Chapter Text
zero
Zhou Zishu knelt before a dying General, indifferent to the chaos around him. The Oirat were beginning to flee—leaderless, disoriented, and demoralised by the appearance of reinforcements. It was going to be a rout. Zhou Zishu didn’t care. He cradled General Ye on his lap, trying not to look at the terrible wound in his chest.
“Haa… you stinky brat,” General Ye whispered, staring up at him. “So… you’re actually… capable of…” A shaky hand tipped up, smearing grime against the tears wetting Zhou Zishu’s cheeks. “Wei. What… are you crying for, hm…? Looks like… we won.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Zhou Zishu said, his voice broken against his sobs. Was this grief his, or Junwang’s, or both? He’d known what he had to sacrifice with this gambit of his. Seen Leitie soldiers whom he’d gotten to know die more horrible deaths under his lead. Perhaps this was merely the last straw—or the reminder of history, echoing through another life. Sacrifice, twice over.
General Ye chuckled weakly, coughing blood as he did. His eyes were growing dim. “Life… and death… are fated. You did… what you could. The azure mountains… are unchanging… the green rivers… flow forever. I hope… we’ll meet again… have a drink. In another life.”
Zhou Zishu held General Ye’s hand tightly, watching until his eyes grew dull. He closed them gently and set the body on the ground. Then, he got up and reached for his bow.
day one
Wen Kexing couldn’t help having his fingers linger over Zhou Zishu’s skin as he changed the dressings on his husband’s wounds. Zhou Zishu didn’t seem to notice, his gaze fixed blankly over at nothing. They sat in the room Zhou Zishu had commandeered in Hongjiao city. Noise seeped in through the closed doors—the reinforcements were helping attend to the wounded, clear out corpses for burial or burning, and clean out the city.
Once done, Wen Kexing gently pulled Zhou Zishu’s clothes together, setting them to rights. Zhou Zishu flinched as he did so, blinking briefly at him in confusion before squeezing his eyes shut. Somehow, the fact that Zhou Zishu had taken General Ye’s death badly was an utter surprise to Wen Kexing. Junwang always seemed so unshakable.
Wen Kexing took Zhou Zishu’s hand in his grip, leaning his cheek against Zhou Zishu’s shoulder, careful to avoid his wounds. They listened to each other breathing. As Wen Kexing began to doze off, Zhou Zishu said, “I should go and attend the strategic meeting.”
“Mm.” Zhou Zishu was going to be late as it is.
“I thought my Wangfei might want to give me a reason to sleep in,” Zhou Zishu said, though his smile didn’t touch his eyes.
“Did you want one?” Wen Kexing squeezed Zhou Zishu’s palm lightly.
“Not particularly.” Zhou Zishu lowered his gaze. He let out a shaky breath. “Oh. About your. About your father, and the others in the Wen clan—I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t the one who killed them.”
“If it weren’t for me—”
“Don’t blame yourself. Not for this. A-Xu, despite everything, knowing everything, I would still choose to be here. To be married to you.” Wen Kexing nuzzled Zhou Zishu’s cheek. “I’m sorry as well. For your loss.”
“He was such an annoying man…” Zhou Zishu trailed off, frowning to himself. “I don’t know. I wonder… is Junwang still part of me or something? This sort of helpless sour grief. I’ve felt it once before, but it was over Liang… over the death of my shidi.”
“You once said that the only thing that could move you was sincerity,” Wen Kexing pointed out. “That was one thing General Ye didn’t lack. Both in his actions and as a human being.”
“Maybe I’m too ruthless,” Zhou Zishu said, though he leant against Wen Kexing. “Two lifetimes, and I make the same mistakes.”
“Are they mistakes when they’ve gotten you what you wanted?”
“What I’ve wanted…” Zhou Zishu’s mouth curled wryly. “What a joke.”
“You once told me a ‘story’ about a man who died because he felt he had nothing left,” Wen Kexing said, pulling away and tipping up Zhou Zishu’s chin. “You still have over half of the Leitie. Preserved more of the Northwest than anyone thought possible. Your cousin is the last contender for the throne, and the Oirat are defeated. Also,” Wen Kexing said, leaning closer, “you still have me.”
Zhou Zishu’s long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He pressed forward, kissing Wen Kexing hard on the mouth, then gentling it, the first lover’s kiss they’d shared since they last parted. Wen Kexing made a low, eager sound in his throat as he snuggled closer, his hands drifting up Zhou Zishu’s collar, only for Zhou Zishu to catch his wrists.
“Haa… we’d better not. Or I’ll be extremely late,” Zhou Zishu said, regretful. The shaken man from before was already gone, folded away beneath Zhou Zishu’s usual poise.
“I’ll give you a medical exemption,” Wen Kexing said, though he smiled, gratified all over again by the gesture of trust. Junwang’s vulnerability, shown only to an audience of one.
“No need… though you might as well attend this strategic meeting with me in that capacity. After all, I might faint at any time.”
“No one is going to fall for that excuse,” Wen Kexing said, though he helped Zhou Zishu to his feet. The deliciously narrow waist beneath Wen Kexing’s palm was comfortingly solid, and Wen Kexing let go of the last of his hanging heart. Despite the odds, they were both still here. That was all Wen Kexing could ask for.
week one
“Enough,” Gexi Wuermu gasped, “enough. Here. Stop here.”
Khishig tensed up but obeyed, reining up his horse. As he turned to look at Gexi Wuermu, his master grinned through his bloody mouth. “Don’t look at me like that. Carry me… haa… over there.”
The road back to Xinjiang had been paved with bodies and carrion trees. Khishig’s horse was faster than most, taking them ahead of the fleeing tribes—for now. Still, there was no point in running. While the arrow in his back had just missed his heart, his wounds would kill him in a matter of time, and Gexi Wuermu wasn’t willing to spend the rest of his short life writhing in agony. After all, that was what Junwang wanted. The Demon Prince had avoided killing him outright on purpose.
Khishig’s brow knit in distress as he carried Gexi Wuermu in his arms to the cradle of roots. Winter had bereft the tree of its leaves, only for the Oirat to crown its drooping boughs with the hanged corpses of men, women, and children. Crows fought over the choicest scraps, cawing loudly as they feasted over the dead.
“Do you think… my mother is finally happy?” Gexi Wuermu murmured, staring up at the carrion birds. Khishig knelt before him; his jaw clenched tight. “When I was very young… I used to try and please her… Once, Abai gave me… extra food from his portion, and I… passed it to her…” Gexi Wuermu started to cough, his eyes half-lidding as Khishig gently wiped his mouth. “She brought it to my father… food for a child… he beat her, but he beat me more severely…”
Khishig clasped Gexi Wuermu’s hand, patting it awkwardly. “Don’t… feel sorry for me. I realised in the end… what she was doing. To make a fine blade… you temper it through fire… hammering its weaknesses… out of it one by one. Junwang and I… we’re not that different in the end… yet… somehow, he was tempered more than me. Strange…”
Gexi Wuermu began to cough, convulsing, his hand tightening over Khishig’s. “Give me a dagger.” When Khishig started to shake his head, Gexi Wuermu chuckled weakly. “I want to die here. Laughing, beneath my mother’s curse… still the master of my fate. When it’s done… burn my body. Scatter my ashes… across the grass sea.”
Khishig took both of Gexi Wuermu’s hands in his, clasping them before him. His tears wet Gexi Wuermu’s knuckles, staining lines through the dirt. Drawing the dagger from his belt with shaky hands, Khishig set the hilt gently into Gexi Wuermu’s grip.
month one
Gu Miaomiao smiled as Gu Xiang charged into the garden in front of Princess Jing’an, rushing into her shifu’s arms. “Slowly, slowly,” Gu Miaomiao said, chuckling as she pulled Gu Xiang onto her lap. She was still using a wheelchair to get around, her knees covered in plush furs. “How have you been, hm? How was life in the army?”
“Fun!” Gu Xiang decided, hugging Gu Miaomiao tightly. “Princess Jing’an taught me how to ride a horse!”
“That’s… good, that’s good.” Gu Miaomiao petted Gu Xiang’s back gently. “Did you cause your brother any trouble?”
“I helped out a lot,” Gu Xiang declared, even as the brother in question walked into the garden at a more sedate pace with a warm smile. Wen Kexing approached his family, hugging his mother and sister tightly. Gu Miaomiao’s breath choked briefly in her throat, though she was steady again as she sat back.
“A-Xiang, go into the house. Your friend’s been in a state of excitement ever since we got told that you were on your way back to Xuancheng city,” Gu Miaomiao said, petting Gu Xiang’s hair.
“What friend?” Gu Xiang asked, puzzled.
“That young boy you met in the mountains,” Wen Kexing said.
“Oh… the silly bun boy? Why didn’t he go back to his village?” Gu Xiang looked even more bewildered.
“He said he wanted to stay on, and I needed extra help, so why not. His family’s been notified,” Gu Miaomiao said, gesturing to the house behind her. “Go, go. He’s probably tidying the study right now.”
“But Uncle Yuan said men and women shouldn’t be alone together,” Gu Xiang said, looking tangled. “He said that a lot in the camp to the Princess.”
“What Uncle Yuan, it’s General Yuan,” Wen Kexing corrected, amused. “You’re both still children, anyway. Go and play.”
Gu Xiang rolled her eyes but got off Gu Miaomiao’s lap, heading into the house. Once she was out of sight, Gu Miaomiao laughed. “Same as ever.” She looked relieved.
“A-Xiang is far stronger than she looks.” Wen Kexing went down on his knees, ignoring the gravel on his robes, clasping his mother’s hands. “How are you feeling?”
Gu Miaomiao let out a long, shaky sigh, looking away as she patted Wen Kexing’s hands. “In time, perhaps it will hurt slightly less, but. Your father… he was always proud of you. We don’t blame you or Junwang for what happened.”
Wen Kexing nodded slowly, squeezing her hands. “Have you been comfortable here?”
“Very much so. Madam Yuan is a kind woman—she’s been showing me around the city. I felt guilty about it. Given that all of you—even A-Xiang—were away at war while we were here enjoying ourselves.”
“Don’t be. It’s why Junwang fought so hard in the first place. So that the people of Da Qing could get on with their lives by themselves,” Wen Kexing said. For all that Zhou Zishu liked to wonder if he were ruthless, under all his tactics and plans and goals was a common theme.
“I see. This marriage… you truly are happy?” At Wen Kexing’s nod, Gu Miaomiao exhaled. “Ahh. I’m glad. Though, it’s hard. For the Imperial clan, sooner or later, they want children.”
“Junwang has said that I’m the only one for him in this lifetime. He did, however, consider poaching children from Princess Jing’an,” Wen Kexing said, grinning playfully. “Considering marriage partners for her from people like Yuan Shizi to Liang Baihu, even.”
“Oh? Hm, well, I see,” Gu Miaomiao said with a frown. “All military families? What about scholars? Your late father and I have a lot of friends.”
“I told Junwang the same thing,” Wen Kexing said, chuckling, then sobering. “That being said… Mother, if you want to return to the capital, you’d have to live with us for now. At least until the Imperial contest is thoroughly settled.”
“Well, as long as Junwang doesn’t mind me poking around his home,” Gu Miaomiao said, unsurprised.
“Why would he? Mother, if it comes down to you or him, I’d rather divorce him,” Wen Kexing said, pitching his voice louder. He laughed at the sound of someone missing a step outside the garden courtyard, glancing over his shoulder innocently in time to see the horrified expression on Zhou Zishu’s face.
Behind him, Ye Baiyi laughed out aloud, while Rong Changqing said, “Ahh, it’s a great blessing to have a filial son! Though. Yan’er, it’s said that a shifu is also like a parent, so. Between your husband and me, who would you—”
“Shifu, please don’t ask questions that you wouldn’t like the answer to,” Wen Kexing said, rising to his feet and dusting down his robes.
Rong Changqing clutched his chest. “Cruel. Too cruel. Yiyi, let’s leave this sea of suffering and go and eat some noodles.”
Ye Baiyi perked up. “I heard there’s a great lamian shop in Hongjiao city, one that Junwang liked so much that he fought an army of Oirat over it. Let’s go visit that one.”
“About that…” Zhou Zishu trailed off as Ye Baiyi grabbed Rong Changqing’s hand and rushed off. “Ah, it was just a joke? I’m right here—shouldn’t they even ask me about it first?”
“Senior Rong and Senior Ye have a lot of energy for their age; don’t worry about them. Come, let Mother have a closer look at you,” Gu Miaomiao said, beckoning. Zhou Zishu looked startled for a moment at her gentle address—then he smiled, the lopsided curl to his mouth warm and soft.
year one
The Emperor dismissed the eunuchs from his study, leaving only his two guests. Zhou Zishu looked Helian Yi’s yellow dragon robe up and down. “Suits you,” he said.
“Always found it too bright,” Jing Beiyuan said, pretending to frown. “Your Majesty should consider starting a new trend. What about black? Or maroon?”
Helian Yi chuckled. He waved them to a seat as he settled in before the antique desk, piled high with memorials. Helian Pei had lasted a few months after the victory in the Northwest, eventually succumbing to illness. Technically, everyone should still be in the filial piety period, but the late Emperor had decreed it to be cut short, given the need to deal with the aftermath of the war. Or so it was said. Helian Yi had already been in charge of drafting the Imperial decree for months before that.
“Is this the part where everyone gets showered with rewards?” Jing Beiyuan asked, his smile mischievous, his gaze shrewd.
“Shouldn’t that be the case?” Helian Yi looked appraisingly at them. “The coffers are empty, however, and my personal funds are stretched tight. Or. Did you want something else? A boon? A fief?”
“How about a promise that you’d remember your debts?” Zhou Zishu asked, if with a whimsical air. Everyone in the study knew that to be an impossible promise for someone on the dragon chair. Such was the nature of power—and few people could be magnanimous forever.
“You’re both welcome to take up positions in court,” Helian Yi said after a pointed pause. “What would you like, Zishu? Minister of War, perhaps?”
Zhou Zishu shuddered. “No, thank you. Actually, I would like a fief. The three border fortresses in the Northwest.”
“Aren’t they already yours?”
“Not officially,” Zhou Zishu said.
Jing Beiyuan glanced sharply at Zhou Zishu—the request had come as a surprise. Further, it was a risk: any hint that Junwang might be interested in building his own little power base would threaten the new Emperor directly.
“If that’s what you want,” Helian Yi said with a faint frown.
“The Leitie have been decimated, many of the citizens are dead, and while the tribes are in disarray, the border is at the weakest it’s ever been. I’ve already had to fight back a skirmish or two. Speaking of which, lend me an army until it’s stabilised,” Zhou Zishu said, his tone brisk. When Helian Yi said nothing, Zhou Zishu tilted his head. “Or would you trust anyone else to do such a thing?”
Helian Yi stared evenly at Zhou Zishu for a long moment, then he smiled. “No. I would not. How about a hundred thousand men, picked from the other provinces?”
Jing Beiyuan looked surprised. Zhou Zishu inclined his head and said, “To be returned at some point in time…?”
“Indefinite loan. It would bring the Northwest on par with the other border areas.”
“I’ll need more help. General Yuan stated he’d like to re-retire, but I’d like to keep his sons. Further, I liked the look of some of the people in Princess Jing’an’s hand,” Zhou Zishu said.
“Zishu…” Helian Yi said, a hint of warning in his tone.
Zhou Zishu smiled as though Helian Yi hadn’t spoken. “Also, in the future, when you have a few sons, foster a suitable one out to me.”
That got Helian Yi to frown deeply. “Why?”
“The tiger talisman—you’d rather keep it in the family, wouldn’t you?” Zhou Zishu said.
“…Weren’t you talking about adopting one of Princess Jing’an’s future children? Or your sister-in-law’s?” Helian Yi looked surprised.
“We’ll see.” Zhou Zishu looked indifferent. Helian Yi turned his half-lidded eyes to the memorials, changing the subject.
Afterwards, on their way out of the palace, Jing Beiyuan said, “You weren’t just touching his inverse scale there. You were all but punching it.”
“How else am I to figure out his bottom line?” Zhou Zishu folded his arms behind his back.
“He won’t so easily give you a hundred thousand men.”
“Obviously.” Zhou Zishu would be surprised if that were the case. “Ahh, what a mess. Running away to roam the world… it’s tempting.”
“You?” Jing Beiyuan said, shaking his head wryly. “You know that’d be a mistake. The only thing that can reliably preserve the things you treasure against power is more power.”
“I know that now,” Zhou Zishu said. As they headed past the gates, the Leitie closed ranks around them both.
ten years
“A toast to the young groom—drink! Drink!” Jing Beiyuan raised his cup enthusiastically. Dressed in bright red wedding robes, Cao Weining laughed awkwardly. Before he could touch his cup, Zhou Zishu grabbed it from him, downing the wine. Jing Beiyuan glowered at Zhou Zishu. “Wei! A-Ning here is now your brother-in-law. Should you be stealing his things?”
“I don’t want to have to deliver a drunkard to A-Xiang on her wedding night,” Zhou Zishu shot back. The hall of Gu Xiang’s and Cao Weining’s new house was packed full of guests despite the wedding being held in Beichen instead of the capital—some of them, like Jing Beiyuan, had travelled for months to get here.
“Isn’t it traditional?” Jing Beiyuan said, though he pouted and sat back down. “Hah, we’ll see how you’d still be upright if you drink for him for every table. Who asked you to make A-Ning here one of the Leitie? Of course, his wedding would be full of military wine devils.”
Cao Weining cleared his throat, looking anxiously at Zhou Zishu. “Ah, it’s all right. I’ll drink some.”
“One cup, and only at your wife’s family table,” Zhou Zishu decided. He glanced at the silent guest drinking beside Jing Beiyuan.
Khishig nodded solemnly at Zhou Zishu, his expression unreadable. The Oirat warrior had reappeared years ago at Beichen after the peace treaties had been signed, offering to take up Gexi Wuermu’s previous position as the Oirat official in charge of the Spring Market. He’d brought a boy with him—who now sat at his right. Tseren, Gexi Wuermu’s only son, fostered with Zhou Zishu along with the other boy at the table: Prince Helian Rong. Somehow, it had all been far less awkward than Zhou Zishu thought it would be, even though Tseren was effectively here as a political guarantor. Perhaps even children understood this was everyone’s best chance at lasting peace.
“Isn’t it the responsibility of kids to help share their father’s troubles—adoptive or not?” Jing Beiyuan asked, glancing at the boys.
Only nine years of age, Helian Rong immediately stood up, his worried, serious face so similar to his father’s when young. “Yifu, I’ll drink one cup on your behalf,” he offered.
“No, you sit down, and don’t let your uncle talk you into any more nonsense,” Zhou Zishu said, glaring at Jing Beiyuan. Jing Beiyuan held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender.
Tseren patted Helian Rong’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. If it gets too much for yifu—and I doubt it—I’ll have Khishig step forward.”
“We can order people to step forward?” Helian Rong scanned the faces of the Imperial guard nearby, considering their alcoholic prowess. Zhou Zishu shook his head and left them to it, dragging Cao Weining over to what was meant to be the immediate family’s table. While it traditionally should have been toasted first, things were slightly different with a table full of Imperial clan members and their guests.
Wen Ruyu should have been here. Instead, Wen Kexing sat in his place, rising to toast his brother-in-law, along with the table of Wen clan apprentices and elders. Cao Weining drank, his cheeks growing a little red, his fingers trembling. Wen Kexing’s expression froze slightly. Zhou Zishu sidled over to Wen Kexing and pinched him when no one was looking. “Wei,” he whispered, biting down his laughter. “A-Xiang’s already married. Stop being so dissatisfied with the match.”
“I’m never going to be satisfied,” Wen Kexing shot back.
Beside him, Ye Baiyi let out a loud snort. “Their ba zi match perfectly. Don’t be so picky.” He nudged Rong Changqing, who was busy gorging himself on snacks.
“Hah? Oh, yes. Good match!” Rong Changqing held up a bowl. “A toast!”
“You’re holding the soy sauce bowl… Changqing, how much alcohol have you had?” Ye Baiyi frowned at Rong Changqing, who giggled.
“Shifu, take care of your liver,” Wen Kexing said, though he smiled as he got to his feet, walking with Zhou Zishu to the next table.
“How’s your mother doing on the other side?” The women held their own banquet—a tradition that Zhou Zishu hadn’t minded scrapping, but Gu Miaomiao had insisted. Watching the raucous, increasingly drunken antics on this side of the wedding, however, he maybe understood why.
“Fine. I gather Princess Jing’an is telling them increasingly unbelievable stories about A-Xiang during the war,” Wen Kexing said. Princess Jing’an’s husband, Liang Jiuxiao, rose to his feet to enthusiastically congratulate the new groom at the following table. Yuan Chengyun rose as well, clapping Cao Weining on the arm as he offered a toast—one that he laughed at when Zhou Zishu grabbed the cup. The Yuan and Pingxi factions had both sent a few representatives.
A wedding with military guests did mean a lot of wine. By the time Cao Weining was sent to the wedding chamber, the people trying to heckle the new groom chased off, and the guests helped away, Zhou Zishu was comfortably tipsy. He leant heavily against Wen Kexing as he was supported into a carriage, dozing off and waking up again only once they were back at the Junwang mansion in Beichen.
Qiu Bin clucked his tongue as he saw the state they were in, instructing servants to prepare sobering soup as Wen Kexing drew Zhou Zishu to their private quarters. Wen Kexing cradled Zhou Zishu against him on a divan, chuckling as Zhou Zishu grumbled something about not needing to sober up. He still drank the sobering soup when it arrived, pulling a face, yawning as he let Wen Kexing clean them up and dress them both for bed.
Curled up together in the dark, Wen Kexing brought Zhou Zishu’s wrist up to his mouth, brushing a kiss over the pulse. “Don’t worry,” Zhou Zishu said, yawning. “I’m sure Weining will be good to her. If not, A-Xiang can always come to us, and we’ll beat him up.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Wen Kexing said. Biased as he was, it was evident to everyone who would be the boss of that relationship. “I was just a little envious.”
“Hmm? Of what?” Zhou Zishu asked, puzzled.
“Our wedding was a bit of a disaster,” Wen Kexing pointed out.
“Oh, that.” Zhou Zishu snuggled closer, chuckling. “Why, do you want a do-over? If so, we’d have to get divorced and then remarry. You once implied that you didn't want your family to pay even more dowry. In that case, I'd have to return you your current dowry after a divorce. However, since you’ve sorted so much of your dowry into developing Taisheng and Maofeng over the years, paying that out is going to be complicated. Further—”
“…Now you’ve made it all sound too difficult to be fun,” Wen Kexing said, pretending to sigh sadly. When Zhou Zishu merely huffed, Wen Kexing stroked his back. “You seem relieved.”
“Shouldn’t I be?” In the world before, Zhou Zishu had died the day before Gu Xiang’s wedding. Though he’d been in good health here, he couldn’t help being worried all of yesterday. Dreading the chance, however tiny, that he might have to leave.
“You were so enthusiastic last night despite me saying that we had a long day today…” Wen Kexing leant back, looking steadily into Zhou Zishu’s eyes. “A-Xu, what’s wrong?”
“In my previous life, I never got to see A-Xiang’s wedding,” Zhou Zishu said.
“Ahh.” Wen Kexing kissed Zhou Zishu’s brow, lips brushing tenderly between his eyes, down to the plush softness of his mouth. “You won’t leave me so easily in this one. I’ll steal you from Yanwang himself if I have to.”
Zhou Zishu laughed. He pressed into the kiss, parting his mouth, tangling his fingers into Wen Kexing’s thick hair. The life he had now was still imperfect, but perfection was never something Zhou Zishu had sought. His fingertips traced Wen Kexing’s cheek to his jaw, a journey they had made a hundred times, a thousand times. Down his throat, coming to rest above Wen Kexing’s heart. Here was Zhou Zishu’s world at peace, his life returning fully into its balance, bracketed by crimson embroidery and the threads of fate.
Outside on the tiled roof, a pair of red-crowned cranes perched together at roost, huddled against the northern chill under a sky crowded with distant stars. Tomorrow, they would fly south.