Work Text:
Zhou Zishu doesn’t hear him arriving.
He feels Wen Kexing’s presence hovering at his back, feels how he takes up space on this secluded balcony, feels the insecurity, the nervousness rolling off him in waves. But he doesn’t hear him. Not like before.
He lets out a sigh. Rain drizzles down from a dark sky, a storm picking up, starting to hurry the rhythm of the dancing leaves. Soon, the storm will fully crash over them, tearing them apart, merciless. It will drown them, separate them, split their souls. Leave nothing but broken pieces in its wake.
“A-Xu.”
Wen Kexing’s voice – soft against the roaring of the wind – cracks. It’s easy to pick out amongst the noise. Despite Zhou Zishu’s deteriorating hearing, despite not being able to hear the gentle flurry of Wen Kexing’s robes anymore, this is a sound that’s engraved in his heart, painful but there, and Zhou Zishu knows – hopes – he will never lose it. He could not bear it.
“Won’t you look at me?”
Zhou Zishu’s fingers dig into his palms. The pain there is dull, not the sharpness it should be. It’s not enough to overshadow the agony deep in his chest, his heart, that cries out with every word Wen Kexing speaks.
“A-Xu, please.”
Rain falls ruthlessly. The sky above them is dark as night, creating cover for the shadows, the demons, to roam. People are scurrying inside, seeking shelter from the downpour, but Zhou Zishu just wants to flee into it, let it wash everything away, soothe this pain he’s inflicted upon himself.
It takes another heartbeat, but then the world explodes in sound. The rain, the wind, the creaking of wood, it’s overwhelming. The water rushes through the canal. Wen Kexing’s robes swish against the wood, and then –
“A-Xu?”
Zhou Zishu turns around. He’s face to face with Wen Kexing’s wide, dark eyes, with the concern and pain Wen Kexing can never hide. His Lao Wen is drenched from head to toe, his robes cling to his skin, hair plastered to his forehead. He must have been looking all over the town, searching for him after their fight, hoping Zhou Zishu would let himself be found. Hoping he wasn’t too late.
How silly of his Lao Wen. No matter the anger, the pain between the two of them, how could Zhou Zishu ever want to truly hide from him?
“Lao Wen.”
“A-Xu –”
Wen Kexing falters, words dying in his throat. The earlier strength, the fire, that had been ignited at Ye Baiyi’s words, that had pushed both their rough edges against each other, has shimmered down to a faint ember, easily extinguished. Zhou Zishu tries to suffocate it, bury it.
Wen Kexing does not.
His eyes grow teary, the redness from before not quite gone.
“A-Xu… Earlier… Did you mean it?”
Zhou Zishu can’t meet his eyes. There’s a raw pain in there, too powerful and terrifying to touch. Does Wen Kexing know how much these eyes affect Zhou Zishu? Does he know how much power he holds over Zhou Zishu, how easily Zhou Zishu finds himself cowed, willing to give everything to him?
Does he know how much his pain hurts Zhou Zishu?
“If I did?”
He barely recognizes his voice. It’s cold and indifferent, more like Zhou-shǒulǐng, and less like A-Xu. He’s not there anymore. He’s left Tian Chuang and Prince Jin, why does he fall back into this old role, this old mask? Why is it that away from the smothering chains of blood and destruction, he still can’t lay down his weapons?
And why does he have to point them at his beloved?
He lets Wen Kexing grasp his shoulders; fingers just short of digging into his flesh. Zhou Zishu is just skin and bones. Wen Kexing could easily break him, snap him in half. He could. But despite his cruelty, Wen Kexing is the kind one between them. He’s gentle with those he considers his, willing to do anything to protect them, keep them safe.
Zhou Zishu is truly an awful man.
“Why? A-Xu, why…?”
Wen Kexing’s breath shudders with the sound of rustling leaves. Zhou Zishu pushes off his fingers, burning imprints on his skin.
“Who would I be, without my martial arts? Would I still be myself? Or would the person be someone I could not recognize?”
“A-Xu…” His name sounds like a plea on Wen Kexing’s tongue. An echo of an old wound, the same fear and pain. It’s unfair.
Why is Wen Kexing the one lamenting his fate?
Zhou Zishu forces a smile. “We still have two years. Let’s live these two years to the fullest, and not waste time searching for cures that won’t work. Let’s just live in the moment, Lao Wen.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes narrow. The pain gives way to anger, matching Zhou Zishu’s irritation, his growing desire for conflict, for violence.
“Which moment, A-Xu?” Wen Kexing laughs. He breaks into a sob halfway through, a stab through Zhou Zishu’s heart. “The moment in which you can’t move due to the pain? The moment where you struggle to see past your own arm? Or what about the moment in which you can’t even hear my voice when I try to comfort you? Which one of these sounds like a good time to live, A-Xu?”
The anger grows, pushing, pushing, ready to burst, an ember exploding into a flame, lashing out at everything it touches. Zhou Zishu can’t hold it back. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He’s tired. He’s just so, so tired.
“Why are you the one crying?” Zhou Zishu snaps, voice ringing in his ears. It hurts. It always hurts. “I’m the one with the nails in my chest!”
“Which means I’ll have to watch you die!”
A punch to the gut. Zhou Zishu’s chest suddenly feels tight, not enough air in his lungs, and it hurts, it hurts so damn much.
Zhou Zishu knows what it’s like. He knows what it’s like to be the one left behind, to be the last. For so long, he’s been the last of Four Seasons Manor. He’s watched his martial brothers die one by one, brought their bodies home and painted their flowers red. He’s been the one to pay his respects at the graves, carrying on, but losing meaning, losing purpose. He’d been waiting to find his end, either on the battlefield, strangled, stabbed, cut open, or at the palace, poisoned, imprisoned, cast aside. What did he have to live for? He’d lost everyone, everything, from his people to his soul.
And now, this pain of being left behind still burns, tastes like acid on his tongue. It’s a burden he will carry for the rest of his life, a pain he would never wish on anyone, least of all his love, his light, his hope.
And yet…
“You’re the one who stayed!” Zhou Zishu yells, fire exploding inside him. “You’re the one who refused to leave!”
No matter how broken, how sick Zhou Zishu became, Wen Kexing never left. He’s stayed with Zhou Zishu from the beginning, never asking for more than Zhou Zishu could give. He’s been Zhou Zishu’s anchor, no matter how often Zhou Zishu pushed him away.
Even now, as Zhou Zishu pushes harder and harder, as the anger swirls between them, as the wall of heat and pain rises, as their chests heave from emotion, Wen Kexing doesn’t walk away. Stubbornly, foolishly, he stays. Again.
“You refused to leave. You can’t say these things, Lao Wen.”
You understand, Zhou Zishu doesn’t say, you know my soul.
New tears well up in Wen Kexing’s eyes, but his stare is powerful. There is fire in him, unrelenting and dangerous. He is lost. Lost and enraged.
“I know you,” Wen Kexing says, an answer to the unspoken question. “But I don’t understand: Why do you want to die?”
Zhou Zishu feels as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Lao Wen –”
Wen Kexing takes a step forward, dark and furious, dangerous. Going in for the kill. “No, let me rephrase that: Why do you think you don’t deserve to live?”
Ice falls upon his soul. Zhou Zishu is frozen, eyes on Wen Kexing, who meets his gaze, anger all drained from him. The wall of rage that separates them cools – all that is left is anguish.
How can Zhou Zishu justify himself living? How can he pretend to deserve this life, being happy and growing old with his zhiji? With all the blood he’s spilled, how could Zhou Zishu ever prove himself worthy?
How can Zhou Zishu face his sect brothers, his shifu, in the afterlife without serving penance? How unfair would it be for him to live, to become happy like they never got to be? Like they never got to be because of his orders, because of their misplaced trust in his protection?
How can he live, carrying with him the knowledge of his mistakes, his failures?
He deserves this agony, this drawn-out torture of his own creation. He deserves this and more. So much more. He’s already been given so much. He has met his zhiji, the love of his life. He has met a child that is his in all but name.
How dare he ask for more?
“You told me,” Wen Kexing says, voice back to shaky and cracking, tears freely running down his rain-wet cheeks, “that even a monster like me could do good, live well. Why are you willing to excuse my misdeeds, but not yours?”
Because you didn’t have a choice, Zhou Zishu wants to say. Because you were thrown into darkness while I walked in on my own free will.
But the words are stuck in his throat as Wen Kexing’s sobs, wounded, pleading.
“I’m a selfish man,” he’d said that night, so long ago. “I cannot live without you; I want to spend eternity with you.”
Back then, Zhou Zishu had made his choice. Back then, Zhou Zishu chose to walk away from the darkness, no matter the cost. Back then, he’d already known there would be no turning back.
So why does it still haunt him now? Why does Wen Kexing insist on giving him another choice? Does he not understand that the freedom of choice can be just as cruel as the prison of orders?
Does he not know that if given the choice – if given another chance – Zhou Zishu doesn’t think he’s strong enough, selfless enough, to turn it down?
“Lao Wen. It’ll be enough. We still have enough time,” Zhou Zishu lies, ash on his tongue.
“Are we not enough?” Wen Kexing asks, hands trembling, red blotches of tear-tracks on his face. “Are Chengling and I not enough? Prince Jin’s hold is gone, why do you have to keep on suffering?”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes are burning. It hurts too much. Everything hurts too much.
“I love you. Both of you, but Lao Wen –”
“Then why do you refuse to even try?!”
He’s tired. He’s tired of the pain, of the hopes being ripped away from him one by one. He is tired of knowing his time is limited, he is tired of seeing Wen Kexing’s sad and anguished expression whenever he notices another side-effect of the nails. He is tired of this deadly dance of pain and rage they fall into every time these cursed nails are mentioned. He is tired of them hurting each other.
Zhou Zishu is so, so tired. His control snaps.
“Because I want it! I want it so much it hurts! I want to see our child grow, I want to see the flowers at the Four Seasons Manor bloom again, and I want to see our hair grow white! I want it, Lao Wen, so much but… but…!”
He breaks. Tears fall from his eyes, his chest heaves, aches with the pain of the nails. Suddenly the distance between them feels unbearable. Zhou Zishu stumbles forward, cradling a speechless Wen Kexing in his arms, holding on tightly, too tightly, afraid of letting go. Wen Kexing hugs back, and they are trembling, shaking in each other’s arms. Wen Kexing clings onto him as if scared he’s going to disappear. Sometimes, it feels like he will.
They pull apart. Wen Kexing grasps his hands, intertwining their fingers, an anchor, a reminder. Wen Kexing is his light, even if he has the same darkness in him that Zhou Zishu sees in the mirror.
Zhou Zishu hadn’t wanted to live. Not before meeting his Lao Wen, before learning how it felt to feel another’s hand in his. Before meeting someone who could match his darkness, understand it, not shy away from it.
Wen Kexing makes Zhou Zishu want to be more, want to hope for a future. Zhou Zishu didn’t know hope could be so painful.
“A-Xu…”
“I can’t, Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu murmurs. “What right do I have?”
“Does it matter?” Wen Kexing whispers, leaning down, pressing their foreheads against each other. They are sharing breath, warmth. Sometimes, Zhou Zishu feels like they share a heart, too. One that is battered and bruised, that they have to work together to heal. One that is both burden and treasure, gift and responsibility.
“It’s my fault they’re gone.”
Wen Kexing pulls away. His hands squeeze around Zhou Zishu’s reassuringly, safe and comforting. He doesn’t say a word – empty platitudes, assurances, can never change the facts. He gazes at Zhou Zishu with love and understanding, sharing his pain, his guilt.
Despite understanding the depths of Zhou Zishu’s darkness, of his failure, Wen Kexing is asking him to live. Neither of them is a good man, they have too much blood on their hands to ever wash them clean. But they are loyal. And they love fiercely, with their entire soul.
Zhou Zishu doesn’t have the right to be happy. He doesn’t have the right to have his wishes fulfilled, to live a long, peaceful life with his love and their child.
But Lao Wen is asking him to be selfish. Maybe, for him, Zhou Zishu can be.
It’s not quite fear that spreads through his heart, but it chokes him anyway. Yet, he pushes past, bringing one word through his lips: “Okay.”
Wen Kexing’s eyes widen. Surprise, light, hope, flitter across his expression as beautifully as a sunrise.
“A-Xu… Do you mean…?”
Zhou Zishu smiles. It’s not quite real yet, but it’s getting there. It’ll get there. “Let’s ask Ye Baiyi to contact his friends.”
This time, it’s Wen Kexing who rushes forward, gathering Zhou Zishu against him in a crushing hug. Despite its intensity, it’s warm and safe, confirming Zhou Zishu’s choice. Zhou Zishu hugs him back, hiding his face in Wen Kexing’s shoulder, pretending his own tears aren’t adding to the wetness of Wen Kexing’s robes.
The sun peaks out from behind the clouds, the rain is back to a soft drizzle, a gentle melody next to the soothing sound of Wen Kexing’s heartbeat.
It’s not over yet. This fragile hope, this little light, can still be so easily crushed, so easily lost. But Zhou Zishu is willing to try. With Wen Kexing by his side, he is willing to try and hope for a future.
He is willing to carve a path that will, for once in his life, serve his own happiness.