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Chapter Text

Blood in his mouth, Su Yin coughed. Flecks of blood hit Xiaobao in the face, his pale cheeks dusted with starry pieces of Su Yin’s lifeforce. It was a pretty picture.

“Stop smiling,” Xiaobao’s hands were fluttering, pale and pretty as a pair of released doves.

Distantly, Su Yin heard a thunk. Horror choked him as thoroughly as blood as Xiaobao’s eyes widened and a wet gasp slipped out of his open mouth. The tip of a crossbow bolt was just visible under the pale layers of Xiaobao’s robes.

It was Su Yin’s turn to reach, to try to stop the blood that spread like a a stormy sunset over Xiaobao’s chest but his arms were heavy and his fingers clumsy. Xiaobao met him halfway, holding onto him as he slumped to the floor, red died fingertips tangled with Su Yin’s long sleeves.

Chapter Text

The child was small, pale, and sticky in a way that would have had Su Yin recoiling if it was not for the manners his family had instilled him with. Shoving people aside was an act to be saved for when his life was in danger, not utilized just because he didn’t want the child’s grubby paws to leave hand prints on his clothing. Su Yin was not so high on his horse that he could deny that sometimes he was sticky as well.

The child looked especially sticky, with a ring of red around his mouth that stretched when he smiled. There was a stick held tightly in one hand of half-eaten candied hawthorns and it was edging dangerously close to Su Yin’s robes as the boy grabbed at his wrist and hauled himself close. He was missing a front tooth so when he smiled, as he was doing now, there was a noticeable gap.

“Gege!” The boy said happily, holding tightly to Su Yin’s arm and entirely too close. Su Yin stood stiffly, aware that he could toss the child away, or push him, or at least step aside and doing none of that. The boy had fine gold strands sewn through his hair piece, his hair falling like a dark, moonlit stream down his back.

“Xiaobao,” the old man that had saved his father’s life spoke to the child, “we must be respectful to his-”

The man and his child weren’t of the same status as Su Yin and his father, much less his grandfather. Yet Su Yin knew there was no term that could properly be applied to their relationship and Su Yin had no proper title of his own, not yet, maybe not ever. His grandfather could still choose someone else to inherit, someone who wasn’t the child of his son’s favorite mistress, only recognized last year.

The man and his child weren’t even gentry, as Su Yin was now, but had Su Yin met them a year ago they would have been considered higher status than he. They were businessmen and the man who had saved his father’s life was a landowner as well. The mansion his father currently convalesced in belonged to the Jin family.

“Uncle,” He interrupted, which he knew was rude, which he knew might be overstepping. And yet the man did stop and turn and smile, treating Su Yin with the kind of respect that Su Yin knew he was supposed to expect from people.

The boy was still too close to touching Su Yin and dirtying his clothing. Su Yin stopped himself from flinching back when sticky fingers made contact with his sleeves.

“You and my father are sworn brothers,” linked together by a debt that his father, bloodied through the bandages and weak voiced in a room that smelled strongly of incense, had said could never be repaid, “in this lifetime and the next,” Su Yin bowed his head slightly and looked at the sticky boy, Jin Xiaobao, someone who he would be tied to forever, “Xiaobao doesn’t need to use a title for me, he can call me-”

Chapter Text

Jin Xiaobao woke up as he did everyday, tangled up in his husband’s arms. Usually he woke up lazily, his body warm and cozy under the blankets and in Huai’en’s grasp. On mornings when Huai’en woke up and slipped away he was usually sure to come back and be within reach before Xiaobao had opened his eyes. It was rare for Xiaobao to come awake with a start, to feel like he had been dropped from a height and have his heart hammer loudly in his throat.

It was rare, but it happened. Despite meditation, incense, and Huai’ens presence, Xiaobao’s dreams were not always kind and his body was not always painless.

Su Yin’s name was caught on his tongue and Xiaobao swallowed it back as tears stung his eyes and cold sweat dotted his brow. He was not sure why he was crying out for his oldest and dearest friend, the man who was more like a brother to him than a real brother could be. Or maybe not. Jin Xiabao didn’t know what it would be like to have a real brother, a blood brother, because his family was almost entirely of choice. He couldn’t chose his parents, except that he had over and over again, and he had chosen his sister of course and while Su Yin had been more thrust upon him than anything else Xiaobao had chosen him too.

And Huai’en, of course, over and over and over again, forever.

“You had a nightmare,” Huai’en wiped Xiaobao’s face with a damp towel that was just the right warmth to wipe away sweat and the crush of sleep, “I couldn’t wake you.”

Had Huai’en been in his dream? Usually he was, even the nightmares, and yet Xiaobao could not remember the sight of his beloved’s beautiful face and pale hands. He couldn’t remember much of the dream at all except for the sight of… chrysanthemums, perhaps? Something bright red and spreading wide. A sunset? But sunsets were hardly terrifying.

And Su Yin. Something about Su Yin.

“I’m awake now,” he said and then wriggled and pushed so that Huai’en understood his intent, rolling onto his back so that Xiaobao could crawl onto his front and kneel above him. Kissing Huai’en was one of Xiaobao’s favorite things to do, whether it was fast or slow. Making love was even better. They had gotten very good at it. Not that sex with Huai’en had ever been bad, even their first time together both of them had experienced as much pleasure as they had pain.

It was different now. Now they could take their time. Now they knew each other. They could make love in the morning or evening or whenever they chose. They made their own rules.

Zhao Cai was waiting outside of their rooms when they were done and dressed. He had a furrow between his brows and his top-knot was off-center, he had been up for a while and at his work.

“You have a message,” he said, relief clear on his face as he handed over the letter.

Something settled in Xiaobao’s stomach, something more than the bite of bao he had just taken. He chewed and swallowed a second bite before taking the roll of parchment from Zhao Cai’s fingers. It felt familiar, too familiar, and he readily handed it to Haui’en when his husband held out his hand. Just holding it made a chill climb his fingertips and he curled his hands to hide them in his sleeves.

Huai’en did not read the letter out loud but his brows furrowed as deep as Zhao Cai’s and his cheeks paled. He said nothing though, his dark gaze going back and forth as he read the letter quickly. He read it twice before he lifted his eyes and met Xiaobao’s stare.

“It’s…” A pause, Jin Xiaobao could see Huai’en’s hesitation, could see the way he debated whether to lie to him about it or not. The words ‘it’s nothing’ were clearly on Huai’en’s tongue.

“It’s Su Yin,” the words sounded dragged out of Huai’en as Xiaobao clenched his hands into tight, painful fists. “He’s not well.”

Chapter Text

“Su Yin!”

Su Yin pressed his fingertips to his temples. He had slept poorly the night before, the vague memory of a haunting nightmare chasing him awake in the early hours before dawn. Something about blood spilled on snow or maybe parchment and the taste of broom flowers on his tongue. He was pretty sure that Jin Xiaobao had been in his dream as he often was, the young man lurking in Su Yin’s anxious mind after a long day of intrigue.

“Xiaobao,” Su Yin breathed his name more than spoke it.

The sun was setting behind Xiaobao, framing him in the doorway and lighting the strands of gold woven through his hair. Even years later, after everything, he still wore his hair loose, barely held back by a golden band at the top of his head. It wasn’t a proper topknot and Su Yin had seen more than once how tangled it became during a fight. The gold jewelry he wore jingled with every step and Su Yin’s headache stabbed behind his eyes with every step.

“Su Yin, it’s just me and Huai’en, we need to talk to you,” Jin Xiaobao said, stepping forward to reach for Su Yin’s sleeve, to clutch at him to show the importance of what he had figured out as he always did, as Su Yin had always allowed him. Su Yin had allowed him so much but not this time, this time he stepped aside. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure why he roughly pulled his sleeves from Jin Xiaobao’s grip. Cold fear chilled him and twisted his stomach.

“What did you-” he started to ask, then stopped himself. The conspiracy, the assassins, the missing silver and courtly intrigue, of course Jin Xiaobao hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. Su Yin’s headache spiked again, piercing him like a bolt.

A bolt.

He reached for Jin Xiaobao and then shoved him hard toward the door he had come through. He pushed him into Huai’en’s arms, something he had never thought he would do, ever. Even though he knew there was no way to pull Xiaobao out of them.

The pain that pierced him next was-

“SU YIN!”

Indescribable. Su Yin gazed down at his feet, past the bloody arrowhead poking through his chest. He felt-

“Su Yin!” Hands caught him, Xiaobao’s hands, they were too soft, too gentle to hold Su Yin up. He knew they couldn’t stay in the room, the memory of what had happened had come to him now. If they stayed, Xiaobao would be shot too.

Wordlessly, mouth full of blood, he looked past Xiaobao’s worried face to Huai’en. The bastard. His worst enemy. The man who had taken Xiaobao from him. The man Xiaobao loved.

The brat met Su Yin’s gaze and a moment later, a short moment, jerked his head in a nod.

“Huai’en!” Xiaobao shouted as Huai’en swept him off his feet, “Stop- Su Yin!”

Without Xiaobao to hold him up or Huai-en to support them both, Su Yin’s legs gave way and he collapsed in the doorway. He braced himself against the lintel to block the entrance in case anyone tried to follow. The setting sun turned everything red, red, red. Or maybe that was just the blood. Su Yin’s breath came out as a choked gasp as he watched the arrows find their target.

The last thing he heard was a soft sigh, the last thing he felt was the cold slice of steel across his neck.

Chapter Text

Xiaobao was laughing when the pipa player pulled the silk tight across Su Yin’s throat. It was meant to be charming, flirtatious even, the pipa player was very popular at the brothel. Well, restaurant slash brothel. Xiaobao came there just as much for the food as the company, though the company was certainly a plus. He stopped laughing quickly, stunned to silence, glad that everyone else kept on chatting. There were three other girls in the room besides the pipa player, two for each of them, and Xiaobao had thought that it would be good for Su Yin to go out. He’d wanted to show off and to show Su Yin off too.

But it was obvious that Su Yin didn’t approve and just as obvious to Xiaobao that the pipa player’s act had been the wrong idea. Su Yin paused briefly, froze really, and his throat bobbed. A moment later he had gently pulled the silk away and moved the girl’s hands away from him. He was gentler with her than he ever was with Xiaobao.

“Su Yin!” Overbalancing, he toppled into the older man’s lap with a smile. When the girls had tried this earlier Su Yin had been just as gentle with them as with the pipa player, moving them out of his lap with a firm hand. He did not try to shift Xiaobao, not right away, instead he carefully checked Xiaobao’s balance and looked up at his face.

There was a furrow between Su Yin’s brows, one that Xiaobao had seen all too much of since Su Yin had entered jianghu. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. The stories his father told were always exciting, always full of timely rescues and daring escapes and of course every business venture was successful. If there were beautiful women in the stories, and there always were, they all paled in comparison to Xiaobao’s mother and if his father needed friendly assistance those strangers were always men who were not nearly as noble as Su Yin’s father. So Xiaobao didn’t understand why Su Yin had come back from his walkabout changed.

Different.

Older.

His already stern friend seemed to have become even more rigid, pulling further away from Xiaobao.

“You’re disgracing yourself,” Su Yin’s voice was not kind but despite the firmness of his hands on Xiaobao’s hips he was still somewhat gentle as he lifted him and placed him to the side. He could have shoved Jin Xiaobao onto the floor, some of his friends had done that before when drink had driven Xiaobao to easy affection.

“Su Yin,” Xiaobao whined, “you have to learn to relax and have fun!” He clung to Su Yin’s wide sleeves, unwilling to completely relinquish him, “What’s the point of being a prince if you can’t enjoy beautiful girls?!”

It was the wrong thing to say, he could see it in the way Su Yin’s face wrinkled up. He knew how Su Yin felt about his title, knew that Su Yin had suddenly become responsible for a lot more people than Xiaobao could understand. Su Yin’s father and uncles had been passed over for Su Yin to inherit, the young man deemed more responsible and upstanding than the older generations, capable of weathering future political storms. It meant that Su Yin was even further away form Jin Xiaobao. It wasn’t the matter of a rich merchant’s son being friends with the concubine’s child of a prince’s son (practically the same level, socially) it was a rich merchant’s son claiming a prince’s heir as his brother.

“I thought you were looking for a wife,” the words were a slap in the face. Xiaobao reared back as Su Yin’s eyes widened. The stern, angry, disappointed tone of voice did not help.

The girls in the room gave light laughs and the pipa player cooed and curled up at Xiaobao’s side, fluttering her lashes. Su Yin glared at her, clearly annoyed as Xiaobao was offered a cup of wine poured by one of the other girls. Xiaobao was almost ready to say no, to turn the wine away, because he had already drunk too much. He could hold his wine just fine, thank you, but he knew that Su Yin did not want to see him drunk and giddy. If he became as inebriated with Su Yin as he did with some of his other friends he would be shamed for it.

And yet, the way Su Yin frowned at the cup and the way he curled his hands into fists poorly hidden in his sleeves had Xiaobao reaching for the cup to toss it back.

The words had hurt too. He’d told Su Yin that in confidence.

“You nag me as much as a wife would,” Xiaobao motioned for the girl who had brought him wine to pour a cup for Su Yin, “maybe you should marry me!”

Not that it would be possible for Su Yin to marry into his household. He knew that if he had been a girl though that his father would surely have engaged him to Su Yin alongside securing Su Yin’s father’s sworn brotherhood. Now and again he had heard his father mention that perhaps Su Yin would make a handsome husband for Xiaoyu, though if Su Yin married before she was of age then of course they could never consider it. Jin Xiaoyu would be someone’s first wife or no wife at all.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” it seemed for a moment that Su Yin was going to refuse the wine. But then he plucked it from the girl’s fingers and tossed it back in one throw.

Xiaobao cheered. The sound faded when his arm was held in a tight grip and he was pulled to his feet.

“It’s late,” Su Yin said, leaning close, his breath scented sour by the wine they had drunk together. Keeping hold of Xiaobao he walked out of the room.

Dragging his heels would do Xiaobao little good, he knew that Su Yin could just pick him up and toss him over his shoulder if he wanted. He had done it before and would no doubt do it again. Instead Xiaobao grumbled under his breath as he was forced to keep pace so as to not be dragged. Jin Bao and Zhao Cai were outside the room, waiting for them, along with Su Yin’s man. The scent of the brothel’s perfume clung to their robes, heavy, cloying and floral. Su Yin didn’t pause at the doors to greet the servants he just kept walking. He didn’t stop until they were outside.

Xiaobao took two steps past Su Yin, surprised when he came to a sudden stop, and turned with the soft chime of his golden jewelry as Su Yin took a deep breath.

He had his face tipped up and his eyes closed and the lanterns lit at the brothel entrance gave his face an entrancing softness. Xiaobao’s breath caught in his throat and he expelled it in a cloud.

It was cold.

It was always cold when Su Yin visited lately. He was either with his grandfather, or in the emperor’s court, or out rescuing maidens and learning from immortals or whatever people did when they wandered jianghu. The manor Su Yin’s father had bought years ago, a second childhood home to Xiaobao, was empty much of the time while Su Yin spent all of his time in Annan.

So he visited when it was cold, like he was.

After a moment of hesitation, Xiaobao stepped close and caught Su Yin’s sleeve to tug at it. He was gentle, careful, curling his fingers so that he was gripping Su Yin’s robes with more knuckle than pad. All of him curled, his shoulders pulled inward and he ducked his head to stare down at his feet. Even his shoes were less serious than Su Yin’s boots.

He heard another deep breath breathed in and let out as Su Yin’s chest rose and fell.

“I just wanted you to have a good time,” he said softly, “you never have fun anymore.”

‘You never smile,’ he didn’t say, ‘you’re always scolding me,’ not that scolding Xiaobao was a new trait of Su Yin’s but it had become more of a habit, ‘we’re not as close.’

“You’ll damage your reputation, playing as you do,” Su Yin spoke quietly but his tone was still so harsh, so honest, “no titled family will entertain your suit if you dally with prostitutes.”

Over half of Xiaobao’s current social circle were gentry closer to his own age than to Su Yin’s. They all dallied with prostitutes, they gambled, they drank, they fought in the streets sometimes. Xiaobao had seen it. He puffed up, annoyed, and glared upward at Su Yin.

Su Yin was frowning at him. He didn’t have to say anything. Xiaobao knew.

He wasn’t gentry, he wasn’t titled, his father was barely a landowner. Money had made many things easy for Xiaobao. It did not seem to have the same smoothing effect on marriage as it did on entry to auction houses and birthday celebrations.

“I know,” Xiaobao kept hold of Su Yin’s sleeve and dragged his boot along the ground. He felt like he had to add on, “and I was joking about you marrying me, I know you’d never want that.”

So many years he’d been told what he wasn’t by Su Yin or what he would never be by his own father. Su Yin, the other family’s child, who his father held up as an example of what a man should be. Xiaobao should have aspired to be a martial artist, to study as hard as Su Yin, to be able to recite poetry and solve tax problems and hunt. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Su Yin scolded him for his drinking, his playing around, his lack of care when studying. If Xiaobao had been a woman he would never have been allowed to develop such faults.

“Male concubines aren’t unknown in the emperor’s court,” Su Yin said, “even my grandfather had a favorite once who was a man.”

Xiaobao blinked. That was news to him. Not that male concubines were possible, he’d known that, but that Su Yin’s grandfather had kept one. That Su Yin had considered keeping one.

“But you’d never bow your head to any wife,” Su Yin’s lips curled into a small smile, a teasing one, “and you would be a terror in the back palace.”

One day Su Yin would get married to a woman of good breeding, if not good character, and the two of them would have enough children that Su Yin would be assured of at least one heir. His grandfather would likely arrange the marriage. If Su Yin chose to keep concubines, even male ones, he would probably want them to be neat and submissive and nothing like Xiaobao at all.

Xiaobao sniffed, “like I’d marry you, you’re so boring, if I married a man I’d want him to be exciting.”

Su Yin didn’t say anything at all, just reached out to grasp the door of the carriage that his man had finally brought around, and motioned for Xiaobao to get in.

Chapter Text

The memory of his dreams had dogged his every step. It seemed odd, strange, to have had a dream within a dream because that was the only way he could understand it. Jin Xiaobao had died once, struck through and dying in Su Yin’s arms. He had not died the second time, though Su Yin had again, and it irritated Su Yin. He couldn’t be sure that Xiaobao had gotten away but it was a dream. Dreams were like that. Dreams were irritating and nonsensical.

Except…

Su Yin had been served the same breakfast twice, a breakfast that mimicked the one he had dreamed of. He had conversations with courtiers, the same courtiers, the same faces and voices and words and he repeated things that came to him without effort. And of course there was…

“Su Yin!” This wasn’t quite right. In the dream he had caught Jin Xiaobao at a merchant’s stall, his hand halfway to his purse with Zongzhen Huai’en standing guard. The man might have been the emperor’s child and Xiaobao might claim him as his ‘wife’ but he acted like a bodyguard half of the time.

Like a keeper.

But Xiaobao wasn’t even at the market now. He was at Su Yin’s door, standing outside of it as Su Yin stepped down from the carriage. Su Yin could barely remember how he had gotten into the carriage and how he had gotten back to his manor after court, he wavered slightly on his feet, feeling tired and out of place and ill. And yet he knew he wasn’t ill. He stepped forward and fell against Xiaobao, taking him tightly by the wrist.

“Come with me,” he pulled back, tugging Xiaobao into the carriage. He knew that in a moment Huai’en would follow and so he rapped the top of the carriage to signal to his man that it was time to go. Haui’en would likely charge in quickly, his sword unsheathed, demanding Su Yin stop and explain where he was taking Xiaobao.

Su Yin was not armed. Walking around with a sword all the time was frowned upon. It wasn’t like he had been asked to turn in his arms as soon as he entered the city, he was no general and he had as much right to bear arms as Huai’en but carrying around a sword all the time expecting to be attacked was gauche. Given his dreams, and the fear they were not dreams, perhaps he should have come armed. They were under threat after all, trying to unravel a conspiracy, a conspiracy that… Hadn’t they? Su Yin frowned. What had they been doing again?

“Su Yin,” Xiaobao caught his hands tightly, his dark gaze worried, “what is wrong? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Blood.

Blood on his tongue, in his throat, on Xiaobao’s chest as he was pierced by swords or arrows or needles. Su Yin shook his head and leaned to the side to lift the covering on the window and peer out. No Huai’en, a surprise, and the crowd passed by them without bothering to glance their way. He breathed easier.

Something thumped on the roof, the horses stamped their foot and brayed and the carriage slowed. Su Yin’s lips curled back in a snarl as Huai’en pulled the carriage door open and rolled inside without the wheels stopping in their path. His sword was out and pressed at Su Yin’s throat between one moment and the next.

“Do it,” Su Yin dared him, “and I’ll come back tomorrow and take him again.”

Huai’en’s gaze narrowed, sharp, sparkling eyes tight on Su Yin’s face.

“Don’t,” Xiaobao gasped.

The horses made a sound again, loud, and the carriage jolted hard. Caught by surprise, Huai’en could not pull his sword back fast enough as Su Yin was propelled forward, all of them attempting to right themselves in a carriage that was swiftly tumbling. Turning end over end as if the ground had opened up and swallowed the horses, tossing the carriage aside.

The carriage’s sides were hard and Su Yin slammed into them. A ceramic handwarmer slammed into him, clipping his temple, darkening his sight. It burned to breathe, hurt to move. Su Yin couldn’t get his body to move as he stared at the upside down door and the window into the crowd. Something crunched outside, someone screamed, and two boots appeared in the window.

Su Yin closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

“He’s been poisoned,” Que Siming said as he stripped his gloves and stepped away from the bedside. The 'miracle doctor' said it in a manner that was so matter-of-fact it had Xiaobao gritting his teeth. Like it wasn't obvious that Su Yin had been poisoned. Su Yin lay under the sheets, sweat on his brow, his hands placed demurely at his side. He was breathing heavily, gasping almost, as if he was running cross-country in his sleep. Behind tightly closed lids his eyes flickered, quickly moving from side to side. He had been trapped there for days, eating only what could be spoon fed to him, drinking only what could be dribbled past his lips. Sometimes he would thrash. At least once he had been turned onto his side to stop him from choking to death.

“With what?” Xiaobao asked instead of pointing out that no one had needed Que Siming's obvious diagnosis. It was clear to anyone who knew him that Su Yin wasn’t just sick because Su Yin just didn't get sick. Xiaobao might have lost count of the number of times he had been confined to bed, especially in recent years but he had never seen Su Yin with so much as a sniffle. Giving Que Siming no time to answer Xiaobao rounded the bed and stepped into Que Siming’s space, demanding an answer from too close. “How do we cure it?”

We, of course, because how could Jin Xiaobao be left out of it? He’d drag Huai’en along as well. They’d both find the cure for Su Yin’s poisoning just as Su Yin had helped cure Jin Xiaobao. Then they would… well, Xiaobao wasn’t sure. Be indebted to each other forever, as if they weren’t already.

Jinbao pressed Xiaobao back, gently, ever so gently, which was probably better than being pushed aside so Que Siming could step away. The stern-faced, cold-hearted doctor turned aside to his medical kit without answering Xiaobao’s question.

“You have to fix him!” Voice pitched high, Xiaobao knew he sounded a little hysterical. “It’s not, you fixed me, he can’t-”

“It’s a poison,” Que Siming didn’t turn to look at him, “it’s meant to be deadly.”

No.

No.

Strong arms caught Xiaobao before he could hit the floor and he quivered, wrapped up in Huai’en’s hold. No. Not Su Yin. Not Su Yin. He wasn’t the kind of person who got sick and he wasn’t the kind of person who died. He wasn’t going to die-

“Thankfully, for him, I’m not the kind of doctor who gives up,” Que Siming still didn’t look Xiaobao’s way, “but you need to leave, I can’t have you distracting me with your fretting.”

“I’d be quiet,” Xiaobao tried to argue but Huai’en was already leading him outside the room and shutting the door behind him. If it had been anyone but Huai’en, Xiaobao might have fought it, but his beloved looked at him with an expression that Xiaobao had not seen in years. With a face that Xiaobao had not understood the last time he had seen it.

“Don’t be jealous,” he said, “there’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m not jealous,” Huai’en lied.

A pause, the two of them straining to hear what was going on in the sick room, both of them wondering if there would shortly be screams. If Que Siming did something to Su Yin that had him screaming, Jin Xiaobao would burst through the doors no matter what the reclusive doctor said. A genius perhaps but he was also just a jerk.

“He said to stay out,” Huai’en caught Xiaobao’s hands before he could press them against the doorway. Warm fingers wrapped around Xiaobao’s cold hands, pulling him tight, “And you need to take care of yourself.”

They walked through Su Yin’s manor, unbothered by the servants who took one look at Xiaobao and went back to their business. He was a familiar face there and Huai’en, who followed at his side, was becoming known to the servants as well. They visited Xiaobao’s favorite spots. The garden. The fishpond. The garden again. Su Yin’s library, just off his room, where Xiaobao flipped through thick books on diplomacy and travel while straining to hear anything from the nearby bedroom. They walked the house again.

They ate a meal cooked by Su Yin’s housekeeper, catered to Xiaobao’s tastes. He had never had a meal at Su Yin’s that failed to please him and yet it tasted like ash. No, it tasted like a dream.

“Do you know who poisoned him?” Huai’en asked, hands gentle on Xiaobao’s shoulders, massaging him as they sat outside of the bedroom again. There was a guest bedroom, with a pleasant made-up bed waiting for them, and yet Xiaobao didn’t want to go to it. If he did Su Yin might die in the night and he wouldn’t know until he woke up. Then how could he ever sleep again?

“No,” Xiaobao shook his head, “He always kept me out of whatever was going on at court. It had to be someone at court, right? Your brother or Prince Shen or…” he drifted off. He didn’t really know anyone else at Court besides those two or Su Yin. He didn’t pay attention to it. He'd never had the need. Su Yin had always handled his own matters quietly and kept Jin Xiaobao well out of it. Now he was wishing that Su Yin had been a little more willing to share the names of his enemies and allies, at least then Xiaobao might have someone to question.

Haui'en squeezed him lightly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He didn't tell Xiaobao not to worry, though Xiaobao was sure he wanted to, instead he held him in silence while Jin Xiaobao stared past him at a blank wall.

Chapter Text

“Su Yin!”

Blood. Blood and pain and-

“SU YIN!”

The taste of copper, of bile, of-

“Su Yin!!!”

Cold, so cold-

Chapter Text

Killing Huai’en was-

It was-

It was madness. Su Yin knew it even as his sword slid between Huai’en’s ribs while Xiaobao looked on, eyes wide in horror. As blood was coughed up, turning the congee that Huai’en had been eating that morning a pale pink.

“Su Yin!” Xiaobao shoved himself away from the table, clattering around it, barely even dressed. He was wearing a robe that gaped open, Huai’en’s robe, slightly too large at the shoulders and long at the wrist’s. Pale pink bruises decorated his chest and his dark brown nipples flashed at Su Yin as Xiaobao moved.

Madness.

“We can’t wait,” he didn’t bother to pull the sword out. It was no use to him. It could stay in Huai’en, a definitive statement, a message.

He grabbed Xiaobao’s wrist, unsurprised when the younger man slipped from his grip and reached for the corpse. He grabbed Xiaobao again and tossed him over his shoulder, ignoring his struggles, ignoring his fists as they thumped against Su Yin’s back and his kicking feet. He walked past Zhao Cai, not dead but dazed, his gaze unfocused as he slumped against the wall. There were other servants, unimportant servants, and they didn’t bother to stop Su Yin as he made his way to his horse. No carriage this time, not after the last time, not after the time before that.

He got on, dragging Xiaobao with him, holding him tight despite Xiaobao’s cries. He could barely hear him. Could barely feel him. Everything felt so distant and faded and strange. The horse between his thighs should have felt warm, the height of Xiaobao barely dressed and pressed against his chest should have burned. Yet everything felt muted.

No guards stopped them as they left the city, even though they did it at a gallop. Su Yin kept going. He pushed the horse and held tight to Xiaobao and kept going, his grip was tight enough to bruise Xiaobao, tight enough to keep him close.

He buried his face in Xiaobao’s neck and felt tears on his cheeks.

“Su Yin,” Xiaobao sobbed, “stop.”

They stopped at an inn. Night was falling, the air growing cold, and though Su Yin was not tired he could tell that his lathered horse was lagging. So they stopped. The innkeeper took one look at the two of them and shut his mouth tight after Su Yin handed over a payment twice what the room they were given was worth. Xiaobao was still sobbing. Su Yin’s name, over and over, and Huai’en’s as well. Grief cracked his voice.

Su Yin ignored it.

“You’ll be safe here,” he checked the shutters and locked them, Xiaobao at his back as he made sure the room was secure, “we can be-”

“Why did you do it?” Xiaobao’s voice was little more than a croak.

“…” he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. Su Yin pressed his fingers to his temples as pain spiked through his head. Why had he killed Huai’en? There had been- he had died. No, Xiaobao had died. No. They-

“He was dangerous,” he said.

Huai’en had always been dangerous. Dangerous to Jin Xiaobao and to everyone else around him. He was a danger to the emperor, to Shaoyu, to Su Yin and Xiaobao’s parents and Xiaoyu and- Su Yin breathed in and out and tried to focus. Why had he killed Huai’en?

“He would have tried to stop me,” he said, and knew this to be true. Huai’en would have tried to stop him. To stop them. He stared at the wooden slats of the shutters and saw red between them. A fire? Or the setting sun? Did it matter?

“You would have died,” he said.

Something sharp behind him, not just Xiaobao’s gaze but-

A knife.

The tip appeared in his chest, just denting the fabric of his robes, almost in the exact spot that he had stabbed Huai’en. The force of Xiaobao’s thrust had the two of them colliding together, Xiaobao sobbing, his breath hot and tears damp at the side of Su Yin’s throat.

Chapter Text

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“Is it done?” Xiaobao asked when Que Siming stepped out of the room. The doctor had been up all night and bags darkened his eyes, he glanced only briefly at Xiaobao before looking to his other side where Jin Bao stood.

“Shizi should be fine, now,” Jin Bao said with a small, barely there smile, that was gone between one breath and the next, “he’s sleeping but it’s a natural sleep. He should wake up soon.”

Soon. Xiaobao breathed out and stared at the sunrise, nausea from a sleepless night making it hard to focus. The bed in the guest room had not kept him for long. Despite how comfortable it had been he couldn’t wait there, waiting to find out if Su Yin was okay, wondering if Que Siming would be able to cure him in time.

The windows of the room were open, bringing in fresh air as incense curled from the burner, scenting the room with sandalwood. Xiaobao took a seat on a stool by Su Yin’s bedside, catching his hand and holding it tight.

“You shouldn’t be the first thing he sees when he wakes up,” Huai’en stood behind him, hands on Xiaobao’s shoulders, anchoring him in place.

His jealousy was silly. It was. “I see him as a brother,” Xiaobao reminded him.

“He doesn’t see you the same,” Huai’en said, repeating the same argument they’d had the night before.

It was pointless to fight again, so Xiaobao didn’t. Instead he waited for Su Yin to open his eyes, waited for that flicker behind dark lashes to bring wakefulness with it.

“I’ll be by later,” Que Siming said from the doorway, “if he starts acting strangely, walking into duck ponds, saying he can’t die, or reaching for a knife, have someone hold him down.”

That didn’t make any sense at all. Xiaobao opened his mouth to say so but the doctor had already turned away, finally taking his leave with Jin Bao trailing after him. It left Xiaobao alone with Su Yin, well, with Su Yin and Huai’en, the two of them staring down at Su Yin’s pale face.

Dark lashes flickered.

“Su Yin!” Xiaobao lurched forward and was forced back down by Huai’en’s weight on his shoulders, he smiled broadly at Su Yin on the bed as dark, feverish eyes looked him up and down, “You’re awake!”

Cracked lips spread in a slight, tired smile.