and surprised by how the entire village went to bed soon after the sun set, Jingyan wandered out into the backyard of the house and settled into a comfortable seat on the handrails lining a humble porch.  

Earlier, Jingyan had asked for a horse, but Granny Fou insisted that he sleep for another night before traveling out. Thinking that it was easier for Nihuang’s scouts to find him in the village than on a mountain road, Jingyan agreed. The night, unlit by lanterns or torches, was dark and the only living creatures still awake were probably Jingyan and the three puppies that ran into the yard, play-fighting over a large piece of bark.  

Long after Jingyan lost track of time, a soft voice spoke from directly behind him, “Why are you out here?”

Mei Changsu. Once again, Jingyan hadn’t noticed or heard his footsteps. How long had the other man been watching him? “Puppies.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for Mei Changsu’s hand and pulled until the other man’s arm was loosely but reluctantly looped around his body. Might as well open the floodgates of Hell: “Xiao Shu is hopefully doing well. Same goes for her owner.”

It’d been too long. Jingyan almost forgot the fine, sculpted form of Mei Changsu’s hand and wrist. The beautiful way Mei Changsu’s muscles pulled taunt and relaxed whenever he moved. But every time Jingyan remembered that night on Lang Ya Mountain, when Mei Changsu weaponized their intimacy to torment Lin Chen, he felt that distinctive twist of repulsion.

“If you want, I can head up Lang Ya Mountain and find you another one of those ribbons.”

Jingyan winced at the flippant tone. Was everything hopeless and, if so, why would he keep deluding himself? Vowing that this would be the absolute last time he tried anything, Jingyan said, “It’s not a souvenir from an impetuous affair.”

Despite how Mei Changsu misinterpreted the situation, Jingyan hadn’t kept Lin Chen’s hair ribbon out of any mawkish sentiments. He kept it because it taught him that there were people out there in this world who would stop everything they were doing to rescue and tend to a rabbit. “Sometimes people just need a little reminder that there are good people in this world.”

And, sometimes, good things only exist to remind you that you couldn’t have them.

Either way, it wasn’t fair for Mei Changsu to punish him as if he was the only one on the receiving end of Lin Chen’s generous and affectionate nature. If Jingyan’s deduction was correct, Lin Chen and Mei Changsu had been bosom buddies, partner-in-crimes and pen-pals for much longer than fourteen years.

“Stop talking,” Mei Changsu said, quietly.

“I refuse to sit here and shift through every fibril of emotion I felt while I was with him to see if any lines were crossed,” said Jingyan. At the end of the day, where was the line between romantic and platonic anyway? Different for every person and not even a line to begin with. “It’s not like you will forgive and forget just because I properly justified my past thoughts, actions and feelings.”

For some reason, Mei Changsu acted as if he’d been physically slapped by those words. Jingyan scowled. Jianghu, Lang Ya Mountain, and the man who rule both were distant memories. If Jingyan and Lin Chen were to live out their life naturally, in their intended and respective homes, they would never meet again.

That, too, was preordained.

“He is a bird in the sky and I am a tree whose roots are bound to the grounds of a walled garden.” Unless the bird was held in captivity, it wouldn’t perch on the same tree twice. And trees couldn’t fly. Lightly, he tugged Mei Changsu’s hand. “Can’t you live with that?”

“Stop talking.” There was it, that icy tone that meant Mei Changsu was seconds away from some form of slaughter.

Just three days ago, those weren’t words he would think to say to Mei Changsu. But what he said was the indisputable truth. A truth he knew even before he bid Lin Chen a farewell for forever. It didn’t matter if Mei Changsu wanted to play mind game or if he thought ownership could be imposed through physical acts. 

When Mei Changsu tried to pull away, probably to spin on his heels and return to his own room, Jignyan snatched his wrist and tightened his grip. Pressing his lips to the pale skin on the back of Mei Changsu’s hand, Jingyan repeated, “Can’t you just live with that?”

Much harsher: “You don’t have a choice.”

In the ensuing silence, Jingyan could feel Mei Changsu’s maniacal internal struggle to regain control of his mental state. The origin of Mei Changsu’s infuriation was what he perceived to be emotional betrayal by the two people he trusted, loved and sacrificed the most for in his life.

As if it had a mind of its own, Mei Changsu’s free hand roamed his body, fingers insistent, pushing until they found an opening in his robes. Nails scraped down his chest, leaving what Jingyan knew would be indented marks and stripped skin in their paths of destruction.

With a faint grimace, Jingyan tolerated the ruthless exploration.

Jingyan tensed when Mei Changsu fisted the material of his robes and yanked down the neckline. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but who knew how many pairs of eyes were out there in the dark. Whatever movement Jingyan had been about to make next abruptly halted when Mei Changsu bit down on the bandaged wound on his shoulder.

White-hot pain seared through his body, briefly giving him the impression that he was going to die. If he hadn’t lost feeling for his limbs, he would’ve thrashed. Tears brimmed and his vision went hazy. No wonder the woman told him not to use this arm. There was a pulse of relief, and then the pain intensified.

Mei Changsu bit him again, much harder this time.

When he regained his senses, fragments at a time and probably seconds later, he found himself still perched on the handrails, body weak against Mei Changsu’s. As he struggled to regain his composure, struggled to sit up straight and on his own, he heard Mei Changsu murmur, “I’m sorry.”

His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth and his cheeks felt sore, face muscles paralyzed from gritting his teeth too hard. At least he hadn’t screamed. After a few tries, after he’d sufficiently swallow down the bile and was reasonably sure he wouldn’t retch as soon as he opened his mouth, Jingyan unlocked his jaw and commented, “Really sorry?”

Blinking back his tears, Jingyan stilled his shivering through pure willpower, and sat a little straighter. Mei Changsu reached for him, presumably to assist his walk back into the house so they could bandage up the bleeding wound. To what end? So Mei Changsu could rip him open again the next time he felt peeved?

Despite possessing whatever moral code that justified consorting with his best friend’s lover, Lin Chen was the kind of person whose heart broke every time he saw anyone feeling distressed or in pain. That was why, on that night and under tonight’s moon, Mei Changsu found so much satisfaction, maybe even pleasure, in inflicting both.

To Mei Changsu, each bruise and laceration were practical delivery of well-deserved vengeance.

Jingyan released his death-grip on the handrails. The wood, unpolished and crafted with rudimentary craftsmanship, left splinters in his palm. Splinters that he knew would scratch against Mei Changsu’s face when he caressed it just moments later.

His entire body throbbed, and his left arm was completely inoperative, but the burns were only skin-deep. Bloody, messy and incredibly painful, but nothing life-threatening, even when exacerbated by Mei Changsu’s onslaught.

If this was what it took for Mei Changsu to get over what’d transpired on Lang Ya Mountain… what it took for Mei Changsu feel better about himself—

“If you’re still angry, you can do that again.” Slanting his head downward, to the side, Jingyan exposed the spot he knew Mei Changsu liked to mark during lovemaking. He could see the five scores Mei Changsu left on his chest now. Closing his eyes, and hoping that would stop the tears, he added, “And again. Anywhere you want.”

What a predicament he was in. Blood-spattered robes and frazzled bandages hanging off his exposed body. If anyone witnessed this, Jingyan could have this entire village burn to the ground to bury any trace of evidence, but he still felt powerless. Helpless. What would it take?

He felt, rather than saw, Mei Changsu shake his head.

Mei Changsu’s fingers travelled up his arm, wading up the rivets of blood. The crimson dribbles had morphed into a free-flowing torrent, falling through the regular cotton shirt that Granny Fou had described as unbelievably soft. Any second now, Jingyan would begin to feel the dizziness associated with losing too much blood at once.

Mei Changsu said, “I’m sorry.”

There was a barely-there tremble in Mei Changsu’s voice, tremors matched by his bloodstained hand. Bit by bit, Jingyan relaxed into the offered embrace. He felt Mei Changsu’s hold strengthen, once again easily supporting the weight of Jingyan’s torso. He’d have to ask Mei Changsu about this later— how did Mei Changsu’s health improve after being struck by the barbed arrow?

“I’m fine.”

Even if he wasn’t, he would be. Whether he had no choice or whether he had all the choices in the world, but could only see one, he’d chosen Mei Changsu. Wherever that choice led, he’d let the other man decide. Leaning his weight on Mei Changsu, Jingyan let him guide both of them back into the cottage.

Somewhere along the way, he heard, “I won’t hurt you again.”

Jingyan hummed in acknowledgement. 

Soon after Mei Changsu cleaned up the (hideously painful) wound, a familiar sound reached Jingyan’s ears. He looked up and saw Mei Changsu turning toward the same direction.  Nihuang’s stallion. The bells woven into the long mane of the horse had been partially torn out and the gauzy fabric was all but shredded, but the horse was alright.

The owner, however, was nowhere in sight.

“She needs help,” said Jingyan. Disregarding the bloody state of his clothes, Jingyan stroke the horse’s nose and asked, “Can you lead us to her?”

Turns out, she didn’t.

As a result of an ambush, Nihuang had been trapped within a forest in the hunting ground and abandoned her stallion. But, she’d successfully led Jingyan’s men and the deceased marquis’ men into a stunning victory against the Scarlet Tigers. 

In hindsight, Jingyan should’ve never expected otherwise.

By the time Jingyan and Mei Changsu arrived at their camp, with half a thousand more men from a local barrack, the head of the bandit leader was proudly propped atop of the deceased marquis’ qiang and the soldiers were in the middle of a happy but less rowdy celebration.

A quick inquiry revealed how Nihuang, while being pursued by the bandits, had noticed that certain trees in the forest would emit poisonous fumes during certain times of the day. After strategically chose “escape paths” that forced the bandits to stop at poisonous areas at the right time, she led the men in a final battle that secured their victory.

With a sense of wry delight, Jingyan wondered how much their summoned reinforcement would offend Nihuang when she would inevitably greet them with a smug smirk and even smugger words.

But Nihuang wasn’t found anywhere near the alcohol or food.

After conversing with some soldiers, Jingyan finally found Nihuang’s personal attendant. The young girl bowed and informed Jingyan that Nihuang was in the commander’s tent, waiting for them. She’d asked that Jingyan mentally prepare himself. 

Jingyan and Mei Changsu exchanged a look.

At first appearances, nothing was wrong. Nihuang stood with her back to the tent’s flap, with the hilt of her sword and the hand proudly placed on it visible next to the violet fall of her cloak. Then she turned around. On her face, across the tip of her nose, were large swathes of bandages.

If Jingyan had to guess, Nihuang didn’t manage to fully dodge a blow aimed to cleave her head into two.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Nihuang. Her head was tilted at an arrogant angle and her posture still conveyed a grandiose sense of self-confidence. In other words, she was fine and she wanted them to know that. “But it will scar and I finally understand why my husband asked me not to enter another battlefield.”

Jingyan dipped his head, once. Torn between the innate impulse to defend the honor of a scar received during a record-worthy battle and sympathizing with Nihuang’s plight as a blemished wife in a court where every woman had a flawless face and men frequently took concubines, Jingyan didn’t speak.

Then, Nihuang did her best to grin. Injecting as much girly ire as possible into her inflection and exaggerating the pitch of her voice into a comical high, Nihuang pressed her hands to the bandages and bemoaned, “I wonder if he will still find me beautiful.”

Mei Changsu quipped, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Following that, both Mei Changsu and Jingyan took a step back. Just like how the recent atmosphere of the tent’s interior changed from somber to jovial in just a second, the ambience was now red-hot. Jingyan thought about all the comedies written about a lady’s wrath and concluded that maybe they weren’t that funny after all.

Luckily, Nihuang’s rage was directed at Mei Changsu. “Oh shut up. You never thought I was beautiful. Not even when you were about to marry me.”

Of course, Mei Changsu recovered in the timespan of a second.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” Mei Changsu actually had the audacity to smile, as if he was pointing out common sense to a child. His tone, self-satisfied and uncomplicated, carried with it a sense of mirthful innocence Jingyan wouldn’t have associated with Mei Changsu. “Just not in the way that makes someone want to marry someone else, you know?”   

Then, there was that look on Nihuang’s face, the one that meant she’d thought of an awfully wicked comeback and was seconds away from another magnificent triumph. A tigress with its mighty paws lifted in the air, claws extended and poised to deliver a killing blow.  

Gripped by a sudden sense of alarm, Jingyan stepped forward and intercepted whatever she’d been about to say. “I completely disagree. Nihuang is beautiful in every way.”

With her attention now on Jingyan, Nihuang narrowed her eyes and Jingyan couldn’t help but feel as if he was being judged for all the crimes he’d ever committed against Nihuang in his life. He was probably even judged for that one time Xiao Shu discreetly stuck a rooster feather into Nihuang’s hair and Jingyan didn’t inform her why everyone was giggling at her.

That happened twenty five years ago, Jingyan thought.

It was as if Heavens finally relented on a monsoon when Nihuang said, “How did you two survive the fire and what happened to your arm?”

Releasing his breath, Jingyan drew in a fresh mouthful of oxygen and began to recount the tale. For conflicts and verbal spars between Xiao Shu and Nihuang, Jingyan almost never picked a side. But, whenever he sided with someone, that party became the absolute winner and the conflict always ceased.

When he reached the part about his shoulder, Jingyan only joked that he’d hurt his arm playing tug-o-war with three puppies. The faint trace of concern on Mei Changsu’s face, lightly furrowed eyebrows and tensed lips, made Jingyan thought the pain was worth it.

After his story, Nihuang patted him on his good shoulder and said, “Well! In case I don’t make it to your coronation, I will give the next Liang emperor my blessing now.”

“Your words nearly convey treason,” said Jingyan. His inflection conveyed the casualness of his words and Jingyan held out his hand, with his palm faced downwards. “Just call me your friend, Prince-Consort Nie.”

Nihuang pulled her lips into a lopsided, one-sided smile that was almost trademark. Laying her hand on top of Jingyan’s, she declared, “My friend.”

Mei Changsu now looked disappointed that the verbal spar was cut short, but he gripped both their hands and said, “My friends.”

Upon his return to the palace, Xie Yu’s messenger immediately tried to usher Jingyan to a conference being held right this moment. With a scowl, Jingyan sent the boy back to the meeting hall and told the servant to tell Xie Yu to wait half an hour.

An hour later, Jingyan strolled into the conference hall with a grimace. In the conference was Xie Yu, Mei Changsu, Marquis Yan and three other high-ranking court officials. …Along with the pretty servant girl with almond-shaped eyes?

As the kneeling officials rose from their greeting, Xie Yu said, “We heard stories. A dispute between you and the Marquis of Abundance. Then, the whole fortress went up in flames.”

The Emperor-Slaying sword gleamed when Jingyan casually strolled up and took the seat prepared for Regent Xie Yu. Sitting down on the rich fabrics, Jingyan said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

He was the prince, after all. And his royal father, who was already paranoid of Xie Yu’s influence and power-hungry actions, would approve of his “arrogance.”

“The Scarlet Tigers combined forces with the Chiyan Remnant, and obtained a large quantity of Plogisplasm,” said Jingyan. “Prince-Consort Nie led our forces into another victory, but we should act to root out the remaining forces of the Chiyan Remnants.”

An official, clearly prompted by Xie Yu, asked “And Your Highness thought it was appropriate to hand over the control of our soldiers to a North Qi’s Prince-Consort, why?”

“I can tell everyone why,” said the girl. From the way the girl smiled prettily at Xie Yu, Jingyan had to wonder if she thought seducing the regent was better than seducing a newly promoted prince. “I saw Princess Nihuang stroke Prince Jing’s shoulder and, later, she leaned in, as if to kiss him.”

If Jingyan had been drinking anything, he would have surely spat it out. He never thought he could be so surprised in his life. Nor had he ever wanted to laugh so much. Catching his reaction just in time, Jingyan calmly asked, “Who did what?”

Nihuang had patted him on the shoulder and leaned in to rib him about someone staring at him. How was that conflated with stroking and leaning in for a kiss?

“Improper conduct toward the prince-consort of North Qi is a threat to the newfound stability of the Liang Empire,” said Xie Yu. “Surely you understand how grave this offense is.”

“The fact that I’m still alive, sitting here talking to you is proof enough that I hadn’t performed ‘improper conduct’,” Jingyan said.

“You accompanied the two of them in the expedition to the Fortress of Fortitude,” said Xie Yu. “What do you think Changsu?”

“I did not witness anything,” said Mei Changsu. “And I believe in Prince Jing’s integrity.”

 Nobody –least of all, Jingyan— expected Mei Changsu to take Prince Jing’s side over Regent Xie Yu’s side. Was Mei Changsu making good on his promise not to hurt him again or was there another scheme brewing? When Jingyan look over, Mei Changsu only inclined his head politely.

An impartial gesture of subservience and respect.

Jingyan swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. Of course, Mei Changsu would not risk his reputation and life to demonstrate any personal devotions, but Mei Changsu’s public display of faith in his character… touched him. For an ephemeral stretch of time, it felt like the only thing that mattered.

On a more pressing note, Mei Changsu’s actions meant Regent Xie Yu was unequivocally on his way down. Another scheme had reached its boiling point. Steeling his eyes, Jingyan took a threatening, imposing step towards Xie Yu and his cronies.

“Heaven be my witness— I harbor no romantic feelings toward Prince-Consort Nie and have never entertained a single improper thought about her.”

“But perhaps she entertains improper thoughts about you,” said the girl. “After all, Princess Nihuang is an old, possibly barren, woman with no womanly virtues and an uproarious attitude.”

Reining in his temper, Jingyan spared no more than a barely-audible scoff at the girl’s words.

Then, he turned to the other occupants of the room. Jabbing a finger at Regent Xie Yu, and then at the three officials, Jingyan said, “If some of Da Liang’s highest-ranking officers wish to stand in this imperial conference hall and giggle over cheap gossip with a rejected whore, then I best excuse myself from this frivolous gathering.”

After all, how dare that girl insult Jingyan’s friend. Sweeping his cloak behind him, Jingyan ignored the blinding pain of the movement and turned toward the entrance.

“The empress has arrived!”

“The affair between a prince of the first rank and the prince-consort of another country has nothing to do with Da Liang’s harem,” said Xie Yu. “Tell that woman to return to her court.”

“How dare you dismiss the empress of Da Liang.” Empress Yan’s voice rang through the court. “Someone has definitely committed a grave offense—improper conduct that threatens the newfound stability of the empire.”

“I, the Empress of Da Liang, have witness with my own eyes, this unforgivable and vile affair!” 

Chapter Text

A cortege of young women and eunuchs in stiff livery, the Empress’ entourage, filed into the imperial conference hall as the Empress and a gathering of the Emperor’s mistresses strode in. Jingyan’s mother, the only person wearing an unremarkable, colorless dress, was amongst the colorful gathering of consorts and concubines.

Behind them, two eunuchs dragged along the barefaced, chained and plainly attired form of Consort Yue.

The occupants of the court, including Xie Yu, Mei Changsu and Jingyan, paid their respect until the Empress gave them permission to stand straight. Though his mother’s eyes were fully on the Empress, she gave a miniscule shake of her head and Jingyan knew that his time to speak was at an end.

Another show was about to begin. 

Soon enough, the Empress took a seat on the vacant chair at the head of the gathering, made herself comfortable and clarified, “I witness with my own eyes, the affair between Xie Yu and Imperial Consort Yue!”

A patchwork of mixed reactions filled the air as individuals struggled to identify the most proper reaction to the declaration: a buzz of excitement from the concubines, anger from Xie Yu, distraught panic from Consort Yue, and, of course, restlessness from court officials who were reluctant to witness what they deem to be harem melodrama.

“Your Majesty’s remarkable envy toward Consort Yue has already been the subject of much popular gossip,” said Xie Yu, sounding bored. Judging by Xie Yu’s nonchalant attitude, this wasn’t the first time someone brought up the accusation. “But I beg you not to allow petty bickering and catfights to mingle with and interrupt a discussion about orderly conduct and sovereign affairs.”  

“Blame yourself for refusing peaceful and private audience with me,” said the Empress. An ugly expression, part animosity and part glee, twisted her face as she turned to the other occupants of the room and declared, “I witness these two adulterers in the garden four days ago!”

“Updating Consort Yue on Prince Jingxuan’s extraordinary progress on implementing the new irrigation system and building the new canal,” said Xie Yu. His knuckles were white around the hilt of the Emperor-slaying sword. The other dignitaries shifted around, eyeing each other to see who would make the first move towards the door. “I fail to see your point.”

Jingyan could see from the corner of his eyes that the girl with almond shaped eyes was beginning to panic; the event had developed far beyond her control or influence. Leaning forward with a glare, the Empress said, “I will make my point when His Majesty arrives. Until then, nobody gets to leave this room.”

Guards moved about, securing all the entryways. The Emperor did not arrive until half an hour later.

Under the direct orders of the Empress, and reinforced by the royal guards who began to draw their swords as soon as someone moved, no one left the premise. For Jingyan, any distress caused by seeing his father’s skeletal frame and yellowed skin was quickly overriden by memories of his father’s harsh and negligent treatment over the years.

As he knelt in greeting and only rose when the Emperor gave everyone permission to do so, Jingyan could tell by how his father didn’t spare him a single glance that the Emperor was not at all concerned by the rumored affair between Jingyan and Nihuang.

The court greeted the Emperor with the customary words and well-wishes. The Emperor grunted when Xie Yu briefly explained that he’d originally started the conference to discuss the arson at the Fortress of Fortitude and wanted to prohibit Jingyan from further contact with Nihuang.

In retrospect, Jingyan briefly acknowledged that the accusation was a precautionary measure to avoid him gaining North Qi’s military support through Nihuang. When Xie Yu accused the Empress of disrupting the conference to bring up frivolous matters of the harem and to slander Xie Yu, the Empress interrupted his spiel with a loud: “Bring it in!”

A servant girl, trailed by two imperial physicians, came in carrying what appeared to be used herbs in a large handkerchief. The three knelt to the occupants in the room and then held out the herbal detritus to the Empress, who picked up one of the dried herb and held it for the crowd to see.

“This is an herb used to prevent pregnancies and it is used after any unspeakable deeds have been performed.”

“Your Majesty, I caught Consort Yue’s personal attendant trying to dispose of these wastes,” said the Empress. “Of course, this shrew said her maid was consorting with a watchman, so I forced Consort Yue to undergo a physical examination. She has taken it recently!”

“I was using it for other medical properties,” said Consort Yue. “Regardless, this imperial conference hall is no place to be bringing up slanderous speculations and your words are disrespectful to the Emperor himself! Your Majesty… darling… you can’t let that woman interrupt actually essential conferences with literal trash!”

Strange, Jingyan thought. For someone who was chained up by the most powerful woman in the country and facing accusations of adultery (which was punishable by immediate execution of Consort Yue and anyone related to Consort Yue), Consort Yue appeared… reassured and expectant. 

“But this is not it,” said the Empress. “After finding these herbs, I detained Consort Yue and ordered a thorough search of Consort Yue’s court. I found traces of Consort Yue erasing evidence of bribery and embezzlement— evidence of Consort Yue, Regent Xie Yu and Jingxuan accepting vast amounts of jewelry and money in exchange for awarding ranks ranging from captain of guard to state chancellor.”

That created a buzz amongst the officials.

A non-insignificant number of the officials who obtained their ranks through corrupted practices were actually extremely competent and influential. The current system didn’t allow for meritocracy and even highly qualified officials had to walk down unlawful paths to join the court.

Like everyone else, Jingyan knew about and had turned a blind eye on the embezzlement and bribes. To investigate these crimes would uproot the fundamental structure of Da Liang’s examination and employment process. Such investigations would also give the investigator complete control over the court as the investigator could dismiss or execute court officials at will.  

Finally, at long last, the Emperor decreed: “All the evidence you presented is inconclusive.”

Slowly, the Emperor heaved a heavy breath, closed his eyes for a long minute, then opened them again and elaborated, “Her son’s progress on the irrigation system and canal have been exceptional thus far. For unauthorized possession and use of questionable herbs, Imperial Consort Yue will be demoted to Consort.”

If not for the impeccable control he’d developed over his facial expressions, Jingyan would have scowled.

He wanted to speak up and claim credit for his own work. More than that, he wanted to stop the construction of what he knew would be a faulty canal. The Empress took a step forward, almost as if she wanted to rush over to the Emperor and shake sense into him; typically, even the merest mention of adultery in the harem was enough to fully disgrace a concubine.

Ignoring her, the Emperor continued, “The accusations of embezzlement will be investigated in more depth. Prince Jing will lead this investigation and take the appropriate steps to mitigate any corruption.”

Jingyan stepped forward and knelt to accept the request. “I will do my best.”

His father was favoring him. While investigating the briberies and purchased ranks, Jingyan could elect to keep the competent governors and officials in their position while disposing of the corrupted politicians. Also, Jingyan could replace Jingxuan and Xie Yu’s minions with men that he could trust and rely on.

He stayed kneeling on the ground, for longer than necessary, debating if he should point out that the irrigation system and canal were his unfinished and imperfect work. But if he spoke up now, people would simply assume he was trying to sabotage his brother’s moment of glory.

When the Emperor grunted impatiently at him, Jingyan bowed his head once again, rose, and resumed his position.

“Consort Yue deserves death for her crimes!” said the Empress. “Any one of her numerous crimes is a death sentence.”

“Are you questioning my decisions?” After turning away from the Empress, the Emperor addressed Xie Yu. “I will do my best to help prove your innocence, Xie Yu. To do so, I must not allow anyone to be able to accuse you of destroying or tampering with any evidence.”

Xie Yu looked like he wanted to argue, but the Emperor glared and the protests fell away from his lips.

Two of the Emperor’s own guards escorted Xie Yu from the room. The Emperor-slaying sword was awarded to Jingxuan and the Emperor declared that he would give the sword to the crown prince himself when he visited the construction of the canal next week.

There was a gleam of immense pride in the Emperor’s eyes reinforcing Jingyan’s belief that any verbalized desire to stop the construction of the canal would make him sound like a jealous brother trying to sabotage Jingxuan’s incredible project.

As for the girl with almond-shaped eyes: “Execution.”

It was then that Jingyan’s mother went to kneel before the Emperor and spoke up. “Please pardon my interruption, but I believe that this girl was merely forced down the wrong path and harbor no ill intentions toward my son. I wish to plead for mercy on her behalf.”

Jingyan would’ve felt a sense of pride over his mother’s plea for mercy if he didn’t know that the Emperor had never and would never revoke an executive order for execution. Fourteen years ago, his father had sentenced his brother to death and did not reconsider even when all evidence pointed to Prince Qi’s steadfast loyalty. 

As expected, the Emperor said, “No. The girl deserves to die. But your kind and merciful nature gives me hope.”

Guards dragged the pleading and squealing girl out and the conference was adjourned.

The Emperor walked out, hand-in-hand with Jingyan’s mother, clearly headed to her court.

Later, after Jingyan and Marquis Yan compiled a list of all the officials and began sending out requests for their background, the discussion turned toward the conference this morning. Jingyan replaced the brush he’d been using back in its holder and stretched out his limbs.

“I heard that the affair was a performance,” said Jingyan. According to a more reliable source than what he saw with his own eyes, his royal father had commanded Consort Yue, who was once considered the most beautiful woman in the country, to seduce Xie Yu. “That is why my royal father gave her such a light punishment.”

In exchange for Consort Yue’s sacrifice, Prince Jingxuan will remain crown prince despite his gross misconducts and continual negligence to his responsibilities. That was what Jingyan heard, at least.

“Your Highness is, as always, a frank man,” said Marquis Yan. He handed over a new tray of scrolls, presumably with information about some officials that they were able to uncover. “I, too, would like to speak frankly about one matter and request permission from Your Highness to do so.”

“Speak.”

“Utilizing disloyal and devious dignitaries will inspire disloyal and devious behavior,” said Marquis Yan. “As a marquis who have served the Liang court for decades, I implore Your Highness not to employ men like Mei Changsu, however brilliant they are.”

A “Hua” strategist, trusted and beloved by King Yu, who eventually betrayed him and orchestrated Hua’s downfall. Then, Mei Changsu betrayed Xie Yu. In the eyes of any man who value loyalty, Mei Changsu was not even worthy of contempt. Jingyan said, “I understand your concerns.”

 “What I said was not only my concerns, but the unified wish of every official loyal to Da Liang,” said Marquis Yan. He knelt before Jingyan, gray hair touching the floor as he bowed low. “May the Liang court be purged of conspirators and double-faced devils.”  

If Xiao Shu knew that one day he would be the most hated man in Liang court, a man that his favorite mentor would beg for the dismissal of, surely his heart would’ve broke. But Mei Changsu, forever calculating and manipulating the present based on his crystal-clear vision of the future, was no longer Xiao Shu.

If I stop loving you, I will lose my only connection to who I was.

That was what Mei Changsu meant. The only thing he had in common with Xiao Shu was that they both loved Jingyan — but was Jingyan even the same person as he was fourteen years ago? Eighteen years old Jingyan would have defended Xiao Shu’s reputation without any regards for his own reputation or life.

Jingyan said, “Thank you, Marquis Yan. I will take your advice into consideration.”

4 Months Later

“You knew that was going to happen!”

Brushing the snow off his face, Jingyan scowled when his body heat melted some snow and water began trickling down his back, under his layers of clothes. Not only did Mei Changsu saw that the loose snow on the tree branch was about to fall, he’d taken a step backwards, forcing Jingyan to take a step forward.

“You were about to throw a snowball at me,” said Mei Changsu. The aforementioned snowball had dropped to the ground when Jingyan took a step forward to aim, subsequently triggering the snow atop of the tree branch to fall on him. And now melting snow soaked through his cloak. “Was I supposed to warn you?”

No, but yes. The way Mei Changsu had carefully calculated everything from Jingyan’s intention to eventually throw the ball of snow at him and their relative positions in the courtyard took the fun out of their afternoon walk. Squaring his shoulders to adjust the fall of his uncomfortable new cloak, Jingyan said, “Of course.”

Life in the heart of Da Liang’s political system was business as usual. Since Xie Yu’s imprisonment and eventual exile, Jingyan had steadily harnessed more support and power in the court as Jingxuan continued to bask in the glory of having invented a brilliant new irrigation system and spearheading the construction of a new canal.

“Jingyan,” said Mei Changsu. The man, with his hands snugly tucked into a furry hand-warmer with an accompanying kettle of hot coals, looked warm and comfortable in his thick and dry cloak. “Did he ever show you how to make one of those abominations – snowman?”

Jingyan’s train of thoughts screeched to a halt.

Since that night at the Fishermen’s Landing Point, Mei Changsu had been kinder and more affection – indulgent, almost, based on how the other man agreed to take a walk with him. But Jingyan did not know how to interpret the question when both of them actively avoided bringing up Lin Chen or Lang Ya Mountain in the last three months.

That day on Lang Ya Mountain, when Lin Chen traced the edge of his mask and hoped that Jingyan would one day trust him enough to answer his questions, Jingyan had never wanted to kiss someone else more. Another secret Jingyan would hopefully get to take to his grave.

Mei Changsu took his hand and led him over to a flat surface.  

Their snowman turned out to be a high pile of snow topped with a decorated snowball as large as a man’s head. 

With a flourish, Jingyan threw his now-wet cloak over the snowman. Against his wishes, his costumes and clothes as the third most powerful man in Liang were now needlessly expensive and ornamented. The strings of jewel clacked against each other as the fur-lined silk settled over the snow.

It wasn’t cold enough that Jingyan needed a cloak and the wet fur against his neck had been making him uncomfortable. Suddenly, Mei Changsu took his hand and began tugging him toward a large statue. Presumably to hide as a squad of patrolling guards marched into the courtyard.

Evidently not expecting anyone in this particular wayward courtyard, the leader had his head turned to address the group of ten guards following him: “You all just need a bit of common sense, but I guess it’s not your fault that all of you are so naïve and wet behind the – Your Highness!”

The leader of the squad gasped and knelt before the snowman. The other young men, obliged to kneel when their leader knelt, followed the suite but looked confused.

The cloak, Jingyan realized. As the leader of the squad began to turn his head forward, he’d caught a glimpse of the distinctively embellished cloak but hadn’t looked up to see that the cloak was actually draped over a pile of snow. Besides Jingyan, Mei Changsu also scoffed.

It took a full minute of silence before the leader looked up.  

 “This is His Highness’ cloak,” said the leader. Anger flashed through his eyes, but he turned to address his men again and declared, “Listen to me! We knelt before this divine sculpting because this standing pile of snow is a manifestation of His Highness’ eminence. Are we clear?”

The royal guards were trained to obey instantly and without question. “Yes, Sir! This standing pile of snow is a manifestation of His Highness’ eminence, Sir!”

Jingyan snickered, dipping his head onto Mei Changsu’s shoulder to stifle any sound that might escape and alarm the guards. Perhaps the exchange –an example of how individuals could take advantage of others to reinforce their misshaped reality and cover their mistakes— wasn’t actually that funny, but that was discussion for another day.

When Jingyan pulled back, with a trace of mirth still in his thoughts, there was a strange but familiar-by-now expression on Mei Changsu’s face. The look that gave Jingyan the feeling that Mei Changsu was simultaneously admiring him and gathering information about him for future use.

As the guards trailed out of the courtyard to continue their patrol, Jingyan became aware of fingers on his face. Perhaps inspired by the privacy offered by their hiding spot, Mei Changsu had moved to stand closer to him.

Offering a small smile, Jingyan stopped walking out of the hiding spot and invited himself to share part of Mei Changsu’s cloak now that they were close enough.

The way Mei Changsu touched his face was strange, though – brushing over the contour of his face as if the mask he’d once wore was still hiding his identity from the world. Feeling a strange weight in his chest, Jingyan realized that Mei Changsu was tracing the same lines Lin Chen once did.

Then, Mei Changsu kissed him, perhaps with slightly more force than usual.

After a moment, the weight lifted and Jingyan smiled into the kiss. His fingers caught onto a loose fold of fabric from Mei Changsu’s robes and Jingyan tightened his grip, urging Mei Changsu to continue. Jingyan himself never saw the need for it, but the small kettle of coal Mei Changsu liked to carry about really was a brilliant invention for this type of weather.

Earlier, he hadn’t noticed the frostiness. Now, with his head tipped back by Mei Changsu’s insisting hand and face warmed by their tongue-filled dance he was certainly grateful for how Mei Changsu’s cloak was large enough for both of them. Snuggling into the warmth, Jingyan smiled again.

Having his best friend by his side, no matter what the nature of their relationship was, felt like normalcy.

When Mei Changsu began to pull back, Jingyan didn’t release his grip. Despite the man’s frightening competence, efficiency and ambition, it was too rare to see any sort of passion in Mei Changsu’s eyes. Jingyan thought he liked that look.

The moment passed quietly and Mei Changsu disengaged himself, saying, “Next time I see loose snow, I’ll warn you. Regardless of the circumstances.”

The next day, Jingyan woke up before the sun rose.

After spending the night with Mei Changsu, he usually slept well but always woke up earlier than usual. Since official business did not begin until after the Emperor’s daily conference and Jingyan usually finish all his work at night, Jingyan typically spent the mornings staring out the window until Mei Changsu woke up.  

This morning was no exception.

On his way to his favorite seat by the window, Jingyan’s eyes simultaneously got caught on a colorful bird on a tree outside and on a small box sitting tucked into a corner of Mei Changsu’s bookcase. He’d seen Mei Changsu glance into the box last night, but when Jingyan asked what it was, Mei Changsu said it was nothing of importance.

Mindlessly, Jingyan made his way over and reached for the wooden box. He’d only intended to sneak in a peek and replace the box, but… the strange weight in his chest, which Jingyan identified as a hungry and partially repressed sense of nostalgia, returned with a hundred times the force. 

Last time Jingyan saw it, the white ribbon was caught on a kelp at the bottom of the underground spring. In a flash, Jingyan’s mind flitted to his memories of Lin Chen, with one hand pressed against the wild grasses on the rabbit’s wound, briefly debated tearing his clothes and then unwinding his hair tie to bandage the rabbit.

How was Xiao Shu the bunny doing? Stories about the omnipotent master of Lang Ya Mountain were usually greatly exaggerated and twisted beyond realism before they reached Jingyan’s ears. Jingyan jumped, literally jumped, when Mei Changsu’s voice cut through the dim interior of the room, “Li Gang found and retrieved that.”  

Li Gang wouldn’t have acted without Mei Changsu’s order.

Willing away the memories of warm summer skies, teasing smiles and novel avocations, Jingyan squeezed his eyes shut until his mind cleared and the goosebumps on his arm began to recede. He’d hoped that the hair tie, and all its signification would remain buried in the watery depth under the ruins of the Fortress of Fortitude.

After his throat loosened and Jingyan was sure he could speak in a clear, detached way, he asked “Why?”

Mei Changsu eventually answered, in a bland but sincere tone, “In case you wanted to see it again.”

In the past, Jingyan would’ve immediately suspected foul play – some sort of devious trial designed to crack his mask and plunge him into an awful mix of shame, guilt and despair. But Mei Changsu’s motivations, though rarely pure or innocent, were usually simpler than that.

Without touching the hair tie, Jingyan slid the lid back on, replaced the dainty wooden box and returned to the bed, sitting where he knew Mei Changsu would reach for him and envelope him in a snug embrace. This was also part of their daily ritual before the sun fully rose and they part ways to attend to different matters of the country.  

“I won’t,” said Jingyan, while returning the embrace. Not because he would deny anything about how he felt about Lin Chen, but because he, too, needed to heed his own words to just live with that. Outside, the bird had flown away. With blatant honesty, Jingyan said, “You’re all I need. Now, and for the rest of my life.”

Fueling much of Mei Changsu’s love for him was young Xiao Shu’s hopeless infatuation with his best friend. In the darkest recesses of the other man’s mind, Jingyan, perhaps dehumanized and objectified, was a well-deserved prize for his loyalty, competence and accomplishments.

Once that greedy beast was fed and the boy’s ego stroked — Xiao Shu always possessed what felt like a primal urge to sacrifice his own happiness and wellbeing for the sake of others. Thus, as long as Mei Changsu was reassured of his ownership and control, he would even be willing to, without prompt, retrieve for Jingyan the souvenir of his impetuous affair.   

There were hands at the nape of his neck, trailing toward where Mei Changsu had left a permanent scar on his shoulder. “I may not live as long as you’d think.”

Jingyan froze— made to pull back, but Mei Changsu held him in place, with the proximity of their body refusing to let him take a look at Mei Changsu’s face. He’d been surprised by Mei Changsu’s strength more than once, especially after their time apart, but he never had a good opportunity to ask about the change.

“Saint’s Heart.”  

“No,” said Jingyan. Legend had it that a true saint’s heart had seven apertures and only one such man ever existed. After the man’s death, his heart had been cut into seven pieces, rumored to be such potent medicine that they could even bring a dead man back to life. “Please don’t tell me you took that.”  

“It’s actually a rare flower that takes a thousand years to mature.”

“But the side effect…” The medicine could stop the user heart at any given moment, with no warning. Legends said that some users lived full lives and died of old age. There were also stories of others perishing unexpectedly in unusual situations, at the most random times.

Beyond the initial three months, no one knew how long any user would live.   

Was Mei Changsu living with a constant fear of death? Or had Mei Changsu accepted his own mortality with the same general apathy he reserved for everything else? Jingyan was seized by a strange thought that he would be willing to give up everything if it meant that his best friend could catch a break from the cruel trajectory of his life.

He was the one who fought through the firestorm and then swam underwater for an eternity while tugging along the heavy form of Mei Changsu’s unconscious body. He was strong. Yet, all his strength seemed to pale in comparison to the amount of willpower it must’ve taken for Mei Changsu to keep going.

Jingyan felt a weight on his shoulder as Mei Changsu rested his head there. “Sometimes, I don’t think it’s a bad thing if I die while I’m in your arms.”

“Don’t say that.” Guilt, like nothing else Jingyan knew, tore through his consciousness. Though the recent months were pleasant, Jingyan wished that they hadn’t exchanged so many cruel words to each other in the past. No one knew how the medicine actually worked — Mei Changsu could’ve died before they reconciled. “I need you.”

Even in the short period of time when he thought he no longer had any feelings for Mei Changsu, he’d imagine that Mei Changsu would witness his successes and guide him away from any failures. Mei Changsu’s grip on his arm turned firm, a nonverbal alarm that Jingyan should leave the bed to start tending to business, now.

Jingyan shook his head. He could afford to miss the morning conference once when Jingxuan barely attended more than one conference a month. Brushing a light finger down Jingyan’s back, Mei Changsu said, “If you forego breakfast, you can stay for a while longer. But we must attend today’s morning conference.”

Today was supposed to be the monumental day when the construction wrapped up for the new canal.

Any protests, any complaints that Mei Changsu always prioritized their work over him, faded away when Mei Changsu began humming. The tune was to a song Xiao Shu used to sing while he procrastinated. No matter how much Xiao Shu didn’t want to do anything, he would start the activity after the song finished.

Mei Changsu had always demonstrated a predisposition toward survival against all odds. Each additional day Jingyan got to spend with his best friend was one more than what he’d ever, in his wildest dreams, dreamed of. Most likely, Jingyan reassured himself, Mei Changsu will be one of those users who eventually died of old age.

Chapter Text

“Ridiculous!” 

After months spent in the care of Jingyan’s mother, the Emperor now had a healthy glow on his complexion, but his puffy face, which looked to be as red as the support beams holding up the ceiling, appeared to be seconds away from bursting in anger. 

Jingyan knelt in greeting and understood his father’s loud, wet-sounding exhale as permission to stand. 

If the Emperor’s broken porcelain teapot, teacup, and the memorandums all strewed about the Emperor’s throne were any indication, the Emperor had been much angrier earlier.

Sliding into his position in the spot in front of Marquis Yan, Jingyan stayed silent as his royal father spared him one glare and Jingxuan, from where he knelt before the throne, tearfully stared at him with a mixture of disgust and rage. Half the court had knelt, and even those who remained standing, like Marquis Yan, looked to be on the edge. 

Jingxuan sniveled. “This is all Jingyan’s fault.” 

The robes Jingxuan wore, a gift from North Qi, had been declined by Jingyan for being too ostentatious. From what Jingyan heard, Jingxuan did not know and wore the extravagant robes with extraordinary pride. “I was only borrowing his ideas since he was busy repelling bandits and investigating embezzlements.”

When the Emperor turned his narrowed eyes on him, Jingyan knelt and bowed his head. In the past, Jingxuan had presented a dozen ideas stolen from him and the world still believed that Jingxuan brilliantly came up with those ideas on his own. Had the canal and irrigation been a success, Jingxuan would’ve taken all the credit.  

Jingyan said, “I am not aware of any borrowing ; I am only aware of trespassing, theft and forceful silencing.”  

“In addition, I have spoken up against the construction of the canal,” said Jingyan. “We can ask the imperial scribe for evidence of the exact words I spoke: The architectural composition of the dams in the canal are Hua prototypes that are sufficient for her monsoon but not the annual winter-spring tsunami in the East Sea.” 

At that time, three months ago, Jingxuan had replied, “Nonsense, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” and everyone else chose to believe the crown prince. 

“Simple words! You should’ve used simpler words!” Jingxuan wrung his hand. One of his double chins flapped against the jade-silk embroidery of his robes as he turned around to jab a stubby finger into Jingyan’s face. “Who knows what you’re actually trying to say with all that jargon?” 

If the Emperor’s eyes bulged out just a tad more, surely they would’ve fallen from their sockets. 

“Perhaps.” Clasping his fingers respectfully in front of him, Jingyan bowed in Jingxuan’s direction. The needlessly polite gesture, Jingyan knew, would give Jingxuan a false sense of security. “The irrigation system I drafted does not call for the use of mercury .”

“ That’s the fault of the lead architect.” Shaking tendrils of sweat-soaked hair out of his forehead, Jingxuan had the audacity to sound jilted. Sounding like a child who wants dessert before dinner, he added,  “I already executed him and his family for those deceptive words. Also executed the construction workers for their incompetence.” 

The officials shuffled around but no one voiced any dissension.

“This. Is. Beyond . Ridiculous!” The Emperor, who’d been breathing heavily the whole time, slammed his palm against the arm of his throne. There was a loud scrunch as a jade ring on the Emperor’s thumb splintered from the force of his strike. “Ludicrous! Pathetic!” 

Every person in the conference hall, including Jingyan, fell to their knees and bowed their head over the ground.

“After stealing your brother’s hard work and taking credit for it as if it was your own, you refuse to take any responsibility for this shitstorm you created.”

Shock over the Emperor’s language and choice of words rippled through the room. Goosebumps crept up Jingyan’s arm and the hair at the back of his neck rose. Though there were several layers of silk and cotton between him and the floor he was currently bowed over, the stone floor felt as cold as ice.  

“It really isn’t my fault,” said Jingxuan, voice sounding muffled as he spoke with his mouth mere centimeters from the ground. “The drafts in Jingyan’s room just weren’t perfected.”  

“Because if those drafts were finalized and perfect, he would have rightfully presented them as his own work!” 

The Emperor snatched his bleeding hand from where the Head Eunuch tried to bandage the wound, shakily stood up, and pointed his finger at Jingxuan. “You disappoint me. You bring shame to your mother, you send our ancestors rolling in their graves and you invoke a profound sense of immense regret in every single person who ever spoke a positive word on your behalf!”

The room remained deathly quiet. After sitting down on his throne again, the Emperor, heaving and puffing, allowed the eunuch to begin bandaging his hand and added, “You disappoint the astonishingly low expectations I had for you.” 

“And Jingyan,” said the Emperor. “What is wrong with you? To have so little backbone, you won’t even claim credit for work you know another man stole from you? Spineless coward!”

Slowly releasing the breath he’d been holding, Jingyan inhaled another mouthful of air, exhaled, and replied as calmly as he could, “Your Majesty did not believe me the last eleven times I tried to claim credit for my own work. I have no reason to believe that this time will be any different.”

He’d purposely kept his voice soft and unaccusing. If Xie Yu’s rapid rise and fall from power was any indication, his royal father’s whim was the single most powerful force driving the politics in this conference hall. 

Before his royal father responded, Jingxuan wailed, “I’m being framed! Royal Father, can’t you see that Jingyan set up a trap for me and I fell for it?” 

Jingyan kept his gaze firmly on the ground, but he heard the commotion as his royal father stood up from the throne, stepped down from the platform and slapped Jingxuan across the face. Any minute now and the Emperor would think this conference was too embarrassing to continue.

Mere seconds later, the Emperor adjourned the conference, declaring that both Jingyan’s accusation of theft and Jingxuan’s accusation of foul play would be investigated. 

For inflicting pain on the Emperor’s palm when the Emperor slapped him, Jingxuan was sentenced to house arrest.

Alone in his study, with knife-like slits of sunlight falling through where the windows were fully sealed, Jingyan didn’t know how long he’d sat there staring at a blank sheet of paper. Every time he tried to draft any words for the relief plan, Jingyan had to put the brush down and pull his cloak tighter around his body.

For such a sunny day, Jingyan thought the temperature was as low as it’d been in Hua.  

The door opened again.

Lifting his head from where he huddled over the draft of the relief plan, Jingyan was about to snap at the servant to tell her he already sent her away once. He didn’t want to rinse his face to refresh himself this afternoon. The intruder, who entered carrying a bowl of water, was Mei Changsu. “I heard from the servants that you haven’t left your court for days.” 

Setting the bowl down, Mei Changsu said, “I thought you might be busy working, but I didn’t see the usual lines of servants carrying memorandums and books to and from your study.”

Jingyan hummed to acknowledge the statement. He was a couple of days behind on some reports, but nothing urgent was due until the end of the week. He didn’t want to see Mei Changsu right now – didn’t want Mei Changsu to see him like this. There was the sound of water dripping as Mei Changsu wrung the towel and Jingyan could feel the other man closing the distance between them. 

Gently sliding the wet towel over his face, Mei Changsu wiped away whatever remained of the tears he’d shed, fixed his hair and said, “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I knew it was going to happen,” said Jingyan. Over three hundred people at the Fisherman's Landing Point had drowned when one of the canal’s dams collapsed and there were nearly five thousand cases of mercury poisoning. Not to mention the brutal executions of the lead architect and the construction workers.

Returning to the bowl of warm water, Mei Changsu said, “On the bright side, we can expect the mandate to dispose of the crown prince by the end of this week.” 

“Enough,” said Jingyan. 

He’d heard enough congratulations to taste bile on his tongue every time someone praised him for his brilliant plan to expose Jingxuan’s incompetence and dispose of the crown prince. It wasn’t any better when people reassured him that he would’ve surely done a better job had he been given the chance to implement his own designs.  “Can’t you or anyone in this palace just have some compassion for human lives?”

He knew he made a mistake as soon as he spoke.

With just as much venom in his voice, Mei Changsu replied, “Your compassion, exemplified by how you sat in your study feeling sorry for yourself, was clearly productive. I see you haven’t drafted a single word for the relief plan the Emperor asked you to head.”

Wincing, Jingyan turned away. 

No, it wouldn't be fair for him to resent or criticize the same sharp wits and ruthless tongue he’d relied on so many times in the past. With a flash of strained nostalgia, Jingyan recalled how Xiao Shu used to be so worked up over civilian casualties and accidents due to professional negligence. 

“Maybe you should come back later,” said Jingyan. Was it really so cold that he began shivering despite his cloak? Mei Changsu was usually more afraid of the cold than he was and the man wasn’t even wearing a cloak right now. “I need more time to myself.” 

Thinking that perhaps he could go find another cloak, Jingyan tried to stand and collapsed back onto his seat. He’d been sitting with his legs tightly curled under his body for too long. Mei Changsu came over to help him, lending him strength so he could stretch out his legs without overwhelming them. 

Then, Mei Changsu wrapped an arm around him, voice tinged with an unnaturally soothing timbre as he murmured, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Feeling began to return to his numbed legs as Mei Changsu smoothed his hair. Staring at the blank sheet of paper, Jingyan didn’t know what to write. Even though he knew exactly how to request and allocate the resources the victims need, the entire project seemed superficial. 

He and the drafts he knew were prototypical failures, were the reason hundreds of people died— now, he was supposed to pretend he was the hero the people needed and bring relief to these people? The saddest part was, the people would hail him as a hero for proposing a relief plan and tending to those in need. 

Mei Changsu asked him, “Was there anything you could have done?” 

“I feel like I could have done something if I tried harder.” 

Maybe, subconsciously, he hadn’t tried harder to prevent the canal’s construction or the messy implementation of the irrigation system because he knew what an accident would mean for Jingxuan’s future. Was he such a terrible person that he could view hundreds of dead civilians as a stepping stone now? 

What would Granny Fou think, knowing that she’d housed, medicated and fed a prince who did nothing to prevent the accidental destruction of their village? What about the fishermen and villagers, who flew the red banners and flags not knowing the tragedy awaiting them? The puppies wouldn’t have survived the man-made flood either. 

“You’re fine,” said Mei Changsu. “It’s not your fault.”

“Except it is,” said Jingyan. There must’ve been something he could have done. But , a small voice in the back of his head taunted, why would you do anything to save Jingxuan from his own greed and stupidity? Mei Changsu released him, walking to the table that held days-old snacks and cold water. 

Jingyan wanted to ask Mei Changsu to return to his side, but he didn’t have the strength to verbalize his desires. Could only silently watch as Mei Changsu straightened up various messes he’d created in the last couple of days and then went to the door to ask a servant standing outside to bring something.

When hot water arrived in a simple blue and white porcelain kettle, Mei Changsu took a pouch from his belt and poured its content, a dried arrangement of herbs, into the teapot. After a few quiet minutes, he poured murky brown water out into a cup and carried it over. “Drink this.”

Jingyan stared. Under the guidance of Lin Chen, he used to medicate his insomnia and heart palpitations with what smelled like a less bitter and less potent variant of the medicine in front of him. But Jingyan didn’t want to mute his conscience with artificial happiness and drug-induced calm. 

Hundreds of people, including kind souls who rescued and tended to Jingygan, had perished. Even though his self-pity and isolated mourning were counterproductive, he didn’t want to be at peace with what happened.

When Mei Changsu lifted the bowl to his own lips, Jingyan knew what the other man was about to do.

“Don’t.” 

Jingyan gripped Mei Changsu’s wrist and took the bowl from him. Instead of letting Mei Changsu feed the medicine to him through a kiss, Jingyan swallowed the drug in one gulp and replaced the cup, saying, “I’ll drink anything you ask me to. Don’t…”

The truth was, neither of them could afford for Jingyan to lose his grip right now.

Mei Changsu kissed him anyway. “Give it a minute to settle in.”

Jingyan didn’t know how long he sat there, half-relaxed, half-resentful in Mei Changsu’s arms as the other man patted his arm and left chaste kisses over his face and neck. The light touches felt nice. Jingyan became aware of less and less as time passed and he could only assume it was the intended effect of whatever substance Mei Changsu gave him.  

Grief and remorse tugged at him from the edge of his consciousness, but Jingyan didn’t know why he would feel anything but cozy and content. He never liked how Mei Changsu never seemed to respect his autonomy or care about his feelings over practical necessity, but perhaps that was also what he loved about the other man. 

His best friend seemed to always know the course of action for both of them, even when Jingyan himself was haunted by self-righteousness or various anxieties. Strong enough for both of them. When Mei Changsu bent down again, presumably to help lift his heavy body up and guide them somewhere, Jingyan murmured into his ear, “I love you.” 

Keeping his eyes open became a struggle and Jingyan allowed them to fall close. 

Unobstructed by reality or sensibility, his mind returned to the paradisiacal atmosphere of a mountain that loomed over the mundane trajectory of life. The one and only time Jingyan felt some semblance of happiness about who he was because no one was appraising his past accomplishments and future uses.

Nobody died because of him or as a consequence of the actions he took. Or failed to take. 

There was only the endless stretch of beautiful stars, an unshakeable sense of security and… and...

A pair of hands pulled him forward, hopefully beginning what felt like an arduous and long journey toward a comfortable destination. “Take me away from here.” 

He felt himself fall and something soft and wonderful broke his fall. It would be a good thing to forever leave behind the casualties, warped speeches, bloodshed, and falsehood. Almost as good as the warm hand reaching to stroke the back of his hand as he fell asleep. The action reminded him of someone. 

A person, a name, that Jingyan, for reasons he couldn’t remember, never dared to think about. Why did Jingyan, when he was awake, feel as if there was something terrible about thinking the warmest, happiest smile he ever saw in his life? Terrible, because there was a vague sense of intense fear of hurting someone. 

Deciding that those thoughts were too complicated for his mental frame right now, Jingyan closed his hand over the hand that reached for him and said, “Lin Chen.”

After not sleeping for three days, a long rest was exactly what Jingyan’s soul needed. Despite everything that happened, his nap left him with one of the best feelings in the world.  

He actually felt calm enough to begin planning for a way to honor the lives of those lost to the tragedy and penning the relief plan. Realizing that his fingers were entwined with Mei Changsu’s, Jingyan could only assume that the other had stayed by his side the whole time. 

Watching over him like a protective guardian angel.

Smiling, Jingyan pressed his lips against the back of Mei Changsu’s hand and freed their hands so he could pull Mei Changsu in for a hug. Judging by the darkness, he’d slept from mid-afternoon all the way until after midnight. He never knew that the bed in the study, used for the occasional nap, was this comfortable. 

Nuzzling the side of Mei Changsu’s neck, he asked, “Did you get any sleep?”

“No.” 

Puzzled by the brisk response, Jingyan looked around the room. There were no books nearby and the rest of the room, including the cup Mei Changsu used to drug him, looked untouched. Did Mei Changsu really just spend nearly twelve hours simply sitting there or was his sleep-addled brain not processing something correctly?

Deciding that the latter made more sense, Jingyan’s mind pivoted to another topic and he said, “I’m happy you’re here.” 

“Really?”

“Of course.” Was Mei Changsu teasing him? The room was too dark for Jingyan to make out the expression on the other man’s face. “What do you mean, really?” 

There was a long stretch of silence, long enough to concern Jingyan. “I was just worried you might have wanted more time to yourself.” 

Right. The air of strangeness surrounding Mei Changsu made sense now. They’d nearly bickered earlier and Mei Changu was always one to hang onto the past too tightly. For someone who wielded words as his deadliest and primary weapon, Mei Changsu seemed to trouble understanding that others could do the same.

“I had enough alone time in the last three days.” Giving Mei Changsu a playful tug on his arm, Jingyan began to move out of the bed. His shoes were… somewhere. “Right now, I’m just happy you came over.”

“Really?”

Halfway through searching for his shoes, Jingyan stopped and turned toward Mei Changsu. Usually, he was the one who was constantly questioning the things Mei Changsu said and Jingyan couldn’t even describe the tone Mei Changsu used. 

After a moment, Mei Changsu found and handed him the shoes he’d been searching for and explained, “I think I just had a strange dream.”

Did Mei Changsu not just say he didn’t get any sleep? Perhaps everything was simply the somewhat frivolous mind games Mei Changsu occasionally liked to play. Pulling on his shoes as Mei Changsu went around to light various candles in the study, Jingyan asked, dryly, “You’re not about to blame me for what happened in your dreams, are you?” 

On second thought, the idea was rather enticing. Adorable, even. Of course,  Mei Changsu only scoffed and shook his head. With his typical level of decisiveness, Mei Changu asserted,  “Of course not. If you start drafting the relief plan now, you can present it at the conference tomorrow morning.”

Tall orders from someone who was already taking off his own shoes and readying himself for sleep. 

“But it’s comfortable here.” With a dramatic flourish, Jingyan forewent pulling on his shoes and draped over Mei Changsu’s supine form. How unfair for Mei Changsu to instruct him to work when Mei Changsu clearly intended to take the bed for himself for the rest of the night. “Besides, do you really want me to leave you alone with your big bad ‘strange dream’?” 

Mei Changsu kicked, literally kicked him in the stomach with a socked foot, out of the bed. “Get to work.” 

Laughing softly as Mei Changsu rolled over to his side, back facing him, Jingyan finished pulling on his shoes and headed toward the blank sheet of paper. How could he not love the other man?

Long, loose hair flowing over pure white robes. 

The obvious tip of a fan poking from the man’s silhouette. 

Jingyan’s breath, and an avalanche of various emotions, choked in his throat. He’d heard about the “expert healer” who was serving as a consultant for the imperial physicians to experiment with medicine that might work against the recent plagues but… When the man took a step forward, back still facing Jingyan, Jingyan released his breath and scowled. 

His imagination had just been too wild. 

Detouring from his current task of finalizing the relief plan and sending the requests to the treasury, Jingyan walked up to the man and the small group of imperial physicians gathered around him. Adding a layer of mild disdain to his inflection, Jingyan commented, “I thought Lang Ya Mountain doesn’t associate itself with the royal palace.” 

The pleasant, boyish face definitely did not belong to Lin Chen.

But why the hell was the boy dressed exactly like Lin Chen?

Down to the goddamn fan.

“He never said he was an associate of Lang Ya Mountain.” After the group rose from kneeling before Jingyan, the Head of the Imperial Physicians added, “He only said he is a medical student whose grandfather served the previous Emperor. Regardless, he is a prodigy.” 

Another imperial physician, one that frequently tended to Jingyan’s mother added, “Indeed. This boy had enhanced many of our existing formulas and provided us with great insights on how we might counteract the symptoms of the diseases spread by the locust plague.”

Jingyan narrowed his eyes at the disciple, whose eyes were suddenly on him as if he’d won a prize. He’d seen that boy before when he trekked toward Jinling City after escaping from Hua’s palace and purchased a set of mourning robes from the boy before entering the city.  

Nodding once just to acknowledge the imperial physicians’ words, Jingyan found that he was at a loss for words and opted to leave the group to their discussion. Before turning on his heels, Jingyan stopped to address the Head of the Imperial Physicians, “You can update me on any progress made to the cure later during our afternoon meeting.”

Later, it was the boy who showed up in the afternoon meeting, thankfully no longer dressed as Lin Chen. Jingyan scowled when the boy entered his study, hands clasped together respectfully. Even though his outfit was no longer offensive, Jingyan couldn’t say he was happy to see the boy again. 

Lang Ya Mountain pride itself in being completely removed from Da Liang’s politics, declaring itself neither a friend nor a foe. Though there was no mandate restricting anyone from Lang Ya Mountain from visiting the palace, there was no decent reason why anyone would dress like Lin Chen and tout themselves as an expert healer. 

But to be able to copy Lin Chen’s outfit in such detail, the boy must have actually seen him.

Lifting his eyes from the memorandum he’d been reading, Jingyan gave the boy permission to rise from his bow and accepted the report handed to him. The physicians had discovered an experimental cure, and his royal father had granted Jingxuan permission to oversee the process of refining and distributing the herb mixtures. 

His royal father’s paranoid nature led him to believe that Jingyan laid out a trap for Jingxuan with the unfinished drafts. Thus, most of Jingxuan’s crimes faded into oblivion, in favor of other discussion topics. Throwing the report aside with a roll of his eyes, Jingyan turned his attention toward the boy who delivered the report.

The boy bowed again. “I am a disciple of Lang Ya Mountain, but I am here only to represent myself and not Lang Ya Mountain.” 

When Jingyan did not respond, the boy answered the unasked question with, “Master Lin Chen has promised to accept me as his protégé if I can accomplish three difficult tasks.” 

Detecting no trace of deceit in the boy’s speech, Jingyan deigned to ask, “What are they?” 

“The first one is to find a way to enter the imperial palace. The second one is to deduct who is the mysterious recipient of this parcel.” The disciple straightened up to pull out a pouch and a handkerchief from a pocket in his sleeve. “I believe this goes to you.” 

Without reaching for the pouch, Jingyan said, neutrally, “You think so?” 

“Your belt has an empty holder for a jade pendant. I’ve seen a valuable jade pendant on Master Lin Chen’s fan that was originally intended for a belt,” said the disciple. “Earlier, you associated me with Lang Ya Mountain because you recognized that I copied Master Lin Chen’s outfit.”

Jingyan raised an eyebrow. Had he felt any need to do so, he could’ve refuted the intuitive leaps the disciple made. Ignoring the wretched twist of guilt in his stomach, Jingyan took the parcel. Just because it came from Lin Chen didn’t mean he couldn’t see what it was, right? 

Surely, Mei Changsu wouldn’t...

Seeds. There was also a single dried flower wrapped in the white handkerchief, presumably a sample of what the hundreds, if not thousands of seeds in the dehiscent capsules would grow to. Touching the ear-like petals of the black and white flower, Jingyan said, “Bunny Orchids.”  

“Master Lin Chen said to make sure to correct the misnaming. These are called ‘The Sun Rises in the West and sets in the East’.”

Jingyan rolled his eyes. “A subspecies of Bunny Orchids.”

Probably spliced by Lin Chen himself to produce unique colors and chubbier labellum.

“What’s the third task?” 

“To retrieve a present from his little rabbit,” said the disciple. The disciple quickly dropped to his knees: hands folded in a respectful triangle, and forehead pressed flat the ground. “I have, at length, been talking to Xiao Shu the bunny, Your Highness. The bunny is healthy, entertained, and happy— I hope to finish my task soon.”

Only Lin Chen. Jingyan wasn’t even sure if he’d let Mei Changsu get away with calling him something like that. Reigning in the odd mix of a smile and a scowl on his face, Jingyan forced himself to show nothing more than mild curiosity and gestured for the disciple to rise. “I see. Have the rabbit been talking back to you?”

“No, not yet,” said the disciple. There was a trace of genuine fear in the boy’s eyes as he asked, “Does Your Highness have any… suggestions?” 

After a moment, Jingyan stood from his seat and began walking toward one of the many bookcases in his study. If anyone asked why he’d done what he did in the past months, he wouldn’t know either. The simple action of sculpting a shape from wood seemed to calm his mind and made it easier to focus on other matters. 

“Months ago, I ventured out to a village near the Fortress of Fortitude.” Pushing aside brushes, paperweights, and unused ink, Jingyan retrieved a wooden sculpture from one of the compartments in the bookcase. “I saw a group of puppies playing with a log. The resulting chew-up piece of the wood reminded me of something.”

Jingyan handed over a shrunken, unpainted, replication of the repulsive ogre mask. 

“Maybe this toy will help you,” Jingyan scowled, “retrieve a present from his little rabbit.”

The disciple beamed.

Hours after the boy left his court, Jingyan finally penned the last character he had to write for the night and his eyes fell onto the largely ignored pouch in the middle of the table. What a coincidence that the white cloth used to make the pouch was the same sort Lin Chen liked to use for his clothes. 

Mei Changsu typically arrived with the sunset, with a fresh batch of memorandums for him to review in the evening. 

Setting his brush down, Jingyan closed his eyes and waited. Outside, he could hear the tired cries of the songbirds as they sang their final song for the day and began to return home to their nests. 

A promise made, a promise kept. 

If his lover wanted him to dispose of the bag of seeds, he would do so, without any hesitation.  

Chapter Text

 When Mei Changsu arrived with dozens of booklets tucked in the crook of his elbow, Jingyan greeted him with a small smile and relieved him of the books’ weight. Small, seemingly insignificant gestures like these usually earned him an affectionate smile and Jingyan found himself rather fond of doing for Mei Changsu the things he’d normally leave to a servant to do.

Tonight, Mei Changsu simply nodded at him in thanks (a single nod, the kind that communicated perfunctory acknowledgment) and asked, “What’s that on the table?”

Deciding that Mei Changsu’s mood was likely the result of his earlier quarrel with Marquis Yan and nothing personal, Jingyan kept his tone as diplomatic as possible and responded, “Lin Chen sent his regards.”

Something indecipherable froze over what was, seconds ago, a rather blank expression on Mei Changsu’s face. Hundreds of various emotions flickered across the man’s eyes, melting into what now appeared to be a cold, angry, look, but Mei Changsu sounded playfully inquisitive as he commented, “What’s his excuse for trifling with you now?”

Jingyan hummed out a small, uncertain sound. 

In Mei Changsu’s warped perspective, Lin Chen’s affectionate temperament and thoughtfulness would be perceived as aggressive flirting. There was nothing Jingyan could say in Lin Chen’s defense without aggravating Mei Changsu.

Hoping that Mei Changsu simply needed a moment to overcome the instinctive sour feeling, Jingyan reached for him and caressed the back of his neck. Keeping his voice low and actions gentle, Jingyan rubbed out a few knots he found. When the silence, at last, became unbearable, Jingyan said, “Why would he do that?”

Of course, Jingyan knew Lin Chen wasn’t a man with layers of motivations or intentions. Concocting a “scheme” to send Jingyan seeds and a dried flower sample was probably a playful thought that crossed Lin Chen’s mind for as long as it took him to verbalize the tasks to his disciple.

Whether or not Lin Chen ever harbored any idyllic feelings for him, quite frankly, even Jingyan didn’t know.

Mei Changsu was quiet for a long time. Giving up on trying to decipher the faraway expression on Mei Changsu’s face, Jingyan returned to his task of kneading out the tension he found in his lover’s shoulders. If destroying Lin Chen’s gift would make Mei Changsu happy, he’d already vowed to do so.

A promise made, a promise kept.

It wasn’t until Mei Changsu said, with an unexpectedly high level of acidity, “Why would you do what you do?” that Jingyan knew something was wrong— or rather, much more wrong than usual.

Keeping his voice light, Jingyan asked, “Do what?”

“Let me do terrible things to your body,” said Mei Changsu A flash of phantom pain convulsed down Jingyan’s arm as Mei Changsu’s hand strayed to where he’d bitten Jingyan at Fishermen’s Landing Point. “Letting me do whatever I please to you, really. Making love to me and trying to make me happy when you’re still in love with someone else.”

Unable to believe his ears, Jingyan simply stared with his lips parted and hands froze over Mei Changsu’s shoulder. How did Mei Changsu draw the non-existent connection between a casual gift and the incredulous accusation that just came out of his mouth?

Yanking his hands back, Jingyan muttered, “Why can’t you just forget about last summer?”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Mei Changsu simply stopped acknowledging his existence right there and then. Truth be told, it was perhaps a vast improvement when, instead of telling him to stop talking, Mei Changsu deign to hiss out, “While I was dying from that arrow I took for you, you took off and did whatever it was you did with my best friend. And just when I thought I could trust you again, you…”

If Jingyan wasn’t so angry, he would’ve stopped to notice that whatever he’d supposedly done was so extraordinary, Mei Changsu was at a loss for words. Instead, the observation only crossed his mind for a split second before he snapped, “We did exactly nothing and I didn’t even know you knew him. Besides, I’m not the one who visits him once a month and writes to him every other week.”

While he never questioned what the letters were about or questioned any aspect of their friendship, he knew Lin Chen and Mei Changsu frequently wrote to each other. The letters often came with various trinkets and gifts—like the scented pendant currently on Mei Changsu’s belt.

Snatching the pendant off the embroidered belt, Jingyan held it up and added, “Maybe that’s it, right? Maybe you’re the one who’s secretly in love with him and that’s why you’re projecting your feelings for him onto me when I haven’t even thought about him until he sent some random seeds today.”

Mei Changsu gave him a cold glare, one that instantly brought Jingyan back to the icy isolation of Hua. The kind of look Mei Changsu reserved for when he completely and utterly unimpressed by the amount of stupidity in front of his eye. Then Mei Changsu simply turned around and began making his way out of the room.

Just before the doors open, Jingyan said, “No. Don’t...”

Before the sentence formed, Jingyan stopped. Knowing that Mei Changsu would leave anyway, Jingyan turned away and began to make his way back to his desk. It didn’t matter that they both knew how nonsensical Jingyan’s “accusation” was – after all, Mei Changsu simply had to look at him and he would be back.

Letting Mei Changsu do whatever he pleased to him, as the other man so acutely noted.

With an unnecessary amount of force, Jingyan pushed the palms of his hands against his tightly shut eyes and willed the oncoming migraine away. If only the memorandums and reports could be more interesting, be engaging enough to take his mind off the downward spiral of his thoughts.

His senses had been so numbed he didn’t realize that Mei Changsu actually hadn’t left the room, didn’t realize until Mei Changsu gently touched the back of his hand and said “I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

He’d been about to take a seat, but the embrace he suddenly found himself in was certainly much more inviting. The way the Mei Changsu so tightly held onto him and nuzzled the side of his neck would’ve been a dream come true – if he wasn’t busy wondering when someone drugged him with a hallucinogen.

Maybe he was still feeling the effects of the drug Mei Changsu gave him that night, he thought as Mei Changsu continued, “You’re right. I was just overthinking. If anyone has any reason to be suspicious, it’s you.”

That got a small laugh out of Jingyan. “I’m not suspicious.”

Mei Changsu gave a waned smile in return.

Maybe he was wrong to assume that Mei Chagnsu would simply abandon him at will, too. The other man was physically the same person, but the nature of their relationship was… different. Difficult to explain, but Jingyan had felt the difference, all the way until whatever it was that Mei Changsu thought he’d done.  

Jingyan said, “Just now, you said ‘just when I thought I could trust you again, you…’ What were you about to say?”

Almost as if he was unaware of his action, Mei Changsu thrust the hard point of his chin against the barely-healed wound on Jingyan’s shoulder. But Mei Changsu’s voice was soft when he told him, “Don’t worry about it.”

Before Jingyan could push the topic further, the doors to Jingyan’s room opened with such force that the hinge screeched and the door ricocheted off the adjacent wall. Startled, Jingyan jumped and instinctively tried to turn his head toward the door, as Mei Changsu held him still and forced him to relax with a firm kiss to his neck.

After an eternity where Jingyan’s heart pounded so quickly he thought he would retch, Mei Changsu disengaged and spoke to their glaring intruder, “I thought I taught you manners.”

“Urgent military news,” Ting Shen bit out.

The boy, looking as if he was trying to burn holes through Jingyan’s body with his eyes, added, “Some Chiyan Remnants gathered around the foot of Lang Ya Mountain. Trying to torch the mountain or something like that. Lin Chen requested military support from the capital. Figured you wouldn’t want to miss the big debate, uncle.”

“Lang Ya Mountain has been an uncooperative eyesore for decades now.” The Magister of Intelligence was an unpleasant man whose twitchy right eye seemed much twitchier than usual today. “Maybe we should let the Chiyan Remnants destroy Lang Ya Mountain and then initialize the military to clean up the mess and restore order.”

The civil ambassador from the southeast province near the location of the Lang Ya Mountain stepped out to the open space between the two lines of court officials and argued, “Lang Ya Mountain is a great resource of medical aid and medicine for our civilians. We must heed the civilian’s cries to defend a benevolent organization that saved thousands of lives.”

“Have you never studied any military strategies?” The Magister of Intelligence scowled as several other officials muttered amongst themselves. “Let our enemies fight amongst themselves and sit at the sidelines until it’s time to defeat two birds with one stone.”

From his vantage point at the head of the room, Jingyan opted to stay silent until he could gauge the opinion of the majority in the imperial debate hall. There was no way he would allow anything to happen to Lang Ya Mountain, but he had to seed his ideas to the officials carefully, with objectively compelling reasons and tact.

Other than professional jealousy, there was another reason why many politicians wanted to raid Lang Ya Mountain. The metal mine underneath Lang Ya Mountain, the reason why compasses didn’t work on the mountain, was a priceless treasure trove coveted by the imperial family, the government, and every merchant in Jinlin.

“While trying to break Lang Ya Mountain’s defense, the Chiyan Remnants has already razed several neighboring villages. We should not forget that they are anarchists and rebels,” said Jingyan. The room fell silent when he spoke and the two debating officers retreated to their place in the assembly lines. “We should initialize the military to subdue the Chiyan Remnants.”

“Just some stolen provisions, some toppled huts and a couple of dead bodies. Hardly a raze,” said the Magister of Intelligence. The man lifted his hand beckon in two soldiers carrying a makeshift stretcher with a bloody fabric tossed over a small body. “Besides, I caught a spy who confessed to being a disciple of Lang Ya Mountain. The mountain is spying on us and they’ve already infiltrated the palace.”

Jingyan turned his head away when the Magister of Intelligence yanked back the bloody fabric to reveal the mangled face of the boy who’d entered the palace to help fight the locust plague and deliver Lin Chen’s gift. Despite only glancing at the eyeless and nose-less corpse for a second, Jingyan could identify half a dozen torture techniques used on the boy’s face alone.

To think the boy had beamed so happily just hours ago when he’d successfully retrieved a gift from Jingyan…

Swallowing down the lump in his throat and the rise of his last meal, Jingyan counted away the shock that’d paralyzed his body and gestured for the soldiers to take the stretcher out. Two officials excused themselves momentarily from the room as the Magister of Intelligence smugly observed the reactions he’d caused. 

After the commotion settled, someone suggested: “We should find a way to assassinate the current head of Lang Ya Mountain and replace him with one of our own. Thus, we can ensure the loyalty of Lang Ya Mountain in the future.”

Another man argued, “But the current head of Lang Ya Mountain is a benevolent man – simply observe how Lin Chen reached out to the victims of the recent floods, architectural accidents, locust plagues, and mercury poisoning!”

“Those are merely facades!”

“Lin Chen is sending spies to the palace.”

There were plenty of politicians who couldn’t forgive Lang Ya Mountain’s involvement in the Meilin Rebellion. Plenty more were men who regarded Lin Chen’s aversion to politics with distrust. Jingyan said, “Resorting to assassination and espionage will cause the general public to distrust the government.”

“The Emperor has expressed distaste toward Lang Ya Mountain and its current leader. Perhaps Your Highness should consider the Emperor’s will.”

Glaring at the Magister of Intelligence, Jingyan responded, “My royal father granted me full control over how to handle the rise of the Chiyan Remnant. Allowing rabid treasonists to destroy our villages and raid a national treasure will make us look weak. We cannot look weak.”

“But there is no reason not to assassinate Lin Chen and claim the mountain for the country.”

Someone muttered, “Other than gossips that Lin Chen once saved His Highness’ life.”

Meeting the accusations with nothing more than a blank stare, Jingyan temporarily tuned out the to-and-fros.

The three thousand Chiyan Remnants setting up a military camp at the base of Lang Ya Mountain was nothing more than a mere annoyance to Lin Chen. If Lin Chen so inclined, he could have turned the three thousand into corpses before the news reached the capital.

Lin Chen wanted the capital to help his mountain to show everyone that the imperial family and Lang Ya Mountain were still on friendly terms.

Part of it was strictly politics. But part of it… Jingyan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then stood up from his seat to declare: “We will mobilize the military to help Lang Ya Mountain and we will not harm Lang Ya Mountain or any of her occupants.”

“But the wealth and intelligence the mountain has can greatly increase Da Liang’s wealth and influence!”

The Magister of Intelligence sneered. “We’ve always heard that Your Highness can be a rather illogical man with a history of prioritizing personal feelings and petty dealings over the greater good.”

Feigning curiosity, Jingyan blinked at the man and looked around the room. “Who is ‘we’? What ‘personal feelings’?”

When nobody spoke up, Jingyan continued, taking a couple of menacing steps toward the man, “If anything happens to anyone else on Lang Ya Mountain, I will personally repeat on you whatever interrogation technique you inflicted on that unfortunate boy, Magister. And I assure you, I can keep you alive and under torture for much longer than two hours.”

The officials knelt. Whether because their legs bowed out from under them or because they were kneeling to accept Jingyan’s orders, Jingyan did not care to differentiate.

Without another word, Jingyan strolled out of the room.

All “personal feelings” aside, if Jingyan sent out an order to assassinate Lin Chen, the ensuing civil unrest would be enough to spark a rebellion. The civilians were already being tormented by his father’s whimsical rule and Lang Ya Mountain was a paragon of omnipotent benevolence in the eyes of many people.

A distant howl broke through the silence, followed by the distinctive cries of a murder of crows.

Pushing aside the intruding mental visuals of the boy’s bloody face, Jingyan squinted at the minuscule writings in the treasury’s ledger, barely making out the notes left by the Commodities Bureau. Unfortunately, his commentaries needed to be penned in the same fashion, and Jingyan’s nose had to be two inches away from the paper to see what he was writing.

At sunset, his doors opened and closed.

He’d forgotten to brew Mei Changsu’s tea, but the rush of prioritized work due to the newly approved Lang Ya Mountain military excursion was a proper reason. Apparently, the corpse of the disciple also went missing and several eyewitnesses were convinced that they saw reanimated corpses wandering around the perimeter of the city.

On a more personal note, Jingyan had a feeling Mei Changsu wanted things other than more discussions about work and gossips. Without lifting his head, Jingyan murmured, “I’m almost done. Would you like to wait for me on the bed?”

His visitor started. “Uh. How about no?”

Jingyan’s work, which actually was closed to being almost done, was now drenched by the ink tray he’d flipped over in surprise. Replacing his brush in the holder, Jingyan took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His long day was about to get longer.

Scowling at Ting Shen’s bright red face, Jingyan clarified, “I thought I was speaking to someone else.”

“Clearly. Because I’m really not into whatever you and Mister Su were doing. I wouldn’t be into it even if you weren’t my uncle, but you are, so that’s doubly disturbing and—”

“I thought I was speaking to someone else!” Jingyan snapped. Lowering his voice when Ting Shen flinched, Jingyan added, “You, in particular, don’t normally visit me and especially not at this hour.”

“Mister Su said he has to meet with an old acquaintance tonight, so he asked me to deliver his reports to you.”

Vaguely, Jingyan could recall Mei Changsu saying he wanted to pay Mengzhi a visit. Still, he would have expected Ting Shen to send a servant over instead. And a servant would’ve knocked. When Teng Shen didn’t immediately leave after placing the pile down, Jingyan asked, “And you’re lingering, because?”

In the distance, another wolf howled. Ting Shen fidgeted. “Um.”

Jingyan raised an eyebrow. More than once, Jingyan had sought Ting Shen out to question him about his suspected involvement with Xie Yu’s disposal and Jingxuan’s oddly timed plagiarism but all the meetings spiraled into emotionally charged arguments.

So, Jingyan opted to leave the boy alone and left Ting Shen’s education, discipline, and care up to Mei Changsu.

“Mister Su said I need to ask you,” said Ting Shen. The boy had a nervous habit of continually twisting the edges of his sleeve into a tight, wrinkled wad of fabric. “If I can join the military excursion to placate the Chiyan Remnants. Since the military is now under your jurisdiction and …and… and you’re supposedly my father.”

“Yes.”

Actually, he’d already enlisted Ting Shen and asked Mengzhi’s trusted protégé to protect the boy on the battlefield. As if to protest, Ting Shen opened his mouth. No doubt, the boy had already prepared dozens of arguments of why he should be allowed to join the excursion. Then he shut it and opened it again to ask, “That’s it?”

Prince Qi had joined his first military excursion when he was half of Ting Shen’s age. Jingyan, too, joined his first military excursion before he reached ten years old. Ting Shen, who Jingyan knew was a capable strategist (on exams and papers) and adept at swordsmanship, was long overdue for some hands-on experience.

“I thought you were going to say no,” said Ting Shen. “Or at least, lecture and reprimand me.”  

Jingyan looked up from cleaning the inky mess he’d recently created. “For?”

“For being mean to you at the banquet and not talking to you since then. For never visiting you. For not knocking on your door yesterday even though I saw you two through your window. For… stuff.”

So, Ting Shen only smashed the door open with such force because he knew what was going on inside.

“If you already know what you did was wrong, why would I need to lecture and reprimand you?” In any case, Jingyan would much rather leave the lectures and reprimands to Mei Changsu because the boy was actually receptive when Mei Changsu spoke.

Yesterday, though. Mei Changsu must’ve seen it was Ting Shen who burst through the door and then kissed Jingyan in full view of the boy. More quietly, Jingyan added, “What Mister Su did yesterday was wrong too. You shouldn’t have had to witness that.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen that stuff before,” said Ting Shen. “After they sneaked me away from the palace, I lived off scraps of food thrown away by brothels. I’ve seen the other stuff before too.”

Not wanting to guess what Ting Shen meant by “other stuff” Jingyan nodded in acknowledgment and said, “Right.”

Once or twice, Mei Changsu had spoken of Ting Shen’s life before he found the boy. Jingyan wished he could’ve done more for his nephew, but at some point, he realized there was only so much he could do for someone he thought was dead. He was on no mission to win over the boy’s heart if Ting Shen was going to treat him with such contempt every time they met either. “And you’re still lingering, because?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” The question was spoken with a single, rushed exhale of air before Ting Shen drew in another breath and elaborate. “Not like, not like, on your bed kind of sleep with you, and well, I can sleep anywhere or I don’t even need to sleep. I can help you with your work or just stay out of your way.”

If Mei Changsu was away from his court this evening, then Ting Shen would theoretically be alone. There was a noise that sounded like rumbling growl, followed by an eerie wail and Ting Shen’s wide-eyed reaction confirmed Jingyan’s suspicions.

Jingyan couldn’t resist: “You want to join the military excursion to Lang Ya Mountain, but you’re afraid of wandering corpses?”

“No! Of course not,” said Ting Shen. When the shadow cast by a nearby tree waved, Ting Shen nearly jumped.  “I’m not scared of anything.”

When Ting Shen made zero movements toward the door, Jingyan rose from his seat and began walking over to where the boy stood twisting his sleeve so much the fabric was beginning to cut into his skin. No matter how rude Ting Shen was, neither Prince Qi nor Mei Changsu would forgive Jingyan if he abandoned the boy now.

“If you did nothing wrong, no ghost will come knocking at your door,” Jingyan said. Then his thoughts faltered. Certainly, no ghost would come for Ting Shen, but Jingyan was the one who gave away the disciple’s connection to Lang Ya Mountain…

Gently, Jingyan placed a hand on Ting Shen’s shoulder and guided the boy to a vacant spot at his desk. “If you want to stay here, start matching the inventory and records for me.”

Almost immediately, petulance replaced the fright in the boy’s eyes. “I thought you said you were almost done.”

Jingyan glared at him and the boy quickly picked up a brush. Turning to a new page, Jingyan began rewriting his commentaries with the same painstakingly tiny characters. Perhaps the way Ting Shen felt about him was similar to how Jingyan felt every time his father took a new concubine.

After all, any time Mei Changsu spent with Jingyan was time that he wasn’t spending with Ting Shen.  

Soon after he began working, Ting Shen asked, “Was my father ever scared of anything?”

Jingyan glanced over. When he was Ting Shen’s age, he would’ve answered that his big brother was not afraid of a single thing on the world. But only a child would believe that. Deciding that Ting Shen didn’t need any coddling, Jingyan answered, “He was most afraid of exactly what happened to him and his family.”

Ting Shen nodded. “What about Mister Su?”

“Owls,” said Jingyan. “One time…”

“Where is the Magister of Intelligence?”

“Feeling unwell,” said one of the court officials. The men in the meeting hall exchanged several nervous glances. “I heard that his residence is being disturbed by, ah, unnatural creatures?”

Jingyan rolled his eyes. According to the reports from the Interrogation Hall, the interrogators who tortured the Lang Ya disciple were found with their throats torn open. The Magister of Intelligence complained about hearing inhuman noises, loud footsteps, and seeing dozens of eyes watch him, but, despite stationing several dozen guards around his residence, nobody else saw or heard anything.

“Five thousand soldiers have been mobilized to pacify the Chiyan Remnants at the base of Lang Ya Mountain,” came the report from the representative of the military division. “Two razes on neighboring villages have been prevented and none of the Chiyan Remnant rebels have successfully infiltrated Lang Ya Mountain yet.”

“Best case scenario, we can peacefully encourage the Chiyan Remnants to disband,” said Jingyan. The robes he’d donned today were heavy on his shoulders, weighed down with more embroideries and precious gems than Jingyan normally preferred. But designing a new set of ceremonial robes for conferences was taking months. “Worst case scenario… we will eradicate their operations.”

Fourteen years ago, Prince Qi committed suicide so he could not be used as a rallying call for the Chiyan Remnants. As a result, the rebels had laid dormant until they kidnapped Jingyan and provoked Lin Chen into killing Nie Feng to save him. Thus, the thirst for Lin Chen’s blood was now the rallying call for the rebels.

As Jingyan prepared to move onto the next topic, the doors to the court opened and the Emperor’s personal messenger entered. The servant knelt before Jingyan and said, “The Emperor wishes to see you in an hour, Your Highness.”

Jingyan took a deep breath.

Apparently his royal father had begun taking miracle pills that were guaranteed to revive him to full health, so the Emperor hadn’t crown Jingyan as heir to the throne yet. Jingxuan had been under house arrest, but there were rumors that he still had the support of many provincial governors and those who wish to continue any existing unlawful practices.

“I will be there,” Jingyan said, and the messenger retreated.

As soon as the messenger retreated, the Magister of Internal Affairs knelt on both knees and said, “I request the permission to speak reckless brazen words.”

“Speak,” said Jingyan.

“Your Highness is the clear and only proper choice for the throne,” said the official. “But we are concerned about one thing. Mei Changsu, the defected Hua strategist, is still alive and influencing Your Highness’ decisions.”

Jingyan narrowed his eyes and another voice, the voice of Marquis Yan interrupted, “Please remember my words, Your Highness.”  

Jingyan nodded.

Since his conversation with Marquis Yan five months ago, Jingyan had encouraged Mei Changsu not to appear in public conferences or debates, advice that Mei Changsu was more than happy to heed. But these men wanted more than that; In order to ensure the continued loyalty and trust of the most powerful men in Da Liang’s court, Jingyan needed to show them that he wasn’t relying on guidance from a traitorous strategist.

Perhaps there was only one way to protect Mei Changsu from suspicion and protect their mutual ambitions…

As Jingyan turned the thoughts over in his head, Marquis Yan pulled out two pieces of paper, “I have intercepted here two letters originally directed to Mei Changsu. I have reasons to believe that these messages came from Lin Chen, the master of Lang Ya Mountain.”

A servant brought the letters up to Jingyan. The first letter was neatly written, long-winded ramblings about intriguing events in the city and plants that the writer was growing. The second letter was brief, a sharp comment about the writer’s displeasure with recent disturbances.

At the end of both messages, written as if the phrase was the matter-of-course close of every letter the writer sent, were the words, “May he fare well.”

Lifting his eyes from the scrawl he recognized to be Lin Chen’s handwriting, Jingyan asked, “What makes you think these rather frivolous letters have anything to do with Lin Chen or the Chiyan Remnants?”

“No way!” A loud voice boomed across the conference hall. General Commander Meng Zhi normally never spoke up in conferences unless the topic concerned the military, but he hurried to the front of the room and bowed before speaking, “Your Highness, Mister Su has nothing to do with the Chiyan Remnants!”

A dignitary in the back called out: “How do you know for sure?”

“I can assure his innocence!”

“That’s because he is playing you for a fool, General Commander!”

Someone snickered and added: “Intelligence was never Meng Zhi’s strong point.”

Jingyan quietly observed the debate before his eyes, mind flashing back to when Ting Shen asked what Mister Su was afraid of. Xiao Shu would’ve been most afraid of exactly this. But, Mei Changsu… Jingyan could believe that Mei Changsu readily enjoyed the cries for his blood and luxuriated in the intense distrust from those around him.

Perhaps this was exactly why Prince Qi chose to die when he was still a hero.

Shrugging away the weight of his heavy robes and the weight that blossomed inside his chest, Jingyan declared: “In order to investigate his unclear connections to Chiyan Remnant, I mandate the arrest of Mei Changsu.”

Chapter Text

“You like this.”

 That was the only way to describe the buzz of contentment radiating from Mei Changsu. The sunlight, crooked rays slithering in from the bars of the prison cell, did nothing to hide or soften the lines of lively glee on Mei Changsu’s face.

“You did what you are supposed to do,” said Mei Changsu. He sat, relaxed, on a makeshift bed of hay. “And I am accomplishing what I want to accomplish.”

Their mutual goal of delivering the throne to Prince Qi’s son and re-adding Prince Qi’s name to the royal family’s history. The pieces were falling into place as intended, which did not surprise Jingyan.

Changing the topic, Jingyan said, “His mental health is rapidly deteriorating. He swears that he sees eyes everywhere and hears unearthly sounds. None of the soldiers see anything.”

 There was no evidence that Lang Ya Mountain had anything to do with the hauntings the Magister of Intelligence experienced. Given a few more days, the eventual death of the Magister of Intelligence and the death of the interrogators could be chalked up to supernatural evils and karma.

Nobody would be on the side of a child murderer.

“That boy was his favorite disciple,” said Mei Changsu. “He probably took the body back to the mountain already.”

“He was just here to bring some flower seeds,” said Jingyan. Taking his eyes off the ants crawling along one of the walls, Jingyan glanced at the single window, at the crooked sunlight and murmured, “I was the one who gave away his liaison to the mountain.”

“You couldn’t have known,” said Mei Changsu. “And Lin Chen wouldn’t blame you.”

“He’s only probably wishing he never met me.”

The words, which came out with more bitterness and self-pity than the lightheartedness Jingyan originally intended, caused Mei Changsu to glance at him, rather curiously. “It’s not in his… temperament to think like that. He’d blame himself, and he’d worry about your wellbeing.”

Jingyan couldn’t detect any signs of ingenuity in Mei Changsu’s inflection, but something about the man’s overall disposition grated at him. Like rubbing the serrated surface of two rocks together. For a man who ruthlessly bit open Jingyan’s burn wound out of jealousy, Mei Changsu’s reaction to Lin Chen sending him a gift had been short-lived and rather mild.

And these words were downright unnatural.

Not in Mei Changsu’s temperament to speak like that, per se. 

Picking up a straw from the pile of hay that formed Mei Changsu’s bed, Jingyan twisted the strand around his finger and asked, “And you? What are you thinking?”

Did this sudden amenability have anything to do with the Saint’s Heart Mei Changsu consumed? Or a misinterpretation of Jingyan’s words or actions? Was Mei Changsu more bothered by the flower seeds than he’d let on or perhaps he was bothered by the ever-present “May he fare well” in Lin Chen’s letters?

Almost pleading, Jingyan said, “For once, tell me what you are thinking.”

Mei Changsu didn’t immediately respond to his question, but Jingyan reckoned that silence was an improvement over calm anger or outright hostility. After the silence became uncomfortable and the hollow straw was nothing more than a chaotically interlaced ball formed of multiple smaller knots, Mei Changsu finally replied, “Maybe it’s not a bad thing. That you’re in love with him. He’s fond of you for sure, but I don’t know if he—”

Jingyan threw the knotted straw at the wall, scattering the line of ants. “This is getting ridiculous.” 

For months he’d avoided thinking about or talking about either Lin Chen or Lang Ya Mountain. He’d even avoided wearing white and stopped visiting the rabbits at Yan Yujin’s rabbit habitat. But at some point, it was on Mei Changsu himself to make peace with what happened in the past.

“Why can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours that some things are meant to stay in the past?”

Suddenly foregoing the lotus position he’d been sitting in the entire time, Mei Changsu stretched out, repositioned himself, and said, “I love you. Take me away from here. Lin Chen. That’s exactly what you said last week, word for word.”

The accusation was so bizarre Jingyan almost didn’t have time to process the other man’s equally bizarre shift from Mei Changsu’s typically elegant movements to Xiao Shu’s favorite pose. One knee curled up and the other leg either stretched out before him or dangling over whatever he was sitting on. Arms casually slung over the upright knee.

Forcing himself not to stare, Jingyan tried to remember when he could’ve said anything like that. If Mei Changsu wasn’t simply making up stories to shock or confuse him into confessing, there could’ve only been one time he wouldn’t remember what he said.

But Jingyan could not imagine telling Lin Chen he loved him, not even if he was drugged up and out of his mind.

If Jingyan said those words, that would explain Mei Changsu’s strange behavior on that night and since that night. “The first part must’ve been for you. I don’t love him. I may have some feelings for him, but it’s at most a mixture of curiosity and intense attraction. You’re the only one I love.”

As usual, Mei Changsu’s expression was utterly indecipherable until a wry, one-sided, smile broke out across Mei Changsu’s face. “Intense attraction. At least you’re finally being honest with me.”

Resisting the urge to pursue the irony of that statement, Jingyan repeated, “You’re the only one I love.”

“Perhaps I’ll believe that,” Mei Changsu reached for him; one hand bunching up the neckline of his robes, right beneath his neck and tugged him closer for a quick peck on the lips. A rough movement that gave Jingyan the impression that this was how Xiao Shu would’ve kissed him had Xiao Shu ever worked up the courage to do so when they were teenagers.

But there was nothing except Mei Changsu’s typical elegance and nonchalance when he released Jingyan and murmured, “…One day.”

With something that Jingyan would deny was a petulant glare, Jingyan muttered, “I have the rest of my life to prove it to you.”

“You have the rest of mine,” Mei Changsu corrected. The mirthful blitheness reflected on the smile playing across his lips added a sense of lightheartedness to his next words. “And that’s probably not very long.”

Though he did not know what Mei Changsu was conspiring with Meng Zhi, he was sure it would eventually lead to Mei Changsu’s escape from the palace. Judging by Mei Changsu’s recent moods, the man was looking forward to leaving the political landscape behind. Quietly, Jingyan insisted, “You’re not going to die.”

Mei Changsu’s eyes revealed another mirthful gleam. “After I do, I don’t mind if you find a way to—”

At the end of the day, there was only one effective way to shut Mei Changsu up.

“Mei Changsu must die.”

“Of course,” said Jingyan. Sweeping his hand behind his back, Jingyan began ascending the stairs to the top of the palace’s gate. “Once I finish pondering how to frame his death as a message to future conspirators and double-faced devils.”

“Your Highness is most astute,” said Marquis Yan. He bowed, low. “Perhaps it is a sign of my old age that I am less sensitive to the future and what it may bring.”

At the top of the fortress, both of them gazed at the vast expanse of grass and the tiny pebbles that were soldiers patrolling the premise. Far out, to the west, Jingyan could see two bright golden flags that marked where his father was currently resting in the imperial gardens.

Probably with a couple of his newest concubines because the miracle pills he’d been taking had boosted his vitality and energy level to new heights.

“There are too many men out there who believe I practice voodoo magic,” said Jingyan. “That I killed The Auspicious and Filial Marquis of Abundance by setting him on fire and that I am the one who is now raising the dead to terrorize the Magister of Intelligence.”

“Ludicrous,” said Marquis Yan.

“But effective,” said Jingyan. The claims were preventing his royal father from crowning him even though Jingxuan was disposed and there was no one else suitable for the throne. There were officials out there hoping that, given enough time and damage to Jingyan’s reputation, his royal father would re-elect Prince Jingxuan as crown prince.

“Marquis! Y-your Highness!” A shout came from a messenger rushing toward them. “I meant, Your Highness, and then Marquis! I meant to greet Your Highness first—”

Jingyan gestured. “Just speak.”

“Trouble…!”

As Jingyan and Marquis Yan jogged toward Yan Yujin’s rabbit habitat, an attendant briefed them on approximately what happened: Around noon, Jingxuan was taking a walk in Yujin’s rabbit habitat to pick out which rabbits he wanted for dinner when Yujin’s hired hand struck Jingxuan in the head with a large rock.

The hired hand, a young girl Yujin had enlisted to help care for his rabbits, was currently being restrained by three guards. As soon as the girl saw him, she laughed and spat out, “Crown prince! Just sentence me to death already. I did it and I have no regrets for what I did.”

“I’m still a prince,” Jingyan replied. Scowling at the guards kneeling on the girl’s back and hands, Jingyan asked, “Does it take three trained soldiers to restrain a little girl?”

Jingyan glared until all three soldiers unhanded the girl and then he knelt, on one knee, next to his brother. Besides Jingxuan’s prone body and the part of Jingxuan’s skull that broke off from the rest of his head was a half-skinned rabbit. There was also a freshly roasted rabbit on a stick nearby.

Jingyan didn’t need to check the corpse’s pulse to know his brother was dead.

Around Jingyan was a buzz of people speaking over another:

 “Yes, I killed Prince Jingxuan. I took that boulder right there and smashed his head in with it.”

“We all saw her do it, but couldn’t save His Highness in time.”

“His Highness ordered us all to step away so he could have some privacy with the girl!”

Jingyan sighed. He remembered Jingxuan nearly killing Xiao Shu by shoving him into a boulder. He recalled how Jingxuan lured him into an abandoned cave where he nearly suffocated to death in the dark. He remembered the dozens of times Jingxuan broke, fractured, or bruised various parts of his body.

There wasn’t a single memory Jingyan had that involved Jingxuan and wasn’t a bad memory.

Still, Jingyan reached over and closed his brother’s eyes with a quick prayer.

Wiping the blood off his hand with a wet handkerchief someone offered him, Jingyan turned to the girl and spoke, “Did you do it because of what he was doing to the rabbits? Or did you do it because he wanted to rape you? What you just did calls for the execution of your entire family, down to friends and acquaintances.”

The girl laughed at him. “I’d offer, Your Highness, but that bastard right there already executed them all.” 

Jingyan’s gaze snapped to the girl and he narrowed his eyes. Jingxuan had pinned the blame on the failed canal construction and the deaths of the villagers on the incompetence of his lead architect. “You’re the lead architect’s… daughter? Granddaughter?”

“Technically, I’m just a bastard child between him and a dead whore from Fishermen’s Landing Point,” said the girl. “Nobody knew about my existence, which was what saved my life— but I avenged the whole family. If we still had an ancestral burial ground and temple, surely I would be invited in with the greatest honors.”

Right after Jingxuan sentenced the lead architect and the man’s family to death, he’d ordered for the man’s ancestral burial ground to be overturned and used as waste disposal for plague-infested crops and corpses.

As Jingyan debated what he could do with the girl, she sneered at him and called out, “You’re honor-bound to execute me for killing your brother. As the prince of the country, as the brother of the victim and as an upholder of justice.”

“Big words for a child. Maybe if you were older, wiser, you’d know to bide your time,” said Jingyan. Had the crime not been committed in broad daylight, with dozens of eyewitnesses, Jingyan could contemplate pretending he didn’t know what happened.

After all, Jingxuan had plenty of enemies in this world.

“I don’t need to be older and wiser to know there are other ways to kill a man,” said the girl. “I could’ve entertained his sexual fantasies, waited for a chance, and poisoned him with something untraceable and undetectable. I could’ve made it look like an accident. I could’ve made arrangements to frame someone else.”

“And why didn’t you do that?”

“Actions have consequences,” said the girl. “I did exactly what I did because I want this world to know exactly who killed Prince Jingxuan and why he deserved to die.”

Jingyan sighed. “If you were older, you’d care less about principles and ideologies. Care less about what other people think.”

Or maybe not.

Prince Qi had been twice this girl’s age when he, too, preferred to die for what he believed was right.

But this was wrong, Jingyan thought. His brother would’ve never sentenced a child to death. In fact, he doubted his father would do such a thing. But this girl wanted to be a martyr for what she believed in. If Jingyan allowed a prince’s murderer to wander loose, people would start losing faith in him and the laws of the country. 

“Your Highness!” Someone was tripping over himself dashing toward the rabbit habitat. Yan Yujin tripped again, falling flat on his face right before he pushed himself onto his knees to kneel before Jingyan, “It wasn’t her fault. It was—uh, mine! It was mine!”

Jingyan told him, “Nobody heard what you just said. The wind was blowing very hard.”

There was, of course, no wind on this bright sunny day.

“Check the wine!” said Yujin. “It’s probably drugged and I was the one who gave it to him. He’s been terrorizing my rabbits for weeks!”

A servant held out a wine cup to Jingyan who peered inside. The pink-colored wine in the jade utensil wasn’t brewed by the chefs in the palace. The girl shouted, “Yujin didn’t know I drugged it! He only served the wine he’d been ordered to serve.”

Why Jingxuan ordered a Marquis’ son to serve him wine, Jingyan didn’t bother to ask. 

The wine must’ve been drugged. That was the only way a little girl could bash a boulder into his brother’s head multiple times without resistance. Glaring at Jingyan, the girl said, “I brew that wine, flirted with Prince Jingxuan, and served it to him. Your Highness, you know exactly what happened here. Stop delaying my execution.”

Yujin was about to protest again, but his words were muffled by a hand around his mouth. Marquis Yan, who was doing his best to hold his son still and prevent his son from saying another word, stuffed a handkerchief in Yujin’s mouth and said, “Yujin doesn’t know what he’s saying. No way was he involved with the death of Prince Jingxuan.”

The girl declared, “I acted alone.”

Something didn’t add up, Jingyan thought. While he didn’t care who served the drugged wine to his brother and everyone saw the girl commit the murder, where did the drug come from and who planted the idea of revenge and murder into the girl’s head? Marquis Yan said, “Your Highness! Dozens witnessed the murder she confessed to! Execute the girl now!”

For a brief second, Jingyan thought about how his brother held Lin Xie’s sword to his own throat and forced Lin Xie to back off from forcing him to sit on the throne. How his brother walked into the prison cell with his shoulders squared and eyes full of pride.

“What’s your name?” Jingyan didn’t think there was any alternative. The imperial family wouldn’t let the girl go unpunished. If he delayed executing the girl, the news would reach his royal father and his royal father would leave the girl to suffer in the hands of Consort Yue. “So I can lay you to rest at your family’s ancestral burial ground after I restore it.”

The girl beamed at him. “Mei Xuan thanks you, Your Highness.”

Turning away from the scene, Jingyan ordered: “Execution. Let her pick.”

In the quiet hours after Jingxuan’s funeral, Jingyan headed toward his mother’s new residence. Though his royal father had granted him the privilege to visit whenever he wanted and his mother had been given new palaces since his promotion, Empress Yan was somehow always in the way, arranging meetings with his mother whenever Jingyan had free time

Tonight, Empress Yan was at Consort Yue’s palace, probably to taunt the woman over the death of her son, which meant Jingyan could finally visit his mother’s newest residence. An exorbitantly extravagant palace Jingyan knew his mother only lived in to make his royal father happy.

When he arrived, his mother was already pre-occupied.

“I think he threw up all the pieces,” said his mother. Her robes were stained with blood and she had beads of sweat on her face. The wet rags in her hand were stained with more blood. “But I cannot say for certain that he will survive this ordeal.”

Earlier, Empress Yan had forced one of her servants to swallow pieces of a broken porcelain bowl after he accidentally broke her favorite bowl. Though Jingyan’s mother stepped in just in time to stop him from consuming the entire bowl, many smaller pieces had already been consumed.

“You did your best, mother.” As he spoke, the servant girl who once had almond-shaped eyes brought his mother a fresh bowl of water for the boy laying on the bed. Dirt-colored denticulate scars crisscrossed her face and one of her eyes had been sewn shut with steel wires.

Watching the girl’s back as she retreated behind the partitions, Jingyan’s mother shook her head sadly and said, “One’s best is simply not enough sometimes.”

Just like how there was nothing he could do for Mei Xuan except give her a dignified death. Handing his mother a clean wet rag so she could wipe her face, Jingyan said, “I haven’t figured out the truth behind Prince Jingxuan’s murder yet.”

Investigators claimed that the drug used to subdue Prince Jingxuan came from Lang Ya Mountain. Despite common knowledge that Lang Ya Mountain was not the only source of the drug, many officials believed that Lang Ya Mountain was indeed actively sowing chaos in the palace.

After his mother took the wet rag, Jingyan reached for the empty space where the jade pendant he gave Lin Chen used to be. Just for somewhere to place his hands. If the situation escalated beyond Jingyan’s control and his royal father declared war on Lang Ya Mountain…

“That pendant has exchanged many hands,” His mother suddenly said. “The former Emperor, your grandfather, gave it to Marshal Lin Xie for saving his life. Marshal Lin Xie gave it to me in exchange for saving his wife’s life. I gave it to Xiao Shu when he nearly died defending you.”

Jingyan looked over at where his mother sat on the bed, muted by surprise.

“Xiao Shu gave it back to me, to give to you,” said his mother. “He was hoping you would give him the tassel yourself one day.”

Jingyan’s hand closed over the space. “You told me I could give it to someone who did me an unrequited favor.”

Was Mei Changsu able to remember these specific details from his youth?

“That was just an example. More specifically, I said you would know who to give it to when you meet the right person.” With her hands now clean, his mother reached up to fix her hair, adjusting a white jade hairpin that held her hair away from her face and smiled. “I miscalculated.”

Was that why Lin Chen sent Mei Changsu so many gifts and trinkets? Because the one thing he took from Jingyan that actually belonged to Xiao Shu?

Sneaking a glance at the opened window, Jingyan said, “He was the right person.”

He had the rest of his life to prove his love to Mei Changsu and repay Xiao Shu while there was absolutely nothing else he could offer Lin Chen. If Lin Chen liked the trinket enough to keep it on his fan, it was something.

When his mother gestured for him to come over, Jingyan took his mother’s arm and helped her up from her seat at the side of the bed. For interfering with the Empress’ punishment of the young boy, the Empress had ordered his mother to kneel an hour for every piece of porcelain she’d saved the boy from eating.

Later, as Jingyan helped his mother down to her knees to kneel on the ridged, rocky punishment spot in front of the Empress’ palace, he said, “You will no longer have to put up with her after you are Empress Dowager.”

“I will not become Empress Dowager.” His mother winced when her knees struck a sharp rock, but a peaceful smile quickly blossomed across her face. “After you become the Emperor, I will concede the position of Empress Dowager to Empress Yan.”

“You can’t do that!” Jingyan quickly slapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to confront his mother with such rudeness, but his mother quickly forgave him by pressing a gentle hand to his face. More calmly, Jingyan said, “If you do that, she will… make everyone suffer.”

“Jingyan.”

His mother had kind eyes, but beneath the kindness in her eyes and the tranquility of her presence, Jingyan could sense an abyss’ worth of caution and shrewdness. She reached for and squeezed his hand. “The choices I make may not always make sense to you or bring you comfort, but, hopefully, you will forgive your mother one day.”

As Jingyan processed the words, another thought crossed his mind: “You didn’t offer Empress Yan the position a long time ago, did you?”

But, things were beginning to make sense.

Empress Yan was the one who situated a “lead architect” to assist Jingxuan with the canal and irrigation project, which was why the “lead architect” never pointed out the fatal flaws in the blueprints they stole. Empress Yan could have been the one who gave Mei Xuan the drug and taught her how to kill Prince Jingxuan to clear Jingyan’s way to the throne.

That would also explain why Empress Yan stepped in to prevent the accusations of an affair between Jingyan and Nihuang from taking off and explain why Empress Yan so ruthlessly exposed Regent Xie Yu and Consort Yue.

Did his mother offer the attractive appellation as an incentive for Empress Yan to concoct heinous schemes to put Jingyan on the throne or did Empress Yan force his mother to cooperate and relinquish her eventual title? The only answer his mother gave was, “I simply did what I needed to do to survive.”

The gongs all around the imperial palace began to toll in unison until the cacophony became a loud wail, announcing the Emperor’s passing.

Chapter Text

Empress Dowager Yan had ordered the servants to replace the golden pillars in the throne room with silver ones and replace swords of fallen heroes with the statues of various mystical creatures. The Emperor’s throne had been renamed the Empress Dowager’s throne and embellished with swathes of silk and lace.  Thus, the morning conferences had been suspended until now, when all the new decorations were in place.

After Jingyan was granted permission to rise, Jingyan took his seat on the simple wooden chair placed next to the Empress Dowager’s throne.

“How do I look, Jingyan?” asked Empress Dowager Yan. She touched the side of her face and then touched a sparkling hairpin in her hair. “I thought a dragon ornament would have more flair and command more attention, but it’s such a heavy piece and it’s pulling on my hair.”

“You look remarkable as always, royal mother.”

“Remarkable? You don’t mean beautiful?” asked Empress Dowager Yan. She tutted at him while wagging a finger at his direction. “Beautiful, lovely, exquisite—this is why you need a companion as soon as possible, Emperor. You must learn how to properly speak to a lady.”

“Perhaps after I finish mourning the loss of my father and brother,” said Jingyan. It’d only been a month since his brother’s murder, followed by his father’s death. “A wedding would not be… proper in these times.”

“Your Majesty looks beautiful and youthful,” one of the Empress Dowager’s servant girls cut in. She was one of the most homely girls Jingyan ever saw and perhaps that was why she was the Empress Dowager’s favorite. “The Remedy for Wellness is working wonderfully.”

When the Empress Dowager frowned, the servant girl added, “I am sorry for speaking out of turn, Your Majesty. But your Majesty is so unforgivably beautiful I cannot help but comment. Please sentence me to death for my imprudence.”

“Nonsense,” said Empress Dowager Yan. She smiled when the girl handed her a mirror but did not take the mirror. Instead, she partially pulled the emperor-slaying sword out of its sheathed and admired her reflection on the sword, saying, “Such a clever young girl. I must promote you soon.”

On the floor before raised platform that housed the throne and the plain wooden chair, dozens of officials had already gathered. Clearing his throat, Jingyan said, “Perhaps the conference should begin, royal mother. We should come to a decision on how to handle the conflicts with Lang Ya Mountain and we need an update on the fugitive Mei Changsu.”

Who’d escaped a month ago, during the chaos of Jingxuan’s murder and his father’s death.

Empress Dowager Yan sheathed the emperor-slaying sword, cleared her throat and declared to the court before them, “I will decide how to handle the conflicts with Lang Ya Mountain and someone update me on the Mei fugitive.”

“I have an update.” Meng Zhi’s voice boomed across the imperial conference hall. He strode toward the center of the hall, a square mahogany box in his hands. His armor clanked as he walked, sword swinging by his side. His hands shook, ever so slightly, before he steadied them. “I present to Your Majesty, Mei Changsu’s head.”

“Open it,” said Jingyan, who quickly caught on to what Mei Changsu must've been conspiring with Meng Zhi. “The world should see what becomes of traitors and two-faced liars.”

Pulling out a chopped head with a face that did bear no small amount of likeliness to Mei Changsu, Meng Zhi held the head up by its hair, showed off the head to the court, and declared. “Prince Consort Nihuang recognized him when he crossed the border to North Qi. I chopped Mei Changsu’s head off myself.”

Someone screamed. Empress Dowager Yan scowled and shushed the servant girl she’d earlier said she would promote. When the girl couldn’t stop trembling, Empress Dowager Yan beckoned for a guard to drag her off with a quick gesture to kill the girl. Another servant girl picked up the dropped mirror and quickly disappeared out of sight.

“This is disgusting,” said Empress Dowager Yan. “This is absolutely unacceptable. Oh Heavens, why would you blemish this beautiful conference hall with that distasteful abomination?”

“I thought everyone would want to see evidence of his death since we cannot witness his execution ourselves,” said Meng Zhi, sounding surprised and sincere at the same time. For someone who rarely participated in debates, perfunctory niceties, or other court gimmicks, Meng Zhi was a spectacular actor. 

“Oh no, who would want to see that,” said Empress Dowager Yan. “He’s dead. Put a date of death on some document somewhere, seal it and do whatever it is that you do when an ex- court official dies.”

Looking convincingly disappointed, Meng Zhi stuffed the head back into the box and handed it to a servant to deliver it to the Corpse Disposal Bureau. Marquis Yan appeared bemused by Meng Zhi’s shift from defending Mei Changsu to being Mei Changsu's executioner, but no one had any reason to suspect foul play.

As far as everyone was concerned, Mei Changsu was clever enough to escape prison but not clever to escape the soldiers sent to pursue him.

Right before the conversation turned to the topic of Lang Ya Mountain,  Empress Dowager Yan said, “Put this conference on hold. I have to fix my hair. That pin is tugging on my hair. I don’t think that dragon ornament suits me as much as the phoenix one did.”

An hour later, Empress Dowager Yan re-emerged, patted her new hairstyle and reclaimed her position on the throne. “Continue, where were we?”

“A marriage proposal,” said a dignitary. “Lin Chen sent a marriage proposal to the Da Liang ruling family asking for the hand of marriage of Marquise Jinyang.”

Who was Marquise Jinyang? Jingyan could guess that the girl was related to Elder Princess Jinyang, but he could not remember who Marquise Jinyang was. Empress Dowager Yan said, “A marriage proposal! This is lovely. Read it.” 

Most of it were sweet nothings. Metaphors describing her beauty and grace. Idyllic proses that described their romantic walks, amorous stargazing and the duets they’ve composed together – compelling details to show that this was a proposal made with love and not political intentions.

Though it would be polite for the Emperor to read the proposal before sanctioning anyone’s marriage, Jingyan was losing patience with lengthy waxing.

As the scribe continued to maunder on about snow on spring blossoms, birds in the sky, and the beautiful surface of a lake, Jingyan discreetly yawned into his sleeve and sneaked a look around. Meng Zhi was nodding along with the words as he was actually listening. Marquis Yan still had his lips pressed into a thin line. Most officials had a visible grimace on their face and an elderly dignitary had already dozed off.

Those who'd called for declaring war on Lang Ya Mountain looked angry by the new turn of events.

“I spent my whole life feeling an intangible and desperate desire for peace and closure,” the scribe finally arrived at the last part of the marriage proposal. “I feel like I finally know what true happiness is.”

The impatient, slightly amused smirk left Jingyan’s face so quickly he almost felt as if his jaws had dislocated. He jerked forward so quickly that he nearly gave himself vertigo, long robes rustling and jewels tinkering as he pulled out of the chair. He’d only taken one step toward the scribe before he caught himself and calmed down with a mellow, “How dare he.”

“Yes, how dare he!” someone echoed. “No matter how powerful he is, a commoner like him should know his place.”

“He does not deserve the hand in marriage of a Marquise!” 

As the court expressed their disdain over Lin Chen, a commoner, asking for a Marquise’s hand in marriage, Jingyan held out his hand for the proposal. Lin Chen wrote it, no doubt. If not for mentions about composing duets and dancing together in the moonlight, Jingyan could almost believe Lin Chen was describing their time together.

To the court and Empress Dowager Yan, Jingyan was probably reading the marriage proposal with more care to detect any fraud or foul play. But something inside him jumped every time he noticed Lin Chen’s choice of words. Ordinary people. Fan. Flute.

The words had been woven into longer sentences, as metaphors and anecdotes used to describe his affection for the girl. A love like the fall of snow on a sunny spring day. But why love like the fall of snow on a sunny spring day when, in the whole history of Da Liang, it’d only ever snowed once during spring?

As the question danced on Jingyan’s mind, Empress Dowager Yan’s servant snatched the marriage proposal out of his hand and handed it to Empress Dowager Yan. Forcefully changing his scowl into a polite smile, Jingyan bowed at Empress Dowager Yan and sat down on his seat next to the throne.

Whatever choice Lin Chen made, Jingyan was sure the choice was made with love and out of love.

Whether out of love for the girl, for his mountain or for peace, Jingyan didn’t suppose he would ever find out.

After Empress Dowager Yan finished rereading, she handed the piece of paper over to someone to send the marriage proposal to Marquise Jinyang. The girl would have the final say, of course. But since she was a member of the royal family, her marriage had to be sanctioned by the Emperor and Empress Dowager before she could consider it. 

Empress Dowager Yan declared, “This is such a sweet marriage proposal. Who knew Lin Chen was such a romantic man? Of course, we accept. Notify Marquise Jinyang immediately.”

The court murmured and a dignitary visibly rolled his eyes. Marquis Yan appeared to want to speak but bit back his words at the last second. Clearing his throat again, Jingyan clarified, “This is an easy solution to the tension rising between the imperial palace and Lang Ya Mountain. Prepare my response.”

If Lin Chen married a member of the royal family, no matter how distant, he would be part of the family rather than a powerful outsider who was potentially a threat to the kingdom. A love like the fall of snow on a sunny spring day, indeed.

“I, the Emperor of Da Liang, sanction the union between Marquise Jinyang and Lin Chen,” Jingyan spoke as a scribe recorded his words with flawless calligraphy.

After a pause, he held out his hand and the brush was placed on his palm. Normally, the Emperor didn’t have to write the imperial commands himself, but it wasn’t too unusual for Jingyan to occasionally add a phrase or two.

Once the piece of paper was placed before him, his brush hovered. Crimson ink dripped down, marring piece of paper. Lin Chen is the type of person who doesn’t understand subtlety and sorrow, Jingyan had once said. But perhaps he’d been wrong the whole time. Empress Dowager Yan coughed loudly into her sleeve

Underneath the splotch, Jingyan scribbled, “May he fare well.”

Jingyan replaced the brush and waved for a servant to take the piece of paper away. The paper would be embedded onto a piece of golden silk and delivered to Lin Chen.

As the Emperor, Jingyan would not deign to attend the marriage between a Marquise and her chosen companion.

“Emperor.”

Jinyan moved forward to stop him from bowing down, but Yujin pulled back and continued to bend forward until his bow was proper and formal. Contrast that with the dramatic mockery of a bow Yujin usually delivered— if the boy even remembered to bow in the first place.

Jingyan didn’t speak and Yujin stayed still until Jingyan finally said, “Rise.”

The awkward tension stretched, until Yujin, without another word, stepped to the side to allow Jingyan to pass. As he walked past, Jingyan told him, “I rebuilt her family’s final resting place. To many people, she was a heroine who did precisely what they wish they could’ve done.”

And, what if Mei Xuan accomplished the same goal of killing Jingxuan without properly paying for the murder with her life? She would’ve been written down in history as a scheming consort, an assassin, murderer, or a treasonist. Flags wouldn’t have been flown in her honor and her story wouldn’t ben told in every tavern in every city.

With a startling amount of outage, Yujin suddenly spoke, “Is ‘what other people think’ worth losing your life over?”

Assuming that Yujin was speaking to him, Jingyan answered, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not a hero.”

As if he oppose the idea that anyone could say something like that about himself, Yujin stood up and took a step closer to Jingyan. But after some consideration, instead of grabbing and shaking the Emperor by his shoulder, Yujin only scoffed and answered, “Neither am I.”

“Murder! The Empress Dowager murdered the Consort Dowager!”

Those were the last words the girl who once had almond-shaped eyes spoke before blood spilled from her lips and she collapsed on the ground, closing her remaining eye. The guard chasing her shook her blood off his blade and ran indoors, where the Empress Dowager was having supper with Jingyan’s mother.

Heart pounding, Jingyan rose from where he was sitting on a chair outside of the Empress Dowager’s residence and dashed in, pushing aside the servants and guards who tried to stop him with a feeble, “Emperor! You must not enter before...”

Jingyan pushed open the door leading to where the Empress Dowager stood, clutching the sheathed emperor-slaying sword like a shield. Intricate dishes lined the table, showing off far more food than what two women could consume. His mother laid on the ground, next to a partially eaten pastry. “Mother!”

“I didn’t kill her,” said the Empress Dowager. Her voice was a shrill shriek. “This was either a suicide or that servant did it.”

“Like hell this was suicide!” Jingyan rushed toward his mother, turning her over so her face wasn’t smashed to the ground. Her pulse was gone and so was her breath. Black blood began to bubble from her mouth, nose, eyes and ears. Whatever killed his mother was extremely potent and fast-acting. Hopefully painless.

As more blood began to pour from her corpse, Jingyan yelled, “Mother!”

He called for the imperial physicians. Called for anyone he could think of that could possibly help. Even called for people he knew could and would do absolutely nothing. He thrashed and flipped the entire supper table to the ground. He punched a crack in the pillars and shoved away from the guards who tried to calm him down.

After his throat became hoarse and his knuckles stung, Jingyan rounded on the Empress Dowager. He’d allowed her more freedom than any previous Empress Dowager were granted because the woman had promised to take care of his mother and his mother told him not to mind the Empress Dowager’s business.

Pointing at the guard who killed his mother’s servant, who was in a feeble circle of soldiers standing guard around the Empress Dowager, Jingyan asked, “If you didn’t kill my mother, why did you order him to kill the girl who saw what happened?”

Right before the servant girl ran out screaming, there had only been three people in the dining room: the empress dowager, his mother, and the servant girl.

“She was spewing nonsense and trying to frame me, but I didn’t order anyone to kill her!” Empress Dowager Yan’s eyes were wide as if she was shocked. “He’s not a part of my retinue!”

 “Empress Dowager Yan!” The guard’s voice had an unnatural rasp and Jingyan’s eyes widened when the guard lifted his head. “You told me to kill the witn—!”

Witness. He’d been about to say "Witness."

Jingyan had seen that boy before, but, before he could remember where, Empress Dowager Yan had sliced the emperor-slaying sword down the boy’s back. Her other guards immediately began moving away from her, inching away from the Empress Dowager and the sword in her hand.

For a woman who typically had the world eating out of her hand, she looked terrified, confused by everything going on. “He was making lies up! I did no such thing! Jingyan, why would I kill your mother? We were such good friends. You are like a son to me.”

When Jingyan took a step closer, the Empress Dowager’s guards completely parted, stepping away from her as she held the bloodied emperor-slaying sword in front of her. The blade, held incorrectly in a way that would’ve morally offended Nihuang, shook as Empress Dowager Yan scurried back, away from Jingyan.

“You need to remember everything I did for you. Setting up Xie Yu, disposing of Jingxuan…You would've never became the Emperor if I didn't clear your path for you. Not when everybody believed that you were committing the unspeakable with Prince Consort Nihuang and was capable of voodoo magic.”

“You murdered my brother and my father,” said Jingyan.

“They were going to die anyway, one way or another,” Empress Dowager Yan hissed. She tried to call for her guards, but the soldiers and her servants ignored her gestures. “I was just getting what I deserved. I bore your father his first son— I rightfully should have become the Empress Dowager!”

Jingyan glowered at her. “The world would’ve been a better place if you hadn’t.”

He’d been shocked when he discovered what Empress Dowager Yan did to Consort Yue and what her “remedy for wellness” entailed but his mother gave him explicit instructions not to do anything about the Empress Dowager’s reign of terror until the time was right. Explicit instructions to pretend it didn't happen, pretend it didn't happen, pretend it didn't happen. Instructions that she would repeat every time she delivered a food basket to him or sewed him a new cloak.

“I could have kept pretending I didn’t know how bloodthirsty and vile you are if you hadn’t killed my mother.”

“I didn’t—“

The rest of her words came out as something between a gurgle and a hiss. Her blood slithered down the length of the steel and dripped off the tip as Jingyan pointed the Emperor-Slaying sword toward the ground. He hadn’t sparred since reclaiming the Fortress of fortitude, but muscle memory didn’t fail him. 

Snatching the sheath from her body, Jingyan dropped the blade back into the sheath, slipped the sword through his belt and went back to his mother’s side.

Pulling a white handkerchief over his mother’s face, Jingyan knelt and bowed his head three times to pay his respect. Even if the corpse wasn’t his mother’s, the corpse was a terrifying sight. The poison had burned her up from the inside and turned splotches of her skin gray.

Still, Jingyan gathered her in his arms and stood up.

Though the use of the Emperor-Slaying sword would grant him immunity from anyone’s questioning, Jingyan justified the Empress Dowager’s death with: “She was mad.”

The servants dipped their heads in agreement and the Empress Dowager’s guards knelt to surrender to Jingyan. Jingyan said, “Remove Consort Yue from her pigsty and put her out of her misery. Free those girls the Empress Dowager were using as sacrifices. There will be no more bathing in blood or eating human organs in this palace.”

Out of the corner of his eyes as he retreated, Jingyan saw one of the Empress’ Dowager’s guards deliver a harsh stomp to her face, a suite that another guard soon followed. Soon, the Empress Dowager’s body became a punching bag and spit bucket for the dozens who once served her.

Pretending that he saw nothing, Jingyan walked out of the Empress Dowager’s palace.

“Of all the habits you could’ve picked up from him, why did you pick ‘never knock before entering someone else’s room.’”

Ting Shen, who just walked into the Emperor's study room, shrugged off his cloak and asked, “Why didn’t you attend grandmother’s funeral?”

Apparently, not greeting someone with a higher status with respect was another habit Ting Shen picked up from Xiao Shu. Jingyan sighed and closed the book he was reading. The Empress Dowager’s body was placed in her rightful spot next to his royal father, but nobody attended her funeral. The funeral of his mother, who was buried on the same day, was attended by everyone in the palace except Jingyan.

After a long moment of silence, Jingyan said quietly, “It was a suicide.”

The fast-acting poison that killed his mother was from the pearl in her white jade hairpin. She must’ve handed her hairpin to the Empress Dowager, who picked it up from the poisoned side and unwittingly touched something she later handed his mother for consumption.

That was why traces of the poison was found on the Empress Dowager’s fingertips and in his mother’s food.

Jingyan elaborated, “The girl and the guard were part of the setup.”

For revenge on Empress Dowager Yan for mutilating her face, the girl who once had almond-shaped eyes must’ve offered her own life to put on a convincing show. And the “guard” was none other than the servant boy his mother saved from death by porcelain bowl.

“The crowning of a new Emperor is always accompanied by unstoppable bloodshed,” said Jingyan. “It has been that way since the dawn of empires and emperors.”

 Rather hastily, he added, “Don’t worry, Mister Su is not amongst the dead—“

“I know,” said Ting Shen. “Who’d you think gave Meng Zhi that head?”

And how hard did Meng Zhi, Nihuang, and Teng Shen search before they found a person whose decaying head could pass off as Mei Changsu’s? Jingyan took a deep breath, counted to ten, and asked, “Who did that head belong to?” 

Ting Shen shrugged. “Some rapist from a Chiyan Remnant Sect hideout I raided.”

When Jingyan glared at him, he added, “He deserved to die. I did the right thing.”

Jingyan scoffed. If you looked hard enough or were creative enough, you could always find a way to justify someone’s death. “Everybody thinks that what they’re doing is the right thing and what they will do is a series of right things.”

“I know what you are going to say. When my father committed suicide because he thought it was the right thing, right? But maybe that wasn’t so right.”

“I no longer believe there are right things and wrong things,” said Jingyan. He stood up and gestured for Ting Shen to walk out of the study with him. Out for his daily walk around the palace's perimeter around sundown. “Just know that every action you take will bring along a unique series of consequences. You can try to anticipate them, but this world is an unpredictable place.”

“I know, royal father,” said Ting Shen.

“Did Marquis Yan give you the parcel I told him to give you?”

“Yes. The emperor-slaying sword and an old Tiger Tally,” said Ting Shen. “Half of it.”

Decades ago, Jingyan’s father had entrusted this Tiger Tally to Marshal Lin Xie with the faith that Lin Xie would continue to defend the empire and lead the army. Sometime before Marshal Lin Xie’s rebellion and the massacre at Meilin, his father had sliced this Tally in half with the emperor-slaying sword.

“Meng Zhi, Marquis Yan and Nihuang recovered that half,” said Jingyan. “The other half lies somewhere, buried beneath sixteen years of deception and bloodshed. Once you mend that broken Tiger Tally, I will give you the throne that rightfully belongs to your father.”

Those who were loyal to the initial cause of the Chiyan Rebellion were loyal to Marshal Lin Xie, united under the desire to place Prince Qi on the throne immediately. If anyone could repair the rift between the imperial family and those who once tried to rebel, it would be Prince Qi’s son. Ting Shen asked, “What are you going to do after you give me the throne?”

“Find him.” Trapped in the chaos of the imperial palace, Jingyan both didn’t have the time to search for Mei Changsu’s whereabouts himself and didn’t want to endanger Mei Changsu’s life by sending spies to look for him.  

“You don’t need to look for him,” said Ting Shen. He reached for the inside of his sleeve and his hand shuffled around a bit before he pulled out a piece of folded paper. “He gave me this a long time ago, right before you imprisoned him. He said I could only give it to you if you specifically said you still wanted to see him again.”

“Why wouldn’t…?”

Right before Mei Changsu’s imprisonment. That would’ve been right before Jingyan cleared up the badly timed ‘I love you.’ Jingyan glared at Ting Shen, but the boy looked as if he was doing Jingyan an immense favor by even bringing the message up. Giving Ting Shen a glare, Jingyan reached out and grabbed at the message.

Escribed on the piece of paper Jingyan just unfolded was only five words, “The bunny orchids have bloomed.”

A dried plum blossom accompanied Mei Changsu's fine calligraphy.

The bunny orchid seeds…

Jingyan had placed them at Mei Changsu’s residence to avoid further arguments and he couldn’t find the pouch when he searched the residence after Mei Changsu’s arrest. So, not only did Mei Changsu predicted his imprisonment and eventual escape, he’d guess that it would be a while before Ting Shen finally delivered his message.

Lifting his eyes to meet Ting Shen’s disapproving frown, Jingyan said, “He returned to Hua.”

“He likes it there,” said Ting Shen. “I’ve always believed that he liked it there even more before you came along.”

Before Jingyan had a chance to speak, Ting Shen added, “Not your fault, I know.”

Jingyan scowled, but bit back his retort. Then, as if Ting Shen was still a child, Jingyan patted him on the head and said, “The top two things that annoyed your father the most about Xiao Shu was his inability to knock on doors and his know-it-all attitude. What else do you know?”

At least Ting Shen had the tact to not respond to that question. 

Perhaps the boy would one day understand.

That, even though Jingyan loved Mei Changsu and the other man loved him back just as much, no two people ever felt or expressed their love to each other the exact same way. That, even though he didn’t love Mei Changsu the way it had only snowed once during springtime, there was nowhere else in this world that was more wholly made for him than by Xiao Shu’s side.

Shrugging the thoughts aside, Jingyan quoted from memory, “An emperor needs to see the throne as a means to a better world. There are things that –“

“I was just being diplomatic and non-offensive,” Ting Shen interrupted. He scratched the side of his head with the hilt of the emperor-slaying sword. “How was I supposed to know what a good emperor is?”

“I didn’t care what your answer was at the time,” said Jingyan. “But I do now. And soon, everyone in this empire will.”

Ting Shen looked frightened. Then, a mirthful gleam, one that reminded Jingyan of the look Xiao Shu always got when he was particularly inspired by something, appeared in his eyes and he responded, “I know, royal father.”

Right before Jingyan could smack the back of his head, he dashed out of the way and only stopped to briefly bow.

Moments later, from the top of the fortress, Jingyan watched Ting Shen stroll out of the palace’s gates. The boy’s shoulders were always straight and assured; his posture was much like his father’s even though the two never met. But his form was only a tiny, pale, speck in the long stretch of stone city streets and dark green grasslands.

Soon, the unmoving vastness of earth and sky consumed his form, swallowing him into the darkness.

Sweeping his arms behind his back, Jingyan began to descend the watchtower and make his way to the throne.

Where he would wait until the time was right.

Chapter Text

Would he come?

The sun was unforgiving on Jingyan’s back as he knelt before an extravagant marble monument. Joss paper, paper charms and other funerary art burned in a metal urn as Jingyan poured rice wine into the ground before the monument. This mourner’s ritual should’ve been performed years ago, but he’d refused to visit this grave.

At the end, he placed the last handful of dirt on top of the grave and complete the ritual, he bowed three times and said, “Sorry for taking so long to forgive you, mother.”

Miles away, Jinling City celebrated the crowning of a new Emperor with sounds of drum and gongs.

Just when the sun became unbearable and Jingyan was beginning to feel lightheaded from the heat, the shadow from a parasol was cast over his kneeling form. The shadowy silhouette of the person holding the parasol was familiar.

“Xiao Shu.”

“Jingyan.”

The same thoughts must’ve crossed both of their minds at the same time. If Jingyan listened closely, he could almost hear the leaves rustling the distant echoes of a feminine voice whispering, “Call him Jingyan gēge.”

“Jingyan still sounds nicer,” Mei Changsu said softly. “And to this day, I fail to see the point of respecting someone simply because they are older.”

Only because there were things you simply should do without questioning the point or logic behind it, but Xiao Shu never understood that either. With a wry smile, Jingyan turned his head around to look backward and said, “I don’t think you’re turning five today, though.”

 “No, I’m turning thirty-five,” said Mei Changsu. “I wasn’t expecting to.”

“I told you, you weren’t going to die.”

“You never used to say ‘I told you so’ or anything like that,” said Mei Changsu. His hand was gentle when he began to dab away the sweat dripping down Jingyan’s face and neck. “What happened to my conscientious, righteous and sweet-tempered crybaby?”

Tugging the handkerchief out of Mei Changsu’s hand, Jingyan gave him a half-hearted glare and said, “The boy who would’ve punched your face in for saying those words became the Emperor of Da Liang.”

“You know, I never cared about who you were or who you were before you were who you were. You’ve always just been Jingyan to me.”

But Mei Changsu also simply expected him to do and perform exactly as he’d been told, scrawling out a role for him to fill and a plan of action for him to conform to. Handing the handkerchief back to Mei Changsu after he wiped his face, Jingyan asked, “Must we return to Hua?”

“Don’t you want to see the Bunny Orchids? They’re in full bloom right now.”

Jingyan blinked.

As he recalled Lin Chen’s gift from what felt like an eon ago, a distant memory floated back to him.

Years ago, atop of Lang Ya Mountain, Lin Chen had mentioned that most orchids tend to be in full bloom during the early summer months and he’d just missed the show. The Bunny Orchids Lin Chen crossbred for him must have been genetically mutated to be in full bloom during the time Jingyan visited Lang Ya Mountain.  

Jingyan nodded. “I’ve still yet to see them.”

“You’ve yet to see a lot in Hua,” said Mei Changsu, while he bowed to the grave in front of them. With mild ire, Jingyan noted that Mei Changsu was paying his respect to Jingyan’s mother the way a son-in-law would honor his wedded wife’s mother. “You’ve seen the unforgiving snowstorms and the hideous interior of Xuan Jing Bureau. You’ve also seen the Blue Glider Dragonflies. But there’s so much more.”

“You’ve never held in your hands a crystal from the gemstone caverns. You’ve never listened to the melodies sung by the wailing willows or seen the dances performed by the butterflies at the butterfly pond.” From the way the man’s eyes were slanted downwards and to the side, Mei Changsu was recalling his past experiences, not imagining new ones.  “You’ve never bathed in the ice ponds or the lava pools either.”

Before an amnesic Mei Changsu made the decision to serve Lord Yu and Hua, they must have traveled to every corner of the kingdom.

“I sometimes wonder,” said Jingyan. “If you were still Xiao Shu, would I have ever loved you the way I love you now?”

If the world was picture-perfect, Prince Qi would’ve become the Emperor, Jingyan would’ve been assigned to rule over a plot of land as a Duke and Lin Shu would replace Lin Xie as the Commander Marshal. They would have simply but amicably parted ways, only to meet once or twice a year as they started their own families and performed their respective duties.

Like how Jingyan hadn’t seen Nihuang for nearly half a decade.

Over time, young Xiao Shu’s crush on him would’ve waned too.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” said Mei Changsu. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his robes, and picked up the parasol. “But I’m glad for everything that happened exactly how it happened, all leading up to this moment, right now.”

But there’s still the next moment, Jingyan didn’t say. And the next moment after that.

Putting out the fire to end the mourner’s ritual, Jingyan took his place next to Mei Changsu and said, “In the fall, we can watch the Blue Glider fireflies dance in the sky again. In the winter, we can admire the plum blossoms and appreciate the best tea the land has to offer.”

If Mei Changsu was surprised by Jingyan’s new acceptance for tea, it didn’t show on his face as he picked up where Jingyan left off, “In the spring, we can travel to wherever you’ve never been. And, in the summer, we can make love next to the Bunny Orchids.”

“Why ne—“ Despite the taunting smile Mei Changsu directed at him and Jingyan’s certainty that he was walking into a clearly labeled trap, he took the bait and said, “You really don’t forgive and forget.”

“I forgive.” The taunting smile lost its malice, transforming into a delighted grin as Mei Changsu pulled on his hand and began walking toward the wagon waiting for them. Somehow, it looked exactly like the wagon they’d used to escape Hua the first time. “I hate forgetting.”

Behind them, the gongs tolled again, signaling the completion of the crowning ceremony.