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名花倾国两相欢，
Famed flowers, famed beauty; both are praiseworthy.
常得君王带笑看。
Often the King would watch with a smile.
解释春风无限恨，
Breaths akin to spring winds, cutting through heaviness and hatred,
沉香亭北椅栏杆
And a scent left in the pavilion that lingers even when buffeted by the strongest northern gale.
《清平乐》唐：李白
“A Song of Serenity,” Li Bai (Tang Dynasty)
He'd never been very good with words.
It wasn't a surprise - literacy wasn't the first thing that was taught in the orphanage. He'd learned numbers, and how to read the names of the buildings, which wasn't so much reading as just recognising the shapes of the signboards and putting the sounds he'd heard other people call them to it.
He knew what the word for 'tea house' looked like as much from the smell of tea, sight of people sitting at tables with teapots and teacups and a waiter serving pots and pots of water and buns, as he recognised the shapes of the words from the banner.
He had been thirteen when his Prince had insisted on him learning to read, having a tutor come in to teach him, and it was to Bi'an's surprise that the word "tea house" wasn't just one picture, one word, but two, with parts inside that could be broken apart and moved around to mean more words.
Reading didn't come easily to him; he'd never be all that comfortable looking at a book or a page and have meaning immediately come to him, like his Prince did. But he could learn to write evenly and straight, even if it wasn't with the delicate elegance with which his Prince wielded his brush, and it wasn't as fast as anyone else could write, but he could pen simple orders, direct missives, and short notes.
(Copying anyone else's drafts only needed eyes and hands, he could have done that even without learning how to read and write, but it would have been much harder, not knowing which bits were actually words, and which bits you could take liberties with.)
When it came to doing things, it always had been easier to discern meaning from the spoken word - a page didn't have tone, didn't have emotion, didn't have body language. Maybe he was just not clever enough to understand it, or maybe he hadn't learned young enough, when his Prince had learned even before he could walk, how to read tone, emotion, feeling from four, eight, even ten short lines on a page.
He had learned how to read people from as far as he could remember, whether the words in the supervisor's mouth was at odds with their body language, whether "so you're late" meant a punishment of kneeling for two hours or a kept aside portion of dinner. Whether "of course" meant the officials visiting were supposed to be shown to the rooms with the good (desirable) children to be adopted, bought as servants, or whether it meant they would be shown in a long circuitous route to the front door.
His Prince had shown him the books - he understood those, the meanings of the words were straightforward. The character said, did, thought, at least he didn't have to guess.
These, he could discuss with his Prince - at first he'd worried that his Prince would be bored, that he would have nothing to offer truly, but when he'd said, "Baoyu is a floppy fish," the Second Prince had stared at him, wide-eyed.
"What's a floppy fish?" he said. "Fish swim, but they don't--"
"When they're fresh caught from the river," Bi'an said, "they flop around a lot, with big eyes and -"
"You will show me?"
His Prince had never seen fish at the market, not those still breathing and desperate for water, so of course he'd taken his Prince down to the river one day.
Caught a river fish - a little catfish with its barbs and put it in a bucket for his Prince to observe.
When it leapt out of the bucket, his Prince had shrieked, and scrambled right into Bi'an's chest. "It's jumping! At me!"
And all he could feel was this huge welling of adoration, while soothing his Prince; a warm burst of affection when his Prince got over the shock and inched closer to poke tentatively at the fish flopping on the grass.
"A floppy fish," the Prince said, bright-eyed with wonder and pleasure that night, "what does it mean, then, if you call him that?"
"It means-- he does nothing, except flop uselessly, like that fish," Bi'an said.
"Oh, that's so suitable," his Prince said, smiling up at him. "It's a perfect descriptor!"
It meant that, in this, at least, he could contribute something, that his Prince sought his opinions on the stories. There were ideas and experiences he had that the Prince didn't know, and thought were wonderful.
Poetry, however, was beyond Bi'an.
When his Prince explained it, word by word, line by line, it made sense. But when were the flowers supposed to indicate season, when were they supposed to indicate emotion? Eight words a line, or four words a line - they got too difficult, too much for him to understand.
When his Prince cried over Fan Xian's poem, the one with the howling apes, Xie Bi'an had no idea what it meant other than that he should eviscerate Fan Xian.
Apes surely sounded terrible, and it did sound very lonely to be on a mountain, but his Prince explaining it made still less sense.
At least they rhymed?
There was one poem with crab-apple flowers, and his Prince had definitely wept on Bi'an's shoulder about it; this one was definitely Fan Xian's fault, because it apparently had made Lin Wan'er sound very watery too, so next time Fan Xian dared to show his face he was getting run through the spine.
But the poems that His Highness preferred, at least they seemed to all carry similar - as his Prince called it - motifs. Certain flowers kept popping up, and if nothing else, Bi'an could keep track of those.
His Highness would share most of his books - the ones he called light reading - with Bi'an. He liked reading them out to him, because it was easier for Bi'an to follow the story that way, and offer him comments as His Highness looked at him, smile sweet and bright in the candlelight.
His Highness liked the "common sense" comments, even if Bi'an sometimes offered silly ones, like "it'd be solved if she just stabs him." or "why didn't they just tell their parents?"
He felt on stronger footing when it was stories about the Jianghu, because Bi'an had listened very closely to Shifu's stories, and had trained with people that Shifu had introduced him to. The stories weren't always correct about the Janghu, and these he could offer proper comments, though His Highness sometimes teasingly argued back that it was for narrative convenience that the two protagonists didn't just challenge each other to a duel and actually find out that they were the lovers they had been pining for all along.
"If they didn't misunderstand and never spoke," His Highness had said, "then there wouldn't be a story."
"Maybe it would have been a better story if they had the duel and then got married and then went to beat up the evil Prefect together," Bi'an said, and His Highness had laughed and conceded, saying he'd write a letter to the writer demanding a better story with Bi'an's comments.
It was always nice when His Highness curled up against Bi'an's side to read those books, tucking himself under Bi'an's arm, his hair in a simple high braid falling sweetly against Bi'an's chest. He got cold easily, yet he'd not wear anything on his feet, bare toes barely tucked under his robes as he turned the pages, until Bi'an reached over and pulled blankets over his stubborn Prince.
There were some books that His Highness refused to read aloud though; these, he told Bi'an, were terrible, trashy things that would rot the brain.
"But then why read it?" Bi'an said, and His Highness just smiled and tucked himself closer.
He'd squeak and fling the books aside, cover his face and blush, but when Bi'an said he'd burn them for horrifying his Prince so much, His Highness would cry he couldn't, he could only burn them when he was done.
Bi'an really didn't understand books sometimes.
"Hn, another one," His Highness said, and waved off the servant before he could even finish reciting.
"Another…?" Bi'an asked, gently, when it seemed like there weren't any more servants coming.
"Another one dedicated to me," His Highness said, and flipped desultorily through the latest chapter of Red Mansions.
"It was about overturned cities," Bi'an said, frowning, confused. Did they mean His Highness' attempt to raise an army? Was it a sneaky jab at them?
"Mmm? Oh, it's just saying, my beauty is enough to cause the fall of a city," His Highness said, and leaned back with a sigh. "Why are the poems so boring now? It's like they're all copying what Fan Xian wrote. Meh. Can you go see if he'll write one today? Don't bother letting any of the other servants pass along any other poems, they're uninspired and boring."
Bi'an nodded, though …
He was going to have a small talk with the author of that particular poem. His Highness was beautiful, yes, but Bi'an was allowed to be displeased if someone else mentioned that.
Especially since now they were engaged.
His Highness smiled up at him, a knowing lilt to his chin that made Bi'an's cheeks warm, and tucked his feet under himself, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Only Fan Xian's poems."
He had thought to listen into the poems that His Highness liked, and try to figure out what was the commonality. There were themes, yes, of … well thoughtfulness, and of some very pretty scenery, though he was never entirely sure which was when unless His Highness explained.
Unfortunately, the poems didn't always mention specific things he could use - some of them would just say flowers. Though the title of one particular favourite of his Highness', included Peony.
That one, about leaving the house and missing the house's flowers was...
A little too deep, and His Highness had looked wistful, then refused to explain that one.
But still.
Peonies were very appropriate; they were an imperial flower, after all, Bi'an knew that much.
He was good with his hands, even if he wasn't good with words or writing. And though peonies had many large but delicate petals, he would try his best anyway.
It would have been the height of… of… impertinence, perhaps, to give the carved hairpin to His Highness in person, to demand his acceptance or rejection immediately.
So he left it on the little dressing table next to His Highness' comb, before he left for morning training with his guards.
(Guards. He had soldiers and guards to oversee, now that he was a Count. He still couldn't believe it.)
When training was done and he returned for the afternoon, His Highness was curled up in the little pavilion in the garden in his quarters, reading yet another stack of books.
"You're done?" he said, lifting his head when he heard Bi'an approach, and he smiled up at him, putting down his book and reaching up to Bi'an, soft sleeves fluttering in the breeze, red-brown silk two shades darker than the carved peony in his hair.
Bi'an had slipped away from the crowd as soon as possible, because he neither wanted to get too drunk, nor to keep His Highness waiting. Tradition might be tradition, but His Highness was an Imperial Princess; it wouldn't be right to make him wait.
The red and gold candles were still burning strong, when he came in the door, and-
His Highness was reading a book, head tilted just enough for his veil not to obscure his view of the page.
"Your Highness," Bi'an said, unable to help the warmth in his chest at the adorable sight, especially when His Highness squeaked and shoved the book under the pillow.
"I hid the book in the room beforehand," His Highness said, "I thought you would be out longer."
"I wasn't going to make you wait."
"Mm," his Highness said, and folded his hands down primly onto his lap. "Well you're here now."
His head tipped towards Bi'an, and Bi'an had to make himself go forward, still staring at the shimmer of the thick red silk.
Red and gold, the thread glinting in the flicker of the flames, the red beads of the phoenix's eyes all but glowing in the hallowed dim light.
"Bi'an?"
Bi'an sat himself down, as close as he could make himself, and reached out to touch the heavy hem of the veil.
His Highness tipped his head up; he could see the bridge of His Highness' nose, the faint curve of his lips under the fabric, and Bi'an carefully, slowly, lifted it up, over His Highness' face, the heavy silk hooking up over--
There were gold hairpins in His Highness' hair, carefully placed, gold and rubies dripping down the sides of his artfully arranged hair, but in the centre, catching the veil, was the peony Bi'an had carved.
"... Your Highness," Bi'an said, awed.
"I insisted," His Highness said, smile dimpling his cheeks. "After all, it was carved for me by fu-jun."
Fu-jun. Husband
Bi'an choked, his hands freezing right there, and his Highness - oh, oh, his fu-ren - leaned in, his smile quirking side-ways. "Fu-jun," he breathed, while Bi'an's brain made noises like a bee. "I'm finally your fu-ren."
Bi'an swallowed, hard, staring into his fu-ren's dark eyes. "... yes. Finally."
At last.
END