Archive of Our Own

1.

The first time Jingyan ever met Xiao Shu was also the first time he’d been permitted to leave the Palace grounds, to attend the celebration of the one year anniversary of Xiao Shu’s birth at the Lin Household. As Jingyan was only three, he had spent his life up until this point within the Palace walls, accompanied by Auntie Yueyao, his mother, or on occasion his brother Prince Qi at all times.

However, due to the close relationship between Prince Qi and the Lin family, Prince Qi was invited to attend the birthday celebration of the first Lin baby, and had decided to bring little Jingyan along with him.

Jingyan had initially been more excited by the idea of being allowed to leave the confines of the Palace, with his favourite brother, no less, than he had been about meeting a baby.

This changed when Princess Jinyang asked, “Jingyan, would you like to hold him?” and carefully settled Xiao Shu in his arms, showing him how to cradle the baby with one arm supporting his head and the other curled beneath to hold the baby in place. From the perspective of an adult, Xiao Shu was a small baby, but from the perspective of a child of Jingyan’s age, he would be heavy and a little awkward to hold.

“Jingyan, do you want me to take the baby now?” Prince Qi offered, reaching out to take Xiao Shu from Jingyan’s arms.

Jingyan tightened his grip and took a step back, shaking his head. Prince Qi blinked.

“No?” he asked.

“Mine,” Jingyan said stubbornly, cradling the baby closer.

Prince Qi glanced at Princess Jinyang out of the corner of her eye. She looked more amused than concerned, but even if Jingyan was quite serious and well-behaved for such a young child, it was probably unwise to let a three-year-old carry a one-year-old baby for more than a brief period of time.

“How does this sound, Jingyan? You can keep holding Xiao Shu, and sit in my lap. That way both of us can hold the baby,” Prince Qi suggested.

Jingyan considered this, and then nodded. Prince Qi sat down cross-legged on the floor, and then pulled Jingyan into the hollow made by his robes stretched across his thighs, mindful of Xiao Shu. Jingyan settled against his brother’s chest, curling himself around the precious bundle in his arms.

Xiao Shu let out a happy gurgle, pudgy little hand reaching out from his blankets to grab a hank of Jingyan’s hair and tug. Jingyan winced, but didn’t cry out as any of the adults might have expected, instead patting Xiao Shu on the back, imitating Consort Hui with the eighth prince.

“Bah,” said Xiao Shu, and started sucking on his fist. He didn’t let go of Jingyan’s hair first.

Jingyan wrinkled his nose, but didn’t show any sign of relinquishing his claim on the baby, either then or at any point during the afternoon. Lin Xie had tried to take his son back at one point, but had given up in the face of Jingyan’s sullen pout and Xiao Shu’s incessant wailing.

“My apologies, Aunt,” Prince Qi whispered to Princess Jinyang over Jingyan’s head, when Xiao Shu had been returned to his original position and subsided into quiet, hiccuping sobs. “I know this is supposed to be a celebration of Xiao Shu’s first birthday, but nobody else is really getting a chance to hold him.”

Princess Jinyang was not overly concerned, however. “It’s nice to see that Jingyan is so attached,” she said, and laughed. “Xiao Shu cries whenever you put him down or try to give him to his father, so it’s good to have another pair of hands. If Jingyan wants to hold the baby, he is more than welcome.”

Lin Xie looked a little morose, but as a father, it was probably a bit depressing to discover that your only child preferred his three-year-old cousin whom he’d just met to you.

Of course, everyone always, always reminded Jingyan of this, years later, whenever he tried to question why Xiao Shu’s disasters were his responsibility.

“Oh, he’s a better mother than I am,” Princess Jinyang said, on more than one occasion over the years. “He’s given Xiao Shu more scoldings than I ever have, and sometimes Xiao Shu even listens.”

Jingyan had tried to claim that he just liked babies, and it had nothing to do with Xiao Shu, but no one ever believed him.

2.

At three, Xiao Shu learned that if he wanted someone to pick him up, all he needed to do was toddle up to them, lift his arms up, and yell: “Up!”

Being a somewhat demanding child, as well as one very self-assured of how well loved he was by everyone around him, this was a technique he used with great frequency. Lin Xie was by far the greatest sucker, so ridiculously pleased that his son had stopped crying every time he came near that he would always immediately drop whatever he was doing to haul Xiao Shu up in his arms and coo the moment Xiao Shu even looked like he was thinking about asking. His wife told him he was an embarrassment, but she didn’t understand; Xiao Shu had barely let his mother put him down for the first year and a half of his life, and the novelty had worn off.

Even the Emperor had proven not to be immune to Xiao Shu’s insistent begging for cuddles. Princess Jinyang rather enjoyed taking her son to court and watching everyone completely fall apart because the Emperor was too busy doting over his nephew to pay attention.

However, Xiao Shu’s favourite victim was his favourite person, the cousin he had latched onto ever since the day they had met: five-year-old Xiao Jingyan.

“UP,” Xiao Shu demanded, lifting his arms. Prince Qi watched as Jingyan awkwardly squeezed his arms around Xiao Shu’s back and heaved him up by his armpits, almost toppling over backwards as he was barely any taller than Xiao Shu.

“Should we do something about that?” Prince Qi asked with mild concern, as Jingyan toted Xiao Shu about, Xiao Shu’s toes dragging along the ground.

Consort Jing smiled. “Jingyan likes taking care of Xiao Shu,” she said. “Leave him be.”

“Yes, but…” Prince Qi began, and winced as Jingyan got his legs tangled up in Xiao Shu’s and they both tumbled to the ground.

“Xiao Shu is tough, he’ll be fine,” Princess Jinyang said dismissively. “Besides, he loves it. He’s always asking Jingyan to pick him up, it’s adorable.”

Prince Qi shook his head, but the children looked like they were having fun and their mothers didn’t seem particularly concerned, so he decided not to worry about it. They’d grow out of it, soon enough.

3.

At age five, Xiao Shu had yet to grow out of his habit of demanding Jingyan carry him, although he had expanded on his techniques.

“Jingyan, why are you crawling around on the ground with Xiao Shu on your back?” Prince Qi asked, already regretting the question the moment the words were out of his mouth.

“Jingyan-ge-ge is my noble steed,” Xiao Shu announced, tugging on Jingyan’s hair like it was the reigns of a warhorse. “I’m a general!”

Prince Qi looked at his younger brother. His younger brother stared back with the most patiently long-suffering expression he’d ever seen on a seven-year-old’s face.

“I’m sure Uncle Lin Xie will be very pleased to hear that,” Prince Qi said tactfully, after a very long pause. Lin Xie had been very distressed when Xiao Shu had grown out of the cuddles phase (with the exception of Jingyan, his mother, Consort Jing and the Grand Empress Dowager, whose laps Xiao Shu still crawled into with great frequency), but they would no doubt soon all be hearing about how his son wanted to be just like daddy when he grew up.

As Xiao Shu dug his knees into Jingyan’s sides and Jingyan obediently started crawling forwards again, getting mud and grass stains all over his hands and robes, Prince Qi reflected that it was a good thing the Emperor did not often come to visit, because he doubted that their father would feel quite the same way about his own son playing the role of the future general’s beloved horse companion.

4.

By the time Jingyan had reached the age of nine, just shy of his tenth birthday, Prince Qi had generally stopped questioning anything that his younger brother did so far as Xiao Shu was concerned. It was an established fact that Xiao Shu would continue to make ridiculous demands of Jingyan, and Jingyan would huff and complain but almost always give in.

However, the sight of Xiao Shu fast asleep with his arms curled around Jingyan’s neck and legs wrapped around Jingyan’s back like a baby monkey was still a little bit unusual.

Jingyan was a relatively strong and sturdy child - probably as much from hauling Xiao Shu everywhere as anything else - and Xiao Shu was still quite small for his age, but the difference in height between him and Jingyan was nevertheless minimal enough to make it quite cumbersome and unwieldy for Jingyan to carry Xiao Shu on his front in that way.

“Xiao Shu fell asleep while we were playing outside,” Jingyan told his brother, no doubt correctly interpreting the bemused expression on Prince Qi’s face.

“So... you decided to carry him home instead of waking him?” Prince Qi said slowly.

“He’s less trouble when he’s asleep,” Jingyan explained, without any particular inflection in his voice but with a stubborn, intractable look in his eyes and the pout of his mouth.

Prince Qi was pretty sure what Jingyan actually meant was “he was so cute that I didn’t want to wake him,” because Jingyan was notoriously weak to Xiao Shu like that, but decided to reinstate his own “don’t ask” policy.

“Okay,” he said instead. “Well… don’t drop him.”

Jingyan was usually a very polite child, unlike Xiao Shu, but the look he gave Prince Qi in response was unimpressed to the extent of being about as disrespectful as Jingyan ever got to his elders. “I’m not going to drop Xiao Shu,” he said, in the kind of tone that implied that even the suggestion was insulting.

In all fairness to Jingyan, he had had a lot of practice carrying his younger cousin - more practice than could be rationally explained - and he hadn’t dropped Xiao Shu once in all of that time. Tripped over him, on several occasions when they were younger, but even that hadn’t happened in years.

“Fair enough,” Prince Qi said, then hesitated. “By the way, Jingyan… when you say Xiao Shu fell asleep while you were playing…”

Jingyan’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “I need to take Xiao Shu back to Princess Jinyang,” he said quickly, and walked away as fast as he could while carrying Xiao Shu.

Prince Qi sighed, and watched Jingyan go. He would bet anything that Xiao Shu had fallen asleep taking a nap in Jingyan’s lap, which sounded a lot more like Xiao Shu than suddenly getting sleepy while running around outside.

“Honestly, Jingyan,” he said to thin air, exasperated but fond. “You’ll have to let Xiao Shu stand on his own two feet one day.”

5.

At nine, Xiao Shu had well and truly graduated from crawling into people’s laps and making childish demands to play horse. He was, he insisted, all grown up and far too mature for these kinds of things.

Which was not to say that he had outgrown his expectation that Jingyan would carry him around all over the place. It was more accurate to say that he had outgrown asking, and had instead replaced this with his unfortunate talent for mischief.

On the bright side, Jingyan thought that his reflexes were probably more finely honed thanks to the constant Lin Shu ambushes than they were by his formal drills. He was far better than most of the older boys at predicting an opponent’s move before it came and not flinching away from sudden movement towards him. Xiao Shu would never actually attack Jingyan, of course, but he also didn’t take great pains to look before he leaped, which was probably at least in part Jingyan’s fault for always being there to catch him in the past. Jingyan had needed to get better at anticipating Xiao Shu’s sudden assaults and keeping his ground so that he didn’t accidentally drop Xiao Shu or shove him away as an impulse reaction.

And of course, Xiao Shu being Xiao Shu, he took this as a challenge and escalated his pranks accordingly.

The only warning this time was the slight rustle of leaves from overhead as Jingyan walked through the gardens on his way to visit his mother. He had learned from past experience to trust his instincts, so the moment his senses went on alert, he froze himself in place.

Sure enough, before he’d even had the time to draw breath to call out, he was stumbling beneath the weight that had suddenly come crashing down onto his shoulders from above. Jingyan realised that Xiao Shu must have been crouched on the branch above, lying in wait, and had launched himself at Jingyan the moment Jingyan had passed below him.

“Jingyan!” Xiao Shu greeted him cheerfully, hands buried in Jingyan’s hair, either for balance or because he was being a brat or both. It stung a little, and Jingyan winced. Probably both, knowing Xiao Shu. His knees dug into Jingyan’s neck from either side, almost cutting off his air when Xiao Shu crossed his ankles over Jingyan’s collarbones. “I caught you!”

“You caught me,” Jingyan wheezed, thankfully catching his balance before they both toppled over and resting his hands on Xiao Shu’s thighs to keep him steady. “Now what?”

“Now we go visit your mother. Onward, trusty steed!”

“Xiao Shu,” Jingyan groaned. At eleven, he wasn’t sure his dignity could take being Xiao Shu’s trusty steed for much longer, but he was also completely terrible at saying no.

“Jingyaaaan,” Xiao Shu wheedled, curling himself over Jingyan’s head to beam at him from upside down, messy fringe getting in Jingyan’s eyes so almost his entire vision was taken up with Xiao Shu’s face. “Pleeeeease?”

“Ugh, fine,” Jingyan said, grudgingly. “But you’d better not make a habit of this, because next time, I am definitely saying no.”

“Last time, I swear,” Xiao Shu promised, widening his eyes with a completely unbelievable look of innocence. When Jingyan eyed him with disbelief, his falsely virtuous expression melted away into an impish grin. “Next time I’ll come up with something better. Giddy-up!”

Jingyan sighed, and started trudging on towards his mother’s palace with Xiao Shu still seated on his shoulders.

They both knew that whatever Xiao Shu came up with next, Jingyan was never actually going to tell him no, no matter what he threatened.

6.

Everyone knew that it was Xiao Shu and his dangerous combination of a brilliant mind, twisted sense of humour and thirst for adventure that continuously landed both he and Jingyan in trouble. Jingyan wasn’t the kind to instigate mischief on his own, and though he no doubt could have planned many of the highly elaborate and ridiculous pranks that Xiao Shu came up with if he’d applied himself to the task, none of the older generation ever believed that he did.

While Jingyan was himself very clever and quick to learn - not to the extent of Xiao Shu, of course, but there were very few who could claim to be in remotely the same class as Xiao Shu - he was often asked by adults why he was somehow never smart enough to say no to Xiao Shu’s bad ideas. Usually while he was trying to insist that he was equally to blame.

It had nothing to do with intelligence, of course. Jingyan knew that Xiao Shu’s ideas were terrible, almost all of the time. It wasn’t his brains that were the problem; it was his ongoing inability to ever say no when Xiao Shu asked him for anything.

So Xiao Shu would get them into trouble, but whenever things went wrong, Jingyan was the one who took responsibility and got them out of it.

Like the time eleven-year-old Xiao Shu twisted his ankle trying to climb down the side of a craggy rock face instead of taking the path.

“It’s fine,” Xiao Shu insisted, as Jingyan grimly wound his hair ribbon around Xiao Shu’s foot as a makeshift bandage. “It’s not broken, I don’t need - ow!”

Jingyan yanked a bit harder than was strictly necessary as he tied the ribbon into a knot. “It’s not fine,” he said harshly. Getting into trouble on Xiao Shu’s behalf was one thing, but Jingyan hated it when Xiao Shu got himself hurt with his own stunts and couldn’t help getting mad at him for his recklessness.

“Sorry,” Xiao Shu said. He looked chastised, but Jingyan knew it was just the shock of Jingyan telling him off. The only time Jingyan ever genuinely got angry with Xiao Shu was when Xiao Shu did something foolhardy and hurt himself.

“Don’t apologise, just don’t do it again,” Jingyan ordered. “Be more careful in future.”

“Okay,” Xiao Shu said meekly. It wouldn’t last; Xiao Shu always kept his promises, when he made them, but he’d never actually promised Jingyan to be more careful, precisely because he wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep. They went through this every single time Xiao Shu got himself injured.

Jingyan sighed. Yelling at Xiao Shu any more than he already had wasn’t going to help, and they still needed to get home somehow.

Still crouched on the ground in front of Xiao Shu, he pivoted on the ball of his foot so that his back faced Xiao Shu. “Up you get,” he said, looking back at Xiao Shu over his shoulder.

Xiao Shu’s face was drawn, mouth pressed tight in a line of suppressed pain, but he shook his head.

“Xiao Shu…”

“I can walk,” Xiao Shu insisted.

“Prove it, then,” Jingyan told him. “If you can stand up by yourself, I’ll let you walk.”

Xiao Shu hesitated - a complete giveaway that there was no way he was in any condition to walk anywhere, let alone down the mountain back to where they’d tied their horses, as if Jingyan hadn’t already known - but then, too stubborn to give in, he pushed himself up to his feet.

The moment he put weight down on his injured ankle, the blood drained from his face and he made an awful noise like a wounded buffalo, legs buckling beneath him. Jingyan caught him by the arms as he fell, hauling Xiao Shu up onto his back and using the strength in his thighs to lift Xiao Shu up with him when he stood.

Xiao Shu curled his arms around Jingyan’s neck, pressing his forehead to Jingyan’s shoulder. He was obviously still in terrible pain, still suffering from the effects of his own idiocy a moment ago, but Jingyan knew he wouldn’t cry out again if he could help it. Xiao Shu hated showing weakness.

Jingyan hoisted Xiao Shu up so he sat a little higher and more comfortably on Jingyan’s hips, careful not to jostle his ankle, and hooked his arms under Xiao Shu’s knees to hold him in place.

Xiao Shu mumbled something, too muffled into Jingyan’s robes for him to hear.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, you always carry me home,” Xiao Shu said, only a little louder than before but at least clear enough for Jingyan to understand him.

Jingyan smiled, a little ruefully. Truthfully, he didn’t mind, so long as it wasn’t because Xiao Shu had hurt himself.

“Well, someone has to,” he said. “It might as well be me.”

7.

Jingyan was sent out of Jinling for his first military posting not long after his fifteenth birthday. It had been an unusual mark of his father’s favour, who had praised Jingyan for his training and studies; his brother Prince Qi had smiled and told Jingyan how proud he was of Jingyan’s progress. Jingyan himself had been excited and pleased by the recognition, of finally being treated as an adult capable of more than a routine inspection patrol.

He had known he would miss Xiao Shu and his mother, of course - it would be several months before his return, during which time Xiao Shu would turn thirteen, the first birthday in his entire life that Jingyan would not be there for - but Jingyan had always known this day would come sooner or later, and accepted that it was simply part of life.

Xiao Shu had been less prosaic about things, when he’d found out, whining and pouting and generally making a nuisance of himself, at least as much from envy that Jingyan was being sent away to battle without him - before him - as from distress at Jingyan leaving for the longest period they had ever been apart in Xiao Shu’s memory.

“It’s only a few months,” Jingyan had said, trying to soothe Xiao Shu’s fit of ill temper on hearing the news. “And you’re almost thirteen now; I’m sure General Lin will be bringing you with him on his campaigns soon enough.”

“‘Only’. ‘Soon’,” Xiao Shu had scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who’ll be stuck in Jinling all alone.”

“‘All alone’ is a bit of an exaggeration,” Jingyan had said, knowing he would just infuriate Xiao Shu further but unable to resist temptation. “What about--”

“If you say ‘what about Jingrui and Yujin’, I may actually have to kill you, and then you’ll never get to leave Jinling,” Xiao Shu had interrupted, scowling.

“But they love you, Lin Shu-ge-ge,” Jingyan had teased, smirking at Xiao Shu’s look of outrage. He always found it endlessly amusing how much their younger cousin and his constant shadow seemed to adore ‘Lin Shu-ge-ge’ in unrelenting defiance of Xiao Shu’s baffled frustration. Jingyan thought they were cute, but then, he liked children more than Xiao Shu did, and had a lot more experience with younger cousins who followed one around wherever one went.

In all honesty, at the time, probably Jingyan’s biggest concern had been what Xiao Shu would do to their impressionable young minds while he was gone. He had worried vaguely that he might return to find that Xiao Shu had turned them into his personal servants, or miniature versions of himself. Jingrui was a straightforward child, more like Jingyan and therefore more likely to get into trouble by virtue of going along with someone else than creating it himself, but Xiao Shu could be a very bad influence on cheeky, fun-loving Yujin.

In the end, though, there wasn’t much Jingyan could do about it. He’d decided that Jinling would just have to take care of itself, in his absence, and he’d have to trust Princess Jinyang to keep her son in line and stop him from doing anything too dangerous or outrageous while Jingyan was gone.

Xiao Shu hadn’t bothered to dignify Jingyan’s comment about Jingrui and Yujin with an answer, just glared at him with narrowed eyes. “You better at least get me a good present,” he’d said grumpily, “since you’re not even going to be here.”

Which was how, seven months later, Jingyan had ended up carrying saddlebags loaded down with bamboo scrolls as well as his usual gear after he’d stabled his horse on return to Jinling. Though one might not realise it to look at loud, brash Xiao Shu, almost always in action, he had a love for reading the latest scholarly texts - more so that he could tear them into shreds with his quick mind than for his personal betterment, to the despair of the vast majority of his tutors (one had been driven to declare in high dudgeon that Lin Shu would never master the virtues of humility, even if he studied for a thousand years), but regardless of the reason, enjoy them he did.

The scrolls had seemed like an appropriate souvenir, as he’d passed through a number of southern towns famous for their scholarship on his way to the border. He was looking forward to finding Xiao Shu and presenting them to him to divert his complaints about how long Jingyan had been gone, after he’d greeted his mother.

Of course, he should have realised how quickly the news of his return to Jinling would travel, particularly given that this was Xiao Shu. The thought only just occurred to him when old instincts flared up, and he spun around, barely having time to drop the saddlebags and lift his arms up to catch Xiao Shu as Xiao Shu leapt at him.

“Oof,” Jingyan huffed as Xiao Shu barreled into him, sending him stumbling backwards so that he almost slipped and lost his footing in the mud. The saddlebags had spilled open when they’d fallen, scrolls half-buried in the muck, and Jingyan was abjectly glad that they were bamboo, not paper, though Xiao Shu would have deserved it if he’d managed to ruin his own present.

“Jingyan!” Xiao Shu said cheerfully, hanging from Jingyan’s neck with almost all of his weight, standing on his toes on the tops of Jingyan’s boots. Jingyan had caught him by the hips, and was awkwardly aware of people staring at the spectacle they were making of themselves as they passed by in the street.

Not awkward enough to actually let Xiao Shu go, but still.

“You still haven’t outgrown this?” Jingyan said, fond but exasperated.

“It’s been seven months, I thought you might have lost your edge,” Xiao Shu said, grinning slyly. “But you still catch me every time.”

“I've had a lot of - ugh, practice,” Jingyan pointed out, breath whooshing out of his lungs mid-sentence as Xiao Shu pressed down on his shoulders and used them as leverage to wrap his legs around Jingyan’s hips so that Jingyan was now supporting his entire weight. “You’re getting too heavy for this.”

“Whatever,” Xiao Shu said dismissively. “You can handle it. Where’s my present?”

Jingyan rolled his eyes. “You made me drop it,” he said dryly. “Look down.”

“Huh,” Xiao Shu said, peering over his shoulder. “Well, that was clumsy.”

Jingyan wrinkled his nose, a little offended despite himself. “Do you want me to drop you?” he threatened. “Or I could just not catch you next time, if you’d prefer.”

Xiao Shu smiled, cheeks dimpling. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

It was tempting, so tempting, but...

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Jingyan admitted, with a sigh. “I do need to put you down if you don’t want me to leave your present lying in the street, though.”

“Oh well, if you must,” Xiao Shu said ungraciously. “In a moment.”

Jingyan’s arms and shoulders were tired, people were still staring, and he was no doubt going to get an earful from his father later about comporting himself with an appropriate level of dignity - not to mention wasting time dallying about with Xiao Shu when he should be giving his report - but, well, the damage had already been done, for the most part.

And it had been seven months, after all.

“Okay,” he said. “In a moment.”

8.

When Jingyan was granted his own household in Jinling, Xiao Shu had declared it reason to celebrate, and had dragged him out on the town to go drinking.

It was their first time drinking together - as far as Jingyan knew, at age fifteen, it was Xiao Shu’s first time drinking more than just a single ceremonial cup on special occasions - and it was definitely not what Jingyan was expecting.

Lin Xie was almost legendary for his alcohol tolerance - Jingyan had heard that he could outdrink anybody, and that the Emperor refused to drink with him anymore as a result, although the latter was something that one only heard whispered rumours about - and yet somehow, Xiao Shu was practically a puddle on the floor after two cups.

It just seemed wrong, somehow, that Xiao Shu would be defeated by something like rice wine. He was so fearless, so fierce, so indefatigable, so…

Drunk.

“The ceiling’s spinning,” Xiao Shu mumbled pitifully, sprawled across Jingyan’s lap with one arm flung across his eyes. “Jingyaaaaaan.”

“I think you’ve had enough, Xiao Shu,” Jingyan said tactfully, very glad that he had his own household now and that they would not have to face either of their parents with Xiao Shu in this state. Or his brother. “Why don’t we go home?”

“Noooooo,” Xiao Shu moaned. “I can still… urgh.”

“You really can’t,” Jingyan told him, corner of his mouth twitching in a smile he tried hard to suppress, knowing it would only spur on Xiao Shu’s competitive instincts and end up with him passed out or puking on the side of the thoroughfare. “Up you get.”

Even with his arm slung around Jingyan’s shoulder and Jingyan supporting most of his weight, Xiao Shu listed alarmingly from side to side when Jingyan tried to haul him up to his feet. They made it out onto the street - barely, almost tripping over each other thanks to Xiao Shu stumbling all over the place - and Jingyan assessed the likelihood of them making it safely back to his new household if they continued on in the same vein.

“This isn’t going to work,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Come here,” Jingyan said, and without waiting for a response, hauled Xiao Shu up over his shoulders, doing his best to control Xiao Shu’s wildly flailing limbs. “Xiao Shu, stop moving!”

“Uuuuurgh, you stop moving, I’m gonna throw up,” Xiao Shu whined, subsiding into a limp flop across Jingyan’s back, one leg and one arm dangling over each of Jingyan’s shoulders like a deer after the hunt. “Lemme down, I c’n walk.”

“We already tried that,” Jingyan said, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his grip on Xiao Shu’s arm and leg to make sure he was secure. “And if you throw up on me, I’ll make you regret it. Stop pulling my hair, why do you always pull my hair?”

“It’s nice,” Xiao Shu said. “Smells good. Why d’you always carry me?”

“Would you prefer I leave you on the side of the road?” Jingyan retorted, trying not to shiver at the moist warmth of Xiao Shu’s breath on his ear. Xiao Shu smelled like rice wine, of course, which was much less appealing than his usual clean scents of grass and leather and the oils he used on his swords, but not as unappealing as it should be.

Xiao Shu wasn’t a child anymore, and nor was Jingyan. He really shouldn’t carry Xiao Shu around as much as he did, but it was a hard habit to break, and he knew he enjoyed it more than he should. Xiao Shu didn’t exactly help, either.

He trudged along in silence for a moment, Xiao Shu an oddly comforting weight across his shoulders. He wondered if Xiao Shu was thinking of a response, or had just fallen asleep; it was unusual that he would stay so quiet for so long after Jingyan said something like that.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said quietly, right into his ear. Jingyan’s step faltered, and he came to a stop in the middle of a deserted street.

“Xiao Shu,” he responded, cautiously.

“One day… one day you won’t be there,” Xiao Shu said after a long pause, sounding suddenly almost lucid, as though he’d struggled to pull his scattered wits back together just for the sake of this scarcely coherent conversation. “What’m I supposed to do when you’re gone?”

Jingyan understood what Xiao Shu was trying to say without needing to ask, had felt the strain of it himself with every passing year. They spent less and less time together as they grew older, sometimes barely catching each other in passing before being sent off again in opposite directions. That gap would only continue to widen as they took on more responsibilities, bowed to the pressure of forming their own families. Xiao Shu’s betrothal had just recently been announced; it was only a matter of time before Jingyan would be expected to take his first wife.

Jingyan knew it was selfish, but he didn’t want to let Xiao Shu grow up and away from him. He didn’t want to let Xiao Shu marry and start his own family, away from Jingyan, without Jingyan, barely seeing each other between their respective military campaigns. The older Xiao Shu grew, the brighter he shone, the more Jingyan wanted to hold on to him, keep him tethered to Jingyan’s side. They were brothers, Xiao Shu said; but brothers didn’t accurately describe what Jingyan wanted.

What Jingyan wanted… he wanted to live with Xiao Shu, to fight together as Xiao Shu’s shield brother. He wanted Xiao Shu to be his, and his alone, not shared with a wife and family.

What he wanted was impossible, of course. Even if Xiao Shu wanted the same thing - even if Xiao Shu were not destined to be a great general like his father, leading his own men in the Chiyan army - Jingyan’s father would never allow them to be stationed in the same unit. As to the other… that was nothing more than a waking dream, completely unrelated to reality.

What am I supposed to do when you’re gone?

That was a good question, one that Jingyan didn’t have the answer to, not really. When it came down to it, Xiao Shu would probably handle separation better than he would; Jingyan had no idea what he’d do without Xiao Shu in his life.

He cleared his throat, feeling suffocated by the rising ache of misery, and blinked away the sting in his eyes. This was what came of drinking wine, he told himself. In future, stick to water.

“How about you start by not drinking when I’m not there?” he said finally, voice rougher than he’d like. He forced himself to smile. “You never know who’ll take advantage of you otherwise, Xiao Shu.”

He expected Xiao Shu to protest against the unsubtle slight to his drinking abilities, but Xiao Shu was oddly quiet. Jingyan could feel a tug on a bunch of his hair, and wondered what Xiao Shu was doing; winding it around his fist, perhaps, although Jingyan couldn’t begin to guess why or what was going through his head.

“Okay,” Xiao Shu said, after the silence had stretched out awkwardly between them. Not a promise, but an acknowledgement, and a tacit acceptance that the conversation was closed. “Take me home, Jingyan.”

So Jingyan did.

9.

“Remember,” Xiao Shu told Jingyan, the day before Jingyan’s unit was due to set out. “You promised. A pearl the size of--”

“A pigeon egg, I know,” Jingyan said, longsufferingly. Next to him, Nihuang was smirking; he wasn’t sure if she was laughing at him or at Xiao Shu. Probably both of them. “How many times, Xiao Shu?”

“Well, I don’t want you to forget,” Xiao Shu said, as though this was an entirely reasonable explanation for pestering Jingyan about his souvenir almost every day since Jingyan had learned he was being sent to the East Sea.

“If you keep nagging me, you won’t get anything,” Jingyan told him. It was an empty threat; he knew, Xiao Shu knew, probably even Nihuang knew by now that he was going to make a fool of himself combing through all the street markets looking for a pearl big enough to satisfy Xiao Shu’s ridiculous request.

It had become a tradition, ever since the first time Jingyan had been ordered away on campaign over Xiao Shu’s thirteenth birthday, that Xiao Shu would demand Jingyan bring him back a present and Jingyan would make a fool of himself trying to find something Xiao Shu would like. All his men knew to expect this behaviour out of him, and made endless jokes about his “sweetheart” back in Jinling. His very male sweetheart, since no one could ever accuse Xiao Shu of being subtle, and he was the obvious recipient of all of the gifts Jingyan spent so much time and effort to find. It was only a matter of time before Jingyan’s father decided to bring it up; he had to know, but was biding his time for some inscrutable reason. Jingyan was dreading it.

Usually Xiao Shu was less specific, though. On the one hand, at least Jingyan wouldn’t have to come up with an appropriate souvenir himself, this time, but on the other… how was he going to find a pearl that large? And what was Xiao Shu going to do with it, anyway?

Why a pearl?

In the end, Jingyan decided not to question it. This was Xiao Shu; he did all sorts of strange things for the most obscure, bizarre reasons, and sometimes just because he thought it was funny. Jingyan thought there was a good chance he was just doing this to be a brat, because he could, and because he wanted to see if Jingyan would actually go to that much trouble for him.

Testing someone’s affection was a very Xiao Shu thing to do, after all. Jingyan knew one day he would have to stop rising to the bait, but for now, at least, he still couldn’t resist: if Xiao Shu was testing him, for whatever reason, Jingyan never failed.

“You wouldn’t,” Xiao Shu said confidently, as he always did.

“I might,” Jingyan said, unconvincingly. “One day.”

Even Nihuang looked skeptical at that.

“Anyway, why am I always the one bringing back presents?” Jingyan demanded, changing the topic. “You go on military campaigns, too; what have you ever brought back for me?”

“Yeah, Lin Shu-ge-ge,” Nihuang chimed in. “Don’t you know it’s rude not to return a favour?”

Xiao Shu wrinkled his nose. “Jingyan’s older than me, it’s different,” he said dismissively. “Besides, when do I ever go anywhere worth getting a souvenir from? I mean, if you insist, I can get you some plum blossoms next time…”

Jingyan rolled his eyes. “Don’t strain yourself,” he said dryly. Truthfully, he liked the way Xiao Shu made childish demands of him, in a way that he wouldn’t with anyone else. Xiao Shu made a point of being smart enough, strong enough, mature enough to not need anyone’s help, but he still acted like a spoiled child around Jingyan, teasing and nagging and wheedling, always completely assured in his expectation that Jingyan would be there for him.

Jingyan wanted Xiao Shu to rely on him. He wanted Xiao Shu to make ridiculous demands of him, and know that Jingyan would always do whatever was in his power to meet them.

And he knew that this may be the last time they could get away with it. He was already nineteen, and he may not be at the forefront of his father’s mind for the most part, but his excessive attachment to Xiao Shu had been noticed and frowned upon, if not yet the subject of an extensive lecture. Jingyan’s duties would be increasing, soon enough, and he had the foreboding premonition that his first marriage would be sprung upon him in the very near future, perhaps not long after he came back from this campaign.

Not to mention that Nihuang and Lin Shu had grown progressively closer over the last two years, and their own wedding couldn’t be very far away.

Caught up in his thoughts, and assuming that Nihuang and Xiao Shu would keep each other amused, Jingyan jolted with surprise when Xiao Shu suddenly flopped down on his back, practically forcing Jingyan to bend over double with his weight.

“Stop ignoring me,” Xiao Shu complained, right against Jingyan’s ear. He’d discovered that Jingyan was sensitive there, and often did it deliberately to be annoying. Annoyed wasn’t exactly how it made Jingyan feel, but he didn’t want to have that conversation with Xiao Shu, so he usually tried to react in the way Xiao Shu expected, by shoving him away and telling him to quit it.

It was a little hard with Xiao Shu sprawled over his back like a big cat sunning itself on a rock, though.

“Get off, you’re heavy,” Jingyan huffed out, the air having been squeezed out of him by Xiao Shu’s surprise assault. “Nihuang, help.”

“I am not heavy,” Xiao Shu said, outraged. “What, you’re too weak to carry me, now? Nihuang, tell this stubborn water ox to live up to his name!”

“Why should I live up to a name that you gave me?” Jingyan asked, not really bothered, but putting on a show of it. “Nihuang--”

Nihuang laughed, the sound light and pretty like the tinkle of wind chimes. “Only a fool would get involved between the two of you when you’re arguing,” she said, skipping ahead and tossing a cheeky look back over her shoulder at them. “And I’m not a fool, so you can settle this yourselves!”

“Carry meeeeee,” Xiao Shu whined, as Nihuang continued on ahead of them, and nipped at the curve of Jingyan’s ear with his teeth, making Jingyan yelp and almost throw Xiao Shu over his shoulder.

“Xiao Shu!” he hissed, feeling his cheeks heat with self-conscious embarrassment. “Don’t do that!”

“That’s for calling me heavy,” Xiao Shu said snidely. “And for ignoring me. And--”

“All right, all right, I’ll carry you,” Jingyan interrupted, exasperated. “Honestly, Xiao Shu, don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this? I’m definitely too old for this.”

If he was trying to convince himself at least as much as Xiao Shu, well… it was something he needed to learn, whether he liked it or not.

Xiao Shu was going to marry Nihuang, and Jingyan was going to step back and let them be happy together. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew he had to. Nihuang was a sweet girl, and Xiao Shu liked her; there was nothing more Jingyan could ask for. He’d always known that he and Xiao Shu couldn’t maintain the same relationship they’d had in the past once they grew past a certain age, and at least this way Xiao Shu could be content. Jingyan had to stop being selfish, and stop getting in the way between Xiao Shu and his betrothed.

Even if Xiao Shu didn’t seem to have realised this, yet.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re such a grandfather,” Xiao Shu scoffed, completely ignoring Jingyan’s inner turmoil, and launched himself off the ground so his entire weight was pushing down on Jingyan’s back and shoulders, almost causing him to lose his balance.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Jingyan said, as he caught Xiao Shu’s legs and pulled them in close so the weight was distributed more evenly. “This is the last time, Xiao Shu, I mean it.”

Xiao Shu didn’t respond, straight away, and Jingyan suddenly regretted the fact that he couldn’t see Xiao Shu’s face like this.

“Okay, fine, last time,” Xiao Shu said finally. He sounded casual enough that Jingyan wasn’t sure how to read his tone, whether Xiao Shu was accepting what he said or brushing him off. “So long as you don’t forget--”

“Your pigeon egg, I know,” Jingyan sighed. “I haven’t forgotten since the last time you mentioned it. About five sentences ago.”

“Good,” Xiao Shu said, chin digging into Jingyan’s shoulder as he hunched over it, poking his index finger at Jingyan’s cheek. “You better not.”

Jingyan’s mouth twitched in a small grin, despite himself. Xiao Shu was a pest, but he was an endearing pest. “Nihuang,” he called out, “do you want your fiance back? I know he’s a nuisance, but--”

“No way!” she yelled back over Xiao Shu’s loud protest, laughing again. “You can keep him!”

If only, Jingyan thought.

10.

Ever since Xiao Shu had moved into his own household and constructed the secret tunnel, it had become increasingly difficult for Commander Meng Zhi to find time to meet him without Prince Jing there.

This was both a good thing and a bad thing. On the one hand, Meng was relieved to see them getting along so well, despite Prince Jing still not knowing the truth of Xiao Shu’s identity. However, on the other hand, Meng was a terrible liar and he knew it, which made it increasingly awkward to have to dance around Xiao Shu’s secrets as Prince Jing asked more and more suspicious questions that Meng didn't have good answers to.

To be entirely honest, he wasn't really clear on why it was necessary to keep lying to Prince Jing at all. Xiao Shu's reasons had made sense when Meng had first agreed to all of this, but Prince Jing’s attitude had changed so much in the time since then that it no longer seemed to matter. Particularly since Xiao Shu had been taken for questioning by Xia Jiang, Meng thought that Prince Jing was protective enough of Mei Changsu now that it wouldn't make much difference even if he were to find out that it was really Xiao Shu all along.

Prince Jing had started to treat “Sir Su” as a friend even before then, of course - there had been a period of time where it seemed that every time Meng visited, Prince Jing was already there, hard at work with Xiao Shu as they pored over plans and strategies - but there had still been the cautious distance of casual acquaintances between them.

Back then, Meng could easily see the differences between how Prince Jing treated Sir Su compared to how he would treat Xiao Shu in the same circumstances. On one or two occasions in the past when he had been present, Xiao Shu had fallen asleep sitting up from sheer exhaustion. Had Prince Jing known it was Xiao Shu, Meng was almost certain he would have shown no hesitation in picking him up off the floor and tucking him into bed; Prince Jing had been notorious for doing that kind of thing in their youth, and as far as Meng knew, they'd never really grown out of it. He had lost count of the number of times he'd seen or heard about Prince Jing carrying Xiao Shu somewhere because Xiao Shu had injured himself, or drunk too much, or fallen asleep outside, or simply because Xiao Shu had demanded it of him.

It wasn't that Prince Jing ignored the strain that Xiao Shu place upon himself as Mei Changsu, but up until now, as far as Meng had seen, he had always maintained the usual polite social boundaries. Instead of picking Xiao Shu up and carrying him to bed himself, Prince Jing had called for Li Gang to attend his master and immediately taken his leave.

Now, however…

Meng had to conclude that there had been a very definite shift in Prince Jing's attitude towards Mei Changsu when he visited one day only to find Prince Jing panicking over Xiao Shu passed out in the garden.

“Call Doctor Yan!” Prince Jing demanded, crouching by Xiao Shu’s side, cradling him in his arms. Meng was anxious about Xiao Shu’s health - could this be a relapse from the Wujin poison? - but he was also not exactly certain of how to respond in the face of His Highness’s openly distressed reaction.

Li Gang was already off running, but Zhen Ping cast a hesitant look towards where Prince Jing was lifting Xiao Shu up, and then at Meng, widening his eyes slightly as if trying to urgently communicate something.

Meng cleared his throat.

“Your Highness, are you sure it wouldn't be better for Zhen Ping or myself to…” he started, and trailed off at Prince Jing’s frown.

“I'll carry him,” Prince Jing said, a little more sharply than the question warranted. “Just make sure that the room is well heated and there are extra blankets on hand.”

Meng looked at Zhen Ping and gave a small, apologetic shrug. Zhen Ping winced and quickly left to make arrangements.

“Your Highness,” Meng said cautiously, as Prince Jing heaved Xiao Shu’s limp body up in his arms. Xiao Shu’s arms and legs dangled towards the ground, with no strength in them, but his head was carefully supported against Prince Jing’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Prince Jing said, sounding concerned and almost angry. “We were talking… he started coughing, so much that he coughed up blood, and then he collapsed. Is his health truly that fragile?”

This was probably one of those things that Xiao Shu would lie about if he were awake to do so, but Meng actually had no idea. He was certainly worried, though. No doubt Prince Jing was worried for the same reasons.

Perhaps reading the expression on Meng’s face, Prince Jing sighed and shook his head. “Never mind,” he said tersely. “The important thing is to get Doctor Yan to take a look at him as soon as possible.”

Watching Prince Jing carry Xiao Shu back towards the house, Meng suffered from a moment of double-vision, almost like he could see the echo of the Lin Shu and Prince Jing of fifteen years ago in their place. Meng felt a pang in his chest; even not knowing that this was Xiao Shu, something inside of Prince Jing must recognise him, if he were still carrying him home.

When Meng left, some time later, Prince Jing had yet to move from his place by Xiao Shu’s bedside. He hoped that they would be able to reveal the truth to Prince Jing sooner rather than later, for everyone’s sake, but Xiao Shu’s most of all.

11.

On the day that Princess Liyang agreed to present Xie Yu’s written confession at the Emperor’s birthday celebrations, Jingyan stayed up half the night going back through every little thing Xiao Shu had said and done when they had finally talked about his true identity.

They had talked so much, and yet there were still so many things unsettled between them.

The thing was, Jingyan had searched so deeply to find any trace of Xiao Shu in Mei Changsu, not just since he’d learned the truth, but even before that, when he thought he had been crazy for trying, just seeing what he wanted to see.

He hadn’t been crazy, and he hadn’t been imagining things: those traces had been there, again and again. But at the same time, there was something fundamentally different about Xiao Shu now compared to Xiao Shu as he had been in the past, and it hadn’t been until they had spoken yesterday that Jingyan had been able to put his finger on what it was.

It was the way Xiao Shu kept himself at a distance, now, not just with his words, but physically and emotionally. Jingyan had assumed that this attitude was merely a part of the persona Xiao Shu had adopted as Mei Changsu to dissociate himself from Lin Shu in the minds of everyone who had known him, no one more so than Jingyan himself.

Certainly that had been a part of it, but Jingyan had suddenly realised when Xiao Shu had begged him for the favour of being permitted to attend court for Princess Liyang’s petition - the favour, as though Xiao Shu were not more entitled than any of them to be there, as though Jingyan would ever deny him anything he asked, let alone this - that it was far more ingrained than a mere act. Lin Shu would never have asked; Lin Shu would have assumed, and known with absolute certainty that he would get what he wanted, without the slightest qualm or mere conception that Jingyan might refuse.

Mei Changsu hesitated to even ask, clearly expecting to be rejected before Jingyan spoke a word.

Jingyan had struggled with this all night, trying to make it fit with the Xiao Shu he’d known, trying to understand what it meant. It had been during this introspection that it occurred to him that subconsciously, he had been waiting for Xiao Shu to hug him, now that there was no longer a need to maintain the facade of a mere adviser; that he had been unsettled and disappointed when Xiao Shu had turned around and walked away with nothing more than an offhand word of thanks after Jingyan had finally given him the pearl that had waited fourteen years to be presented to its rightful owner.

Jingyan had realised, with the visceral shock of a punch to the gut, how much he missed holding Xiao Shu in his arms. He had never had the opportunity to notice this smaller wound before, reeling too much over the void Xiao Shu had left in his life, the overwhelming totality of everything he had lost in one horrific tragedy, to focus in on the details. Now he felt the absence like a phantom ache, as though he could almost feel the weight of Xiao Shu pressing against him if he just closed his eyes and wished hard enough.

Jingyan had rarely had to initiate physical contact with Xiao Shu in the past, because Xiao Shu had always sprung it upon him before he had the chance. He hadn’t even thought to make the first move and embrace Xiao Shu himself, until Xiao Shu was right in front of him and still holding himself apart.

If there was one thing Jingyan concluded in his reflections over everything that had happened between them, it was this: Mei Changsu would never presume to seek physical contact with Jingyan. If he ever wanted to hold Xiao Shu again, he needed to take matters into his own hands, and stop waiting on Xiao Shu to do it.

This was not the only thing left unresolved between them, of course. Jingyan knew that Xiao Shu had lied to him about his health, about his promise to return in four or five years. He had always known when Xiao Shu was lying to him; even when he hadn’t known that Mei Changsu was Xiao Shu, he had still known instinctively that Mei Changsu was hiding something important from him. He hadn’t known what, at first, or been able to prove it once the suspicions had started to grow, but he had never doubted for a second that Mei Changsu wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

And Xiao Shu was lying to him now. Jingyan had allowed Xiao Shu to change the topic, deflecting Jingyan’s questions with humour, but that didn’t mean he had given up or accepted Xiao Shu’s logic for why he had to leave. This wasn’t the time to bring it up, however; he would be better off biding his time, and considering the best plan of attack. Xiao Shu wouldn’t leave before the Chiyan case had been overturned, which should take at least another two months. Jingyan still had time.

What Jingyan could not wait for was to resolve the matter of this physical distance between them, which, now he had identified it as an issue, niggled at him like an itch beneath his skin. Jingyan could barely contain his impatience to see Xiao Shu again, and he found himself sincerely regretting during his sleepless night that he no longer had a secret passage that would take him directly to Xiao Shu’s room so that he could confront his erstwhile childhood friend as soon as the urge struck him.

He needed to see Xiao Shu. That was that. And Xiao Shu had said he was free for the next few days, hadn’t he? If he had time to teach Tingsheng, surely he had time for Jingyan. Jingyan had vowed to himself, as sleep eluded him, that he would visit first thing the following morning. Which then proceeded to take three times as long as it should to arrive, as though deliberately mocking Jingyan’s struggles.

It was incredibly tempting to rush over to the Su Residence at the first sign of dawn, but he forced himself to wait until a more civilised hour. Even if he knew now that Mei Changsu was really Xiao Shu, and these social niceties no longer mattered between them, it would still be impolite to the rest of the household to impose himself on them uninvited so early in the morning.

Even if Jingyan really wanted to.

Nevertheless, he made his way to Xiao Shu’s residence as soon as he could possibly excuse. If nothing else, it was a nice change to have taken Xiao Shu off-guard for once in his lifetime, because based on the wide-eyed look that briefly crossed his face before he got his expression under control, Xiao Shu clearly was not expecting him to visit again so quickly.

“Your - Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said after a moment, correcting himself mid-sentence when Jingyan frowned at him. “I must admit, after yesterday, it’s a surprise to see you. Is something the matter?”

Xiao Shu had adopted a patchwork mode of speech now that his identity was revealed, Jingyan noted idly; caught somewhere between the sheer irreverence of Lin Shu and the humble abasement of Mei Changsu. Naturally Jingyan’s preference was for Xiao Shu to speak to him as frankly as possible, with no barriers of social etiquette to keep them apart - he missed the intimacy of it, when for fourteen years no one else had dared speak to him in that way - but he understood that after almost two years, it would be a hard habit to break straight away, even if Xiao Shu were so inclined.

“Does something need to be the matter for me to visit, Xiao Shu?” he asked. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Jingyan didn’t even notice the echo in his own words to one of the first times he had used their secret passage to visit at night until he caught the flicker in Xiao Shu’s eyes and it reminded him of the look on Mei Changsu’s face the first time he’d said that. He hadn’t been able to read it at the time, but now he was fairly certain it was longing.

So perhaps Xiao Shu really had missed him too, even as he had tried to push Jingyan away.

“I’m being serious, Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said, visibly pulling his wits back together. “If something has gone wrong this close to the culmination of everything we’ve been planning--”

“So am I,” Jingyan interrupted him. “Nothing is wrong, I just wanted to see you. Are you telling me I can’t? You did say you had some free time.”

This, of all things, appeared to be what it took to knock Xiao Shu off balance. Jingyan had never seen “Mei Changsu” flustered before; after seeing him so imperturbable and level-headed almost all of the time, it was rather fascinating to behold him so discomposed now.

“I…” Xiao Shu said, hesitating. “No, of course not, I just…”

No doubt he was wary that Jingyan had come to reopen one of the topics that Xiao Shu had so carefully steered them away from only yesterday. He needn’t worry - if there was one thing Jingyan had learned from him in the past two years, it was how to be patient, and rehashing Xiao Shu’s health or future plans now wouldn’t get them anywhere.

Of course, Xiao Shu may be even more wary if he knew the real reason Jingyan was here, but Jingyan decided not to give him the opportunity, stepping straight into Xiao Shu’s space and wrapping his arms around him in the fierce embrace he’d been craving since he’d come home from the East Sea only to be told that Xiao Shu was gone from his life forever.

He could feel the way Xiao Shu went stiff when Jingyan’s arms tightened around him, radiating awkwardness and uncertainty. Jingyan didn’t care; he wasn’t going to let go unless Xiao Shu told him to, and maybe not even then, unless Xiao Shu could convince him he really didn’t want this.

Jingyan couldn’t help cataloguing the differences as he held Xiao Shu close, all the ways in which he had changed. Xiao Shu was noticeably taller than him now, and it felt strange - not bad, but somewhat disorienting. Despite his added height, though, Xiao Shu felt so much lighter, as though there was no substance to him. Jingyan wanted to hold onto him and never let go, struck by the irrational fear that Xiao Shu would fade away right before his eyes if Jingyan didn’t anchor him here.

Maybe it wasn’t so strange for Jingyan to feel that way, though; Xiao Shu used to say that Jingyan always carried him home, but the one time Xiao Shu had really needed him, he hadn’t been there. One of the last things he had ever said to Xiao Shu was ‘this is the last time’, that day when Xiao Shu had demanded Jingyan carry him on his back, and he had bitterly regretted those words ever since, because they had proven true in the most horrifyingly tragic way Jingyan could imagine.

Now that he was finally holding Xiao Shu once more, after all this time, he couldn’t help but be afraid to lose him again the moment he let go.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said finally, still holding himself with tense discomfort, but not actually pushing Jingyan away. “What are you doing?”

Jingyan snorted, the sound a bit watery with the tears he was struggling to hold back. “Isn’t that obvious?” he said. “It’s been fourteen years, Xiao Shu. At least give me this.”

He felt Xiao Shu go suddenly still against him, and wondered what was going through his head.

“Are you saying I owe you this in exchange for the pearl?” Xiao Shu asked after a moment, with a smile in his voice. “How could I risk being rude to the Crown Prince?”

Jingyan gave a huff of laughter, remembering Nihuang telling Xiao Shu off for his poor manners all those years ago. “Well, you’ve yet to bring me any flowers like you promised,” he said, a bittersweet smile curving his mouth. “So you certainly owe me something.”

“I gave you a whole country,” Xiao Shu pointed out, definitely teasing now. “What more do you want, Jingyan? It’s no good to be greedy, you know.”

What did he want?

You, Jingyan didn’t say. By my side.

That would definitely count as greedy.

“Right now, all I want is to hold you,” he said instead. “So just… let me do this. Please.”

He held his breath, wondering if Xiao Shu would argue or try to step back. The moment stretched out between them, Xiao Shu clearly wavering on the edge of a decision; Jingyan could feel it the instant that Xiao Shu made up his mind, and gave a small sigh of relief as he felt the tension slowly draining from Xiao Shu’s frame until his body went limp, trusting all of his weight to Jingyan.

He was still bones and sharp angles, but he felt real now, in a way that he hadn’t before; still too light, still too frail, but heavier, more like a being of this world and less like he might turn into air and slip through Jingyan’s grasp like a half-remembered dream.

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” Xiao Shu murmured, resting his cheek against Jingyan’s shoulder.

If there was a hint of melancholy in his wry tone, Jingyan didn’t mention it, not wanting to shatter their temporary truce.

“I’ll remind you that you said that, next time you argue with me,” he responded, letting his own head tilt to rest against the top of Xiao Shu’s.

At least they had this much, even if it came nowhere close to what Jingyan truly wanted.

12.

As he stood with Xiao Shu on the parapets, staring out over the rowe leading away from Jinling, Jingyan listened to Xiao Shu defend his request to lead the troops to war against Da Yu, struggling with himself but unable to see a way out.

It was already the last moment for him to make this decision, late in the evening on the night before the troops were due to march out; if Jingyan did not give his consent for Xiao Shu to go, Commander Meng would take sole command of those troops, but he knew without Xiao Shu telling him that this wasn’t a real alternative.

And yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to give the order.

Every reason Xiao Shu gave him was the truth: Commander Meng was a good leader, but he didn’t have Xiao Shu’s sheer genius for strategy or his familiarity with the battlefield and with the tactics of Da Yu. Without that advantage, while Da Liang was engaged in battle simultaneously on every front they had, there was very little hope their troops would survive an encounter with one of their bitterest enemies.

It was also true that Xiao Shu wouldn’t take this risk on behalf of everyone else if his health might not be up to the rigours of battle, might leave them stranded mid-campaign without their chief military strategist. If there was one thing Jingyan knew about Xiao Shu, it was that he would not hesitate to throw himself into a situation that could get him killed, but he would never risk anyone else by his own rash behaviour.

It was not the battle that Jingyan was worried about, though.

And it wasn’t these irrefutable, inescapable truths that drove Xiao Shu to beg so desperately for Jingyan to let him go, either.

Of course these things all mattered - Xiao Shu would never have asked this of Jingyan, if there had been a genuine alternative, if for no other reason than the knowledge that Jingyan would never have agreed - but they were not the reason why Xiao Shu was so impassioned in his plea to be allowed to go off and die on a distant battlefield, to leave Jingyan behind again, to leave him alone forever when they had only just been reunited. It was stark by its contrast; as Mei Changsu, Xiao Shu had rarely allowed himself to become so worked up over anything, but this was too close to his heart for him to remain calm, and Jingyan knew why, probably better than anyone else ever could.

Xiao Shu had been lying to him before, when he had said he had no desire to return to being “Lin Shu” after thirteen years as Mei Changsu.

He wasn’t lying now, when he said that this war could only be won with Lin Shu’s skills and knowledge of the enemy and the battlefield.

Between the spaces of Xiao Shu’s words, Jingyan could hear what Xiao Shu was truly begging of him: Let me be Lin Shu again, one last time.

If it had only been for strategic advantage, Jingyan would never have stopped trying to find a way out, find some kind of alternative, even as he knew it didn’t exist. Maybe they could stall Da Yu with negotiations until Nie Feng and Xia Dong managed to subdue Bei Yan, and consolidate their troops. Of course there would be a great loss of lives, but if they could overwhelm Da Yu by sheer number… If Commander Meng were supported by Nie Feng and Xia Dong, even without Xiao Shu…

It would be foolish, and foolhardy, considering the alternative Xiao Shu had given him. But it was not logic or reason that made Jingyan give in to Xiao Shu’s plea.

He knew that Xiao Shu was dying, for all that Xiao Shu had tried to hide it from him. If he could, Jingyan had at least wanted to spend the time they had left with Xiao Shu by his side, not as his strategist or adviser, but as his closest friend. He hadn’t given up on his plans of changing Xiao Shu’s mind about leaving Jinling after the verdict had been handed down in the Chiyan case, but then war had broken out and he had lost his opportunity.

Now Xiao Shu was asking Jingyan to let him go, to return to the battlefield where Lin Shu’s future had been stripped away from him. Xiao Shu was asking him for the chance to avenge himself and the rest of the Chiyan army, rather than being forced to fade away as Mei Changsu by Jingyan’s side, waiting to hear that the battle had been lost in his absence because Lin Shu wasn’t there.

Everything inside of Jingyan rebelled against this, against releasing Xiao Shu with the knowledge that they would most likely never meet again. He wanted to be selfish, to chain Xiao Shu to him, to keep him trapped like a caged songbird pining for freedom.

He wanted to say no, but how could he, when all reason compelled him to agree? As the future emperor, he could not ignore what was in Da Liang’s best interests; as the man who had loved Xiao Shu for his entire life, he could not refuse Xiao Shu this, the only thing that Xiao Shu would ever ask him for now, the last and only gift that Jingyan could give him that he would accept.

And Jingyan never had learned how to deny Xiao Shu anything.

So instead, with futile hope, he asked Xiao Shu to do whatever he could to return safely; to stay by Jingyan’s side forever; to watch over him as he embarked on his own rule and attempted to reshape the country in his brother’s image.

Xiao Shu smiled slightly, reassuringly, and Jingyan knew he was lying again even before the words “of course” left his mouth.

Jingyan would let Xiao Shu go, against all of his instincts, but he wouldn’t let him go without Xiao Shu giving his word to at least try to come back to him and meaning it.

“Xiao Shu,” Jingyan said, reaching out to grab his wrist as he started to turn away. “I mean it. Vow to me, right here and now, that you will do whatever is in your power to come back to me, or I won’t let you go.”

Xiao Shu froze in place, reluctance evident in every line of his body. He clearly had not expected Jingyan to push him on this, assuming either that Jingyan would believe him or that Jingyan would let Xiao Shu’s lies pass unchallenged as he had in the past.

If Xiao Shu made a promise, Jingyan knew, he wouldn’t break it. Lies were one thing; Lin Shu had always lied fluidly and with ease, as though it was his mother tongue, and Mei Changsu had elevated misdirection to an artform. Xiao Shu rarely gave his word on anything, however, because if he did, he would be honour-bound to keep it.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said cautiously, face still turned away, cast in shadow. “Naturally I will do everything in my power to return, but--”

“But nothing,” Jingyan interrupted him. “Promise me you won’t take the Bingxu pill unless you have absolutely no choice.”

Xiao Shu’s head jerked around at that, absolute shock written across his face when his eyes met Jingyan’s gaze.

“You--”

“Did you really think I’d be so easily assured, Xiao Shu?” Jingyan asked, a small, bitter smile hovering on his lips. “Your Lin Chen told me the truth, when I kept questioning him. I know how you intend to maintain your strength through the battle. All I ask is that you at least try to find another way first, and leave the pill for a last resort.”

Xiao Shu had regained his composure as Jingyan spoke, expression now settling back into an unreadable mask. “You said it yourself, Jingyan,” he said, after a measured pause. “Fighting and following the troops requires physical strength, and we can ill afford for me to grow weak and collapse in the middle of a battle.”

This is why Jingyan had so desperately argued against Xiao Shu’s resolve in the first place, but having already given in to what Xiao Shu asked of him, he was determined to at least wring this concession from him in exchange.

“It is several weeks march to the northern border, and you will be accompanied by your physician friend,” Jingyan countered. “If the pill comes with a time limit attached, then I want you to vow to me that you will put that time limit off for as long as you possibly can. Find another way, Xiao Shu, until you can’t. That’s my condition.”

Xiao Shu’s face was still calm and impassive, but Jingyan could see the sadness in his eyes. “And if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t,” Jingyan conceded, even as it felt like he was swallowing red hot needles, pricking and burning down his throat. “But promise me that you will try every other option first.”

Xiao Shu sighed, glancing out towards the rocky, barren hills outside of Jinling that he would be marching along tomorrow, if only Jingyan gave his consent.

“I promise,” he said, voice low and tightly constrained. “I will put off taking the pill until there is no other option, and Lin Chen agrees with me that it is the only choice. But Jingyan, you mustn’t get your hopes up. I wouldn’t have turned to such extremes in the first place, if it hadn’t been necessary.”

Jingyan was privately not so sure of that, but he was sure that this Lin Chen would never have allowed it otherwise. He didn’t know who Lin Chen was to Xiao Shu other than a physician, for them to speak of each other in such a familiar way, but it was clear even after the brief conversation they’d shared that Lin Chen was sincerely committed to Xiao Shu’s wellbeing, even if Xiao Shu himself was not. Jingyan had forced himself to shove away the sour burn of jealousy; as much as he wished that he could have been the one by Xiao Shu’s side for all of these years, he was at least glad to know that Xiao Shu had had one person on whom he could rely during his long exile.

Lin Chen had left Jingyan in no doubt: if Xiao Shu were to survive battle in a northern winter, he would almost certainly have to rely on the Bingxu pill, and the treatment itself would kill him.

Jingyan closed his eyes, breathing through the aching desolation and despair welling up inside of him and threatening to overwhelm his reason, willing himself not to let the tears stinging at his eyes spill over.

“I know,” he choked out, the words sticking in his throat, weighed down by sorrow.

It felt like goodbye, and Jingyan wasn’t ready to say goodbye. His hand tightened on Xiao Shu’s wrist, almost without conscious thought, rejection at the idea of Xiao Shu leaving, and Xiao Shu gave him a faintly startled look.

“Jingyan?”

“Don’t go,” he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. “Tonight, I mean. It’s already late, it’s dark, you shouldn’t be on the streets at this time of night, and the East Palace is much closer than your residence.”

Xiao Shu studied him curiously, and Jingyan knew that the words he hadn’t said had to be clear: this may be the last time they ever saw each other, before Xiao Shu marched off to war in the morning with only the faintest hope that he would ever return, and Jingyan needed him to stay.

It wasn’t the first time that they had shared sleeping quarters by far - even since Xiao Shu had assumed his identity as Mei Changsu, there had been a number of occasions on which Jingyan had stayed so late into the night discussing plans and strategies, letting his adviser educate him in all of the finer points of running the court that he had missed out on while stationed at distant garrisons on the border, that he had simply slept where he was rather than make his way back through the tunnel to his own residence. Not to mention the times when “Mei Changsu” had been so ill that Jingyan had stayed by his bedside through the night, too concerned to leave.

This felt different to any of those previous instances, with either Lin Shu or Mei Changsu - more purposeful and premeditated. Perhaps Xiao Shu had the same sense, because he paused for a long moment before twisting his arm in Jingyan’s grasp. Jingyan almost panicked, briefly, thinking that Xiao Shu was trying to shake his hold, rejecting his offer - but then Xiao Shu closed his own hand around Jingyan, so that they were clasping each other’s wrists.

“Okay,” he said, simply.

They didn’t speak much, on the way back to Jingyan’s palace. Jingyan reluctantly let go of Xiao Shu when they went to mount their horses and resisted the urge to lift him up to the saddle - Xiao Shu wouldn’t thank him for it, and he’d be in charge of caring for his own horse on a daily basis starting from tomorrow anyway, so it would be an empty gesture. Instead, Jingyan rode as close to Xiao Shu as their horses would allow. Being trained warhorses, that was almost as close as physically possible without bumping into each other and blocking each other’s way.

Xiao Shu glanced at Jingyan when their legs brushed, but didn’t comment; nor did he comment when they stabled their horses and Jingyan led Xiao Shu to his own quarters, instead of one of the many guest suites.

To be honest, all Jingyan had been thinking was that he wanted to keep Xiao Shu as close by his side as possible until he inevitably had to see him off in the morning. As they crossed the threshold into his bedchambers, however, he was struck by sudden awkward self-consciousness and came to a halt only a few steps into the room.

“Jingyan?” Xiao Shu queried from behind him. His tone was unusually tentative, no doubt sensitive to Jingyan’s strange mood and wary of how Jingyan might react.

Jingyan didn’t react at all, just stared at the bed with his mind a roaring blank. He and Xiao Shu had shared a bed before, on too many occasions to number; this shouldn’t be a big deal, and yet somehow, this time, it was.

The difference was within himself, of course. Jingyan didn’t need to reflect very deeply to understand where his hesitation stemmed from. He had let Xiao Shu die once without ever letting him know of his feelings; to do so a second time would be the worst sort of cowardice, and Jingyan didn’t think he could live with the regret if Xiao Shu never returned and died for a second, final time never knowing that Jingyan loved him in every way it was possible for one human being to love another.

Even if Xiao Shu did not feel the same way - and Jingyan had no expectations that he did - even then, Jingyan couldn’t bear to hold this secret to himself any longer.

“Xiao Shu,” Jingyan rasped, mouth too dry for words. He should turn to face Xiao Shu if he was planning on doing this, but he couldn’t work up the courage. “Xiao Shu, I…”

Jingyan trailed off, shocked into silence by the feel of Xiao Shu at his back, arms sliding around his waist from behind. He could feel Xiao Shu’s forehead resting against the back of his head, curling into him.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu murmured, breath whispering across Jingyan’s ear and making him shiver. “If you want me, you only ever had to ask, but you almost never ask me for anything at all.”

Jingyan turned in Xiao Shu’s arms, facing him with so little space between them that they were breathing the same air, searching his eyes to try and understand what was going through Xiao Shu’s mind right now.

“You always used to ask me for what you wanted,” Jingyan said quietly. “You say I only had to ask, but you never asked either, not for this. Why?”

Xiao Shu’s gaze slid to the side. Jingyan could feel him rubbing at the fabric of his sleeve behind his back.

“Was it ever that simple?” Xiao Shu asked, eyes flickering back to Jingyan’s.

As much as Jingyan wanted it to be, he knew that it wouldn’t have been. Even if he’d known his feelings for Xiao Shu were reciprocated, what could he have done about it? Fourteen years ago, Jingyan had been nothing more than the disfavoured son of a low-ranked consort, Lin Shu the son of a general. They were both expected to marry and set up their own households, growing apart as they’d grown older. Jingyan’s father would never have allowed otherwise, even if General Lin would have; Jingyan hadn’t had the power or the courage to defy the Emperor, nor the anger to try, before Meiling, and after, all he’d been left with was the ashes of his love for Lin Shu.

Perhaps Xiao Shu would have been brave enough to try, if he’d thought Jingyan would follow his lead. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been, as constrained as Jingyan by the expectations and strictures guiding their lives, and that is why he never said anything. Either way, the point was moot: Xiao Shu was asking now, and the situation had changed. Jingyan had both the power and the will to fight to keep Xiao Shu by his side, if Xiao Shu were to return from the war; and if he didn’t, and this was all they would ever have, then Jingyan would not let their final chance pass them by.

“It is now,” he said, and brought his hands up to frame Xiao Shu’s face, capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Part of Jingyan still expected Xiao Shu to fight him - for control, if not in rejection - but instead Xiao Shu melted into him, parting his lips to let Jingyan in.

Jingyan backed Xiao Shu into the wall, near the door. Xiao Shu stumbled, but went easily, draping his arms over Jingyan’s shoulders as his own hit the wooden panels. Jingyan could feel the breath being knocked out of Xiao Shu in a sharp huff, but didn’t pause to allow him to regain it, aggressively pursuing Xiao Shu’s tongue inside his mouth, probably bruising Xiao Shu’s lips with his forcefulness.

Jingyan knew he should exercise restraint, be more mindful of Xiao Shu’s comfort, but the urgency beat in his veins like a wardrum, unchecked by Xiao Shu himself, who put up no resistance whatsoever.

Jingyan’s fingers plucked at Xiao Shu’s hair piece and braid until he had completely dismantled it, jade dropping to the floor with a clatter. Jingyan tugged the strands apart, dragging his fingers through Xiao Shu’s hair until he had destroyed the remnants of Xiao Shu’s dishevelled topknot entirely.

Xiao Shu broke the kiss, still close enough to breathe the same air as he stared into directly into Jingyan’s eyes with a grave look.

They paused like that, one of Jingyan’s hands buried in Xiao Shu’s hair, Xiao Shu’s both curled around the back of Jingyan’s neck, foreheads resting together. Xiao Shu’s serious expression slowly turned to pure Lin Shu mischief, a smirk hovering on his lips.

“Jingyan,” he said in a low voice, leaning back against the wall to glance up at Jingyan from beneath his lashes. “Is that all you’ve got? Are you waiting for a handwritten invitation?”

Jingyan growled in annoyance, knowing that Xiao Shu was doing this deliberately to provoke him, but unable to deny the bolt of competitiveness which went through him. Xiao Shu always knew which pressure points to poke at to get Jingyan’s blood boiling, one way or another.

He yanked on Xiao Shu’s hair, not at all gently, forcing him to arch into Jingyan and bare the line of his throat, and then set his teeth to it, sucking until red and purple bloomed beneath the delicate skin.

Jingyan knew that he shouldn’t be so rough with Xiao Shu, and that it was poor etiquette to leave marks on a lover, but Xiao Shu had challenged him, and he wasn’t exactly feeling very polite right now. Even if no one else would ever know, for tonight, at least, Xiao Shu belonged to Jingyan, and Jingyan wanted to make sure that Xiao Shu couldn’t forget it.

It was childish and uncivilised of him, but he wanted to leave traces of himself behind, stamp possession all over Xiao Shu’s body so that there would be a physical reminder of what they’d done that Xiao Shu couldn’t wipe away, and so he bit and sucked a line of bruises down the side of Xiao Shu’s neck, tugging the edge of his robes away with frustrated impatience to expose the curve of Xiao Shu’s shoulder and sharp angles of his collarbones.

None of these bruises would be exposed come morning, when Xiao Shu was covered by his armour, but Jingyan would still know.

And if anyone else happened to see Xiao Shu in any state of undress before the marks faded - his physician friend, for example - they would know that Xiao Shu had been claimed by someone else, and was not for them.

Jingyan could feel Xiao Shu shifting within the cage that Jingyan had made of his body, pinned as he was against the wall. Jingyan tensed, wondering briefly if Xiao Shu had changed his mind, if he would reject the blatant seal of ownership Jingyan was imprinting on Xiao Shu’s skin almost as clearly as if he’d painted his name in black ink.

If Jingyan had thought Xiao Shu would protest this treatment, however, he couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything, Xiao Shu only encouraged him, pressing Jingyan’s face into the juncture of his neck with one hand to the back of Jingyan’s head and his other arm wrapped tight around Jingyan’s back, holding Jingyan close as he slumped into the wall, relaxing his weight into Jingyan’s arms. Hampered by the skirts of his robes as he was, Xiao Shu managed to hook one ankle around the back of Jingyan’s knee, tilting his hips upward so that Jingyan’s body was cradled between his thighs.

“Jingyan, take me to bed,” he said, an unmistakeable order, and pushed his hands down on Jingyan’s shoulders.

Jingyan was too well-trained by years of Lin Shu’s varying demands to be picked up and carried about not to know immediately what Xiao Shu was asking of him now, and he was already capitulating before the thought fully registered in his mind, hands skimming down Xiao Shu’s legs to ruck the fabric upward. He curved his arms under Xiao Shu’s thighs, boosting Xiao Shu up in one smooth motion to straddle his waist, Xiao Shu assisting to lift his own weight with his hands on Jingyan’s shoulders. It had been so many years since they last time they had done anything like this, but apparently some routines were too deeply ingrained to fade.

Xiao Shu was still too light, and his skin too cool to the touch, but Jingyan forced the observation from his mind, focussing instead on the way Xiao Shu felt in his arms, with his ankles crossed below Jingyan’s lower back and his arms linked behind Jingyan’s neck, testing Jingyan’s hold on him by leaning backwards instead of wrapping himself close.

All the layers of his robes were shoved up almost around his middle to allow him to splay his legs over Jingyan’s hips, the collar pulled open and askew at his throat, bite marks a lurid red against his skin and hair a complete mess, half-unravelled but tangled into knots.

Jingyan gave a small huff of laughter. “You look positively indecent,” he teased. “Xiao Shu, have you always been this shameless?”

Xiao Shu gave him a speaking look, no doubt seeking to remind him exactly whose fault that was. Jingyan should probably feel at least a little abashed, but instead he just felt a primal satisfaction thrill through him that he had been the one to sully Xiao Shu’s impeccable image in this way.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said, with exaggerated patience, digging the heel of his foot into the muscles of Jingyan’s backside. “Take me to bed. Now.”

Jingyan’s smile softened, filled with aching fondness for this impossible genius, the man and boy he’d loved for his entire life. This may be the last time he would ever carry Xiao Shu like this, but if it was, he was going to make it count.

“You only ever had to ask,” he said, echoing Xiao Shu’s words from before, and proceeded to do just that.

13.

The day a messenger pigeon arrived from the north, Jingyan waved everyone away, insisting on receiving the message it carried personally even though his hands shook as he accepted the rolled up scroll of paper, terrified of what it might say.

He almost went to his knees in relief, when he read its contents.

“Your Highness:

The official scout will no doubt reach Jinling within the week, but SOMEONE thought you needed to be kept appraised (of this, if nothing else), and so I write to inform you that Da Yu has officially surrendered. Some clean-ups are still to be done to sure up the border, but Changsu claims we’ll be back by spring.

Against all odds, his health remains relatively stable, without any need to resort to the Bingxu pill after all. Congratulations, Your Highness, you have apparently achieved a miracle. I am duly impressed, and may need to come up with a new Langya ranking in your honour.

Having said that, some complications have arisen, which may be good or bad in the long term, but have currently been classified as ‘perplexing’. Too complex to go into detail here - to be discussed on our return, whether Changsu likes it or not.

Yours,

Lin Chen, Young Master of Langya Hall

PS: Felicitations.”

Jingyan blinked down at the note, bemused and caught somewhere between giddy relief that Xiao Shu was still alive and coming back to him and a suspicious frown about what else it was saying. On its face, the message seemed to say one thing, but Jingyan couldn’t help but think that there was a second layer of meaning to Lin Chen’s words.

Was the miracle truly just because he had persuaded Xiao Shu to refrain from taking the pill? Xiao Shu was stubborn, to be sure, but that seemed to be overstating the case somewhat.

And what did ‘complications’ mean?

For that matter… just what was Lin Chen implying with that postscript?

The only thing that Jingyan could think was that this was a sarcastic reference to the very many love bites and bruises that he had left all over Xiao Shu’s body after their single night together, which Lin Chen had no doubt seen to at least some degree, if not the full extent. In retrospect, it was possible that he had gone a bit overboard.

Jingyan coughed, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks with mild mortification as he crumpled the note into a ball and hid it inside his sleeve.

Zhanying looked at him curiously. “Your Highness?”

“It’s nothing,” Jingyan said hurriedly, then was forced to correct himself. “That is, news from the north. Da Yu have surrendered. The troops should return by the beginning of spring.”

That was very definitely not nothing, and Zhanying had to have noticed there were too many characters scrawled over the scroll of paper for that to be all the missive said, but perhaps judging discretion to be the better part of valour, he paused only for a moment before nodding and making no further comment.

After that, there was nothing for Jingyan to do but anxiously await the return of his men, none more so than Xiao Shu. Despite being caught up in the endless tasks of rebuilding Da Liang as Prince Regent, Jingyan still managed to find an abundance of time to worry about what complications - perplexing or otherwise - might have arisen in relation to Xiao Shu’s health.

There was no further news from the troops in the north over the following month, which was unsurprising. Lin Chen had already said that the matter needed to be discussed in person, and messenger pigeons were too valuable to waste on mere gossip. Jingyan was however put on notice of their imminent return by an advance scout in the first week of spring, when the flowers were just starting to bloom.

Jingyan insisted on personally waiting for the troops at the city gate, which was decidedly not the expected behaviour of someone of his status. He didn’t care, and Zhanying, although the expression on his face when Jingyan gave the order was decidedly resigned, did not question him.

The long formation of horses marching could be seen from the top of the fortifications well before they reached the city itself, the dust kicking up from their hooves with the banners held victoriously high. Jingyan couldn’t distinguish Xiao Shu from this distance, but as co-commander of the troops, he should be riding at the front with Commander Meng.

Propriety and social etiquette dictated that if Jingyan must come personally to witness the return of the troops, he should do so from a distance. As the future emperor, it was undignified for him to rush down to greet Xiao Shu before he’d even dismounted from his horse, in front of all the soldiers and his own guard and whoever else of his people happened to be near the city gates to witness his intemperate behaviour.

It would be undignified… but dignity could go hang itself. Jingyan had vowed to himself when he’d lain with Xiao Shu that he would not let anything stand between them, if they were lucky enough to have a second chance and Xiao Shu returned from war alive. Xiao Shu was back, and Jingyan was not going to let a little thing like propriety or public opinion stand in the way of greeting him properly.

The moment the troops came properly into sight, Jingyan was already off running, knowing that Zhanying and his guard were somewhere behind him but not overly bothered with whether or not they were able to keep pace. He took the stairs as fast as he could without tripping and splitting open his skull, one hand clenched in his robes to keep them from tangling about his feet, and once down off the wall, broke into an urgent sprint back towards the gate. Busy as the streets were, people almost fell over themselves to get out of his way when they caught sight of the imperial red and gold; he would probably feel guilty about that later, but right now he was too impatient to register anything more than a vague gratitude that his path was clear.

Jingyan stumbled to a stop just beyond the city wall, bracing his hands on his thighs as he gasped for air. Zhanying and the other guards were yet to catch up, hampered more by the crowds of people than Jingyan himself had been, and no doubt worrying about having lost sight of their charge. He would have to apologise later for losing them, but he had more pressing concerns right in this moment.

The front guard were close enough now that he could make out individual details, and the moment he recognised Xiao Shu’s face, Jingyan straightened, took a deep breath, and yelled, “XIAO SHU!”

Xiao Shu’s horse faltered in its stride, reacting to its rider’s hesitation communicated through his body language, then broke away from the rest of the battalion in a trot towards Jingyan.

“Your Highness,” Xiao Shu said pointedly, as he guided his horse to a stop a handful of steps away. “May I ask precisely what you think you are doing?”

His expression was politely bland, but Jingyan could read the irritation in his eyes. Well, good. Served him right.

“Honestly, Xiao Shu, do you really need to ask?” Jingyan said, unable to contain the grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t think I was being subtle.”

That earned him an actual frown. “Your Highness--”

“Don’t Your Highness me,” Jingyan interrupted, walking up to Xiao Shu’s mount. “Are you planning to stay on your horse forever, or are you going to dismount?”

Xiao Shu sighed but capitulated, swinging one leg over the pommel of his saddle so that he faced Jingyan. Before he could slide to the ground, however, Jingyan caught him about the ribs and swung him around.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu hissed, hands flying to Jingyan’s shoulders for balance. “You can’t - stop that!”

“I can’t stop that?” Jingyan said, widening his eyes innocently.

Xiao Shu gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, a display of petulance Jingyan hadn’t seen from him in this guise but which was nevertheless familiar from their childhood.

“Xiao Jingyan, you put me down right now,” he ordered, smacking his fist into Jingyan’s shoulder. “Everyone is staring! You can’t do this!”

Jingyan squeezed Xiao Shu tight against him for a moment, at least as much from the desire to be contrary as for the joy of it. Xiao Shu felt heavier, more solid; some of that would be the weight of the armour, of course, but Jingyan thought that despite expectations, Xiao Shu in fact seemed healthier than he had before he had left, not less so.

“Do what, precisely?” he asked, finally setting Xiao Shu down on his feet, but not removing his arms from Xiao Shu’s waist. “Call you Xiao Shu? Welcome you home? You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Both!” Xiao Shu said, exasperation radiating from him in waves. “Either!”

Jingyan pinned Xiao Shu with the most sardonic look he could muster. “Xiao Shu,” he said patiently. “Do you honestly believe that there is a single person, in all of Jinling, who doesn’t know exactly who you are by now? Even if it weren't obvious after the way Father spoke to you in court at his birthday celebrations, anyone who knew Lin Shu would have to be completely oblivious not to realise when I agreed to you leading the armies against Da Yu.”

Xiao Shu looked completely disgruntled by this, probably more because he couldn’t find a convincing comeback against it than it being news to him in any way.

“As for your second issue…” Jingyan continued, not waiting for Xiao Shu to start reconstructing his counter-arguments. “I grant you that it may be the cause of gossip, but what of it? As you told me yourself, you gave me a country; I have the overwhelming support of all the ministers, particularly after our victories in simultaneous battles on every front, and in any case, Father has confined himself to his palace for the past two months, completely withdrawing from the business of the court. There are no other suitable candidates to take my place as Crown Prince. What is anyone going to do, just because I behaved a little scandalously in my enthusiasm to see you home safe?”

He paused, and smirked.

“Not to mention that, given the fact that everyone now knows your identity as Lin Shu, my behaviour should come as no surprise to begin with,” he added. “It would probably cause more suspicion if I didn’t react like this, frankly.”

Xiao Shu stared at him in disbelief, expression somewhere between fond and annoyed.

“Who ever taught you how to bludgeon someone over the head with reason like that?” he said. “It’s insufferable.”

“Changsu, I’m fairly sure this is what they mean when they say ‘the pupil has surpassed the master’,” a voice cut in dryly, before Jingyan could point out that Xiao Shu ought to know. Finally releasing Xiao Shu, Jingyan turned to see Lin Chen riding up towards them, and remembered all of a sudden the cryptic message he’d been sent.

“Young Master Lin,” he greeted formally, a little wary of what the man would have to say about Xiao Shu’s health, not to mention awkward about the possible cause for the congratulations that Lin Chen had bestowed in that non-descriptive afterword.

“Your Highness,” Lin Chen returned, dipping his head slightly in an insouciant bow. It was bordering on unforgivably rude, as a greeting to the Crown Prince, but Jingyan found it quite refreshing. “Has Changsu told you the happy news yet?”

Jingyan looked at Xiao Shu, confused. Xiao Shu shot a look of pure poison at Lin Chen, so scalding that Jingyan was honestly surprised the man didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

“Happy news?” he echoed. Was Xiao Shu cured? But then, why wouldn’t he say so straight away, in that case?

“Well if you’re not going to tell him,” Lin Chen told Xiao Shu, then turned to Jingyan, put his hands on his shoulders, and said, with terrifying gravity: “Congratulations. You’re going to be a father.”

Jingyan blinked.

“Excuse me?” he said, after a very long pause.

“You and Changsu have created a medical miracle,” Lin Chen announced, clearly enjoying this far more than was reasonable in the circumstances. “By virtue of some mysterious combination of the effect of the Poison of the Bitter Flame on Changsu’s body and your excess of yang energies, which I intend to study in great detail, you have somehow managed to impregnate your very male lover with your spawn. We even know exactly when the child was conceived to the day, due to your very helpful visual assistance, so thanks a lot. He’s just over three months along, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Jingyan stared at him, and then stared at Xiao Shu.

“Is this a joke?” he said blankly.

If it was, Xiao Shu apparently didn’t find it very funny, because his face looked like a thundercloud.

“Honestly, I wish I had thought of it first, because it would have made for an excellent prank,” Lin Chen admitted, cutting a sideways look at Xiao Shu. “But no, as it so happens, I am actually being serious. Impossible as that may seem.”

Xiao Shu’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t say anything, glaring fixedly towards a point in the distance that meant he didn’t have to meet the eyes of either Jingyan or Lin Chen.

“Uh,” Jingyan said, wondering if he was suffering from a hallucination. “I’m sorry, could you…?”

He gestured vaguely, not even sure how to finish that sentence.

“To give you a very high level summary: yes, he is pregnant. No, I don’t know how, but we certainly all know who, why and when. He’s still alive and more stable than expected because the baby’s qi is supplementing his own, and because you apparently had enough yang energy to share,” Lin Chen rattled off. “Not a treatment I had previously considered for Poison of the Bitter Flame, but I’ll have to bear it in mind for future reference, because it seems to be working surprisingly well. Keep it up, try to refrain in future from sharing the details, I hope you like babies.”

This sank in slowly, with an air of unreality. It was too ludicrous to be the truth, and yet, Lin Chen really didn’t seem to be lying, and Xiao Shu - still maintaining his stony silence - certainly wasn’t acting like this was intended to be funny.

Which meant… Xiao Shu was pregnant?

Xiao Shu was pregnant. With Jingyan’s child. And he had just come back from the middle of a battlefield.

Jingyan felt light-headed, certain that the blood had completely drained from his face and he must be as white as death. Never even mind the hows or whys; Xiao Shu had been carrying Jingyan’s baby in a warzone.

Intellectually, he knew that panicking was about as far from helpful as could be, but knowing that didn’t help calm him down. Which was why, when he saw Zhanying finally catching up and approaching from the city entrance, he immediately seized on the chance to exert some control over the situation.

“Zhanying!” he called out, tamping down an edge of hysteria. “Call a carriage for General Mei, right now!”

Zhanying slowed to a stop, taking in the scene in front of him with a bemused expression.

“Jingyan, you’re being ridiculous,” Xiao Shu interjected irritably, before Jingyan could repeat the order. “Complications aside, I can still ride a horse.”

Logically, Jingyan knew that Xiao Shu was right - he had ridden all the way from the northern border in his current state, and Lin Chen did not seem overly concerned by this - but logic didn’t exactly hold much sway over him right in this moment.

“But what if you fall off?” he said weakly. It was stupid, Jingyan knew it was stupid, but… well, what if he did?

Xiao Shu gave him a look so withering that Jingyan wouldn’t be surprised if it caused the new blossoms to wilt right off the trees.

“Jingyan,” he said, in the kind of even tones that promised danger ahead. “Have you lost your mind?”

Jingyan opened his mouth to defend himself - somehow, even he didn’t really know what he was planning to say - but Lin Chen beat him to it.

“No, no, I absolutely agree with His Highness,” he intervened, with transparently gleeful malice. “Changsu should be escorted at all times, and treated with the utmost care, like the very finest porcelain. After all, we have no point of reference for his condition, and with his history of delicate health…”

“Lin Chen,” Xiao Shu snapped, “stop talking.”

“Just so you know, I’m really enjoying this,” Lin Chen said in response, his irrepressible smirk suggesting to Jingyan that the man must have a death wish. “Payback, Changsu. So much payback. Would you like me to call Li Gang and Zhen Ping over? Or Yan Yujin, perhaps?”

Xiao Shu narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to regret this,” he vowed.

“Probably,” Lin Chen agreed. “But the real question is: will it be worth it? And the answer is yes, my friend. Yes it will.”

The problem was, Lin Chen may be teasing, but it didn’t change the fact that Xiao Shu’s condition was unprecedented, and he did have pre-existing problems with his health, and above all, he was carrying Jingyan’s baby, so frankly, Jingyan wasn’t about to take his chances.

“Zhanying!” he repeated, ignoring the bickering going on between Xiao Shu and Lin Chen. “Call the carriage, now! I’ll make it an imperial edict if I have to!”

Zhanying glanced between Jingyan and Xiao Shu. His expression was perfectly bland, but Jingyan had worked alongside him long enough to almost see him wonder what the hell was going on and then make the undoubtedly wise decision that he didn’t actually want to know, so long as he could avoid it.

“Of course, Your Highness,” he said after a brief hesitation, saluting Jingyan while steadfastly pretending not to notice the discontent palpably emanating from Xiao Shu. “Right away.”

Xiao Shu watched Zhanying as he very hastily departed in search of a carriage, scowl settling into a very studied non-expression before he turned to face Jingyan once more.

“Are you going to be like this for the next six months?” he asked, almost conversationally.

“Yes,” Jingyan said instantly. In fact, he admitted to himself, he’d probably be worse; if he thought he could get away with it, and more to the point, if Xiao Shu were not wearing armour that would get in the way, Jingyan would be carrying him to the damn carriage himself.

Xiao Shu sighed. “Fine,” he said. “If you insist, on this one occasion, because I can’t be bothered arguing with you and making a spectacle. Don’t expect me to agree to this stupidity in future. As for you,” he added ominously, glaring at Lin Chen, “I’ll deal with you later.”

“You can try,” Lin Chen said serenely. “But it won’t change the fact that this may be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Death is too good for you,” Xiao Shu informed him, but allowed Jingyan to lead him over towards the carriage Zhanying had managed to acquire, one hand resting on Xiao Shu’s lower back for support.

“Zhanying, can you make sure that my horse and General Mei’s are both taken care of?” Jingyan ordered, as he assisted Xiao Shu into the carriage. “Stabling them both at the East Palace will be fine.”

“Just to make sure we’re clear on this,” Xiao Shu said, “I’m not moving in with you. Li Gang and Zhen Ping will see to my horse.”

“Yes you are,” Jingyan told him, then to Zhanying, “Ignore him, the order stands. Both horses are to be taken to the East Palace.”

“... Whatever you say, Your Highness,” Zhanying said, with a straighter face than Jingyan thought he could have managed in the circumstances. Zhanying probably deserved some kind of promotion or reward for everything he had to put up with, really. Especially over the next few months.

Xiao Shu huffed, slouching back against the seat of the carriage as Jingyan climbed in next to him.

“Are you happy now?” he asked, and though he was affecting a sullen tone, Jingyan thought he could hear a genuine question hidden beneath the sarcasm.

Jingyan let the smile break across his face, sliding his arm around Xiao Shu’s shoulders to pull him against Jingyan’s side. The armour dug in uncomfortably, but he didn’t care; Xiao Shu was alive, and he was back, and finally, after all these years, he was Jingyan’s.

“As a matter of fact,” Jingyan said, “yes, actually. I am.”

14.

“So have you decided what you’re going to call her?” Nihuang asked, as Jingyan cradled the baby gently against his shoulder.

He sat on the edge of Xiao Shu’s bed, Xiao Shu half reclining beside him with his hair loose and spread out around him. He was still pale, and exhausted, but Lin Chen and Jingyan’s mother had both told Jingyan that there were no immediate concerns for his health, and that was good enough for him, so long as Xiao Shu stayed put until he’d regained his strength some more and didn’t try to overdo things.

His confinement had been unsurprisingly fraught with sulks and fits of temper - Xiao Shu had always been a terrible patient, and it seemed that practice had not improved him - so enforcing this would no doubt prove to be trying, but Jingyan was more than prepared to do what it took.

“Xiao Yingzhu,” he told Nihuang, smiling at his daughter as he smoothed a small wisp of hair away from her face. “Ying is the generational name, of course, for lustrous. Zhu for pearl.”

The third character of her name had been Jingyan’s idea, although he had naturally discussed it with Xiao Shu first. Xiao Shu had rolled his eyes and chided Jingyan for being overly sentimental, but Jingyan could tell that he was moved by the thought, even if he would never admit it out loud.

And it may be slightly over the top to call their daughter “lustrous pearl”, but… well, she was precious, so frankly, Jingyan thought it was well suited, personal significance aside.

None of this really explained the particularly judgemental look that Nihuang gave first him and then Xiao Shu, however.

“Pearl,” she repeated. Jingyan blinked, noting out of the corner of his eye that Xiao Shu had gone oddly still.

“Yes?” he said cautiously. He wasn’t sure whether Nihuang remembered the pearl that Xiao Shu had demanded as a present - they had never spoke of it again since, and he didn’t know if she had seen it since he had finally gifted it to its intended owner - but whether she did or she didn’t, surely it was not such a strange choice of name?

“You combined the first half of the Yan from your name with the second half of the Shu from Lin Shu-ge-ge’s name into a single character,” she said flatly. “You literally combined your names, and then imposed that on your daughter? Can’t you even try to be subtle about how disgustingly in love you are?”

Jingyan blinked at her, mentally reviewing what she just said. Zhu was composed of two halves, with the meaning taken from the jade of his own name, and the sound taken from--

He turned to stare at Xiao Shu, whose expression remained perfectly serene, but the tips of his ears were turning red.

“Xiao Shu,” Jingyan said slowly. “Xiao Shu, did you deliberately...?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Xiao Shu informed him, with lofty self-dignity, even as the blush began to spread across his cheeks.

He could try to brazen this one out, but that was honestly one of the least convincing lies he’d ever told. Jingyan kept staring, rocking Yingzhu slightly in his arms.

“When you told me to get you a pearl,” he said. “You were very specific about it.”

And Jingyan had thought it was odd at the time, but Xiao Shu did the strangest things for the strangest reasons. Unless it seemed immediately relevant, Jingyan usually didn’t try to puzzle out the inexplicable ways of Xiao Shu’s mind, because it would probably only end in madness if he tried.

“Was I?” Xiao Shu said vaguely, gaze sliding away to the side.

“Very, very specific,” Jingyan continued, feeling the smirk beginning to twitch at the corner of his lips. “Just how many times did you remind me about your pigeon egg, again?”

“What a coincidence,” Xiao Shu said blandly, still not meeting Jingyan’s eyes. “Who would have thought?”

“Xiao Shu--” Jingyan began, and was then startled into silence by Nihuang very abruptly standing up from where she had been seated beside him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, with exaggerated patience, “I think I might take my leave, since I’m fairly certain you don’t need me here for the rest of this conversation. Congratulations again, she’s beautiful, and I look forward to holding her once someone manages to pry her from His Highness’s grip. Until later.”

Jingyan and Xiao Shu watched her go.

“She does have a point,” Xiao Shu said, transparently seizing upon the opportunity to change the subject. “Have you put Yingzhu down even once since she was first handed to you?”

“I let my mother hold her,” Jingyan protested. Admittedly, it had only been for a very brief period of time, but it counted. “Besides, she cries whenever I put her down.”

“I noticed,” Xiao Shu said, scowling slightly. Yingzhu had a tendency to escalate into screaming wails whenever Xiao Shu held her, and could only be calmed by passing her back to Jingyan. Xiao Shu took it as a personal affront. “Why does my child prefer you to me?”

“Your father used to ask me the same thing,” Jingyan said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I am just especially attractive to Lin babies?”

This succeeded in coaxing a small laugh out of Xiao Shu. “Well, I can’t argue with that,” he said, smiling now. “But our precious little pearl could stand to have a bit more gratitude for the one who carried her for nine exceedingly long months.”

Jingyan considered this, something about it triggering a very old and hazy memory of his brother.

“Wait, I have an idea,” he said, shuffling up to the head of the bed to lean against the wall. “Take Yingzhu.”

He passed Yingzhu over to Xiao Shu without waiting for him to respond, ignoring Xiao Shu’s bemused and slightly wary expression as Yingzhu started to give little hiccuping sobs.

“Jingyan,” Xiao Shu said, “I don’t know what you expect this to achieve, but--”

“Come here,” Jingyan told him, with his most appealing look. “Please?”

Xiao Shu gave him an exasperated look, but allowed himself to be manhandled so that he was lying against Jingyan’s chest, between his legs, with Yingzhu resting in the crook of his elbow. Jingyan slid his arms around Xiao Shu’s waist, hands resting lightly on Xiao Shu’s stomach just below where he held their daughter, and hooked his chin over Xiao Shu’s shoulder.

He made a face at Yingzhu, and she blinked at him, her scrunched up red face slowly softening into a grin.

“See?” Jingyan said. “This is much better.”

“You only want an excuse to make me sit in your lap,” Xiao Shu accused, but relaxed in Jingyan’s hold, turning his face into the curve of Jingyan’s neck.

Jingyan squeezed Xiao Shu tight around the middle, dropping a kiss on Yingzhu’s downy head.

“Well,” he said, letting the smug smile spread across his face, “you are both mine, after all.”