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“My birthday?” Zhuzhi-lang glances up from Tianlang-jun’s latest attempt at storytelling—a poetic epic that focuses on dual cultivation between those of the same sex—to give Wen Ning a curious look. “I don’t know when it is.”
“Oh…” Wen Ning’s expression doesn’t shift, hindered by the stiffness of his dead skin, but Zhuzhi-lang has gotten used to reading the slight changes. There’s an unmistakable tinge of dismay.
Wen Ning’s own birthday recently passed and even though he no longer ages physically, there were no small amount of well wishes sent his way. Zhuzhi-lang had spent quite a bit of time procuring a gift for him too. The fine set of deep black robes, embroidered with a delicate golden pattern along the edges, seem to have been received well. Wen Ning is currently worrying at the trailing sleeves of that very gift, after all.
“Is A-Ning asking because he wants to celebrate it?”
“Yes!” Wen Ning blurts. “But if you, well if you…” His hoarse voice trails off. “If you don’t remember when…”
“I remember,” Zhuzhi-lang lies. Warmth spreads throughout his chest. How pleasant it is, to have someone who cares enough to celebrate a day he doesn’t even recall.
What’s the harm in indulging such a person?
Wen Ning perks up. “You…you do?”
“Of course. It’s just been so long since I’ve celebrated that I momentarily forgot. Do forgive me.”
It isn’t difficult to come up with a date. His first thought is the day that Tianlang-jun gifted him a man’s form but, shamefully, he had been too preoccupied with his new body to take note of the date. But he remembers exactly when Tianlang-jun gave him a name.
Yes, that date should do nicely.
He tells Wen Ning.
“It’s soon,” Wen Ning says, surprised. His unblinking eyes are trained on a spot near Zhuzhi-lang’s shoulder as he processes the information.
Zhuzhi-lang quietly organizes the disordered pages splayed on the low table before him. It can take time for Wen Ning’s thoughts to escape through his mouth, and Zhuzhi-lang does not like to make him feel watched during such moments.
“You said,” Wen Ning begins slowly, “that it has been a while since the last time you celebrated your birthday?”
“Yes. Many years.”
“Do you not…enjoy it?”
Zhuzhi-lang tilts his head. “Maybe I don’t.” He reaches up to tug on Wen Ning’s sleeve, smiling when a cold hand catches his fingers before he can pull away. “Perhaps A-Ning will manage to change my mind.”