Chapter Text
Zhou Zishu had been ready to die. Or, not ready exactly, but if the consequences of his actions demanded his death he was prepared for it. For a slow, drunken decline; a few years with the sun on his face and autonomy over his actions. For peace.
Of course it wasn’t working out like that. He had been ready to die until he found a purpose, until he accidentally acquired a disciple, until he found his zhiji. Until.
He looks at the man in question, diligently chopping vegetables for their dinner. Wen Kexing is effervescent and vibrant, and so fucking annoying. His long-lost shidi, come back home. It is almost more than he can bear, the symmetry of it; of full circles and migrations and sheer longing. He didn’t anticipate it. It’s making him maudlin.
He must make some kind of sound, because Lao Wen is briefly distracted from his task, glancing towards Zishu in anticipation. There is a spark in his eye that spells trouble. Zishu loves it all.