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Mobei Jun placed his head on his hand, elbow propped up on the bed. He looked at Shang Qinghua, who was tying his robes at his waist and quickly walking towards his discarded headpiece as he tied them. He reached up and touched his head, grimacing immediately when he felt it. He looked at Mobei Jun, headpiece in one hand, the other still on his head, feeling the messy strands.
Pushing himself up from the bed, he gestured for Shang Qinghua to come over. Shang Qinghua immediately went to his side of the bed, kneeling onto it and settling in at Mobei Jun’s side. He handed Mobei Jun the headpiece.
Mobei Jun reached up and untangled Shang Qinghua’s hair from the tie that he’d put it up in the previous night. He brushed through it with his fingers, not looking Shang Qinghua in the eye as he did so. He could feel the stare on him, and he’d just be distracted if he looked. He put up Shang Qinghua’s hair, slid the headpiece over the top, and straightened it.
He dropped his hands from Shang Qinghua’s hair, cradled his face for a moment, then leaned away.
Shang Qinghua smiled at him, tipped forward to press their lips together chastely, then pulled away. “Going back to the North?” He asked, going over to grab a few papers.
“Yes,” Mobei Jun said, still watching him.
“Okay… Are you coming back tonight?”
“Yes,” Mobei Jun said again, frowning a little. “Why wouldn’t I—”
“Shh,” Shang Qinghua said gently, glancing over at him as he made his way to the door. “I know. Just making sure. I’ll see you later then, okay? Have a good day back at home.”
Mobei Jun stared after him as he left. This had been routine for a while now. It never got easier, to watch Shang Qinghua walk away. To watch him make An Ding and Cang Qiong a priority. He understood what it meant, and he understood what Shang Qinghua thought of his sect. He understood that Shang Qinghua was capable of caring about more than one thing. Mobei Jun understood it, but he also did not. He could conceptualize it. He didn’t know what it felt like.
Once Shang Qinghua was gone, Mobei Jun untangled himself from Shang Qinghua’s blanket and redressed into his robes. He rearranged the blanket on the bed, picked up Shang Qinghua’s stray clothes, and straightened the room out before he left. He took one final look at it and felt his body grow a bit colder at the sight of it cleaned up, as if he’d never been there.
He turned away and stepped through the shadows.
__________
There was an odd sort of buzzing in the air when Mobei Jun came back. There was no distinct noise, but something about the way the disciples moved around him, the way they skittered out of sight, the way they eyed him warily, was all ways in which they’d treated him at the beginning of everything with Shang Qinghua. While they’d never grown comfortable with him, they at least knew he was not there to burn An Ding to the ground. But now, they did it again, except this time they seemed somehow even more wary than before.
Not only was it the disciples that were behaving somewhat oddly, it was quieter than normal. It was difficult to place how it was quieter, but Mobei Jun felt as though he could hear the sound of the wind better, and could hear the faint trickle of water somewhere. Normally it was drowned out by something, whether that something be talking, bustle, or even just distractions that muffled it. Now, though, it was silent.
Mobei Jun had chosen to walk through An Ding instead of appearing straight into Shang Qinghua’s rooms solely because that’s what he always asked him to do. Mobei Jun did not understand why at first, but it made more sense when one day, early in their relationship, Shang Qinghua had not been there. The experience of that, whether rational or not, was something that Mobei Jun would not soon forget. After that, he also agreed that perhaps going through the peak first was a better idea.
As he was making his way towards Shang Qinghua’s rooms, it got quieter. No one was speaking or making any noise in the vicinity whatsoever. Mobei Jun could not help but be suspicious. He heard voices coming from Shang Qinghua’s room the more he neared, and suspicion began to be overcome with irritation.
He swept into the room with a burst of cold air, face stoic as he looked up to meet the gaze of those in the room. Shang Qinghua was laying on the bed, staring at him with wide eyes. Shen Qingqiu was standing at his side, fan open but hanging limply in his hand. Luo Binghe was standing on the other side of the room, watching them. Mu Qingfang was there, too, and when Mobei Jun caught sight of him, he felt both his insides and the room itself grow colder.
“What’s going on?” He asked through gritted teeth, going over to Shang Qinghua.
Shen Qingqiu stepped in his way, hand coming up.
Luo Binghe shifted.
Mobei Jun felt a flare of white hot anger spike through him. He stopped in front of Shen Qingqiu, dangerously close. “Move.”
“No,” Shen Qingqiu said.
Luo Binghe came up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder—a warning. Mobei Jun’s hands clenched into fists and his nails dug into his flesh. He looked down at Shang Qinghua, past Shen Qingqiu, who was still only staring at him with a shocked expression.
“Qinghua—” he began.
Before he could finish, Shen Qingqiu poked at him with his fan. “Wait. We need to explain.”
Mobei Jun glared at him and Luo Binghe’s hand tightened. “Explain what?” He snapped.
Shen Qingqiu glanced at Mu Qingfang. “He will explain it better than I can.”
Mobei Jun turned to send his glare over to Mu Qingfang. “Speak.”
Mu Qingfang’s jaw tightened in response, but he stepped closer, as if also nearing to stop Mobei Jun if he were to move towards Shang Qinghua. Mobei Jun felt wrought with anger, so encompassed by it that he felt that if he did not destroy something soon, he may do something he regretted later.
“We had a meeting altogether with Yue Qingyuan. While there, we were attacked by an insignificant group to stir up trouble,” he began, hands behind his back in faux casualness. “It was a relatively short fight, but—” He looked over at Shang Qinghua.
Mobei Jun looked at him, too, anxiousness spiking in his chest. He tried to move around Shen Qingqiu again, but he just pushed on him with his fan. He whirled back to Mu Qingfang. “But what?” He snarled.
“He was injured. Not severely. He is fine. But the medicine I gave him…he is having an unanticipated reaction to it.”
“Speak plainly,” Mobei Jun said, voice beginning to sound somewhat unfamiliar. He ripped out of Luo Binghe’s hold and turned fully towards Mu Qingfang.
Mu Qingfang eyed him warily, but he did not lean away. “He lost his memories.”
He paused. He glanced over at Shang Qinghua again, who was staring up at him as if he did not know him. Mobei Jun felt his chest tighten and his hands loosen. He breathed in once, as he waited for Shang Qinghua to smile at him, to say something to him, to look at him with even an ounce of affection.
“He remembers nothing,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Nothing. He basically remembers how to speak and how to move, but other than that… He remembers nothing about any of us.”
“And you will help him?” Mobei Jun asked, turning back to Mu Qingfang. “You can fix this?” He did not know why or how the anger had drained out of him so quickly. Perhaps it was Shang Qinghua’s empty stare. He still was expressive, for that was just who he was, but in comparison to the way his eyes used to warm when he looked at Mobei Jun, this was beyond void.
“We will try,” Mu Qingfang said. “As of right now, I am not entirely sure what went wrong. Physically, he is healthy. I will have to look for whatever it is that is causing it. We did not know he lost his memory until just recently.”
“Why did no one call for me?” He said through gritted teeth, rounding on Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe. “As soon as he was hurt, you should have told me.”
Shen Qingqiu’s lips flattened into a line. Luo Binghe was the one to speak. “Look, we knew he’d be fine. There was no reason to call for you and have you getting in the way until he was better. We were going to get you when he woke up, but then he didn’t remember anything, so we were trying to make sure nothing was wrong with him.”
Mobei Jun did not see the logic. “And does that mean I shouldn’t know what’s wrong with him? He’s my—”
Shen Qingqiu cleared his throat loudly, and grabbed onto Mobei Jun’s arm roughly. He dragged him out of the room without another word, and the only reason Mobei Jun didn’t throw him into the wall was because Luo Binghe would have killed him for it.
Once they were out of the room, Mobei Jun ripped his arm away. “What?” He snarled. “I—”
“You shouldn’t tell him that you’re married.”
Mobei Jun felt anger pulse through him again. “And why not?”
“He remembers nothing. He doesn’t even know that anything like you exists right now. He has the memories that a child would have. He only knows about humans, and that he needs to eat when he’s hungry, and that he needs to breathe. Telling him that he’s married to someone that isn’t even the same species as him will only stress him out.” Shen Qingqiu’s tone was clipped and clinical.
Mobei Jun’s hands tightened to fists again, if only to stop himself from lashing out. “So you expect me to let you keep him here. Is that what you’re getting at?”
“At least for a few days,” Shen Qingqiu muttered. “For his safety. So Mu Qingfang can keep an eye on him and treat him.”
“Treat him at the palace,” he said shortly. “That’s his home.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure it won’t be a burden to him to spend time in a place like that when he remembers nothing of it. Or that he’s safe there.” Shen Qingqiu was beginning to look angry himself, and Mobei Jun did not find that to be fair. He had nothing to be angry about.
The implication that Shang Qinghua would feel safer with someone other than him caused an indignant feeling to rise up that was so quickly crushed by reality that he felt immobile from it. Despite the protestations that wanted to fall from his lips, he knew that Shen Qingqiu was right. If Shang Qinghua truly remembered nothing, then Mobei Jun was starting from scratch. And their beginnings had only left Shang Qinghua with crippling fear. There was no reason this time would be any different.
He looked towards the closed door. “I want to see him,” he said. “I want to speak to him.”
“You can,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Just don’t tell him that you’re his husband. That’s it.”
Mobei Jun said nothing more. He turned and went back into the room. Shang Qinghua’s head lifted to look at him, and that same empty, almost dazed look crossed his face again. His eyes slid past Mobei Jun and fell onto Shen Qingqiu, and relief blossomed across his expression. Mobei Jun stopped in the center of the room, almost staggered with it. Shang Qinghua remembered nothing, and yet he felt relieved to see Shen Qingqiu and not Mobei Jun.
Shang Qinghua looked at Mobei Jun again, and he did not look afraid, like he had when they first met each other. But he looked at him now with a near coldness, and Shang Qinghua was typically so warm.
Shen Qingqiu passed him and pulled Luo Binghe out of the room. He beckoned for Mu Qingfang to follow, and it was only a moment later that he was alone with Shang Qinghua. Normally, that would be preferable. Now, he felt as though he was staring up a mountain and was expected to crush it under his foot.
“Qinghua,” he said eventually, stepping towards him. He knelt beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Shang Qinghua stared at him, jaw a little slack, but not as shocked as he looked when Mobei Jun first came in. “Fine,” he said.
It was the first time he’d heard him speak since that morning. He even spoke to Mobei Jun differently. He’d had so much time to get slowly used to the way Shang Qinghua spoke to him now, as opposed to how he spoke to him in the beginning. But faced with that distant cadence again, Mobei Jun wondered how he’d ever forgotten it. For it was as if ice had been poured into his veins.
“I mean…I feel fine, but they’re telling me I’m not. And I can’t…remember anything,” Shang Qinghua continued.
“You’re not in any pain, or discomfort?”
“My head sort of hurts,” he admitted. “But it’s not too bad…they gave me something, to make it feel better.
Mobei Jun nodded and looked down at the mattress.
“What’s your name?” Shang Qinghua asked quietly, like he was embarrassed.
Mobei Jun did not look up, for it felt like looking up meant certain death. “Mobei Jun,” he murmured.
“Oh… And I suppose that I know you.”
“Yes.”
Shang Qinghua was quiet for a few moments. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, maybe too harshly. He stopped himself before he spoke again, trying not to sound angry anymore, though he felt like a deep rage was beginning to simmer low in his gut. “It’s not your fault.” I should have been there, he didn’t say.
“So how do I know you?” Shang Qinghua asked.
Mobei Jun looked up at him finally. He was already looking at him. His face was pale, but his cheeks were somewhat flushed. He was sitting in an unnatural way, like he was trying to look casual or at-ease, but was evidently far from comfort. Mobei Jun leaned away, shifting to settle on the backs of his legs, still on his knees. He breathed in deep as he looked at Shang Qinghua. It ached in him when Shang Qinghua seemed to loosen the further away he was.
Unsure of how much to say, he said, “We met when we were young.”
Shang Qinghua frowned a little as he looked at him. “We’ve known each other for a long time?”
“Yes,” Mobei Jun said. His voice sounded weak to his own ears.
“Oh…” He paused. “I’m not really sure what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Mobei Jun pushed himself up and stood again. Shang Qinghua looked up at him, expression looking surprised again. Mobei Jun looked down at him for a few more moments. He turned to go to the side table, where there was water in a pitcher. He poured a cup for Shang Qinghua and brought it over to him. He held the cup out wordlessly.
Shang Qinghua grabbed it, murmuring a small thank you as he took it. He sipped at it gingerly as he looked around the room. He was uncomfortable.
“They said you don’t remember anything.” Mobei Jun said. He wasn’t sure how to not make it sound like an accusation.
Shang Qinghua nodded, gaze flickering across Mobei Jun’s face before it flickered away gain. “I don’t remember anything. But this all seems unfamiliar to me. Which, how can it be unfamiliar if I don’t remember what is familiar?” He stopped talking, and stared at the cup in his hand. “I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me,” he concluded.
“And you really aren’t in any pain or discomfort?”
Shang Qinghua met his gaze. He shook his head. “Just my head. And it’s better than before. Nothing much to do about that.”
Mobei Jun did not feel like letting even a simple headache go. He turned to the door and yanked it open. He glared at Shen Qingqiu, that simmering anger bubbling up and spilling over towards whoever it could be furious at. “What happened to him? The injury? How was he injured?”
Shen Qingqiu glanced inside of the room, as if he was worried about Shang Qinghua, and looked back at Mobei Jun. “Someone grabbed him and he got himself out of the hold, but he fell and hit his head. They got on top of him and punched him a few times, presumably to knock him out. We got to him then.”
Mobei Jun’s head went blank for a moment, as if even his own body could not process the fury that was about to wash over him like a tidal wave. Before his brain caught back up with him, Shen Qingqiu continued.
“The medicine that Mu Qingfang gave him helped, which is why he looks and feels unharmed. But whatever it did to help heal his injuries was paid for with his memories.”
Although Mobei Jun only wished that he could hunt down the person who did this and make them suffer for an eternity, Mobei Jun found his mouth moving before he even thought about it, voice calm in comparison to rolling chaos in his stomach. “His head hurts.”
“What?” Shen Qingqiu frowned.
“His head,” Mobei Jun said, glancing back at Shang Qinghua, who was staring at him still. “He said his head hurts.”
Shen Qingqiu nodded. “I imagine it does, given everything. Mu Qingfang gave him something to help with it.”
Mobei Jun looked back at Shen Qingqiu. “Those who attacked Qinghua—are they dead?”
“Yes.”
Mobei Jun almost felt irritated. But he would have been irritated either way. It was quiet amongst them for a few moments. “I will stay here,” he said. “I will not stay in the same room, but I will be on the peak until I can take him back with me.”
“Take me back where?” Shang Qinghua cut in anxiously.
Shen Qingqiu shot Mobei Jun an irritated look, then pushed past him to go into the room. He sat down at the end of the bed and Mobei Jun wanted to pick him up and throw him away. Instead, he also stepped back into the room as Luo Binghe came up beside him. They stood side by side as Shen Qingqiu thought of a way to explain it.
Earlier, it had felt as though he and Shang Qinghua had gone back to square one with the memory loss. But in this moment, it felt like Shang Qinghua had pushed him away. Because even back then, when Shang Qinghua was still afraid of him, he followed Mobei Jun where he went, and he saved him, and he looked at him as if he knew him better than anybody else could ever dream of. Now there was nothing. This was worse.
“You know how I explained that you’re basically in charge around here, in An Ding?” Shen Qingqiu began.
Shang Qinghua nodded, grimacing somewhat, as if that sounded like a nightmare to him. And it really was; Mobei Jun knew that much. He loved his peak and he loved his disciples, but he was so often frustrated with it all, and would always say he wanted to go home, where Mobei Jun was. Mobei Jun was not sure if he would feel the same way, without his memories.
“You also sort of have another job.”
Mobei Jun bristled, face turning up into a snarl as he glared at Shen Qingqiu. A job. It was so much easier to be angry, Mobei Jun found.
Shen Qingqiu glanced at Mobei Jun, but quickly looked away when he saw his expression. Shang Qinghua did not miss this, however, so he looked at Mobei Jun, too. His eyes widened at the expression. He still did not look afraid. Mobei Jun was starting to wish that he would, because he knew how to handle Shang Qinghua’s fear better than this.
“You also live somewhere else,” Shen Qingqiu acquiesced, for Mobei Jun’s sake. “The majority of your time is spent in another realm. Where Mobei Jun lives.”
Shang Qinghua blinked. “What do I do there?”
“It would be hard to describe without you knowing all the details,” Shen Qingqiu said, almost too quickly. “Going there might help your memories. Once we make sure you’re stable, safe, and can figure out a diagnostic plan, then maybe going back to where you live might jog your memories better than if you’re here.”
Shang Qinghua’s frown deepened somewhat, but he nodded. “Okay…”
Shen Qingqiu stood up. “We’ll let you rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll have Mu Qingfang check on you one more time. If all’s well, we’ll see you in the morning.”
They stepped out of the room and Mobei Jun immediately crowded towards Shen Qingqiu as soon as they were far enough away. Luo Binghe stepped in-between, blocking Mobei Jun with a hand on his chest. His face was cold and dark in warning.
Mobei Jun had no intention of hurting him, so he did not pay Luo Binghe any mind. “Why do you think that you are the one who is allowed to take the reins on this?” He hissed. “If anyone should be explaining things to him, staying with him, helping him, it’s me.”
“Maybe that would be true if he knew enough to warrant speaking to someone from a completely different realm than him, when he doesn’t remember enough to know there are species outside of humans.” Shen Qingqiu’s tone was clipped. “I’m just trying to help him. And I’m trying to not stress him out as much as possible. Can’t you tell that you’re upsetting him? Making him nervous?”
Mobei Jun turned away from him and swept away without another word. There was no point in arguing with Shen Qingqiu. And Mobei Jun did not feel strong enough to face him in that moment.
__________
Shang Qinghua stumbled through the shadows and Mobei Jun had to catch his arm so he wouldn’t fall. He was weaker and more fatigued than normal and Mobei Jun had known this, but it seemed to be in everyone’s best interest if Mobei Jun did not help him along, or hold onto him, or touch him whatsoever, really. It had been the first time they’d touched at all, since Shang Qinghua left him the morning he was injured. It took great effort to let go.
Shang Qinghua had not been interested in coming to the North. In fact, he seemed very reluctant to go. He seemed anxious to have Shen Qingqiu not go with him, and Mobei Jun did not think he would ever forget what it had been like to witness the evidence of that on Shang Qinghua’s face—to witness Shang Qinghua stare after Shen Qingqiu like he was afraid to be left alone with Mobei Jun. To witness Shang Qinghua look over at Mobei Jun with a trepidation that was different than it used to be when they first met. Before, it was fear that Mobei Jun would hurt him. This time, it was fear of not being with Shen Qingqiu. It was anxiousness. It was discomfort. It was misery. Mobei Jun was unsure if it was obvious that he reflected those same feelings back as if he were a perfect mirror.
As soon as the shadows closed behind them, Shang Qinghua was shivering from the cold. His hands went up to rub at his arms. He looked around curiously, but there was apprehension on his face, as though he did not fully trust where he was. Mobei Jun watched him, waited to see if there was any recognition that crossed his face, but found that Shang Qinghua only looked at the room blankly, as if he’d never been inside before.
Mobei Jun turned away from him.
He had not taken him to their room, for he had been afraid of a lack of recognition on Shang Qinghua’s face in that space if being in the North truly did not help jog his memory. He had been right to not do it.
Shang Qinghua followed after him, feet shuffling along the ground like he was trying not to pick up his feet too high. He settled beside Mobei Jun, eyes continuously flittering around, as if he was looking for something to come out and attack him. Shen Qingqiu had a conversation with Shang Qinghua before he left, so Mobei Jun would be unsurprised if he had warned Shang Qinghua about what kinds of things he might witness while in the North. His own evident displeasure in sending Shang Qinghua to the North likely left Shang Qinghua feeling less confident about going, as well.
A few servants came in, and compared to Mobei Jun, they looked completely inhuman. Their skin was a dark purple, almost black, and one had hooves for feet and horns winding on their head. Their face was shaped similar to an animals’, and the other looked almost identical. He felt Shang Qinghua freeze beside him.
He turned to Shang Qinghua and tried to catch his gaze.
Shang Qinghua did eventually look up at him, eyes only slightly wider than normal. He swallowed, hands clenched at his sides. If Mobei Jun hadn’t known him as well as he did, he would not have known Shang Qinghua was afraid. To others, it might have looked like stoicism, or rigidness.
“They won’t hurt you,” Mobei Jun said quietly, so they wouldn’t hear.
When they saw Mobei Jun, in fact, they immediately straightened their postures and greeted him formally. He did not pay them any mind. He led Shang Qinghua through the hall, standing between the servants and Shang Qinghua.
Lost in thought about how he’d have to convey to all servants to not speak to Shang Qinghua as if he was Mobei Jun’s husband, he did not notice at first that he was going straight to their room instead of Shang Qinghua’s old one. He paused when he realized, and another brick settling in his stomach. He breathed in, then out.
Shang Qinghua stopped beside him. “Why’d you stop?”
Instead of explaining himself, which would have been difficult, Mobei Jun just turned and began heading in the direction of Shang Qinghua’s old room, before they’d come together. Shang Qinghua followed him in a confused silence, but he made no comments.
Mobei Jun led him into his old room and it looked as though no one lived there. His jaw was tight as he walked inside and turned to look at Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua was looking around, noted the fireplace with a palpable relief, and then sat gingerly on the end of the bed. He looked around. “It’s nice in here. This is my room?”
“Yes,” Mobei Jun said. It almost hurt to say it. He missed Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua nodded and kept looking around. “The palace is nice. The servants are a little, um…scary. But other than that it’s nice. Just cold.”
“You have warmer robes,” Mobei Jun said. “I’ll get them for you.”
“They aren’t in my room?”
Mobei Jun froze a little. He glanced towards the wardrobe, that had been emptied long ago. “They were being cleaned.”
“Oh…” He nodded a few times. He looked up at Mobei Jun. “How come I live here and not on An Ding? What do I do here?”
Mobei Jun’s jaw clenched again. “Shen Qingqiu did not tell you?”
“Not really… The explanation was pretty vague.”
Mobei Jun let out a derisive scoff. He looked at the wall, because it was easier to look at. “It is not simple to describe when you do not understand the context.”
Shang Qinghua made a small noise. “I guess, but…I’d like to hear about it anyway.”
Mobei Jun felt almost impatient. “You help me run the kingdom,” he said shortly, turning away and stepping through the shadows without waiting for a response. He stepped through to their rooms and went to the wardrobe where Shang Qinghua’s robes were. He grabbed a few sets and held them in his arms.
He did not understand why he couldn’t tell Shang Qinghua that they were married. But every time he thought about telling him, he felt gripped with fear. He was unsure of what it was exactly that he was afraid of. Maybe it was the lack of recognition. Maybe it was the fear that he would see disgust on Shang Qinghua’s face. Maybe he was worried there would be something there, like pity, and Mobei Jun would find out that Shang Qinghua did remember, did know, but was looking for a way out.
Mobei Jun stepped through the shadows again, for dwelling on those unknowns only caused him confusion and anger and a desperate feeling that he could do nothing about.
Shang Qinghua was still sitting on the bed when he returned. He stared at him with wide eyes again. “It’s cool that you can do that,” he said.
“What?” Mobei Jun asked, bringing the robes over to the wardrobe. “The shadows?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s cool.”
Mobei Jun let out a breath through his nose. He turned back to him and stepped forward. Shang Qinghua just looked up at him when he neared. Mobei Jun wanted to reach out, to touch his face. He hadn’t really touched him at all in days, and he missed it. He missed Shang Qinghua. He missed his warmth.
“It’s late,” he said, in lieu of touching. “You should rest.”
Shang Qinghua shifted, like he was anxious.
“You will be safe,” Mobei Jun assured. “If you need me for anything, or you need my help, call for me. Call for me as if I’m in the room already, and I will hear you, and I will come.”
“You’ll hear me?” He asked, looking as if he was not mollified by the assurances.
“Yes,” Mobei Jun said. “If you call for me, no matter how far away you are, I will hear you.”
“Really?”
Mobei Jun did it before he could think about it. He reached out and held his face. Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened and his breath quickened, but he just looked surprised. Mobei Jun brushed his thumb over his cheek and savored the feel of his skin. “Yes,” he responded. “I’ll hear you.” He pulled away.
“Wait—I—” He looked away. “What did I call you before? Did I call you by your name? A title? What is your title?”
Mobei Jun looked away from him. “My name is my title.”
“Oh… So what did I—Did I call you Mobei Jun?”
Even hearing his name from Shang Qinghua’s mouth felt foreign and upsetting. “No. You called me your king.”
“Like… My king?”
“Yes.”
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded a little hoarse. “You’re a king? No one—um—told me that.”
“A technicality,” Mobei Jun said shortly. He glanced at him again, but looked away. “It does not matter what you call me. Either way, I will come.”
Shang Qinghua sounded weak when he spoke next. “Okay.”
__________
Shang Qinghua had seemed to be getting used to the North. He shivered less, though he bundled up more than he did when he had his memories. There were times where a confused look would cross his face when he realized he hadn’t been cold in a while. He seemed to move around objects in the palace like he’d known they were there before he saw them, and he always frowned a little deeper, like he was trying to remember why he was able to do so.
Mobei Jun might have felt remorseful for the way he hovered around Shang Qinghua, but Shang Qinghua followed him like a shadow anyway. He stuck close by his side, or behind him, and never strayed farther than a few feet. Mobei Jun felt both gratified by it and also frustrated. Gratified because he was seeking refuge in Mobei Jun, but frustration from the lack of improvement on his memory and his own inability to help.
The amount of work Mobei Jun had to do without Shang Qinghua’s help, especially after being gone for almost a week, left him incredibly busy, barely enough time to eat or rest, and that also meant Shang Qinghua didn’t either. He was with Mobei Jun throughout the entire day, from the moment he woke until he slept.
He began asking Mobei Jun to stay with him for a little bit at night, to ask about his life, and important information about himself and the people around him. He also did it to stay up later and tire himself out, since he had not been sleeping well. Mobei Jun gave him the abridged version of what he could, from his perspective, and Shang Qinghua would only nod along and listen with enraptured attention.
Shang Qinghua often tried to get more information about their relationship, but Mobei Jun remained as evasive as he could about it, for it was also becoming a subject he did not wish to expand on when Shang Qinghua did not remember him. He did not want to see the look that would cross his face if he found out.
“You said we knew each other since we were young,” he said one night, a few days after coming back to the North. He was sitting up in his bed, holding onto his furs as Mobei Jun sat beside him.
“Yes,” Mobei Jun responded, looking out the window. He found that he was never meeting Shang Qinghua’s eye anymore.
“How’d we meet?”
He took a deep breath. “I was hurt and you found me.”
“I found you?”
Mobei Jun nodded once. “You were a spy for me, for many years, after that.”
“A spy,” he repeated. “Like, I spied on things for you? Your enemies?”
“Yes. Cang Qiong.”
Shang Qinghua stilled somewhat. “And do they know? Do they know I did that?”
Mobei Jun did not want to hear his horror at betraying his sect for Mobei Jun. He felt like he needed to leave immediately. “Yes, they know,” he said shortly. He stood up and went to step through the shadows. “Goodnight, Qinghua.”
“Wait!” He cried, reaching out after him.
Mobei Jun paused, shadows coiling on the ground at his feet. He did not move, though he wanted to turn around, catch his hand, pull him in close and take him back to their rooms.
“Wait, sorry. I know you don’t like it when I ask about you and me. I don’t know why. If I did something before I lost my memories, I’m really sorry.”
Mobei Jun couldn’t help but turn and pin him with a glare. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “I just…I don’t know why no one is telling me anything about you. You’ll tell me anything else, Shen Qingqiu will tell me anything else, but about this, no one will say a word. And I live here with you, obviously there’s something—”
“It’s not important,” he interrupted. “We do not bother because it is not important enough for you to know, and will only cause greater confusion.” It didn’t feel so confusing, when he thought about it. In fact, it felt like the only sane thing that could ever be conjured up from his life. The thing that made the most sense. The only thing he himself wished to remember.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me.”
Mobei Jun clenched his jaw, but forced himself to not lash out. He looked at him again. “Are you still not sleeping well?”
“Not really,” he admitted quietly. He glanced at Mobei Jun.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing,” he sighed. “I just feel disoriented, that’s all.”
Mobei Jun frowned.
Shang Qinghua smiled at him, and it was something he’d rarely done ever since his injury, and Mobei Jun’s chest cracked. “It’s ok. My memory will come back soon, and everything will be ok.”
Mobei Jun blinked at him. He lost hope every day that Shang Qinghua’s memory would return, and every day felt like someone was driving a knife into his gut. He nodded, however, and turned back to the shadows. “Yes. Sleep well, Qinghua.” He stepped through the shadows and disappeared into their room, where it was darker, and colder, and more hateful than Mobei Jun would have ever thought possible.
__________
A few days later, Mobei Jun had gone to Shang Qinghua’s rooms to meet him and take him to breakfast, since he did not like to roam the palace alone. He knocked on the door and Shang Qinghua had immediately opened it, like he’d been waiting right there. Mobei Jun’s hand was still raised when it opened, so he lowered it as he took him in. Shang Qinghua looked somewhat pale, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What’s wrong?” Mobei Jun asked, frowning. Despite it being over a week since Shang Qinghua had forgotten him, he still found it difficult to not reach out and touch him. He held his hands carefully by his sides.
“Nothing,” Shang Qinghua said, smiling a little. He stepped out of his room and shut the door behind him.
“You slept poorly,” Mobei Jun concluded, not moving away, even though Shang Qinghua was standing close and trying to go down the hallway.
Shang Qinghua glanced up at him, then looked away. “I mean… Yeah.”
Mobei Jun frowned.
Shang Qinghua had his head almost all the way tilted back to look up at him with how close they were standing. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, voice quiet. His brows were pulling inward, like he was upset.
Mobei Jun took a breath through his nose and tried to school whatever expression he was making. “Looking at you like what?”
“Like you’re sad.”
Mobei Jun’s chest tightened. Even though he did not remember Mobei Jun, Shang Qinghua still seemed to know him best. “I’m not sad,” he said, looking away from him. He let silence hang between them for a few moments before he spoke again. “What can I do?” He asked, still not meeting his gaze.
“What do you mean?” Shang Qinghua asked quietly.
“To help you sleep better.”
He didn’t respond for a few moments. “Like I’ve told you before… there’s nothing, really. I had a nightmare today. I couldn’t sleep afterwards.”
Mobei Jun wanted to reach out again, but he kept his hands to himself. He looked back at Shang Qinghua, who was still staring up at him. He wasn’t sure what he’d do, if Shang Qinghua never remembered. “A nightmare?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. He was looking at Mobei Jun’s face, but not meeting his eyes.
Mobei Jun did not know what he was scared of, so much that he’d dream of it. Could you have nightmares, when you did not remember anything? He supposed that it was possible. But the options of what Shang Qinghua could be afraid of right now was limited, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out if he was one of those things. But to not know was another kind of torture. He found himself asking anyway. “What did you dream of?”
Shang Qinghua sighed. “Nothing too terrible. Just—I dreamed of never remembering anything ever again, and it felt like I was in this big box where I was alone and trapped, and I had to stay there forever.”
Mobei Jun stilled. This place, his home, was a box to him now. A prison cell. And the only reason he had ever called it home was because of context, not because there was anything welcoming and comforting and precious about it. This proved that.
Something in his expression alerted Shang Qinghua. He shifted on his feet. “Um… breakfast?”
Mobei Jun turned and began walking down the hall without another word. Shang Qinghua scurried after him, pace quick to keep up with Mobei Jun’s long strides. Mobei Jun, however, did not slow down. If he did, he thought he might never be able to move again.
Shang Qinghua had stayed close to Mobei Jun the rest of the day, like he always had. But he still felt farther away somehow. The more Mobei Jun got to know this Shang Qinghua, the more his Shang Qinghua seemed to slip away. He didn’t feel like he knew him anymore. Knowing this Shang Qinghua was like meeting someone for the first time after you’d only met them in your dreams. And perhaps everything before was a dream, and Mobei Jun was now only just waking up.
If Shang Qinghua did not remember him, then there was nothing between them anymore. Shang Qinghua would never want him again, and he would at least not have to remember anything about their past. Mobei Jun, however, would wear the imprint of Shang Qinghua on his heart forever.
He followed him into his rooms that night and sat beside him on the bed as he settled in. Shang Qinghua laid on his side and looked up at him with his head pillowed on his arm. Despite knowing that it would never be the same between them again, as he looked at Shang Qinghua, Mobei Jun knew would do anything for him, whether he remembered his life eventually or not.
“What can I do?” He asked quietly, staring at Shang Qinghua’s cheek instead of his eyes.
“What can you do?” Shang Qinghua repeated, sounding confused. “Oh, about the nightmares?” His lips twitched like he was amused. “How often have you asked me that, the past few days?”
Mobei Jun felt the air pass through his lungs, but it felt painful, like it was barbed with spikes. He had not mentioned before that he had more than one nightmare. He’d only said he wasn’t sleeping well. “Yes,” he said anyway. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” he sighed. “It’s more like stress dreams rather than nightmares, if that makes sense. I’m just stressed about not being able to remember anything, so my dreams are just reflecting that. It’s not a big deal.”
Mobei Jun frowned at him, meeting his gaze. “What can I do?” He asked again, firmer.
Shang Qinghua smiled and pushed himself up onto his elbow. He reached over and patted Mobei Jun’s hand. The touch was somewhat foreign now, so the feeling of Shang Qinghua’s skin made Mobei Jun freeze up with wanting. He suppressed the urge to grab onto it, to pull Shang Qinghua closer, to nose along his jaw and breathe him in. The urge was so strong that Mobei Jun thought he’d crumble if he moved a single muscle.
“It’s just…this place,” Shang Qinghua said, glancing around.
Mobei Jun felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. He stared at Shang Qinghua and he felt like he’d lost him. But he would also do anything for him. But he also felt like he was gone. Mobei Jun was not sure what to do.
As Mobei Jun sat in silence, Shang Qinghua had caught onto his expression, but without knowing the context of their relationship, Mobei Jun’s reaction must have been somewhat foreign to him, even if he recognized what kind of emotion it was. “What is it?” He asked. “Is something wrong?”
Mobei Jun’s form was frozen; his body was rigid. He took a breath to speak. “You are supposed to go back to your peak soon to be checked on by Mu Qingfang. You may stay there. You do not need to be here anymore.”
Shang Qinghua blinked a few times. “Really?”
“Yes.” He looked towards the floor. “I would not force you to stay here if you did not wish to be here.” His younger self would have balked at those words. But younger Mobei Jun did not know that it was worse to have Shang Qinghua and see him unhappy in Mobei Jun’s presence.
“Okay,” he agreed softly. He was quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”
Mobei Jun looked at the door and blinked, but he blinked slowly, so that he could shut his eyes for just a moment. He let out a breath. To be thanked when given the permission to leave, as if he had been forced to be there was an added ache. Mobei Jun said nothing. He wanted to leave, but he did not feel like he could move. When he left, it would feel like goodbye.
“I feel like I should say sorry,” Shang Qinghua said weakly.
“Don't apologize to me,” Mobei Jun responded, voice low.
“I feel like I have to.”
“Why?” He had not meant to sound so angry. But it felt cruel of him to apologize, even if Shang Qinghua did not know why.
“Because I can’t remember anything… But sometimes things are familiar. I know that I’m supposed to know what or who they are. Like… I don’t remember you, but you’re familiar to me and I know that you’re important—that you’re important to me.”
Mobei Jun turned his head away, so that Shang Qinghua would not see his face.
“And I know that all of you are keeping who you really are to me a secret. I don’t know why and I sort of wish someone would tell me. I suppose you know me better than me right now though…”
Mobei Jun said nothing.
“I feel like I should say sorry because I know that it must be hurtful, to be whoever you really are to me and not have me remember you. I don’t know. I’m just…sorry.” His voice weakened and broke on the final word.
Mobei Jun shut his eyes. He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to tell him he loved him. He wanted much.
Eventually, he pushed himself up off of the bed. He stood there for a moment and tried not to think that this could be the last night he ever had Shang Qinghua in the palace again. He knew Shang Qinghua still could regain his memory, but it felt unnecessary to hope for an unsure thing.
“I’m afraid,” Shang Qinghua whispered.
Mobei Jun remained still. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of not ever remembering. That it’ll be like this forever. It’s scary, to not know anything.”
“I will do what I can to help you,” Mobei Jun said, like a vow. He knew that Shang Qinghua was afraid. He could hear it in his voice, could see it on his face. But Mobei Jun had never been strong underneath Shang Qinghua’s fear, even when he was allowed to comfort him. Now, without even the ability to help him in the only way he’d ever known, he was left powerless.
“I know,” he said, soft.
“I will take you to An Ding in the morning,” Mobei Jun said shortly. “Rest for now, as much as you can.”
“Okay…”
Mobei Jun could not look at him, so he didn’t. He walked out of the room.
__________
There was a distance between them, when they went back to An Ding. Mobei Jun did not allow himself to be neared, and Shang Qinghua quickly caught on. He stopped walking so close.
Mobei Jun waited with him in his room while Mu Qingfang made his way to the peak to check on him. They did not speak much. It was sometimes a comfortable silence, other times an uncomfortable one. It was uncomfortable when Shang Qinghua clearly wanted to ask something he knew that Mobei Jun would not answer. There were a few moments where Mobei Jun just wanted to tell him, so that it wouldn’t hang over his head anymore. But at this point, it meant nothing whether or not Shang Qinghua knew. He did not remember, so it did not matter.
When Mu Qingfang came, he checked on Shang Qinghua and he frowned the whole time. Mobei Jun found himself getting angry again, feeling irritation swell when Mu Qingfang drew near, when he touched Shang Qinghua more than Mobei Jun had touched him in almost two weeks. He was angry when Mu Qingfang didn’t know why Shang Qinghua’s memory was still gone.
Shang Qinghua reported feeling fine physically, and that nothing seemed to be wrong with him except for his lack of memory. Mu Qingfang acknowledged this, but still seemed to not understand why it was taking so long for his memory to come back.
Mobei Jun remained silent in the room while Mu Qingfang was there, and he remained silent when he left.
Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe also came, shortly after Mu Qingfang went back to his own peak. Shang Qinghua brightened when he saw them and greeted them with warmth. Mobei Jun felt his insides twist.
“How are you feeling?” Shen Qingqiu asked, going to stand by the low table where Shang Qinghua was sitting.
“Fine,” he said. “Still don’t remember anything.”
“Mm,” Shen Qingqiu hummed, then he sighed. He glanced at Mobei Jun and nodded in greeting.
Mobei Jun did not acknowledge him beyond meeting his gaze.
Luo Binghe sat down across from Shang Qinghua and settled in like he’d be there for a while.
Mobei Jun pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and stepped towards the center of the room. “I’m going back to the North,” he said shortly.
Shang Qinghua’s head snapped up and he looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”
“There are things that need to be done,” Mobei Jun said. It was a half truth. If he were fully honest, he’d tell them he was running away.
“You aren’t staying?” He sounded anxious. He moved to stand on his knees.
“I will visit in a few days,” Mobei Jun said.
“A few days?”
Mobei Jun’s jaw tightened. He looked at Shang Qinghua, though it was difficult. “I cannot stay here.”
He deflated. He sat back on his legs as he looked up at him. “Oh. Okay.”
Mobei Jun wanted to take it back. He wanted to stay and he wanted to protect him. He wanted to make him better. He wanted Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe to go away. He also couldn’t look at him anymore and he couldn’t bear to be close and also so far away.
“Can I talk to you before you go back?” Shen Qingqiu said, stepping towards him.
Mobei Jun nodded and looked at Shang Qinghua one more time. Shang Qinghua stared up at him with a complicated expression, looking upset. Mobei Jun turned away and left the room.
Shen Qingqiu stepped a little ways down the hall after him and waited for him to follow. Mobei Jun narrowed his eyes at him, but followed. “What?” He asked harshly.
“He wants you to stay,” Shen Qingqiu said simply.
Anger flared. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know him?”
“I never said that,” Shen Qingqiu said. “I’m just questioning why you aren’t staying.”
“Do you need to know?” He asked, through gritted teeth. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back to see him soon.”
“You’re running away.”
Mobei Jun stepped closer to him and the temperature plummeted. His voice was black. “What?”
“You’re running away,” he repeated simply. “I don’t blame you for having a difficult time, but don’t take it out on him.”
Mobei Jun stepped closer, about to snarl something back, but the door slid open. Mobei Jun stepped away before Luo Binghe could complain, and then summoned the shadows. He looked at Shen Qingqiu for one more moment before he turned and left.
__________
Mobei Jun had thought it was terrible to sleep in his and Shang Qinghua’s bed without Shang Qinghua in it. It was worse to sleep in it without Shang Qinghua even in the palace at all. He did not rest and he did not eat. It felt nearly impossible to. Shang Qinghua did not remember him. Shang Qinghua did not know him.
He laid awake one night, a few days after leaving Shang Qinghua in An Ding, when he began to consider going back, even right then in that moment. Just to see him, just to make sure he was safe. He thought about going and staying until morning, when Shang Qinghua would wake. He thought that even if Shang Qinghua did not know him, he could at least know Shang Qinghua.
However, he continued to linger, awake and aching. He was torn between being unable to bear that Shang Qinghua did not know him the way he used to and being uncaring of the fact that he had to start over again. Mobei Jun was a coward. But Shang Qinghua was worth it. He was torn between many things, but that encompassed most of it. He had not thought of himself as fearful until he had gained something he was desperate not to lose.
The morning slowly came, spilling light into his room across the spot on their bed that used to always somehow fall right on Shang Qinghua’s face. It would always brighten slowly, so that Shang Qinghua would shift and twitch until it finally became bright enough to make him scrunch his face up and blink awake.
Mobei Jun stared at that spot for a moment, then shut his eyes and turned onto his back.
“My king.”
Mobei Jun stilled, eyes opening as he looked at his ceiling. He waited, wondered if it was just his own desperation manifesting into what he wanted to hear most. He held himself rigid as silence reigned in his head.
Then, again, “My king.”
He didn’t care if it was his imagination. He stood up without another thought, called the shadows to himself and stepped through. Mobei Jun appeared in Shang Qinghua’s room and it was shrouded in darkness for a moment, solely from Mobei Jun’s presence and his shadows.
His eyes found Shang Qinghua immediately, who was already looking at him. Mu Qingfang was on the bed beside him, and he was holding his wrist. Mobei Jun felt cold again. He’d found that he’d been feeling cold quite often lately, and it had been a new plague for him to manage. An unfamiliar one.
“Qinghua,” he said, and he thought that he sounded desperate even to himself. He was unsure why Shang Qinghua called. He looked fine, but Mu Qingfang was checking him. Shang Qinghua calling him his king was not a direct indicator that he remembered, but he hadn’t called him that in weeks.
However, before he could really think about it anymore, Shang Qinghua pushed past Mu Qingfang and reached out for him. “My king.”
Mobei Jun went to him, barely feeling his feet move underneath him. Mu Qingfang was still trying to check him, but Shang Qinghua tugged his wrist out of his hold and moved to place his feet on the floor just as Mobei Jun reached him.
He knelt in front of him and Shang Qinghua immediately pressed his hands to his face and leaned forward. His gaze was intense and he looked at Mobei Jun like he knew him. Mobei Jun felt like his breath was stolen with it, and he rested his hands on Shang Qinghua’s knees.
Mu Qingfang sighed and stepped away. “I’ll come back in a few minutes.”
Shang Qinghua looked up at him and frowned slightly. “I’m fine. Just go.”
Mu Qingfang shook his head slightly. “I’ll go for now, but we need to talk about what went wrong.”
Mobei Jun watched him go and he could feel Shang Qinghua’s eyes on him. He was slow in looking back at him. Shang Qinghua was patient, thumbs stroking along his cheeks. Mobei Jun looked back at him eventually and met his gaze. He shifted his hands further up on his legs, just to feel him.
“Oh, my king,” Shang Qinghua sighed, bending forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, somewhat harshly. “It wasn’t your fault. Of course it wasn’t your fault. I should have been here. The other disciples on this mountain are useless.”
Shang Qinghua tilted his head and pressed his lips across his cheek and Mobei Jun’s eyes shut on their own accord. His hands tightened on Shang Qinghua’s thighs and he pressed up into him, like he was seeking the sun. Shang Qinghua only trailed his hands further down, so he was holding his jaw, in order to press his lips over more of his face.
“I missed you,” Mobei Jun said, reaching up to cover Shang Qinghua’s hands with his own.
“My king,” he said, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Mobei Jun said, moving his hand to the back of Shang Qinghua’s neck. He couldn’t bear to hear apologies from him. “Not about this.”
“But I remember,” Shang Qinghua said. “I remember everything, and not just from before. I remember not remembering.” He slid forward and Mobei Jun leaned back to accommodate him as he crawled into his lap.
Mobei Jun turned his head towards him, pressing his own kisses to wherever he could reach. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk about what Shang Qinghua remembered.
“I remember your face,” he whispered. “I remember what you looked like when you found out I didn’t remember you.”
Mobei Jun wrapped his free arm around him and pulled him in. It had felt like waking up from a dream, to be in a world where Shang Qinghua did not know him. Now, he felt like he had finally fallen back asleep, where his dreams were kinder, softer, warmer.
“I remember what you looked like when you took me to my old room.”
“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said, strained. “Please.”
Shang Qinghua pulled back and looked up at him. He gently stroked his fingers through his hair as he looked at Mobei Jun’s face. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Mobei Jun frowned at him. He found that he did not really want to talk at all. He wanted to hold him and to kiss him, and not think about the past two weeks ever again.
Shang Qinghua smiled and pushed up, arms winding around his neck as he pulled himself towards him. “I really liked you.”
“What?” He asked, arms coming up to hold him close.
Shang Qinghua tugged on him so their faces were close together. Their noses brushed. He smiled wider. “I was totally falling in love with you.”
Mobei Jun blinked a few times. “You were afraid of me. Of everything.”
“I wasn’t afraid of you,” he said, a little softer. “I was just afraid about everything else. I’ll admit the servants freaked me out a lot. But not you. I was weird around you because you’re so gorgeous I couldn’t comprehend that you wanted to be around me. That we were close in some way.”
Mobei Jun wasn’t sure what to say.
Shang Qinghua grinned again. “I was embarrassed. Little did I know. If you’d given me another week, I probably would have told you.”
“I don’t want to think about it being that way for another week.”
Shang Qinghua softened again. He stroked his fingers through his hair some more, and then he tipped forward to press their lips together. Mobei Jun breathed out, like he’d been holding it in for days, and tightened his grip. Shang Qinghua let out a small sound at the pressure, but melted into the hold.
It didn’t feel unfamiliar, even though it’d been a while. It didn’t feel like the first time they’d kissed, all those years ago. It felt like none of that. It felt like how Mobei Jun felt in the morning when the light would spill through the window and wake Shang Qinghua up for him so that he didn’t have to. It felt like watching him blink awake and seek Mobei Jun’s arms if he’d rolled away in his sleep. It felt like how Mobei Jun felt when Shang Qinghua woke up already in his arms and only seemed to want to be closer.