Work Text:
It’s a quiet morning in Xiao Shuhe’s beautiful cage.
Outside, the birds of spring flutter and chirp on the rooftops, but inside, Shuhe’s heart is heavier than the snows of winter. The prince can feel Shen Song’s eyes on him as he sips the doctor’s special blend of medicinal tea, but Shuhe does not speak, lost in his burdened mind.
“The last of your bruises have healed,” Shen Song says, thoughtfully. “From… that night. The festival.”
“...Mm,” Shuhe hums.
Shen Song takes a sip of tea. “And your scars are fading, too, aren’t they?”
The prince nods.
“I’m glad to see my remedies worked well.”
Xiao Shuhe lifts out of the cloud in his brain, and turns to look at the doctor. “Shen Song,” he says, quietly. “I am always grateful for your company.”
Shen Song smiles, knowingly. “But...”
“...But I am not much for talk today,” the prince admits, gloomy. “And besides. You have a patient much more needful of your talents than I.”
Shen Song takes a breath, looking into his own teacup. A silence lingers between them, for a long moment.
“He sent me away,” the doctor murmurs, at last.
Shuhe looks up. “He what?”
Shen Song frowns. “He has refused all further treatment, and dismissed me.” He looks up at Xiao Shuhe, sadly. “He told me not to waste my efforts anymore.”
Shuhe lets it sink in, what this means. “I see,” he murmurs.
The doctor waits, hesitant. “Do you wish to see him?” he asks, quietly.
Abruptly, Xiao Shuhe rises from his seat, and steps through the open doors, onto the outer veranda. The metal of his prisoner’s chain scrapes along the wood floor, with an ugly sound.
Shen Song follows, at a distance.
“I can’t forgive him,” the prince says quietly, not looking at his friend.
“Then don’t,” Shen Song replies. “I just wanted you to know.” The doctor sighs. He watches the prince for a long moment. “He really doesn’t have much time left,” he says, gently.
Shuhe’s turn to take a breath. When he finally speaks, the prince’s tone is detached, almost flat. “I remember you said the feigned-death potion has two conflicting ingredients. If mixed alone without a catalyst, it becomes a lethal poison.”
Shen Song’s eyes widen, behind him, and his lips fall open.
A wind blows through the courtyard, stealing away some of the petals from the nearby pear blossom tree. The delicate, fragrant blooms dance around the prince, as they flutter and fall.
“This breeze is pleasantly warm…” Shuhe smiles. “It feels like the winds of the Nan Hui Kingdom.” He reaches out a hand to feel the air, an ephemeral ribbon gliding over his skin.
The last of the pear blossoms settle back down to earth. No one speaks, for a moment.
Then. “Sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I’ll be in a daze for a moment,” Shuhe says, softly. “Looking at my little world within this courtyard, I always think I’ve returned home. I get up, put on a robe, and want to go for a walk.” He breathes a sigh, and shifts his feet; the clink of dragging metal sounds once more. “I forget that I’m still bound. The moment the shackles pull tight… the dream always shatters.”
Shen Song’s voice is quiet but intense. “Shuhe, this poison is deadly. Once you take it… there’s no turning back.” He swallows a thousand thoughts; he walks around to stand face-to-face with the prince. “Have you thought this through?” he asks, solemn and distressed.
“I have,” the prince says, a whisper. “I will tell Duan Ziang I plan to fake my death, and escape. He is suspicious of me, but he trusts you.” Xiao Shuhe holds his friend’s gaze, evenly. “If this poison comes from you, he will trust it.”
Shen Song’s mind races. “If it’s freedom you want… After he dies, I can arrange for you to assume a new identity and live out the rest of your days as someone else…”
Shuhe is steady and still, unwavering. “Do you truly not know what I intend to do?”
The doctor cannot keep the grief from his voice. “Must you sacrifice your life?”
“Shen Song.” The prince takes his friend’s hands in his own, both of them. He holds them gentle but firm; a plea. “You’ve always understood me best. You know me better than all others.”
Shen Song says nothing, watching him.
“All this time, you’ve been my secret keeper and my co-conspirator. My most trusted advisor. My heart’s counsel. For so many years,” Shuhe says fondly, letting a smile dance over his lips. “When I need to hear the truth, you are always ready to speak it. When I am weak, you remind me of my strength. And you demand the best of me, Shen Song.” His dark eyes search his friend’s, for a moment. “Even now… when everything is lost.”
Shen Song falters. “I… I never wish to see you hurt,” he professes, quietly.
The prince nods. “Of course. And when you pushed me to be the ruler the Nan Hui Kingdom needs… it’s what I wanted for myself, after all.”
He hesitates, pained. “Xiao Shuhe,” the doctor asks, regretful, “have I done you wrong?”
“Never,” Shuhe replies, firmly. His thumbs stroke gently over Shen Song’s fingers, soothing. His voice falls to a whisper. “It is only that some wounds cannot be healed, even by your hands.”
The doctor takes a breath, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.
“Shen Song,” the prince asks, so quietly, “can you hear me as Xiao Shuhe’s friend, and nothing more?” His voice trembles with emotion. “If I cannot hold my grief, can you bear that? Can I fall apart, just once?”
“I’m here,” his friend says, fighting the sob rising in his own throat. “Let me be whatever you need.”
A single tear escapes from Shuhe’s eye, and rolls down his cheek. With the smallest voice, he asks, “Will you hate me for loving him, as I hate myself?”
Shen Song can stand it no longer; he pulls his hands from the prince’s desperate grasp and throws his arms around his friend, embracing him fiercely. He does not speak, and only holds his dear friend tightly to his chest, for a long moment. Shuhe’s arms wrap about the doctor as well.
“I miss him,” the prince confesses, a broken whisper over Shen Song’s shoulder. “He lied to me, killed my brother, conquered my kingdom, slaughtered my people… and still I long for the dream we’ll never share. The man who took my heart from me all those years ago is a ghost haunting the man who has taken everything else from me since.”
“Shuhe,” Shen Song says, and hugs him tighter.
“And now – now he is dying, wasting away before my eyes… Shen Song, how can I bear it? How have we come to this?” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’ve always been naive, too trusting. I wanted so much… too much.” Shuhe shakes his head. “I have so many regrets, so many countless sins and failures to atone for.”
Shen Song says nothing, still holding him. He can feel his friend’s tears staining into the fabric at his shoulder.
The prince takes another unsteady breath, sniffling once or twice. “Shen Song… let me have this choice. I, Xiao Shuhe, am begging you. Grant me the dignity I deserve.”
Shen Song finally releases his friend. He steps back, to look into Shuhe’s eyes. “You condemn him to watch you die. It’s a ruthless punishment.”
Xiao Shuhe nods. “A fitting one. The ruthlessness in me, I learned from hating him.”
“...And the tenderness in him, he learned from loving you,” says the doctor, almost with a laugh. “You two are a match indeed… each one bearing the patterns of scars the other has left behind.” He takes a breath, and asks his final question. “You are decided?”
Shuhe speaks with a soft, desperate certainty. “With his suffering, I will finally have my revenge. And with my suffering, I will finally atone.”
The tears Shen Song had been holding back spill over, down his cheeks. “I will not deny you anything you ask, my friend. I only wish I could spare you this, somehow,” he says, quietly. “It means I’ll lose you, too.”
The prince wipes a tear from his friend’s jawline with his sleeve, and sniffs, again. “Can you forgive me?” he whispers.
“Of course,” says Shen Song, with all the love in his broken heart. He takes Shuhe’s hands, again. “And until that time… live the life that you want. Not for me, not for Duan Ziang. Not for anyone else but yourself. Let it be whatever you choose.”
Xiao Shuhe’s dark eyes shine. “Thank you, Shen Song.”
~
His fingers barely tremble, as Xiao Shuhe takes the cup, lifting it slowly toward himself. The liquid inside smells as bitter as a fallen nation, as intolerable as a king in a cage, as harsh as the irrevocable hand of fate.
He watches Duan Ziang’s handsome face, his hopeful eyes, the ghost of his smile. For one last time.
Forgive me, Duan Ziang. Forgive me, my love. And when you can forgive me… find me again. We’ll start anew.