Chapter Text
The early mornings of Lotus Pier were slow-moving as the sky succumbed to hues of orange and pink. The sun of the morning hour was warm on Huaisang’s skin as he peered out at the gentle blue waves of the water. It was times like these that made him miss Qinghe most—to miss the sounds and echoes of his brother’s boots on the sandalwood floor. And yet, it was mornings like these that made him appreciate Lotus Pier most… for its beauty, its people and its sacrifices.
He balanced the tray in his hands carefully, robes gently swaying along with the breeze as he approached his husband’s training quarters. The weather was warmer now and the sun held up its head earlier in the day—allowing for the gracefulness of Huaisang’s actions (when adequate lighting was not available, he made do with grazing his fingertips along the newly constructed walls—often catching a splinter or two). Delivering breakfast to Jiang Cheng had become a daily part of his routine—almost reflex as it was to wash oneself after waking up. He gently slid the door open and stepped inside quietly, careful to not interrupt or distract his husband.
Remnants of sunlight clung to Huaisang—it caught tangled in his hair, it snagged on the threads of his robes and it lodged between the lines on his lips, warm and sweet as nectar as he approached the other man. He did not speak to him nor flinch at the sound of zidian snapping against the moving targets. He gingerly set the tray down on one of the tables, careful not to make the slightest of sounds. Ever since preparations for the assembly of clans began, the pair had spent less time together—not that they commonly spent many hours in the other’s presence. It was a meager sighting or two from afar before lunchtime (which they ate separately by virtue of their duties) and when they did have dinner together it was so they didn’t lose face in front of the attendants (there were watchful gazes that followed their every move).
They did not eat breakfast together either. Huaisang delivered the morning meal as an excuse to peek at Jiang Cheng, to distinguish a glimpse of his infamous scowl from the blur of purple movement as he practiced cultivation. It strengthened the image of their relationship and it convinced the attendants enough that there was something there. Huaisang retreated slowly back to the door— wishing and praying that a voice would call out his name and ask him to join him for breakfast.
There was no sound other than the sparks that kindled off of zidian, the ringing of his pulse in his ears and the shifty waves underneath the pier.
His body twisted back to generate as much force as possible before swinging the saber— narrowly missing his opponent as they sidestepped (easily, quite frankly) his attack. Jiang Cheng’s opinion did matter to Huaisang—and it had for many years. He could not bring himself to dispel his husband’s sentiments towards him. “Can you just—” He gasped for air, “Stay in place!”
Cultivation training while being intrinsically motivated was… different. It was exhilarating and intriguing and exhausting. Perhaps it was shallow of him to only take interest in cultivation training for the slim possibility of impressing his husband. Truth be told, Huaisang was quite convinced that… Jiang Cheng did not even glance at him willingly. The Sect Leader made his position towards the Qinghe native very clear and yet, Huaisang naïvely (but self-aware) continued to harbor hope that his husband would come to reform his judgments. Despite the time that had passed since their school days, if he closed his eyes at night, he could still see the smile that played on A-Cheng’s lips—and through a sliver of sunlight that had snuck in through the window, he remembered the brown of Jiang-xiong’s eyes, the veins on the inside of his wrist and the pale skin on the base of his neck.
Jiang Cheng’s smile warmed Huaisang on the coldest of nights.
Before he could swing again, the disciple nicked his sleeve with his silver blade, unintentionally drawing a thin line of blood—to which, Huaisang yelped and dropped his saber laughing. “Ah, alright, alright, you got me.”
He could already hear the disappointment in his trainer’s footsteps as they approached from the sideline, boots heavy and reminiscent of da ge. If it had been his brother, undoubtedly, Huaisang would’ve been reduced to tears and hanging upside down off of the branch of a tree by now for dropping his weapon. He gingerly picked up his saber and wiped the blood off his hand on the inside of his robe, assuring the disciple that he was completely fine—he could only imagine the terror the disciple experienced, having injured the Yungmeng-Jiang Sect Leader’s husband.
“Junhao, I think it would be best if we pause with our training for the duration of the assembly.” Huaisang smiled, palms swelling from tightly holding onto the roughened grip of his saber. “We may have to adjust training hours again—my nephew, Jin Ling, is arriving. He is here to stay.”