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Chapter Text

He’d left his shoes underneath Zhao Yunlan’s bed.

Shen Wei only realized it when he was at the door of his own apartment, fully dressed, ready to face the world—well. He didn’t actually feel ready for that, not even with shoes, but wearing his favorite grey pinstripe suit did help a little. But donning his armor wouldn’t work without shoes. Standing there in his socks felt like being at home, being with Zhao Yunlan—he closed his eyes, swallowing back a storm of feeling.

Zhao Yunlan was right across the hall. He might not be happy to see Shen Wei, he might not want to talk, but surely he would let Shen Wei retrieve his shoes? He had other pairs, of course, but the handmade dove-grey shoes were the only ones that went with this outfit.

Zhao Yunlan might still be asleep. It would be good if he were still asleep, because he needed rest, he needed to recuperate, and last night’s argument might have left him…restless.

It had certainly left Shen Wei feeling completely adrift. Unmoored.“Get some rest,” had been the last thing he’d managed to utter, before fleeing the scene and retreating to his own apartment, where he had barely set foot in weeks. Zhao Yunlan’s blindness had only hastened the process of, well, moving in with him. Treating Zhao Yunlan’s apartment as his own. They hadn’t talked about it; it had just happened, gradually, inevitably, like two continents colliding. Before the blindness struck, Shen Wei had still retreated to his own apartment now and then to grade papers, iron his shirts, run through his sword forms, or other such mundane activities. Though even then, Zhao Yunlan had encouraged him to take whatever he was working on across the hall.

“I like having you here,” Zhao Yunlan had said, weeks ago, looking up at Shen Wei from where he was sitting on the coffee table with his long legs crossed. “I know I’m messy, so I understand if you want some peace and quiet, just—” He’d looked down at his knees for a second, and then back up with a wide smile. A smile Shen Wei knew he used as a shield, but this time it softened, sweetened. “Don’t retreat on my account, okay?”

Shen Wei had agreed. Of course he had. He never wanted to be anywhere else than with Zhao Yunlan, basking in the warmth of his regard. Sitting on Zhao Yunlan’s couch, with Zhao Yunlan sprawled next to him, barefoot and reading a novel while digging into a bowl of pumpkin seeds, made grading papers a pleasure. Watching him sleep was a luxury. Sometimes Shen Wei would just watch his mouth, the lush curve of his bottom lip, and imagine diving in and kissing him, the way he had once kissed Kunlun. How young and foolish and impetuous he had been then, and how brave.

After Zhao Yunlan became blind, it was no longer just a luxury to be with him. It was a necessity. Shen Wei had to be there, to help him and guide him—not as much as Shen Wei would have liked, because Zhao Yunlan was fiercely independent, but almost enough for the ravening hunger that lived in Shen Wei’s skin. To have Zhao Yunlan turn to him as a matter of course, to have him reach out and lean upon Shen Wei’s arm almost before he could have known Shen Wei was near—it was a bittersweet joy, even as Shen Wei was racking his brains to try and find a way to cure him.

And now the cure had been found. Zhao Yunlan was no longer blind, and Shen Wei could only rejoice. Even now. Even when he was standing here shoeless in his pristine, cold, useless apartment, missing Zhao Yunlan so much that he ached with it, a bone-deep chill. He should only rejoice. He would have paid any cost, sacrificed his health, his pride, his life. To poison himself with Zhao Yunlan’s lifeforce seemed like a bargain, if it was the price for Zhao Yunlan’s wellbeing.

But Zhao Yunlan didn’t seem to think so. Zhao Yunlan was angry, was furious with him. Shen Wei should not intrude upon him, not until they had regained some sort of equilibrium. Zhao Yunlan needed time, to recover from his blindness and Ye Zun’s attack.

The shoes—he could do without them. He could wear a brown pair.

He could—

But what if Zhao Yunlan didn’t eat breakfast without Shen Wei to remind him?

It was a treacherous, beguiling, compelling thought. It was very likely that Zhao Yunlan would not eat breakfast. Especially if he had not slept well, if he woke jittery and full of nervous energy, ready to head out and be gone. Yet there was congee in the refrigerator, ready to be heated up and served. Shen Wei had taken joy in doing such little things for him, but now that Zhao Yunlan could see, it was no longer necessary.

If Zhao Yunlan didn’t want him there—if Zhao Yunlan was angry enough to throw any further attempts to take care of him back into his face—

What do you want me to do? Bow to you? Kneel to you?

His throat ached.

He took a pair of brown shoes from the shoe closet by the front door.

Put them on.

***

When he finally left his apartment, Zhao Yunlan was there. Across from him, in the hallway, back turned, apparently occupied with the precise placement of his key in the lock. He was standing very straight, unlike his usual supple slouch, and it made him look almost a stranger. He was still angry, then. Angry, and wary of Shen Wei; there was no doubt in Shen Wei’s mind that Zhao Yunlan had heard him approach, and had deliberately turned his back.

Shen Wei clamped his briefcase under his arm and drew a deep, calming breath. “Zhao Yunlan. Good morning.”

Zhao Yunlan turned to face him. He looked—blank. Last night, his expressive face had gone through such a range of emotion, from tender concern to abrupt, startling fury, and now it was as though a storm had passed through and left a calm upon the waters. “Professor Shen.” Even his voice was toneless. And to be addressed so formally—

“Did you eat breakfast?” Shen Wei asked, before he could stop himself.

Zhao Yunlan stared at him as if the question was a surprise, and Shen Wei drank in the sight of him. He was wearing a black motorcycle jacket, jeans that hugged his slim legs, and the soft-soled boots that Shen Wei vividly remembered taking off his feet for the very first time. “Sure,” Zhao Yunlan said. His eyebrows drew together. “Look, I don’t really want to talk to you. Leave me alone, okay?” There was no anger in his tone; there was no warmth in it, either. This was more than a retreat; this was a portcullis, slamming shut.

Shen Wei stiffened. “I—yes. If you wish.”

Zhao Yunlan nodded and turned away, began moving down the hallway. For the first time, Shen Wei noticed that he was carrying his motorcycle helmet. The sight gave him an unwelcome jolt, and he might even have made some kind of sound, but Zhao Yunlan never looked back.

Zhao Yunlan had not used his motorcycle recently. Not in months. Ever since the SID trip to the mountains, Zhao Yunlan had driven his enormous, absurd car around the city. He had taken pride in offering Shen Wei rides to the university, or anywhere else he needed to go. Shen Wei could open a portal if necessary, but it was so much better to sit next to Zhao Yunlan, watch his capable hands on the wheel, and listen to him talk and joke and even sing. He had never actually told Zhao Yunlan how much he preferred the car, but Zhao Yunlan was very intuitive. He could pick thoughts, intentions, motivations out of thin air in a way that sometimes seemed like magic.

In the past, Kunlun’s understanding of him really had seemed like magic. As if Kunlun had skipped straight past all the barriers Shen Wei had tried to throw up, from his forbidding mask to his grim reputation to his halting words, and dived right into his heart, to make himself at home there. And Zhao Yunlan—who might one day become Kunlun, though Shen Wei was still having some difficulty adjusting to the idea—Zhao Yunlan had done the exact same thing, even though Shen Wei’s barriers were so much more formidable now. Zhao Yunlan had traversed the minefield of Shen Wei’s secrets and moved straight into his heart, filling all the ruinous emptiness that Kunlun had left behind. Shen Wei could picture him sprawling there, curling up there, warm and solid, wearing one of his lazy grins, utterly at ease and content. If only that were still true. If only Zhao Yunlan could still feel at ease with him—

Perhaps Shen Wei had become too accustomed to Zhao Yunlan’s generosity, his willingness to accommodate Shen Wei’s need to help him. It made sense that there was a limit to his forbearance for Shen Wei’s obsession; a line that he should not cross. A line that he had, inevitably, crossed. All along, Shen Wei had tried to keep his distance, keep his secrets, keep Zhao Yunlan safe, but the lure of his presence had been too powerful to resist. Ever since he moved in across the hallway, he had known himself doomed. And now he had indulged himself too far, offered up too much of himself, and Zhao Yunlan would not forgive him.

But even if Zhao Yunlan was too angry to want to ride with him—or see him, or talk to him—they could not separate their lives entirely. The SID team was investigating the matter of the Merit Brush and its elusive master. Shen Wei had a duty to help them, as well as a driving urge to protect Zhao Yunlan, and he must recover the Tools before they could cause more harm. If a new case arrived today, would Zhao Yunlan let him know? The idea that he might not—that for all his special consultant status, Shen Wei was no longer one of the people Zhao Yunlan admitted into the tightly-knit circle of his colleagues, his friends, his team—was abruptly, bitterly painful.

“Good morning,” said their neighbor from two doors down, and Shen Wei became aware that he was standing in the hallway as if he had taken root there. He echoed her greeting and made himself move, made himself head for the stairs, to the dark corner where no security cameras hung, where he could fracture reality in peace.

***

In the next few days, Shen Wei tried to find a new balance as all the sunlight slowly drained out of his life. Zhao Yunlan’s apartment door remained closed. There were no calls to his office telephone, no cheerful knocks on his apartment door, and no Zhao Yunlan lounging outside in the hallway, smiling provocatively at him as soon as he emerged.

He never quite summoned up the courage to knock on Zhao Yunlan’s door himself and ask for his shoes back, or the volume of genetic research that he had left by Zhao Yunlan’s couch, or the set of kitchen knives. Especially not the kitchen knives. He thought about leaving food at the door, but decided against it; he kept hearing that even, calm voice saying “Leave me alone,” and the idea that Zhao Yunlan might find his care intrusive—

It was absurd, on the face of it. He was the Black-Cloaked Envoy; he had faced armies, fought monsters, and withstood his own brother’s all-consuming anger. And yes, he had been afraid behind the mask, but he had not cowered or turned away. But the idea of knocking on Zhao Yunlan’s door and meeting with an angry, unhappy, or worst of all polite response turned his knees to water.

Perhaps it was because it felt as if he had been thrown back into the earlier, colder waters of their first acquaintance, when Zhao Yunlan still suspected him of something, and treated him accordingly. But on second thought—Zhao Yunlan had never handled him with cold politeness, not even when Shen Wei was brought in for questioning. They fenced, they traded barbs, but always with that undertone of warmth, of joyful mutual interest, and even if Zhao Yunlan was frustrated with his continued lies, he never let it move him to outright anger. Not until now. Not until he saw the truth of what Shen Wei was prepared to do for him.

The days dragged on. The SID did not call him in, and he was reduced to scanning newspapers for any signs that the master of the Merit Brush had found a new victim to suborn. He did not have occasion to don the mask of the Envoy; there were no signs of dark energy activity anywhere, though it was possible the Merit Brush was suppressing them. Suddenly, his life had become disturbingly quiet, and it set his nerves jangling. There was a storm waiting for him somewhere, out of sight, and he had no idea which direction it might come from.

***

Shen Wei moved through his University classes as slowly and painstakingly as a man playing chess underwater. He didn’t leave any mistakes on the board; he answered questions adequately; he even summoned up a smile for Jiajia as she entered his office during student hours.

She didn’t smile back. “Professor Shen,” she said, then halted. Her voice was quieter than usual, and that was cause for concern, because she was not a quiet type.

Shen Wei motioned her to a chair. “Jiajia. Is everything all right?”

Her eyes widened almost comically as she sat down. “I was going to ask you—Professor, the other students didn’t want to disturb you, but we’re all worried. Are you well?”

Shen Wei nodded. “I am perfectly fine,” he told her, drawing a spurious calm around himself like the Envoy’s cloak. “I apologize for troubling the class.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jiajia said. “You’re too pale, and your calligraphy is all shaky—” Her hands flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, that was blunt and inappropriate and—”

This time, the smile came more naturally. “I appreciate your concern. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She hesitated, then gave a firm nod. “Well, I didn’t fully understand your explanation of how to inactivate a gene without leaving traces in the genetic material—but if you will excuse me, Professor, I had back-to-back classes today, and I missed lunch. Would it be acceptable to eat while we talk?”

Shen Wei blinked at her, then nodded. She unpacked her bag—various containers, a thermos full of tea, fruit—and he offered her his porcelain tea set to use with her thermos. She poured tea into the pot, set one of the small cups in front of him, then pushed several containers in his direction, as well as a set of disposable chopsticks.

“Please,” she said when he tried to refuse. “My grandmother always makes too much food, and I hate disappointing her when I don’t finish it. If you could bring yourself to help me, I would appreciate it—”

Jiajia really was a thoughtful child.

Shen Wei sipped his tea—jasmine, a little over-steeped but fragrant—and ate stir-fried bok choi and sesame noodles, while trying to expand upon the topic she had requested. It was entirely different when there was no whiteboard, no row of students in front of him, and he had to divide his attention between the food and Jiajia’s questions. It made it easier to focus and not be distracted by unwelcome, unhappy thoughts of Zhao Yunlan, and the underwater feeling slowly receded. Before he knew it, all the food containers were empty.

“Shall I make some more tea?” Jiajia was saying, shaking the empty thermos.

Shen Wei shook his head. “Thank you, but—”

“Yes, please go get him some tea,” drawled a voice at the door. “He looks like he could use it. Get some snacks, too. Fish flavored ones.”

Shen Wei blinked and looked up. Leaning against the doorway was Da Qing, breathing fast as if he’d run all the way, and scowling at Shen Wei’s student as if she had taken his favorite feathered toy away from him.

Jiajia stared at him. “Oh. Yes. Coming up!” she said, and vanished out the door.

Da Qing closed the door and threw himself into the now vacant chair.

“Is something wrong?” Shen Wei asked quickly, not bothering to modulate his voice. “Is Zhao Yunlan all right?”

Da Qing sniffed. “Absolutely not.”

Shen Wei took a sharp breath, then threw out one hand, summoning the power to bring him to Zhao Yunlan’s side—

“Whoa, whoa, not like that!” Da Qing yelped, springing up. “He’s okay, I didn’t mean it like that.” He stood with his hands on his knees, watching Shen Wei with a nervous intensity so fierce Shen Wei could almost see his tail whap from side to side.

“He’s…okay?” Shen Wei said, then slowly sank back behind his desk when Da Qing confirmed it with a nod. “Da Qing. Why did you come to my office, then?” His tone was firm, even calm, but his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest.

Da Qing threw himself back into his chair, legs over the side, and scowled again. “Zhao Yunlan is fine, his eyes are fine, everything’s fine, so don’t go breaking the laws of space-time or whatever. It’s just—he’s lucky we don’t have a case right now, or I would shred his favorite jacket for the way he’s been acting. Like he’s the boss and we’re his underlings and nobody’s allowed to talk to him.” He scratched at his chin, glaring at the empty food containers on Shen Wei’s desk.

“Well, he is the boss, and you are his—employees,” Shen Wei pointed out.

Da Qing shook his head. “It’s different. He’s different. He’s been holing up in his office all day, every day, refusing to talk to us, he’s just…I dunno, off his game? And I figured since we swore a pinky-pact, you would want to know.” His eyes grew large, kitten-round and imploring. “If you could just come to the SID and take him home—we haven’t even seen you in what, a week—”

Shen Wei pressed his lips together. “I do not think that Zhao Yunlan would appreciate my interference.”

Da Qing stared at him with those big eyes, then made a scoffing noise. “Since when? You wrote his self-criticism for him! With a brush!” The tone was almost accusing. “You cook for him, you clean up his messes, and he lets you—you should have heard him when his dad tried to hire him a housekeeper—and now the place is going downhill again, and I had to buy my own breakfast and it was all greasy—why did you stop coming over? Why did you stop cooking? Is your stove broken?” His eyes were quite impossibly large, and as he flung himself this way and that in the chair, his t-shirt rode up, exposing each rung of his ribcage. It was an effort to remember that Da Qing was in fact not underfed at all, and that his cat form was distinctly rotund.

Shen Wei picked up his empty teacup and set it down again. “We—had an argument. The last night I saw him.” It was lucky, he supposed, that Da Qing had not slept at home then, or he would have been a witness to it.

Da Qing sank down into the chair as though his spine had melted, and grew still. “Oh.” He blew out a long breath. “Well. I suppose that explains it. Zhao Yunlan has no chill, not when it comes to you. I guess he’s been sulking all this time.”

Shen Wei tried to smile. “I’m—I’m glad you told me, and I’m sorry I can’t help.”

Da Qing peeked up at him from under his bangs. “Are you sure?”

“He asked me to leave him alone,” Shen Wei said. He might not have admitted as much to anyone else, but Da Qing was different.

“Wow. He said that?” Da Qing blew out a breath. “I don’t like it. He’s a stupid kitten, but that’s—he should know better. He should have known you’d take it seriously.” He shook his head. “I’ll go tell him that, I guess. If he thinks he can ignore a cat, he’s wrong twice over.” He sprang up out of the chair, nearly collided with Jiajia as she came in, caught the paper bag she dropped, peeked inside it—“Mackerel! Excellent. This student deserves top grades, Professor Shen”—and winked at her.

Jiajia put the tea tray down on Shen Wei’s desk, looking faintly stunned. “Here’s your tea, Professor,” she said. “And—your snacks?”

“Oh, those are for me,” Da Qing explained. “Although—” He paused, ripped open the paper bag, and slid a thin slip of dried fish onto Shen Wei’s saucer. “Here.” He reached over the desk and patted Shen Wei on the shoulder. “Eat up.”

Shen Wei watched him lope out the door, feeling warmer than before. Was this the first time Da Qing had ever willingly shared his food with him? He thought it might well be. Even in the long-ago time when Da Qing was just a small scared kitten, he’d protected what food he was given with teeth and claws and tiny tea-kettle hisses, even from the Envoy.

Jiajia’s expression as she stared at the fish was quizzical, but fond. Of course, she had traveled to the Northwestern mountains with the SID crew—she might not know what Da Qing was, but she knew him. And she knew Zhao Yunlan. She had laughed at Zhao Yunlan’s outrageous jokes, even as he tried to make her talk about the plans that Shen Wei was trying to keep from him. Perhaps that was why Shen Wei had given her permission to share her lunch with him, which was not an amount of leeway he ordinarily granted his students.

Zhao Yunlan had been relentless that whole trip, talking himself into a car that did not belong to him, using Shen Wei’s shoulder for his pillow, demanding Jiajia bring him water, refusing to retreat from the youchu attack even after Shen Wei—well, the Envoy—sent him a very clear warning—

“I have another class now. Thank you for helping me, Professor Shen,” Jiajia said, packing up her food containers and giving the tea tray a gentle push in his direction. “Please feel better.”

Shen Wei nodded, thanked her for lunch, and watched her leave without really seeing her. He was lost in the memory of Zhao Yunlan standing there in the cave, defiantly explaining that he couldn’t leave because he had to protect his team. Suddenly the memory shifted into another, familiar, dearly guarded image: Kunlun, resplendent in armor and furs, his face glowing with conviction as he pronounced the meaning of Shen Wei’s new name— “shouldering heavy burdens and striving forward without rest”—and then, a final blow, the memory from mere weeks ago rose up: Zhao Yunlan looking up at him with such a tender, hopeful expression and saying: “Don’t retreat on my account, okay?”

Shen Wei pushed himself up out of his chair, his mind made up. He would not let Zhao Yunlan retreat from him, either.

***

When Shen Wei entered the SID offices, he stepped into controlled chaos. Everyone was on the move, carrying things, packing other things, pounding on keyboards, shouting at one another, and the volume did not noticeably decrease when he entered. They knew he was the Envoy, now, but they did not accord him unnecessary deference, not when he came in dressed as Professor Shen. Even Chu Shuzhi was making an effort: though he did nod at Shen Wei, it was the careless nod of a colleague, not the formal greeting of a vassal.

Shen Wei looked around, and it was probably obvious who he was looking for. The door to Zhao Yunlan’s office was shut. Before he could head in that direction, Chu Shuzhi stepped seamlessly into his orbit. “There’s a new case that might lead us to the Merit Brush,” he told Shen Wei in a terse under-voice. “Someone’s been causing small shock waves over the past few days. So far, they’ve only done damage to shops and restaurants, but all in the Lotus District, so there’s a lot of pressure to close this case. Xiao Guo went out to talk to his uncle, to buy us some time and leverage, and Zhu Hong is interviewing witnesses.”

Shen Wei nodded. The Lotus District was the most affluent neighborhood in Dragon City, and he could well imagine how much political clout was being brought to bear. “And Zhao Yunlan is…working the case?” He tried to make it sound like an offhand enquiry. It was as he had feared: the SID had a new case, and he had not been called in. And yet Chu Shuzhi was briefing him, as a matter of course, and none of the others had even looked up from their desks. They were all treating him exactly the same as before.

He threw a glance over Chu Shuzhi’s shoulder, but the blinds at Zhao Yunlan’s office windows were closed, too. That was very unusual. For Zhao Yunlan to even be in his office for any length of time was unusual. He much preferred to hog the couch in the central area, or crouch on the table like a cat. He liked to be in the center of all activity, not on the outskirts.

Chu Shuzhi lifted one shoulder, then dropped it. His expression turned a shade grimmer. “He said he had to make some phone calls. He’s been in there all day.”

In a corner of the room, Lin Jing was typing away like a madman, lifting his head now and then to yell something at Da Qing, who would call back. The information being exchanged appeared nonsensical at first, until Shen Wei realized that they must be the names of the shops and restaurants in question.

Lin Jing’s computer screen showed a huge map of Dragon City, but it was more than a map—it showed little dots that were moving along it, glowing.

“Are those people?” Shen Wei asked, coming closer, intrigued despite himself.

Lin Jing nodded, then grinned at him. “We can’t trace dark energy anymore, not with the Merit Brush in play, but I modified some existing trackers—backdoored some security monitors—” The explanation went on for a while, but Shen Wei lost the thread. “We’re trying to exclude normal shoppers, looking for behavior patterns—things that stand out—huh.”

He stared at the screen, and Da Qing hopped across his desk and hung over his shoulder. “You got something?”

Lin Jing did something with the mouse, and one of the glowing dots turned purple. “Looks like this shopper arrived out of nowhere. We should go check it out, maybe stake out the Pearl Palace. They’re headed in that direction, and their energy signature fits all the criteria we’ve found so far.”

Da Qing twisted around, glaring at Zhao Yunlan’s office, and turned back to trade a look with Lin Jing. “You want to tell him that?”

Lin Jing took a deep breath, then said very sincerely, “Fuck, no.” He tilted his chair back, then looked pleadingly up at Shen Wei from under his bangs in a move that he must have copied from Zhao Yunlan. The effect was…not the same. “Professor? Would you…?”

***

For the first time that he could remember, Shen Wei was standing outside Zhao Yunlan’s closed office door, lifting his hand to knock. He tried to smooth his expression, his posture, even his aura. He was here on business; he had reason to be here; he was not intruding upon Zhao Yunlan. And he would not retreat until he had an answer.

The interval between his knock and the door opening seemed…long. It reminded him of his own desperate attempts to respond in time when Zhao Yunlan visited him at the University and found the door locked. But he’d been hampered by his disguise, and by distance. Zhao Yunlan might just be on the phone.

When the door finally opened, Zhao Yunlan filled the opening, and did not seem inclined to let him in. It was an aggressive posture, but his face showed no anger. It was once again—blank. “Yeah? Oh, it’s you.”

The love of his life, the man he’d been waiting thousands of years for and had finally, finally found again—Oh, it’s you. Shen Wei swallowed. “The team found a location to stake out, and a possible perpetrator—”

“Glad to hear it.” Zhao Yunlan didn’t sound particularly glad. “Tell them to check it out. I’ll talk to them later.”

Da Qing appeared at Shen Wei’s shoulder, as suddenly as if pouncing on a mouse, and Shen Wei felt obscurely comforted. Never before had he wanted support when talking to Zhao Yunlan, but now—

“You’ve been saying that all week,” Da Qing informed Zhao Yunlan. “You can’t put us off forever, and anyway, we have a case now.”

“You’re Deputy Chief, you handle it,” Zhao Yunlan said. The words were confident enough, but his face was a slate wiped clean. Without another word, he turned his back and closed the door. Locked it, too, if the sounds were any indication.

Shen Wei found a ball of energy gathering in his palm without his conscious permission.

“Go on, do it,” Da Qing said, waggling his eyebrows. “Blow the door down. He’s being an ass.”

It was terribly, terribly tempting. With some effort, Shen Wei extinguished the energy and turned to Da Qing instead. “You said—earlier, you said he has not been himself. Have you considered—”

Before he could finish, Lin Jing raced into the office area, waving a printout. “I need some people in the Pearl Palace, now!”

Da Qing threw one last angry look at the office door, but it remained stubbornly shut. “Fine,” he said. “I’m coming. Get Lao Chu, we’ll take the car. And—uh—”

“I will meet you there,” Shen Wei said. He stared at the office door, and then sent a thin stream of power to the lock. Not a lot; nothing dramatic. Just enough to twist a tumbler here, force a lever there—and the door swung open.

Zhao Yunlan was there, back turned to him—again—but when Shen Wei entered, he swung round and rested his knuckles on his desk. He didn’t look angry; he merely shook his head. “Locksmiths cost money, you know.”

Even when Shen Wei had lied to him again and again, had given him ludicrous excuses in a desperate attempt to stay by his side without endangering him, Zhao Yunlan had never treated him like this. Had never given him the cold shoulder, not like this.

With a pang, Shen Wei remembered the way they had faced each other in that empty wedding reception room. The way Zhao Yunlan had looked at him had been so different; he’d shown frustration, yes, but no actual anger, and certainly not this coldness. He had been so welcoming— “if you were trouble, I’d order it by the dozen”—and so patient, waiting for Shen Wei to come to him.

Zhao Yunlan hadn’t given up on him. And for all his patience, he had not stopped asking. He had made room, again and again, for Shen Wei to tell him the truth, and only at the very last had he forced a reveal in front of Zhu Jiu. But then Shen Wei had cut himself open, late at night, and Zhao Yunlan had seen it, and somehow that had changed everything. Shen Wei still didn’t understand why, except that Zhao Yunlan didn’t think he was worth the price of pain.

“I would like to talk to you,” he told Zhao Yunlan, who was still giving him that blank stare.

“Yeah? I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

Shen Wei huffed out a breath of frustration. “I did leave you alone. For nearly a week.” He tried to keep his voice level, but there was a small catch in it, even so. Zhao Yunlan’s expression didn’t change, as if he hadn’t even noticed. Or had noticed, but didn’t care.

Did a week sound like such a small thing? To Shen Wei it felt like a huge gap, every empty hour a reminder of everything that was wrong between them. Of what was missing. Had Zhao Yunlan not missed seeing him at all?

There was a pause. He would have expected Zhao Yunlan to verbally outmanoeuver him, to somehow gain the upper hand, because he was well aware of Zhao Yunlan’s talents in that area. He hadn’t expected silence, and the way Zhao Yunlan was braced against his desk looked almost as though he was hiding behind it.

“This isn’t like you,” Shen Wei said at last, lifting his chin. If they were going to have another fight, he would not retreat from that, either. “You don’t usually turn away from a confrontation.” The way Shen Wei had done, time and time again, to keep his secrets. It was odd to be on the other side—to be the one asking for answers.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.” Zhao Yunlan shrugged, sounding indifferent. That blank look was beginning to feel—unnerving. Unsettling. Startlingly painful, yes, that too, but—

It sent a spike of fear and longing through him. Was Zhao Yunlan right?

Shen Wei had thought he knew Kunlun. In battle, they had moved together, flowed together, like one being. In bed, they had discovered each other—had found each other—until every catch of Kunlun’s breath, every tender, urgent touch of his hands became another language, one that Shen Wei found himself learning faster than ever before. A language that he had become fluent in, that was dearer to him than anything.

Shen Wei saw breathtaking glimpses of that man in Zhao Yunlan, so often that the differences were all the more startling. And sometimes, jarring. He did not know Zhao Yunlan as well or as intimately as Kunlun, no, not yet. He had thought they were coming closer, though, to that unspeakable sweetness of knowing each other’s thoughts, following each other’s movements, walking in stride, exchanging whole conversations with no more than a look—

But now Zhao Yunlan was looking at him as if he were an unwelcome stranger.

“I’m busy,” Zhao Yunlan said. A blatant lie. His desk was empty, his phone wasn’t ringing, and his team was off investigating the latest case without him.

It made the hair on the back of Shen Wei’s neck rise up. Was Zhao Yunlan still so angry with him he would do anything to avoid him, or was he being constrained somehow? Had the Ministry placed some kind of restriction on him? Had his father made him promise—

Shen Wei tried again, remembering that scene in the empty reception room. He looked up at Zhao Yunlan, and for once he didn’t try to hide the endless swell of tenderness and longing that washed over him whenever he faced this man. “Anything you tell me,” he said softly, “I will believe.” He opened his hands, a wordless plea. It felt as though his soul were cradled in his hands, a small thing, an offering.

In response, Zhao Yunlan lifted one hand and flapped it at Shen Wei. It could have been an affectionate gesture, followed by a smile, by elaborate complaints about Shen Wei stealing his words from him—but it wasn’t. There was no smile. This Zhao Yunlan looked as if he had forgotten how to make one.

For a frozen moment, they stared at each other, and then Zhao Yunlan jerked his head toward the door.

Dismissing him.

Chapter Text

Shen Wei arrived at the shopping district in a state of —turmoil. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, or even put a name to it. He had been angry before, and frustrated before, but—maybe this was true rage. Maybe this was what his brother felt like all the time. He was a live wire, a molten sizzling ball of heat, and every step he took felt like it struck sparks from the ground. It was an effort to keep himself leashed. He wanted to summon his glaive immediately, slam its fishtailed end against the cobblestones, crack open the sky and announce his presence with a roll of thunder. But he was dressed as Professor Shen, not the Envoy; there were no suspects in sight; he could and he would control himself.

As he strode into the plaza, rain began to drift down. The crowd of shoppers opened up around him, eddying away to shelter under awnings and inside stores.

Da Qing saw him first and immediately dropped into cat form, apparently just so he could let his tail puff up and flick his ears back tight against his head. There were no bystanders close enough to witness that transformation: only Chu Shuzhi, leaning back against the car with his arms folded. His eyebrows went up as he watched Shen Wei approach, and then he dipped his head and shoulders in an abbreviated bow.

“Lin Jing’s inside the store, doing something with a tracker,” Chu Shuzhi informed him as he came closer. He cut his eyes toward Shen Wei’s face, then immediately away again. “My lord—?” He didn’t finish his question, just let it hang delicately in the air.

Shen Wei took a deep breath to center himself. If Chu Shuzhi had found new information about Zhao Yunlan, a reason for him to behave like this, he would have informed Shen Wei immediately. And Da Qing had visited him at the University just to complain, before; he, too, would not hesitate to share. Which meant that there was nothing to explain. Nothing except this roiling anger between them, and beneath it, the hurt—

Just then, Lin Jing burst out of the Pearl Palace entrance, carrying a device. “They were definitely here,” he announced, grinning. “I’m glad I finally managed to get some kind of signal, because—” He stared down at the screen, and his eyebrows shot up. “Uh. Guys, we’re at the wrong store. Energy signature levels just spiked.”

Da Qing leapt back into human form. “Where?”

Lin Jing was already past him, reaching for the car door. “Not far, a street or two away—”

“I’m driving,” said Da Qing, his chin up as if daring anyone to contradict him.

Chu Shuzhi canted a questioning look toward Shen Wei, then wordlessly opened a passenger door. Shen Wei got in.

It was…strange, sharing a car with Zhao Yunlan’s colleagues, but not with the man himself. Shen Wei tilted his head against the headrest and listened to Da Qing and Lin Jing bicker about which route was fastest. Chu Shuzhi was in the backseat with him, his silent attentive presence wrapped around Shen Wei like one of his shimmering threads.

He could have used a portal instead of the car, of course, but it would be unwise. There were new limits to what he could do. His access to Dixing’s power felt fragile, disrupted by Zhao Yunlan’s own bright lifeforce. It would be better not to test those limits, not for anything inconsequential. A week was not enough time to adjust to carrying Zhao Yunlan’s energy inside him, either; he had cut himself open again, in private, repeatedly, but it had not helped him much. With more time, he could perhaps manage a better balance, maybe even find a connection, a bridge, a way to combine such opposing forces: the sunlight of Zhao Yunlan and his own darkness. As for a way to regain Zhao Yunlan’s trust—that task seemed more difficult still. And how much time was left for him?

He stared out the window, at the rain running down the glass in rivulets, and the simmering anger slowly settled down and grew heavier, sinking into something that felt more like grief. He could almost feel the ghostly presence of Zhao Yunlan’s head resting upon his shoulder.

***

Da Qing interviewed the jewelry store’s staff while Lin Jing wandered around with his tracker, until the security guards suggested he should go back out the way he came in. If Zhao Yunlan were here, he would have found a way to distract the security guards, keep their attention focused on himself, and give Lin Jing more space to do whatever he needed to do. Shen Wei could provide distraction, too, but his efforts would be much more disruptive, and possibly his powers would throw off Lin Jing’s device. Instead, he walked slowly from display case to display case, trying to look inconspicuous as he performed his own investigation, and let Da Qing work his feline charm.

Around him, everything glittered. This store catered to very wealthy clients, and some of the items for sale did not even have price tags. The jade pendant around his neck would not pass muster, here, despite its age and rarity. Shen Wei lifted his fingertips to it, just for a moment. It did not matter what value anyone else might put on it: he knew it was priceless.

“They’ve had a shoplifter today,” Da Qing reported, popping up from behind a tall cabinet. “Someone tried on some very expensive earrings and then made off with them. The sales lady swears she only looked away for a moment.”

Shen Wei nodded. It could be related, but it might also well be a coincidence. So far, he could not find any other trace of wrongdoing.

The place was a maze, perhaps intentionally designed that way, to distract the shoppers from finding the exit too quickly. Shen Wei kept his gaze away from the many mirrors, as he always did, and traced a slow path through the store. He let his fingers trail past the display cases, occasionally picking up an item of jewelry, holding it up to the light. He was aware that the security guards were now following him, one obvious and the other incognito.

When he glanced back at the register, Da Qing was draped half over it, head thrown back, looking profoundly bored, though it didn’t stop him from holding a conversation with the sales manager behind it. In his ripped jeans and t-shirt, Da Qing was inappropriately dressed for this kind of store. It was a clever tactic, nonetheless: his behavior was so petulant and entitled that the sales force must have classed him immediately as a rich kid, perhaps the third-generation offspring of some billionaire. They must be used to such behavior from their usual clients.

Shen Wei turned right, kept his head down as he strode past three full-length mirrors set at different angles, and nearly ran into—

“Shen Wei!”

Shen Wei stopped in his tracks and felt the breath leave his lungs. Zhao Yunlan stood in front of him.

“I’m so glad to see you, you have no idea—” Zhao Yunlan was breathing hard, as if he had been running, and smiling. Smiling, with all the warmth that Shen Wei had missed so much. His expression was open, unguarded, and completely unlike the way he had looked at Shen Wei since that moment in the kitchen.

Shen Wei had not seen him smile for a full week. He could not stop staring.

Zhao Yunlan was—different, here. He was a shining presence, alight with warmth, with joy, jittering with energy. The bright store spotlights danced around his shoulders, outlined his slim figure, and struck highlights from his hair. He looked almost too beautiful to be real, but he felt real, not like a mirage or a fever dream. Everything in Shen Wei leapt up to meet him.

“I hope you didn’t miss me,” Zhao Yunlan was saying, absurdly. “I don’t know how long we have, but—I need to tell you—” His right hand moved, stretching out toward Shen Wei.

Shen Wei could not breathe at all. He could not move; he could not even form words. Zhao Yunlan had come after him. Had found him. And Zhao Yunlan was—glad to see him? That connection between them that he had thought lost and gone was here again, stronger than ever, vibrating between them. It sent waves of longing through him. If Zhao Yunlan had somehow forgiven him—

Before Shen Wei could reach back, could try to touch Zhao Yunlan, maybe even take his hand, Zhao Yunlan’s head turned. He was looking back over his shoulder, away from Shen Wei, who couldn’t see anything of interest in that direction—only more jewelry, more sparkling lights, more mirrors. Then he turned back, urgency written in every line of his body. “We just ran out of time.” He took a deep breath. “Shen Wei, this building’s about to blow. We need to get everyone out. How many floors?”

Shen Wei drew in some air at last. He felt the forceful calm of battle settle over him. “Three. The upper floors are offices.” It was early in the day, and the offices would probably be occupied. The more people were up there, the more difficult a fast evacuation would be. Evacuation against what? A shockwave? He could not feel any disturbance in the matrix of forces around them, but he trusted Zhao Yunlan’s word, always. “Is it a bomb? Could I take it out of here—”

Zhao Yunlan hissed out a sharp breath. “No, not a bomb, it’s—more like an earthquake, a ripple effect—it wasn’t this bad before, but it’s been getting worse—” He ran a hand through his hair, glanced around at the maze of mirrors and jewelry stands, and his words came as fast as bullets. “I have to get up there, set off fire alarms, yell at people to take the stairs. Can you cover the ground floor? This place looks lethal—there’s going to be lots of flying glass—”

“Yes.” Shen Wei might not be able to shield or transport everyone in the store, not with his powers as uncertain as they were now, but he could escort them out. “Be careful,” he said, trying to give his words the weight they deserved, the weight of many other words that he did not have time or self-control enough to say.

“You too.” Zhao Yunlan gave a complicated little wriggle of his shoulders and then reached out to him, fast, clasping his upper arm, a glancing touch so quick that Shen Wei only felt it when he snatched his hand away again. It jolted him, and for a moment he saw Kunlun, reaching out to steal his mask, to bestow something upon him that was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted—

But this was no time for sweetness, and Zhao Yunlan’s face was set in serious lines, though there was still warmth lingering around the edges. “Look, when we’re done here, find me—” He pointed behind him, where Shen Wei could still not see anything of interest. He opened his mouth to ask, when something crackled in the air between them. Zhao Yunlan cursed. “Everyone, out!” he yelled, already moving toward the stairs in long, purposeful strides.

Shen Wei turned away from him with a wrenching effort, and began to thread his way through the endless display cases and mannequins, back to the more populated areas of the store. Alarms started shrilling overhead.

The security guards shadowing him stopped in their tracks, clearly unsure of what to do. At least they listened when Shen Wei explained the matter to them. He might not be wearing the cloak of the Envoy, which meant nothing to Haixingren anyway, but he could still summon the Envoy’s authority, his absolute command, with nothing more than a tilt of his chin.

They followed him.

***

It took so many moments, so much longer than Shen Wei wanted, but finally momentum and panic took over. People were streaming out of the shop, pelting down the stairs, in flurries and drifts and eddies, like driven snow. Da Qing was directing them toward the doors, making sure nobody trampled each other; Chu Shuzhi was helping an elderly man who had fallen down two flights of stairs; Lin Jing was outside, on his phone, directing emergency services.

Shen Wei felt more like a shepherd than a commander. He helped people, pushed them, forced them out of the way if necessary—the office clerks tended to want to stop right outside the doors to stare and talk and take pictures, which impeded the flow of traffic—and used as much dark energy as he dared to speed up the process. The security guards worked with him, running back and forth between the different exits, until they began to flag and he ordered them out of the store, too.

When the building began to shake in earnest, his work became easier. He didn’t have to work so hard at convincing anyone to keep moving. Now he only had to work at getting them out, stop them from falling over. The shopping areas were more difficult to traverse, with all the mannequins and mirrors and jewelry stands crashing to the marble floors.

He carried a few customers to the doors himself, and pushed others with waves of energy or sonic force or wind, whatever came to hand; in this hazardous environment, nobody had time to stop and notice what was happening. Finally he looked around and the stairs were clear, the doors were clear—he turned this way and that, to make absolutely sure nobody was stuck, nobody was hiding, nobody was left in danger—

—only Zhao Yunlan was still upstairs. Shen Wei would have known, would have seen him pass by, if he had come downstairs. There was no possibility of having missed him. Was there?

Outside, through the glass doors, he could see Da Qing shouting. Could even hear some of his words. “—out! Get! Out!”

All the SID members were there: Da Qing, Chu Shuzhi, Lin Jing. All safely outside, behind the yellow tape that now marked off a hazard perimeter. All accounted for, except Zhao Yunlan. Who still had not come downstairs. Who was nowhere to be seen, outside or in.

There was no time to communicate, or even to wonder: had they not seen Zhao Yunlan at all? Did they not realize the danger? Did they not even know he was still in the building—

The air shook around him, soughing like the exhalations of some enormous beast. Jagged tears appeared in the walls, the floor. Dust and plaster and lighting rigs began to tumble from the ceiling.

Shen Wei summoned power to his hand. He would not waste time using the stairs.

***

The offices upstairs were a worse maze than the store had been, full of cubicles and meeting rooms and tiny bathrooms. It would take too long to check every room, every hallway, even with Shen Wei’s short-teleportation ability. Instead he stood in the middle of an empty office and reached for more power, spreading out his fingers and drawing upon every strand of his connection to Dixing.

It came so slowly, so sluggishly, while the building shook itself to pieces around him. Underneath his feet, the floor rippled up and down like the ocean. The windows bowed inward, bulging obscenely, and then burst, spraying a shower of glass into the room.

Shen Wei faced the storm and let it break around him. In the center of catastrophe, he closed his eyes. He could hear no heartbeats, could feel no life around him other than his own.

Zhao Yunlan. Where are you?

Ever since they had held the Dial together, ever since they had exchanged and commingled their energies, he had been able to sense Zhao Yunlan’s lifeforce when he reached for it. This last, excruciating week, he had not tried to find him; had felt, obscurely, that to do so would invade his privacy. Or perhaps the real reason was that he did not want to be rebuffed, again— He touched his pendant with a fingertip; it always felt as though his connection to Zhao Yunlan were wrapped up inside it.

There. A trace, familiar but faint, so faint.

The ceiling came down over his head, and he threw up a bare minimum of shielding. He could not be distracted by it.

Zhao Yunlan—

Under his feet, the floor became a funnel, a trench of falling brick and glass and steel. Dust and smoke roiled around him, a whirlwind. His shielding cracked and splintered. Shards of glass flew around him in a glittering spiral. Soon he would have no power left to shield himself—

—he must keep the connection to Zhao Yunlan—

—Find me, Zhao Yunlan had said to him—

—it flickered, faded, then went out—

—no—

The building caved in around him, and he fell with it, headlong into darkness.

***

The noise was enormous. Sirens. Alarms. And light, so bright it stabbed through his closed eyelids—red and orange, strobing. He had not fallen deep into the earth after all, then. Not this time. He was in the modern world, in Haixing. And he had lost Zhao Yunlan. Had felt Zhao Yunlan’s lifeforce flicker out.

He must find that connection again, immediately. It must be that his own energy was the cause. He had misjudged the effort needed. There could be no other reason.

Eyes closed, ears closed against the deafening noise, his right hand clamped tight around his pendant, Shen Wei reached out. Reached inside, into the darkness of his own heart, to find that spark of life again—it was not a physical effort, but it hurt, it felt like he was straining every muscle, expanding the very limit of his reach—

—and found nothing. Darkness. His own heartbeat, and nothing else.

Zhao Yunlan was gone.

The knowledge crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. It was too much to hold inside, too much to bear. He had borne so much, for so long, in silence—

Shen Wei let his head fall back, opened his mouth, and screamed.

He had meant to call the name—but it was only sound. Raw, painful, desperate.

Nobody answered, except the sirens. There was nobody there to hear him, nobody to catch him as he fell over into the rubble. Nobody to stop him from curling over and letting the blood fall from his mouth.

He should let the remains of the building cover him. Bury him. What was the point of taking another breath, if Zhao Yunlan—

“Sir? Please. This area is unstable—”

Shen Wei blinked dust and grit away. Someone was holding onto him now, trying to support him, to move him. He turned his head to see—not Zhao Yunlan. A stranger. Someone in a uniform. He pushed them away with a twitch of his finger, a small blast of energy, and closed his eyes again.

The ruined building settled around him, shaking him this way and that. It didn’t matter. He was shaking like a leaf, himself.

He had lost Kunlun, once. He knew what it felt like. Once he had been able to stand it, to survive it, but he had been young then, and so full of hope. Once was enough. He had confessed as much, to a winter jasmine Yashou who had looked at him in dismay: there were things he could not stand to feel, not ever again.

How had he dared tell Zhao Yunlan that he was used to pain? He was a fool.

Zhao Yunlan could not be gone. There had been no time—no time to even reconcile with him—to return that last, hurried clasp of his shoulder, to wrap him in his arms and breathe his breath and never let him go—

“Professor Shen?” someone said. A familiar voice. Not the voice he wanted to hear. But—

He sat up. Grabbed at clothing, at hair, finally managed to find shoulders to hold onto, and levered himself into a sitting position. Stared into Da Qing’s wide eyes. “Did you find him?”

“You’re hurt,” Da Qing said in a small voice. “You have cuts all over, and you smell like blood, and—” He sniffed at Shen Wei’s hair, then shuddered. “Could you heal yourself, before they try to take you into the ambulance again? Lao Chu is having a hell of a time holding them off—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shen Wei told him, willing him to understand. “Not if—did you find Zhao Yunlan?”

Da Qing blinked at him, his expression crumpling with worry. “He’s—back at the SID? You know he didn’t come with us, right? We waited, just in case, but he never showed. Do you remember? You got into the car with us at the first store, and we went here together. He wasn’t with us.” He patted a hand against Shen Wei’s forehead, carefully. “Does your head hurt?”

“No.” It did hurt, but that hardly felt relevant. He knew what he had seen. What he had lost. He let go of Da Qing, who yowled at him unhappily, and tried to gather himself enough to speak. “I saw Zhao Yunlan inside the building. He warned me it was about to collapse, then went upstairs. To rescue others.” The words were simple. Why were they so difficult to get out? “He did not—I did not see him—get out—”

Da Qing was shaking his head, as if denying this. “You mean he drove up after us? But we didn’t see him anywhere—this has to be a mistake. Here, I’ll prove it.” He dug into his jeans pocket, pulled up his mobile phone, and dialed. The ringing was inaudible over the enormous din around them, but Shen Wei watched his face.

Da Qing loved Zhao Yunlan, too. Da Qing would not lie to him. And when Da Qing’s face fell, when he stared at the screen of his phone in disbelief—it showed a little picture of a telephone, with a red stripe through it—Shen Wei could feel the flutter of his last, foolish hope as it flew away. If Zhao Yunlan had escaped the building’s collapse, if he were sheltering somewhere, even if he were hurt, he would answer. And even if he were unconscious, Shen Wei would still be able to feel his energy—find him—

He tried again, reaching for that lost connection, but all it brought him was pain. He bent over, coughing, racking his lungs until more blood came up.

“It went to voicemail,” Da Qing said. “I didn’t even know Lao Zhao had voicemail. He doesn’t use it. He always picks up, or he texts me an emoji or something—I know he’s been acting weird all week, but—I’ll text Wang Zheng, hang on—” And with a pointed glare, “Please heal yourself, Professor Shen, you’re bleeding all over the place and it’s gross. If you don’t I’m going to tell Lao Zhao, and he’ll yell at you as soon as he gets here.” It was bravado, a brave noise to frighten fate, and they both knew it.

Shen Wei lifted a hand and passed it over his face, then his thighs, to heal the deeper cuts there, if only to spare Da Qing the sight and scent of the blood running down his suit pants. It took a while. Longer than it should have. But Da Qing was fiddling with his phone, and didn’t notice.

“Wang Zheng says she hasn’t seen or heard from him since we left, and there was no answer when she knocked,” Da Qing reported. “She says she can go in through the keyhole if we want, but—”

“There’s no point,” Shen Wei told him gently. “He’s not there.” His voice sounded odd to his own ears. He could see Chu Shuzhi some distance away, looming purposefully over a barrier. Behind it, a turmoil of people in uniforms and safety vests, loading the wounded into ambulances, talking into radios. And between the barrier and himself—desolation. Heaps of stone, broken masonry, shards of glass. There was not a wall left standing. The building was gone.

“I couldn’t save him,” Shen Wei whispered, staring at the debris. “He was on one of the upper floors.”

Da Qing’s eyes were enormous. “You—seriously, you’re sure it was him?”

“When we’re done here, find me,” Shen Wei said. “He said that. Before he—went upstairs.” He touched the pendant around his neck, out of habit, but it brought him no comfort now. It held no sense of Zhao Yunlan’s presence, that faint golden trace that had sustained him for so long. He had felt it flicker out. “And I did not—”

The pressure behind his eyes was more than he could bear. Wetness welled up, spilling over, and he let it happen. He could not remember having wept once in the last millennium. “He told me to find him,” Shen Wei said wretchedly. “And I failed.”

It hurt to see the distress in Da Qing’s face—still young and innocent, even after all these years. He had lost Kunlun once, too, even if he did not remember it. To lose Zhao Yunlan would be worse for him; they had known each other so much longer, now. Shen Wei had long admitted to himself that he envied Da Qing, who had known Zhao Yunlan since his teenage years, had seen him grow up, had shared so much time with him. Shen Wei would have done anything to be a part of his life in that way. He would do anything to have Zhao Yunlan back, now. Even if they never spoke again, even if Zhao Yunlan wanted nothing more to do with him—

“Maybe it was an illusion,” Da Qing was babbling. “The Tools, you know they can project spirits, we saw that with Li Qian’s grandmother—maybe—”

“He touched my shoulder,” Shen Wei said simply. “And I could feel him—not only his touch, but his lifeforce—” He shuddered. “I felt it then. And now—it’s—” He couldn’t make himself say the word.

Da Qing shook his head. “No. I—I won’t believe it. Not until I—” He swallowed hard, and in a hoarse voice he added, “Not until I’ve seen it for myself. Seen him for myself.”

Shen Wei nodded. Da Qing was right; he wanted that, too. And he did have one last duty to perform. He could not let Zhao Yunlan lie where he had fallen, in the dust, in the dark, alone. This ruined office would not be his tomb.

Slowly, carefully, he drew himself up and reached out for his glaive. It shimmered into being, then thundered into his hand. There was no point in keeping secrets, now: if anyone was watching, let them. The worst had already happened. His secrets had not kept Zhao Yunlan safe.

He slammed the butt of the weapon into the earth and used it for support, dragging himself up, locking his knees until he could stand.

“I will find him,” he said. He would not fail this time. He would wrench the earth apart, shake the skies to flinders, and he would. Find. Him.

“No, Professor Shen, wait—” Da Qing sprang up, looking alarmed as well as deeply distressed. “We have—people here, experts, Lin Jing can help, we can look for him together—” He swayed from side to side, keeping his footing with all the elegant balance of a cat. But why was he swaying?

Oh. Maybe there was another earthquake happening. An aftershock. The ground was definitely shaking. Sometimes the aftershock was worse than the earthquake itself; he remembered that from a seismology lecture he had once gone to. Sometimes the aftershocks never stopped, but just kept coming. A seismic storm, they called it. Tremors that kept coming and never stopped.

Tremors like the ones he was feeling now, that threatened to shake him apart. He would not permit them to rule him. Let the earth tremble, instead. Let it be rent asunder, until it gave Zhao Yunlan back to him. He raised his hands, and the ground trembled harder. Lowered them, and felt the foundations of the earth crack beneath his feet. The ground shook under his feet with the same rhythm as his heartbeat.

“You should go behind the barrier,” he told Da Qing, forming the words with effort. “For safety.”

Da Qing shook his head, stubborn, standing his ground. “If you find him, I want to be there.” All of Zhao Yunlan’s closest allies were brave like this. Foolhardy, even. Ready to risk their lives for strangers, or to throw in their lot with a lost cause. Shen Wei could not blame them, not when he wanted to count himself one of their number, still.

With one fluid sweep of his hand, Shen Wei threw up a massive slab of stone in front of Da Qing. Da Qing crouched, then shifted into cat form, sheltering under the huge shadow of the stone.

In a wide circle around him, broken masonry lifted up into the air, and Shen Wei moved it aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. It was in the way. There was so much glass everywhere—broken windows and mirrors and display cases, as well as a huge glass folding screen with golden birds on it that had somehow stayed in one piece. He moved that aside too, dropping it on top of the masonry with a ringing crash. So much noise; how could he focus like this, when the only thing he wanted to hear was Zhao Yunlan’s heartbeat?

Something trickled from his nose, and he let the drops fall. It did not matter if he was bleeding, now. He had more blood to shed. And if he lost his power, after this—well, what was there left to spend his power on? His brother was still contained within the pillar. If nothing else came to mind, Shen Wei could meet him there and let himself be devoured in peace, to set off a reaction that would immolate them both. Oblivion had never sounded so welcome before.

More and more pieces of masonry, steel, glass and concrete lifted into the air, swirled around him, rending apart and changing into new configurations. It was almost as though he were a conductor, faced with an unwilling orchestra that could only produce unearthly growls and shrieks. He raised his hands higher, lifting more and more wreckage off the ground. The area behind the barrier was mostly empty, now: the only people left were the three SID team members. Everyone else had fled to safety.

Da Qing was still sheltered under the slab of stone, but Lin Jing was right at the barrier, aiming his device in Shen Wei’s direction, and Chu Shuzhi kept guard in front of him, in a firm widelegged stance, blue threads coiling around his fingers. A shield to Shen Wei’s sword. He would keep Lin Jing and Da Qing safe, even if—

Shen Wei must not harm them. He would not harm them. He might harm himself at will, but never them.

The wreckage stacked itself up in teetering piles, swaying to his command. He moved them slowly, directing them to a corner of the parking lot, safely away from the SID team. Then he focused on digging deeper. The two layers of office floors were beginning to make way for what remained of the jewelry store: more glass, more steel rose up, but now more glittering, shining fragments of jewelry came up as well. The air took on a gold dust haze.

He could still hear no heartbeats, beneath the tumult of stone and steel. No sound. No life.

He brought up more debris, from deeper down. A fat rope of pearls hung in the air in front of him, absurdly intact, gleaming. He took it in his hand, to throw it aside—something flashed, something moved, in the pile of glass and concrete and steel he was standing on. It looked like a hand, but it was flat, two-dimensional. A video screen, somehow still playing?

No. A mirror. A shattered mirror, in an ornate gilt frame. Some mirror pieces clung to the frame, with cracks like spiderwebs running through them, and in one of those fractured mirrors, a hand was moving. Reaching out. A female hand, slender, well-kept, with lacquered nails the color of cotton candy.

There was nobody nearby to cast such a reflection. An unwelcome sensation, to see a mirror reflect a lie, but it felt familiar—

“Don’t just throw those pearls away,” said a voice, young, high, and female. “Give them to me. You’re wrecking all the pretty things.”

Shen Wei sagged against the upright steel of his glaive. “Who are you?” Ye Zun was adept at illusions, and could project himself even to the Haixing surface, but he was too vain to ever change his voice. It did sound familiar, though—

A playful giggle. “Give me the necklace, and I’ll tell you.”

Shen Wei tried to think. He sank to his knees without planning to move at all. He was still shaking, but the ground under him felt steady.

Footsteps, coming closer—Lin Jing’s voice, vibrating with excitement. “Professor Shen, I think I found the source of the disruptions! It’s right in front of you—” He stopped talking, and when Shen Wei managed to raise his head, he saw Lin Jing give him a look of distress. “You—are you all right? You’re bleeding—”

Shen Wei nodded. He raised a hand and wiped his sleeve over his face, but from Lin Jing’s expression, it might not be much of an improvement. He tilted his head towards the mirror fragment, drawing Lin Jing’s attention.

The mirror reflected a clear blue sky. A sky that wasn’t theirs; Lin Jing looked up at the rainclouds overhead, then back down. “Huh. This reminds me of—” He had his device out and was making all kinds of excited noises. “That mirror identity theft case we had before—you remember? But it’s unstable now, the dimension’s been destabilized—”

Yes, the mirror case, with the two identical young women who had tried to marry the same man. One from Dixing, one from Haixing: one a mirror image of the other. It had felt—strange, to see another pair of twins divided. Even if they weren’t actually twins.

“Zhou Weiwei?” he said into the mirror.

Abruptly, the view in the mirror shook, turned, twisted sideways, and another hand showed itself. An intimately, utterly familiar hand, the fingers gripping tight to the edge of the shard.

“No, you can’t escape again, I won’t let you—” said the high female voice. In response came a laugh that sounded more like defiance than humor. A laugh Shen Wei had thought he would never hear again.

Shen Wei drew in a breath. The oxygen felt like it was burning his lungs. “Zhao Yunlan?” He stretched out a hand, touched the fingers reflected in the mirror—felt nothing but cold glass underneath—

“If this is a trick,” he breathed, “I will end you.”

“Shen Wei?”

It was Zhao Yunlan’s voice. And then, under his hand, the cold glass changed—grew warm—living fingertips stretched from the mirror, in three dimensions now—Shen Wei reached out, and their hands met—

“No! You can’t have him! Why should you get him back, just like that?” The woman’s voice—Zhou Weiwei’s voice—was angry, now.

The reflection in the mirror shook, twisted, and the hand—Zhao Yunlan’s warm and living hand—withdrew from Shen Wei’s grasp. Was yanked away.

Shen Wei pressed his hand against the cold shard of glass for one moment, and then drew himself up. “Lin Jing.”

“Sir!” said Lin Jing, as if by reflex, and then blushed.

“The disruption may reoccur when I enter the mirror,” Shen Wei told him. “Please retreat to the barrier and monitor from there. It won’t be safe for you here.”

“It won’t be safe to go in there, either,” Lin Jing objected. “The effects have been worse every time—exponentially worse with every quake event—this isn’t just a mirror dimension anymore, it’s turning into a dimensional rift—”

“She has Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei said, simply.

Lin Jing’s mouth worked for a moment, his unease shifting into dismay, and then he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Good luck,” he said.

Chapter Text

The mirror fragment was so small, but it could reflect worlds. It was a matter of seeing into that other world, that other dimension, of focusing between the planes—sliding oneself between, a sideways movement, slantwise—

Between one breath and the next, he was there.

He knelt, bringing up more blood than he had expected. Everything hurt, but he was used to that by now. If Zhao Yunlan were here—if Zhao Yunlan were alive—there was no hurt that he would not gladly suffer, to have him back.

Swaying, he managed to lift his head and scan his surroundings. He remembered that mirror world they had entered before: a cluttered, girlish bedroom, full of discarded objects and debris. This was a bedroom too, but it felt more like a palace boudoir. A silk canopy hung over the fourposter bed, and colorful tapestries covered every wall. Thick carpet dimpled under his knees, and in front of him was a low table covered in cosmetics bottles and jewelry.

No sign of Zhao Yunlan, but from somewhere to his left, beyond the doorway, he could hear faint voices—

“I needed time to talk to you,” said Zhou Weiwei, sounding aggrieved. “And you were mad at him anyway, so I figured you wouldn’t miss him.”

“You thought it would be a good time to rip me away from him, just because we fought?” It was Zhao Yunlan’s voice. Shen Wei tried to rise to his feet, but failed. Fell back to the ground again. He pressed his hands against the plush carpet, now stained with his blood, and drew in a shaking breath of his own. Zhao Yunlan—Zhao Yunlan was alive. Had to be alive. Alive and angry.

“How could you be so cruel?” Zhao Yunlan said. “You thought I wouldn’t miss him? Lady, you could choke me right now and I would still miss him more than air.”

Don’t invite your enemy to choke you, Shen Wei wanted to tell him, but that was not the reason why hearing it made him tremble. It was better than any gift he had ever been given. Shen Wei couldn’t let himself think about the passionate conviction behind those words, not yet. Not until he knew they were real. That Zhao Yunlan was real, and alive, and here—

“You were yelling at him!” Zhou Weiwei said.

“Yeah, I do that. Not proud of it. But that doesn’t mean—haven’t you ever had a fight with your Xiaobai? A real one?”

“No. Xiaobai said he wanted to be my prince, my shining knight, and he was. I wouldn’t have fought with him in a thousand years.”

“…Right. Well, eventually, you would have had a fight, whatever you think now. It’s not always sunshine and kisses, not if you want to be with him for real. Not if you love him and mean it. Sometimes it hurts.”

Shen Wei pulled himself up along one of the bedposts, slowly, hand over hand. The wood was carved in sinuous patterns and felt warm under his fingers. Not if you want to be with him for real. The words kept echoing inside his head. Zhao Yunlan sounded so serious, so much like he was giving advice from his own experience. Not if you love him and mean it.

The man who had dismissed him with a casual, callous wave of his hand, who had refused to join his team on a crucial case, who had actively avoided him day after day—that was not Zhao Yunlan, no matter how angry he might be. That was a distorted mirror image, a parody. As much as Zhou Weiwei had been, when she returned to her fiancé and he no longer recognized her. The knowledge burned in him, sang in him. It felt bright, but sharp, with edges as cutting as any shattered glass. Sometimes it hurts.

Shen Wei took a step, pushing himself away from the bed, and then another. Managed to stay upright. He had so little power left, and the energy imbalance inside him only made it worse. If only he could get to Zhao Yunlan—find him, and free him from this place—

There was no telling what danger Zhao Yunlan was in. The conversation he just overheard didn’t sound as though Zhao Yunlan was under duress, but Shen Wei knew better than to let that convince him. Zhao Yunlan had faced his brother and fought him, using a weapon that was doing more damage to himself than to his opponent, and all the while he had claimed to be having a good time. Zhao Yunlan would make himself comfortable even in the mouth of hell.

When Shen Wei finally reached the doorway, he found himself in a long hall, with doors opening to the right and left. One of those doors must lead him to Zhao Yunlan. He swayed on his feet, and then he heard the voices again.

“No, I don’t care what you saw, that’s not right— Ji Xiaobai isn’t married—” Zhao Yunlan was saying.

Shen Wei followed the sound of his voice, drawn to it like a magnet. Finally he reached the doorway. This door was glass, and it slid open upon his approach.

He found himself standing in a greenhouse. The air was thick with moisture, warm enough to be tropical, and plants were thriving and blooming all around him—orchids, ferns, huge twisting vines. Soft mulch under his feet, and chips of bark to make a path. He followed it.

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong—” A pause, a rush of breath. “Shen Wei!”

Shen Wei kept to his feet by a supreme effort of will. Zhao Yunlan was sitting on a carved tree stump, arms loosely folded, his eyes wide and an unstoppable smile spreading upon his face. He looked—beautiful. Unhurt. Vibrant and alive, even though the joy was shading rapidly into worry, now.

Shen Wei closed his eyes for a moment, to try and keep his feelings from overwhelming him. Zhao Yunlan was not safe, however comfortable he might look. They were in an inimical environment, and there was still a threat—

“Did you get everyone out of the building?” Zhao Yunlan asked urgently. “You look—Shen Wei—” He stretched out his hands, and Shen Wei saw that he was trying to get up. Trying, and failing. Looking closer, he saw that the tree stump chair was holding him down. It was carved out of a living tree, and its branches were locked around Zhao Yunlan’s thighs.

“Everyone got out in time,” Shen Wei told him. “No casualties.” The branches were thicker than his arm, and living wood would be harder to cut. He would have to be careful, so as not to hurt Zhao Yunlan. He would also have to be careful about not falling over.

Zhao Yunlan blew out a big breath. “I was hoping for that, but I couldn’t see—”

“How did you get here?” Zhou Weiwei demanded. She was coming up on the path behind Zhao Yunlan, wearing a long floaty summer dress, and all she had for a weapon was a pair of pruning shears. Shen Wei couldn’t tell if she planned to use it as a weapon. Her expression was horrified. “I knew you were Dixingren, but—do you have a mirror power, too?”

Zhao Yunlan threw back his head and laughed. Shen Wei wished he would not expose his throat like that. “He has all the power. Meet my boyfriend, Hei Lao Ge.” He gestured dramatically to Shen Wei. Warmth flooded him at being claimed so openly. Zhao Yunlan had never called him his boyfriend before—had never even mentioned wanting to—he dipped his head to hide his response, though he could do nothing about the blood rushing to his ears.

“That’s Hei Pao Shi to you,” Zhao Yunlan added, turning to Zhou Weiwei, who clapped her hand to her mouth.

Her expression was uncertain as she glanced at Shen Wei. “You are—and he’s your boyfriend? But—”

Zhao Yunlan winced. Then he looked up at Shen Wei, giving him a brazen grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, as if he were letting him in on the joke. As if he were daring him to deny it. And—maybe—expecting him to deny it.

With a small gesture, Shen Wei summoned his cloak, his mask, and his weapon. They came easily, and that was a surprise: he had expected it to hurt. The mirror dimension was not diminishing his powers, as he had feared. It helped to maintain the illusion that he was still in full control of himself. “Yes,” he said, never looking away from Zhao Yunlan’s shining eyes. “He is.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Zhao Yunlan said softly, for his ears alone. He twisted one finger in the trailing edge of Shen Wei’s cloak, tugging him closer. “You look absolutely terrible.”

Zhou Weiwei shifted her stance, poised on the balls of her feet. “Do you mean to take me back to Dixing? Order me to live in darkness, never talk to my Xiaobai again, like you did the last time?” She looked ready to fight, or to run.

“You took Zhao Yunlan away without his permission,” Shen Wei said, intoning the words with the gravity his role demanded. He very carefully did not say, my Zhao Yunlan. Then he squared his shoulders, ready to pronounce his sentence. “You kept him prisoner. What do you think you deserve?”

Zhou Weiwei set her chin. “I know it was wrong of me to take him, but I don’t think any of us deserve to live down there. Not forever. Not when we’re desperate to stand in the sunlight.”

Shen Wei raised his hand, preparing to summon whatever strength he had left to imprison her, when—

“She’s got a point, baobei.” Zhao Yunlan stretched out his long legs. Behind his head, the tree had sent up a spread of young growth, and with the leaves fanning out around his shoulders, he looked like a forest prince, sprawling at ease inside his kingdom.

Shen Wei lowered his hand, trying to ignore the way his pulse spiked. Apparently, by not protesting at being called Zhao Yunlan’s boyfriend, he had laid himself open to grievous injury. How very like Zhao Yunlan to immediately escalate the matter, to call him baobei and sprawl at him with intent—Shen Wei breathed out slowly. At least he was wearing a giant hood now, and nobody could possibly tell what color his ears might be.

“I’ve been thinking,” Zhao Yunlan said, leaning back further into his chair. It was a move that Shen Wei recognized. He was making himself look as unthreatening as possible, while they were both looming over him, and yet he unquestionably had the upper hand. “I think it’s time to renegotiate the Treaty, give anyone who wants to live upstairs a shot. Now that I’ve been to Dixing, and seen the state of affairs for myself.”

Shen Wei stared at him. Every time he thought he knew what Zhao Yunlan would do, would say, he was surprised all over again. Surprised, delighted, and dismayed. He was not so ready to forgive this woman as Zhao Yunlan was, after what she had put them both through—

“I don’t believe you. And you—you told me I couldn’t have my Xiaobai!” Zhou Weiwei said, turning toward Shen Wei and clenching her fist around the pruning shears. “You took me to Dixing and said that we were from different worlds, and it could never be!”

“That was after you attacked—the SID team. Why did you abduct Zhao Yunlan?” Shen Wei countered. He watched her hands, her stance; she did not look a formidable opponent, but he remembered that she had summoned a storm inside the mirror before. A storm that was meant to kill. And she had taken Zhao Yunlan and bound him here—kept him here against his will—it was only Zhao Yunlan’s will that kept him from striking her down, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it.

Zhou Weiwei glared at him and lifted her chin. “I saw you two fight, okay? I was watching, and I saw you spill dark energy from your arm. I didn’t know you were the Black-Cloaked Envoy, but I knew you were one of us. The righteous Chief Zhao, pretending to stand for justice, and all the while he had a Dixingren staying at his place, in his bed—it’s just so unfair! Why should he have what I can’t have?”

She took a step toward Zhao Yunlan, and Shen Wei placed himself in her way. “You will not touch him.” Zhao Yunlan made a sound of protest.

Zhou Weiwei’s expression twisted. “You can’t have him back.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you keep the mirror decoy I made, instead?”

“The what,” Zhao Yunlan said.

“I prefer the real thing,” Shen Wei said calmly. “How did you make—him? Is he alive?” Zhao Yunlan was muttering curse words under his breath.

Zhou Weiwei looked pleased for a moment, as if his interest had distracted her from her anger. “I used his reflection for it, the moment I took him. I didn’t want anyone to come looking for him.” Then she was frowning again. “I don’t know how much longer the decoy will last, but you’ll have to make do. I’m not making another one, and I’m not giving him back. Not unless I can have my Xiaobai back, too.”

“Ah,” said Shen Wei. “Your Xiaobai.”

Zhou Weiwei nodded. “All of this—” she gestured with the hand that wasn’t clutching the shears— “I built it all for him. For us. I took everything I wanted into the mirror with me—everything except the man I love—”

“A mirror is no place to live,” Zhao Yunlan said, sounding quite calm. It was the reasonable, studiedly casual tone of voice he used for hostile witnesses. “I think you should get a real apartment. Something nice in the city, with a balcony for your plants.” He gestured expansively; one of the orchids swayed toward him and coiled gently around his upper arm. “I’m willing to help you look, I know a real estate guy who owes me a favor—” He paused, watching Zhou Weiwei. Every line of his body was relaxed, but his eyes were hooded, and his gaze was sharp. Then he added, “But I can’t promise you Ji Xiaobai. He’s got a life of his own. You can’t demand him back like that; he’s a person, not a bank loan.”

Zhou Weiwei shook her head, but Zhao Yunlan’s words seemed to work upon her, all the same. Her shoulders slumped, and her voice grew softer. “I know that.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “I just—what’s left for me? He called me a monster, but I still love him. I’ll never find a love like that again. If I could only show him how much I—”

“He never called you a monster,” Zhao Yunlan said with utter conviction.

She sniffed. “What do you know about it?”

“I was there, remember? We found you in the mirror, and your fiancé recognized you right off the bat. It was your other half—the other Zhou Weiwei—who called you a monster. She was angry, because he didn’t want to let you go.”

“But he did let me go. And he married her, in the end, anyway,” Zhou Weiwei said stubbornly, wiping at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.

Zhao Yunlan tsked. “I keep telling you, that never happened. Ji Xiaobai never got married, and from what we heard, he even gave back the ring.” His expression sharpened. “Who told you that he married her, anyway? Was it a mystery voice in a pillar, down in Dixing, perhaps?”

Zhou Weiwei turned pale. “How do you know about that?”

“He’s been talking to a lot of your people, I think,” Zhao Yunlan said. “But he’s a liar. All he wants is to grab at power. He doesn’t care about any of you.”

Shen Wei nodded. Of course. He remembered Zhou Weiwei’s meekness, how she had come willingly to Dixing with him and had expressed her regret for her attack on the SID team. She must have been suborned, swayed by his brother’s persuasion, to be driven to this. “His words can strike at the heart,” he said, more to himself than to Zhou Weiwei. “They are his greatest weapon. It’s all he has left, to make lies sound like the truth.”

Zhou Weiwei wrapped her arms around herself. “I tried to find him,” she whispered. “My Xiaobai. I tried to look for him in the mirrors, to ask if it was true, but he never showed himself—”

“If the Black-Cloaked Envoy will permit it, I think you should go look for him,” Zhao Yunlan said. “Not in the mirrors, but out there, in the real world. This mirror has been causing a lot of problems, lately. Earthquakes, from what I saw, and they’re getting worse.”

Zhou Weiwei shook her head. “I didn’t set off anything like that, before. The mirror never harmed anyone. Why would it—”

“This dimension is becoming unstable,” Shen Wei told her. “You might not have intended it to happen, but the rift is growing wider, all the same. Crossing the threshold could have cost lives, today, and the last store you were in collapsed completely.”

“All I wanted was some nice earrings,” Zhou Weiwei whispered. “I never meant—” She looked genuinely appalled, and Zhao Yunlan’s expression softened.

“Listen, Zhou Meimei—” said Zhao Yunlan.

Her eyes grew enormous. “What did you call me?” The pruning shears dropped out of her hand and fell to the mossy ground, but she didn’t even notice.

“It’s time you had a name of your own, don’t you think?” said Kunlun—said Zhao Yunlan—with a smile that seemed to span centuries. “You’re the younger sister, so it fits.”

She stared at him, then gulped a breath that became another sob. “I never had—I—”

Shen Wei clung to his glaive, blinking behind his mask. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest and take wing. He swayed on his feet. Could it—was it possible to die of love? He felt like it was possible.

Zhou Weiwei—no, Zhou Meimei—was clearly feeling overwhelmed, as well. She crumpled to the ground and sat there all in a heap, getting moss stains all over her white dress, hugging herself and weeping quietly.

“Shen Wei? You all right?” Zhao Yunlan still sounded very calm, but it was starting to sound like a deliberate effort, now. He was struggling against the restraints, hard enough to rip his jeans further, and his hands were reaching for Shen Wei—

Shen Wei wanted to reassure him, but he had no breath left for it; all his focus went toward suppressing another cough. He must not cough blood while acting as the Envoy. He must remain upright. He must shield Zhao Yunlan. He must set Zhao Yunlan free, but his glaive was so heavy in his hand—so difficult to lift—he raised one finger and made a small gesture with it, spreading frost enough to freeze the tree’s roots. In response, the tree uncurled its branches, shrinking away from Zhao Yunlan. The orchid coiling around his arm lifted away as well, snapping its blooms shut as if in reproach.

“Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei whispered. Just to say it, just to say his name and see his beautiful beloved turn to him. To see Kunlun smile at him—for he was Kunlun, would become Kunlun, and he was also the real Zhao Yunlan. There was no doubt left in his mind, only an ocean of love, an inexorable tide, pulling him forward. Pulling him under. He took one unsteady step closer—

Zhao Yunlan did smile at him, but it looked shaky all of a sudden, and he was rising out of his tree chair now, moving fast—

—before he even knew he was falling, Shen Wei was caught. Caught and held, in Zhao Yunlan’s arms.

***

Time moved strangely, after that, and Shen Wei was barely aware of anything happening at all, except that he was moving when he really didn’t want to be moving. He didn’t complain about it, not until Zhao Yunlan was taking his shoes off his feet. Then he managed to open his eyes for a moment and make an inarticulate noise of protest.

“Shh,” Zhao Yunlan told him. “You look terrible, and I don’t know how to fix any of it, except—here, lie down—”

The pillow that appeared behind his head was very soft, and Shen Wei drifted off again for a little while. Something touched his cheek, something damp, and he grumbled about that, making Zhao Yunlan laugh. “Yes, yes, I’m the worst, you should arrest me and bring me home for punishment,” he was saying. The words were nonsense, but they made Shen Wei relax back into the pillow. If Zhao Yunlan was laughing and teasing him, he must be all right. He must be safe.

A sharp tug pulled at his hair, and he winced away from it. “Sorry!” Zhao Yunlan said. “You have dried blood everywhere, and I’m trying to—” A hand stroked his hair, and that was better. Shen Wei sighed. He leaned into that warm hand, smiling a little. The damp cloth passed over his face again, and this time he didn’t protest against it. Zhao Yunlan chuckled softly and kept stroking his hair.

“Did you let the building collapse on top of you, hmm? Is that why you’re this much of a mess?” Zhao Yunlan was saying in a gentle chiding tone that didn’t feel as lighthearted as it sounded. “Your beautiful suit is ruined, too. I’m glad you got everyone out, I really am, but next time—”

“I was looking for you,” Shen Wei tried to say. It sounded more like “Iwhmmn.” Exhaustion lapped at him, blanketed him, and finally covered him completely.

***

When next he woke, he spent long moments staring up at the silk canopy over his head, at the sprays of wildflowers embroidered on it. Then he remembered, and he jack-knifed up in one terrified movement—

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” said Zhao Yunlan, right beside him, pulling him back down. “I was watching over you, you’re safe. Everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.” His voice was soft and warm and worried, and all at once it was more than Shen Wei could bear. He turned in Zhao Yunlan’s arms and hid his head against Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered into the thick denim of Zhao Yunlan’s jacket.

Zhao Yunlan’s arms only tightened around him. “You could never lose me,” he said lightly. “I’ll be right here, even if you get sick of me—”

Shen Wei couldn’t stand to hear it. He pushed himself up, hands on Zhao Yunlan’s shoulders, looking down at him. “I lost you once,” he said, knowing he shouldn’t, unable to stop himself. “I can’t do it again, I can’t, I—” Horrified, he realized that tears were spilling down his face, falling toward Zhao Yunlan’s chin.

Zhao Yunlan looked up at him, and for a moment his expression felt frozen, like it had been before, blank, expressionless—but then it melted into aching tenderness. “Shen Wei, ah Shen Wei, I swear I won’t do that to you.” His expression was serious now, not lighthearted, not teasing, nor was he hiding himself behind one of his blinding grins. “I will always come back to you, I don’t care what it takes. Do you believe me?” His voice was the voice of the Guardian, of Kunlun. This was the man who could remake the world and then cheerfully rename it, whose compassion could move the stars themselves to do his bidding.

Shen Wei blinked away more moisture, then finally nodded.

“Good,” Zhao Yunlan said, sounding satisfied. He reached up to rub his thumb gently along Shen Wei’s cheek, and then he wrapped his arms around Shen Wei’s neck and drew him down into a kiss.

Shen Wei had lost himself. His face was wet, his arms were shaking, his heart was aching with remembered loss, and he was kissing Zhao Yunlan. These things could not all be true. But they felt true, even here, in this dreamworld of a dimension, and Zhao Yunlan was biting very gently at his lip—Shen Wei shuddered—and then his arms shook harder, enough for Zhao Yunlan to notice and scold him for it.

“Ah, lie down already, come on—” Zhao Yunlan was pulling him closer, back into his arms. “You still look awful, come here—”

Shen Wei let himself be arranged, until his head was nestled against Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder again, and Zhao Yunlan had wrapped himself around the rest of him. It was—good. It was more than good. He could hear the slow throb of Zhao Yunlan’s heart, and he could feel Zhao Yunlan’s warmth all along his side. And then Zhao Yunlan started stroking his hair again, all the while pressing soft kisses against the crown of his head, and Shen Wei melted into him, until his breathing slowly evened out.

***

Zhao Yunlan was falling, falling, endlessly falling—into the dust, into the broken masonry and jagged, twisted rebar. His face was calm, peaceful even, and he looked up at Shen Wei as he fell, with such a loving smile—

This time he woke with Zhao Yunlan shaking him.

“Sorry,” Zhao Yunlan said as soon as his eyes opened. He was looking a little frantic. “You were, uh, starting to move things around in your sleep, and you were starting to float a bit? And I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, so—”

Shen Wei could not remember doing that. But he also could not remember the last time he had slept so deeply, or dreamed at all. “Dreaming is—dangerous, for those of us with powers,” he told Zhao Yunlan. “We try to avoid it, when we can. I’m glad you woke me.”

Zhao Yunlan dropped down next to him, exhaling a huge gust of air. “You had me worried. What were you dreaming of?”

Shen Wei swallowed. “You. Of what happened, when the building fell—what I thought happened—”

“Oh,” Zhao Yunlan said softly. “Yeah, I see. I didn’t have time to explain, I know, but—did you think I was still in the building?” He made a small, unhappy noise at whatever he saw in Shen Wei’s expression. “Ugh. I could have managed that better. I should have—”

“You saved countless lives,” Shen Wei told him, in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. “None of us knew the quake would be that severe. We would not have been able to evacuate the building in time, not without you.”

Zhao Yunlan dropped his head on Shen Wei’s chest and sighed. “I still hate doing that to you. I tried to warn you earlier, too. Catch your eye. But I was still inside the mirror, looking out, and you would never look back at me. You never looked at any mirrors at all, actually. Was that—deliberate?” He leaned up on one elbow and looked Shen Wei in the eye.

For a moment, Shen Wei could not breathe. Every time he faced a mirror, he saw his brother, and it had become a habit to avoid his own reflection. He usually wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but Zhao Yunlan had noticed. Zhao Yunlan—the real Zhao Yunlan—noticed everything.

“How do you even manage to style your hair, without—” Zhao Yunlan lifted his hand and carded it through Shen Wei’s bangs, tugging at them with a playful smile.

Shen Wei grabbed his wrist, and Zhao Yunlan’s eyes opened wide. When Shen Wei frowned at him, he deliberately batted his eyes. Distracting him, purposely. As if he could tell that Shen Wei was feeling off balance, and had decided to show him mercy instead of investigating further. For a moment, Shen Wei did not know how to feel about being seen so clearly, but then Zhao Yunlan licked his lower lip and pouted, and Shen Wei decided it was time to stop this assault the only way he knew how.

These kisses were not the same as the ones the way he remembered from so long ago. He was—hungrier, now, and perhaps that other time, he had not been so ready to hold his partner down and take what he wanted from his lips. But now, Zhao Yunlan only made little delighted noises and arched into him and kissed him right back. It was food and drink and air and life, to be kissed like that—it was everything he could ever have wanted, and Shen Wei lost himself in it.

An eternity later, bright-eyed and breathless, Zhao Yunlan rolled onto his back and lay there, panting. “I want to take you home,” he said at last. “This place might fall apart without Zhou Meimei, and I need to talk to the team—no signal in here—but I need to know, are you up for that? We’ll have to be careful about our way back, we don’t want to set off another quake—” He kissed Shen Wei between the eyebrows, as if punctuating a sentence.

“Where is Zhou Meimei?” Shen Wei said. He felt as if he were swimming to the surface, very slowly, from an enormous, oceanic depth. He was still exhausted, but not with the bone-deep exhaustion of before, that had stolen so much of his awareness and self-control. His power was still vastly depleted, but surely he would be able to open a portal, if Zhao Yunlan wanted to go—to his apartment. Where Shen Wei’s shoes still stood under the bed. He wasn’t sure if he should call it home.

Zhao Yunlan coughed. “Well, she’s probably with her guy, or looking for him. I told her to head for the sand pit in the park, just in case there’s another quake afterward, and she grabbed some things and stepped through the mirror.”

“I see. So you did let her go.”

Zhao Yunlan gave him a scapegrace smile, and Shen Wei sighed a little. He might not have granted her the same privilege, but he would not object to Zhao Yunlan’s charity. He did not think she was capable of doing more harm to anyone else. “And—did she say—”

“She said the decoy she made would disappear, the moment I stepped back into the real world,” Zhao Yunlan said. Plucking his thought out of thin air, as usual. He paused, and his voice was a fraction rougher when he said, “Was it just like me? You looked—every time I saw you—you were so pale, even before the quake—did I—”

“It was not like you,” Shen Wei said. “A mirror reflection distorts reality.” He tried to make it an objective statement, but Zhao Yunlan rolled toward him and gave him a look that was far too understanding, then put a warm hand on Shen Wei’s arm, as if to underscore the difference.

“Did you really tell her that she could never be with her fiancé, that first time?” Zhao Yunlan asked, curiously. “Because of the whole—being from two different worlds—thing?”

“Yes,” Shen Wei admitted. “I was not in an..especially optimistic…frame of mind, at the time.”

“Well, this time I told her to invite us to the wedding,” Zhao Yunlan said blithely, grinning up at the canopy over their heads.. “If things work out for her. I bet they will, though. He was pretty damn gone on her, as I remember.”

“I know the feeling,” Shen Wei said, softly, and was promptly kissed again for his trouble.

“You didn’t answer me yet,” Zhao Yunlan said at last.

Shen Wei swallowed and tried to retrace their conversation. “About—not looking in mirrors?”

Zhao Yunlan’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, that wasn’t what I meant, but—”

“I will try,” Shen Wei told him. “I’ve…kept things from you. Too many things. And I will share them with you, when I can. I promise.”

Zhao Yunlan nodded. “I’ll be there,” he told Shen Wei in return. “I’ll be there to listen, Shen Wei. I promise that, too.” He took a deep, slow, steady breath. “The answer I want right now, though, is: do you feel recovered enough to open a portal for us?” He lifted one finger and pointed it at Shen Wei. “And please, baobei, please think about it before you say yes.”

Shen Wei considered it, as carefully as he knew how. “I think so,” he said at last. Zhao Yunlan gave him a doubtful look, and he added, “I do feel—better. And I would very much like to go back. Even if I will need more time to recover, afterward. I would like—” He paused. He had just promised to be more open. He could do this. Couldn’t he? “—to go home.”

***

His dove-grey shoes were still under Zhao Yunlan’s bed. The rest of the apartment—looked much the same, only dustier.

Zhao Yunlan stood in the doorway, talking to Da Qing on the phone, facing away from him. His posture reminded Shen Wei of that horrible moment in the hallway, nearly a week ago now, where that other Zhao Yunlan had deliberately turned his back. The memory chilled him, but he pushed it away with some force. He bent over and dug under the bed for his grey shoes—he should put them away—

“Who told you you were allowed to do that,” said Zhao Yunlan, sounding very stern. He had put his phone away, and was staring down at Shen Wei with an inscrutable frown.

Shen Wei blinked up at him, one shoe in each hand.

Zhao Yunlan sighed and wiped a hand down his face, but Shen Wei could see the smile he was trying to hide. “Don’t murder me with those eyes, baobei, it isn’t fair, honestly. Your lashes alone could kill a man. Here, just—give me those shoes, I’m going to hide every pair you own, and your socks as well, and then you will have to take another nap, because you’re not some barbarian who wanders around barefoot.” He managed to tug one grey shoe away from Shen Wei, but Shen Wei held on to the other one.

Shen Wei shook his head. “No, I should—”

“—take a shower? Yes, you can, but I’ll join you.”

Shen Wei put the remaining grey shoe down under the bed again. It was becoming very difficult to follow Zhao Yunlan’s leaps of logic.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Zhao Yunlan said, very patiently. “Which is totally fine by me, but you’re going to fall over into my bed, not in my shower. In any case, I don’t want to let you out of my sight right now.”

Shen Wei shook his head. “I don’t want to take a shower.” He sounded—petulant, to his own ears. Childish. It was shameful, and there was no reason for Zhao Yunlan’s expression to soften the way it did.

“Okay. No shower. I think I cleaned you up pretty well, but anyway—you want to lie down?” Zhao Yunlan walked over and made a big show of kicking off his own shoes and dropping down onto the bed, arms spread wide. He looked incredibly tempting. Inviting.

Shen Wei hesitated. They were not in the mirror, now. This was the real world, with all its heavy weight of responsibilities. It felt like he had done nothing but take naps, recently, and surely there were important things that he should be doing—

“Look,” Zhao Yunlan said then, softly. “I don’t know how long it was—from what Da Qing was saying, I’m starting to think it was longer for you than for me—but I just spent a lot of time watching you flinch away from mirrors. I kept trying to find you, through car mirrors and I don’t know what else, and every time I did catch a glimpse, you looked absolutely terrible, like you had lost your last penny on the stock market, or your—well. Anyway. I couldn’t reach you, and it sucked. I don’t think Zhou Meimei meant to torture either of us, but it was worse than pulling my nails out, Shen Wei. Chopping my hand off would have hurt less.”

“Don’t joke about that,” said Shen Wei, automatically. He darted a glance at Zhao Yunlan’s hands, despite himself. They opened, the fingers curling up toward him, and then Zhao Yunlan made a little come-hither motion with both hands and leaned back against the duvet.

“Don’t you want to make me feel better?” Zhao Yunlan wheedled. He was putting on his most childish airs, but beneath them, as Shen Wei knew very well, was always a layer of some truth that he didn’t want to own up to.

In any case, Shen Wei did want to make him feel better. If that meant lying down, if that meant touching him, if that meant holding him closely, hearing his heartbeat, and feeling the warm golden thread of his lifeforce unspool between them—well. He would just have to suffer through it. With a small sigh, he sat down upon the bed and began to take off his shoes, the brown ones he had worn all week and would happily consign to a dumpster.

Watching him, Zhao Yunlan reached up behind his head and pulled the other grey shoe out from under the pillow with the air of a magician revealing a rabbit. And, with a little crow of triumph, he threw it festively across the room.