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Before Zixuan left Lanling for the day, his mother had told him three things.
First, she told him to turn around and change because his new robes had finally been delivered. They were from an expensive tailor halfway across the country, and if he was going to be seen outside of Lanling, he had to represent it and their family in the most proper, ostentatious way possible. He didn’t mind this so much; as annoying as it was to go back and change into a completely different outfit, it was a nice one. They were made with fine, beautiful silks and finished with delicate and elaborate embroider, white peonies lining the edges of his full sleeves and sitting prettily just about anywhere else they would fit. Nighthunting robes they certainly were not—so his mother must have guessed that wasn’t what he was leaving the house to do. Not only that, but she was trying to show him off—again, he couldn’t object to that too much. He liked being able to show off, as long as it was within his terms. And these robes suited him, so it was fine.
Second, she told him that it made more sense to take a carriage if he was going to travel a long way. This made Zixuan a bit more nervous than the first objection she had to his departure—she could tell he was meaning to travel by sword, which was a quicker and more discreet way to get somewhere. But that wasn’t suitable, not in her eyes—she wanted him to arrive wherever he was going in style, with horses and a carriage and a retainer, because she didn’t want him going alone, either. She wanted someone with him who could tell her what it was he was doing when they got back.
Obviously, this wouldn’t work. Zixuan obviously wasn’t leaving to go nighthunting, nor was he going on a simple shopping trip, either—he was sneaking off to Yunmeng without her permission so he could kiss Jiang Cheng beneath the flowering trees and pretend like neither of them were heirs to major sects who had no business sneaking around and kissing each other. But all this questioning from his mother had Zixuan feeling nervous—they’d been doing this for a little over a year, and they’d been pulling it off just fine so far. Was she finally getting suspicious? Had she figured out where he was really going? Last month when Zixuan had snuck Jiang Cheng into his rooms, had she heard? There had been a lot of other…noises. Doing things inside was risky. And if she had noticed…if she started asking questions…well, that wasn’t good at all. Zixuan could think of at least ten conversations those questions would lead to, and he didn’t particularly want to have any of them—he just wanted to make it out of his house and get to Lotus Pier, to Jiang Cheng, to their spot in the woods where they could just…be.
Zixuan refused the carriage, told his mother he simply didn’t want to trouble anyone, which was noticeably uncharacteristic of him. Madam Jin didn’t press further, just pinned him in place with nothing but a gaze, her mouth pressed thin and her eyebrows furrowed. It was a familiar look—almost all knowing, but missing every point. Seeing through him without seeing him at all. It was with this look that she asked that third, final thing of him.
“A-Xuan,” she said, “don’t let your heart get the better of you.”
And something cold rushed all the way through him. She sounded sad but not for him, she couldn’t be—she was sad that he was going against her wishes. She didn’t want him to be a romantic because then he wouldn’t do what she wanted—beneath his frustration, Zixuan couldn’t help but feel some sympathy. He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to put up with his father, that she too deserved better than all of this. But he knew that wasn’t his place.
He couldn’t tell her that, but he could ignore her advice for himself. Don’t let your heart get the better of you, she had said, and it was his heart that pounded all the way to Yunmeng, doing nothing but beating and aching for Jiang Cheng. For Jiang Cheng. How could he be anything but a romantic when there was someone like Jiang Cheng in his life? Jiang Cheng who waited for him under cover of nightfall, already there under that flowering tree by the water while Zixuan gracefully touched down, his arms crossed and a rare smile on his face. He had even put a blanket down so Zixuan wouldn’t have to sit on the ground in his nice clothes.
This was the life he wanted. As he stepped off his sword and into Jiang Cheng’s arms, he felt something inside him relax a little—Jiang Cheng pulled him close and kissed him in greeting, looping his arms around his neck and sucking down his breath like he couldn’t get air from anywhere else.
“You look fancy today,” he said between hungry kisses, impatience tugging at his voice like he was frustrated at himself for pulling away long enough to speak. “Did you have somewhere to be before this?”
Zixuan laughed against his lips. He was glad the outfit was being appreciated, even if it wasn’t in the way his mother wanted.
“No, this is all for you,” he told him, trying to sound smug enough to hide the fact that he was actually quite nervous about their arrangement. “Do you like them?”
Jiang Cheng, who cared more about fashion and appearance than he was willing to admit (he himself was dressed in robes of a deep plum with floral accents, and was likely wearing them because Zixuan had mentioned that he looked good in dark colors), took a minute to think about it.
“They look heavy,” was all he had to say.
Zixuan tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I suppose I’d better try harder then,” he said.
“You try any harder and you’ll explode,” Jiang Cheng told him, smiling against his jaw. His fingers played with the collar of Zixuan’s robes, tracing over the embroidery, slipping beneath them to touch his skin. His hands were warm but Zixuan shivered anyway, thrilled by him and his touch and the heat of his mouth.
They settled down onto the blanket that Jiang Cheng had so thoughtfully laid out—Zixuan felt his beautiful and expensive clothes wrinkle around him as he sat and he could practically feel his mother wincing—but he slanted his mouth against Jiang Cheng’s and tried to forget it. It was a calm and quiet night. There was water lapping against the piers, the leaves of the tree were swaying gently in what little wind there was, and petals were scattered on the ground beneath them, like they were in a dream. Zixuan cupped Jiang Cheng’s face and brought him closer, encouraging him to crawl into his lap and kiss him until the sun came up.
“I missed you,” he told him, pushing a hand back to grip into his hair, pulling it loose from its knot. It fell to Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, loose and pretty, and Zixuan felt himself shake at how beautiful he looked, at how miraculous that he was here with him now, kissing him like he was addicted to it. He never, ever wanted to tear himself away. Every time he had to, it only felt worse.
That being said, he heard something snap in the forest—a stick, or a branch, or something—and he jerked away, looking around wildly like a startled and frightened animal with his hackles raised. Jiang Cheng gave him a quizzical look.
“What? What is it?”
“I heard something,” Zixuan worried, heart thudding. “Guards, or…”
“We’re outside the gates,” Jiang Cheng said. “There are no guards here.”
Maybe there weren’t guards. But it could always be someone else—that retainer his mother was so insistent on, for one. It wasn’t a stretch to think he could have been followed out of Lanling by people of her choosing, that he was being watched even now, that he’d be caught after all, despite how careful he had been—and even so, if it wasn’t that, what if it was anyone? Whoever it was, they would talk. Talk would get back to his parents. And everything he’d been so careful to hide, to protect, it would all be exposed. Nervous, he chewed on his bottom lip. It was swollen between his teeth, bit that way by Jiang Cheng’s greedy mouth.
“But if someone comes by—”
“No one ever has,” Jiang Cheng said. “Why? Why are you worried about this all of the sudden?”
For fear of sounding stupid, Zixuan hesitated. For fear of shining light on all of his insecurities, he faltered—everything had been going well up until now. He and Jiang Cheng had been doing this for so long, and neither of them had ever expressed anything like this, any fear, any worry, any hesitation that they were just being stupid and foolish. They never questioned each other. They just were. Beyond the initial resistance they had to being attracted to each other in the first place—once they had managed to admit it, once they fell into each other’s arms, things settled into place fairly easily. And Zixuan could see this careful, easy and secret thing they built with each other—he felt that as soon as he looked at it too closely or questioned it too much, even a little, it would all fall apart.
He could see it falling apart, even now, even though nothing had happened. He didn’t want it to, he didn’t know how to stop it, he feared it had already started. He already knew how the conversation would play out—he would tell Jiang Cheng he was worried his mother knew about them. Jiang Cheng would echo those same fears—hell, his parents were even harder on him than Zixuan’s were. There was no way they would allow something like this.And the two of them would sit there, they would hold each other’s hands, and they would agree that maybe it was time to stop before they got caught. Frogs would croak to each other across the water in the silence, the only sound, the only noise.
Miserable about something that hadn’t even happened, Zixuan bowed his head. He wanted to curl up and hide in Jiang Cheng’s chest, bury himself in his arms and forget about all the things in his life he had ever been told he couldn’t do. He wanted to think about nothing but the soft smell of lilac and lotus that clung to Jiang Cheng’s skin. But his thoughts and his fears felt so consuming, at least right now, that he just couldn’t.
“We should stop,” Zixuan said, his breath quivering in his throat. He could barely even bring himself to say it. “We…we can’t keep doing this.”
His expectation was that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t even respond. That he’d look at him in shock—that the shock would crumble into an understanding, that he’d bow his head and agree that this had to be it. He’d let go of his hands, stand up, brush off his clothes, and leave him here on the blanket underneath the tree, petals wilting beneath his fists.
Jiang Cheng didn’t do any of this.
“Why,” he asked, blunt. He looked directly at him, unwavering, unafraid. Those piercing gray eyes of his never left him, never left Zixuan and where he sat, crumpled in his beautiful clothes—beneath his gaze, Zixuan faltered.
“If someone finds out,” he said, feeling quite stupid, “then…”
Besides a light pinch between his eyebrows, Jiang Cheng’s expression hardly changed.
“And?” he said.
Zixuan tried to continue.
“And…”
But he had nothing.
“So you want quit,” Jiang Cheng said.
“No,” Zixuan said quickly, leaning forward. “No, I don’t want to. I want to be with you. I want that more than anything. I just…I’m afraid.”
Once again, he hung his head in shame. It was about at this point that he was really expecting Jiang Cheng to get sick of him and just up and leave—he would certainly have every right to do something like that, given how stupid he was being. And wouldn’t that be for the best? Wouldn’t that be for the best?
But Jiang Cheng was stubborn.
“Zixuan,” he said, very seriously, “I didn’t embarrass the hell out of myself admitting I even like you for you to try and dump me in the woods because you’re afraid someone might find out.”
Zixuan could only blink.
“You…” he paused and got quiet, a shy smile crossing his face. “You like me?”
Jiang Cheng smacked him in the shoulder.
“You’re a dumbass,” he said.
Making a face, Zixuan rubbed his shoulder. But he felt a little better. Maybe…maybe it was alright after all. Maybe he could have this for a little longer, this quiet little spot at the edge of the water, this space that existed where he and Jiang Cheng could sit and kiss and shyly admit that they liked each other. It was romantic, wasn’t it? It was a clear night and there were stars in the sky—they were nothing compared to the way Jiang Cheng looked at him, unguarded, unable to hide how he felt. Sitting here, refusing to accept what Zixuan was doing out of fear.
“My mom said something very cryptic to me before I left,” he explained, inching closer as he spoke. Jiang Cheng immediately reached for him, fingers twisting through his hair, his touch reassuring. “She got in my head.”
“That’s not enough,” Jiang Cheng told him. “That’s not enough for me to stop this.”
It was moments like these that Zixuan found himself overwhelmingly grateful for how stubborn he was. He was stubborn, he was hardheaded, he was resolute and he was so beautiful and he liked him, somehow he did—relieved, his feelings dangerously big, Zixuan kissed him. He was at a point where he couldn’t possibly do anything else. He kissed him and held him close—he was so happy that he could barely even think. He couldn’t hear anything beyond his own frantic pulse—that was until Jiang Cheng started whining in his mouth for more, and everything else took over.
“Okay,” he whispered, leaning over and over him until Jiang Cheng was against the ground, pinned against the blanket and pressing up into the heat, the warmth of Zixuan’s body. His robes spilled over him like gold, glinting under the moonlight, crumpled luxuriously around them with all the petals from the trees surrounding them. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Jiang Cheng was flushed all over, but he responded kind of snarkily anyway. “You’d better be sorry,” he said.
“I don’t want to stop,” Zixuan told him, mouthing over his neck, feeling with his tongue the intensity of Jiang Cheng’s pulse. Jiang Cheng whined again, curling into him, pulling Zixuan’s collar open with his greedy hands. “I’d do anything for this. I’d do anything for you.”
Jiang Cheng’s voice shook in his throat.
“Keep your promises,” he said. “I’m keeping mine.”
Zixuan believed him. Nose bumping against his, their hips slotted together, Jiang Cheng’s dark hair splayed out underneath him, a stark contrast with the blanket he had brought, Zixuan could do nothing but take his every word to heart, to promise.
He was right. It wasn’t enough. Not to stop this—addicted to him in every way, Zixuan kissed hard and slow, Jiang Cheng making blissfully impatient noises against his mouth.
“I will,” he said. “I will.”