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Soft wind blew on Shen Zechuanʼs pale cheeks. It seemed like itʼs been a while since he last stood here. Despite the time that had passed, he still remembered the courtyard of his old home in Duanzhou well. These fences, the eaves of their house, and the four chairs beneath—one smaller than the others—were familiar sights to him. They brought a tender feeling into his chest.
It wasnʼt that he didnʼt miss home, it was just that heʼd grown so accustomed to the bloody sight of the Chashi Sinkhole whenever he closed his eyes that the light of a happier time seemed so out of reach.
It was finally here.
Shen Zechuan stood, his eyes glazing past the view. When he glanced at the open courtyard, he saw himself practicing the Ji-style boxing stances, his brother and father beside him, giving him instructions. Further away, beyond the fence, he saw himself playing with the neighborhood children, gathered in a circle as a boy told them stories of faraway lands.
The seats under the eaves used to be where his family relaxed after dinner, passing around snacks, but now they were empty. A ghost of a smile crossed Shen Zechuanʼs face, quickly fading.
Why is it that he reminiscences, still?
He could barely remember the topics they brought up over bowls of noodles. He missed them so, even as they lingered only as distant memories in his mind. Itʼs been eight long years, and his mind and heart were heavy with grief for the life and family that was taken from him.
He dropped down and crouched on the short grass, feeling small. He huddled up in his arms with his knees to his chest.
Shen Zechuan attended school from morning until the afternoon, and he used to wait this way for his brother to pick him up, passing the time by folding candy wrappers into frogs until his fingers went sticky from sugar residue.
He was always a sickly child, yet he felt well-loved in this house as everyone doted on him and fussed over his health. He knew no father or mother besides his shifu and shiniang. Ji Mu was the only one he could call his brother.
When they dragged him to Qudu in chains and shackles, heʼd been scared and confused. They pointed and hollered at him, calling him Shen Weiʼs son, Shen bastard— but he didnʼt know anything at all.
He was just fifteen.
He only wanted to tell Ji Mu to come home and have dumplings, and theyʼd all sit together under the eaves as a little family.
Shen Zechuan was staring blankly at the grass at his feet when he heard footsteps approaching. Turning his head to the side, Shen Zechuan was not at all surprised to see that his brother had come to pick him up.
Ji Mu wore simple robes that Hua Pingting made herself, rather than the armor of the Duanzhou Garrison Troops that Shen Zechuan often saw in his dreams. Shiniangʼs handmade robes were much more comfortable, and it made Shen Zechuan feel warm.
“Chuanʼer, itʼs time to go home,” Ji Mu said.
Shen Zechuan stared at him, confused. He glanced at the house before turning back to face his brother. “But this is home.”
“Silly boy,” Ji Mu chuckled. “Come on, ge will take you somewhere else.”
“I donʼt want to go,” Shen Zechuan said resolutely, pouting. “Ge, I want to stay here with you, shifu, and shiniang.”
“But we donʼt live here anymore,” Ji Mu said, his expression gentle and kind. “Youʼll be lonely if you stay.”
“You wonʼt stay?” Shen Zechuan frowned. It took a while before he could say, “Ge, I miss you.”
Ji Mu stood there and said nothing, his tall figure towering over Shen Zechuanʼs crouching one. He asked, “Chuanʼer, how old are you now?”
Shen Zechuan lowered his head. He looked at his hands, strengthened from years of martial practice and work. They were no longer the smooth, small palms that he used to have. He wore plain white robes. This was a habit that never changed, but the style, material, and size were all different. This wasnʼt a piece made by his shiniang.
He touched his hair, much longer than it used to be. He rarely ever wore it up, though lately heʼd gotten used to ribbons and simple pins rather than leaving it loose. Then he touched all over his face, his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, and he realized that he was no longer that guileless boy from Duanzhou.
He was Shen Zechuan; Shen Lanzhou—he fought so hard to win over his own name, to not have it be stained with Shen Weiʼs filthy legacy, but in the end, he just wanted to be that Chuanʼer from home.
He slowly stood up, and realized that he wasnʼt as short as he used to be either. Now that he looked at it, he and Ji Mu were about the same height, when used to hold his geʼs hand and look up at him whenever he led him anywhere.
Ji Mu was twenty-three when he breathed his last. Shen Zechuan was twenty-three now, yet he was still his little brother.
The thought that he would outgrow Ji Mu greatly upset him. But no matter what, he wouldnʼt cry anymore. Deep in his heart, heʼd accepted this reality. It still hurt when he thought about it.
How does grief ever go away? It embraces him as if the passing of the seasons.
“Youʼll keep growing,” Ji Mu said, “and youʼll be happy and healthy.”
Shen Zechuan did not meet his eyes as he nodded. “Mn.”
“So donʼt look so sad.” Ji Mu paused, then sighed fondly. “What am I to do about my didi? Ge canʼt console you forever.”
At that, Shen Zechuan mustered up the courage to lift his chin and take a good look at Ji Mu, who stood still and silent, without injury or harm. This was how it should be. This was how he remembered his brother, tough as a fortress, but gentle as the breeze when he smiled.
Shen Zechuan swallowed the lump in his throat. “Iʼm not sad. Ge, you can go. I can take care of myself now.”
Ji Mu laughed softly. Shen Zechuan didnʼt know what to make of it. His ge always did fuss over Shen Zechuanʼs well-being, training, and how he should grow up to be a fine man.
Shen Zechuan didnʼt know if he was that fine man, but heʼd like to think that if Ji Mu were still here, he wouldnʼt be so disappointed either.
Suddenly solemn, Ji Mu seized him up and exhaled a deep breath. “I just remembered that I promised to give you a grand wedding, and didnʼt get to. Iʼm sorry, Lanzhou.”
Shen Zechuan held his silence. This ʼLanzhouʼ meant that he was no longer just Ji Muʼs little brother, but a man of his own right. Though heʼd never hear it from his brotherʼs mouth, his mind is able to give him this benefit.
Slowly, Shen Zechuan shook his head. “It was a grand wedding. Ge, youʼd like it. Ceʼan is wonderful. He…”
Shen Zechuan trailed off, not knowing what to say. If Ji Mu could meet his husband, what would he think? Perhaps, just like Ji Gang, he wouldʼve been baffled at the idea of Shen Zechuan being with Libeiʼs wolf pup, and refused to accept it at first.
But he also thought that his ge would come to understand it much sooner than his father. Ji Mu took great measures to court the maiden from the Xu household whom he took as his fiancé, and he always did dote on and spoil Shen Zechuan, so much so that he just wanted him to live a good life.
Shen Zechuan had been living well for himself. He concurred, Ji Mu wouldʼve been happy for him too.
Ji Mu smiled. “Seems like I donʼt have to worry after all.”
“...Mn.” Shen Zechuan nodded again, fixed in place, staring beyond Ji Mu into the sunset glow.
What serene scenery. What a perfect outcome. But Shen Zechuan knew heʼd have to wake up to face the real world soon, back to his Xiao Ceʼan. Before he could say more, Ji Mu had pointed behind him.
“Lanzhou, look.”
Shen Zechuan turned around to the scenery of the house once again. Under the eaves, a woman sat alone, knitting fabric in her lap. Shen Zechuanʼs breath hitched. “Shiniang?”
Hua Pingting smiled at him. “Chuanʼer,” she called, “Come, let mother stroke your head.”
Shen Zechuan rushed to her side, before falling to his knees as he held her hands. “Shiniang, I missed you so much.”
For some reason, Shen Zechuan never saw Hua Pingting in his dreams. Even nightmares had spared him of visions of his shiniang, perhaps in thought of how heʼd last seen her, he couldnʼt bear to accept that she had suffered before her death.
It was a cruel way for such a kind woman to go. Heʼd been taken into the Ji family thanks to her, and he couldnʼt be more thankful. He regretted that he hadnʼt made most of it when he was younger.
As Shen Zechuan laid his head on Hua Pingtingʼs lap and she stroked his hair, he couldnʼt help but feel small again. She did this to comfort him whenever he felt bad, in the thick of illness. His shiniang had been the only mother figure for him.
“Good boy,” she cooed, “Donʼt cry now.”
Shen Zechuan blinked the tears away. He looked up at Hua Pingting meekly. “I didnʼt get to even swallow the dumplings you made that day. I forgot to say, they were delicious.”
Hua Pingting sighed with deep feeling. “Theyʼre just dumplings. Youʼre still young. Youʼll eat many more delicious things in the future.”
Shen Zechuan nodded agreeingly. Hua Pingting was pleased by this.
“Take care of your father too. He has no idea when to cut the alcohol.”
“Shifu doesnʼt drink anymore. Shiniang, heʼs well,” Shen Zechuan said.
Hua Pingting seemed to be overcome with emotion as she looked at her son now, much older than sheʼd known him. “Youʼve grown so much.”
Shen Zechuan thought, he really has. Though he never expected that heʼd live far outside of this courtyard, forever confined to doing humble household chores and the occasional martial practice, he wasnʼt unhappy with the path he took.
Heʼd once looked vengeance in the eyes and been prepared to sacrifice his humanity, but love grounded him and tethered him to the earth, becoming his shelter amidst the endless storm. He wouldnʼt change his ways, and he wouldnʼt wish for a life lived meaninglessly either.
As he took a final gaze at his old home, he managed to see Ji Mu and Hua Pingting smiling at him. For once, they werenʼt in mangled, twisted forms; they didnʼt leave or slip away from his fingers. They stayed where they once were, happy, and Shen Zechuan took the first step out to open his eyes.
Shen Zechuan furrowed his brows. Wrapped in the arms of his husband, this was a familiar, comforting feeling. But unbidden emotions shook him from within, and he sobbed quietly.
Xiao Chiye was a light sleeper. It didnʼt take long for him to wake, suddenly alarmed by the man shaking in his arms. Heʼd gotten used to Shen Zechuan waking up from nightmares that his vigilance rose whenever he was awoken at night.
“Lanzhou?” he called, voice rough from sleep but unable to mask the worry. He attempted to grab Shen Zechuanʼs face to have a look at him, but Shen Zechuan wouldnʼt budge and kept his head buried in Xiao Chiyeʼs chest.
After a while, Shen Zechuan said in a small voice, “Iʼm here.”
Xiao Chiye exhaled and placed a hand on the back of Shen Zechuanʼs head, grounding him with a single touch. “Whatʼs wrong?”
Shen Zechuan sniffed and raised his head to meet Xiao Chiyeʼs concerned eyes. In the dimness of the room, they still shone brightly. Shen Zechuan curled his lips up and allowed Xiao Chiye to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Nothing,” Shen Zechuan insisted with a weak shake of his head. Then, laughing lightly at the mild disbelief on his husbandʼs face, said, “Ceʼan, I had a good dream.”
Xiao Chiyeʼs body relaxed under him. He tidied the blanket over them, shielding the two from the early morning chill. He inclined his head slightly to lean towards Shen Zechuan and whispered, “Tell me.”
Shen Zechuan liked this position. The proximity of their bodies brought him immeasurable warmth and comfort, much like the robes his shiniang made. Itʼs a pity that, for all the fancy and expensive robes he could wear now, they wouldnʼt match up to those. Much like how, for all the people and the existences that surrounded him, he had chosen Xiao Ceʼan to be his lifelong companion—and what a steal.
Shen Zechuan looked at his husband fondly, stroking the side of his face. This wolfish man nuzzled into his touch, and Shen Zechuan enjoyed the coarseness of his jaw where stubble was growing again.
Absentmindedly, Shen Zechuan said, “Ceʼan, I want dumplings.”
Xiao Chiye blinked and glanced at the window where the blinds allowed the tiniest bit of light in their room. It should still be the hour of yin, but it would soon be the hour of mao.1 “We can have dumplings for breakfast soon. But why?”
Shen Zechuan shook his head. “I want you to make them.”
Xiao Chiye looked at Shen Zechuan with bewilderment for all but a moment. This expression soon melted into amusement, where his lips tilted into a handsome smile. Shen Zechuan would recognize it even if he closed his eyes.
“If my wife wants it,” Xiao Chiye conceded. “But why all of a sudden?”
“I somehow miss the taste of home,” Shen Zechuan said. Then he locked eyes with Xiao Chiye, and leaned in close enough to kiss him, adding, “Youʼre my home now.”
Xiao Chiye didnʼt miss the implication and simply chuckled. He pulled Shen Zechuan even closer to his side and kissed his ear, his jaw, the side of his neck, drawing pleasant mewls out of Shen Zechuan.
“But this place isnʼt good enough,” Xiao Chiye said between his kisses. “Libei is better.”
“Duanzhou…” Shen Zechuan frowned as teeth dug into the skin of his neck. “Forget about it. Iʼll have a residence for shifu to stay. We can visit him every spring and fall.”
Xiao Chiye suddenly rolled over and propped himself above Shen Zechuan, staring at him fiercely. “Shen Lanzhou, you woke me up and worried me over this. Do you know where you have erred?”
Shen Zechuan gave him a coy smile. “Will A-Ye punish me?”
“That depends. Do you still want dumplings?”
“I do,” Shen Zechuan replied. But his eyes were full of mirth, and none of the sadness or grief remained.
Xiao Chiye scoffed, closing the distance to meet their lips properly.
Later, once sweat has thoroughly soaked through the bedsheets and the sun is up, Xiao Chiye kissed his cheek and lingered on the red jade bead hanging off Shen Zechuanʼs ear. It was a permanent mark of his possession. Xiao Chiye licked and bit it all over until Shen Zechuan shivered among their tangled limbs, the warmth of their bodies, never to part.
“Lanzhou, are you happy?” Xiao Chiye asked.
Shen Zechuan didnʼt hesitate to say, “I am.”
From now on, heʼd only have blissful days to come.