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Zhou Zishu lets out a breath of contentment.
Wen Kexing stands behind him, carefully brushing out his hair with practiced movements. Knots are easily smoothed out, and every now and again Wen Kexing’s fingers ghost over Zhou Zishu’s skin, the heat letting a pleasant shiver run down Zhou Zishu’s spine. It’s a familiar routine, comfortable and intimate.
Zhou Zishu closes his eyes. He’s tired. Mission after mission after mission – Prince Jin is relentless. The nails in Zhou Zishu’s chest throb, but his meridians are slowly shimmering down to a pain that’s less an agonized scream and more a dull ache. As always, his love knows how to calm the raging torment he’s inflicted upon himself. As always, Wen Kexing takes care of him.
They will get a few days to themselves this time. Just a few days – it was the most he could trick out of Prince Jin without raising suspicion – but it will be enough. It has to be. It has to be enough to soothe the need Zhou Zishu feels, the need to hold Wen Kexing and be held by him, to kiss him and be kissed, the need to not be separated again. Not yet. Not ever.
Wen Kexing’s hands leave his hair. Zhou Zishu feels a pang of disappointment – he likes it when Wen Kexing drags it out. But instead of stepping back, Zhou Zishu hears the rustling of Wen Kexing’s long sleeves. Then, his hands are back, skilfully pulling back a couple of strands and tying them together into a bun at the back of Zhou Zishu’s head.
Zhou Zishu can’t help the smile that hushes over his lips. Warmth spreads through him at the gesture, as clear and beautiful as the sound of the words ‘welcome home’. How he loves this man.
Zhou Zishu’s eyes flutter open. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Zhou Zishu is more focused on Wen Kexing’s reflection than he ever is on his own. Wen Kexing is smiling softly, the adoring, fond smile that is the most beautiful thing Zhou Zishu has ever seen. He loves it.
Lowering his gaze, Wen Kexing reaches into his own hair, pulling out the intricate white jade pin that has adorned his head more and more often lately. It’s the last thing he has from his parents; it’s his treasure. And wherever Wen Kexing goes, it catches the light, reflecting beautifully against his dark strands.
Wen Kexing doesn’t even take a moment to look at it. He slides it into Zhou Zishu’s hair.
Zhou Zishu’s breath hitches. His eyes widen, he can’t tear them away from the jade pin that now decorates his head, gaining the orange-golden glow of the candlelight.
There is a lump in his throat. “Lao Wen…”
Wen Kexing rests his hands on Zhou Zishu’s shoulders, leans down and presses a tender kiss against the side of his head.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Wen Kexing says, voice soft against Zhou Zishu’s ear. “And I want the world to know it.”
Zhou Zishu huffs a laugh, still catching his breath, feeling his heart flutter with the implication. With the promise Wen Kexing is making him, with the future they could have. Zhou Zishu sees in his mind the Four Seasons Manor, and tears gather in his eyes at the thought of doing their bows amongst the plum blossoms.
“A-Xu?”
There are no words Zhou Zishu can say that would encompass the swelling love in his chest. Every time he thinks he can’t possibly fall more for this man, Wen Kexing proves him wrong.
He turns around, takes a hold of Wen Kexing, and kisses him.
It’s an answer to a question that wasn’t ever really one, a promise to his zhiji, and a ‘thank you’ all in one. It’s warm, and soft, and absolutely perfect in the way every moment they share is.
They pull apart, wearing matching joyful grins. How is it that Wen Kexing always makes Zhou Zishu’s heart feel like it’s about to burst?
“Idiot,” Zhou Zishu says, fond. His beautiful, silly zhiji.
Wen Kexing’s smile could illuminate the night sky. “I love you, too, A-Xu.”
Wen Kexing is not playing fair.
Zhou Zishu loves this gift, loves to wear it whenever they go to town, whenever they sit together in their room sharing wine. He loves the promise that comes with it, and despite the ever-growing pain of the nails, Zhou Zishu looks forward to the future. However short it will end up being, they will face it together no matter what.
But it’s not fair that only Zhou Zishu wears a token of their love.
It’s not like he has never gifted Wen Kexing anything. In fact, after many trips to different towns’ markets, Wen Kexing has a vast collection of fans and trinkets Zhou Zishu bought for him. And that’s all well and good, because Zhou Zishu wants to see Wen Kexing’s eyes light up whenever Zhou Zishu presents him with such a small gift, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t have the same connotation, the same value, as entrusting his most precious possession to Zhou Zishu, entrusting him with something that will bind them together for the world to see.
So, Zhou Zishu has to remedy that somehow. He’s not a spymaster for nothing – he’s been on far more difficult missions than this. Surely, it can’t be that hard to find something that can symbolize the depths of his affection for Wen Kexing? Surely?
None of Zhou Zishu’s possessions carry the same personal value as the hair pin. After all, almost nothing Zhou Zishu owns is really his. Most of it was given by Prince Jin, a way for Zhou Zishu to look appropriate for court, a way for Prince Jin to control even more aspects of his life. No, Zhou Zishu would rather cut his own throat than let any of that get anywhere near his beloved.
But what then?
He toys with the idea of gifting Wen Kexing another fan. Maybe of more sturdy material, painted in the colours of Four Seasons Manor? Wen Kexing would certainly treasure it, never leave it out of his sight.
But he would also probably drench it in blood sooner or later, and while Zhou Zishu would gladly sacrifice anything for Wen Kexing’s safety, the thought does make him wince.
What else can he offer? A new robe? But what colour? And how long would Wen Kexing even wear it before it would be old and torn? What about more trinkets? Would his love understand the meaning behind the gesture if it was but an everyday occurrence?
Frustrated, Zhou Zishu lets out a breath. One of his assassins rushes by him. They are getting ready – soon, their mark will arrive, and the set-up will have to be done then. Zhou Zishu has left them to their own devices, with a clear warning about what will happen if they fail. But it’s not Zhou Zishu’s wrath they are worried about; Prince Jin’s temper has, after all, been getting worse.
The stands are bright, vendors yell loudly, proclaiming their goods to be the best. Buyers mingle, ladies giggle with each other and young masters tell bold tales of their prowess. None of that is helping Zhou Zishu, however. None of it is getting him closer to his goal.
He needs to find something. It doesn’t sit well with him that lately, all he does is receive. Due to the nails, all he can do is depend on Wen Kexing, let him take care of Zhou Zishu. All Zhou Zishu can do is watch as Wen Kexing pours all his energy and time into studying medical texts, always being ready for when Zhou Zishu needs him.
Zhou Zishu misses the carefree days, where they didn’t have to worry about his deteriorating health, where they could drink and laugh, and not care about what the future might hold. But this hell is one of his own making, and he will bear it with as much dignity as he can, giving all he has to Wen Kexing, to his beloved.
He needs to be able to show Wen Kexing his love fiercely, undoubtably. How can he do that if he can’t even find a betrothal gift?
He stops. His feet have dragged him off the main road to something that’s hidden in the shadows, a side-street with a few little shops in small, run-down buildings. The sound of bustling on the main street is fading away, almost an echo, replaced by the scent of freshly brewed tea. It’s a peaceful quiet, soft and soothing like music. Zhou Zishu breathes it in, letting it uncurl the knot in his stomach.
He can’t give up now. Maybe this quiet, this peace, will give him the answers he seeks. Maybe he will finally receive an answer to his dilemma.
Zhou Zishu starts walking again. His gaze wanders over signs half-heartedly put up in front of worn little shops, writing old and dulled. There is a restaurant, an inn, a shop for charms, an apothecary, and…
A jeweller.
The sign – lovingly looked-after – reads, ‘Jewellery and Accessories of finest jade’.
A familiar phantom weight makes its presence known on Zhou Zishu’s head. Since he’s technically away on the prince’s orders, he isn’t wearing the precious hair pin.
What if this is my answer?
It’s been strange, almost off-putting, to find Wen Kexing back to wearing common hairpieces that while beautiful, could never compare with the ethereal nature of skilfully sculpted white jade.
But what if something could?
His chest heavy with something akin to hope, he enters the little shop. Instantly, his eyes are drawn to an endless-seeming collection of accessories gathered across the room. From earrings to hairpins, Zhou Zishu finds everything he can think of and more. The different jade stones are more colourful than expected: white, green, blue, lavender, orange, and many more. Each colour is represented in stunning displays of craftsmanship that speak of years in the field.
This. This is what Zhou Zishu has been looking for.
He approaches a table on which several hairpins are exhibited. Many of them have a base made of metal, one end adorned with stones gathered together like flowers. Others are completely made out of jade, sculpted like Zhou Zishu’s own, but the designs are simple, almost hidden. Something that Wen Kexing wears needs to scream for attention, needs to be beautiful and elegant, but still extravagant, just like Wen Kexing. In short, it needs to be perfect.
“Gōngzi, can I help you?”
Zhou Zishu turns around. An older gentleman, walking a little hunched over, with beginnings of white in his hair and a matching beard, approaches him. The man’s smile is gentle and disarming, genuine in a way vendors rarely are.
Zhou Zishu looks back at the hairpins, of which none are good enough, and sighs. He might as well try.
“I’m looking for a gift. For my… partner.”
He’s never said it out loud before. He’s never claimed Wen Kexing as his in front of anyone else before, and while his words are vague, insufficient, it’s still somehow freeing, showing this part of him. And soon – preferably very soon – Zhou Zishu will be able to claim Wen Kexing as much more, for the whole world to see.
The man’s eyes glimmer knowingly. “Ah, I see. Young love. Of course, of course. A hairpin then? What kind did you have in mind, gōngzi?”
What kind does he have in mind? What does he want to see his beloved wear? Zhou Zishu lets his gaze wander over the hairpins again. He doesn’t want to gift Wen Kexing a copy of the treasure he’s given. Zhou Zishu’s gift is not supposed to be a replacement. It’s… well, it’s supposed to be more.
But what then?
“No metal,” he decides. These things seem too simple. “Something carved out of jade.”
The man nods. He walks over to the display, selecting a few, even from further back where Zhou Zishu has not yet taken the time to look. Greens and whites mostly dominate the selection, though one of them shimmers faintly blue. Zhou Zishu takes his time to look them over with a critical eye, as observant and exigent as when it’s a matter of life and death.
The carvings are still too simple: Zhou Zishu can only see them once he focuses, once he looks closer. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.
“Not to your liking?” the man says. His good humour has yet to be lost; it seems having a difficult customer like Zhou Zishu is more of a challenge than a grievance.
“It’s…” Zhou Zishu rings for words. He frowns, not knowing how to describe it; he just knows it’s not quite right. It’s not enough.
His eyes roam the room once more, in hopes of finding something worthy of Wen Kexing. A flicker of light catches his eye. Several stones, rough and unpolished, lie piled in a corner. One of them shimmers blue, reflecting the sunlight like shallow waters. Zhou Zishu approaches it, awed when the switch in position causes the colour to transform into moonlight on a lake. With each step there seems to be a switch, a swirl of colour, blue and white dancing in glass-like beauty.
That’s what he’s looking for.
“Ah, this was my last shipment. I was just about to decide what to do with those. Do any of those strike your fancy, gōngzi?”
“The blue one.”
The man, still smiling, nods in understanding. “Yes, a very pretty one indeed.”
The man walks over, passing Zhou Zishu, and picks up the stone. He sets it down on a counter in the middle of the room, closely examining it. Zhou Zishu watches with rapt attention. The man hums several times, almost as if making notes to himself, and then looks back at Zhou Zishu with a satisfied smile.
“It’s in very good condition. I’m sure I could make something stunning with it if you’d like?”
It’s so tempting to just say ‘yes’. After all, this colour is perfect, ever-changing, gentle yet never dull, and isn’t that just what he’s looking for?
But what does he want the hairpin to look like, other than blue? What carvings would match the ethereal nature of this jade? What does Zhou Zishu want to put into Wen Kexing’s hair? What would fit his impossible, beautiful zhiji?
“If you’re not quite decided, gōngzi, I’m sure I could show you others…?”
“I want this one,” Zhou Zishu says. Of that he is sure, so very sure. The man smiles knowingly, looking at Zhou Zishu like he’s an open book, predictable and amusing, a child playing while adults look after them with fondness and indulgence.
What a strange look to receive, with Zhou Zishu being a professional killer, a monster.
But, he supposes, he’s also just a man in love.
“The design is the issue then? Worry not, gōngzi, I can give you time to settle on something. Maybe you’d like to take another look around for inspiration? Or would you prefer to sleep on it?”
There is no way Zhou Zishu is going to just magically come up with something. He doesn’t really want to. This is not something he wants to rush – it’s too important.
“This jade will still be here if I choose to come back another day?”
The man takes the stone, then places it under the counter. From the rustling, it sounds like the man has hidden it among his tools. No other customer would even learn of its existence.
“Of course. How does a month sound, gōngzi?”
Zhou Zishu swallows, taken aback by the casual kindness. “You are very generous.”
With a careless wave of a hand, the man dismisses Zhou Zishu’s words. “Young love, how can I not encourage it? Take your time – if your love is strong, it does not matter how long you keep your beloved waiting.”
Zhou Zishu nods. He bows and thanks the old man, giving a promise to be back in a week, and then re-joins his assassins as if nothing unusual had taken place.
Coming up with a design is a horrible task.
He thought it would be hard, but not like this. It’s not like Zhou Zishu has never dabbled in more artistic pass-times. He knows how to paint, how to sketch. He knows how to use colour and angle to make something come to life.
But he can’t manage to sketch a hairpin.
He’s looked at so many examples, so many different designs, stared at his own precious hairpin for endless-seeming stretches of time, and yet… nothing works. Every single one of his sketches looks off, not quite right, not what he wants, it’s either too much or not enough. It’s driving him insane.
He stays up at night, after his subordinates have gone to take a rest, and works on his sketches. He’s lost count of how many he’s thrown away in fits of rage, how many crumbled papers always accumulate at his feet. And when it gets too late and the nails make themselves known, he bears them stoically until his hands stop shaking.
Zhou Zishu is glad to not be in the palace for this. He can already hear Wen Kexing’s scolding, his lectures about taking better care of himself, especially now. Zhou Zishu can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips, as he fondly thinks about his love who is a physician in every sense of the word. Zhou Zishu just had to go and fall in love with a healer, didn’t he? If Beiyuan ever learns of this, Zhou Zishu will be laughed at for all eternity.
The full moon shines in the cloudless sky. Its bright and stunning light washes over Zhou Zishu soothingly and familiarly as night air breezes over his feverish skin. The nails have been bad tonight.
He won’t be able to pull himself together enough to draw tonight, so he lies down, burrowing himself under the blankets to try – and fail – to recreate Wen Kexing’s warm hold around him. Zhou Zishu misses it. He misses Wen Kexing so much, it’s almost a physical yearning. The mission will not be long now, but the time apart still seems unbearable.
Zhou Zishu closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep to find the person he seeks at least in his dreams.
Just as he feels himself being carried off to the calming hold of sleep, an image of blue jade plum blossoms appears in his mind, alongside the most beautiful, breath-taking smile of his wonderful zhiji.
Zhou Zishu walks down the by-now familiar side-street, breathing in the scent of tea leaves, and taking comfort in the worn-down signs. He passes the little inn, empty at this time of the afternoon, the apothecary with its closed doors, steadily moving towards his goal. His heart hammers away in his chest, he is buzzing with restless energy – the old man said the hairpin would be ready today.
It wasn’t an easy task to convince his clingy zhiji to explore on his own. Wen Kexing must sense something is different from the usual outings, but after some careful coaxing – and soothing because his Lao Wen can be so insecure at times – Zhou Zishu had been free to prepare his surprise.
Zhou Zishu opens the door to the little shop. It creaks, old wood barely holding together. Zhou Zishu looks around with the gaze of a man who’s seen too many battlefields. For his profession, a small, confined space isn’t unusual. He shakes his head, trying to ban those thoughts from his mind. He doesn’t think he will ever truly break the habit. Paranoid, dangerous, that’s what he is – what they are.
“Ah, Zhou-gōngzi!” the old man, Yang Hao, greets. “Give me just a moment!”
Zhou Zishu allows himself a small smile. Yang Hao is a very kind man, passionate about his craft and curious about his customers’ lives. He makes each piece with patience and precision and uses his perceptiveness to put voice to the thoughts his customers have trouble articulating. It’s a very dangerous power, should it ever fall into the wrong hands. But Zhou Zishu doesn’t doubt Yang Hao’s honesty. It’s kind of refreshing.
“You look different today, Zhou-gōngzi.” Yang Hao has moved to the back room, rummaging for something. Zhou Zishu’s heart has now moved to his throat.
“My partner is in town.”
When he’s alone with Wen Kexing, he doesn’t wear the heavy blacks of Tian Chuang. Instead, he prefers light blues, whites, and greys, or sometimes a darker blue he knows Wen Kexing likes on him. Most of his clothes for outside are soft and practical – not the stuffy court robes he’s forced to wear otherwise. He also lets his hair down; the jade pin always decorating his head. He looks like a completely different person – soft and gentle. It’s a side Wen Kexing brings out, Wen Kexing is his light, his hope, his reason to keep going.
Yang Hao comes out of the back room, carrying a small wooden box. It’s dark and polished, looks to be high-quality. Yang Hao sets it down on the counter.
“Ah, I see.” Yang Hao smiles. “And I suppose the hairpin you’re wearing is a gift from your beloved? No wonder you couldn’t settle on anything I had here – even from this distance I can tell it’s a piece of beautiful craftsmanship! Let’s hope I didn’t disappoint, hm?”
Zhou Zishu takes a step towards the counter. The box looks so unassuming – will the gift be as beautiful as he’s hoped? Will it be enough? Will it be the perfection Wen Kexing deserves?
Yang Hao opens the box slowly. Zhou Zishu’s breath gets stuck in his throat.
Inside the box, cushioned on dark blue silk, lies a pin about the same length as the one in his hair. Tender blue and white is highlighted by sunlight, letting the carvings stand out on glass-like beauty. A cloud of plum blossoms blooms at one end of the pin, fading into leaves and vines, cascading down to the other end as elegantly as a waterfall.
It’s perfect.
Zhou Zishu looks up. “Yang-shu…”
Yang Hao holds up a hand, smiling kindly. “I can see your words in your eyes, Zhou-gōngzi. I’m glad it is to your liking.”
Zhou Zishu’s gaze falls back onto the pin. In his mind’s eye, he sees it settled in Wen Kexing’s hair, bright against his dark strands, colour ever-changing, beautiful and mysterious, blue like the sky and ocean.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Zhou Zishu says.
“It was your idea,” Yang Hao reminds him gently. “I have never had the privilege of carving something so thoughtful and close to the heart. I am sure your beloved will agree.”
Yang Hao carefully closes the box, handing it over to Zhou Zishu. Zhou Zishu almost vibrates with this happiness, this eagerness to meet his Lao Wen and present him with this gift. He puts money on the counter – more than they had agreed on. Yang Hao’s eyes widen, for the first time surprised at Zhou Zishu’s actions.
“It’s the least I can offer you for your generosity and effort,” Zhou Zishu says. “Thank you.”
Zhou Zishu bows, this warm excitement bubbling up, making him feel almost like a child. When he rises, he feels the smile pulling at his cheeks, warm and bright and honest. Yang Hao meets his gaze almost wistfully, but also proud. He should be.
“No, Zhou-gōngzi – Thank you.”
When Zhou Zishu arrives back at the inn, the sun is starting to set on the horizon and Wen Kexing is nowhere to be found. He must be roaming the market a little longer than planned. Good. Zhou Zishu wants him to have fun.
Since Zhou Zishu is back first, he takes care of dinner. He asks the waiter for a private table and orders the inn’s best dishes and wines. The waiter leads him over to a table overseeing the nearby river, promising to be back soon with the wine.
As Zhou Zishu waits for his love to arrive, he relaxes in his chair. His room is away from the other guests, but the sounds of the main hall flow over – loud, cheerful music, people chattering in friendly tones, and the fluttering activity of life.
It reminds Zhou Zishu of a night many months ago, with a similar lively atmosphere, where they’d drank good wine, laughed, teased, bantered all through the night. It had been a wonderful night.
And this one will surpass it.
Wen Kexing arrives with a smile on his lips and a bounce in his steps. His eyes wander over the table, and laughter escapes from him at the wide selection of dishes the waiter had brought just before he’d appeared.
“Do we have something to celebrate, love?” he asks, sitting down in a flurry of robes, smile wide. It’s Zhou Zishu’s favourite smile, the one that puts starlight to shame. Zhou Zishu is so, so lucky.
“Do we not, future husband?”
Wen Kexing’s eyes widen. He freezes, a little blush spreading on his cheeks. Zhou Zishu can’t help but laugh. His Lao Wen flirts so shamelessly and yet he is so easily flustered.
Wen Kexing clears his throat. “A-Xu… You can’t just drop that on me.”
“Why not?”
They’ve leaned into each other’s personal space yet again, almost sharing breath, smiling at each other like fools. What a warm, safe feeling this is. Zhou Zishu never wants it to end.
“My poor heart can’t take it.”
“Ah, your poor heart, Lao Wen? How sad, how sad.”
Wen Kexing pouts, turning his puppy eyes on Zhou Zishu. It’s his secret weapon, a look that after so long of knowing each other still has Zhou Zishu helpless.
“How cruel my A-Xu is.”
Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes, and they separate with a huff of laughter. He pours them both some wine. “Let’s drink, Lao Wen.”
Wen Kexing takes the offered cup, raising it. Zhou Zishu follows with little delay.
“To us,” Wen Kexing says, soft and fond. Zhou Zishu’s chest swells with warmth.
“To us,” he echoes, clinks their cups together, and smiles.
It takes them a long time to finish their meal – and their wine. By the time their cups are empty, the silver moon is high in the sky. Their laughter has rung loud and true, wild and unrestrained like they can only be away from the palace. For a moment only, Zhou Zishu dares to dream about their life after Prince Jin; about how they would travel, taste all the wines, only accompanied by each other until they settled down in Four Seasons Manor, watching the seasons fly by as the flowers bloom.
It's a good dream. A dream the nails are going to inevitably shatter sooner or later, no matter how much effort Wen Kexing puts into treatments and the search for a cure. It’s a pity that this is the only choice Zhou Zishu had. It’s a pity his time with Wen Kexing will be as short as the blink of an eye. But this is already so much more than he’s ever hoped for, than he deserves. He is grateful. So, so incredibly grateful.
Wen Kexing puts away the comb. He’s done Zhou Zishu’s hair like every evening, chatting on meaninglessly as he loosened the knots. Voice soft and low, soothing enough to be able to lull Zhou Zishu to sleep.
But not tonight.
Just as Wen Kexing turns away, ready to leave Zhou Zishu to go to bed first, Zhou Zishu grabs his arm.
“A-Xu?”
“Your turn, Lao Wen.”
Zhou Zishu stands up, pulling Wen Kexing down into the vacant seat. Wen Kexing goes willingly, letting Zhou Zishu push him around, guide him. What an incredibly power this is, to have Wen Kexing’s trust. No matter how often he gives it, Zhou Zishu finds himself in awe every time. He gives his own trust in return without ever pausing to think. It used to be so foreign to trust someone else – for both of them. But now, they fall into this rhythm easily, as effortlessly as breathing, as naturally as the sun rises in the sky.
He picks up the comb, taking a moment to caress Wen Kexing’s head. Wen Kexing sighs in contentment, letting his eyes flutter shut with a smile. Zhou Zishu sets an even rhythm with the comb, marvelling at the silk-like quality of Wen Kexing’s hair. Barely any tangles roughen its texture. Zhou Zishu just wants to wrap a strand around his finger.
It’s become rare, for Zhou Zishu to have the energy to do Wen Kexing’s hair. Long missions, or a flare-up of the nails, or both, prevent it. He feels guilty that he cannot even give Wen Kexing this, but Wen Kexing never complains, never asks for more than Zhou Zishu can give. He only delights in the times Zhou Zishu feels strong enough to reciprocate.
Wen Kexing deserves so much more. But despite it all he’s willing to stay, to love Zhou Zishu until the end, so Zhou Zishu will never stop trying to give him the world for all the time he has left.
Zhou Zishu could get lost in this moment, in this warmth, in this intimacy. He could get lost, never wanting to do anything else. He could spend his life staring at the wonderous man that is Wen Kexing.
But not tonight.
He allows himself a moment to breathe, before his hands move up to redo Wen Kexing’s bun. He ties it loosely, maybe even clumsily, but if Wen Kexing notices, he doesn’t mention it.
“Keep your eyes closed, love,” Zhou Zishu whispers in Wen Kexing’s ear. Wen Kexing’s face scrunches up adorably in confusion, but he obeys regardless.
Zhou Zishu takes a few steps away from Wen Kexing. There, hidden beneath the bed, is the little box Yang Hao has given him. The dark, polished wood doesn’t look out of place. In fact, the box fades into the background like decoration, inconspicuous. But for Zhou Zishu it’s the only thing he sees, like a burst of colour against a blank page.
Now or never.
He takes the box, the smooth surface against the callouses on his palms. He walks back to Wen Kexing, setting the box on the table. Through it all, Wen Kexing still doesn’t open his eyes. Once more, this trust feels like a treasure.
Zhou Zishu opens the box slowly, reverently. Like the first time, the sight of the hairpin steals his breath. In the low candlelight the colours seem even more vibrant. Carefully taking it out of the box, he marvels at the even surface.
He walks over, retaking his place behind Wen Kexing. With one hand, he smooths down Wen Kexing’s hair one last time, and then slides the hairpin through the admittedly messy looking bun.
Wen Kexing gasps.
“Open your eyes,” Zhou Zishu murmurs.
Wen Kexing’s eyes open slowly. For a moment, he searches, and then his gaze finds the hairpin nestled in his hair. Another gasp escapes him before he reaches up, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, hand stopping just shy of the hairpin. His hand hovers uncertainly, and Wen Kexing turns to get a better look at it through the mirror.
Moonlight joins the golden candlelight. The pin takes it all, reflects it all, without ever losing its blue-white tint. It fits perfectly amongst Wen Kexing’s dark strands. So beautiful. Wen Kexing is so beautiful, and this surge of adoration, of fondness, of love, could knock Zhou Zishu off his feet.
“A-Xu…” Wen Kexing breathes, his hand dropping into his lap. Tears gather in his eyes.
“Lao Wen…”
The first tear rolls down Wen Kexing’s cheek as a hiccupped breath escapes his throat. A heartbeat later, Zhou Zishu finds himself with an armful of his zhiji, almost tumbling over from the impact. Wen Kexing’s arms are impossibly tight around him even as they shake, and Zhou Zishu can’t help but laugh as he hugs back.
“Hey, hey, now, why are you crying?”
They pull apart, only for Zhou Zishu to wipe Wen Kexing’s tears with his thumb. Heavens, how can this man be so beautiful even now?
“A-Xu.”
“Ah, why are you calling me now?”
Wen Kexing’s smile, even through his red-rimmed eyes, is brighter than the sun, blinding. Even after so long, Zhou Zishu still can’t get used to it, to the way his heart flutters and he feels so incredibly fond.
“It’s so pretty, A-Xu.”
“You like it?”
Wen Kexing laughs. “Like it? A-Xu, I love it! I love it so much, I can’t even…”
Zhou Zishu can’t help it – he kisses Wen Kexing.
He cradles his love’s head, lets his other hand rest against Wen Kexing’s waist, and pulls him closer, relishing in the warmth of Wen Kexing’s lips against his. It’s like a firework, brilliant and colourful, a spark of light so bright Zhou Zishu wants to bask in it forever. It’s perfect. Everything, in this moment, feels absolutely perfect.
They pull away eventually, grinning like fools, standing in the middle of the room like nothing else in the world matters.
“There,” Zhou Zishu says, satisfied. “Now you also have something to show off.”
Once more, Wen Kexing’s eyes widen. “You… you did all of this…?”
Zhou Zishu lets his hand rest on Wen Kexing’s cheek, his other taking a hold of Wen Kexing’s hand, who immediately intertwines their fingers. It’s warm. It’s so wonderfully warm.
“I can’t be the only one wearing a symbol of our promise, can I?”
He expects the melodious laughter, and the kiss that follows. He melts into it, squeezing Wen Kexing’s hand. Wonderful. Everything feels just perfect.
When they pull apart this time, Zhou Zishu leans his forehead against Wen Kexing’s, smiling teasingly. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I want the world to know it.”
Hearing his own words echoed at him, Wen Kexing laughs, his breath on Zhou Zishu’s cheek. “I love you, A-Xu. So, so much.”
Zhou Zishu laughs, too, and takes Wen Kexing’s other hand. He could stay like this forever, holding Wen Kexing’s hands, breathing the same air, sharing the same warmth. He wants to be with this man forever, in this life and the next, and all that follow. He will use all the time he has to show Wen Kexing his love, to hold him and kiss him and be there for him. And while this promise needs no words, is beyond something that has a voice, there are words on Zhou Zishu’s tongue, words that he can never say enough when he is with Wen Kexing, with his zhiji.
“I love you, too, my Lao Wen.”