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Shen Song moves quickly across the Sixth Prince’s manor grounds, long sleeves fluttering in the chill morning air.
The carriage ride yesterday had been harrowing; the two of them desperately fleeing the place where Xiao Shuhe had been held and tortured on the orders of his own brother. The prince had trembled beside him, struggling to put words to the cruelty he had endured. As a doctor, Shen Song had been horrified at the sight of Shuhe’s mangled, bloodied fingers; as the prince’s friend, Shen Song had been horrified at the way Xiao Shuhe seemed shrunken and shaken to the core, almost a shadow of himself.
Deep within the prince, something more than trust had broken that day – something profound. Something Shen Song knows may never fully heal, even with all his skill.
Shen Song had meticulously cleaned and dressed his wounds, and Xiao Shuhe told him of his plan to share one last meal with Duan Ziang, and then send him away. As much as it would grieve the prince to do it, it would keep them both safer, for the time being – or, at least, he hoped.
Shen Song had left the prince to his plans, and then had spent the better part of the night worrying about his charge. Partly to assuage his own fears, he had promised Xiao Shuhe that he would return at first light – not only to clean and re-bandage his wounds, but to apply a fresh balm of his own concoction, which should soothe any lingering pain and accelerate healing.
With the morning sun just barely breaching the eastern horizon, Shen Song hurries now to Shuhe’s chambers, to fulfill his promise. He knocks politely, and calls, “Your Highness, I have come,” before pushing open the door and entering.
Shen Song glances around into the other rooms, but he doesn’t expect to find his friend in the study or the music room or the outer veranda this early. Instead, he heads for the bedchamber, announcing himself as he goes. “Xiao Shuhe, I am here as I promised –”
Entering the space, Shen Song sees his friend sitting on the bed, bed linens all askew, his hair down and eyes somewhat panicked and wide, as though startled by the doctor’s arrival. “Sh-Shen Song! Ah, you promised… o-of course,” the prince says, and his eyes flit elsewhere.
Shen Song follows Shuhe’s glance to a corner of the room, where, to his surprise, Duan Ziang is standing.
“Duan-xiong... good morning,” Shen Song says, awkwardly.
“G-good morning,” he stutters in reply.
Shen Song does not miss Xiao Shuhe’s fond little smile, even though he tries to hide it.
The doctor quickly recovers, holding up his medical supplies. “I promised to return this morning to check on your injuries and re-dress your bandages, Your Highness,” he says to Shuhe. “I brought the healing balm I spoke of as well.”
Duan Ziang pipes up, from his corner. “I-I’ll just go to the yard to practice my training drills, Shu– ah, Your Highness.” He nods to both of them, and grabs his sword, left in its sheath on a chair, before he quickly makes for the doors.
Shen Song watches him go, noting his slightly disheveled hairstyle, the flush in his cheeks, the haste in his exit, and the fact that he isn’t wearing enough layers for the chill of the morning. The doctor ponders, a moment. Duan Ziang hadn’t exactly been hiding in the corner of the room where Shen Song had found him, but he himself seemed surprised to be there.
In life, as in medicine, the most likely conclusion is often the most obvious.
...Well then.
Not a terribly astonishing revelation, all things considered. It’s just… interesting timing, the doctor supposes.
Shen Song keeps his thoughts to himself, and busies himself with tending to his patient, carefully unwrapping the bandages from the previous evening and fretting over the mottled skin and darkening bruises. With a shallow bowl of water and a cloth, he cleans each injured finger as delicately as he can.
“Is the pain worse than yesterday?” he asks.
Shuhe seems surprised by the question. “Ah… about the same,” he replies, distracted.
“Any new symptoms? Coughing blood? Dizziness? Fever?”
“No, I, ah… no. Nothing like that.”
Shen Song finds Xiao Shuhe’s pulse point with two fingers, to check his meridians. The doctor takes a moment to look over his friend, who is unable to return his gaze, lowering his eyes.
“Your lips are swollen,” Shen Song says, quietly.
Shuhe’s eyes widen, and his pulse quickens slightly, but he does not answer.
“And there is a new bruise on your neck, just below the jaw…”
“Th-that is… unrelated,” the prince stammers.
“Is it?” Shen Song asks, raising an eyebrow.
No one speaks, for a moment.
Shen Song deliberately presses two fingers into the aforementioned bruise, just a little. Shuhe takes a little hissing inhale, and flinches away, his ears reddening.
The doctor smirks, and turns back to his supplies. “I take it your dinner with Duan Ziang went well, then?”
Xiao Shuhe looks away, and sighs. “You’re teasing me.”
“Have I reason to tease you?” asks Shen Song, playing innocent.
The prince pouts. “Very well, I confess the truth. I – I changed my mind, about sending Duan Ziang away.” He lifts his chin, straightening his posture. “I think keeping him at the manor will be safer for both of us. If he stays close, I can watch over him and he over me; this is the wisest strategy given the current turmoil at court.”
The doctor smiles. “I trust Your Highness to choose the wisest course of action, naturally.”
“Thank you, Shen Song.”
“After all,” he says, keeping his face neutral, “if one is to watch over him all night, can any place be safer than Your Highness’ bedchamber?”
Xiao Shuhe deflates, caught. His eyes squeeze shut, and he lets out a small wail of protest, ears violently red.
The doctor takes pity on his friend, with a smile. “Alright, alright, enough of that. Let me apply the balm now.”
For a long minute, Shen Song focuses wholly on his duties, giving Shuhe the silence to gather back his lost face. The prince’s ears stay red for quite a while, but the doctor’s only concern is his injured fingers. Shen Song gently rubs healing balm over the injuries with delicate care, ensuring it will do its intended job until he can change the bandage once again.
Certain that he has done all he can for the time being, Shen Song carefully re-wraps the prince’s hand with fresh gauze, and ties the bandages securely. Then he rests his hand over Shuhe’s, and levels him with a serious expression.
“My dear friend. I hope I need not tell you this, but... please take care. These times are uncertain, and we must scrutinize even those we trust, lest they hurt us deeper than an enemy could.” He turns the prince’s injured hand over, to illustrate the point. “Your Highness is wise, and knows his own heart best.” Shen Song gives him a sympathetic look. “I only hope you know what you are getting into.”
Shuhe blinks at him, eyes sad. “I don’t,” he confesses, voice an honest whisper. “This is the first time I… well. Who knows what may happen.”
The doctor nods. “Will you permit me a curious question?”
The prince stares.
“When you say ‘first time’…” he says, leaning closer and smirking.
Xiao Shuhe’s uninjured hand darts out, to cover the doctor’s lips, and prevent him from speaking further. “Shen Song.”
The doctor lifts his eyebrows, silent. The prince takes a breath.
“I – you know me best. You are much more than a court physician to me.” Shuhe lets his hand drop from the doctor’s mouth, and instead brings it to his own chest. “Any secret of my heart, I would not keep from you. You know this.”
Shen Song nods again, sincere. “Of course. I value Your Highness’ confidence as I value my own life.”
Shuhe looks at his friend evenly. “In the name of our friendship, if you ask this question of me, I will answer it.” The prince’s voice drops to a low murmur, unvarnished and vulnerable. “But, in the name of our friendship… I beg you not to.”
Shen Song laughs aloud, affectionately. “You need not tell me, Shuhe; I will spare us both.” His dark eyes sparkle with amusement. “All I truly wish to know is this: are you happy with the choice you have made?”
Xiao Shuhe takes a breath and smiles, shy at first, but growing steadily wider; the likes of which Shen Song hasn’t seen on his friend’s face in a long time. The prince’s subsequent nod is unnecessary confirmation.
The doctor smiles back. “Very well, I am satisfied.” He collects his scattered medicinal supplies and returns them to his box. “I will come again this evening with some tea, which should further help the pain.” Cheekily, he quirks an eyebrow. “Do remember that I will return, won’t you?”
The prince makes a face at him and rolls his eyes, grinning. “Of course, you menace.”
~
Later that evening, when Shen Song returns as he promised, the prince is ready for him. Shuhe asks Duan Ziang to give them a moment alone, and the swordsman obliges.
“How was the pain today?” Shen Song asks, setting down his healer’s box.
“Much better. The balm you applied helped tremendously.”
“Good,” he nods. “I have brought the tea I mentioned earlier,” the doctor says, removing a satchel from his sleeve and handing it over. “Please drink it before you rest this evening.”
Xiao Shuhe smiles. “I will.”
“And,” Shen Song adds, reaching into his box, and producing a little stoppered jar about as wide as his hand, “this is also for you.”
Shuhe takes it, his expression curious. “A new medicine?”
Shen Song shakes his head. “Not exactly.”
“What is it?”
The doctor takes a breath, before replying. “It is… an oil of my own making, perfected after much trial and error. It can be applied to the skin to, ah… soothe irritation.” His eyes watch the prince’s, expression carefully neutral as he speaks. “I have infused it with the gentle fragrance of peach blossoms. If lightly agitated with one’s fingers, the concoction warms slightly, and the sensation is… pleasant.” He clears his throat, somewhat embarrassed. “I – I encourage you to try it.”
Shuhe seems lost. “It sounds lovely, Shen Song. But whatever would I…”
“Perhaps,” the doctor interrupts awkwardly, cringing internally at himself, “if you mention it to Duan Ziang, he may have some ideas for its use…?”
Understanding washes over the prince in waves; his face turns over and over with shock and embarrassment and amusement and delight. “Sh-Shen Song!” he exclaims, ears going bright pink. He looks down at the little jar in his hands with fascination and horror. “When did you – how did you – why did you –”
The doctor holds up a hand, to cover his friend’s lips; an echo of earlier in the day. “Xiao Shuhe. In the name of our friendship, if you ask this question of me, I will answer it,” he blurts quickly, dropping his hand, sincere but mortified. “But, in the name of our friendship… can I beg you not to?”
Shuhe cannot help but laugh, and Shen Song smiles, relieved. Then, the prince nods, satisfied. “Very well, keep your secrets. I’m sure I’ll find... some use for it,” he says, shyly. “Please accept my thanks.” Shuhe smiles at the doctor, fondly.
“Of course, you menace,” Shen Song replies.