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Luo Binghe's former sword Zheng Yang was buried behind the bamboo house - there was no need for it to be buried deep, but more important that it be a symbol. The headstone was proper as any grave, cleaned and tended properly even after all this time.
Binghe stood over the mock grave, staring as he mulled over the thought of it.
It was the piece - well, one of many pieces - but the piece that always confused Binghe the most. It was when Qingqiu had pushed him down to the Abyss, forced him away from everything he knew and cared for, all for a father he hadn't even known. Forced him into the worst cycle of his life, where he fought and clawed his way through the demonic realm. But when he returned, Qingqiu tried to avoid him - but also hadn't seemed really surprised to see Binghe return. Had he known, then? Been sure that Binghe would return, even though he built a grave and mourned for him? Or was he mourning for a piece of Binghe that had truly broken and died, an innocence he could never return to?
It didn't matter, Binghe assured himself as he turned back to the house, going back to the familiar comfort of the kitchen. It didn't matter, because Shizun had stopped running, and Shizun had stayed. That point helped ease all the hurts before it, because Shizun had chosen him, and stayed.
As Binghe worked on making breakfast, Shizun came to find him as he often was in the mornings, stirring together the ingredients for a flavorful meal. He hid a yawn behind his fan, and in a rare move he pressed his forehead against Binghe's back, resting sleepily there. Binghe hid his surprised startle and smiled fondly at the familiar feel of Shizun's weight against him. "Good morning Shizun. Did you sleep well?"
"As well as ever," Qingqiu responded, a little mumbled against the fabric of Binghe's robes. He nuzzled close, as if trying to go back to sleep against him.
Binghe saw a rare opportunity. Sometimes when Shizun was not fully awake, he would answer questions he wouldn't even respond to otherwise. The answers didn't always make sense, but they were given honestly - he had to be quick, and he'd only get one shot at it. He cleared his throat.
"Shizun, I've always wondered - why did you bury Zheng Yang out back? After it shattered?"
"Mmm," Qingqiu mused, and Binghe honed in on the mumbled answer. "Seemed right to do… a place for regret…"
"Regret?" Binghe pushed, wishing he could turn and wrap his arms around the sleepy Shizun without waking him further.
"Mn," Qingqiu gave the small acknowledgement. "...Never wanted to…"
Binghe didn't have to read in between the lines to parse that one - a pure, unguarded moment. So much so that at his small gasp, Qingqiu shifted and lifted his head, more awake and too aware to elaborate further. "Ah.. have you started tea, husband?" His Shizun had caught himself and was shifting away to check on the tea pot before he'd gotten an answer. He was also distracting by using the name that always made Binghe's heart melt.
"Of course Shizun. Husband," Binghe replied, fond warmth in his tone. Shizun was redirecting now, but Binghe had enough to go off for now.
There had to be some external reason then - some will of another that had forced his Shizun's hand. He hadn't wanted to, which meant he didn't mean to. And truth be told, wasn't it this path that had lead them now to this present, with the two of them, together?
For always. Plenty of time to find more answers. But for now he was happy, endlessly so, and could devote himself to making his Shizun just as happy.