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Chapter Text

The line of soldiers and courtiers stretches away towards the mountains. Jinghuan watches from the battlements as the last of the infantry leave the gates. The caravan of the spring hunt is leaving the capital, and for the first time in his adult life he is not with them. Sunlight glints off of swords and armor. Somewhere far to the front his brother leads the column, too far ahead now for his eyes to make out.

A sharp wind tugs as his sleeves even as a cart laden with tents rolls past underneath. He feels his lips purse unbidden. He has lost his rank, his influence, five of his seven pearls. He is confined to his palace, and uninvited to the spring hunt. He could not be more aware of how dire his circumstances, how desperate the course of action he must now take. Still there is something to be said for remaining in the capital. Tonight he will sleep under silk, in a soft bed in the warmth of his palace. Jingyan will sleep in a cold tent, with only thin floorboards keeping the mud from his bright new robes. Jinghuan suppresses an unbecoming snort. His little brother probably prefers it. He did always seem to have a bizarre fondness for campaigning through the nation’s most backwater wildernesses. No appreciation for any of the finer aspects of royal life. Jinghuan turns away from the supply carts that now stretch across the plain. The wind is rising and there is no point in standing here in the cold any longer.

To visit the empress Jinghuan wears the best robes still permitted to him, and his hair is dressed with as much care as it had been when he received his promotion to seven pearls. Everything hinges upon today. The empress cannot refuse him, and once her orders are given there will be no turning back. He is flawless, he is prepared, he is ready.

His hands will not stop shaking.

He pours himself a cup of wine. He has a little time still before he must enter the palace. The sharp taste in his mouth steadies him, but the cup rattles against the table as he sets it down. The clatter is loud in his ears. He pours himself one more, and watches ripples form on the surface as his unsteady fingers bring it to his mouth. It burns down his throat, and for a moment the ice gripping his lungs recedes. His hands are steadier now. Perhaps one more, and he will be braced for what he must do.

When his hand knocks over the jar, nothing comes out. His hands no longer shake, but as he reached to right the fallen bottle, he finds that they have grown clumsy and disobedient. He is not sure how much he has drunk. He lets his arms fall to his sides and they flop against the smooth floor. He cannot see the empress like this.

His eyes skate off the fallen jar, roam aimlessly across the polished floorboards and fine furniture. So many beautiful things. His father would never have made him emperor, but he has done well for himself these many years. His efforts have not been wholly without gain. His gaze falls on a chess set, exquisitely carved in jade and gold. It had been a birthday gift, a reward for his work in Qinan. He was a two pearl royal prince then, still near the beginning of his career. Now he is a two pearl royal prince again, with a decade of backbreaking work behind him and nothing to show for it.

The gold inlay glints in the thin morning sun. Pawn. And that, in the end, is all he has ever been. His father’s perfect pawn. Never quite good enough to be promoted, no matter how hard he worked, how much power he gained. His father had encouraged him, rewarded him, praised him, but he would never have made him crown prince. He is just a plaything, his father’s tool to keep his brothers in line and himself in power.

He finds, suddenly, that he has never been more than a tool to anyone who mattered. His father had played him against his brothers every day of his adult life. Banruo has been unswervingly loyal, will be even more so now, but she had not chosen him on merit, or even chosen him at all. Her loyalty to him is her loyalty to her long dead shifu, still burning bright within her. The kind of loyalty he will never know. 

Xia Jiang, at least, had always been honest with him. He is utterly without loyalty, has no interest in Jinghuan beyond his own self-preservation, but at least Jinghuan had known that from the beginning, had never expected more from him. His purchased partnership will be less than an afterthought when Jinghuan is no longer useful to him, but snake though he is he at least wears his poison openly. It’s an honest avarice and Jinghuan far prefers it to Mei Changsu, who could not be bought and ultimately could not be won, who had schemed for him and smiled at him and lied with every word.

The floorboards are smooth under his cheek, cool still with the bite of early spring. The jar rolls under his fingertips, empty. He feels, suddenly, stupidly sorry for it. He is empty too. Everything his father ever asked for he gave and for what? It has not won him the throne, or safety, or the esteem of a single person who mattered. His father had cared for him, when he was useful, just as he had cared for his mother perhaps. He has certainly cast him aside as easily.

He hears the door open behind him, and gentle footsteps. His head spins as he turns it, and before he can sit up Lanjin’s hand comes to rest against his brow. Her fingers are cool on his skin. His eyes shut for just a moment before he rises to face her. Her eyes on him are wide and soft and she’s biting her lip, an old nervous habit. He tries to smile for her as he brings his thumb to her mouth, smoothing away the red abuse of her teeth.

“I’ve been neglecting you.” The words aren’t quite as clear on his tongue as he would like, but he hopes they are reassuring.

Her smile is tremulous “I know you have been busy. So long as you are well, I am content.” Her eyes trace over him and he wishes he were a better picture for her, rumpled and slumped as he is today. She takes a breath. “Husband I have news.”

“Oh?” 

“I have not yet been to the physicians, it is still very new, but I am sure. I have been sure this past week.” Her hand presses to her belly “Your highness I am carrying your child now.” 

His hand drops to his knee, limp with shock. He can hear nothing but his own ragged breathing. Her eyes are wide on his face and he realizes with a start that he can feel tears on his cheeks. A child. His child. A little son or daughter. His hand is shaking when he raises it to brush against her knuckles. She places it against her body, which is familiar in its softness. “Our child?” His eyes do not leave their hands, but he feels her nod. “And you, are you well? Have you been, are you—” His tongue trips over his questions as his eyes roam her face. Is her skin more flushed? More pale? She looks happy but her eyes are wet. 

She’s smiling now. “I have not seen the physicians yet, but I am not unwell.”

“Then you must see them. Nothing can be wrong, we have to—” He is halfway to standing when terror drives him to his knees. His breath comes in gasps. His father’s voice is in his ear, a deadly whisper. Jinghuan, are you rebelling? The enormity of what he had nearly done claws at him. He can feel the whisper of the executioner’s blade at his neck. His ears can hear nothing but the crash of closing prison doors. His wife. His child. If he had failed they would have died with him.

The cool slide of her fingers against his cheeks brings him back to himself. Her eyes are soft with worry. He catches her hand in his, brings it to his mouth, kisses each finger. “Nothing can happen to you. Nothing. No matter what happens you must be safe. I will—”

“Your highness I’m alright. The baby and I are both safe. We are all together and all will be well.”

His mouth finds hers, and he loses himself in the soft of her kiss, sharp with the taste of his own tears. There is nothing in his head but the beat of her heart.

Chapter Text

The morning finds him still in bed, wrapped in silk and sunlight with Lanjin warm in his arms. He presses his lips to her hair, gentle as he can, and wonders if he has ever been so happy. He has spent most of the past week in this room, most of it in this bed just like this. His wife’s apartments are no less grand than his own, but somehow far more comfortable. Today he was meant to ride to war, to face his father and take his throne by force. He wraps his arms a bit more tightly around his wife, and rests his brow against the crown of her head.

Banruo is certainly somewhere in his palace by now. She has come every day since his missed appointment with the empress. Soon now perhaps a servant will come to announce her arrival. He’s sure she’s furious with him. He wonders idly if today will be the day she loses her temper. He’s not quite sure what he’ll do if she actually comes into this room. Banruo avoids Lanjin as much as she possibly can. If Lanjin enters a room, Banruo will depart in the next moment. If Lanjin is with him, Banruo will arrange to meet him at a different time. Banruo would never interrupt him in his wife’s chambers, has never entered this part of the palace at all. This line that she maintains is the axis on which his world turns, but he has rather abused it this week. 

He can’t face her yet. He knows how angry she must be, carrying Xia Jiang’s desperation as well as her own. He’s let her down one final time, ruined the plan that Xia Jiang laid so carefully, thrown away their last, best chance. He will never be emperor now. He knows this, has tried on the idea cautiously in the quiet of this week. He has found he can even like it. But it is still new, still unfamiliar, and he isn’t quite ready yet to see that knowledge in Banruo’s eyes.

Lanjin stirs in his arms. The sunlight on their pillow has finally reached her face. Her eyes close tight against it, and he bites back a helpless smile. The throne can rot. Jingyan can have this entire stupid kingdom, if he loves it so much. This court and this city with its wailing peasants and its scheming ministers. When have they ever brought him happiness? What could they offer that could ever compare to this?

He brings up a careful hand from under the quilt. His arm is narrow with no sleeve to cover it, but the shadow is just wide enough to shade her eyes. Her furrowed brow smooths, and her breath deepens again. He can feel the steady beat of her heart where her back presses against his chest. Perhaps in half a shi he will call for breakfast, the best of the kitchen’s delicacies to share with her. For now he will stay here, just like this.

He manages to avoid Banruo for two weeks. In the household around them life continues its predictable rhythm of servants and soldiers. Lanjin’s most trusted maids have begun their subtle preparations, and the empress’s most trusted physician has visited twice, and expressed both his congratulations and his confidence in the princess consort’s continued health. Outside the palace the capital continues in its constant minor machinations, but there is nothing worth disturbing the peace of his inner courtyard. Matters of the court are no longer his concern, and with emperor and half the family away, there are no court matters worth mentioning anyway.

Banruo does not agree. When he arrives in his study midmorning she is as carefully put together as he has ever seen her, but her eyes burn when she meets his gaze.

Her bow is flawless. “Your highness. This unworthy one would like to know what she has done to offend, to be put from your side so suddenly.”

He sighs and takes down a jar of wine. She remains on her knees, but he can see the muscle jumping in her jaw. In all the years he has known her she has never accepted even a sip of wine, but he pours her a cup anyway. She stares at it with barely veiled contempt. 

“Has the empress refused your suit?”

“I never asked her.” The wine hits his tongue like a balm, carrying away the weight of his words. Banruo’s eyes widen in shock.

“Your highness, the spring hunt will be ended soon. Our last chance will be gone. You must speak with the empress immediately.”

“I will not be going to Jiu An mountain.” He finds that his hands are steady. He takes another breath. “I will not be fighting for the throne any longer. I am finished.”

He hears the breath catch in her throat. She must have known, on some level, but the shock of it still has her shaking. “Your highness, you cannot give up. We are depending on you, you must—”

“I must do nothing," he snaps. "I am not one of your sisters, and you do not command me." Her eyes widen, and he reaches for a gentler tone. "What if it fails, Banruo? If our forces prove insufficient or the army denies me? If I am captured as a rebel and executed along with my entire household, is that what your shifu would have chosen for us?”

“Your highness, if you do not—”

“If I do not we are alive. This is Xia Jiang’s desperation, not ours.”

“He was my shifu’s trusted ally.”

“And what did she ever gain from that? She gave him her spy network and worked for him for years, and has he ever once done anything for the interests of the Hua?”

“He had the Chiyan army killed for us.”

“He did that for himself, and for his Xuanjing bureau.” He can see the furious tears in her eyes. This is not the conversation he wanted to have with her, but there was never really any other option. “I am tired Banruo. I am tired of working for the agendas of people who would never do the same for me. I am tired of being a pawn on someone else’s chessboard. How many more of your sisters will you sacrifice for Xia Jiang’s interests? So many of them have found other lives for themselves, could you not imagine having one of your own?” He pushes the cup of wine towards her. She stares at it through tears that he knows will never fall. “I will not be Xia Jiang’s puppet any longer. You might consider doing the same.”

Her breathing is ragged, and she will not meet his eye. He waits, silent. Slowly, her breathing begins to calm and quiet, though the line of her shoulders does not ease. Finally, her hand shoots out viper quick to snatch the cup, and she knocks back the wine in a single swallow. The cup returns to the table with near silent precision and she stands, before sinking to the floor before him, bowing until her forehead rests on her hands. Her movements are perfectly smooth as she rises and sinks, bowing a second time, a third time, rising to stand and falling to her knees again. When her head comes to rest on her hands for the ninth and final time she does not rise. He can see her shoulders trembling. He waits.

Finally she straightens, and raises her eyes to meet his. Her face is perfectly neutral, and her breathing steady, but when she speaks her voice is raw. “I will take my leave first, then, your majesty.”

Her formal backwards steps carry her all the way to the threshold of the study, where she bows one final time. When she turns to leave, she does not look back.

He knows he will not see her again.

The spring hunt ends, and the royal procession re-enters the capital with every bit of the usual fanfare, inescapable even to those under house arrest. The following morning Jinghuan receives a summons to the palace. His father would like to see him. 

He arrives to find the emperor in high spirits, teasing with Gao-gongong, who is laughing in his usual gentle way. His father looks up as he is announced. His eyes are bright.

“Jinghuan,” he calls as Jinghuan kneels before the throne. “You are looking well. These last few months have done you good, clearly.”

“I thank royal father for his kind words.” The words are sour on his tongue, but light. What does it matter really? He is no longer in the fight for the throne. He has nothing to gain.

Years of practice ensure that his tone is as perfect as it has ever been, but something is off. The emperor’s head tilts to the side and Jinghuan feels the weight of his gaze.

“Your brothers have acquitted themselves well at the spring hunt this year. Jingyan’s men even caught a monster that had been bothering the villagers nearby. Imagine, it turned out to be a man covered in fur!”

“I congratulate my brother. That is auspicious indeed.”

It is the wrong answer. His father’s eyes narrow. “I remember that last spring you were often paying visits to Sir Su. He was also at the hunt. A very impressive man.”

“Yes, father.”

“Have you been to see him recently?”

“No, father.”

“You should.” Jinghuan blinks. His father’s face is still, but his eyes are very focused. “He is a wise and clever man. I’m sure you could learn much from him.”

He can feel sweat forming under his robes. “I thank father for this wisdom. Perhaps when my confinement is ended I will—”

“Pah!”  His father waves his words away. “What confinement? You’ve been good. I”m sure you’ve learned your lesson. I’ll let you out early. Go pay a visit to this scholar. You’ll learn more talking to him than you will lazing about in your palace.”

He bows until his forehead touches the floor. A drop of sweat runs down his spine. “Thank you, father. I will do as you say.”

His father’s smile is warm with pleasure, but his eyes are cold. “Good. You should pay a visit to your mother before you leave today.”

It’s a clear dismissal. Jinghuan bows once more, and gets to his feet.

“Jinghuan?”

“Yes, father?”

“Come back soon. I will have more work for you shortly.”

“I am at my father’s service.” His feet are steady and careful as he backs up from the throne and walks out of the hall. Tea with the empress is perfectly pleasant. It is hours later before he finds himself alone in his office. The door closes behind him and his knees give out. He leans against the carved wood breathing hard, and tries to get his hands to stop shaking.

Chapter Text

The doors of Su manner are unchanged, modest and well kept. His housekeeper, when he answers them, is unimpeachably polite, but far less welcoming than he had been when Jinghuan had made regular visits. How far has he fallen, if even Mei Changsu’s servants no longer find him worth deceiving?

“I’m very sorry, your highness. Mr. Su is not at home at the moment. Perhaps he could call on you at a different time?” His face is carefully blank. Mei Changsu probably is home. Mei Changsu is probably meeting with Jingyan at this very minute.

Jinghuan grits his teeth and bows, just a shade lower than he should need to, particularly for a commoner’s servant. “I understand, but I would not wish to trouble Mr. Su, particularly so early in the year when the weather is still cold. I know his health is delicate. I have a rather urgent matter to discuss with him.” He reaches for his most polite smile. “I would prefer to wait until he returns. Of course, I do not wish to put you out. I am happy to remain here at the threshold until he is available.”

He sees the manor’s servants bustling through the courtyard. None of them so much as glance his way, but he is sure his message will get through nonetheless. The man in front of him glances at his bright robes, and at the street behind him. His face remains carefully unmoving, but Jinghuan knows the calculations he must be making. Finally he bows, low and careful. “If your highness will follow me then.”

He is led to his usual pavilion, where tea is even now being laid out for him. He half expects it to be stale or scorched, but it is the same exquisite quality that he has always enjoyed at Su manor. The spring wind rushes through the courtyard, shaking the elegant fruit trees, but this small room remains sheltered and warm. Jinghuan takes another sip of tea. Half a year ago, he would never have been kept waiting so long, but this is not an altogether unpleasant place to be kept.

Mei Changsu arrives just as the tea is beginning to cool. His careful measured steps are unchanged, but the usual small obsequious smile is gone. His face is perfectly, carefully neutral but his eyes are piercing. The raw intelligence in his gaze is one that Jinghuan has seen very rarely, and only when the particular demands their schemes had proved so challenging that his strategist had forgotten himself. It is not, however, wholly unfamiliar.

His housekeeper settles them both with more tea before bowing out of the room. He is unfailingly, flawlessly courteous and Jinhuan is marginally impressed by how hostile he nevertheless appears. 

Mei Changsu takes a careful sip of his own tea before raising his eyes to Jinghuan. “It has been some months since I have had the pleasure of entertaining your highness. I trust all is well?”

Jinghuan bites back something he isn’t entirely sure is a laugh. “As well as could be hoped, under the circumstances. The emperor has ended my confinement early. Did you enjoy your trip to Mount Jiu An?”

“I did. The scenery there is quite spectacular, and I’m told the hunt was auspicious this year.”

“Well you always did love camping, didn’t you Xiao-Shu? I suppose that will never change.”

The twitch is so small it barely ripples the tea in his cup, but it is still extremely satisfying to see Mei Changsu freeze. “I beg your pardon, your highness?”

"I ought to congratulate you on such a truly impressive showing. Jingyan must be delighted that you've returned."

"I think perhaps your highness has mistaken me for someone else."

"I think not."

"Your h—"

“Who else would come here hoping to play kingmaker and pick Jingyan? Did you really think you could come back and live in the capitol for years and your own family wouldn’t know you? You're just lucky Xia Jiang is still too fixated on Prince Qi’s household to have thought of it.”

The polite, subservient smile is gone from his face. Mei Changsu stares at him with burning eyes and clenched teeth almost bared. “If you came here intending to blackmail me, you will not leave this house alive. I have beaten you already; do not doubt that I can make you disappear in such a way that not even the empress would dare look for you.”

Jinghuan takes another sip of his tea. The Lins really always have had the best in the capital, and it seems that this has not changed either.

“I have no interest in telling my father or anyone else. Tell me, did you really change your face because you were poisoned? Xia Jiang insists such things are possible, but it sounds like an old wive’s tale to me.”

“Why are you here?” Mei Changsu’s eyes have not left him once since he made his declaration. Jinghuan feels a chill at the back of his neck. The boy he knew as Lin Shu would never have needed to turn to assassination, would have been offended at the suggestion. The man Mei Changsu pretended to be would never have dared to take such a bold path on his own. He does not know the man looking at him now, with eyes like an open grave.

He puts his cup down. “I’m here to cut a deal with you. My circumstances have changed somewhat recently and I no longer wish to compete for the throne. ” Mei Changsu’s face remains suspicious and Jinghuan pushes on. “The emperor is never going to accept my retreat. He has always preferred to have conflict between the princes, to make sure that we never rival his power. You know he will not make an exception for Jingyan. My father expects me to mount another challenge against Jingyan, and he will use that challenge to limit Jingyan’s position. If I choose not to do this he will grow suspicious.”

“So you intend to ask for my protection in exchange for your silence?” Mei Changsu’s voice is quiet, but a deadly undercurrent remains.

“No.” Jinghuan takes a breath. “I’m offering information. I assume that once Jingyan is made emperor you intend to overturn the Chiyan case?”

“We will do it once he is made crown prince. Perhaps this summer or next.” Jinghuan suppresses a snort. It is exactly like both of them, to have so much pride and so little sense. “If you planned to tell me of Xia Jiang’s involvement in the case, though, I am already aware of that.”

He shakes his head. “I think we both know that the emperor would never have gone along with Xia Jiang if your father had not already lost his trust. I’m sure that you have found out most of those details by now. You’ve certainly had enough time. I’m offering you the reason my father wanted yours dead in the first place.”

It is the second time he has surprised Mei Changsu today, and he takes a moment to savor his hesitation. “What do you know?”

He draws the letter from his sleeve, still carefully stored in its silk pouch. “If I give you this, will you help me leave the capital with my family?”

“If it is as significant as you claim, I will find a way for you to leave the court safely.” 

It does not take long for the curiosity on Mei Changsu’s face to turn to horror at the letter’s contents. He lowers it with hands that are not quite steady, and Jinghuan reaches out to retrieve it.

“I am certain my father did not know of this.”

“I doubt that would have mattered to the emperor. Your father was the tool he used to remove the Hua when he was done with them, but my father must have been afraid of what would happen if he ever found out. They fought together to put him on the throne, after all. They were allies once.”

“How long have you known this?”

“Less than a month.”

“And this is why you’re giving up the throne.”

It is easy to nod at that. Mei Changsu’s face no longer radiates suspicion, and Jinghuan allows himself to hope that this plan will work. “My father is never going to make Linglong’s son crown prince, even if he has no other options. I’ve been his pawn for long enough. Why would I continue to play his games when I know there is nothing to be gained by them?”

Mei Changsu nods, clearly satisfied, and picks up his teacup. “So you intend to leave the capital altogether?”

“There is no way for me to stay out of politics if I stay. So long as the emperor is alive, I need to be away from the court.”

“You do plan to return then?”

“I don’t particularly see myself as a Jianghu chieftain, no offense meant, of course. Father’s health has grown increasingly fragile these past few years in any case. Once Jingyan has established himself I don’t believe it would be too troublesome to return.”

Mei Changsu’s irritated moue has not changed since he was five years old. Jinghuan is momentarily amazed that it took him two years to see it. He takes a breath and presses on. “The emperor will not accept this of course. He will never trust me out of his sight, and he has relied on my ambition far too much to believe it exhausted. When he finds me gone he will assume I am rebelling.”

This draws the fullness of Mei Changsu’s focus, and he nods firmly. “How do you intend to deal with this?”

He shakes his head, and bites down the smile that threatens the corner of his mouth. “I had thought that perhaps this might be a challenge well suited to the unique skills of the divine talent.”

Mei Changsu shoots him a truly disgusted look, and pours himself another cup of tea.

Chapter Text

Yuli is born in the long night of the last days of the year. Jinghuan is banished from the little house as the Zhuo maids and their own most trusted servants rush back and forth. The sun is just beginning to set and he finds himself standing in the training yard, useless in this unfamiliar place with far too much energy and no purpose. He had idly thought of perhaps training while he waits, but at the sight of the Tianquan manor training grounds he finds he has no interest in holding a sword. Zhuo Qingyao finds him there, watching the evening clouds chase each other across the sky, painted red in the dying light. His face is full of wry humor.

“Would your highness perhaps like to join me in my study? It is likely to be a long night and I have a jar of wine that I had been saving.

Jinghuan nods, and tries not to look too nakedly grateful.

The wine is excellent, and the study is warm and extremely comfortable. Qingyao passes him a second cup, and offers a silent toast before tossing back his own. “Time is a funny thing. It doesn’t seem so long ago that you were sneaking me out of your house to see Qi-er, just before Shouyi was born.”

“And now his nurses can barely keep up with him.”

Qingyao smiles in the proud, absentminded way he does every time he thinks of his little son. “He came onto the practice field yesterday to try to train with my father. He’s sure that he will be the first in our family to top the Langya list.”

“Will he start training soon?”

“Soon enough. He’s a few years off from getting his first practice sword, but he’ll be ready for some beginner stances soon.”

“And what does his mother think of this?”

“She’s terribly proud. It’s startling, of course, how fast he’s grown, but Jingrui was already training with us when she was born. She is eager to see who he will become.”

Jinghuan drains his cup, and finds it refilled as he lays it on the table. The lamplight reflects and fractures across the surface of the wine, and he finds himself caught by it. It looks like starlight, but so much warmer. He shakes his head. Everything is just a bit fuzzy, even after this small bit of wine. He has had far less reason to drink these last six months, and it seems he has lost some of his tolerance for it.

“Lanjin believes that it will be a daughter.”

“Qi-er mentioned. I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”

Jinghuan raises his cup in a toast that feels more like a prayer than anything else. “I think she’s nervous that I will be disappointed but I—” he swallows. The cup finds its way carefully back to the table. “I have been wanting to ask your family for a favor. My father’s health is failing, but we will most likely be here for a number of years yet. This child will belong to the Jianghu as well as the capital. If it is a girl, would your mother be willing to train her in the Tianquan manor style?”

Qingyao’s smile is laced with terrible understanding. “I will speak with her. I am sure that she will say yes, though. We all owe you our lives; Mother has not forgotten that. Besides, she has grown very fond of the Princess consort.” He raises his own cup, and Jinghuan matches it. The night grows long and quiet around them.

Dawn is still distant when a maid comes to find them in the study. Jinghuan is long past feeling the effects of the evening’s toasts, but still he stumbles when he rises, lightheaded and shocky.

In coming years he will have no memory of his clumsy rush through the Tianquan manor complex to the inner courtyard of his own small home, trailing maids and servants and a quietly amused Qingyao. He will remember tripping over the threshold, and the feeling of the doorframe under his palm as he sees his wife and daughter for the first time.

Lanjin is all sweat-soaked exhaustion, but her smile has a new certainty and her hands are steady on the tiny bundle at her breast. His wife raises her head, and her smile widens. He can feel tears starting in his eyes. Her hands do not leave the child in her arms but her finger beckons him closer. “Jinghuan, come meet your daughter.”

She is so peaceful, curled in her mother’s arms. Her tufts of black hair stick up in a thousand directions, but are softer than silk when he bends to kiss her tiny head. She makes the smallest grunting sounds as she nurses hungrily. A tear lands on the back of his hand and he rushes to wipe his eyes.

Lanjin’s gaze is tired and bloodshot when he finally raises his head. He reaches for his voice but all that comes out is a hoarse croak. Her smile becomes a grin and she giggles in her particular girlish way. He rises on his knees to press his forehead to hers, and she leans into him.

He tries again, and this time is able to manage a few words. “Lanjin, are you well?” He feels her nod where she is still touching him, her movements small but firm. “And she, is she—”

“She’s perfect.” Lanjin’s voice is even more ragged than his own, but he can hear her smile.

“Your wife did very well.” Jinghuan turns his head to find a midwife beaming at them from the bedside. “Both she and the child are perfectly healthy, your highness.” He finds himself nodding. She is perfectly well. This little creature curled into the curve of his wife’s body could never be otherwise. He traces one careful finger over the astonishing roundness of her cheek, entranced at its softness. Her tiny fingers are clenched but her body is already beginning to go limp, and with a final halfhearted suck Lanjin’s nipple slides out of her slack mouth. He startles as a nursemaid slides past him, all efficiency as she gathers up his daughter and lays her in the waiting crib.

With the child out of her arms, Lanjin is already starting to sway, and in another moment the midwife clears her throat. “Your highness, the Princess consort will need a great deal of rest in the coming days so that she may recover. Perhaps—”

He nods, and prepares to pull away when he feels Lanjin’s hand grip his. “Jinghuan,” she murmurs, already halfway to sleep, “would you like to stay?”

Her head is already dropped to his shoulder. He raises her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles before lowering her to the bed as carefully as he can. He is distantly aware that behind him the midwife is backing out of the room. He settles on his knees. Lanjin’s body slowly goes slack, and he is preparing to spend the rest of the night at her bedside when her brow furrows and she tugs on his hand. “Jinghuan,” she breathes, lips barely moving, “come to bed.”

He can barely bring himself to let go of her hand, and when he rises her eyebrows wrinkle adorably. He rushes out of his robes, far more careless than he has ever been of his clothes. When he slides into bed Lanjin sighs, nestling closer to him even at the edge of sleep. He feels the last of the tension drain out of him at her touch, leaving behind an ocean of exhausted contentment. Across the room, his daughter snuffles in her sleep. He smiles helplessly at the sound, even as sleep washes over him.