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They do not discuss the three days she spent in the tomb, even as they enter privacy of personal quarters.
Perhaps it is because he knows how it feels, having been locked for days and months on end, as a young boy. Perhaps he's worried that the pain is too fresh, and he wants to spare her the heartache.
Perhaps it is himself that he wishes to spare the heartache.
It's only when they reach the bed, and she sees the pristine covers, the mesmerising dawn that fills their balcony, that she comes to a dreadful realisation.
"Why are you awake? Xùnfēng said that the medicine was supposed to have made you sleep for up to five days."
They stop short of the foot of the steps. Dōngfāng Qīngcāng's eyes are cast away from her, away from the neatly pressed sheets, into a distance, as if he's thinking.
Or as if he's avoiding her stare.
As his silence stretches on, the answer becomes clear to her, and she can't keep the horror from her face. Xiăo Lánhuā grips his hand tightly, urgently, and rasps, "Did you...the medicine. You didn't swallow it?"
She knows him well enough by now that she knows the lack of a response means he's stalling. Maybe it's because he knows she won't like the answer, maybe he's steeling himself for her incoming disappointment and anger, because he promised her he would drink every last drop of that wine. Maybe it's because he's considering the argument that he'd never promised that he'd drink everything she gave him, spiked or not, and that was just a statement made in passing.
What he has promised, however, is that he would never lie to her again.
"Dà Mùtou." His eyes flick down to hers at her gentle probe. This is the first time in a while that she has evoked the nickname. Three days had felt like a thousand years; from the ceremonial site until this point, everything had passed between them through quiet touches, held stares, deep embraces, and not enough words.
Xiăo Lánhuā sees the guarded look behind his eyes recede slowly, revealing the worry, the sorrow, the exhaustion behind them.
"I couldn't let you go through it alone." His voice is cracked and hoarse, much like hers after three days of almost ceaseless screaming and sobbing, "In sickness, in suffering, in everything — we are to be married, and that means we should go through all of it, together."
She squeezes his hand firmly, then pushes her tired body forwards to wrap her arms tightly around his waist. It's been a week since they've been promised to each other, and even with everything that has transpired since, he's still a solid block of warmth in her hold.
She feels him press a soft kiss against her hair, and his arms pulling her closer still.
"But you're okay now. We're okay."
This man. Sometimes she doesn't know if she should kick him, or kiss him. Most of the time, she feels like doing both.
The chambermaids come in to coax them to their separate baths, and she only leaves willingly after he promises her that she can stay with him after they're all done and ready for bed.
Xiăo Lánhuā returns about an half a shíchén later to him sitting in chair by the fire, his eyes closed and his body still, like he's meditating.
Her touch prompts him to open his eyes, and before she can even say anything, he picks her up to lay her to rest in his bed. How he even has the strength to do this is beyond her, but she's past the point of trying to understand his willpower to accomplish what he set his heart upon.
"You're not joining me?" He shakes his head with a wan smile as he pulls the covers over her. His hand never leaves hers the entire time, and she blinks tiredly at him as he sits down on the ground by the bed, and brushes the stray hairs out of her face.
"I've been neglecting my duties. There's a lot to be done." He says, "But I can do them now, knowing you're here, and you're safe."
She lets her quiet disapproval show, but he does not waver at this, instead pressing another kiss between her creased brow.
"If you rest now, you'll be able to wake before dinner. We can have that together."
She should hate how easily that mollifies her, but she can't bring herself to dislike anything that she feels for him. It feels so hard-won, so precious after all, to feel this cared for, this loved by him.
"That's a promise." Dōngfāng Qīngcāng settles his chin down upon their clasped hands, and gives her the most tender and sweetest of smiles, the one she loves the most, because she knows it's reserved especially for her.
"Stay, please."
Dōngfāng Qīngcāng nods and she finally relaxes, letting herself melt into the gentle embrace of sleep.
~
The evening light is fading to a orange-tinged burgundy when Xiăo Lánhuā opens her eyes once more. The candles flicker in the mellow breeze as she stirs, looking about for any sign of her fiancé.
The rumble of voices that carry past the heavy curtains over the doorway tells her that he's still holding court. She glances at the water clock at the end of the room; it is getting close to xūshí, which means dinner, as promised.
Sure enough, the voices recede and the curtains part a few minutes later, and the man walks through, his eyes brightening instantly when he sees that she is up, and sitting against the pillows, braiding up the last of her hair.
"Let me." Dōngfāng Qīngcāng takes the braid from her hand and finishes it deftly, before gently wrapping and pinning it in her usual style. Then he sets about combing out the rest of her locks that are not pinned with ornaments; It takes a while, but the feeling of his hands on her hair, gently brushing out the slight tangles is meditative and healing.
"There. All done."
She holds up a mirror, brushing her hair over her shoulder in a silken cascade.
"Thank you," Xiăo Lánhuā sets the mirror down as she leans back into his waiting arms. He gives a small huff of laughter, and holds her close.
"You're hungry. Dinner is ready."
She pokes him in the side, making him draw away a little, "How do you know I'm hungry? I'm pretty sure you're the hungry one here."
"I've already told you, everything you feel, I feel as well." She feels a warmth creep up to her cheeks at the familiar statement. It's been a while since she's heard it, especially since they've uncoupled their emotional landscape, using his ring and her hair pin. It's been placed into her tresses, a force of habit at this point, and she reaches up to find that its still there.
"Shall we?" He catches her wandering fingers, his ring knocking against her knuckle as his hand covers hers. Dōngfāng Qīngcāng starts to stand, but she stops him with a tug. Without saying anything, Xiăo Lánhuā takes out the pin in her hair, before tugging his ring off his slackened fingers.
"Just for tonight."
The smile that she's bestowed with makes her heart well up with happiness. She lets it ring like the never-ending note of a melodious song, and knows he feels it too.
~
The servants are sent away after the meal so they can turn in early; he may be good at keeping up pretences, but if he'd felt every lance of pain that she'd been dealt in that hellhole, then he was likely just as, if not more sleep-deprived than her. It hasn't escaped her notice that Dōngfāng Qīngcāng'd barely eaten at dinner, save for a small bowl of soup.
Yet, none of this shows as he waves the attendants out and draws the curtains over the doorway. There will no doubt be whispers about what they're doing, residing in the same chambers while still unwed — just thinking about it makes her face heat up like a leaf under the direct sun, but Dōngfāng Qīngcāng seems entirely unfazed.
They are finally alone, after what seems like an age, and he finally crosses the threshold, and mounts the stairs to the bed. It is only now that she notices the heaviness in his footfalls, the way his shoulders slump, ever so slightly with step he takes towards her.
He's at his limit. He must have only been holding out this long because he'd promised that they'd have dinner together.
Luckily for them both, after the brief rest, her vision and mind are clearer. So as Xiăo Lánhuā takes in his sallow complexion, the blanched edges of his lips, it is almost as if she can foresee that he's about to collapse even before it became reality.
The weight of him listing heavily onto her is still shocking, nonetheless, as his knees buckle under him. It is only out of sheer instinct that she manages to catch his arm. They sink down onto the bed, Xiăo Lánhuā feeling as though the wind in her lungs has been knocked out of her in one fell swoop.
"Dà Mùtou."
"I'm fine." Except he doesn't let her go. Xiăo Lánhuā gently tugs her hands out of his weak grasp, and sets about slowly removing the imperial ornaments in his hair. He lets her, as if she isn't touching the equivalent of immortal court jewels of the highest deities in Shuǐ Yún Tiān. As if she isn't just a lowly flower spirit, and her hands have never even come close to holding such priceless artifacts before. But she knows, she's earned it. Not just in the title. Not just in the key to the jewels, the treasures. She's been bestowed the most precious thing in all of Cāng Yán Hăi, within three realms — his heart.
He seems to gather up enough energy under her ministrations, and when she's done, his slow but insistent hands do the same for her. There is an overwhelming sense of relief in the silence as he removes the simple adornments she has donned for their private meal, and lets down her braids.
"I'm surprised you didn't fall into your soup at dinner." She comments, using all the cheeriness she can muster. When he is done, she reaches up to cup his face with her hands.
"I had Shāngquē bring me something to get me through the day. It wore off about two hours ago," he says. Xiăo Lánhuā smiles sadly at the exhaustion she can see in the invisible lines on his face and pulls him into a tight hug, desperately wishing she could squeeze the suffering out of his body. He chuckles softly, and squeezes her back.
"How are you? Don't be afraid, I'm here now." A simple question followed by a more than satisfactory answer, but she can't seem to bring herself to dwell on it for too long. Thinking back on it makes her hands tremble — the pit seems to have pressed onto something small and cold and dark in her soul, wherein brimmed nothing but loneliness and agony.
But this Dà Mùtou knows too; even before the feelings had come rushing forth, he had already begun settling them on the bed, pressing her as close as he can to his heart.
As she eases back into the safety of her surroundings, and the warmth that surrounds her heart and being, he says, once more.
"Don't worry," her fist tightens on the front of his robes, and she feels his lips like the petals of a bud against the crown of her head. His words echo and repeat in the shell of her ear, like a love song.
"I'm here now."
~
She had been foolish to think that the peace would last.
If her first sleep after the ordeal had been one brought on by mindless exhaustion, the second had started out truly restful. She had slipped away into her dreams, safe in his arms. She could feel his every breath, like a lullaby, and it had put her to sleep so quickly.
But she is nothing if not foolish. Not to mention forgetful.
She feels a sharp jolt, and that sends her tumbling out of unconsciousness and back into the the waking world. Xiăo Lánhuā's eyes blink open, and for a brief moment, her muddled mind does not understand why she's up. Then another tremble ripples through the shoulder she is resting upon, and suddenly she's wide awake, and fearful once more.
"Dà Mùtou?" She sits up slightly. His face is contorted, as if he's caught in the undertow of a terrible nightmare, and it's another moment before she realises that it is not imagined — his pain is real.
The nails. The nails he'd inflicted upon himself, the cost of them being together, and of his conviction to his people.
He seems to know that her weight has been moved off his body; as soon as she has pulled away, he lets out a harsh exhale, and his eyes fly open. She wants him to look at her, but he twists away instead, grimacing into the pillow, as what must feel like a thousand knives rent apart his veins.
This is what he had been trying to keep her from seeing, barely a week ago. This is it. The pain he'd have to go through, from midnight till the morning light, the unforgiving punishment of his own choosing. Until he brings what he has promised home.
"Dà Mùtou." She presses a hand onto his neck, only to find heated cords of tensed muscles under her fingers. Her trembling voice seems to spark a modicum of awareness amidst his torture, and his feverish eyes flicker back and forth as his hands search for her.
"Xiăo—" the rest of her name is choked out by a garbled moan, as a spasm shakes his body. For him to cry out like this, when he didn't even make a single sound under the fifty-one strokes of lightning, the pain must be ridiculous.
He had to endure this, on top of her own trials in the Fú Jū Dòng, for the past few nights. How had he still managed to remain standing for a whole day after it all, and carried out a day of his duties before dinner?
Tears have since sprung unbidden to her eyes as she takes his hand in hers. His icy fingers are curled into a hardened fist, and he's clenching so hard she can smell the telltale scent of blood when she pulls their clasped hands close to her mouth, to press her lips on his whitened knuckles.
He jerks again as an invisible force tears through his insides; the movement pushes him into her lap, and she quickly bundles him close. If he starts thrashing and she gets hurt in the process, she really won't mind. All she knows is that he's in pain and she needs to be here and hold him.
Then she remembers something. Something possibly useful.
That night in Lù Chéng, when she had seen the thousand arrows of evil energy flying straight for the two of them, and when Dōngfāng Qīngcāng had been doubled over from his injuries from contending with the trap she'd helped to set, something had welled up in the middle of her chest and gone bursting forth, like a flower bursting into a full bloom under the shroud of the night. That energy felt pure and cleansing, healing almost. Maybe, if she could find it again...
Dōngfāng Qīngcāng cries out again, his scream muffled in the sleep-softened folds of her night gown. It doesnt matter now, she thinks desperately, as she sees the way his neck is flushed, vined with angry veins. She needs to ease his suffering. His eyes are half rolled back as the flare obliterates his insides, all he can do is tremble.
Summoning her spiritual energy from the middle of her dāntián, she closes her eyes and probes about for something. This contradicts all that she has learnt about spiritual energy, it is supposed to come from your lower abdomen, not this close to your heart. But her instincts tell her she is on the right path when she detects a orb of solidness, heavy and dark, but if she presses close to it, she can almost hear the telltale thrum of some foreign energy.
This is it. This has to be it.
Without thinking, Xiăo Lánhuā holds out her palms and pulls. She doesn't know what she's doing, if she's being honest. But there isn't time for second guessing.
To her surprise, the liquid force seeps out from within the dense container of the orb, and trickles out from her wrists and only her hands, like a strange set of gloves. She pauses in her actions, watching the unfamiliar emerald light ripple across her palms, her fingers like a second skin.
Dōngfāng Qīngcāng is still half-curled onto her lap, his moans having given way to soft, almost imperceptible sobs. Her heart cracks with bright pain.
She can't wait any longer.
Slowly, Xiăo Lánhuā places a palm on the rigid curve of his shoulder and releases it. The flow of light changes, as she'd wished it would, and trickles onto his robes.
She waits anxiously as the wisps of energy track the movements of those dasterdly nails, and her heart twists in her chest when she sees the sparks flit from his temples, then to his hands, then down to his calves and back up his navel. If these instruments were perforating his bodily orifices at such speed, the agony...
Xiăo Lánhuā manages to grab hold of one, and nudges it close to the surface of his skin, just under the exposed portion of his collarbone. The nail surfaces, it's menacing form quivering under her hold, as if it is trying its best to break free and continue tunneling through the body of the person she loves the most.
It just seems so cruel. So unfair. Haven't they been through enough?
Before she can do anything, a hand clutches itself around her fingers, which are resting delicately atop the lapels of his nightgown.
"Xiăo... Huāyāo... don't..." She waits with bated breath as Dongfang Qingcang forces out the words, his cracked voice burning with conviction, "Don't touch them. Don't..."
His words catch with a sharp, pained gasp, as he curls into himself once more. The sparks twinkle up his spine, aggregating with a vengeance. They look like they're flying directly towards the one she's holding, so she quickly releases it, and they disperse once more, roaming around his entire being.
Her silent sobs overcome her, and her tears fall like raindrops onto the patch of skin that she'd momentarily trapped a singular nail within. They slide sideways and upwards into his shoulder, his sleeve. At this, Dōngfāng Qīngcāng seems to force his eyes open, and they meet each others' gaze.
His emotions are laid bare on his face for her to see, as clear as day.
It's okay.
She wants to pull them out, but in truth she doesn't know how to, neither does she want to. She said to him, just a few days prior, that she expects him to respect her opinion, respect her decisions. What kind of hypocrite would she be if she were to enforce a different standard upon him, just because she can't bear to see him suffer?
And yet, as she stares into his resolute, tormented expression, she feels nothing but her own despair. There must be something she can do...
"Just..." a cough breaks off his sentence, but he swallows past it and croaks, "just stay. Being here... you... it's better."
"But I..."
"I just need you." All at once, the moment gives her a clarity, something that she didn't know she needed.
She places her warm hands by his tense neck, not even caring that it's tacky with cold sweat, inflamed with a fever, and he's shaking like a leaf.
"Alright." Her eyes check for the absence of his ring, then she settles his lanky frame into her arms, as best she can. She tugs the covers over the both of them, and presses her torso against his, like they're trying to keep warm in the dead of winter. His eyes shutter open and close, as if he's trying to keep track of what she's doing, to make sure she wouldn't do anything to alleviate his punishment, but she only wishes to place them close to one another, so that she may be able to see his face.
With a deep sigh, she conjures the brightest, warmest memory in her inventory, and lets it flow.
Her master, showing her how to fold the soft skin of the flower cakes over their fillings, coaxing the folds into a beautiful, uniform set of petals. Her afternoon walks in the mystical forest, where she would meet minor sprites and titter with them over the most recent woodland gossip. Then finally, the brightest of them all; the sun emerging, like a disc of pure gold, onto a cloud-streaked landscape, where it bathes everything it touches with a radiant myraid of colours. The translucent whale, breaking through the clouds to arc its body across the horizon, and Dà Mùtou, standing right by her side, looking back at her as she basks in the morning sun.
The feelings fill her with simple joy and such light, but it's hard to hold them against the creeping feeling of fear and doubt. But she clings onto them with all her might, twisting her hands into their iridescent folds and letting the images burst forth.
When her eyes open again, she realises that Dōngfāng Qīngcāng had stilled somewhat, and he's no longer beset with tremors. His breaths still come harsh and heavy, but his jaw has loosened somewhat, and his fingers are only twitching every now and again, as they rest in her hold. Xiao Lanhua searches his expression; despite the veins that are still stark against his temples and neck, he looks less pained. Tired and ill, sure, but no longer in mental trappings of his torture.
"That helps." He exhales, his voice barely there. His fingers spasm, like he wants to reach over and brush her hair out of her tear-stained cheeks, but doesn't have the strength to do so, "Thank you."
So she does it for him instead, reaching over to push the dampened hair out of his face, and smiles as widely as she can for him. A kiss is placed on his nose, his lips, and upon his brow, as she channels as much gratitude and happiness as she can across their connection.
"Sleep now, ài'ren."
He makes no mention of the new title she has given him, and instead closes his eyes, his lavender lips parting slowly as he exhales and inhales, as though through that alone, he can breathe her love into his tormented body.
And it is in this manner that she falls asleep, knowing that even if he doesn't manage to rest in his pain, at least one of them will have energy enough to fight for both of them tomorrow.
~~~
Xiăo Lánhuā pauses at the wooden screen of the room, the bowl of tonic clutched gingerly in her hands.
Sitting on the floor by the bed, near the fire pit of an eternally kindling fire, Dōngfāng Qīngcāng looks every bit like the man she had cast her eyes on almost 9 gānzhī ago, sitting by his throne room's fire after her three torturous nights in the cave, ruminating. She watches his stillness, and it brings back all the memories; memories good, memories bad.
Even now, those scant few nights they shared together is steeped with pain, despair, yet so much love that she holds them close to her heart. It was after that, after their love survived those difficult nights, then did she realise the extent of what she could do to be with him, and vice versa.
It's not something one easily forgets.
"Xiăo Lánhuā?"
After all this time, hearing her name come from his parted lips causes her heart to overflow with joy. She crosses the threshold of the room and into his visual space, although his call tells her he has long sensed that she is nearby.
"Time for your medicine."
Old habits die hard, she thinks as he barely even spares her a glance, before wrinkling his nose at the unappetising concoction. She watches him pretend he hasn't heard anything, acting as if she's just interrupted a particularly scintillating conversation between him and the fire pit. But it was no use resisting. She knows what he's like — he would willingly imbibe even the world's most lethal poison for her if she asked him too. 'What's the point of acting so high and mighty when it's just you and me?' she scoffs inwardly.
"Later." Comes a curt response. Xiăo Lánhuā holds her anticipatory posture a little longer, before relaxing a little when she realises that although there is some degree of avoidance of the bitter medicine, he does seem genuinely pre-occupied with something else.
She sets the bowl down on the bedside table, and then kicks off her shoes to flounce upon the mattress to watch him.
The fire rages on.
At that moment, her stomach drops, quite suddenly, for no reason. Her most basal spiritual senses tingle; she's used to shutting off the alarm bells in her head that habitually go off when someone of a strong cultivation steps into her vicinity. It's been so many years. It's a side-effect of having spent most of her lucid years a small, weak Orchid who had to have her guard up whenever there was anyone significantly stronger nearby. But now these bells appear to be of some use.
"What are you doing?"
When he doesn't respond, she slides to the edge of the bed, her bare feet dangling over the side of it. All at once, an unfamiliar warmth creeps up her toes, and she glances down, wondering if something alive or warm had been residing just underneath the bed, just under her. But a good look and a quick sweep tells her all that is under her feet are the wooden floorboards of the SĪ Mìng Diàn, and nothing else.
"Dà Mùtou."
She reaches out with her own spiritual power and directs it not at him, but the hardwood floor. Immediately, it's like someone had lit a bunch of candles in her landscape, except it is still daytime, and the rays of the sun are presently filling the entire room. The intense radiance of a liquid sort of energy, one she commonly associates to Moon Tribe practitioners, permeates her room.
It's him. He's...
"I'm fine." Comes a low grunt. Dōngfāng Qīngcāng does not look at her, but the eternal flame pulses a little brighter. She clenches her fists when she sees that there's a clear sheen of perspiration across his forehead, his neck, and his frame is swaying ever so slightly in the nonexistent wind.
Oh, now she's angry.
"Stop that." Her icy words comes moments before she casts out a immense net of a pure emerald, and drops it upon the entire temple. Immediately, the ambient heat diminishes. The man flinches, like she'd just pushed him physically, as the energy recoils towards him.
"Xiăo Huāyāo—"
"What did I say about using your energy on frivolous tasks and overexerting yourself?" He glances over at her uncharacteristically harsh tone. At least this idiot has the sense to look ashamed.
"This place has always been far too cold. It's not good for your botanical spirit." Involuntarily, her heartstrings twinge at his deflated expression. He looks like a kicked wolf pup, with his eyes lowered and his metaphorical ears folded in the wake of her ire.
"And your body is still incredibly fragile from having just regained its form. You will become even more ill if you push your limits like this." Xiăo Lánhuā stoops down next to him, frowning sternly, and makes sure he sees her displeasure. After a beat, he sighs.
She's won.
Without protest, he lets her hook a firm hand through his arm and tug him upwards. When he sways, she plants her bare heels into the floor and tenses her body. The familiarity of the movement reminds her of the last time she did this, when he'd taken the bolts of thunder for his brother, but she renews her glare instead. He needs to know that he's done something wrong.
He feels weak, still. It's only expected, given how he'd only returned, just yesterday.
"Come. Sit." Xiăo Lánhuā pretends she doesn't see him wince at her frosty inflection as she guides them both to sit on her bed. As he sulks contritely, she hovers a hand over his lower back, right where his dantian is, and sends him a small morsel of energy. It doesnt affect her like it did previously; when she was Xiăo Lánhuā, her spiritual cultivation was like a shallow puddle on a stony pavement after a short rain, but now, she's an entire ocean.
The small surge of energy makes him exhale, and his deep, dark eyes flicks to her, reading her expression quickly.
"Thank you. I'm sorry." She doesn't reply, but inside she grimly revels in the fact that her anger is palpable.
"Sit against the pillows." The bowl of tonic is still warm as she takes it back into her hands and supervises him moving meekly to recline against vast array of pillows she'd gotten Shāngquē and Jiélí to bring over from the Palace. It had been a tricky feat, seeing how she insisted that Dōngfāng Qīngcāng resurrection remain a secret for now, and apart from those two, only Xùnfēng, Chánghéng, and Dānyīn know. The political situation was still at a stalemate after so many years, but there's no doubt that Shuǐ Yún Tiān will come knocking to organise peace talks. Those talks been stalled since Xùnfēng threw out an extradition treaty, right in the face of Presiding Emperor Yúnzhōng, 100 years earlier.
He holds the bowl meekly and, with his eyes never leaving her severe expression, lifts it to his lips. Once Xiăo Lánhuā is satisfied that he is drinking the medication, she stands to busy herself around the room, finding a shallow metal basin, and some clean washcloths.
"Ahem." There is a soft throat-clearing behind her. The bowl is empty and clean enough, so she stacks it into the much bigger copper dish. He starts to turn to get up and help her with her baggage, but one glare from her and he stills like a lake in winter. She uses her fingers to push him down backwards onto the pillows, trying not to worry about how she can feel his ribs through the layers of cloth; he had been so thoroughly worn out and haggard in his final days, what with expending all his efforts upon freeing his soldiers from their prison of stone, then upon helping her return to form, and then from saving her from a martyr's death. She remembers the last time they embraced before he slipped through her fingers like stardust, and the way her hands pressed against his wing-bones, the way they felt so stark against his inner robes.
"Qīn'ài-de?" Darn it, she'd let herself slip away to her ruminations once again. In her silence, Dōngfāng Qīngcāng had taken her hand in his, and clasped his cold fingers around hers. It shouldn't be so, the physician in her frowns, he always ran hotter than others because of the the fire within. The one who was cold was her, and he always saved the warmest embraces for her.
All these things were gained through trails of fire and rain; how easily they succumb to the aching darkness.
He seems to sense her distress, and there's a phantom urge for her to touch her non-existent hairpin, to make sure her feelings were still muted to him. But they no longer had the One-Heart Curse, and the hairpin had gone with her physical body, from what seems like another lifetime ago.
She gently tugs her fingers free of his touch, even though she longed to sink down onto the sheets and press her lips to his knuckles.
"Sit under the covers. I'll be with you in a moment."
She's nothing if not a woman of her word. Dōngfāng Qīngcāng gives her an expression of wide-eyed attentiveness when she reappears at the entryway, and it is at this time that she finally lets herself soften. Xiăo Lánhuā places the washbasin of warm water beside the bed, and begins her gentle cleaning of his hands and arms with the damp cloths. He lets her do as she wishes, a model patient, so quiet and compliant that by the end, she almost teases him, wanting to hear his voice.
She finally sets the cloths down, her hand still gently wrapped around his thumb.
"I'm not angry anymore." His face splits immediately into a heart-shattering smile, and his whole body sags in relief.
"Oh. That's wonderful."
Xiăo Lánhuā uses her knuckles to half-heartedly poke him to moving over slightly, before sliding into bed herself, their hands finding each other, and her head gravitating to his solid shoulder.
They slip into place like a matched set of chopsticks, and everything is as it should be.
"You're quite warm." Dōngfāng Qīngcāng murmurs, and she feels him pressing himself closer to her, his cheek against her forehead. She huffs against his neck, pressing a kiss back to him.
"Exactly. You're an idiot for trying vaporise yourself just so our house has a heater." His laughter is soft and affectionate, and she snuffles happily at it, feeling all warm inside.
The silence is one of contentedness, but something floats to the surface of her mind, and she pulls away to look at his face. Dōngfāng Qīngcāng's face is peaceful in his rest, although she knows he isn't asleep; he cracks open one eye to look at her when she cuddles up next to him, crossing her arms and lying upon his chest.
"What did you call me again? Earlier."
"Xiăo Huāyāo?" She shakes her head vigorously, and his eyes open to look at her in askance. She tries not to flush as she fishes about for an answer.
"You said... you were saying... Qīn...?"
"Qīn'ài-de." Xiăo Lánhuā's ears turn pink at the words, and all Dōngfāng Qīngcāng wants to do in that moment is wrap her up in his arms and kiss her soundly.
"How is it any different from when you called me ài'ren?" He reaches over to brush her hair off her cheek, conveniently tapping her nose to emphasise his point.
Her beautiful, crystal-like eyes blink in astonishment. He feels smug, not to mention contented that he is still able to elicit such reactions from her.
"You remember?"
"...Băobèi'r," her flush reaches her cheeks at his low voice, "Every word you've said to me is engraved eternally on my heart."
"You're silly," She thumps his chest without heat, but even with her strength at a fraction of how it should be, the action knocks some of the wind out of his lungs, making him cough. Which makes his wife panic, instantly.
"Dà Mùtou, sorry, sorry! Are you alright?"
"I'm...fine..." he ekes out, catching his breath, "Don't be afraid. I'm fine."
Her eyes fill with guilty tears, and he cups her face in his hands, gazing into her with all his conviction.
"None of that. I'll be back to my usual strength soon enough. With your help, it will take less than a week. Niángzǐ does not need to worry."
Xiăo Lánhuā's body relaxes slightly at his reassurances. She presses a soft kiss to his lips, her healing energy washing like a wave of delicate petals over him. Her heart calms a little, he can feel it, but her face is still pink from receiving his affections.
When they pull apart, she mumbles, her eyes lidded with bashfulness and a speck of sadness.
"We aren't married yet, Dōngfāng Qīngcāng."
"Mm," he wraps his arms around her once more, and pulls her as close as he can, "in my heart of hearts, we always were. Since that day on the roof observation deck, I belonged to you, and you to me."
Her breath tickles against his robes as she giggles, a wonderfully melodious, magical thing.
"If that is your wish, xiànggong,"
He buries his nose into her tresses, and nods, his eyes slipping close.
"Then that is my wish as well."