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He hears the two horses galloping on the sand behind him and wonders at the fact that despite them coming from different directions, they are here at the same time. He wonders if they found his clues separately and rushed here, or if, perhaps, one found a clue and alerted the other. He can’t picture the second happening either way, but they were almost friendly after the battle at the palace, so it’s not impossible.
He hears them dismount and can pick them out by the cadence of their footsteps alone. Di Feisheng’s steady, deliberate steps and Fang Duobing’s anxious, little jog. Then, the small patter of Hulijing’s trot coming up behind him. Her excited panting is what finally has him turning.
“You found me, then.”
Both men looked stunned, as if trying to convince themselves he’s not a ghost. It’s a look he expected from Fang Duobing, but Di Feisheng looks more vulnerable than he’s ever seen him. Even when he had woken in the middle of a ghost marriage with no knowledge of his own identity, he had been guarded. Even when his so-called enemy had expressed understanding about Di Manor, he hadn’t seemed so… cut open.
Heartbroken, a corner of his mind whispers to him.
Fang Duobing stumbles a few steps closer and stop short, looking him up and down in disbelief. “Li Lianhua, you…?”
“I’m alright, Xiaobao. Here,” he says, extending an arm wrist up. “You can check for yourself.” The young swordsman crosses the last bit of distance and presses urgent fingers to his pulse.
While he’s distracted, Li Lianhua looks over his shoulder and back at Di Feisheng, who hasn’t so much as twitched a muscle since he turned around. He makes a striking figure his sect leader robes, but Li Lianhua knows these are usually only for ceremonial events or official business. Di Feisheng usually prefers darker or more muted colors such as blue, black or maroon, and fitted sleeves for the ease of movement when fighting. That he’s here in attention-grabbing red with wide sleeves is a testament to how quickly he must have left. Perhaps Fang Duobing was the one to find the clue left behind, and alerted him in a way that didn’t allow time to change clothes?
Fang Duobing gasps. “The poison!”
“Mm. The Bicha poison has been cured,” he confirms. Di Feisheng takes an aborted step forward at that, the tiniest spark of hope blooming in his eyes. If Li Lianhua hadn’t been looking, he’s sure he would’ve missed it. “But I’m afraid I’ll never be able to practice martial arts again. I really am just an ordinary person now.” He says this still watching Di Feisheng reactions, but the spark of hope does not dim – as he feared it would – and the smallest amount of tension leaves his body.
Fang Duobing snorts, and pulls Li Lianhua’s attention back to himself. “You? An ordinary person? Unlikely, you old fox.”
Li Lianhua chuckles at that, and Fang Duobing envelopes him in a hug like the over-eager puppy he is. Li Lianhua endures it gladly, and by the time they part both their faces are split wide by grins. Fang Duobing sniffles as he wipes the wetness from his eyes, and turns away, flicking his ponytail over his shoulder. It’s only now he realizes Di Feisheng has finally approached.
He’s still wearing that vulnerable look of disbelief, but the hope has become a fragile happiness. Wordlessly, Li Lianhua offers his wrist yet again.
But Di Feisheng doesn’t check his pulse. Instead, the swordsman takes his hand and pulls him until their chests are nearly touching. He intertwines their fingers and brings their joined hands up between them. He stares at where their fingers are woven together for a moment before, at last, meeting Li Lianhua’s gaze.
“Xia- “ He stops himself, swallowing thickly, and shakes his head. “Li Lianhua, I- “
This time Li Lianhua stops him, using the fingertips of his free hand to cover the swordsman’s lips.
“You thought of me every day for ten years, believing I had died in battle. And yet when you found out I was alive, you also found out I was dying. The poison made you question your honor as a swordsman, and you tried so hard to cure me despite how I protested every step of the way.
“I had made my peace. I lived as a ghost, knowing my days were numbered, with only one goal in mind. And, even with you back in my life, with what I knew and believed at the time, it wasn’t enough to change that.” Di Feisheng mostly likely knew this already; at the least, had figured it out himself these last few months.
He drops his hand and gaze to the stitching of Di Feisheng’s lapels, picking lightly at the embroidery. “The night and wine that we shared… Even as I had started wanting to live again, I had little hope that even if a cure could be found, that it would work,” he says, raising his gaze again.
“I knew Fang Xiaobao would be alright.” The boy in question squawks off to the side, where he’s pretending that he’s not eavesdropping. Li Lianhua ignores him and continues. “Eventually, but he would. He already had a strong sense of justice, a strong foundation for his martial arts. Despite only meeting him once in his youth, he truly was a disciple of Li Xiangyi. The knowledge I had given and left for him would only extend his education, and I could be proud knowing that.
“But you…” he sighs. Di Feisheng inhales deeply and holds his breath. “I regretted most knowing that I would only disappoint you in one way or another. I let you believe you had succeeded in saving my life, and then I made you lose me all over again.” Di Feisheng’s eyes slip closed.
“I’m sorry, A’Fei,” he breathes into the space between them.
Di Feisheng releases his breath shakily with a shudder that runs down his body, and leans their foreheads together. They stand there just breathing each other in for one breath. Then two.
Then all at once, Di Feisheng releases Li Lianhua’s hand to wrap both arms around his waist, and pulls them against each other. He presses their mouths together, immediately prying the other man’s lips apart with first a nip to his bottom lip, and then pressing ever forward with tongue. Di Feisheng kisses him the with the same determination he brings to his fighting, and it’s all Li Lianhua can do to hold on. He wraps his own arms around the swordsman’s neck, gathering fistfuls of hair to anchor himself. The passion of the kiss also has Di Feisheng nearly bending Li Lianhua backwards in half. Certainly, if they were anywhere besides a beach – and in front of Fang Duobing – Li Lianhua would have wrapped his legs around the taller man’s hips, and let him carry his weight.
They break apart with a gasp when Li Lianhua runs out of breath, but Di Feisheng continues kissing him. The corner of his mouth, his chin, the hinge of his jaw, a nip to the tip of his nose, and another kiss to the corner of his eye. Li Lianhua starts laughing despite his breathlessness, and pulls the other man back to his lips.
Their kiss is gentle this time; involving less tongue and teeth, but no less passionate. Di Feisheng lets him stand more upright, and Li Lianhua realizes his knees have gone weak as he tries to support most of his own weight again. He has a white-knuckled grip at the shoulders of the red robes to stay standing, and Di Feisheng just grins at him like the smug fucker he is.
“Ahem,” comes the pointed clearing of a throat.
Li Lianhua’s face heats as his head whips toward the sound. Fang Duobing is a few paces away, his back turned to them to give them a semblance of privacy. They separate to straighten out robes and hair, but Di Feisheng doesn’t let him go far. He wraps an arm back around his waist once they’re mostly back in order.
Li Lianhua’s face is still heated and the fur cloak he’s wearing is almost stifling now.
Fang Duobing peeks over his shoulder, then fully turns when he sees it’s safe again. He looks between them stunned, though he is trying to hide it. Unsurprising, really. He grew up hearing of their rivalry; that they were mortal enemies on opposing sides of honor and justice. He believes it was only the time he spent with them as A’Fei and a shared agenda that brought the Jinyuan Alliance leader to the side of righteousness. Di Feisheng would certainly never disabuse him of that notion.
But his and Di Feisheng’s history is long and complicated. It’s certainly more nuanced than the other members of Sigu Sect ever knew about. And, perhaps, only Wuyan has any kind of grasp on it outside of themselves. Jiao Liqiao certainly never knew, or she would’ve been more of a nightmare to deal with. She had been too busy thinking the other women around Di Feisheng were stealing his affections from her, and the attention Li Xiangyi got she attributed to his obsession with their competition.
Maybe now that Fang Duobing is a more experienced detective, he could sit down with a list of everything he knows of them – all the details they’ve let slip in the past – and string together a more accurate picture than they’ve presented to the world. Maybe they can tell him the story one day, in their own words, without the assumptions of others clouding the narrative.
(Though, Di Feisheng is already a man of few words, and definitely no storyteller, so it will have to come from Li Lianhua. And, even if Fang Duobing claims himself his soulmate, there are just some details that don’t need to be shared.)
Hulijing’s bark startles him from his reverie, and he ducks his head, embarrassed. When he raises it again, he grins at the two men. “Alright, let’s go home.”