Chapter Text
Like half the campus of the University of Jinzhou, Mortefi has a crush on Jiyan.
Jiyan, who has the heart of the saint and the smile of an angel. Jiyan, who never misses a class and volunteers to answer every question. Jiyan, who has a body so ridiculously muscular and sculpted that it has no business belonging to a taciturn history major, oblivious to the hordes of people he has brought to his knees by merely existing.
Jiyan, who has been as kind as the day Mortefi moved into his neighborhood years ago. Jiyan, who saves a seat for Mortefi in every class they share. Jiyan, who always shoots him a disappointed look when their professors catch Mortefi dozing off next to him—but always subtly flips to the page of his neat notes containing the answer.
Compared to him, Mortefi loses his temper at least four times a day at his roommate alone, attends an average of one and a half lectures per semester, and forfeits about ten percent of his hair to frustration and sleep deprivation (each).
If Jiyan is the epitome of perfection, Mortefi is a dying rat in the gutter. Or at least, that’s certainly what he feels like right now, sitting next to the man in question paying rapt attention in class while Mortefi struggles to keep his own eyes open.
Oh, well. Forget about crushes. At least Mortefi is lucky enough to call himself Jiyan’s friend, even if he’s not too sure how that happened.
“As you all know, two centuries ago, the world was a very different place.” Professor Changli’s serene voice echoes through the sleepy lecture theatre. “Reality itself operated on vastly different principles from the laws of physics today. One prominent difference was the existence of ‘Resonators’—individuals who were able to manipulate certain laws of the universe. Now, can someone tell me who the most powerful Resonator in Huanglong was?”
Where Mortefi sits half-awake, a hand shoots up beside him. “Yes, Jiyan?”
“The then-Magistrate of Jinzhou held the most political power, and was rumoured to have strength rivalling that of the Sentinel’s. However, the Resonator with the most recorded contributions on the battlefield was General Jiyan. He quelled the largest number of TD outbreaks in Huanglong, and was one of the few who survived the Retroact Rain.”
“That’s correct,” Professor Changli smiles. “You’re certainly knowledgeable about your namesake. However, there is one more crucial role General Jiyan played that eventually allowed humanity to overcome the Lament. Does anyone know what it was?”
Jiyan taps a pen on his chin thoughtfully. As the professor’s question flies over Mortefi’s sleep-deprived head, a notification in the corner of his laptop screen catches his attention.
smartass ∙ 5 unread message(s)
[09:34] I’m taking out the trash. There’s a half-used pack of coffee on your table. Do you still want it, or should I throw it away?
[09:35] On that note, how exactly did you manage to mix two and a half packets of coffee into a single mug? I’m actually kind of impressed.
[09:37] Hello? Mortefi?
[09:44] Are you deliberately ignoring me?
[09:54] Since you’re actually attending class, I assume Jiyan is there. You could spare me a second and reply instead of drooling at him, you know. Your coffee is at stake.
The last message has him snapping awake. That little— Mortefi furtively throws a glance to his left. Jiyan, thankfully, remains every bit as attentive to class as he is not. He quickly opens his messaging app.
You
[09:54] stfu you know he’s right beside me you piece of shit
[09:54] and keep your hands off my coffee
smartass
[09:54] Hold on, I just realized it’s expired. I’m throwing it away.
[09:55] Oh, hello there. Got your attention now, have I?
Preoccupied with typing a scathing reply, Mortefi doesn’t even realize Professor Changli’s eyes roaming through the room. After a whole class’ worth of avoidant gazes, her line of sight returns to the first row, where Jiyan tentatively raises his hand again.
“Thank you, Jiyan, but let’s give someone else a chance to answer,” she tells him politely. “How about…your friend beside you?”
It takes a nudge to the side for Mortefi to realize he’s being called. “Huh?” he blinks at Jiyan, who nods towards the front; Professor Changli is standing right before him, smiling ominously. “Uh, what was the question?”
“Your friend has already named two of General Jiyan’s most significant achievements during the Lament—that is, protecting Huanglong against TD outbreaks and his account of the Retroact Rain. There is one more. Can you tell us what it is?”
Beside him, Jiyan coughs softly, conspicuously flipping his notes to the right page. But Professor Changli holds Mortefi’s gaze with her unnerving smile, daring him to look away.
Left with no other choice, Mortefi racks his brain. “Um…was it something about Tacetite?”
A hint of approval graces her lips. “Go on.”
“Tacetite was used extensively during the Lament, especially in weaponry. As the leading combatant on the frontlines, General Jiyan worked closely with researchers to develop new weapons, and personally deployed many prototypes.” He pauses for a moment. “In fact, I’m pretty sure most surviving records of him were made by the same Tacetite researcher.”
“Very good,” She nods, walking away at last. “I know this class starts a little early, but do me a favor and at least pretend to pay attention, alright? Yawns can be quite contagious.”
Mortefi freezes mid-yawn, and a wave of chuckles ripples through the room; he lowers his head, suppressing the urge to sigh. This is why he usually stayed in his room.
“Were you even listening?” Beside him, Jiyan gives him a look that’s equal parts mirthful and impressed, voice pressed to a whisper. “Why attend the lecture at all if you already know everything? I thought you usually skipped classes.”
“…The semester isn’t even half over, so I’m trying not to let truancy become a habit,” Mortefi lies as he massages his temples. “Besides, it’s not so bad when there’s someone in class I know.”
He gets a small smile in return. “So you’re attending class for me?”
“You’ve been so busy lately that I hardly see you anymore,” he grumbles. “Next time, do me a favor and pick a seat closer to the back, alright?”
Jiyan chuckles. “No promises, Mortefi,” he answers mischievously. “Show up next week and we’ll see about that.”
Mortefi huffs in response, but otherwise lets his friend focus on class as his own mind starts to wander. Jiyan is right—when Mortefi chose to take this class, he only had two reasons. The first was that this class was one of very few that covered Tacetite in its syllabus. Unfortunately, it was less about Lament physics as he’d hoped, and more about history.
It’s a history class, Mortefi. The course is literally called ‘Introduction to the history of the Lament’, his roommate had answered unsympathetically after listening to him complain last week. Admit it, you’re just there because you know Jiyan is.
Shut the fuck up, Xiangli Yao had been Mortefi’s reply, because his roommate definitely had not singled out the other reason Mortefi chose to take the class.
“Now, before we wrap up, I would like to remind everyone to start on your term papers,” Professor Changli announces. “Pick an area of interest you’d like to write about, and then get it approved by me before you begin writing. You can find me after class or in my office. That’s all for today.”
Amidst the shuffle of the other students, Jiyan rises from his seat as Mortefi stretches to the ceiling with a yawn. “Any idea what you’ll write about?” Jiyan asks.
“Mm. Something about Tacetite during the Lament, I guess. You?”
“I’ll probably end up writing about the General…a lot about him was covered in class.”
“I’m sure that would be interesting for Professor Changli to read,” Mortefi grins, and Jiyan laughs self-consciously. “Want to consult her now? We can go together.”
Jiyan shakes his head guiltily. “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush today. Lunar New Year is coming up, so the Midnight Rangers are busy with training.”
“Wait, you guys actually ended up going with that club name?”
“Unfortunately. No one else liked the name I came up with.”
“Which was…?”
Jiyan sighs. “Dragon and lion dance troupe.”
That gets Mortefi to release an undignified snort. “Only you would come up with a name so boring,” he snickers even as Jiyan pouts. “Well, you best get going. Your club members are waiting for you, General Jiyan.”
His friend gives him one last withering look before lifting his bag and turning for the door, where his gaze turns hopeful. “I’ll see you next week?”
“Sure.” (What the fuck? No! the sleep-deprived side of him shrieks.) “See you.”
One bright smile later, Jiyan is gone, his long ponytail making heads turn as it sways. Some of their classmates break out in excited whispers and squeals, others gaping wordlessly after him.
Then a few of them catch Mortefi’s eye—and immediately clamp their mouths shut.
…Are his eyebags that bad?
Mildly confused, he makes his way to the teacher’s desk instead. Professor Changli doesn’t seem to have much feedback for him, offering him a few pointers here and there before giving him the green light to go ahead. He conveniently pushes the assignment to the back of his mind, knowing he’ll only start on it hours before the deadline. Right now, all he really wanted was to go back to his room and sleep.
As his feet carry him back, his thoughts drift to his friend. Dragon and lion dance troupe, huh? Mortefi recalls the days Jiyan had just picked up an interest for it in their early teenage years, trying and failing to convince Mortefi to join him, the latter content with staying indoors with his books and contraptions. Before he knew it, almost a decade had passed, and Jiyan was leading a newly-formed club all on his own alongside his hectic schedule.
(Before he knew it, he had fallen for Jiyan, and each day in his friend’s presence only made him fall harder.)
But his thoughts come to a halt when he opens his room door. Right before his eyes, in broad daylight, his roommate holds his entire stash of instant coffee over the bin.
“Xiangli Yao,” he says slowly, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh, back alone? That was sooner than expected,” Xiangli Yao smiles. Then he proceeds to drop the entire bag into the bin.
“You—” Mortefi stomps over, ready to finally strangle his roommate once and for all. “You touch my stuff one more time, and I’ll—”
“They’re all expired, Mortefi, you can’t drink it anymore. You don’t even like instant coffee,” Xiangli Yao points out. When Mortefi’s glare doesn’t turn any less steely, he sighs, offering Mortefi a steaming mug. “I restocked it.”
“Hmph.” He snatches the mug from Xiangli Yao’s hands (though it smells a lot less sweet, the bastard must have switched it out for another brand). “And what do you mean, ‘back alone’?”
“I thought you would spend some time after class hanging out with Jiyan. Since, you know, you already went out of your way to show up.”
“Don’t make it sound like I go for lectures just to swoon like a uselessly smitten maiden,” Mortefi says underneath his breath. Ignoring the way his roommate stays pointedly silent, he continues, “His new club seems to be doing well. Says they have to practice for Lunar New Year or something.” He takes a sip out of his mug, then heaves a long sigh. “Mr. Popular doesn’t have time for me anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Xiangli Yao frowns. “He may be busy, but he’ll always have time for you.”
“He has more important things to do. You know how seriously he takes his studies.”
“You two met up every other day last semester.”
“He was struggling with that programming module.”
“And he had to ask you in particular for help?”
“Do you expect him to ask his classmates from history?”
“I don’t see him having friends other than us. Or just you, really.”
“Because he doesn’t have time to make new friends,” Mortefi snaps. “Not to mention that most of the people who approach him want his hand in marriage, not his friendship.”
“And he’s turned them all away,” Xiangli Yao says meaningfully. “I wonder why.”
He groans. “Not this again. I’m not delusional, and you should stop being delusional too.”
“There must be an explanation for why he stuck with you all these years,” Xiangli Yao reasons matter-of-factly.
Exhaling through his nose, Mortefi’s grip tightens on the mug handle. The ridge of a scar pokes out from underneath his gloves.
“He befriended me out of pity, Xiangli Yao. I’ve told you this before,” he mutters. “Now that I’m holding my own just fine, he has no more reason to stay around. We’re in different majors. Different departments altogether. In just a few more semesters, we’ll graduate. He’s going to be busy working, probably get married and have kids, and then move somewhere far away…who knows how often we’ll see each other then?”
Irritation is an odd look on his roommate, given Xiangli Yao’s patient disposition. Right now, however, he fixes Mortefi with a look that can only be described as utter exasperation. “Have you considered getting new glasses?”
“…How are my glasses relevant to this conversation?”
“Because you’re clearly blind,” he deadpans. Before Mortefi can retort, he pulls a spare chair towards him, patting the seat. “Now stop moping about a hypothetical future without your husband and help me figure out how to debug this.”
Instead of rising to the jab, Mortefi opts to generously ignore his roommate. When Xiangli Yao continues patting the seat insistently, however, he makes his displeasure known through the most blistering glare he can summon as he stalks over. “You owe me.”
“I cleaned our room and replaced your expired coffee, Mortefi, the least you could do is offer your thoughts on why I’m getting an error on line 742 when my code is only 608 lines long.”
As every debugging session with his prodigious roommate goes, Xiangli Yao ends up solving the problem himself in a minute flat, and spends the next half an hour frying Mortefi’s brain about something he’s never even heard of before. He has a feeling that’s just Xiangli Yao’s way of distracting him from his soured mood, which is actually kind of sweet, but he’d sooner die than admit it to the prick.
The next few hours go by uneventfully. He no longer feels like sleeping after the coffee kicks in, but none of his other lessons for the day sound particularly interesting, so he stays in his dorm and continues fiddling away with the broken camera Baizhi asked for his help to repair.
In the late afternoon, his phone buzzes on his table. After sparing a glance for the contact name attached to the messages, he picks it up for a closer look:
jiyan
[04:38] Mortefi, I just went to consult Professor Changli on the term paper. I assume you’ve done so as well, because she suggested that given our selected topics, we could choose to work on a single combined paper as a pair.
[04:38] Are you free now? If you are, I’ll go find you, and we can start brainstorming. Of course, if you’re busy, we can find another day. There’s still plenty of time.
[04:38] Let me know what works for you :)
That gets Mortefi to raise an eyebrow. Did the professor say anything about pair work?
“Is that who I think it is?” Xiangli Yao says without looking away from his laptop. Mortefi flips him off, then unlocks his phone.
You
[04:39] ??? i didn’t know pair work was an option
[04:39] and sure, if you don’t mind the smartass you can find me in my room
jiyan
[04:39] Right? I didn’t know pair work was an option, either. I guess that’s why she told us to consult her first.
[04:39] I’ll see you in about 15 minutes then!
“He wants to discuss some report. I told him he could come over if he didn’t mind you,” Mortefi tosses his phone aside. When Xiangli Yao turns to face him with an impish grin, he hurriedly glares, “Shut up.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he blinks innocently. “Just that I’ll, ah, happen to be making myself scarce right about now.”
“Wh—No you don’t, sit the fuck down!”
“I have class, Mortefi—”
“Don’t fucking lie, your timetable is right there—”
“I’ve been asked to TA for a class coming up in twenty minutes,” he finishes smugly, showing Mortefi an email on his phone saying exactly that. “Bye-bye.”
“I hate you,” Mortefi mutters reproachfully.
“I love you too,” Xiangli Yao replies cheerfully, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he heads out of the room. “Platonically, of course. Your boyfriend can do the rest. Enjoy your date!”
The screwdriver Mortefi throws after his roommate unfortunately hits the closed door instead of his intended target. Grumbling to himself, he picks it up and starts putting away the spare wires and metal bits lying all around his table.
With his nosy roommate now gone, Mortefi allows himself a lopsided smile.
Wasn’t Jiyan intending to write a paper about the General he was named after? The thought alone is amusing enough for Mortefi to consider completing his assignment properly for once. He tries to picture Jiyan dressed in the same outfit that the history textbooks always depicted his namesake in, and ends up snorting in laughter.
He looks at his watch. Just a few more minutes before Jiyan is here. His heart skips a beat.
And then something crashes loudly behind him.
His good mood pops like a burst bubble. “Must be Xiangli Yao’s shit again,” he grunts. He already told the asshole that all the junk stuffed in his shelf was bound to come crashing down in an avalanche someday, and of course it had to happen when the asshole himself was gone. Mortefi closes his eyes, willing the universe to somehow undo his roommate’s folly by the time he opens them again.
Finally, he forces himself to behold the catastrophe unleashed upon his room—and nearly jumps into the ceiling.
“Jiyan?! Where the fuck did you come fr—” Then, noticing something severely amiss with the other person in his room, he cuts himself short. “Wait a minute. You’re…not Jiyan?”
The man on the floor is half-covered in pages of Xiangli Yao’s notes, trying to untangle himself from a long cable in vain. At Mortefi’s shout of alarm, he tenses up, eyes snapping into focus.
Then he breaks into a bright, big smile.
“Mortefi,” he breathes, voice full of joy and relief and something else Mortefi can’t quite place. “You’re here. I—I don’t quite know what happened, what place is this? I—”
“Wait, so you are Jiyan?” Mortefi interrupts him to demand incredulously. He stares the other man down, eyes blown wide. “No, you can’t be. You’re not…Jiyan isn’t so…”
The man before his eyes is undeniably a splitting image of his friend: striking golden eyes, brushed-back hair, and a long teal ponytail tied on the top of his head. And yet, his manner of dress is nothing short of outlandish. A half-robe covers only his left side, the shimmering cloth trailing down to his knees, his right arm sporting a golden gauntlet so ridiculously gaudy that it could only have existed a few centuries ago. Beneath the robe, he wears a sleeveless bodysuit, which…certainly leaves very little to the imagination…
Somewhere at the back of his mind, Mortefi’s common sense smacks him hard with a crowbar.
Okay. Focus. Stop staring at the washing board.
First things first—he has to figure out who the hell this intruder is. Looking closely, it becomes obvious how the stranger differed from his friend: there was that strange red eyeliner around his eyes, and his entire figure was more striking as well. Broader at the shoulders, sharper in the chin, scars in places Mortefi’s pretty sure he doesn’t remember seeing. The way he carried himself was different, too, like he had a great importance about him, or that he was a bit taller.
“Yeah, something isn’t right,” Mortefi mutters to himself. “Why are you so big?”
The stranger’s expression turns amused. “Excuse me?”
“Shit, I didn’t think you’d hear that. Er, what I meant to say is—who the fuck are you?”
In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best way to talk to someone who looks like they could single-handedly lift Mortefi over his head and easily hurl him out of the window. Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem offended, only just as confused as he is about the screwdriver pointed threateningly at him.
“You said it just now, didn’t you? Are you quite alright? Mortefi, it’s me. Jiyan.”
“Okay…and how do you know who I am?”
Throughout the conversation, the stranger’s mysterious smile had never once left his face. At Mortefi’s question, however, a peal of laughter leaves his lips, trailing into chuckles as he stands up and dusts himself off.
“Of course I know who you are, Mortefi,” he beams proudly. “I’m your husband.”