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一 (One)
The white bandages are soaked through with blood again. In the dying candlelight, the color is so dark it’s nearly black, a harbinger of death.
Lin Chen grits his teeth as he painstakingly peels the bandages his father had placed on Lin Shu’s indistinguishable features and grabs the herbal concoction, an anti-inflammatory numbing agent. He dunks several strips of clean cloth into the palm-sized bowl and quickly removes them to layer over Lin Shu’s face.
Repeating the task across the rest of his body is only a slight reprieve. Lin Chen doesn’t have to look at his gaunt face, empty of pain and devoid of emotion, and still…so still.
They’re not close. Their fathers are good friends but he and Lin Shu are just passing acquaintances, friendly with one another sure, but not close. It shouldn’t matter so much. His hands shouldn’t be trembling like this is his first time seeing someone bleeding to death on one of his father’s physician tables.
There is no cure for the Poison of the Bitter Flame.
Lin Chen clenches his jaw and shoves the damning words out of his mind.
If he was treating any other patient independently, without his father’s watchful eyes and strict procedures, he might have felt a small sense of pride, of achievement and gratitude.
But the only reason Lin Chen is treating Lin Shu’s poison alone isn’t because his father trusts in his capabilities completely. Rather, it’s because they’ve had to take shifts in this drawn-out arduous nightmare, the only ones qualified enough to maybe have a chance in saving Lin Shu’s life.
The clinical mindset Lin Chen has been trained to don as a physician wavers. There’s no removed calm he’s practiced so hard to achieve nor is there the comforting sense of methodical familiarity in his tasks.
Wipe off the blood, clean the wounds, try not to cry, apply more balm, check for a heartbeat, stare at the unmoving body, layer more cloth.
This time, Lin Chen isn’t separated from his patient’s pain. He feels disoriented with the lack of responses and he has to keep pausing to make sure the slow shallow breathes being drawn and the fluttery pulse under his fingertips, under pallid skin, aren’t actually hallucinations.
Urgency and surges of blind panic consume him between the long hours. He’s never done this before. There have been patients who have come to Langya Hall – ones his father couldn’t save. Lin Chen understands that, has and still is learning to cope with the aftermath. But Lin Shu is one patient he won’t be able to heal from if this doesn’t work, if they’re too late. There’s so much at stake.
It has to work.
Lin Chen isn’t sure if he prefers the agonizing screams or the grim eerie silence that slams at his ears in this chamber, reeking of sickness and poison and death.
The days and the nights bleed together, soaking exhaustion and dread into their bones, twining another white streak through his father’s hair.
Before a sunless nameless dawn, Lin Chen carefully prods an acupuncture needle into the meridian channel of Lin Shu’s wrist. The thin needle casts spindly shadows across Lin Shu’s palm, a byproduct of the stronger lantern light mixing with the warmer candle glow.
In the wispy golden light, Lin Shu’s finger twitches, pulling Lin Chen out of his dazed reverie. There’s a tiny dip in Lin Shu’s brows, crinkling the bandages wrapped neatly over his face.
Lin Chen yells in triumph. He’s alive. The Poison of the Bitter Flame still courses through his veins but he’s survived beyond the life-threatening stages of the treatment. Now comes the challenge of keeping Lin Shu and his workaholic attitude bed-ridden so he can properly rest and recover after he regains consciousness.
The hoarse weary cry dies in his throat, however, when Lin Shu murmurs and in an effort to remove the bandages somewhat restricting his speech, Lin Chen stares into an unfamiliar face.
Even as the young man lying prone before him mutters incoherently and Lin Chen catches a few names he knows as Lin Shu’s best friend, the seventh prince Xiao Jingyan and Lin Shu’s betrothed, the vibrant Mu Nihuang, there’s a disconnect in associating this barely-living patient with the mischievous smirk and the playful eyes he remembers.
Lin Shu dies that day.
And Mei Changsu awakens in his place.
« ♚ »
二 (Two)
Up until Lin Chen receives the letter, he’d say his day had been going really well. The trainings and lessons had a few mishaps as always, the most serious one being ground damage to the practice arena, fixable. The library expansion was nearing its completion and had freed up room to broaden the scale of their informants. Things were great.
His serenity shatters even before he reads the letter. Lin Chen glowers at the slight shake of his hands when he cradles the carrier pigeon and disentangles the piece of paper.
It’s been two years. He’s been expecting this, after all.
But it still feels like he’s only just blinked as he saw Mei Changsu off, his bag filled with more medicinal concoctions than any traveler.
Mei Changsu’s coded words sink in between the nonchalant descriptions of capital life and the matter of fact tone in the simple line he details his near death experience in the royal halls at the annual spring hunt.
Lin Chen knows – he’s always known – that death is just one breath away, that Mei Changsu has held it back by sheer stubbornness and force of will. Delayed but no less inevitable.
It hits him then with the crisp spring breeze brushing through his hair and the white noise of lessons and conversations and sparring down the hill: time is up.
The final pieces are about to topple into place and sure, the political landscape of Jin Ling is probably important what with its far-reaching consequences, but Lin Chen only stares at Mei Changsu’s signed name at the bottom of the letter. He sees a drawn face and a still chest. When he eventually strolls down the hill, he sees Mei Changsu’s body in the young man napping underneath the afternoon sun, in a physician in white robes as they stumble over a loose stone while reading and pacing in the courtyard, nearly falling.
Over the past decade, Lin Chen has come to terms with not being able to save every patient under his care. There are some patients who are more challenging to let go of completely, harder to soothe the blow of failure and the heaviness of his heart when no pulse can be found.
Witnessing Mei Changsu speak calmly of his impending passing, far earlier yet far more prepared than most of Lin Chen’s patients, made the preordained always seem somewhat removed.
Now Lin Chen wonders if Mei Changsu spoke of his own death so bluntly to alleviate Lin Chen’s worries. That somehow if he demonstrated no concern in his life’s ending, just as he had with the poison flowing through his veins, then his death would be easier to bear for those around him.
Bitterness claws at Lin Chen, acidic on his tongue and leaden over his ribs.
He resents Prince Xiao Jingyan for the lengths to which Mei Changsu will go for him. It’s admirable in many ways, the loyalty and the sacrifice and the months and years of suffering and planning and setbacks and counterattacks. Yet Xiao Jingyan will never know how much Mei Changsu really went through, wasn’t by his side during his worst hours and the hopeless nights throughout the years, long and dark and desperate.
The rage vanishes as quickly as it had flared. Time may never have been on Mei Changsu’s side but time never extinguished the vibrant memories he shelters in his heart and treasures in his sad eyes, a ghost of that happiness in his occasional smiles.
And even if Xiao Jingyan won’t be with Mei Changsu, the one he’d clawed his way to survival and relinquished so much for…well, Lin Chen will be there, walking beside Mei Changsu, carrying him if necessary, until the very end.
Unlike the nicks on his heart from the patients he could never have saved yet tried his best to anyways, Mei Changsu will leave a hole in the shape of a dear friend.
Lin Chen squares his shoulders as he relegates Langya Hall to a trusted senior and begins preparations for his leave.
« ♚ »
三 (Three)
“He did what?!”
Physician Yan looks as drained as he is exasperated. “The seventh prince was manipulated. He is not to blame for the scheme,” he explains slowly.
“I’m still stuck on the part where a certain idiot was covered in snow,” Lin Chen says, rubbing his temple.
“I think we can agree what Mei Changsu wants, he gets, one way or another.”
“The Jiangzuo Alliance needs to grow a bone,” Lin Chen murmurs. “And some brains. It’s no wonder he fell ill when every petty problem is brought to his attention and the only solution anyone brings to the table is where best to stick their swords.”
The corners of Physician Yan’s mouth curl a little at that and Lin Chen counts a small victory at making the elderly man smile despite his many worries and cares. “He may listen to a friend over a physician.”
“He listens to no one.” Lin Chen clenches his hands where they’re hidden in his robes, looking away. His smile holds no mirth. “Mei Changsu always planned to die in the city where he spent his forsaken childhood, in a battleground of political deceit and reckoning.”
Physician Yan’s eyes, always appearing a little sad from the weary years, are darkened with reluctant acceptance.
For late spring, the evening is frigidly cold after the sun disappears.
Lin Chen strolls through the empty pathways of Mei Changsu’s courtyards and gardens, lost in thought, until he hears voices and the telltale metallic clinks of armor being subtly adjusted as a soldier or a guard shifts their stance.
He stays in the shadows, glancing through the half-open chamber doors.
Even from afar, Lin Chen sees a teacup sheltered in Mei Changsu’s hands where he speaks to Xiao Jingyan. Their words are lost to the inky night air but the graveness in Mei Changsu’s face carries across the courtyard.
Xiao Jingyan’s lips are pressed together tightly, a strong crease settled over his strong browline.
Lin Chen deduces they’re speaking of the deceased Chiyan army and how best to reopen the case without instant execution by the ever-merciful paranoid emperor.
The wind brushes a cold hand across Lin Chen’s face and drags its fingers through the chambers, temporarily breaking up the discussions within. Mei Changsu’s shoulders hunch a fraction and Lin Chen almost yells out loud in frustration.
Xiao Jingyan moves before Lin Chen can drag Mei Changsu to bed by his ear. Lin Chen admits he stares a bit as Xiao Jingyan removes his outer robe and carefully drapes the warm royal clothing over Mei Changsu. Still kneeling, he lifts Mei Changsu’s wrist and brushes back his sleeves to take his pulse.
The prince is no physician, trained and experienced though he is in the horrors of the battlefield. He doesn’t know what he should be looking for in the fluttery pulse and uneven blood circulation beneath the pads of his fingers.
It’s clear that Mei Changsu knows this too but indulges in Xiao Jingyan’s actions, basking in his proximity with amused eyes.
And maybe what Mei Changsu needs right now isn’t a physician for his physical ailments or the roaring poison bleeding from his veins.
With Xiao Jingyan, the taint of dark thoughts and darker memories slips away from Mei Changsu. Their heads remain close together as they continue to speak, now on the same side of the table, occasionally pointing to the scrolls before them.
There’s a different kind of healing only Xiao Jingyan seems able to provide, soothing scars that run deep, so deep that even someone as skilled as Lin Chen could never ease.
Lin Chen understands now. The lengths to which Mei Changsu is willing to go for Xiao Jingyan is not unrequited.
Xiao Jingyan may not yet know Lin Shu in this form but the prince has lived the past decade of his life in aching misery, drowning in unknowns and misplaced blame, to make up for the dead.
Between the tangled threads of court politics and the intertwining strings of the past, Mei Changsu had someone watching his back too, the same individual he’d sacrificed so much for and who, unfailingly, had given up so much for him as well.
For the first time, Lin Chen fears how Mei Changsu’s death will unfold on his past.
« ♚ »
四 (Four)
Consort Jing holds an intimidating combination of beauty and wisdom. Her eyes are warm and her movements graceful, deliberate and loving, yet there is steel in her voice. The sharpness of her mind has not been blunted by the passage of time nor the grief she shoulders.
When she pulls Lin Chen aside after Mei Changsu introduces them, he’s understandably a little nervous.
“I wanted to thank you,” she says. Consort Jing’s eyes are crinkled in a kind smile beneath her hooded cloak. “For everything you have done to save Lin Shu.”
Lin Shu.
Lin Chen finds her gaze difficult to hold. “It won’t be enough.” He scuffs a foot over the mossy stones of the wayward pond, eyeing the servants standing guard for any unwanted eyes. “You know that too, don’t you?”
The words aren’t a question. He can feel her searching gaze, piercing and sad.
“As physicians, this is the burden we must carry. Sometimes, the only thing we can do is to never forget.” Her voice is soaked in sorrows beyond Lin Chen’s understanding, loss and loneliness and heartache, trapped within the reaches of a crown built on human blood, watching the perpetrators of her grief claw their way to power and favor.
Knowledge for her has always been a burden, helpless on the sidelines. Lin Chen wonders out loud, “It might be less painful if we were able to forget.”
Consort Jing hums. “But that is not the fate of those who are left behind. Even still, I am glad Xiao Shu has you.”
“They will need you when he’s gone,” Lin Chen finds himself blurting, “Your son and commanding general Mu Nihuang.”
“And you? Who will be there for you?” Consort Jing asks gently.
Several moments pass in silence before Lin Chen dares to meet her eyes, finding her figure blurred with tears.
“How are things faring in the Jianghu?”
It’s a purposeful misdirect of Lin Chen’s attention and he’s torn between gratitude and despair. “Things are well. Nevertheless, there is always some sort of conflict. Before I entered Jin Ling, there were some land squabbles near the Qingyi River.”
“The Qingyi River…” Consort Jing trails off and though the melancholy lingers in the worry lines of her fair features, a spark of fiery delight shines in her eyes. “It has been over three decades since I have walked upon those green banks. That river holds blessed healing properties.”
Seeing the clear question in Lin Chen’s eyes, Consort Jing smiles. “I was a traveling doctor taken in by the Lin family before my life here.”
Lin Chen nods, the words calling back a vague memory from Mei Changsu’s recollections. “Do you ever miss the world outside these walls?”
“Oh, I certainly used to. Now it’s a duller ache.” Consort Jing lifts her eyes to the twilight skies, deep indigo reflecting on her brow. “I suppose I mellowed out with age but I will never tire of hearing the stories Jingyan brings back.”
There’s a silent request in the eagerness of her voice and the quirk of her lips.
And Lin Chen happily obliges.
He paints the humbling mountains surrounding the Chang River, the great works of the heavens and the earth, and the plains of northeastern Da Liang in their emeralds and golds of harvest time. Describing the various foods prove to be more difficult than the sights but Consort Jing laughs softly as he speaks of Fei Liu and Lin Chen’s own exploits as a little boy, trailing after his father, impulsive and far too curious.
Lin Chen is smiling too by the time Consort Jing has to return to her chambers, her hood pulled lower as she sweeps back to her palace home.
They may never heal from the scars of their lives but seeing Consort Jing in her quiet strength gives Lin Chen hope that he can navigate through the impending storm of grief that will rain down on them all soon.
(In her chambers, Consort Jing vows to watch over this young gentleman – aged beyond his years with pains that run as deep as hers.
She may not have been able to save Xiao Shu, in body or in mind, but in the aftermath, she will make sure Lin Chen knows he need not suffer alone.)
« ♚ »
五 (Five)
The night before they march, Lin Chen can’t find Mei Changsu anywhere near the house he’d used as his residency and headquarters in Jin Ling.
He does, however, stumble upon an interesting scene.
Mu Nihuang sits with Fei Liu on the porch of the main chambers, looking out into the darkened courtyard, searing a path to a different time. Her gaze is a well of memories long past, yearning and heartbreak swirling in dark depths.
Fei Liu fiddles with a knife. What surprises Lin Chen is how at ease he seems in Mu Nihuang’s presence, content even.
“Please take care of him well,” Mu Nihuang says quietly. “Promise me that you will.”
The pleading undertone may be lost to Fei Liu yet he readily agrees with all the sincerity of a child, naïve and innocent but genuine.
Mu Nihuang smiles at him sadly before her eyes lift up to Lin Chen’s, acknowledging his presence and standing to greet him as Lin Chen approaches.
Fei Liu eyes him suspiciously, huffs, and stomps out of the main chamber. Lin Chen supposes he hasn’t forgiven him for putting spice into his tea. It was simply fair justice for the water incident though Mei Changsu found Fei Liu spitting the tea all over the floor far less amusing than Lin Chen dripping water and slipping in the puddles his robes created.
“That kid, I’ll beat some proper mannerisms into him one day.” Lin Chen shakes his head. He knows fondness seeps into his voice despite the hard tone.
Mu Nihuang curls her lips slightly, staring at the spot Fei Liu had occupied on the ground. “He’s a good kid. I am beyond grateful he’s been by Lin Shu’s side all of these years, protecting him and accompanying him, when I could not.”
She looks at him then and Lin Chen knows she isn’t just speaking of Fei Liu. “I’m happy he wasn’t completely alone and that he had people who were loyal to him, who loved him still.”
“When did you figure it out?” Lin Chen asks carefully.
“I think from the first time Mei Changsu was introduced to me,” Mu Nihuang sighs. Warmth curves her brows, dappling her eyelashes with affection. “So much has changed in these last thirteen years. Still, he cannot lie to me without fidgeting with his sleeves the moment he thinks my back is turned.”
Lin Chen laughs, leaning against the doorframe. The ambiance of the summer night stretches between them, their minds caught on the past, while the cicadas drone and distant footsteps signal last-minute packing and military activity, muted as the capital sleeps.
“He doesn’t have long now…does he?” Her voice is barely a rustle in the air.
Lin Chen clenches his jaw, readjusting his robes to try and tamp down on the bubble of anger at Mei Changsu, at himself. He glances at Mu Nihuang and the anger fizzles out into helplessness. “I will not lie to you like he has. With the Bingxu pill, Changsu’s body will be pushed to the brink.” Lin Chen takes a deep breath. “Even if I had all the power in the world, I cannot give him anything but three months more.”
“That is enough. He has suffered for so long.” Mu Nihuang’s smile is watery though her voice remains steady. “Tell me you can make his last few months as painless as possible.”
“I will do everything I can,” Lin Chen replies honestly, throat tight.
He almost wishes Mu Nihuang would beg him to prolong Mei Changsu’s life. The reality of his fate returns in full force, slamming into Lin Chen with the force of an arrow to the heart, as Mu Nihuang chokes out, “I am willing to support him, even if his choices break my heart. Still I wish, I wish for the impossible.”
Gone is the fearsome warrior and renowned martial artist, her tough exterior and fierce stance cast off like her impressive armor. All Lin Chen sees now is a grieving young woman who devoted her life to war but never quite prepared for the war that love would wage on her heart.
The moonlight washes over Mu Nihuang’s face. Her eyes glimmer with glassy shards of pain and the ribbons of longing for a connection long sundered by the rushing waters of time. To mourn a loved one twice…Lin Chen can’t even imagine.
He wishes he could promise more.
Ridiculously, Lin Chen wants her to smile – not simply because she’s all the more beautiful when she does – rather because maybe then, Lin Chen can bring himself to smile too and not lament Mei Changsu’s choices.
“I never knew Lin Shu. When we were children, our fathers were good friends but he and I rarely spent time together.”
“Probably for the best. You two together would have driven Prince Jing off a cliff,” Mu Nihuang states matter-of-factly.
Lin Chen scoffs. “I bet Lin Shu would’ve been worse.”
“Oh, he definitely was. Half of the royal court back then wanted to sew his mouth shut yet still, they could never argue with his strategy. He was always right.” There’s admiration in Mu Nihuang’s eyes, faint with the passing of years but shining still like a burning ember.
“Tell me about him,” Lin Chen murmurs. Their eyes have latched onto the stars grinning vibrantly in the moonless night.
“Well, he’s one of the best strategists out there but he was such an idiot sometimes too.” Her voice is tender and distant, layered with memories, the flame of a candle flickering with the breeze. “He made me laugh when I was sad and when I wasn’t allowed to train with him, he always made up for the lost time. There was one instance we snuck into the house of one of the more traditional martial artists who refused to teach me and moved all of his furniture a hand span to the right…”
The blushing fingers of dawn will paint a new day, a new era. For now though, the stars will guard their joys and their sorrows.
« ♚ »
六 (Six)
Lin Chen sleeps restlessly. It seems the moment his eyes flutter blissfully shut, he’s waking to the distant echoes of Mei Changsu’s screams. There’s blood on his hands, on white bandages and torn clothing, breathes that rattle so faintly in broken lungs they might as well be illusory.
The memories taunt him, flickering between Lin Shu as a young man clad in armor and Mei Changsu as an unassuming citizen in ordinary robes.
After he wakes a second time, Lin Chen rises from his bed and dresses in the dark. His hands itch to take up his sword – the familiarity of sword forms and meticulous foot work would be a sweaty but welcome reprieve from the reckless stupidly selfless decisions of others that are out of his control.
Metal glints from the few bright stars lighting the crevices of his room. Lin Chen curls his fingers on the hilt of his sword and finds no comfort in the familiar touch. Perhaps this time, he can’t punch out his problems.
Anger is always easier to deal with than the pain. At least, at first.
Mei Changsu is going to die but he hasn’t yet. Lin Chen does his best to shake his head free of the doubting voices mocking his inability to convince his friend otherwise, his incompetence at curing the irreparable. The bitterness remains like a shadow.
He doesn’t realize his feet have taken him to Mei Changsu’s inner chambers until Zhen Ping steps directly in front of him, eyes apologetic and tired.
Lin Chen groans. “That idiot still isn’t here, is he?”
“No,” Zhen Ping replies. “He said there was one last thing he needed to resolve before he left Jin Ling. He only took Fei Liu with him.”
“You’d think he was trying to get himself killed,” Lin Chen mutters after making his leave. He wishes his words weren’t so true.
Because as much as Mei Changsu still retained that insufferable hero complex from a different life living as Lin Shu, his selflessness now was tainted with the pressure of thousands of souls and the twisted guilt of being a sole survivor, self-hatred at being so powerful yet so powerless.
Lin Chen wracks his brain for where Mei Changsu might be. He couldn’t be with Mu Nihuang as Lin Chen had personally seen to her safe arrival at the Mu residency. The sundered lovers would have a chance to speak before they parted ways at dawn anyways.
So if Mei Changsu wasn’t with Mu Nihuang, he would only be with one other person in the entirety of the capital.
Sneaking through the battlements isn’t an easy task but it isn’t particularly challenging either. If Lin Chen wasn’t as skilled as he was, he would have been far more concerned at the security.
As it is, his search time is shortened significantly with the added bonus of secrecy. It doesn’t take long before Lin Chen hears voices around a deserted section of the battlements and knows he’s come to the right place, stepping quietly towards the two figures on the horizon.
“There is no knowing when we will meet again after this farewell,” Xiao Jingyan is in the midst of saying, poignant pain floating to Lin Chen’s ears as the wind carries his voice.
“The campaign will not take more than three months, I will personally see to that.” Mei Changsu’s response is flawlessly calculated, an emotionless inflection.
It’s neither a promise of another meeting nor the answer Xiao Jingyan clearly wants to hear, a new king with enough power to raise storms and grind the earth anew yet even with the support of the council and the entire kingdom, is powerless to save a loved one.
“As generals, as commanders, we know the stakes of war. We’ve experienced the loss of good men, people who stood by our sides and unsheathed their swords with us.” Xiao Jingyan shakes his head, sorrow curving his lips. He continues in a softer, broken voice, “I thought I’d be used to that by now.”
And Lin Chen has never been one to eavesdrop on conversations – he was fully planning on announcing his presence and dragging Mei Changsu to bed before he collapses again – but the words give him pause. From where he stands, back against a jutting crenellation still some distance away, he glimpses the crown prince’s side profile and Mei Changsu’s silhouette before him, turned to look over the sprawling darkness beyond the protective walls of the capital.
“There are trusted physicians by my side. You need not worry,” Mei Changsu says.
Xiao Jingyan is silent for a time, his gaze never wavering from Mei Changsu. When he finally breaks the quiet, his voice is steadier than before yet no less heartfelt. “I want you to watch me create a new Da Liang with your own eyes. Do you understand?”
Unspoken but crystal clear in the tone of his voice: please come back to me.
“Of course,” Mei Changsu agrees easily, too easily.
A flash of something unreadable passes over Xiao Jingyan’s features, too fast for Lin Chen to catch, and he looks out over the battlements as if to gather himself.
Lin Chen clenches his own fists tightly, fingernails drawing angry red crescents on his palm as he forcibly holds himself back from the lie, from all the lies Mei Changsu spills from his tongue because he doesn’t understand that delaying the pain doesn’t make it easier to deal with. Pain is still pain. Heartbreak now or heartbreak later is insignificant, grief doesn’t discriminate.
After a moment, Mei Changsu bows precisely, stiffly, as if their conversation is nothing more than a formality. He makes to leave and Lin Chen nearly makes his presence known as he curses under his breath and steps away.
“Xiao Shu.”
Mei Changsu pauses in his movements and then freezes as Xiao Jingyan wraps a hand so used to the hard steel of a sword around his wrist, gentle and pleading, and pulls him into a hug.
It hits Lin Chen then as he slowly makes his retreat, unable to watch the salty tears drip from their eyelashes, falling in wondrous despair of the last decade, an ephemeral miraculous return: Xiao Jingyan, like Mu Nihuang, knows Mei Changsu will never step foot in Jin Ling again.
There would be no more reunions for Mei Changsu, for Lin Shu. The dead may guide the actions of the living but they do not dance with them. They are simply memories.
Lin Chen looks up at the peaceful inky blanket of the heavens and finally allows himself to cry.
« ♚ »
七 (Seven)
The faint smell of herbs mixed with incense follow them through the little hall, scratching more strongly at Lin Chen’s nose when they come to a stop at the far back of the royal chambers.
Dim lighting flickers over rich gold sashes hanging from the rafters and emboldens the deep brown wood of the small chambers. Candle flames dance between rows of carved memorials, the white strokes marking the honorable characters of those royal members no longer part of the material world.
Lin Chen watches the prince – no, the newly crowned emperor of Da Liang, Xiao Jingyan – kneel before the ebony tablet memorials.
His mere presence is probably breaking every royal tradition and mourning ritual established in the past few millennia. It’s not even Lin Chen’s idea, rebel though he may be to certain rituals. As Lin Chen has come to learn, however, Xiao Jingyan will make any exceptions and go to any lengths, for Mei Changsu, for his Xiao Shu.
The milky white of a deep sea pearl swirls the warm candlelight before General Lin Shu’s name.
Earthy tones of turmoil reside in Xiao Jingyan’s eyes. They’re the same color as the soil where Lin Shu is now buried, returning to his roots on the battlefield as the courageous commander general his heart and soul never strayed from.
A small smile had graced his features as he’d finally found peace in a long sleep. Lin Chen remembers the softened moist earth they had knelt in, remembers damp robes where the clouds had shed their tears while Lin Shu’s closest companions shed their own.
Lin Shu passed on surrounded by loved ones of a different life.
Mei Changsu, who loved himself as much as fire loved water, who never believed he was worthy of anything good, passed on encircled by people who would not hesitate to take a blade for him, who would walk the boundary of the stars for him, who loved him even when he only accepted their absolute devotion because he thought they were loyal to his father.
The heavens had been merciless in their dealings of fortune and misery but in their last hand, serenity is finally placed over this wandering tormented soul.
Lin Chen had thought the hardest part was over. He’s mourned loss before. He knows the pain will never go away but the intensity of the tearing aching throbbing mess does eventually dull.
But seeing Xiao Jingyan in his silent grief, alone at the top with his heart broken once more, is worse than telling Fei Liu that Changsu gege is not and will never get better. Xiao Jingyan’s gaze is a million miles away, dancing through memories of a more carefree time without all of the death and all of the lies and all of the unspoken barely stitched together pain.
Lin Chen lights six incense sticks and passes three to Xiao Jingyan. The burning dwindling wood powder reminds Lin Chen of how Mei Changsu would huddle closer to the fire in the darker nights of winter. His chest constricts.
There’s a slight curve to Xiao Jingyan’s eyes like he’s remembering a far happier memory. Perhaps one when they were younger and chasing each other with sparklers, lighting firecrackers and making Mu Nihuang laugh.
His cheeks feel wet. Lin Chen adamantly refuses to wipe away the visible grief as he and Xiao Jingyan wade through memories heavy with emotions and life, two silhouettes drowning in the bittersweet.
The world may forget Mei Changsu’s plans and brush aside Lin Shu’s deeds. Yet still, there will remain hearts that will beat on where Mei Changsu’s pulse has stopped, where Lin Shu’s body rests under the peach blossoms of tomorrow.
His memory will live on.
coda.