Work Text:
After putting the finishing seal on the last document in the pile Fang Duobing stretches his arms dramatically over his head, regretting joining the government all over again.
Not actually, of course. Looking down at the memorandums he would've scoffed at as a youth he feels a wry twist of accomplishment. Even if the empress dowager ignores them for now, they'll lay the groundwork for what's to come; Fang Duobing accomplishes three times as much of what he wanted to accomplish in the jianghu with one memorandum than he ever had slitting the throats of hapless guards. There are drawbacks, of course: court is also three times as deadly.
Not to mention far worse for his back. Replacing his chair with something higher quality would make him look unbearably shallow, but the idea tempts him every day. Groaning, he quickly runs through a set of exercises, settling his internal energy after a dozen or so moves.
As he always does in moments like these Fang Duobing considers retiring to wander the world and fish; it's not like his wife would miss him much. He sighs and looks at the next stack of papers, each holding the fate of millions in their inky palms. Maybe once he's finished these few last things.
But first, lunch, Fang Duobing thinks. He ignores that he's been thinking the same thing since his father had dumped him into this position to keep him busy.
As always, he considers trying to transfer to Baichuan Court and to the position he'd actually earned, even if it had been closer to twenty years ago than ten, and as always only plays with the idea for a few moments before tossing it away. The jianghu no longer leaves the bitter taste in his mouth it had immediately after Li Lianhua’s death, but Fang Duobing can rest easy with the Sigu Sect in Qiao Wanmian's capable hands. With the Ministry of Revenue he has no such assurance.
"Going to try the new restaurant in west side of town?" Lan Jue asks knowingly as Fang Duobing passes him in the hall. Fang Duobing grins.
"You know me," he says, "I have to try it at least within the first week." Lan Jue, Peizhi has been a good friend to him these past few years, treating Fang Duobing as a companion and brother in arms ever since he'd first been appointed. Despite his inferior sense of taste, he makes time for lunch with Fang Duobing at least twice a week.
"I've already eaten, but I can keep you company," Peizhi says jovially. Fang Duobing's men told him just two months ago that the right chancellor's party had sent overtures and that Lan Jue had accepted. Fang Duobing hopes lunch after lunch that he'll at least be let in on the scheming, but Peizhi has simply acted like everything is normal. Ah, well.
Fang Duobing chooses who he loves, and he chooses who he trusts. But he's older now, and time has long worn smooth the hurt that often other interests will come first, breaking even what’s freely given.
What's taken is not always returned. It's only when one's interests fundamentally align that one can be two bodies buffeted by the same wind, and even then there's death to get in the way.
"No need," Fang Duobing says, "it'll be quick. I have a meeting this afternoon."
He'll have lunch with him again tomorrow, of course, but for today Fang Duobing lets them both have a little distance. All those years ago he'd held on so tightly that he'd failed to see Li Lianhua's exhaustion. He likes to think he's learned from it.
It's a nice day for a stroll so even with his meeting Fang Duobing takes his time on his way back, letting his stomach settle from a satisfying but not spectacular meal. Sometimes he misses the busy quiet of a forest, but he has to admit the city has its own charm. Some mother shouts, some friend laughs. While the sweeping grandeur of martial artists had fascinated him as a child, Fang Duobing has come to recognize the charm of ordinary people.
The residue of their lives hovers over their clothes, their expressions, their gait; every clue saying something a bit funny and a bit charming. Little deductions flit through his head, making Fang Duobing smirk. He feels as if someone is laughing alongside him.
As he walks, a flash of someone’s profile looks like the one he longs to see, aged, lined and laughing, leaning towards some indistinguishably hapless youth. It'd been years, yet he still mistakes faces in the crowd.
But not usually aged ones. Fang Duobing pauses and turns back, and there Li Lianhua sits, unmistakable lips pursed to blow over too hot broth as someone across the table scolds him.
It must be an illusion, longing overlaying some somewhat familiar body, but as five seconds pass, ten, it doesn't waver. Most convincing of all Li Lianhua looks nothing like Fang Duobing's memories- mouth thinner, skin creased, and hair even more brittle. But the curl of his mouth, the drape of his hands- Fang Duobing knows it's him.
For a moment, fervent joy rushes up and towers over him like a wave, leaving him with weak knees and shaking hands. He's alive. Li Lianhua is alive!
He's alive. Fang Duobing's hands had also shaken as he'd turned over the corpse with Li Lianhua's beloved face, never even thinking to question the differences in its body. As quickly as it came his joy crashes back to earth, leaving Fang Duobing feeling vaguely numb.
He's been staring too long. Their eyes meet, Li Lianhua's posture stiffening slightly.
If he were younger, he'd have shouted the city walls down. As it is, he lets his gaze fall away, noting Li Lianhua's slump of relief as he does.
It's still only a little past two, plenty of time till his meeting. His walk to the ministry sees him brush past a thousand other bodies as they rush about their business. His desk is the same, as are his colleagues; his tea is a bit stale, the servants too wary to throw away a dignitary's gift themselves. It's dark by the time he leaves; when he gets home, dinner has passed and his wife has long gone to bed, a covered table set for him in his office with foods that are fine to eat cold and a bed made up in the corner.
Looking at it, he feels a muted thrum of embarrassment. What would Li Lianhua think, seeing his empty room and emptier marriage? Would he slide his eyes over the whole thing, knowing at once and huffing in derision? Would he tease him, brow cocked and voice smooth?
What's Fang Duobing even thinking? Li Lianhua had expected him to marry the princess even after seeing Fang Duobing's clear disinterest in women. He probably wouldn't think anything of it at all.
Fang Duobing eats, eyes glazed as he chews, and sits back politely as his manservant clears away the table. Finally, there's nothing else left to do.
He starts to consider calling for wine but flinches from it before he can complete the thought. How many times had he let himself slip into memory while drinking, half wistful and half cut open? Even when drinking with friends he'd feel a faint prickle of awareness, his master just beyond the corner of his eye, matching them cup for cup. Whenever he got particularly drunk he'd hear a fond voice in his head, all their understanding laid clear between them. Xiaobao, it'd say.
Li Lianhua's alive. Li Lianhua was there today and will get up tomorrow, unknowable glint in his eyes and sly tilt to his lips. Knowing Li Lianhua, he'll dig himself into someone else's business to ruin their week and save someone's life as merrily as ever. To throw Fang Duobing off his scent, Li Lianhua had faked his own corpse.
As painful as it is, it’s still a relief. He’d lived in a world with Li Lianhua’s absence for so long- thank god it’s only that Li Lianhua hadn’t loved him enough to tell him honestly. Thank god that it’s dislike- thank god that the body wasn’t his.
If he couldn’t have Li Lianhua alive and believe in Li Lianhua’s love at the same time, Fang Duobing would take him alive any day. But human nature is greedy; Fang Duobing can’t help but wish for more. A fake corpse!
For the first time in his life Fang Duobing wishes he'd never met Li Xiangyi. Not that Li Lianhua had died and loved him, no, Fang Duobing could never wish that, nor even that he hadn't seen him alive; Fang Duobing just wishes that he'd never met him at all, and that he had never been so ardently, publicly obsessed with him.
Without a film of emotion over them, his memories coalesce as easily as the evidence in a completed case. Li Lianhua had felt too guilty to shake him completely when Fang Duobing had been his senior's nephew and had laid all his pent up love and grief on him when he'd realized Fang Duobing was his senior's son. Isolated and shaken, he'd clung to the hand that hadn't yet betrayed him, the revelation of his senior's hatred making him hold on that much harder to the echo that loved him instead.
It was only when those debts and grudges had been paid that he'd been able to see Fang Duobing clearly; when he had, he'd finally found the conviction to cast him off. Oh, there'd been affection, of course, but it'd been something pressed together, not even worth a sliver of truth in comparison to a convenience to his freedom.
Humans are complicated. When unsteady, they cling even to things they don't like. It's something Fang Duobing has observed over and over, watching the aftermath on high when grateful need melts into guilt and faint resentment. How grating he must have been, how embarrassing for them both! No wonder Li Lianhua had cut him away so thoroughly.
To fake his own corpse, Li Lianhua must have truly been tired of him. Distantly Fang Duobing recalls Li Lianhua's own raw devastation at realizing Shan Gudao's corpse was a ruse. Had Li Lianhua hated him that much?
Of course not. Fang Duobing laughs at himself a little for thinking too much of himself again. Hadn't Fang Duobing himself gleefully abandoned a paralyzed Su Xiaoyong after he’d felt torn apart by the same trick just weeks earlier? In Fang Duobing's experience, doing something you'd find devastating to others doesn't always mean hatred. Usually, it means indifference.
Shaking himself Fang Duobing rises to prepare for bed. As he turns, he sees the portrait he had painted of his master, air around it still stained with the scent of incense. Abruptly it's unbearable.
As fast as he can he rushes at it, half running as he grabs it and stuffs it under the bed. Unsatisfied, he fumbles with his belt and whips off his robe, shoving it around the thing and using his feet to ram the whole mess back further. With a final kick he falls onto his back, taking huge, juddering breaths, his own tears and mucus making him hack and choke on his sobbing.
Slowly he comes back to himself, chagrin creeping over him. What was he even thinking? He's almost forty, not fourteen. Besides, if his mother notices its absence, how can he explain it?
It's a childish thought and he knows it, even as he fishes the portrait back out and carefully dusts it off, kneeling blankly in front of it. If he were truly as mature as his age implied, he'd be glad that Li Lianhua is alive. He’d gracefully let the sorrow for what he'd thought they’d had pass through him. Hasn't he long accepted that choosing to trust and care doesn't always mean the same can be returned; hasn’t he let those disappointments go?
At the very least he could throw the pointless thing away.
But for all his faults he's realized since, Fang Duobing had truly thought that he and Li Lianhua had loved each other. And he'd acted accordingly! Who doesn't know of his grief for Li Lianhua, as old and familiar and fond as it is now! Who doesn’t know of the lengths he'd gone to recover Li Lianhua’s body, how he'd been so confident in his right to try and find him! How he'd assumed the right to care for Li Xiangyi’s master's wife in her old age! Who hasn't seen how carefully he's kept the memory of their companionship! Who hasn't heard him claim Li Lianhua as his confidant!
He'd even presumed to bury his body.
He closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them. At least whatever poor bastard he'd buried instead had gotten a decent funeral. Rising from his knees and groaning, Fang Duobing makes his way to his bed, leaving his clothes a scattered mess on the floor.
It was his hubris to hope that'd fueled his anger when he was younger; now all he has to accompany him is the hollow sting of humiliation.
At least Li Lianhua's alive. Somewhere under the tepid moonlight, Li Lianhua is sleeping, face buried into whatever he's using as a blanket, dreaming of new ways to turn black hairs grey. Even as shame burns like a coal in Fang Duobing’s lungs, that thought turns around in his mind over and over, clearing the air as he breathes it.
The last person in the world he wants to see in the morning is his mother, but Fang Duobing drags himself to breakfast anyways. It's his day of rest so he doesn't have the easy excuse, and Fang Duobing is far too old to make the ridiculous ones.
His wife sits beside him, silent and bored. While civil enough they've never gotten along as well as him and his previous fiance. Gong Yuzhen is so grateful to him for taking her lover as a "concubine" that she'll never betray him, but that fact is unfortunately insufficient for his mother's approval. In a blithe display of hypocrisy, the miscarriages and subsequent lack of effort haven't endeared her either.
"I see you didn't get as much copper with the last shipment," his mother sniffs. He'd wrestled the household keys from her as soon as they’d moved back when his father died; their finances have flourished accordingly.
"I'm so sorry for my failing," Gong Yuzhen says flatly. "The price of copper has risen nationwide, and it was my incompetence that I wasn't able to negotiate it down to the previous price."
His mother bangs a hand on the table. "Then just spend more!" she barks incredulously. "Spend more to make more!" His wife doesn't bother replying.
His aunt meets his eyes from across the room. You'd think they'd have figured out how to have this argument faster, she says with her eyes, since they have it every week.
You would think, Fang Duobing says back with his own eyes before looking studiously down at his meal before his mother can notice. Annoyingly, the kitchen has made the scallion pancakes too thick again. Maybe instead of fishing he should just retreat to his own kitchen.
At least it's a distraction. "Mother," he says, "I thought I told you to stop messing with the kitchens. The thinner pancakes are obviously better."
His mother takes the bait beautifully, his wife glancing at him with gratitude. "What are you talking about?" his mother says, chest puffing up with pride, "I replicated your instructions exactly with my new machine! Dough kneaded and shaped automatically, using cheap materials! Isn't that good? Perfect for the military. Aren't I smart?"
"Fine, fine, I'm very proud of you," he says indulgently. It is actually interesting, even useful if he introduces it to the right person. It's still making things the wrong thickness.
His mother smiles at him warmly. "And I'm proud of you, Official Fang. You've accomplished the things your father dreamed of and you've held to your own ideal. Not to mention none of the other mothers have anything to say when I bring you up!" She cackles smugly. "Eat up, isn't it good?"
Breakfast passes more easily after that, but disaster strikes soon after. "Xiaofeng," his mother calls, hurrying to take her aside as they all exit the building and speaking at her in a strident but hushed voice. Fang Duobing knows exactly what she's up to. He pauses and turns; Gong Yuzhen makes her way back to her courtyard without hesitation.
As he gets closer it's just as he expects. "You shouldn't have grudges for so long," his mother scolds, ignoring the fact He Xiaofeng is the one who tried to mend bridges. "How will you ever be happy if you keep holding on to arguments?" Never mind how He Xiaofeng had been lied to, never mind how He Xiaofeng had reached out anyways. Affection doesn't always outweigh preferences, interests. Things change. Not everything is as it seems.
His mother has never accepted how he and his aunt have closed themselves off. Giving themselves defiantly is a He family tradition, after all, and their apparent cynicism goes against all she's learned in life. But his mother was smart enough to find the right person, and as such hasn't had to face the same lessons he and his aunt have. And it isn't like his aunt hasn't tried!
Remembering how his aunt had looked in that fourth wedding dress, eyes so hollow it seemed like she'd rather rip her soul out and let it wander tormented than listen to his mother nag for even one more second, Fang Duobing feels a burst of renewed sympathy.
At least keeping Li Lianhua's memory has been good for something. His mother might never approve of the wife he married for his father, but she's respected his facsimile of widowhood enough to leave well enough alone on him finding a better companion.
"Mom!" he calls out, pretending he doesn't realize he's interrupting her. "Show me that kitchen device."
In an instant, his aunt escapes, leaving his mother to huff and put her hands on her hips. "Fine," she says, knowing she's being managed. She shakes her head and gestures imperiously. "But you'll have to help me with calibrating the mechanism."
Midmorning proves him wrong; there is someone he wants to see less than his mother. "There's a Li Lianpeng at the gate who claims you'd wish to see him," his manservant says, only a trace of confusion allowed on his usually unflappable face.
Panic shoots through him, Fang Duobing up and out the door before he can even think. He cannot let anybody see. Even as he strides down the hallway, he knows he's being self-absorbed. Hadn't his mother and aunt been fond of Li Lianhua too? But imagining his mother's naïve demands, the knowing blankness that would sit on his aunt's face, the pitying understanding that would flash across his wife's, not to mention his acquaintances' and colleagues' when they inevitably realize how delusional the very foundation of his self-concept has been- he has to get there first. How could Li Xiangyi's grieving companion not have known he's alive? Fang Duobing would rather chuck his soul and be a resentful ghost for eternity.
No. Fang Duobing forces himself to slow. If Li Lianhua wishes to reveal himself, there's nothing that would be justified for Fang Duobing to do to stop him; if Li Lianhua doesn't, revealing him would be harder than catching rats in oil.
Calming his breath in increments so as to not breath audibly, Fang Duobing reminds himself of how his aunt had grieved Li Lianhua too, how generously his mother had cared for Fang Duobing's insensate state sixteen years ago. He is not so immature and ungrateful to not at least ask Li Lianhua to tell them for their peace of mind.
Even after everything just knowing that Li Lianhua lives in this world is a bursting joy. He won't deprive his aunt or mother of that.
Pausing before the door and trying to ignore that the servants are watching, Fang Duobing schools himself carefully before gesturing for them to open the gate. At a tilt of Li Lianhua's head he lets himself be ushered just outside of it.
How should he play this? Bad enough that Li Lianhua has no doubt heard the rumors of how fervently his disciple has honored him over the years. It's childish once again, but he certainly doesn't want to seem obsessed on the level of Xiao Zijin, so he searches for a memory of an old friend of Li Lianhua's who’d acted anywhere close to appropriately. The closest he can think of is Zhan fucking Yunfei. Even he’d worn his hair like a madman in memoriam! At least the bastard is happily married. How would someone who'd set aside their attachment act?
Like an adult, Fang Duobing thinks to himself mirthlessly. He's played far more dangerous games than this. Even if his emotions are too turbulent for him to think clearly, he should still remember the motions.
"So it really is you," he says, putting on a mask of measured joy. He lets a trace of sorrow into his voice- too suspicious without it- and generally acts as someone who's long overcome the rending grief the whole world knows he felt.
It's a good mask. Over the years, he's had a lot of practice lying.
Li Lianhua looks relieved, if somewhat confused. "Official Fang," he says easily, "it's been too long."
Obviously not, Fang Duobing doesn't say, or you would've come earlier. "Still making trouble?" he asks with faux nostalgia. He's careful to keep out the listlessness that wants to creep into his voice.
"Hardly," Li Lianhua says, elegantly resting his arm behind his back. "Do I need an excuse to see my favorite disciple?"
It'd be easier to swallow a stone. "Whose disciple?” he says, damning sincerity leaking into his voice. Li Lianhua had only claimed him as such to keep him at arm’s length. “Even if I were,” he says, smearing on cheer, “would there be others now to pick from?”
Li Lianhua laughs. "Jealous?" he asks.
Does he have a right to be? Fang Duobing lets his expression gentle. "I just want to make sure you aren’t running them ragged," he says in the shape of an old joke.
"Oh? And should I meet any of your own disciples?" Li Lianhua asks playfully.
Once again, Fang Duobing feels the acute awareness of the emptiness of his life. "I'm unfilial," he says, letting some of his real pain show through. "No, no disciples, and no children."
Li Lianhua looks uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says. He does not mention whether he's taken any true disciples himself.
"No worries," Fang Duobing says hurriedly, careful to put on an act of brushed off hurt rather than show his own again. It turns out that even pity he's intentionally cultivated directed at his actual feelings isn't something he can bear to touch. "Work has more than filled my time. And you? What have you been up to for all these years?" Was there some conspiracy he'd been caught up in? Had he been insensate and healing all this time?
"This and that," Li Lianhua says smiling. "Only wandering and seeing the scenery, quite carefree. Nothing as important as you, Official Fang!"
It's fascinating that Fang Duobing's stomach can sink even lower. Even if Li Lianhua had been occupied with anything in particular, why would he tell him? Fang Duobing smiles back warmly. "Oh? But that sounds quite busy! What brings you to me today?"
"Can't I see an old friend?" Li Lianhua demurs again.
"Of course!" Fang Duobing says guilelessly. If he were to play the game well, he'd invite him to wine, maybe music, maybe dancers, and play the genial game of waiting out pleasure before business. The invitation for a drink sticks in his throat.
He really is acting like a child. Forcing the thickness down with a subtle swallow, Fang Duobing gestures towards the gate. "Come in! It's my fault my servants almost turned you away; I've instructed them too strictly. As an apology I'll treat you to my best wine."
Despite himself, he feels hope rise in his chest. Just like the lunches, Fang Duobing hopes he's given the right opening; that they'll go to some private room and it’ll turn out that Li Lianhua had had good reasons all along, that there was some plot or necessity that Fang Duobing had just been too stupid to follow: that Li Lianhua had loved and missed him the entire time.
"No need, no need," Li Lianhua says instead, suddenly shifty. Fang Duobing feels that hope shrink back. Looking embarrassed, Li Lianhua scratches his nose. "I know it's bad manners, but it is quite urgent- for the sake of our old friendship, could you lend me some money?"
For the sake of their old friendship? What'd that be worth, two copper coins? The old fox really is shameless. Fang Duobing feels a swell of fondness. It really is good that Li Lianhua’s alive.
"People meet, people part," Fang Duobing says. "It's fate. You're an old friend," he says, willing it to be true despite the evidence to the contrary. "Of course I can spare some money."
Li Lianhua looks even more sheepish. "I need 10,000 taels," he says.
Li Lianhua ignored him for nearly seventeen years but still knows that Fang Duobing will give him 10,000 taels! Fang Duobing wishes he could feel angry instead of a sinking pit in his stomach. Li Lianhua's callousness had never been out of obliviousness; Fang Duobing's feelings are useful to cultivate but inconvenient to return.
"Of course," Fang Duobing says. He thinks of returning to the house to get it in notes but can't stomach asking his wife for it; ah, how embarrassing to be so old and still so thin-faced! Laughing at himself internally he pulls off the antique he keeps in a pouch on his belt, an archer's ring from a previous dynasty. It was a gift from Peizhi; as such he's kept it on safe beside his body for years and years. Now it feels just as small and stupid as the painting in his room. Had he been planning to wear it when Minister Lan and Chancellor Liu inevitably tried to have his family's nine generations exterminated?
"Here," Fang Duobing says, "will this do?"
Li Lianhua turns it greedily in his hand before smiling. "Thank you," he says gently.
Hah. Is a ring worth 20,000 taels a gift so small that thank you is enough?
Fang Duobing manages to suppress the shudder that wants to work its way up his spine when he remembers that he'd once demanded for Li Lianhua to cherish him. He might not get his money back, but at least he's not twenty-three anymore.
"Master!" a worried voice calls out. Before anyone can brace themselves a young man no older than that runs up to them, politely bowing before turning in a flurry to Li Lianhua. "What are you doing?"
Li Lianhua tuts before tossing the ring in his hands. "Getting supplies," he says. Fang Duobing lets their voices fuzz out.
The pair play back and forth, Li Lianhua's new protegee more sweet than demanding but irritating all the same. No wonder Di Feisheng had tried to kill him all those years ago.
Fang Duobing feels his brow twitch. Does Di Feisheng know? The petty part of Fang Duobing insists that Di Feisheng has probably known all along, but the better part remembers how Di Feisheng had looked before he'd left that beach. Li Lianhua had been cutting him off as surely as he'd been cutting off Fang Duobing.
It'd been some years since Fang Duobing has heard of him. Is Di Feisheng even still alive?
Perhaps Li Lianhua would know but Fang Duobing doubts he does. As much as he'd once defended the man Li Lianhua had made it quite clear he'd been finished with him. After all, who else did Di Feisheng have? If making Fang Duobing think he was dead was a bit callous, making Di Feisheng think he was dead was outright cruel. If not having to deal with Di Feisheng was worth causing that sort of devastation, why bother keeping tabs?
Li Xiangyi left Qiao Wanmian to her torment partly due to guilt, partly due to her own cutting of ties, and partly due to faded feelings; even then he hadn't been so cold as to make her hold his corpse. What debts did Li Lianhua owe Di Feisheng or Fang Duobing? When had they ever indicated that they wanted Li Lianhua to leave? Without those, what reason was left to lie to them so thoroughly? Although it is true that Fang Duobing and Director Di were never very good at taking no for an answer- perhaps it's fair that if he was tired of fighting Li Lianhua had needed to make Di Feisheng think he was dead, tired of him or not. As for cutting off Fang Duobing… Well, Li Lianhua clearly hadn't tired of traveling.
Fang Duobing regrets leaving Di Feisheng to his own devices, but without Li Lianhua they hadn't really had much in common. It'd seemed natural to walk away without speaking. There just hadn't seemed to be much of a point.
Sixteen years later and here Li Lianhua is, healthy and hale and laughing with a stranger. Qiao Wanmian deserves more credit for her grace than it's possible to give.
Speaking of. Qiao Wanmian certainly deserves more than to mourn a liar. Again. "Li Lianh- Li Lianpeng," Fang Duobing cuts off firmly. Li Lianhua turns with one eyebrow raised, clearly not used to that sort of authority from an erstwhile disciple.
Fang Duobing tints his voice with the pretension of distant friends who’ve met chance once more. "I'm sure you have your own business," he says, "but would you care for a night with old friends? The leader of Sigu Sect is in town, and my mother and aunt have become quite fond of a certain restaurant for its desserts. We might not be able to hire a renowned performer on such short notice, but it would still be interesting enough."
Fang Duobing wants him to say no, he wants him to say yes. His hope for some comfort for those he holds dear overtakes his mortification and he finds himself waiting with bated breath.
Li Lianhua's eyes go tight and distant. Fang Duobing feels himself deflate. Finding it harder to keep his mask on, he tries to mold his face into something chiding. "At least let me tell them I saw an old friend? I promise that old obsessions have long passed. It would just be a piece of pleasant news."
There's not much that Li Lianhua can say to that. "Ah, Xiaobao," he says, "you've grown up."
Feeling like he can hear the crash of the ocean in his ears, Fang Duobing shapes his lips into a grateful smile. If only he had.
Life goes on. Work resumes, which is a relief; at least in that Fang Duobing can have any measure of pride. He bows out of lunches with Peizhi, feeling thoroughly disenchanted with putting his heart on a platter, and eats his cold dinners while facing painted eyes. He tells his aunt and Qiao Wanmian the news in two distinctly uncomfortable encounters but doesn't manage to work up the heart to tell his mother. His next day of rest he visits Princess Zhaoling.
It isn't really appropriate and there's any number of rumors about an affair, but Princess Zhaoling selected a husband who’s never cared about reputation or etiquette. Zhan Yunfei is thankfully silent when glancing at Fang Duobing’s untouched cup of wine, graciously not asking what's on his mind. Fang Duobing's been clearing his throat since he got here. The princess is not pleased. When Fang Duobing coughs again she breaks.
"Why do you keep coughing! Do you have a cold?" Princess Zhaoling accuses with her chin raised. "If you have a cold, why did you come here to give it to us!" Instead of trying to reign her back, Zhan Yunfei simply leans back and looks amused.
Fang Duobing makes an outraged noise. "Who has a cold? Why are you always accusing people!" he volleys back before subsiding with a sigh. Princess Zhaoling also makes him act twenty-three again. He clears his throat. "I have something to tell you. Well, more your husband," he says, feeling annoyed at himself for puttering about.
Princess Zhaoling looks urgently concerned, but she’s become slightly more tactful over the years. "What is it," she says carefully, putting a hand over her husband’s in support. Zhan Yunfei looks at him thoughtfully.
Enough. "The other day I ran into-" Fang Duobing says before swallowing. "The other day I ran into Li Lianhua."
Zhan Yunfei goes still with shattering hope, but it’s Princess Zhaoling who almost turns over the table. "Li Lianhua!" she exclaims, "but he's-"
She subsides, habitually retreating back into the habits of a gentle princess when she doesn't know what to say, hands folding in front of her. Fang Duobing looks down. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the pity begin to rise in Zhan Yunfei's face.
"Was there-" she starts, clearly not knowing how to proceed, "was there a particular reason-"
"He wanted to continue to wander the world," Fang Duobing cuts off, "I'm glad he got to." He is. He is.
"I am as well," Zhao Yunfei says, sincere and generous. Princess Zhaoling glances between the two of them and lets herself smile.
"Let's drink," she says firmly, and presses the cup firmly into his hand when he makes to demur. "To old lives and new ones," she says, eyes trained on his.
Fang Duobing smiles a little, grateful. "To old lives and new ones," he repeats.
There's a knock on his window that wakes him up immediately. His guards are not incompetent and his mother's devices are nigh impenetrable; whoever's there must be a master.
A voice hisses slightly in pain. "Official Fang!" comes the whispered cry. After a muffled cough, it tries again. "Fang Xiaobao!"
He’s been woken up for this? Who knows if this is urgent or not.
But it could be. As quickly as he can Fang Duobing disarms the device around his room and picks his way over to the window.
Just as he suspected. Li Lianhua stands outside smiling, lips pale and skin sallow. "Poison," he says apologetically, "and my disciple isn't advanced enough to burn it out. Do you mind giving me a hand?"
Fang Duobing snorts. "You could use the door," he says, but helps Li Lianhua through the window anyways, catching him as he theatrically lists to the side halfway through. Afterwards Fang Duobing frowns at the slightly torn rice paper as Li Lianhua makes a big show of dusting himself off. Mid brush, Li Lianhua freezes. Fang Duobing turns to see what he's looking at.
There it is, the damn portrait. All of a sudden all Fang Duobing can see is how clean it looks, how pathetically well cared for- not some respectful afterthought, but a clear and gaping wound, jammed into the place of honor in his own office.
"Xiaobao," Li Lianhua says hesitantly. Fang Duobing feels his mask crumple around the edges.
"I'd be shameless if I didn't honor my master," he says hurriedly, skill-lessly, painfully, clumsily obvious- but what way is there to spin this? It lies there as huge and unmistakable as a pig's rotting corpse.
The only thing there is to do is to pretend not to see it. "Your poison?" he redirects artlessly. For once in his life, Li Lianhua lets him get away with it.
They're closer to the bed but Fang Duobing guides him to a chair anyways. "What kind?" Fang Duobing says, placing his hands on Li Lianhua’s back.
"Frozen cicada," Li Lianhua replies. Fang Duobing ignores how his voice still sounds mildly shaken.
At this point Fang Duobing has been practicing Yangzhouman for nearly twenty years; it's the work of minutes to clear the poison from Li Lianhua's system. While Li Lianhua is no longer anywhere close to his former strength, it's clear someone's reworked his meridians- he's probably still at only ten to twenty percent of his original power but Bicha poison is nowhere to be found.
"There," Fang Duobing says with satisfaction, so pleased that Li Lianhua's been healed that he forgets what's coming next.
Li Lianhua turns to him, eyes bright like mirrors. "Xiaobao, I never meant-" he starts, broken and slow.
All Fang Duobing can think of is a drunken conversation he'd had with Qiao Wanmian years and years ago. Clearly trying to help him let go, she'd relayed to him her last real conversation with Li Lianhua: the one where he'd said he'd never even loved her. At the time Fang Duobing had pitied her relentlessly.
Desperately not wanting to hear whatever Li Lianhua has to say next Fang Duobing holds up a hand to cut him off. "I understand," he says, doing his best not to. "I'm glad you found the peace you wanted."
At least becoming an official has made him better at lying.
He's embarrassingly grateful when Li Lianhua takes that at face value, eyes creasing with what he used to presume was more than fondness. How childish. Even if some level of hurt is natural, he should at least be grown enough to accept it for what it is. And he does, usually. It's just that seeing Li Lianhua makes him feel all of thirteen.
"Well," Li Lianhua says, still a little hesitant, "maybe we could have that drink."
Caught in the tide, Fang Duobing begins to agree before he finally catches hold of his senses. Like his eyes have slowly come into focus after blinking awake, Fang Duobing can finally see the tamped down guilt in the lines around Li Lianhua’s mouth, the avoidance in the set of Li Lianhua’s shoulders- and the affection in his eyes for the boy Fang Duobing has slipped back into for the past week.
Of course Li Lianhua had loved him, and loves him still. Fang Duobing can almost see it in his mind’s eye: taking him up on the drink, forgiving all of Li Lianhua’s careless cruelties, but, wounded, holding on too tightly; Li Lianhua running away for reasons fair and unfair, lying to him, using him. Fang Duobing forgiving him once more, unconditional except for his needy grasping. Round and round they go, things good and bad tangling hopelessly. Humans are complicated. They’d hurt each other as much as they’d loved each other.
"No," Fang Duobing says, suddenly exhausted. "I think it's better if you leave."
Li Lianhua looks startled, opening his mouth, but slowly subsides. Rising gracefully, he walks towards where he came from and looks back one more time. Fang Duobing gives him his warmest smile.
When Li Lianhua finally climbs out of the window Fang Duobing lets his smile drop, watching the sky. Looks like it'll be clear tomorrow. Perfect weather for a walk and a late lunch. Maybe he'll invite Peizhi.