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At eighteen, the man once known as Xiao Jiu, now Wei Jiu, sat meditating in the garden of a small estate. He was eight months pregnant and full of fear that somehow this baby would come out knowing that he wasn’t good enough.
This was his first child, his first pregnancy, and it had progressed at a rate so alarmingly smooth and predictable that he couldn’t help but think there was trouble just on the horizon. The first words out of his baby’s mouth would be “I hate you, mama;” his kind, loving mate would come home with another omega on his arm and tell Wei Jiu that their fated bond simply wasn’t enough anymore, that Wei Jiu was too prickly and mean to be a proper partner; that suddenly the scar on his hip, his number name, would be a problem for the whole of the Wei estate and they would collectively join together to throw him back onto the streets where he belonged. As it was, meditating was not progressing as seamlessly as he was hoping it to.
Legs folded into lotus position underneath the swell of his stomach, he brought his hands down to cradle his baby through his skin as he opened his eyes, watching the swaying flowers and foliage before him. He could feel it move, body comfortable in sleep inside him, back against his hand and head firmly planted against his bladder, every twitch of movement sending him to the chamber pot once more. When he needed to be mesmerized, he tried to picture it, something inside of him, growing, nurturing. He was responsible for this; his body was capable of giving life.
Even still, he didn’t love being pregnant. He’d met an omega once, on a trip out to the town at the foot of the mountain with A-Cheng’s mother, who had claimed it was his favorite thing, that he adored the feeling of holding his babies within him. The omega had been holding a one year old and had two other children clutching his robes and had expressed the desire to have many babies, to be pregnant so long as his body could withstand it. Wei Jiu didn’t feel that way; in fact, he felt completely neutral about the journey of it. He’d hated those early days of being so nauseous he could barely eat, when he’d had to live off of ginger candies and tea to get through the day, and he wasn’t a fan of these late days either, when his lower back and feet were aching, where his breasts felt so tender and heavy he wished he could pluck them off of his body. He was only glad that he was pregnant now, and not earlier.
He and his A-Cheng had been mated for three years now, having found each other by scent and pheromone in the Storehouse. They had never explicitly tried to have a child during all that time, but they’d done nothing to prevent the possibility either. Though they only saw each other every three months, the periods often lined up so that they had shared plenty of heats and ruts, their cycles having synced up after their initial meeting. Honestly, Wei Jiu thought he’d get pregnant far sooner, maybe even after that first time, and if not then, in the myriad times after, when in their cycles and out of them, he and his mate had enjoyed each other’s company. The doctor that Madam Wei had conscripted to check on him regularly had told him it was thanks to malnutrition in his early childhood and during the initial days of his presentation that he was struggling with fertility. Wei Jiu didn’t think he was struggling. The doctor had warned him that subsequent pregnancies could be more difficult, but Wei Jiu wasn’t even sure he wanted more children. It all depended on this one.
He rubbed his stomach; if he could imbue this child with only aspects of his mate, with all of the kind, gentle strength of his Wei Cheng, his Qingwei, the warm sun in his sky, the fire that melts his ice, he would do so.
“A-Jiu?” Madam Wei entered the garden. “Are you still meditating?”
He liked Madam Wei. When he had been brought to the manor, she had been a firm presence at his back, disallowing anyone from questioning his worth or authority as her son’s fated mate and lawful husband. When his mate was gone, up the mountain to pursue his studies in cultivation and his duties as successor to the Wan Jian Peak Lord, Madam Wei was the one who would make sure he was comfortable, that he had the necessary materials for his nest, that his ankles weren’t swelling too much, that he was getting enough food.
“No,” he answered. “Head’s too full of other things.” He turned back to her. “Is father-in-law on his way back, yet?”
“I’ve just got word. We’ll be able to eat together tonight, if you wish to join us.”
Family was a concept he was still getting used to; the closest he’d ever gotten had been Qi-ge, who had still been at the tender age of thirteen when the Storehouse had purchased all of the omegas of their particular batch of slaves, who had told Wei Jiu that he would become a rich and powerful cultivator worthy of being his mate as he was being taken away. During the early days at the Storehouse, Wei Jiu had imagined that future day when Qi-ge would show up with a host of servants, find his scent, and spirit him away as lawful husband. But nowadays, it was easier to think about Qi-ge as a prodigal older brother than as anything. Maybe that was always how he should have been thinking of him. Either way, he’d kept an ear out, especially when A-Cheng spoke of the other disciples at his sect, for news of anyone who sounded like his Qi-ge. So far, he had nothing.
Madam and Master Wei, fuqin and muqin, had softened him up, he thought, in the same ways that the Storehouse had. He never had to fight anyone at the Storehouse for a meal, and he was never beaten for his inadequacies. When he got into fights with others, it was a clash of tempers that had sparked the first blows; he didn’t fight anymore. Not only was there no one to fight in the Wei manor, but no one grated on him quite like other street kids did. No one stole food from his mouth here. They gave and gave to him, and by the gods, did he take and take.
“I think I’ll eat in the garden tonight,” he said, knowing she would not deny him. That she may even offer to join him, to drag her husband out from the comfort of the manor so that they all may be together.
“A fine idea,” she said. “I’ll have the servants prepare a pavilion for all three of us.”
“Did father-in-law say anything else?” he pried.
“Nothing that you need to hear, my boy. Our trade is still strong in the west, and there is still plentiful interest in our goods at home.”
The Wei family had two branches to their merchant operation, as Wei Jiu understood it. Partially, they sponsored master carpenters across the country and acted as representatives for the masters in selling those goods, so that the carpenters could focus on their craft, rather than spending so much time trying to market themselves. The second part of their business had come around with Master Wei, who had inherited the business after the deaths of his father and elder brother despite the fact that he’d been pursuing cultivation at the time. Now, they produced and sold cultivation goods to those who needed them: rogue cultivators and small sects, sometimes large sects if they could get a good contract. Wei Jiu knew his mate’s sect, Cang Qiong, was one of their clients.
Regardless, there had been no need to pry, for as soon as Master Wei had returned to his estate and Wei Jiu and Madam Wei had met him at the door, he had swept his arms around the both of them, swiped his scent over their backs and shoulders, he had turned and gestured to a large package being brought into the manor by two servants.
“A gift,” he said. “For our A-Cheng and xifu. I see I am not too late yet.” He wore a wide grin, as he often did when Wei Jiu saw him, and he towered over the both of them. Wei Haoran, the patriarch of the Wei family, was a tall and broad man, who had cultivated enough to stay strong and youthful even as he was approaching becoming a grandparent. Xie Hongmei, his wife, though not a cultivator, showed minimal signs of aging herself. It was only ever obvious in the pull of her cheeks when she smiled.
The gift was hauled back to Wei Jiu’s room, the one he shared with A-Cheng when he was around, and unpackaged. Master Wei had, as promised, commissioned a cradle made of a dark oak, engraved with many fantastical creatures, stained and oiled. It was lovely, and found Wei Jiu’s hands migrating to his stomach again. It didn’t take much for that to happen nowadays. His mind was on his baby when it was not diverted toward other, less significant things.
They did take dinner out in the garden that night, and Master Wei was cheerful about it, though he had ridden hard across many li to reach home again. Wei Jiu suspected that he had simply missed them; he often felt that way, that little gaping hole in his chest, about his Qingwei.
The baby came early. Wei Jiu was brought to the midwives, and a qi messenger was sent to Wan Jian peak to summon Wei Cheng. He had been prepared for this, but he still hadn’t been prepared for there to be so many hands on him. A midwife stood behind him, and Madam Wei stood at his side, both supporting him in his upright position, while a midwife crouched at his feet, waiting for the contractions to signal his body’s readiness.
When his Qingwei arrived, it had been two shichen, and they were still waiting.
Ultimately, the labor had taken a total of six shichen, as though his body had wanted to hold his baby a little longer despite breaking water; when it was over, he was coached through delivering the placenta and then wiped down with clean cloths, to wash away the sweat and blood. The midwives took the baby to clean and monitor, and he was escorted by Madam Wei and his Qingwei back to his nest, where he curled up in his mate’s arms until he could receive his baby.
His body ached, he almost wanted to cry, but he relaxed in his husband’s scent, jostled awake to the sound of a small, wiry cry when a tiny body was pushed into his arms. His baby’s face was red and wrinkled and scrunched up in displeasure, and yet somehow it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Good tidings,” said the midwife who had brought him the baby. “You have an alpha son.”
Qingwei held him tight, as he prodded open his robes and brought the baby to his bare chest, to feed and to comfort and to let his scent imprint onto the tiny creature.
“A baby,” he said, a little delirious from the pain of birth. “A little baby.”
“You’re incredible, A-Jiu,” said A-Cheng. “You’ve done so well.”
“It was the worst thing in the world,” he said. “But gods, look at him. A-Cheng, look at him.” He held up their baby, satisfied only when his mate’s wrist came and marked their baby’s head and body with his scent.
“He’ll be a strong boy. A handsome little alpha.”
“Six shichen,” Wei Jiu bemoaned. “Gods, I’d do it again.”
“You would?”
“Look at him,” he said, as though that were answer enough.
When Wei Jiu was twenty six, his husband became the peak lord of Wan Jian, and their family was moved up into the mountain. He was carried over the threshold of their new manor, their children chose their new rooms, and they christened their own. When Wei Jiu was twenty six, he finally met his Qi-ge again.
The newly ascended sect leader was making rounds throughout each of the peaks to ensure all of the new lords were settled and had what they needed. On the second day of these rounds, he climbed Wan Jian, knocked on the door of its manor, and Wei Jiu answered it. He had known his face at once, recognizing his eyebrows, the squareness of his jaw, and those deeply caring eyes, but all at once, Wei Jiu found himself not knowing what to do. His Qi-ge was a mirrored reflection of him, frozen at the door of the manor with wide eyes and an open mouth while Wei Jiu could only stare, holding the door open.
His husband came up behind him, drawing the door out of his hand and wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Zhangmen-shixiong,” said A-Cheng. “Thank you for your visit. Please, come in.” He maneuvered himself and Wei Jiu slightly out of the way. “I’m no good at preparing tea, but my husband is a marvel. Would you?” The last was directed at him, but it all but flew over his head.
“The sect leader.” Even his own voice barely registered to him. “The Qiong Ding head disciple Yue Qingyuan.” The head disciple that his Qingwei had gone on many missions with, who had been starring in many stories from his husband, all by his courtesy name, since Wei Jiu was sixteen.
“I’ve told you about him, haven’t I?”
Wei Jiu nodded.
“A-Jiu, are you alright?”
He nodded again.
“It’s just—”
“I didn’t know you were married, Wei-shidi,” Qi-ge broke out of his stupor to say. His eyes danced between the two. “I thought you were still—”
“No, we…” Wei Jiu said. “We’ve been married for a long time now.”
“And you’re happy?” Qi-ge looked so worried, and Wei Jiu’s chest burned to see it.
“He’s very kind. Your shidi is a wonderful husband.”
His Qi-ge sagged in relief, strings cut, and he toppled forward to wrap his arms around Wei Jiu. It felt like time hadn’t passed at all. Qi-ge’s hugs had always been so warm and all-encompassing, and now that his arms were stronger, bigger, their embrace was firm, like Wei Jiu had always imagined it being when they met again.
“Zhangmen-shixiong?” said his Qingwei, behind him.
“I didn’t know where you were,” said Qi-ge. “I searched every Storehouse I found, and none of them had you.”
“I’m alright,” Wei Jiu promised. “I missed you.”
He pushed Qi-ge away, who went easily, and leaned back against his husband.
“A-Cheng,” he said. “I told you about my brother.”
Qi-ge’s eyes glistened. Qingwei’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, and all at once, Wei Jiu felt warm and complete again.
“Ah, your brother,” he said. The big lug’s voice sounded a little wet. “I’m glad you’ve come to visit, shixiong.”
“Yes, I’m…” He didn’t seem to be able to finish that thought.
“Qi-ge should also meet the boys,” said Wei Jiu.
“Right, shixiong. Your nephews.” Qingwei pulled away again. “I’ll go get them.” And he vanished into the house, likely in search of where their elder son would be playing with his wooden sword, and to where their younger would be down for his nap.
Wei Jiu smiled up at Yue Qi and nodded deeper into the house.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll make tea.”
Yue Qi acquiesced, closing the manor’s door behind him.