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Jingyan stood at the edge of the beach, waves lapping at his boots before beating a hasty retreat. His hair whipped against his face and neck as he looked out at the ocean where his red thread led to, where it vanished into.
There was the sound of soft footsteps padded by sand ending a respectful distance behind him. Waves crashed on the shore. Heavy, bloated clouds slipped forward, ushered by the relentless wind.
“The final checks are complete. We’re ready to move out, Your Highness.”
Jingyan made no move to indicate that he heard Zhanying. He continued staring at the ocean, the tumultuous surface where waves collided into each other over and over again and the almost rhythmic noise it made. But no matter how far back the waves drew, or how violently the next wave came, the red line remained stationary.
After a long moment, Jingyan said, “Where do you think it leads?”
Another moment went by. “I don’t know, sir.”
Jingyan turned around slowly, his gaze catching on Zhanying’s red string that hung at his side, then at his own hand, holding onto the pearl that Lin Shu had so ridiculously demanded months ago.
Jingyan gave it a long look before lifting his eyes, staring at where his red line disappeared into the sea.
Everybody has somebody. This was what his mother told him when he was five.
“But I have mother and Prince Qi,” Jingyan said, glancing curiously at the string around his last finger. His mother smiled indulgently at him, lifting him onto her lap with ease.
“Jingyan will always have Prince Qi and I,” Consort Jing replied, “but you will also have someone else. Someone who will understand you and love you in ways that other people cannot– that is who your red string ties you to.”
Jingyan’s gaze darted from the string around his finger to his mother. “How can someone love me more than mother?”
Consort Jing tilted her head, wearing a patient smile. “Maybe not more, but in a different way.”
Jingyan lowered his head in thought. He didn’t understand how someone could love him differently from how his mother loved him. But adults usually talked about things that he didn’t understand, and maybe this was one of them. Besides, if his mother was right– and she usually was– this person would like him, at the very least. They could be friends.
Jingyan raised his head, satisfied with his conclusion. “When will I get to meet this person?”
Consort Jing’s smile turned stiff with such subtlety that Jingyan would not have known if he hadn’t seen her genuine smiles all the time. She lifted a hand to brush away his fringe with all the tenderness that a mother could give her child, which was how even at his age, Jingyan knew that her answer would not be a happy one.
Jingyan’s first instinct was to visit the Lin Manor, but he kept his eyes forward as his horse trotted through the capital. His recent promotion to a Prince of the Second Rank came with new responsibilities that he couldn’t shirk, and his report of his army’s military expedition to Donghai could not wait. It was the Emperor’s test of his army’s strength and reliability, and Jingyan would not fail the hundreds of men who depended on him.
The smile of approval on the Emperor’s face was hard to come by. His father could be paranoid and overbearing, so when he lowered Jingyan’s report with a pleased smile, Jingyan knew that he had finally done something to make his father proud of him.
Even if his father wasn’t proud of him, the look in Prince Qi’s eyes told Jingyan that he was. In some ways, it was an even better feeling to know that he had made his brother proud of him. Prince Qi had taken him under his wing and raised him. Jingyan viewed his achievements as an extension of his brother’s– even if his brother argued otherwise– and Jingyan was proud in the knowledge that he could finally do something for his brother.
Once Jingyan was dismissed from Wuying Palace, his concern shifted to how he should give Lin Shu his pearl. Lin Shu was sure to ask about it at some point, but should he give it to him before that? If he did, should he mention how long it took to find a pearl this size?
“Jingyan.”
Jingyan turned around. Prince Qi was walking out of Wuying Palace as well, just a few steps behind him in the empty corridor. Jingyan spun around fully to greet his brother properly, earning a deep and low laugh in response.
“I was just wondering where you were going off to in such a hurry, but something tells me that Xiaoshu’s name lies in your answer.” Prince Qi said with a teasing lilt in his voice. Jingyan chuckled, slightly unnerved by how easily Prince Qi saw through him.
“Yes, I was planning to find Xiaoshu.” Jingyan glanced up, realising that his brother might have held him back for a reason. “But it can wait if brother has tasks for me.”
Prince Qi raised a brow. “Oh? Do I need to have assignments for you in order to talk to you?”
Jingyan’s tongue twisted itself into knots. “Ah, no.. that wasn’t what I–”
“I’m joking with you.” Prince Qi chuckled, waving a hand. He gave Jingyan an affectionate smile that looked both faraway and assessing at the same time. “I don’t have any instructions for you, but it has been more than six months since I last saw you. I thought it would be nice to catch you before you left, even for a short conversation.”
Prince Qi’s words warmed Jingyan’s chest. He had been so caught up in rushing to Lin Shu that he had forgotten how Lin Shu wasn’t the only person who last saw him six months ago. Even if his brother didn’t say the words, Jingyan knew that this was his way of telling him that he was missed.
They spoke at length for a short time until a group of scholars passed them by, greeting the both of them with deep bows as they made their way across. Prince Qi glanced up at the sky, visibly surprised by how far the clouds had moved, and decided to let Jingyan go. But before Jingyan even took a step away, Prince Qi spoke again.
“Ah, that’s right. Did you manage to prepare a gift for Xiaoshu?”
Jingyan laughed lightly, shaking his head. His hair swept from side to side as he reached into the pocket of his sleeve and pulled out the box containing Lin Shu’s pearl, presenting it to his brother.
“Xiaoshu demanded a pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg. It took a few weeks, but I finally found one good enough for him.”
Prince Qi looked at the pearl, half amused and half impressed. “It’s an unconventional betrothal gift, but Xiaoshu has never been a conventional man.” Prince Qi closed the box and returned it to Jingyan. “He’ll like it if it’s from you.”
It was what he wanted, Jingyan was about to say. Instead, the words stayed on the tip of his tongue, never making it out of his mouth. In a snap, Jingyan’s whole body froze up and his smile turned stiff and unnatural as his mind caught on something.
“.. Betrothal gift?” Jingyan repeated in a way that conveyed both his surprise and his expectation for Prince Qi to retract his words. Clearly, his brother was mistaken. Lin Shu wasn’t betrothed. Why would he say that?
Instead, Prince Qi stared at Jingyan, bemused. “Didn’t he tell you?”
It was now Jingyan’s turn to share Prince Qi’s bewilderment because the only answer could be that no, Lin Shu didn’t. Jingyan thought about all their correspondences in the last couple of months, when he was away at Donghai and Lin Shu assigned to guard the mountains of Meiling. Could he have missed something in Lin Shu’s letters? Jingyan didn’t think so. He read Lin Shu’s letters often, and he read them multiple times before even drafting his reply. To miss something that significant would take a catastrophe.
Jingyan’s entire world spun wildly, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t want to believe that his brother was right, but his brother had never lied to him once– not even as a joke or a white lie– and he would definitely not joke about something like this. Lin Shu was betrothed.
Lin Shu was betrothed.
“Who..” Jingyan started, then stopped, trying to swallow down the ball in his throat. “Who is Xiaoshu betrothed to?”
Sympathy took over the concern on Prince Qi’s face. He regarded Jingyan carefully, knowing without reason that his next words were about to devastate his brother.
“To Princess Mu Nihuang of Yunnan’s Mu Army,” Prince Qi said solemnly, “his soulmate.”
Jingyan stumbled back into his manor in a daze. He was vaguely aware of being on the receiving end of all the concerned looks, but Zhanying motioned for them to step aside as Jingyan made his way into his room.
A brazier had been placed at his table, along with a pot of hot water and cakes. Instead, Jingyan opened the door leading to the garden outside his room.
“Your Highness,” Zhanying said.
It was the first time Zhanying had spoken since they made their way back from the Palace. When Jingyan looked over his shoulder, he could see Zhanying’s gaze dart behind him, where light snow was falling in slow, unpredictable patterns. The sky, so clear when they entered the city, now seemed to be covered by a translucent layer of grey that blocked most of the sunlight. It was dreary and murky, a reflection of Jingyan’s feelings.
“This room feels stuffy, don’t you agree?” Jingyan murmured. “It’ll be good to let some air in.”
Zhanying’s disagreement was written plainly in his eyes. But recognising this was not a fight he could win, Zhanying bowed his head in compromise. “Please allow me to retrieve a hand warmer for Your Highness.”
After Zhanying had been excused, Jingyan stared without looking at the tree ahead. It was a plum blossom tree Lin Shu had planted with him eight years ago, but its branches were as barren as the trees along the outskirts of the city and those lining the streets of Jinling. Its flowers wouldn’t bloom for another three months, and that made Jingyan feel somewhat sadder, more melancholic.
Jingyan stared and stared, thinking of nothing. He felt numb all over. His face was starting to tingle from the cold breeze, and his fingers were starting to lock themselves into position. But for all of this, Jingyan could still feel a dull pain radiating from his chest. A slow, pulsing pain that resembled a heartbeat. Would that go away with the cold, too?
“I just knew you were doing something stupid when I saw Zhanying’s face!”
Jingyan blinked as he was spun around violently, gripped by the shoulders by an angry Lin Shu. Lin Shu thrust a hand warmer into Jingyan’s hands and slammed the doors shut. He glared at Jingyan as he removed his cloak forcefully, but the hands that wrapped the cloak around him were gentle and considerate.
“Leave it to you to make yourself sick. Xiao Jingyan, is this what you call taking care of yourself?” Lin Shu said, pushing Jingyan towards his bed. He sat Jingyan down and turned over a cup, pouring hot water into it.
“Have some warm water.” Lin Shu said, pushing the cup into Jingyan’s face.
Jingyan looked up, holding Lin Shu’s gaze for a long moment before taking the cup into his hands.
Lin Shu was betrothed to his soulmate. According to Prince Qi, this betrothal had been announced slightly after he left for Donghai, when Princess Mu Nihuang visited Jinling for the first time with her father and younger brother. It was only then that, for the first time, Lin Shu had seen where his thread had ended, and the betrothal was announced swiftly after. The fact that they were destined to be together, coupled with the fact that they had found each other was proof enough of Heaven’s will. How could anyone defy it?
If that was the case, Lin Shu had at least five months to inform Jingyan of this betrothal. They wrote letters to each other for six months and not once did Lin Shu ever bring this up. Until now, Jingyan had a hard time wrapping his head around it. He felt betrayed in a way that wasn’t rational. He wasn’t entitled to knowing every part of Lin Shu’s life, but surely he should have been told of something this important? Had their roles been reversed, Lin Shu would have been one of the first to know. Why was he only finding out about it now, months after everyone else had already moved on?
Lin Shu waited until Jingyan had finished the water before taking the cup away. He replaced the cup with his hands, wrapping Jingyan’s colder ones in his.
“Why are your hands still freezing? How do you think you’re going to join me in the Northern borders when you’re so susceptible to the cold?”
Jingyan watched Lin Shu fuss over him feeling oddly removed from the situation. He could see Lin Shu rub his hand between his own, trying to warm Jingyan up, and he could feel the heat of Lin Shu’s palms around his, but this didn’t belong to him. All their lives, Jingyan had been used to a certain level of care and concern from Lin Shu, but that was when neither of them had commitments to other people.
Lin Shu was a betrothed man now, and Jingyan was starting to realise that there were new boundaries in their friendship that they should never have crossed to begin with. Because if Jingyan was being honest with himself, the real reason for his hurt wasn’t in learning that Lin Shu kept this from him, but in learning that Lin Shu was already betrothed to someone else, and that someone else was his soulmate.
“You’re betrothed.” Jingyan blurted out quietly.
A long silence ensued.
“Congratulations,” Jingyan added belatedly, evading Lin Shu’s gaze as he pulled his hands out of Lin Shu’s grasp.
Lin Shu’s hands hung in the air long after Jingyan had removed his. For the first time, Jingyan had pulled away from Lin Shu, and Lin Shu wasn’t sure if it was perhaps accidental. But when Jingyan kept his eyes lowered with his hands on his lap, Lin Shu realised that it had been intentional.
“.. Jingyan?” Lin Shu said. When Jingyan said nothing, Lin Shu tried again, “Are you angry with me?”
Jingyan finally lifted his head. All the hurt in his chest had frozen over. His thoughts were clear and his voice was steady when he said, “I’m disappointed, Xiaoshu, but I’m trying to be happy for you.”
Another hush fell over them. Jingyan looked away, still keeping his expression closed.
“What I’ve been trying to understand is why you didn’t tell me.” Jingyan said, eerily calm. “I didn’t have to be the first to know, or even the fiftieth to find out. But, Xiaoshu, why did I have to be the last?”
Lin Shu’s expression cracked. “Jingyan–”
“We wrote so many letters, six months of correspondence. You told me everything about the Northern borders– you even told me about the chip in your bow you wanted to fix. The entire time I thought that you were telling me everything, but not once did you even mention the most important event of your life–”
“It’s not.”
Jingyan blinked. “What?”
Lin Shu sighed deeply, planting his hands on his hips. “It’s not the most important event of my life.”
Jingyan stared at Lin Shu, uncomprehending. “Are you talking about meeting your soulmate, or getting married?”
“I’m talking about both.” Lin Shu said. He sat down next to Jingyan, supporting his weight on both hands. “Jingyan, I really don’t care about either of it. I could have gone the rest of my life without ever meeting my soulmate, and I could have stayed single forever as well. Those two things only mean something if you want them, and I don’t.”
Lin Shu held up his hand between them, letting the thin red thread dangle from his finger with a consolatory smirk on his face. Jingyan looked at the thread, then at Linshu. Nothing had changed his mind, not even meeting his soulmate. If anything, at least Lin Shu was being honest with him now. And although it soothed some of the hurt in Jingyan’s heart, he still didn’t want to let it go completely.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jingyan asked with a weak glare.
Lin Shu sighed, deflating. “I didn’t want to tell you because you were the only person who I didn’t want to know. I knew that once you found out..” Lin Shu glanced at Jingyan. “You’d keep asking about it in our letters, and I didn’t want to talk to you about a marriage I didn't want in the first place.”
Jingyan looked down at the hand warmer in his hands wordlessly.
“I knew I couldn’t keep it from you forever, and I knew you’d be angry at me once you found out. But I thought.. If I could keep things the way they were for five more months– even if it was just one month– I’d take it, because I knew you’d understand.”
Jingyan was silent for a long time. Lin Shu wasn’t wrong. While Jingyan couldn’t be sure what he would do if he had found out of Lin Shu’s betrothal in Donghai, he was sure that he would have written about it in their subsequent letters. And in a way.. Jingyan did understand Lin Shu. If this marriage wasn’t something he wanted, why would Lin Shu willingly give up the only space where he was still a single man?
“I would have told you if I’d gotten betrothed,” Jingyan said without any fight in his voice.
Lin Shu smiled hollowly. “I know.”
They had arrived at a stalemate. Lin Shu wasn’t offering an apology, and neither was he apologetic about what he had done. Jingyan should be angry, he should be hurt, but he wasn’t. The fire in his chest had been extinguished because Jingyan knew that if Lin Shu could go back in time, he would have still made the same decision that he did five months ago.
So it wasn’t exactly an apology that Lin Shu offered, and it wasn’t exactly forgiveness that Jingyan gave. But when Lin Shu rested his head on Jingyan’s shoulder, and when Jingyan leaned his head on Lin Shu’s, it was as close to that as they got.
“I haven’t prepared any gifts for your betrothal,” Jingyan murmured.
Lin Shu’s head shifted slightly as he caught a glimpse of Jingyan. “What about my pearl?”
Jingyan froze. His hand gripped onto his sleeve, feeling the outline of the box through the thick fabric.
The pearl that Jingyan had poured his heart and soul into retrieving, the pearl that he was going to give Lin Shu when he confessed his feelings. But that was all before Jingyan knew about Lin Shu’s betrothal. To give Lin Shu that same pearl now, knowing that Lin Shu would marry someone else in a few months, would be nothing short of inappropriate, wouldn’t it?
“How could anyone find a pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg?” Jingyan barked an empty laugh, letting go of his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Xiaoshu. I couldn’t find your pearl. I’ll get you something else. What do you want? Don’t be too greedy, though– you’ve already met your soulmate.”
Jingyan turned his head to look at Lin Shu, but with Lin Shu’s head still resting on his shoulder, Jingyan could only see the crown of his head. He waited for Lin Shu to reply, but Lin Shu made no acknowledgement that he heard Jingyan. He stared at the door across the wall with an indecipherable expression.
Finally, Lin Shu said, “I want a promise from you.”
Jingyan turned to Lin Shu with a raised brow. “What promise?”
Lin Shu lifted his head off Jingyan’s shoulder, enough for them to make eye contact. A brief moment went by before a familiar playful grin lit up Lin Shu’s face. All it took was a split second for Lin Shu to transform from a stranger to the best friend that Jingyan knew.
“A promise I can claim from you in the future.”
Jingyan eyed Lin Shu warily. Despite the air of cheerfulness about Lin Shu, there was something off about the way he was carrying himself, but Jingyan didn’t know if that was due to the strangeness of the request or the lingering atmosphere of their previous conversation. Or perhaps it was the fact that the same Lin Shu who demanded a pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg– a seemingly impossible task– was now asking for something so easy to give as his betrothal gift, a gift that Jingyan expected his friend to ask the world of.
And perhaps it was the same reason that made Jingyan agree to it without further hesitation. Lin Shu could have asked for more, but a promise was all he wanted.
And like everything else that Lin Shu asked of him, Jingyan would give.
“Okay,” Jingyan said. “I promise.”
Jingyan walked out of the Eastern Palace with more questions than he arrived with. His discussion with Prince Qi had been perplexing, but his brother seemed rather pleased by this development.
Today’s court session had been an extremely delicate sword fight between two prominent officials trying to denounce each other over the most recent scandal of misused resources. Jingyan had been perceptive enough to give a balanced reply to his father when he was put on the spot at the height of the argument, but he could not figure out why his father had been so reluctant to make a decision by the end of the court session. But instead of giving him a hint, Prince Qi shrugged his shoulders and smiled enigmatically at him.
“Take a day to think about it. As a leader, you can’t expect others to give you answers all the time.” was what Prince Qi said before sending Jingyan on his way.
Now, as Jingyan made his way through the never ending corridors of the palace, his mind began to wander to Lin Shu, who proved to be a good sounding board over the years. Even if Lin Shu didn’t have any answers, their debates provided Jingyan with more insight to the nuances of a problem and the different approaches to solving it, each with their own costs and benefits.
Just as Jingyan made a turn along the sheltered corridor running parallel to the garden behind Wuying Palace, he spotted a familiar figure walking down the stone path that led to the pavilion in the centre of the frozen pond.
A weight was lifted from Jingyan’s chest. He vaulted over the bannister lining the corridor and broke into a light jog as he called Lin Shu. “Xiaoshu,” Jingyan cried, waving a hand over his head.
But then Lin Shu turned around, and someone else previously hidden behind him came into view.
Jingyan’s eyes bounced between Lin Shu’s look of surprise, to the girl's curious gaze, and then to the string that connected them together.
Oh. This was she. This was Lin Shu’s soulmate. His future wife.
Jingyan didn’t know at which point a grin crept onto his face, but he was painfully aware of the moment it began to slip. The weight on his chest came back, heavier than ever, and his thoughts were swept clean by the image of them standing close enough to each other for the line between them to look taut.
The crunch of snow beneath Jingyan’s boots as he came to a stop, was absorbed by the stale air.
Sensing an unpleasant tension in the air, the girl stepped forward. She lowered her head and bowed elegantly. “Mu Nihuang pays her respects to Prince Jing.”
She was beautiful, more so than the most unbelievable tale he’d heard of her.
“Please rise,” Jingyan said at last, keeping his voice neutral.
As she did, Jingyan was able to get a better look at her. Her eyes shone with intelligence and she wore a warm smile that could not be replicated. She held Jingyan’s gaze with her own, unwavering but not provocative, and radiated a level of comfort with herself that matched Lin Shu’s self-confidence.
“Nihuang, this is my best friend, Xiao Jingyan,” Lin Shu said, breaking the silence. He gestured awkwardly towards Nihuang. “Jingyan, this is Mu Nihuang.”
“It’s an honour to finally meet Your Highness.” Nihuang’s polite smile took a fond turn as her gaze drifted to Lin Shu. “I’ve always told Lin Shu that I needed to thank Your Highness for keeping him alive through all your adventures and misadventures.”
Although Nihuang was addressing him, her words were not meant for him. Sensing the jibe, Lin Shu rolled his eyes.
“What’re you saying? It’s not like Jingyan wasn’t involved in them. And I was the one rescuing him most of the time too.”
“But you said those were your ideas, and that Prince Jing never participated in them willingly. Even if he needed your saving, he wouldn’t have been in that position if you had heeded his advice in the first place.”
“Was that the main point that you took away?”
“Were there other things?”
Jingyan watched them with a strange sensation filling his heart. He was standing near them, but at the same time, Jingyan thought that he couldn’t be any farther away from them.
Had Lin Shu shared that much with Nihuang? Already? According to Lin Shu, he had only met her two weeks before he was assigned out of Jinling to guard the mountains of Meiling, and had only returned three weeks before Jingyan did. All together, assuming they had spent every day together, that was about five weeks of knowing Nihuang.
It had taken all of five weeks for Lin Shu to like her enough to share stories of his life with her. And now, as they were bantering with each other, Jingyan realised that Lin Shu had grown comfortable enough with her to let her make comments about him too.
Perhaps this was what being a soulmate meant. It meant that the closeness fostered by years of time together could be bridged within weeks or days. It meant that the amount of time and effort needed to get to know each other was only a small fraction of what was required with other people. Because it took Jingyan nearly fifteen years to become Lin Shu’s best friend, but only five weeks for Nihuang to become his future wife.
Was he jealous? He thought he might be. He remembered the sharp bitter sting of jealousy when Prince Yu received praise from their father for his horse riding skills, while the accolades that Jingyan had received over the years went without attention. That was the jealousy he knew, an ugly feeling that twisted his stomach.
But this time was different. Jingyan had never experienced jealousy like this. It was a heavy, suffocating feeling. Jingyan felt like he was thrown into the middle of the ocean with weights tied to his legs. The futile struggling, the knowledge of an inevitable conclusion, and the helplessness of it all.
The loneliness of it all.
He didn’t want to be here any longer.
“Anyway, what’re you doing here?” Lin Shu said, turning to Jingyan. “You came from the direction of the Eastern Palace. Were you with Prince Qi?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jingyan mumbled, lowering his head. “I had a discussion with Prince Qi about today’s court session..”
“I saw Minister Wu leaving the palace earlier.” Lin Shu brought his hands to his face, making a squeezing gesture. “His entire face was clenched up, like he was angry about–”
“Xiaoshu, I just remembered that I have something to do.” Jingyan interrupted softly, but not gently. Lin Shu closed his mouth, surprised. “I think I’d better leave now.”
Lin Shu blinked. “Where’re you going?”
“Back home,” Jingyan said, surprising himself with how quick his response had been.
Lin Shu’s face lit up with a smile. “I’ll go with you!” Lin Shu announced, hopping towards Jingyan.
But Nihuang stepped forward, grabbing onto Lin Shu’s wrist with her hand. Lin Shu froze, unable to take another step away without also pulling Nihuang along. He looked over his shoulder, letting his eyes trail down his arm to where her fingers were wrapped around his wrist.
Nihuang followed Lin Shu’s gaze and, as if she hadn’t realised that she was still holding on to him, dropped his arm immediately. But as their hands separated, the string tying them to each other lengthened, the red thread stark against the white of the ground.
“Weren’t we supposed to visit Consort Chen today?” she said after a beat. Lin Shu furrowed his brows and pressed his lips together.
“We can always visit her tomorrow, can’t we?”
Nihuang shot Lin Shu a doubtful look. “Of course we can, but wasn’t this appointment arranged by Grand Princess Jinyang? How will you explain to her that we didn’t show up today?”
“Shouldn’t you leave the worrying to me? Even if she finds out, the only person who’ll be punished is me.”
“That’s why I’m worried,” Nihuang said, exasperated. “I know that you’ll be the only person punished if we don’t go, but why do you want to risk getting hurt when you don’t have to be?”
Jingyan was unmoored. This was a scene he had seen many times before, but never as an outsider. He was always the one dissuading Lin Shu from pursuing his bad ideas. Those words that Nihuang were saying were all things he once said, rephrased and paraphrased into different combinations over the years. But now there was someone else who could say it to Lin Shu, and Jingyan was..
Jingyan was just.. there.
“She’s right,” Jingyan chimed in without conviction. Lin Shu whipped his head to Jingyan, staring at Jingyan for a different reason than before. Jingyan swallowed thickly and offered a smile. “You should go to your appointment. Don’t go around looking for trouble.”
A frown appeared on Lin Shu’s face for a split second. “Trust you to take her side, dumb water buffalo..” he muttered. “I’ll look for you tonight! Don’t think I’m going to let this go.”
Jingyan’s smile became strained. “I know.”
When the Emperor woke up four years ago without a red string tied around his last finger, a national mourning period of three months was declared. The death of a royal soulmate, whether or not they were known, was viewed almost as importantly as the death of a royal family member. This was with the belief that if the Emperor was the Son of Heaven, his soulmate would have shared Heaven’s Mandate as well.
“This is stupid,” Lin Shu groused, flopping over in Jingyan’s bed with a frustrated sigh.
“Shh,” Jingyan whispered, pressing a finger to Lin Shu’s lips. “What if someone comes in and sees you?”
Jingyan could feel Lin Shu’s lips arch downward into a sulk. Even without lighting any candles, Jingyan knew the kind of face Lin Shu was currently pulling too well.
“Why would someone come in? Even if this is Prince Qi’s manor, you’re still a prince. Do you let just anyone come into your room in the middle of the night?” Lin Shu muttered, shuffling closer to Jingyan. He inched into the soft beam of moonlight spilling onto the bed from the window across the room, illuminating the petulance in his eyes. “Besides, why should we grieve the death of a random person? Does that make sense to you?”
“But it’s not just a random person, it’s the Emperor’s soulmate.” Jingyan explained patiently, arms folded over his blanket as he stared at the ceiling.
“That no one has ever met!” Lin Shu hissed, sitting up abruptly while throwing his arms up. “And so what if they had? Does being a soulmate automatically elevate you to being the most important person in their life? That’s nonsense.”
At this, Jingyan finally turned to Lin Shu. With his arms up, it was easy to see Lin Shu’s red thread hanging over his head. Over the years, Jingyan had noticed how thin Lin Shu’s soulmate thread had become. When they were children, Lin Shu’s thread had been thick and vibrant. But in the years since then, it had gradually shrunk and dulled in colour, turning into a maroon line that looked fragile to touch.
Consort Jing had mentioned it once in passing many years ago that the vitality of one’s soulmate line was linked to their desire to have this soulmate. That was why the lines of children tended to be brighter while those of adults, many of whom had lost hope of meeting their soulmate, tended to be thin and frail.
It was generally considered bad manners to broach the topic of soulmate lines, but Jingyan had to know.
“And what about you, Xiaoshu?” Jingyan asked calmly, “Don’t you want to meet your soulmate?”
Lin Shu blinked, caught off guard by the change in the subject, but his answer was quick to come. “No.”
“No?” Jingyan echoed incredulously. “Why not?”
“Why would I want to?” Lin Shu shot back. “Just because someone shares the same thread as me doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know them.”
“You could get to know them. They’re your soulmate. They would understand and love you better than anyone else can.”
“Says who?” Lin Shu said hotly. “Who understands and loves me best is up to me to decide, not some string on my finger that I can’t get rid of.”
Jingyan glanced at Lin Shu’s thread again. If it were any thinner, it’d snap, he thought, and then wondered if it was even possible for a soulmate thread to snap. Historically, there had only ever been evidence of threads disappearing or changing colours and thickness, but never had there been a case of a thread breaking off.
Jingyan wondered what that would take.
“What about you, Jingyan?” Lin Shu said, settling back next to Jingyan. “Do you really believe that your soulmate will be perfect for you?”
Perfect? No, Jingyan didn’t believe in such a thing. But your soulmate was supposed to be the best match for you, and best was better than any alternative.
But how could anyone be better for him than Lin Shu? All along, even if he had known that they weren’t soulmates, Jingyan always thought being with Lin Shu was what it would have been like to be with his soulmate. Lin Shu understood him in ways that no one else could, and on days that Jingyan chose to ignore the fact that their red strings diverged in direction, Jingyan could almost fool himself into believing that he had already met his soulmate.
And now, as Jingyan packed the box into a deep part of his shelf, he realised that there would never be another time. This was where their shared roads forked, and it was time to let go of what could not be. It took many weeks to find a pearl that met Lin Shu’s demands, a pearl that he poured his heart and soul into retrieving, and there at the bottom of the ocean it should have stayed.
“We could be outside.”
“It’s snowing.”
“When did that ever stop us?” Lin Shu said, throwing another piece of orange into his mouth. He chewed on the side of his mouth that wasn’t resting on his palm as he watched Jingyan copy Prince Qi’s old text.
Snow fell in light, sparse sheets outside, covering Jingyan’s garden in a thin, uneven layer of white. Despite this, the sky remained clear and blue. Lin Shu stared at the cloudless sky and sighed, resigned.
“I bet that the river on the East side is totally frozen over. We could be sliding on it like we did last year. And the year before that. And the year before that.”
Jingyan dipped his brush on the inkstone, dapping it along the rim to remove the excess before he looked back at Prince Qi’s script. “You should be preparing for your wedding. Your fitting is today, isn’t it?”
Lin Shu rolled his eyes. “Did my mother tell you that?”
“Your soulmate did,” Jingyan said.
“Don’t call her that, it’s weird,” Lin Shu said, a reflex action.
Jingyan put down his brush and turned to Lin Shu with a disapproving tug on his lips. “Xiaoshu, even if you don’t want to do it, why don’t you take this more seriously? At the end of the day, it’s still your wedding.”
Lin Shu picked up another piece of orange, bringing it to his eye level to examine. “You said it yourself. I don’t want to do it. Why should I care about something I don’t want to do in the first place?”
“If not for yourself, then think about Princess Mu. It’s her wedding too. In a few months, you’ll be husband and wife. Shouldn’t you consider her feelings?”
Lin Shu dropped the orange segment into his open mouth, staring out the window listlessly.
Lin Shu’s lackadaisical attitude was starting to grate on Jingyan’s nerves. This attitude was only reserved for when Lin Shu was openly displaying his annoyance with Jingyan. Jingyan wished he could say that he didn’t do anything to deserve it, but he knew exactly why Lin Shu was upset at him.
He had been pulling away from Lin Shu.
It had been a lot easier said than done. At the end of the day, Lin Shu was still the best friend he spent almost all of his life with. Lin Shu knew his family, his friends were Lin Shu’s friends, everywhere that Jingyan went were places Lin Shu frequented too. With nowhere else to go, Jingyan could only give poor excuses as to why he couldn’t hang out with Lin Shu.
To Lin Shu’s credit, he had been very understanding about it at the start. He offered to help Jingyan with his work each time, and when he realised that Jingyan wouldn’t accept his help, said that they could always hang out another day. But once Jingyan had done it long enough for it to become a pattern, impatience started seeping into Lin Shu’s words.
“Xiao Jingyan, are you purposely filling up your schedule from morning to night?” Lin Shu snapped at him last week, when Jingyan offered him half-hearted apologies again. “If you’re not going to make time for me, then don’t blame me for creating space myself.”
Jingyan wondered what Lin Shu had meant then, but he wasn’t wondering anymore. This was Lin Shu’s answer. He was going to stick to Jingyan until he was satisfied.
Jingyan sighed inwardly. He was probably wrong for avoiding Lin Shu to such extreme lengths, but wasn’t it for the best? Didn’t Lin Shu have more important things to attend to now that his wedding was just two and a half months away?
He turned to Lin Shu, ready to explain to Lin Shu why he shouldn’t be doing this when Lin Shu’s eyes lit up.
“How about this? I’ll trade you something I don’t want to do for something that I want to do.” Lin Shu leaned into Jingyan’s space, causing Jingyan to lean backwards. “I’ll go to the fitting if you meet me at the river tonight.”
“How does this affect me? It’s not my wedding.”
Lin Shu’s face fell. He resumed his original position, picking up another orange slice to grind between his molars, completely unbothered. Jingyan pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly.
“Fine,” Jingyan said through gritted teeth. “I’ll meet you at the river, but only if you go to your fitting.”
Lin Shu hopped off the floor, dusting his hands. “I’ll see you at midnight.”
True to his word, Jingyan arrived at the gazebo by the widest part of the river at midnight. He hopped off his horse and led it to the tree where Lin Shu’s steed was already tied to, making a quick knot around the next tree before walking towards the river.
Lin Shu was lying on his back, head pillowed on one arm and the other folded across his stomach as he gazed at the ink black sky. Jingyan expected Lin Shu’s expression to be relaxed and bored just like it was in the morning. Instead, Lin Shu’s eyes were clear and alert. He was thinking deeply about something, and Jingyan almost felt bad to break his concentration when Lin Shu finally noticed him approaching.
“Jingyan! You’re finally here.” Lin Shu pushed himself up, beaming at Jingyan. He stretched out the blanket under him and petted the spot next to him. “Here, I’ve been warming it up for you.”
“I’m good, you can have it,” Jingyan said as took the seat.
“Don’t be ungrateful,” Linshu said. He reached behind him and produced a dark bottle that looked suspiciously like the prized bottle of rice wine that Marshal Lin kept on the shelf of the Lin Manor’s dining area.
“Is that–?”
“Father’s rice wine, yes.” Lin Shu finished. He popped off the lid and poured it into the two shallows cups that he materialised out of thin air.
“I agreed to meet you. I didn’t agree to drink with you.” Jingyan protested.
“You didn’t have any complaints last year. Plus, it’s a cold night.”
“You should have thought of that when you insisted on coming out.”
Lin Shu said nothing to that. He picked up both cups, offering one to Jingyan. But when Jingyan didn’t budge, Lin Shu added, “One cup.”
Jingyan cast Lin Shu a doubtful look but took it from him nevertheless. They raised their cups in unison and drank from it in one gulp. It slithered down their throats, seemingly vengeful and alive as it took its time down, burning all the way. Their faces scrunched up at the same time, twisting into identical grimaces.
“I think I remember now,” Jingyan said, hiding his scowl behind his hand. “We said we’d never drink your father’s wine again.”
“I think you’re right.” Lin Shu nodded as he put down his cup, brows still knitted tightly. “At least we’ll remember it for next year.”
Jingyan raised a brow. “Next year? You plan to do this again?”
“Do you have any violent objections?”
Jingyan fell silent while lowering his gaze. It wasn’t that he had any objections to meeting Lin Shu, it was just that one year was a long time, and many things could happen within that time. Last year, Lin Shu hadn’t met his soulmate yet. This time next year, Lin Shu will be married. And in the time between now and next year, who knew what else might happen? Lin Shu might fall in love with Nihuang. They might even start a family.
And as for himself.. where would he be?
Jingyan busied himself with placing his cup next to Lin Shu’s. “A lot can change in a year. We shouldn’t make plans we can’t keep.”
Lin Shu looked unhappy at this. “You think I can’t keep the promises I make to you?”
“No, Xiaoshu. It’s not that,” Jingyan said with a tired sigh. “What if next year you’re sent to patrol the Northern borders again? Or if I’m sent on another military expedition again? It’s not a matter of keeping our promises. Our time isn’t just ours to give away anymore.”
Now it was Lin Shu’s turn to fall quiet. He rubbed the hem of his robe as he considered the problem. When he turned back to Jingyan, there was a determined set in his jaw and a new resolve in his eyes that reminded Jingyan of all the times that Lin Shu had sworn to accomplish the impossible, and proved it.
“I’ll find you.”
Jingyan studied Lin Shu for a moment. “If you were really sent to patrol the Northern borders, you’d be risking a court martial by abandoning your post. It’s not worth it, is it?”
Lin Shu stared at Jingyan for a long time, long enough to make Jingyan wonder if he had said something wrong. But then Lin Shu let his gaze fall onto the hem of his robe, where his fingers were, and said in a voice so quiet that Jingyan almost missed it.
“You’ll always be worth it to me.”
There was a crestfallen air about Lin Shu that should have been incomprehensible to Jingyan, but he understood it immediately. Lin Shu wasn’t sad that Jingyan didn’t understand him; Lin Shu was disappointed that Jingyan would pretend he didn’t.
But what was Jingyan supposed to say to that? There were lines in the sand that they should leave well enough alone. Jingyan’s place in Lin Shu’s life was now fixed. He had no right to claim anything more than what a friend was entitled to, no matter how much he wanted to.
“Look at you. You’re almost nineteen but still so wilful.” Jingyan picked up the neglected bottle between them and began pouring another cup for each of them. “If you have so much time, why don’t you spend more of it with Princess Mu? I ran into her at the market two days ago looking at hair pins for the wedding. Wouldn’t it be better if she had your company?”
Lin Shu was quiet for a long time. He picked up his cup and tilted it around and around, swirling the wine around the rim in a loaded silence.
“What does being a soulmate entail?”
Jingyan tilted his head, puzzled by the non-sequitur. “Xiaoshu..?”
“Everyone has a soulmate, everyone is a soulmate to someone. But most people don’t meet their soulmates, so they live the rest of their lives as if the string around their finger didn’t exist.”
Lin Shu cocked his head, knitting his brows in deep thought as he stared at the frozen ice ahead, with its almost unscratched surface, so peaceful and still now in the winter, belying its current during those hot summer days.
“But what about those people who do meet their soulmate? Why does that string suddenly supersede everything in their lives? Do their soulmates necessarily become someone important to them? Do soulmates always fall in love with each other, no exceptions barred? What if someone was already in a relationship, if they were already married prior to meeting their soulmate? What happens then? Do people in their lives stop being as important to them because someone else comes along?”
Jingyan tried to smile, but the corners of his lips wouldn’t budge. “But it’s not the same, Xiaoshu.”
Lin Shu’s eyes darted back to Jingyan. “Why?”
“Because you’re not married,” Jingyan said, “and because you’ve met Princess Mu.”
“Does that change the fact that I have people who are important to me?”
“You will always have people who are important to you, but you will only ever have one soulmate.”
“And I’ll only ever have one best friend,” Lin Shu said, squaring his jaw. There was no room for debate in his tone, and no sliver of doubt in his eyes, and his resolution unsettled Jingyan.
“I accept Nihuang as my friend, and I give her with the respect I give to a friend. But, Jingyan, I categorically reject the idea that soulmates have to be lovers. If a soulmate is someone who will understand you, then Nihuang will understand this.”
Jingyan held Lin Shu’s gaze, both unable and unwilling to look away. This was the essence of Lin Shu’s soul: an uncompromising, unyielding desire to live on his own terms.
Growing up, everyone believed that Jingyan was the stubborn one. For a long time, Jingyan believed it too. It was only in recent months that Jingyan discovered how wrong he was.
Lin Shu expressed his resolve inwardly. Every choice he made was removed from external influences. No amount of begging or advice could change Lin Shu’s mind once it was made. Lin Shu would resist anything he did not want for himself, even if it was at the expense of other people, even if it meant he had to go against the world to write his own conclusion.
But Jingyan was different. He could not be as steadfast as Lin Shu was because his determination was driven by the people around him. He could be stubborn when he thought that Lin Shu was receiving an unfair punishment for their poor behaviour. He could be stubborn when he thought that his men were being overlooked in favour of his brother’s men.
He could also give up on something he wanted, if he knew that it would be for the best. Just like he let go of Lin Shu, just like he would let go of this conversation. Not because he didn’t know what Lin Shu was really telling him, but because he couldn’t bear the consequences of what could happen if they carried on like this.
That string on Lin Shu’s finger wasn’t just his anymore– it was Nihuang’s, too.
Jingyan downed the wine in his cup before picking up the bottle again. “And what about you? Can you say that you understand Princess Mu? Her likes and dislikes? Her fears and her desires?”
A crease appeared between Lin Shu’s brows. “That isn’t what we were talking about.”
“Then what is?” Jingyan asked, putting down the bottle as he looked up. “Princess Mu is your soulmate, and you are hers. How can you expect her to keep accommodating you when you barely make the effort to meet her halfway?”
“Then perhaps a soulmate match isn’t what they say it is,” Lin Shu replied.
“Or maybe you’re just trying to prove it isn’t so,” Jingyan said.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Jingyan threw his head back, drinking the wine in his cup in one mouthful. Jingyan waited for the sting in his throat to pass before reaching for the bottle again, but it was snatched out of his reach by Lin Shu. Lin Shu picked up his own cup that he’d filled earlier and drank it in one gulp, refilling his cup immediately.
“Would you be happy if I were happy with Nihuang?”
Jingyan hesitated. “Yes.”
“Because that would validate your belief, wouldn’t it?” Lin Shu asked with a hard edge in his voice. “It would justify your wait for your soulmate.”
This was a conversation that was bound to happen sooner or later. Jingyan clenched his teeth. “Lin Shu, I would be happy if you were happy, regardless if you were with or without your soulmate.”
“And what about you?” Lin Shu said sharply. “Where did you go?”
The turn in their conversation was so sudden that all Jingyan could do was stare at Lin Shu, nonplussed. “I don’t–”
“Every morning I train with the Chiyu Division. In the afternoon, I run errands for my mother. At night, my dad runs through the next Chiyan military exercise with me. Sometimes, I’m told to spend time with Nihuang, so I do. Everyone thinks that falling in love with her is just a matter of time, but I know..”
Lin Shu’s knuckles were turning white as he gripped onto his cup. Then, his gaze darted up, piercing Jingyan with its intensity.
“Jingyan, did you know? Before I sleep, I read your letters. I read all of them. I’ve memorised them all, every single one of them. Because it’s only this way that you’re still with me, that you didn’t leave me.”
The wind swept down the valley, rustling the barren branches. Their horses whinnied, complaining about the biting cold. Lin Shu’s eyes stayed on Jingyan, unrelenting, unforgiving.
“You say that you’re happy if I’m happy. So, Jingyan, how unhappy have you been for the past few months?”
“Everyone is busy with preparations for the New Year banquet next week. The Grand Empress Dowager is in an especially good mood, and has given instructions for the Imperial Kitchen to prepare more sweets and pastries for everyone.”
“The Grand Empress is too considerate,” Jingyan said, raising his spoon to his mouth.
“She still sees all of you as children, even if you have long grown up.” Consort Jing’s gaze dipped to the bowl in front of her son and the steam that was still rising from it. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”
Jingyan’s eyes flickered up. At his mother’s reminder, he blew lightly on his spoon. Jingyan didn’t think it did much, but the worry in his mother’s eyes dissipated and the tension in her shoulders relaxed.
The Zhiluo Palace was as peaceful as it always was. Even with the thick snow blanketing the courtyard, the Zhiluo Palace still emitted a homely warmth that dispelled the chill Jingyan felt under his skin. They say that a place retained the character of its owner, and Jingyan had no doubt that the warmth and serenity of the Zhiluo Palace was because of his mother’s personality.
Jingyan took a few spoonfuls of his soup while his mother watched him with an indulgent smile. Once Jingyan was done, she offered him a handkerchief while she took the bowl away and handed it to a maid, gesturing for them to leave the room.
“Have you paid your respects to the Grand Empress yet? She told me that it had been awhile since she saw you or Xiaoshu.”
Jingyan’s hand stilled with the napkin against his mouth.
It had been a week since that night at the river. A full week had gone by since he last saw Lin Shu, or rather, since Lin Shu was willing to see him. It used to be the case that Jingyan was the one avoiding Lin Shu, but ever since that night, Lin Shu was no longer anywhere to be found. Jingyan couldn’t find him at the Lin Manor, the Chiyan Army base camp, the Palace or even at any of their usual sites. Lin Shu no longer came to find Jingyan as well, which could only mean one thing.
Lin Shu was avoiding him– something Lin Shu had never done before, not even when they had their fair share of disagreements in the past. Lin Shu had only ever stopped coming to Jingyan, but he never stopped Jingyan from coming to him.
But maybe that was to be expected, given how badly their last meeting had ended. If he were honest with himself, Jingyan wouldn’t know what to say even if he had met Lin Shu. He could tell Lin Shu how unhappy he was. He could tell Lin Shu about how he hadn’t thought about his soulmate in a long time, and how spent half a year imagining how his confession would go. He could tell Lin Shu how gutted and empty he felt knowing that he would have to watch the person he loved marry his soulmate, and give them his blessings.
But what was the point in saying any of it? If it would make Lin Shu even sadder to know that Jingyan reciprocated his feelings, then the best thing that Jingyan could give Lin Shu was his silence.
“I told her it was only right for Xiaoshu not to visit as frequently as before. Xiaoshu is busy with his wedding preparations. But you should visit her more often, Jingyan. You know how much she dotes on you. She will be very happy to see you.”
“.. Yes, mother. Jingyan will remember your advice.” Jingyan coughed.
Consort Jing sighed. As she exhaled, her body deflated along with it.
“It has been awhile since I’ve seen Xiaoshu as well, but it cannot be helped. A wedding is one of the most important days of a person’s life. He should prepare well for it..” she trailed off, gaze becoming distant as she pondered on something with something akin to pity. “I hope that Xiaoshu will be able to accept his wife and his soulmate. It’s bad enough that he made his feelings clear that day, but it will be difficult to have a happy marriage if he continues to oppose it.”
“Mother knows about it too?”
The words fell out of Jingyan’s mouth clumsily. In the silence of the room, Jingyan’s tone was unbearably obvious. The unconcealed surprise and incredulity. Consort Jing’s gaze swept back to Jingyan, her surprise written plainly in the lines between her brows.
“Of course. Anyone who knows Xiaoshu could see it.” Consort Jing lowered her eyes and rested an arm on the table, sighing softly to herself. “Meeting your soulmate should be a happy event, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more unhappy than when he met Princess Mu and found out that their strings were the same.”
Jingyan’s gaze followed Consort Jing’s as she looked out at the courtyard, where an almost pristine layer of snow was still growing thicker as snow fluttered down gently in haphazard motions.
“Grand Princess Jinyang told me it was good that the Chiyan Army was sent to guard the Northern borders. Xiaoshu had been throwing a fuss in the Lin Manor after the Emperor issued the royal decree for his betrothal. She barely managed to stop him from kneeling outside the Grand Empress Dowager’s palace the night before he left.”
Jingyan’s head snapped up. Consort Jing chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Grand Princess Jinyang and Marshal Lin were able to stop him before he escaped from the Lin Manor.” Consort Jing paused thoughtfully. “Although I’ve heard that Xiaoshu has calmed down after his return to Jinling, who doesn’t know that child’s temperament? Even if he doesn’t say anything, it’s hard to believe that he has fully accepted his future wife and soulmate.”
“Does Xiaoshu need to accept it?” Jingyan asked quietly, curling his hands in his lap. “Isn’t it enough that he’s going to marry her?”
“And have you accepted it?”
Consort Jing picked up her cup of tea and refilled it leisurely, but the sombreness in her voice told a different story.
“Xiaoshu is many things, but he is not foolish. The reason why he has not accepted this conclusion until today is because he knows that he is not the only one who remains unable to accept it.”
Consort Jing turned her gaze upon him. Her face bore no humour, no leeway. She looked at Jingyan with a solemnity that he had never seen in her usually gentle eyes, and it scared him, because it was at that moment that he knew just how much she knew about everything he never told her.
“Jingyan, Xiaoshu has been waiting years for your answer. It isn’t right to make him wait any longer. It is even worse to do wrong by Princess Mu. If you truly care about them, you need to take a decision.”
Fireworks exploded in the sky. They stretched out in the sky like a hand grasping the stars, briefly illuminating Jingyan’s face before it faded away, taking the light in his eyes with them. These were the same fireworks that the Palace used last year, but something about it felt emptier this year. Meaningless.
Last year, Lin Shu was here with him, discussing hypothetical scenarios of Jingyan’s military expedition to Donghai. This year, Lin Shu was inside the hall with his soulmate.
This part of the palace, far away from the bustling corridors of Wuying Palace and prying eyes of the Eastern Palace, stood unchanged by the passage of time. It remained as quiet as ever, the walls as red as ever, the trees as still as ever. It was exactly the same image as when Jingyan and Lin Shu first stumbled upon this garden seven years ago when they chased each other, yelling all the way down the halls. And if Jingyan tried hard enough, he could almost make out the vague picture of them running in circles, trying to tangle their threads together. But it was the mix of fascination and disappointment he remembered most clearly, when their threads remained distinct and separate.
Jingyan looked down at his hands. When the fireworks went off again, orange spilled across his palm. The red thread around his finger had never been more vibrant than it was at that moment, bright and glaring, almost to the point of being offensive.
What was the point of having a soulmate if you never got the chance to meet them? This string did nothing but prove that there was someone who was supposed to be the person for him, but if such a person existed, where were they? What were they like? Were they soft spoken and shy, or were they adventurous and boisterous? Did they enjoy the same poems he did, or did they prefer works from other poets that he hadn’t yet discovered? Did they like running outdoors and soaking in the sun or did they prefer staying indoors, practising their calligraphy?
Was his soulmate looking at the same moon as he was now? Could his soulmate sense his desperation to meet? Because Jingyan needed to know who his soulmate was, this person who was destined for him. He needed to know why his soulmate was the best person for him, so that he could understand why it was not Lin Shu.
Why wasn’t Lin Shu his soulmate? Lin Shu was the only person that Jingyan enjoyed spending time with, no matter what his mood was. Lin Shu was the only person who could cheer him up when he was sad, and calm him down when he was in a rage. Lin Shu was the only person whose smile could short circuit his thoughts, whose laughter woke all the dormant butterflies in his stomach. Lin Shu was the only person who could finish his sentences and the only person that Jingyan wanted to finish his sentences.
And now, looking at his red thread, Jingyan couldn’t understand why his soulmate wasn’t Lin Shu. Why couldn’t it be Lin Shu? Who could be better for him than Lin Shu?
A tip-tap of footsteps ended a distance behind him. Even without turning, Jingyan already knew who it was from that familiar gait. He dropped his hand and turned slowly, meeting Lin Shu’s stoic eyes.
Fireworks lit up the sky, crackling as they bloomed. The shadows on Lin Shu’s face lengthened before the darkness settled over them again.
“You should be inside,” Jingyan said at last.
After a moment Lin Shu replied, “So should you.”
This silence was a stranger Jingyan was slowly growing familiar with, and he disliked it. It was hostile and provocative, a parasite in their friendship that should have been weeded out before it even had the chance to take root.
He bit the insides of his cheek and turned his gaze downward.
“Where is Princess Mu?” Jingyan began, but Lin Shu spoke over him.
“Jingyan,” Lin Shu said, neither soft nor loud. But there was a hard edge in his voice that Jingyan couldn’t ignore. He glanced up, meeting Lin Shu’s unwavering gaze. “I’m getting married next month.”
Jingyan’s chest stung. Hurt rippled across his body, but he offered Lin Shu a weak smile. “I know.”
While Jingyan couldn’t see Lin Shu’s expression, he could see his friend’s silhouette against the slightly purple sky. Lin Shu turned his head away in the same fashion that Jingyan had seen many times before, whenever Lin Shu needed to collect his thoughts in the middle of their arguments.
“Once I’m married, I will be Lin Shu, Vice-Marshal of the Chiyan Army and Mu Nihuang’s Prince Consort,” Lin Shu said, turning back to Jingyan. “But while I’m still just Lin Shu, Vice-Marshal of the Chiyan Army.. Jingyan, don’t you have anything to say to me?”
The corridors lit up as another round of fireworks went off, just in time for Jingyan to catch Lin Shu’s gaze darting to his hand, to the red thread by his side, and the quiet disappointment on his face.
“Or are you still waiting for them?” Lin Shu said with thinly veiled bitterness. “Will you choose them just because they’re your soulmate? Jingyan, will you spend the rest of your life waiting for a person who may not come? Are you going to keep choosing them everyday for the rest of your life?”
“Xiaoshu..”
“So be it if that’s what you’ve decided to do. You’ve never stopped hoping to meet them, and I’ve never stopped hoping that you would. But, Xiao Jingyan, am I so undeserving of your honesty?”
It was hard to hear Lin Shu’s voice quiver, and even harder to know that he was the cause of it. Fireworks crackled in the sky and reverberated in the stillness of the corridor, but it was Lin Shu’s quiet voice that Jingyan heard most clearly.
“I’ve been honest with you all my life. I’ve never asked you to reciprocate that, but I’m asking you now. Jingyan, you promised this to me four months ago. I only need your honesty this one time.”
Orange and red flickered across Lin Shu’s face, his steely eyes.
“If I didn’t meet Nihuang, would you have given it to me?”
Jingyan’s heart stopped.
He should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy, all those months ago when Lin Shu asked. It was a deceptively simple request from him, and Lin Shu wouldn’t have asked it of him when he knew of Jingyan’s propensity to give in to his every wish. That promise was asked a long time ago with the expectation that there would come a day when Jingyan would refuse him. That promise was asked a long time ago with the foresight of forcing Jingyan’s hand.
None of this was new to Jingyan. He always knew that Lin Shu had a ruthless, calculative side to him. He’d heard of it in the heroic tales told by the men of the Chiyu Division, how Lin Shu’s strategies saved them from fighting on two fronts. He caught a glimpse of it once when they were half-drunk, discussing how they’d help Prince Qi get rid of the corruption in court. It was what made Lin Shu so brilliant, so respected and so feared as the Vice-Marshal of the Chiyan Army. But for all this, Jingyan never expected Lin Shu to use it against him.
How could you be so cruel? Jingyan thought. A gentleman would keep his word– that was how Jingyan was raised, and a code he lived by.
What else could Jingyan do, but give him the truth?
Jingyan lowered his head, clenching his fists. “Yes.”
Lin Shu tilted his head to the sky, where the last sparks of fireworks were disintegrating into smoke. A grey haze wafted in the air like ribbons against an endless canvas of dark purple and navy. Once the light had faded, Lin Shu spun around and left without another word.
It was only after Lin Shu had left that Jingyan dared to breathe again. He put a hand on the pillar and sank onto the bannister slowly with a shaky breath, staring out into the darkness wondering what he had done.
When Lin Shu reported at Wuying Palace the next day with his thread no longer leading anywhere, the Emperor was said to have thrown a fit so great that he nearly passed out from exhaustion.
Tales of Grand Princess Jinyang and Marshal Lin’s outrage spread throughout the palace. Marshal Lin’s reputation for strict discipline was second to none, and if it wasn’t for the Grand Empress Dowager’s intervention, Lin Shu might have been kneeling at his ancestor’s altar for another week without rest. But despite the harsh punishments meted out to him, Lin Shu refused to utter a word on what could have caused his string to snap.
Threads were known to fade in colour in accordance to one’s desire for their soulmate. They were also known to disappear entirely when a soulmate had passed. But never before in history was it ever recorded that a soulmate thread was able to snap. Yet, the short string around Lin Shu’s finger was proof enough that this was real, even if no one knew what the cause of it was.
Nihuang and Lin Shu were soulmates– that was the basis of their betrothal. But what did it mean now that their threads were no longer connected? Were they still soulmates? Does a soulmate stop being a soulmate once that thread breaks? That was the question that puzzled scholars and started an uproar amongst court officials.
It took two weeks of daily court sessions and countless proposals for the Emperor to make his decision. If a soulmate thread was proof of Heaven’s will, then the breaking of a soulmate thread had to be regarded as such. And if the betrothal was made to obey that will, that will would still be obeyed now.
The betrothal was called off.
It was the second time in his life that Xiao Jingyan was hearing news about Lin Shu from other people, but the first time that he was glad for it. He didn’t have the courage to face Lin Shu after what had happened. While the rest of Jinling puzzled over what could have caused a soulmate thread to snap, Jingyan was sure he knew at least part of the reason: Lin Shu had rejected his soulmate.
What did it take for a soulmate thread to snap? What kind of resolution did it require to break a soulmate bond? For someone to cut something so irreversibly, so relentlessly..
That was why Jingyan couldn’t face Lin Shu again– he couldn’t accept what Lin Shu had done. When Jingyan confessed the truth to Lin Shu, he believed that it would give closure to whatever was between them. Instead, Nihuang ended up as the only casualty in all of this, and that was something Jingyan couldn’t accept. Jingyan understood that their society was more forgiving to men than women. What kinds of rumours would people spread, especially since Lin Shu and Nihuang had met? That her own soulmate had rejected her only after they met?
If Jingyan hadn’t said anything that night, would things have turned out this way? Deep in his heart, Jingyan knew it wouldn’t have. Lin Shu would have accepted his silence as his answer. He would have gotten married, and Jingyan would have tried his best to be happy for his best friend.
In this, Jingyan was every bit as culpable as Lin Shu was.
The door opened softly, snapping Jingyan out of his reverie. Lie Zhanying strode in, unhurried but purposeful.
“Your Highness,” Zhanying said, “Princess Mu is here.”
Jingyan’s hand stilled. The half written word stared back at him accusingly.
“I could send her away, if Your Highness is busy,” Zhanying said in a softer voice.
Jingyan looked up, meeting Zhanying’s empathetic eyes. Zhanying was offering him an excuse to avoid meeting Nihuang, but Jingyan refused to take it. Lin Shu might have given up his soulmate for him, but Nihuang had lost hers because of him– one she was prepared to marry. If he had any integrity at all, he would face the consequences of what he had done.
Jingyan put down his brush and straightened his robes. “Please show her in.”
Nihuang entered his room moments later, her bow slow and measured, and her expression carefully blank.
“Mu Nihuang pays her respects to Prince Jing,” she said.
Suddenly, Jingyan was struck by how much had changed in three months. It was the same image as when Jingyan first met her in the garden behind Wuying Palace. Nihuang had been dressed in the same white Hanfu, her hair tied in the same fashion, with the same jewellery adorning her hair.
But unlike that day, Nihuang’s bow carried a weight that wasn’t there three months ago. It wasn’t grief or sadness, but a sober resignation, an acceptance that events were beyond one’s control. Jingyan would know. He had been in her shoes until two weeks ago.
“Please rise.” Jingyan gestured for her to take a seat at his table. “I’m afraid I don’t have any tea ready for you now, but I could have some prepared.”
Nihuang shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said as she sat down across from him. “I enjoy drinking plain water too.”
When Jingyan furrowed his brow, Nihuang explained, “Lin Shu mentioned that Prince Jing only knows how to appreciate water. I believe the term he used was ‘water buffalo’.”
“He told you that?” Jingyan cracked a smile as he overturned a tea cup, filling it with water.
A cryptic smile played on the corner of Nihuang’s lips. “It’s only natural to share stories of people you’re proud of.”
Jingyan’s smile turned rigid. He used to get jealous over how much Lin Shu had told Nihuang, because he only saw it as confirmation of how well they got along. He saw it as confirmation of his diminishing place in Lin Shu’s life, but he never saw it as proof of how important he was to Lin Shu. And now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t recall the last time that Lin Shu brought Nihuang up in their conversations– or the first time, or any time for that matter.
All along, it had been him who brought her up.
Jingyan put down the pot and placed her cup in front of her, buying time to think of a reply to her. But as soon as he retracted his arm, Nihuang spoke again.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Nihuang said, wearing a faint smile. “I thought I would say goodbye to you before I go.”
Jingyan was quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t expect you to leave so soon,” he said honestly.
Nihuang's smile turned wry. She dropped her gaze and picked up her cup. “There’s no reason to stay either.”
Silence crept into the room. They lifted the cup to their lips together and sipped quietly, letting that subject drop without another word. Jingyan could offer his condolences, but it would be insincere, and Nihuang seemed to prefer letting sleeping dogs lie.
“I said my goodbyes to Lin Shu yesterday. I told him not to send me off, but he insisted on it.”
Jingyan chuckled softly, putting down his cup. “Even if you’re no longer betrothed, Xiaoshu still cares for you.”
Nihuang’s eyes flickered up, hinting at her disagreement with his statement.
“I wish he did. That would make it less painful.”
A line appeared between her brows as her gaze drifted away in thought. Her expression became distant even as she was sat in front of Jingyan, her mind wandering away to a place that Jingyan couldn’t follow.
“Lin Shu walked me back on New Year’s night. It was the first time he offered to send me back,” Nihuang said at last, monotone.
“I thought he was finally coming round to the idea of being my soulmate, but he stopped at the door to my room and told me that he couldn’t do it after all. He couldn’t marry me, because he’s in love with someone else.”
Embers crackled in the brazier near them, echoing in the room. Jingyan opened his mouth to defend Lin Shu, but Nihuang shook her head. She looked back at him with a subdued smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“To be honest, I think I’ve known that since the day that I met you. Lin Shu always felt faraway when he was with me. He was polite and kind, but it was clinical. Everyone tells me what a lively person Lin Shu is, but I never felt any warmth from him. I kept telling myself that was just the way he was– cool and collected. It wasn’t until I saw how he was with you that I learnt.. it wasn’t that he was cool and collected, it was that he was disinterested and disconnected.”
Jingyan’s throat tightened with guilt. Nihuang put down her cup as her smile dropped.
“Most people think that only your soulmate can make you truly happy. But that night, I realised there was only one thing I could do as his soulmate that would truly make him happy, and it would be the last thing I would be able to do for him in that capacity.”
Shock gripped Jingyan. He stared at her, nonplussed. “You severed your bond..?”
Nihuang glanced down at the black thread around her finger. It was frayed at its ends, as if it had ruptured. But the poor state of her soulmate thread remained the same as it was before, thin and diminished. It was as if Nihuang’s decision to sever her soulmate bond was only the final straw that caused it to break, as if Lin Shu’s actions that New Year’s night had no further effect on their thread.
Had Lin Shu rejected his soulmate bond prior to that New Year’s night? How long ago did it happen? Was it around the time Jingyan started to notice how withered Lin Shu’s soulmate line looked? But that was years ago, before Jingyan was given the rank of Prince of the Second Rank, before Jingyan moved out of Prince Qi’s manor, even before Prince Qi was declared the Crown Prince..
All this time, was it only Nihuang’s desire to meet and be with her soulmate that sustained their bond? And now that she, too, had rejected the bond, the last life in their bond had been extinguished, snapping their line?
Jingyan used to wonder what it would take for a soulmate thread to break, but he never imagined that this would be how he found his answer.
“Call it a kindness, if you will, towards him, but also for me.” Nihuang said quietly, meeting Jingyan’s eyes. “Lin Shu’s greatest act of kindness to me was to spare me the years of unhappiness our marriage would have brought. This was mine.”
Nihuang got up from her seat and bowed at Jingyan.
“Please allow me to say a few words, presumptuous as they may be.” Nihuang kept her head lowered, her voice smooth and calm. “Nihuang has done the only thing she can for her soulmate and does not regret any of it. Even if Lin Shu is no longer my soulmate, I know he does not regret his decision either.”
Nihuang raised her head and offered Jingyan a shaky, but sincere smile. “Why should other people feel bad for a choice two parties made together willingly?”
Jingyan swallowed the guilt in his throat. He returned her wet smile as he stood up, walking around the table to bow back to her.
“May your journey be a safe one.”
It had been awhile since his last visit to the Lin Manor. As he walked up the street that led up to the Lin Manor, it only just occurred to Jingyan how long the walk really was. In his memories, the walk from the Lin Manor to his own lasted only five minutes when Jingyan was sure he had already been walking for fifteen. Of course, Lin Shu had always been there in each memory, walking down the street next to Jingyan talking about whatever caught his attention. And then there were all those times that Jingyan never needed to go to the Lin Manor, because Lin Shu came to find him.
Suddenly, it dawned on Jingyan how often Lin Shu came to find him– whether it was in the morning before practice, or just before dinner where he stayed until night fell, and those days that Lin Shu snuck into his bed in the middle of the night because Jingyan’s bed was more comfortable. Lin Shu walked this path every time he visited, each a desire to see Jingyan. How many times did Lin Shu come down this way just to find him?
Jingyan looked at the gates of the Lin Manor from where he stood, clutching onto the box in his sleeve pocket through the fabric. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. If there was ever a time that he needed to be the one walking this stretch, it was now.
The Lin Manor was uncharacteristically quiet. The servants who saw Jingyan greeted him, but there was a subdued air about the manor that he couldn’t reconcile with the Lin Manor in his memories. Even on the gloomiest, darkest days, the Lin Manor in his memories was warm and bright. But it felt cold now, bereft of the life that it radiated in abundance. And in the silence of the Lin Manor, the soft taps of Jingyan’s shoes against the wooden floorboards announced his arrival, so it was no surprise when Jingyan slid the door open and found Lin Shu already closing his book.
Lin Shu looked at Jingyan wordlessly, expectantly.
Jingyan sighed, sliding the door shut. He glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. “Do I have to keep hearing news about you from other people?”
Lin Shu smiled wryly. “I’ll remember to tell you the next time.”
“Next time?” Jingyan asked with a weak chuckle. “You’re already thinking of your next engagement?”
A moment passed in silence. “I’ve only ever wanted one.”
There it was again– Lin Shu’s raw honesty. Jingyan’s gaze fell onto the black thread on Lin Shu’s finger, identical to the one on Nihuang’s. Wilted, frayed and impossible to ignore. Lin Shu’s honesty was plain for all to see.
Jingyan tore his gaze away. His hair swept down his shoulders as he slipped his hand into his sleeve and pulled out the box slowly. Lin Shu’s eyes widened when he realised what it was. There was no explanation given, and none was needed.
“You’ve met Princess Mu.” Jingyan held up his hand, offering the box to Lin Shu. “But this remains yours to keep,” he said softly.
Lin Shu’s eyes flickered up as he took the box with hesitant hands, opening it to reveal the pearl he had demanded all those months ago. It sat in that box, just as Jingyan remembered it last, with a light pink hue over its slightly uneven surface. Jingyan remembered how he resurfaced from the ocean, holding onto the pearl as gently as his shivering hands could manage. He remembered thinking how stupidly excited Lin Shu would be when he gave it to him, and there he would finally tell his best friend about all the ways he loved him.
There was none of that excitement on Lin Shu’s face today, and none of that love profession from him. But as Lin Shu closed the box slowly, Jingyan thought that perhaps the most important things had already been conveyed.
As Lin Shu raised his eyes, his gaze caught on Jingyan’s hand. “Jingyan, your thread..”
Jingyan looked down at his hand, where his line was wound around his finger. All his life, his thread had remained the same: bright red and easy to spot. But the thread on his finger now was reminiscent of Lin Shu’s, faded and thin.
The implications were clear. And for the first time, Jingyan was able to laugh about it. He once saw it as something to be looked upon with pity, but now Jingyan embraced it. It was proof that he chose Lin Shu over the world and the heavens above– something he intended to do for the rest of his life.
Lin Shu stared at him, his disbelief and confusion slowly melting away into something warmer and brighter, reflecting the smile on Jingyan’s face with glistening eyes.
Jingyan gently clasped Lin Shu’s hand in his, letting their soulmate lines overlap. With the state of their threads, it was almost easy to mistake it as one continuous line with different colours on each end. Black on maroon, maroon on black. But where Lin Shu’s had broken off abruptly, Jingyan’s thread bridged the gap, connecting them together in an imperfect line.
Lin Shu brought his arms around Jingyan and took a small step in, slowly pulling Jingyan into his tender embrace. For all the times that Lin Shu had hugged Jingyan in the past, it had never been so delicate, almost as if Lin Shu was worried that this was all an illusion that could break with a wrong move. And for all the times that Lin Shu had given Jingyan the assurance he needed, this was the one time that he needed Jingyan’s.
Jingyan wrapped his arms around Lin Shu’s nape, winding his thread around Lin Shu as he slotted their bodies together. He could feel Lin Shu’s smile on his neck, his heart pounding against his chest, almost in sync with his own but always just a split second faster, and a smile burst across his face. Not in sync, but perfect in all the ways that mattered.
As he leaned into the crook of Lin Shu’s neck, Jingyan could see his soulmate thread leading behind the closed doors. He stared at it for just a moment, bidding a silent farewell to the person on the other side. He once asked Zhanying where it led to; now Jingyan closed his eyes, letting the sound of Lin Shu’s breaths wash away the sound of Donghai’s waves.
