Work Text:
They have gone through, for the lack of a better term, training for He Yan to play the part of a newly wedded woman, but it’s clear her clumsiness is due to her lack of experience in acting like a woman. Thankfully, to him only, allowing them to continue the facade in the presence of others, but it’s telling.
She had no experience in what women were good at: cooking, embroidery, music, the list goes on. Give her a sword and she will win the battle, give her a paintbrush and she’ll draw disfigured birds instead of petite plum blossoms.
More than once, Xiao Jue catches He Yan curiously watching how the noble ladies behave, the demure wave of fans, soft-spoken way of speech and the way their feet thread lightly–similar to a general’s, yet very much different. Not only that, it seems the common way of living is also a novelty to He Yan. Her eyes wide with delight as she browses the market, stall to stall, like a little kid out to play.
Xiao Jue is placing taels of silver in the tanghulu storeowner’s hands before he realises it. “Make one for her.”
“Really?!” He Yan beams, happiness clear as day on her face. Xiao Jue barely remembers to nod.
It becomes a common occurence: He Yan placing her hands on something, Xiao Jue placing silver thereafter. It’s to the point He Yan herself questions why he is acting so uncharacteristically nice, to which he doesn’t know either. Why, indeed.
Walking along the streets of Jiyang became a daily affair for them. Mostly because they need to source for information, there is no use in being cooped up in the inns they have been hopping in. The way to central is a bit of a distance, still.
The two of them have rarely stayed apart from each other, other than to do their daily necessities. Which is why, when Xiao Jue has his back turned against He Yan momentarily to talk to Feinu, it attracts the bees to the flower. Dressed in men’s garbs, He Yan is a fair-skinned boy who is rather short in height. Dressed in women’s garments, however, she looks every bit a young lady of marriageable age. Her five features are adequate, hair half tied up in intricate hairstyles, even her attendant that is Song Tao Tao in disguise has dresses in such fine material it signifies decent wealth and family background.
“Lady, if this one may dare ask for your name?” asks a passerby. “Your beauty astounds me. I believe this is love at first sight.”
He Yan brightens at the compliment, happy her disguise is effective.
Now, Xiao Jue has a good temperament. He is often even-toned when speaking, he is just and righteous with his actions, he is generous when it comes to rewards. From the commoners’ gossip, accidentally overheard by one of the garrison’s men, he is at the top of the list of bachelors they want to marry.
He strides over to He Yan, pulls her towards him with a hand on her waist. He glares coldly. “My wife and I are new to this town. Would this gentleman be so kind as to guide us towards General Cui’s mansion?” Get lost, he implies.
To no one’s surprise except maybe He Yan’s, the man scurries off quickly with a stuttered reply, startled by Xiao Jue’s imposing figure.
All is fair in love and war.
Their disguise may be foolproof, albeit, it comes with its own set of flaws.
Is this what his sister-in-law liked to mention about having to block the flowers, Xiao Jue wonders. The women in his family, namely his mother, and later on his sister-in-law, have always stressed the need to never interfere in a quarrel between two ladies. On the other hand, his father did also mention how stepping in to defend his wife gave him a wonderfully cooked dinner that evening, so.
“Whatever my wife wants,” Xiao Jue instructs the dressmaker. He ignores the outraged look from the other patrons of the shop.
“A hundred silvers? This is too much–”
“It’s merely a hundred. If it pleases my wife, then it’s worth it.”
He Yan is at a loss for words. “Does it look good?” she asks.
Xiao Jue answers, “Yes.”
They are in a world of their own.
Later on, when he sees He Yan dressed in layers of pink and orange, looking every bit a beautiful, noble of high stature, Xiao Jue knows it was money well spent.
Even if He Yan decides to make his life difficult.
A teasing glint comes into He Yan’s eyes, one that Xiao Jue knows holds no good news for him. He braces himself.
“Husband,” He Yan begs, voice coy and sweet. She leans towards him, batting her eyelashes, going all out on playing the part of a loving wife.
Xiao Jue nearly flinches, heart beating rapidly. He warns under his breath, “Speak properly.”
The dress-stealer from earlier seems intent on making his wife suffer in some way: one by one, they imply and insinuate. He Yan has only narrowly avoided one obstacle when she is thrown another.
He tends to spoil her, he himself is starting to find. “My wife’s playing is meant for my ears only,” he announces to the room at large. “A promise made upon marriage can’t be broken. Do be understanding. If you must insist on listening to music, let me take her place.”
There. Not a lie, mostly. He has been the only person to hear He Yan’s guqin’s playing, and he is the only person that she has ever performed for. Somehow, this pleases him greatly.
The servants bring out his guqin–the one gifted by He Yan. It is a far cry from his old one, but knowing how she painstakingly saved and spent months of her meagre salary on it, he’s grown quite fond of it.
He recalls Madam Cui whispering to He Yan that there was a surprise in their room. In their earlier busy morning, he paid little mind to it and merely instructed the attendants to put their belongings in the room. Now that it is time to retire for the night, Xiao Jue finds himself severely shortsighted.
Of course, it is a room meant for a newly-wedded couple.
He carefully glances at He Yan to see her reaction. Her mouth is agape with surprise–and delight. Xiao Jue realises that such a luxury might be a novelty for her. The Xiao family estate has similar furnishings, and even though he has been at the Yezhou garrison for a good part of the year, his quarters, spacious and quiet, are fit for a commander. He Yan, having lived her whole life in barracks and shared dormitories, with men, no less, would have never had experienced such.
Stepping inside their bedchambers, Xiao Jue stop in stunned silence. Above their bed–their one bed–and spread across the wall, are paintings of couples engaged in, well, coupling.
Xiao Jue is recovering from the shock of the sight when He Yan barrels on, “Commander, do you want to sleep on the right side or left side?”
“You can choose,” he barely manages.
The next morning, Xiao Jue wakes up feeling like he’s on the losing end (of what, exactly?). Hence, when He Yan, in her typical playfulness, starts teasing Xiao Jue about doing the duties of a husband, he calls her bluff. He takes over the makeup brush she’s holding, and leans in to dab colour on her face.
This close, he can count the number of eyelashes she has. He Yan is pretty, he acknowledges, not for the first time. It does not slip his notice how flustered she has become by their close proximity, and he returns the teasing with a smirk. “Why is your face so red?”
He Yan complains, feeling indignant suddenly. “Your good looks keep attracting trouble, why must I bear the consequences?” She refers to the jealous nieces of General Cui’s, who seem intent on creating trouble for her.
Wisely, Xiao Jue remains silent, and instead offers her food to eat.
The Water God Festival is a fun experience, if they ignore the peanut gallery that surrounds them.
It’s become muscle memory at this point for He Yan to loop her hands through Xiao Jue’s arms wherever they are. The good thing is that she no longer stumbles on the long lengths of her dresses; the bad thing is that there is no place to shield her hands from the cold spring breeze.
“Cold?” Xiao Jue asks.
He Yan nods helplessly. It’s getting hard to hide her reactions around him.
Wordlessly, Xiao Jue places his own hands over hers–and his body must run hot because the temperature difference is akin to holding a cup of warm tea. He Yan doesn’t think she’s imagining it: Xiao Jue shifts to stand slightly ahead, to block the wind. He is tall and with broad shoulders, He Yan feels every bit the part of a wife with a loving husband.
They partake in the festivities, buy trinkets and eat street food.
In the never-ending debacle of trying to block the flowers, He Yan finds herself getting roped into participating in the dance ceremony. It is rather cute how the girls try their best to make He Yan a fool of herself, a pity she lived her past years dealing with all sorts of rankling. They make her play the Liar Fox villain, who has to confess ten secrets to the immortal being, as the legend goes.
“I will play the immortal, then.” Xiao Jue declares, to the surprise of everyone. “How can I let my wife’s secrets be known to others?”
With both of them having martial arts background, naturally, they do not know how to dance. He Yan tries, nonetheless.
“Then, let me tell you my ten secrets.”
“I am listening.” Xiao Jue replies. His gaze follows her, as she moves in a circle around him, sleeves fluttering with each wave of hand.
“–and my last secret,” He Yan whispers into Xiao Jue's ear. “I love the moon, but the moon does not know.”