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The edge of the shelf digs a hard line into Shen Yuan’s back. Outside, he can hear the beating drums and clashing cymbals, the sounds of the crowd’s merriment. The Emperor and his family are celebrating the new year in the opulent fashion that is expected of the Forbidden City, with extravagant feasts, grand performances, and little games designed to let the favored consorts win. It’s suffocating, sometimes, all the rituals and customs Shen Yuan has had to follow, even at festivities like these.

But that’s not why Shen Yuan is breathless and overheated right now. No, it’s because of the young man pressed against him, hands on his thighs, mouth on his bared shoulder. His tutee, Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe, whose body is hot through the layers of fabric, whose palms and fingers spread across Shen Yuan’s skin as he lifts Shen Yuan higher, rocks in harder. 

With each thrust, Shen Yuan’s robes, silken and loose, slide further down his shoulders. Shen Yuan’s breath hitches again and again, head falling back as Luo Binghe presses him against the shelf, thread-bound books toppling off with the rhythm of his strokes. Sweat makes Shen Yuan’s clothes stick desperately to the inside of his elbows, his knees, and part of him wishes Luo Binghe had torn off his robes the way he usually does.

Only, they had to make this tryst a quick one. Quick but oh, so damn good.

It’s beyond scandalous, having sex in the royal archives. They could get caught at any time, with Shen Yuan executed for his audacity. For his tutee also happens to be a son of the Emperor, one of a set of twins. In a fair trial, Shen Yuan would say that Luo Binghe was to blame, that Luo Binghe was the one who had tugged him out of his seat and ushered him into the library, claiming to need help on some scholarly project. 

But a trial in the Forbidden City, against a prince, will be anything but fair.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe breathes. He sinks in deep, and Shen Yuan bites into his bottom lip, lashes fluttering. Lets out a little whimper when Luo Binghe pulls out and rocks back in, so perfect and precise that he sees stars. “Gods, Shizun, you’re so...”

So what? Convenient? Inexperienced? 

Easy?

That’s how Shen Jiu sees it, anyway. Shen Yuan’s twin, assigned to tutor Luo Binghe’s twin brother. It’s a good match, the Emperor had declared, pairing them to each of the crown princes. Maybe too good a match when it comes to Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe. The spark was there from the start, the heated crackle of attraction, and Luo Binghe wasted no time in making his affections known as soon as he became of age. For the longest time, Shen Yuan had resisted. Pushed him away for the sake of their families, their country. To protect his own heart from breaking when Luo Binghe inevitably took a wife. 

So how did they get here?

To Luo Binghe leaving deep, darkening bruises down Shen Yuan’s neck, teeth and tongue mapping out his territory; Luo Binghe hitching Shen Yuan’s leg over his shoulder, pounding into him so hard that little whimpers leak out of his throat. Luo Binghe kissing him, breath catching with his as they come together, Shen Yuan’s back arching off the shelf, Luo Binghe’s hips shuddering.

They take a moment to breathe, bodies tucked together, hearts thudding against each other in perfect sync. Adrenaline worn off, Shen Yuan would have slid bonelessly to the floor if not for Luo Binghe’s tight grip on him, holding him steady against the now-empty bookshelf. 

Shen Yuan looks down at his unkempt robes, damp from sweat and come. 

They’ve made a real mess of things, haven’t they?

“I love you, Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispers, face pressed in the crook of Shen Yuan’s neck.

Shen Yuan sighs, hands curling around Luo Binghe’s neck. 

“I love you, too.”

Luo Binghe draws in a shaking breath, grip tightening around Shen Yuan. He’s so close to weeping, the silly crybaby. Shen Yuan would comfort him, fingers carding through dark hair, but he’s distracted by a movement at the door—the sudden rustling of clothes, and what looks like a glimpse of forest-green.

Shit, Shen Yuan thinks, stomach sinking.

Caught red handed.

—Five years earlier—

The Forbidden City spreads out before his eyes, grey steps leading up to the grand palace that looms into the sky. Even the pathway feels different, firm and cemented beneath his feet, and Shen Yuan takes a moment to settle on it, wiggle his toes in his shoes. The movement grounds him, helps him make sense of the madness of his new appointment. 

Imperial tutor to a prince of China. 

Of all the tens of thousands of men that passed the state examinations, the Emperor picked Shen Yuan. Personally, too, according to the officials who delivered the news. The very fact that the Emperor now knows his name makes his heart race. 

“A-Yuan! Move your ass before you make us late!”

“Yes, Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan calls out to his twin, who’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, arms tucked in his sleeves. 

Right. He wasn’t the only selection.

Shen Yuan loves Shen Jiu dearly. But his brother has a way of making him feel unworthy, undeserving. Even now, he can’t help but compare their clothes: Shen Jiu’s a bold, bright blue, the motif of a white crane etched across the top; his own robes a dull, plain green, a silver pheasant embroidered within the flower designs. 

“I don’t know what you’re so nervous about,” Shen Jiu scoffs as Shen Yuan closes the distance between them. “The Emperor is another person, no different from you and me.” 

Hastily, Shen Yuan shushes him, wide eyes darting to a row of palace guards. “Jiu-ge! You can’t talk about the Emperor like that, it’s a punishable offense!”

Eyes rolled skyward, Shen Jiu spins around and sweeps up the stairs. 

That's the thing with his brother—everyone is unworthy to him. 

Shen Yuan takes in a deep breath, and follows suit. 

To his surprise, the Emperor himself is waiting at the top of the steps in his golden robes, a dragon flying up the length of it—the symbol of his power and longevity. Beside him stands a slender young man in forest-green robes and a dark grey coat, his stare unnerving, a horsetail whisk draped over his arm. 

It’s not usual for the Son of Heaven to meet with lowly commoners like themselves. 

Shen Yuan sinks to his knees with Shen Jiu, heads and hands pressed to the ground. “This humble servant greets YourImperial Majesty,” they chorus in unison.

“Rise, rise,” the Emperor says, chuckling. “Welcome to the Forbidden City, Masters. Now, which of you is Shen Yuan and which is Shen Jiu?”

Shen Yuan opens his mouth. “Your Majesty, I am—”

“I am Shen Jiu,” his twin cuts in, chin lifting, his voice imperious. “This is my brother, Shen Yuan.”

The Emperor’s eyes sparkle with an odd gleam. “I see.” He smiles at them, hands clasped behind his back. “Do you know why you have both been summoned to the Forbidden City?"

Shen Yuan nods. “Because—”

“Because Your Majesty's two eldest are twin sons,” Shen Jiu interjects again, ignoring Shen Yuan’s sidelong glance.

“Exactly right,” the Emperor says. “One distinguished scholar to one wayward son. They've simply outgrown the tutors we have for my other children. I must warn you that my sons are quite a handful.” A shadow flickers across his handsome features. “More so, after their mother passed.”

Shen Yuan’s heart goes out to the Emperor. He knows the pain of grief, having lost his own mother at a young age. Remembers, still, the goosebumps on his skin from the chill of the rain, the news that came in the dead of the night. Remembers how he wailed, globs of tears rolling down flushed cheeks, while Shen Jiu stood by the window, refusing to look at him, at their mother lying ever so still on the bed. Closed off to the rest of the world from that moment onward.

“This servant is sorry for your loss, Your Majesty,” Shen Yuan says, softly.

The Emperor blinks, before his mouth lifts at the corners. “That is kind of you to say, Master Shen Yuan.” His eyes then flick from Shen Yuan to Shen Jiu, and back to Shen Yuan again. Studies them long enough for Shen Yuan to curl his fingers into the fabric of his robes, nervous. 

Finally, the Emperor speaks again. 

“I believe I have an idea on the matches, if you are ready to begin your duties today?”

Shen Yuan wills his heart to calm.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent. Then, Master Shen Yuan, you will have my younger son, Luo Binghe. Master Shen Jiu, you will have the elder, Luo Bingge.” The Emperor nods toward the man with the horsetail whisk. “Zhuzhi Lang, take them to the princes.”

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Zhuzhi Lang says, head bowing.

Shen Yuan prostrates with Shen Jiu once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your wise selection. May Your Majesty live a long and prosperous life.” 

As the Emperor turns to leave, he pauses and twists back slightly. “Ah, I almost forgot. We have rooms prepared in Qing Jing Palace, but you may come and go as you please, should you wish to run errands or visit family.”

Shen Jiu sniffs. “Your Majesty assumes we have family to visit.” 

Zhuzhi Lang arches a brow, but the Emperor’s face softens. “I do apologize.” He turns again and Shen Yuan catches the flash of a smile. “And I must say… the matches couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Your Majesty,” Zhuzhi Lang says, hands lifting in salute as the Emperor passes by, gliding into a chamber room. He waits until all presence of the Emperor is gone, before he gestures for Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu to follow him. “Masters Shen, if you would.”

“Well,” Shen Jiu says, loudly, as they trail after Zhizhu Lang. “It’s fitting that I, the older twin, will be tutoring the older prince and heir.”

“Yes,” Shen Yuan says, in wonder at his brother’s arrogance. “Fitting.”

The inner palace is a maze of gardens, pavilions, and royal palaces. Each of the Emperor’s wives has their own palace based on rank, Zhuzhi Lang explains in his quiet, baritone voice. Starting with the Empress, she has Qing Liang Palace, the largest and closest to Cang Qiong Palace, the Emperor’s personal quarters. After the Empress’s death, her most treasured items have been left in Qing Liang Palace where the Emperor may visit from time to time, his way of conveying his undying love. (“Foolish,” Shen Jiu mutters under his breath, while Shen Yuan gazes at the gates to Qing Liang Palace with bright eyes.) 

Following that is Qing Jing Palace, given to the crown princes and their servants; Qilin Palace for the Imperial Noble Consort; Xian Shu Palace for the Noble Consorts; Huan Hua Palace for the assorted Consorts and Noble Concubines. The rest are occupied by the lower ranked Noble Ladies and Attendants, too numerous and unnecessary to list. 

Maids and eunuchs sink to their knees each time they pass Zhuzhi Lang, greeting him with clear, crisp voices. A mark of his status as the Emperor's personal eunuch.

“Here we are,” Zhuzhi Lang says, stopping at a heavy set of red gates. Above the gates rests a black plaque, the characters Qing Jing Palace written in dulled gold. Inside, there are sounds of metal clashing, harsh and grating.

“What’s that horrid noise?” Shen Jiu says, nose wrinkling.

“The princes must be sparring,” Zhuzhi Lang says, guiding them into the palace. “Don’t be too alarmed, Masters Shen. They can be a little competitive at times.”

‘A little’ is an understatement. 

The twins seem equal in speed, strength, and stamina. Blurred lines of grey on the training ground, sparks fly with every strike of their swords, light flashing off their blades in the noon sun. They attack without pause, without quarter, dust whirling at their feet with every step. 

On the sidelines, an elderly man watches with narrowed eyes, a horsetail whisk rested on one arm. At the sight of Zhuzhi Lang, he hurries forward, hands clasped together. “My greetings to Zhuzhi-gonggong. Are you here to see the crown princes?” 

“Greetings, Meng-gonggong.” Zhuzhi Lang flicks his whisk at Shen Yuan and his brother. “I have brought the princes’ imperial tutors with me. Masters Shen, this is Meng Mo, the princes' personal servant.”

"Good afternoon," Shen Yuan says while Shen Jiu simply stares at the eunuch, head held high.

Unfazed, Meng Mo returns Shen Yuan's greeting and turns back to the training grounds, tremulous voice raised over the din of clashing swords. “First Prince, Second Prince! Your tutors have arrived!”

The fight ceases, and Shen Yuan sees the crown princes for the first time. 

Dressed in charcoal grey, they’re tall and lean, dark hair gathered in a high ponytails, stray curls falling past chiseled jawlines and broad shoulders. They stride up to join the group, swords in hands and eyes gleaming like obsidians, a shared trait from their father. 

The princes look alike, and yet they don’t. Perhaps it’s due to Shen Yuan’s trained eye as a twin himself, but he picks out, instantly, the way the mouth of one twin curls in a smirk, the way the eyelashes of the other fan out with a shy smile.

“Peace to Your Highnesses,” Shen Yuan echoes Shen Jiu in greeting. 

“So, which one of you has the privilege of tutoring me?” says the twin with curled lips.

Meng Mo and Zhuzhi Lang exchange glances, before Zhuzhi Lang bobs his head. “You have Master Shen Jiu as your tutor, First Prince.”

“The prettier one?” Luo Bingge says, smirk growing as his gaze shifts to Shen Yuan. “I knew Royal Father would—”

“I am your tutor, First Prince,” Shen Jiu snaps.

In the stunned silence, Luo Bingge starts to laugh, a rough, strident sound. “Feisty, aren’t you! Good, very good.” He rests his sword blade on one shoulder. “At the very least, I know I’ll be entertained.”

Shen Yuan feels Shen Jiu bristle, reaches out to grab Shen Jiu’s wrist before he can say something foolish. 

Shen Jiu’s head snaps to him, his eyes blazing. “What are you—”

“Let him say what he wants,” Shen Yuan murmurs, mouth hardly moving. “You’ll get in trouble, otherwise.”

“Oh, I’ll show him trouble!”

Zhuzhi Lang clears his throat. “Second Prince, your tutor is Master Shen Yuan.”

Face bright, Luo Binghe puts his fist to his palm, head dipping. “I look forward to your teachings, Shen-shifu.”

Shen Yuan bows, low. “Then I hope to meet your expectations, Your Highness.”

Shen Jiu makes a noise of utter disgust.

“You will each have your lessons in your separate chambers,” Zhuzhi Lang says. “Half a day of study, three times a week. His Majesty has instructed that you may set the curriculum and subjects as you deem fit, Masters Shen.” At their nods, Zhuzhi Lang turns to Meng Mo. “Meng-gonggong, I leave Their Highnesses in your capable hands.”

“Yes, Zhuzhi-gonggong.”

“Come along then...,” Luo Bingge’s voice drips with sarcasm. “...Shifu.” He struts off without waiting for a response, Shen Jiu’s back stiffening in indignation. 

“I’m gonna whip that stupid little—”

“Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan says quietly. He can feel Meng Mo’s watchful eyes on them. “Please.”

Scowling, Shen Jiu storms after Luo Bingge, hands balled into fists at his sides.

Shen Yuan slides his arms into his sleeves, mostly to quell the slight tremble that runs through them. He’s alone, without his brother, and it’s been ages since they’ve been apart for longer than a candle's worth. This time, they’ll be apart for half a day, a reality that hasn’t quite hit until now.

“I’m sorry about my brother.”

Luo Binghe’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Shen Yuan shakes his head. “I am sorry about mine, Your Highness.”

“Is it a twin thing, you think?” Luo Binghe says, head cocked. “For the older ones to be complete assholes?”

“Second Prince.” Meng Mo clicks his tongue. “That language is unacceptable in this household.”

Luo Binghe snorts. “Bing-ge has said far worse.”

Shen Yuan laughs, a soft huff of breath. “As has Jiu-ge.”

For some reason, Luo Binghe startles, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, as if he were struck by lightning.

What sort of reaction is that?

“Was it something I said?” Shen Yuan hastens to add. “If it is, I—”

“No,” Luo Binghe says, still frozen. “No, not at all.” He breathes in and out, then whirls around, the tips of his ears gone as pink as his cheeks. “Let me show you to your chambers.”

Shen Yuan looks to Meng Mo for answers, only to find none on that impassive, wrinkled face.

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

Luo Binghe takes instructions well and works hard at his studies. He waits in his study chambers, bright-eyed and eager, when Shen Yuan arrives. For a prince, the chambers are elegantly sparse, the walls lined with half-filled bookshelves, the desk and wooden chairs set in the far corner. It’s comforting—it’s what he’s used to, albeit with more books strewn about—so Shen Yuan is grateful for the simple design. 

Meng Mo grinds the ink for them while Shen Yuan shares his knowledge of military history, politics, and classical literature. Luo Binghe nods and listens and takes copious notes, his brush moving swiftly down the page as Shen Yuan talks. He makes Shen Yuan’s job easy, so easy, and Shen Yuan wonders why the Emperor would consider Luo Binghe “quite a handful” when he is anything but. 

There are times, though, when Luo Binghe doesn’t pay attention. Like now, when Shen Yuan looks up from Luo Binghe’s writings to find the prince gazing at him, a soft smile on his face.

Gods, the way it makes Shen Yuan’s heart race when he does that. The smile is almost fond, as though Luo Binghe is admiring a rare and valuable piece of art, one that’s just out of reach. Why he’d look at Shen Yuan like that, no one could possibly fathom. 

“What did I just say?” Shen Yuan scolds. He’s proud of the way he kept his voice steady.

“Oh sorry,” Luo Binghe says, clearly not sorry at all. “Could you repeat that?”

Shen Yuan clicks his tongue. “Just once more.”

“Thank you, Shifu.”

Wordless, Meng Mo continues to grind the inkstone.

Shen Yuan learns more about Meng Mo as well. The eunuch is fairly reticent, breaking his silence every now and then to ask if Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan would like more tea. Once, while Luo Binghe is busy copying a script on the imperial conquests of Mongolia, Shen Yuan seizes the chance to ask Meng Mo why he spends most of study time with them, the younger of the twins. Shouldn't he be with Luo Bingge, the likely heir to the throne? 

Meng Mo hums. “Perhaps. But I’m afraid the First Prince doesn’t appreciate my presence; he believes I am there to report his every move.”

Shen Yuan glances at Luo Binghe, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you? Reporting our every move?”

Meng Mo chuckles. “Only if there is anything worth reporting, Master Shen.” 

Ah. Well. They’ve been so focused on Luo Binghe’s studies that they surely have nothing to fear. Even Luo Binghe’s lapses of attention are few and far between. 

Still, it doesn’t hurt to have a highly ranked eunuch on their side.

Shen Yuan reaches out, slides a plate of desserts toward Meng Mo. “Your duties are heavy, Meng-gonggong. Please feel free to have some snacks.”

Meng Mo dips his head. “I dare not, Master Shen. But this servant greatly appreciates your generosity.”

After that, Meng Mo is more open, more expressive. Smiles at Shen Yuan when he arrives, even admonishes Luo Binghe when the prince is caught staring again—a long lecture about propriety and showing Shen Yuan respect. How interesting that a simple act of kindness can so easily earn Meng Mo’s trust. 

It makes Shen Yuan wonder about the treatment of servants in the Forbidden City. 

“Who cares?” Shen Jiu sniffs. “Servants are servants, we can treat them any way we like.”

Shen Yuan sighs, setting his teacup on the table between them. 

It’s their birthday today, but their imperial duties have kept them in the Forbidden City regardless. After hours of tutoring, they’ve chosen to remain in the palace and enjoy a cup of tea in the imperial gardens as their joint celebration. The flowers are in full bloom, bright and fragrant, and even Shen Jiu is in higher spirits than usual, lavishing praise on the Emperor’s choice of flowers and trees. 

They don’t bother with gifts—an agreement they’ve had since their mother’s passing. Gifts are a useless expense, an excess of effort and time that is better spent on learning and working and ensuring the future their mother had envisioned for them. (That, and gifts are a source of conflict between them, their mother’s favoritism for Shen Yuan shining through in her choices.)

“How did it go with the First Prince today?” Shen Yuan asks. 

“That little ass-monkey?” Shen Jiu says, lips curling in a scowl. “I’d be lucky if he could even name the last five Emperors.”

Shen Yuan bites back a laugh. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh no, it’s worse .” Shen Jiu lifts an arm to reveal his sleeve, the lower half of it blackened and soaked with ink. “See this? The work of that wretched boy. Thought it’d be funny to tip the entire inkstone across my arm while I was reciting the military achievements of Emperor Kangxi. What is he, six? He’s bloody sixteen for god’s sake, why can’t he act like a—” 

“Shifu!”

Shen Jiu cuts off mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as Luo Binghe runs up the path to their pavilion, Meng Mo padding after him. 

“Bing—” Shen Yuan coughs into his fist, neck prickling from the heat of Shen Jiu’s stare. “Greetings, Your Highness.” 

It was Luo Binghe himself who suggested it, claiming that ‘Your Highness’ is too formal for his liking. Call me ‘Binghe’ in private, he said. It’s been over a year since he started tutoring Luo Binghe, and Shen Yuan can’t remember when it happened, exactly, this change in address. But he has a hard time forgetting the smile that blooms across Luo Binghe’s face when it did, soft and pleased.

Before them, Luo Binghe drops his head in a salute. “Good evening, Shifu. Good evening, Shibo.”

“Greetings, Your Highness,” Shen Jiu drawls, finally pulling his eyes off Shen Yuan. “Have you forgotten something?”

“Just this.” Beaming, Luo Binghe tugs a wrapped box out of his robes and presents it to Shen Yuan on both palms. “Happy birthday, Shifu.”

Shen Yuan rises from his seat, eyes gone wide. “I can’t possibly accept—”

“Please,” Luo Binghe says, pressing the gift into Shen Yuan’s hands. Long fingers curl around his, Shen Yuan’s skin tingling from his touch. “I want you to.”

“The Second Prince spent days selecting this gift for you, Master Shen Yuan,” Meng Mo chimes in. “It would mean so much for you to accept it.”

“Why now?” Shen Jiu says, sharply. “Why make such a public fuss of it when he could have done it in private, during their tutoring session? Shouldn’t you have stopped His Highness, Meng-gonggong, from embarrassing himself in such a manner? Or have you lost whatever sense you had in that decrepit, old head of yours?”

Something flickers across Meng Mo’s face, too quick to catch. 

“ I insisted on waiting until later,” Luo Binghe says before Meng Mo can respond. “Because Shifu once told me that he came to this world when the skies turned grey and pink, and the sun had just touched the far horizon. I wanted to give him his gift as close to the time of his birth as I could.”

“Creepiest shit I ever heard,” Shen Jiu mutters, but it doesn’t stop Shen Yuan’s heart from swelling in his chest, fit enough to burst. 

Creepy as it may be, there’s something endearing about Luo Binghe, a prince, remembering, treasuring, the words of a commoner. 

“Your Highness is too kind,” Shen Yuan says, running a finger down the intricate design of the box. “May I open it?”

Luo Binghe’s head bobs, like a puppy awaiting its master’s approval.

Judging by the shape of the box, thin and long, Shen Yuan imagines an ink brush of some sort, made of the finest hair from the most exotic animal. It’d be appropriate, given his role as Luo Binghe’s tutor; Shen Yuan would gladly use it at their next tutoring session, if only to see the joy on Luo Binghe’s face. 

But it’s not a brush.

From the box, Shen Yuan pulls out a fan, its pivot and guards made of smooth, polished tortoiseshell. He spreads it open, slowly, carefully, breath catching at the image of a silver pheasant rising amidst peonies, splendid pink petals that seem to sway on the fan’s paper leaf. Symbols of intelligence, grace, and unrivaled beauty, used to represent some of the greatest scholars and beauties in Chinese history. 

Knowing that, Luo Binghe has put them together in one design. For him. 

“I believe Shifu is more than worthy of a crane motif,” Luo Binghe says. “But the pheasant is what Shifu chose to wear when he first entered the palace, so a pheasant is what I ordered.”

It’s the most thoughtful gift Shen Yuan has received since he lost his mother.

It’s the only gift Shen Yuan has received since he lost his mother.

Eyes bright, he smiles at Luo Binghe. “It’s beautiful, Your Highness. Thank you.”

The look Luo Binghe gives him is warm and fond, layered with something else that Shen Yuan can’t name.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Shen Jiu snaps. He's risen to his feet, and Shen Yuan’s gut twists at the rage on his twin’s face, the deep jealousy etched within. After their mother left this world, it’s not often that Shen Yuan comes first between the two of them. Shen Jiu must have recalled the fights they’ve had over their mother’s love, of their mother scolding Shen Jiu for acting so poorly toward his younger twin. “Where is the First Prince, Meng-gonggong? Have you lost him while you waste your time on the Second Prince’s frivolities?”  

This time, Meng Mo’s expression reveals the narrowing of his eyes, the hard twitch at the corner of his mouth. As easily as he falls for kindness, he clearly doesn’t take well to unwarranted criticism either. From an outsider no less. 

“Jiu-ge,” Shen Yuan chides. “Meng-gonggong is but one person. It must be hard for him to watch over two princes on his own.”

Meng Mo bows, whisk swaying. “Master Shen Yuan’s compassion more than befits his station.” 

“I can look for my brother, Shen-shibo,” Luo Binghe offers. “I know all of his favorite hideouts—”

“No need,” Shen Jiu snarls. “One look at that fool makes me retch.” With a flick of his sleeves, he storms past Luo Binghe and out of the pavilion, ignoring Shen Yuan’s call of Jiu-ge!

Meng Mo scowls, all pretenses gone, his face turned a blotchy, wrinkled red. “How dare he address the First Prince with such impudence—” 

He stops when Luo Binghe holds up a palm. 

“Leave it, Meng Mo. Knowing Bing-ge, it’s not entirely unprovoked.” He turns to Shen Yuan, one hand curling around his neck in a sheepish gesture. “Should I have prepared a gift for Shen-shibo as well, Shifu?”

“No,” Shen Yuan sighs. “I must apologize for my brother’s disrespect, Your Highness.”

“Binghe,” Luo Binghe corrects.

Shen Yuan blinks at him. “Your Highness?”

“It’s just us now. No need for formalities.” 

Luo Binghe smiles at Shen Yuan with his warm eyes and soft mouth, and Shen Yuan’s heart thuds, his fingers tightening around Luo Binghe’s gift.

“As Binghe wishes.”

There are no more incidents after that, Shen Jiu acting as if nothing happened and Shen Yuan going along with him to keep the peace. Luo Binghe is cautious too, avoiding Shen Jiu when he can, going so far as to duck behind corners when Shen Jiu passes. It’s amusing, really, watching a prince tiptoe around a mere tutor as if he were the Emperor himself. 

“Jiu-ge doesn’t bite,” Shen Yuan tells him during a tutoring session. “Not hard, anyway.”

“I don’t want your brother to dislike me,” Luo Binghe says, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“He dislikes everyone,” Shen Yuan says, with a laugh. “Besides, you’re the son of His Imperial Majesty. Why does it matter if a scholar from some unnamed family doesn’t like you?”

Gently, Luo Binghe reaches out. Tucks a stray lock of hair behind Shen Yuan’s ear as he leans in, voice low. 

“It matters if you don’t.”

Heat rises to Shen Yuan’s cheeks, and he pulls away, fan flicking open in the gap between them. The pheasant unfurls among the peonies, as if ready to take flight, and Luo Binghe’s mouth curves at the sight of it. 

“But I suppose I’m worrying about nothing,” he murmurs.

Shen Yuan doesn’t answer. Instead, he flutters the fan, averting his gaze. “Weren’t you memorizing dates?”

“Yes, Shifu,” Luo Binghe says, cheerily.

Unpredictable, this prince. Completely, terrifyingly, unpredictable.

Worse, yet, is the way Shen Yuan’s heart dances in his presence, the way his skin itches for his touch. It’s a pathway to certain death, these feelings, so he shoves them down, far down, and out of his reach.

Head bowed, Meng Mo stays in the corner, watching in silence.

On New Year’s Eve, several days before the princes turn twenty, Shen Yuan lets Luo Binghe play in the snow, freshly fallen from the night before. 

For the past three years, they’ve carried on with Luo Binghe’s studies, but Shen Yuan decides that he’s allowed some fun before the turn of a milestone year. The princes will no doubt have a grand birthday celebration with the Emperor and the rest of the imperial family, and that’s a far cry from a frolic in the back gardens of Qing Jing Palace. 

They build a snowman together, taking turns to shape the round figure and pat on more snow. It’s a side Shen Yuan hasn’t seen of Luo Binghe, so flushed and happy, and he’s glad of his decision. All the rules and customs of the palace must have taken away more of Luo Binghe’s childhood than he knows.

“So this is a snowman,” Luo Binghe marvels. “What do we do about the eyes and mouth?”

“We could pick some stones,” Shen Yuan says, hands rubbing together, the coldness of the snow making them shake. “Twigs could work for the arms.”

Luo Binghe’s brows knit together, before he steps forward and wraps Shen Yuan’s hands in his. The warmth spreads, slowly, from Shen Yuan’s fingers to the glowing embers in his chest. “Shifu should wait inside. Meng Mo and I will find those stones and twigs.”

Shen Yuan starts to protest but Meng Mo interjects. 

“This servant will be happy to assist His Highness, Master Shen. Please go inside before you catch a cold.”

Two against one; what more can Shen Yuan say?

Grumbling, Shen Yuan returns to the inner chambers, where he settles on a chair, reaching for a brush. Dips it into a filled inkstone and paints the first image that pops into his head, his brushstrokes small, light. Luo Binghe is a great big puppy most of the time, but there are moments when Shen Yuan sees a different animal in him, something sweet and cute and—

“A rabbit?”

Shen Yuan startles, brush slipping off the paper and onto the desk. 

Luo Bingge is peering over his shoulder, dark curls brushing against Shen Yuan’s cheek. His body radiates heat like a vat of burning coal, and Shen Yuan is all-too-aware of it, his own pulse leaping frantically in his neck.

Just as Luo Binghe avoids Shen Jiu, Shen Yuan has been steering clear of Luo Bingge. 

The First Prince is temperamental, volatile, and strangely interested in Shen Yuan, the way a physician would in an illness they’ve never encountered before. He also has a propensity for invading Shen Yuan’s personal space, despite—or because of—Shen Yuan’s obvious discomfort.

“Peace to Your Highness,” he starts, cut off by Luo Bingge’s harsh laugh. 

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Luo Bingge straightens, hands on his hips. “Where is my little brother and how is he not attached to your hip today?”

Shen Yuan dips his head. “The Second Prince is with Meng-gonggong, looking for sticks and stones to complete our snowman in the gardens.” 

“A snowman?” Luo Bingge grins. “You actually allowed him playtime?”

“I believe he has earned it.” Shen Yuan looks up at him through his lashes. “Isn’t that why you’re roaming the palace, Your Highness? Because Jiu-ge has given you some free time?”

Luo Bingge’s expression shifts at the mention of Shen Jiu. “Your brother gives me nothing,” he scoffs. “I make the choice myself. For example, I decided today’s session was a complete waste of time.” He spreads his arms wide. “So here I am.” 

Ah. Shen Jiu must be having a fit in Luo Bingge’s study chambers.

“Jiu-ge means well,” Shen Yuan says. 

“Oh?” Luo Bingge’s mouth lifts at one corner. “The insults, the name-calling, the throwing of writing materials at my face… these are all well-meaning?”

Shen Yuan’s hand drops to the fan in his belt. The feel of it calms him, gives him comfort. It’s a wonder that Shen Jiu is still alive; blood has been spilled for much less. He’ll have to caution Shen Jiu, which his brother is not going to appreciate. 

“Jiu-ge is fortunate that Your Highness is benevolent and restrained,” he sighs. 

Luo Bingge chuckles. “‘Benevolent and restrained' are the words my brother would use to describe you .” 

In a jerk of movement, he drops his hands on the arms of the chair, bracketing Shen Yuan in the seat. Leans in so close that Shen Yuan sees the scar above his right brow, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, clustering like stars.

“Though I do wonder just how restrained you’d be....” He smiles, all teeth. “...as a lover.”

A chill skirts up Shen Yuan’s spine, every nerve of his wound tight and on fire, getting him ready to bolt, to run for his life—

“What are you doing to Shifu!?”

Luo Bingge clicks his tongue and pulls away as Luo Binghe strides up to them, eyes blazing, face twisted. Behind him, Meng Mo utters a greeting to Luo Bingge, his gaze turning sympathetic when it flicks to Shen Yuan.

“I’m complimenting him, didi,” Luo Bingge chuckles. “No need to get so upset.”

"Then why does he look so scared?" Luo Binghe growls.

"Does he?" Luo Bingge turns to Shen Yuan, who looks back at him, heart in his throat. "You’re not scared of me, are you?"

Shen Yuan breathes. "I—"

"See," Luo Bingge snorts. "He's fine."

Luo Binghe's jaw works furiously. "You will show Shifu the respect he deserves."

Luo Bingge laughs. 

God, how Shen Yuan hates that sound. 

"Respect? You're the one not showing him the respect you think he deserves." 

Luo Binghe rears to his full height, and Shen Yuan is struck by how much he has grown. "I have treated him with all the respect in the world."

“By leaving him to doodle silly pictures in here while you frolic outside?”

A large vein ticks in Luo Binghe’s neck. “I asked Shifu to go in because he was cold—”

"Shifu, Shifu, Shifu," Luo Bingge cuts in, chortling. "If you truly think he's special, shouldn't you call him something else? After all, you call our sword trainer 'Shifu,' our archery trainer 'Shifu'... hell, you even call one of our trainer's horses 'Shifu'! So where do you get off acting like you treat your precious Shifu with the greatest respect, when you basically give him the same amount of deference as you do with a horse?"

For a long moment, Luo Binghe stares at Luo Bingge. Stares and stares, his hands curled into fists, lips trembling, until those beautiful dark eyes start to glisten, the corners of them turning wet and crimson. 

The last frayed nerve within Shen Yuan snaps. 

No one bullies Luo Binghe on his watch, not even a crown prince. 

Shen Yuan steps forward, chin lifted. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but it doesn’t matter how I am addressed. ‘Shifu’ is an appropriate title for a tutor of my status. Besides, it is more than enough for me that he listens and studies very hard.” 

Fueled by the grateful look Luo Binghe gives him, he carries on. 

“For that matter, Binghe wasn’t frolicking outside as Your Highness said, but collecting the necessary materials to complete our—”

Luo Bingge’s voice slices in, frosty and sharp as the Northern winds.

“Binghe?”

Shen Yuan stops, breath caught. 

Luo Bingge wears arrogance and anger like war paint, but the hurt in his eyes this time—the envy—is no different from Shen Jiu’s. Not even their Royal Father addresses them by their names, not even their  Royal Father favors Luo Binghe to the point of defending him in public. Yet here he is—a mere scholar, standing up to a crown prince for Luo Binghe and calling Luo Binghe by his first name. All while Luo Bingge has had to suffer Shen Jiu's ill temper and clear disdain.

Suddenly, Shen Yuan feels deep sadness for Luo Bingge.

“When, pray tell, did the two of you become this…” the First Prince spits out the next word as if it’s poison. “... ntimate ?”

Shen Yuan opens his mouth, only for Luo Binghe to grasp his arm, pulling him backward while he steps up, shielding Shen Yuan from view. 

“Leave Shizun alone,” he snarls. 

Shizun...?

Shen Yuan peers up at Luo Binghe, but his fierce gaze is riveted to Luo Bingge, who looks as if he can’t decide whether to feel disgusted or amused by this turn of events.

“Fine. Fine. Play your stupid games of love and romance, nothing will ever come out of this anyway.” 

Whirling around, Luo Bingge stalks out of the chambers and down the corridor. Shen Yuan winces as he hears the prince shout at a passing maid, whose voice rises in terror with each apology that floods out of her mouth. 

“Meng Mo,” Luo Binghe says, quietly.

Meng Mo’s head dips. “This servant is here.”

“Follow him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything rash.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

It's uncanny, the way Luo Binghe switches so easily from being a child to… well. A man. 

Shen Yuan watches Meng Mo back slowly through the door, bent double. With Luo Bingge gone, Shen Yuan's nerves unwind, a rush of questions filtering through. “Why did you send Meng-gonggong out? Do you think His Highness would tell His Majesty? Or...” He trails off after a glimpse of Luo Binghe’s face, dark as clouds gathered around the sun. “Binghe…?”

“Shizun!” 

Shen Yuan nearly leaps out of his skin when Luo Binghe—prince and son of the Emperor—drops to his knees and bursts into tears.

“What are you doing!?” Shen Yuan gasps, jolting forward. “Get up, please! If anyone saw you like this—!”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe says, his voice keening in a whine. “Bing-ge’s right, this foolish student should have known better. I should have addressed you with a title that’s worthy of your compassion, your benevolence, your beauty, your intelligence—”

“Please,” Shen Yuan mutters, heat suffusing his cheeks. “I’m just a tutor.”

“You’re more than just a tutor to me,” Luo Binghe declares. “You… you’re…” He flounders, hiccuping between each breath and sob, and Shen Yuan seizes the chance to tug Luo Binghe to his feet. 

“That’s enough now,” Shen Yuan huffs. He reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb across the wet trail on Luo Binghe’s cheeks. “I meant everything I’ve said; you have shown me great respect from the day I arrived. ‘Shifu’ works just fine for me.”

Luo Binghe lets Shen Yuan wipe his tears, sniffling. “But I want to call you ‘Shizun’.” 

Shen Yuan hums. “You’re the Second Prince. Call me whatever you like.”

A beat, before Luo Binghe's fingers curl around Shen Yuan's wrist, steady and warm. 

"Anything?" he breathes.

Flushing, Shen Yuan pauses in his movements. Why does it feel as if Luo Binghe is about to call him something that would get them both in trouble? 

"Let's keep it to 'Shizun' for now."

Luo Binghe looks as if he has something to say but doesn't. Instead, he smiles down at Shen Yuan, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the touch of his fingers tingling on Shen Yuan's skin.

Inappropriate.

Heart pounding, he tugs his wrist out of Luo Binghe's hold. “Did you really call a horse ‘Shifu’?” he asks, hand falling to his fan, desperately shoving down the feelings bubbling up inside. 

Luo Binghe nods. “The trainer insisted that he’s one with his horse, so if one is Shifu, then so is the other.”

Shen Yuan snaps the fan open, peonies flashing light and pink. “Binghe is so silly.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes go soft, shifting with such emotion that Shen Yuan has to look away, lest he gives the rest of his heart to a man who will eventually, inadvertently, smash it to pieces.

"Let's go back and finish that snowman."

"Yes, Shizun."

The Emperor’s own study hall, the Hall of Mental Cultivation, is expansive and full of decadent wood designs. When Shen Yuan enters, his eyes roam from the long scrolls of Confucian writings, to the intricate windows and porcelain jars displayed across the back wall. He prostrates with Shen Jiu before the Emperor, who stands behind a desk made of red sandalwood, Zhuzhi-lang at his side.

“Peace to Your Highness. Long live Your Highness.”

“Rise,” the Emperor hums. Between his forefinger and thumb runs a bracelet of jade beads, the faint clicking noise echoing through the wide room. “How are the Princes’ studies?”

On his feet, Shen Jiu speaks first, his voice crisp and sharp. “The First Prince is wild, rebellious, and impossible to manage. He has no interest in learning, as evident in his indolent attitude and the way he refuses to do anything I assign to him.”

One day, Shen Yuan believes, his brother will die a grisly death. 

But today is not that day, judging by the Emperor’s bemused look. 

“I thought you would be a match for him, Master Shen Jiu.”

“Your Majesty underestimates the First Prince’s madness,” Shen Jiu says.

Zhuzhi Lang’s mouth presses into a thin line, but the Emperor barks out a laugh. “Seems I may have.” He flicks his bracelet at Shen Yuan. “What about you, Master Shen Yuan? Is the Second Prince also giving you trouble?”

Shen Yuan bows. “To answer Your Majesty, the Second Prince listens well and has been most diligent in his studies. I test him once a week, and he is able to recite the history, governance, poetry, and literature of each of our Heavenly Dynasties without difficulty.” 

“Good, good. I will test him myself soon, see how he does.”

“As Your Majesty wishes."

The Emperor nods, the beads clicking slowly between his fingers. “That will be all for today. Ah,” he adds, when Shen Yuan starts to back out of the hall with Shen Jiu. “Just you, Master Shen Jiu. I have a matter I wish to discuss with Master Shen Yuan.”

Shen Jiu raises an eyebrow at Shen Yuan, who shakes his head in confusion. “Then this servant will take his leave first.”

The double doors close behind Shen Jiu, servants scurrying back to their places. Slowly, the Emperor pads around his desk, past Zhuzhi Lang, beads running. “Master Shen Yuan,” he starts, “You are aware that the Second Prince has been of marriageable age for the last four years.”

Shen Yuan’s heart leaps up his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Are you aware that the Second Prince has rejected every marriage arrangement I have offered?”

A surge of relief. “No, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor makes a contemplative noise. “I’m sure he has his reasons, but all he would say is that he’s too young. This past year, he used the very same excuse.” He lets out a chuckle. “If twenty is too young, what does that make me?”

“It would be unsurprising for the Son of Heaven to have eternal youth,” Shen Yuan offers.

"Hmm. You have a way with words.” The odd sparkle returns to the Emperor's eyes. “Which is why I have a request to make.”

Shen Yuan drops his head. "This servant would be honored."

"Use your influence and silver tongue to persuade the Second Prince to take a wife.”

Deep in Shen Yuan’s chest, something painful happens, throbbing like a bruise. 

“Influence, Your Majesty?” he says, his voice coming out steadier than he imagined.

“No need to be modest,” the Emperor laughs. “Zhuzhi-lang has told me everything.”

"Simply that the Second Prince hangs onto Master Shen Yuan’s every word," Zhuzhi-lang says, when Shen Yuan’s wide-eyed gaze shifts to him. 

So that blasted Meng Mo is reporting on them. 

Just what else has the eunuch shared? The birthday present, the New Years' Eve debacle with Luo Bingge, the way Shen Yuan addresses Luo Binghe as if the Second Prince were his soulmate? 

Is that why his Majesty is asking him to coax Luo Binghe into accepting a wife? A test, to gauge his reaction? 

The clicking of beads grow louder in the silence, jerking Shen Yuan out of his panicked spiral.

Right. The Emperor is waiting.

Swallowing, Shen Yuan falls to one knee in a half-bow. "I will do my best, Your Majesty." 

"Excellent." The Emperor’s face lights up the way Luo Binghe's does. (Far too much for Shen Yuan's comfort.) "I look forward to a positive outcome, Master Shen Yuan."

Head lowered, Shen Yuan backs out of the study hall, his chest still aching, his stomach in knots. The next tutoring session is going to be a nightmare, and every sordid detail will play out in front of Meng Mo, who will relay it all to Zhuzhi Lang.

Never mind Shen Jiu, he might die a grisly death before his brother.

(“Think he will follow through?”

Zhuzhi Lang nods as the Emperor returns behind the desk. “Master Shen Yuan puts his utmost effort in everything that he does.”

The Emperor sets his beads down, mouth curved. “Good. That should move things along nicely.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”)

For more than half a candle, Shen Yuan sneaks glances at Luo Binghe, who’s practising his calligraphy. They’ve finished reviewing several works from the Four Books and Five Classics—faster than expected, with Luo Binghe having read ahead—and Luo Binghe now wants Shen Yuan’s feedback on his calligraphy. His strokes are powerful yet clumsy, and it does amuse Shen Yuan to see Luo Binghe’s essence in his writing. 

But the Emperor’s order spins round and round in Shen Yuan’s head.

Meng Mo hasn’t said a word, his head bowed and his hand working at the inkstone.

Sighing, Shen Yuan closes the book in his hand and steps to the window, where he can look out the palace garden. The flowers are all his favorites, pink apricot blossoms, white yulan magnolias, and purple lilacs, colors to weave dreams from. Their sweet fragrance wafts through the spring breeze, and eyes closed, Shen Yuan savors it with a long, deep inhale. 

“Shizun?”

Shen Yuan turns to Luo Binghe, who looks at him with a soft smile. 

“Do you want to take a walk in the garden?”

Shen Yuan flushes, whipping his gaze back to the flowers. His instinct is to say yes; it wouldn’t be the first time they’d taken a walk together in between Luo Binghe’s studies. But his mission will need a more private space than the garden. 

“No, I was just… lost in thought.”

There’s a quiet rustle of the brush running across paper.

“What about?” Luo Binghe says.

It’s now or never.

“I was wondering why Binghe hasn’t accepted a wife.”

The rustling stops.

Shen Yuan plunges on. 

“At your age, a prince would have had at least a wife and a consort by now. It’d be a source of pleasure, surely, to have a warm home to visit, a warm meal to eat, a warm presence to love—”

His breath hitches when strong arms snake around him, yanking him into a tight embrace. 

Luo Binghe’s chest is firm against his back, the thud of his heart heavy and frantic. When Shen Yuan tries to shift, Luo Binghe tightens his grip, his breath coming out in a loud, rattling exhale. 

“Do you really want me married off, Shizun?”

Shen Yuan’s chest goes tight. Luo Binghe’s voice is so small and broken that he could cradle it in the palm of his hands. And he had brought it on. He’s the one who made Luo Binghe cry. 

“His Majesty is worried about you,” he says softly.

“I’m asking what Shizun thinks,” Luo Binghe presses.

“What I think doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me .” 

Cheeks flushed, Shen Yuan's eyes flicker to Meng Mo, only to find the spot empty, the room the same, no sign of the eunuch in sight. He can only hope, for both their sakes, that Meng Mo had left as soon as Luo Binghe pressed against him. 

Though that, alone, is damning enough.

"Binghe—"

"Shizun is perceptive. You must know how I feel." Luo Binghe's breath ghosts across the curve of Shen Yuan's ear. "Why won't you love me back?"

Shen Yuan shivers. God, must he make this so difficult? "You know very well that it's not appropriate."

"Because I'm a man?" Luo Binghe murmurs.

Shen Yuan's head jolts back, his eyes locking onto Luo Binghe's. "Because you're a prince."

The dark eyes gleam like obsidians. "Is being a prince worse than being a man?"

"In the Forbidden City, yes."

Luo Binghe lets out a laugh that rumbles through Shen Yuan. "But I'm not the Emperor. I won't be the Emperor. Bing-ge and I are Royal Father's only sons, and Bing-ge is older than me. He is the heir to the throne. I have no interest in it, I've never wanted it. All I want..." His voice goes low. "...is you."

Shen Yuan turns away, eyes wrenched shut. He can't listen to this, can't allow Luo Binghe past the walls he's so carefully built up over the years. But he's wavering, oh, he's wavering. 

"Shizun," Luo Binghe whispers. "If we were two ordinary citizens living ordinary lives… would you love me?"

Yes.

Shen Yuan sighs. He should nip this in the bud, lie to Luo Binghe that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, wouldn’t love him. But he just knows that his heart will crumble with Luo Binghe’s face; those tears have far too much of an effect on him. 

Gravely, he nods. 

The last thing Shen Yuan expects is for Luo Binghe’s fingers to slip beneath his chin, tilting it upward. For Luo Binghe’s mouth to slot over his, swallowing his gasp. Luo Binghe smells like pine and earth and the morning dew on grass. His lips are still warm from the tea Meng Mo had brewed for him, sweet and soft and— 

“Binghe!” Face burning, Shen Yuan slams a palm on Luo Binghe’s forehead, shoving him off. “We are not ordinary citizens in this life—”

“But we can be,” Luo Binghe says, voice gone rough. “I won't marry. I'll ask Royal Father for a post in the capital and we can live together outside the palace, away from the rules, the customs, the politics… away from everything . Shizun.” He grasps Shen Yuan’s hand with his, brings it to his lips. “We can be free." 

His heartbeat in his ears, Shen Yuan makes the mistake of looking at Luo Binghe. Of seeing the way his cheeks glow, the way his lashes lower over a gaze so heated that it scorches Shen Yuan’s insides and turns them molten. 

Mesmerized—all rationality gone—Shen Yuan doesn’t remember reaching for Luo Binghe, how his hand ended up on Luo Binghe’s cheek, and Luo Binghe’s on his waist. 

“You would lose everything you have… for me?”

Luo Binghe nuzzles into the palm of Shen Yuan’s hand. “For you, I would give up my life.”

It’s Shen Yuan’s turn to twist around and pull Luo Binghe close, face tipped up to meet Luo Binghe’s as he fits their mouths together. Luo Binghe’s hands shift up, spreading against the small of Shen Yuan’s back, and he breathes heavily, shakily, into the kiss. His joy is hot, palpable, turning salty from his tears. 

“Shizun loves me…! He loves me...” 

Something settles into Shen Yuan’s bones. 

Yes, he loves Luo Binghe. He loves an imperial son of their great country, and the prince loves him. It feels amazing. It feels right . It feels… it feels…

Dangerous.

Shen Yuan pulls away, holding back a laugh when Luo Binghe follows, eyes slightly dazed. “We must be careful," he says. "If we're discovered, the punishment will surely be severe.”

For me, he chooses not to add.

Luo Binghe closes the gap for a quick brush of their lips. “I will protect you, Shizun. Until we’ve left the Forbidden City, until we have our future, I won’t let anything happen to you.” A kiss on Shen Yuan’s cheek. "This student vows to hold you and grow old with you." Then the other. “Until death do us part.”

Shen Yuan’s heart trips. This time, he lets it fall into Luo Binghe’s open palms.

Shen Jiu calls him all manner of names when he hears of it. Fool, money grubber, whore.

Shen Yuan takes them all in stride. Takes Shen Jiu's accumulated rage and bitterness and resentment, knowing that his twin would die to be in his place—loved and treasured by another, unconditionally. 

"He won't even ascend the throne," Shen Jiu sneers. 

"We don't want him to," Shen Yuan says. 

"Oh? And what would you do when the First Prince becomes Emperor, and he chooses to keep me and only me in the palace? Banish you and your precious Second Prince to a tiny province outside the capital?"

Shen Yuan smiles. "I would congratulate you with all my heart, Jiu-ge."

Shen Jiu stares at Shen Yuan, lips quivering, before he flips his sleeves and stalks back to his chambers.

They don't speak after that. Not for a long time.

—One year later—

“Binghe. I think someone saw us.”

Luo Binghe looks up from adjusting his robes, blinking. They’ve just come together in the royal archives—one of their many trysts in their past year of seeing each other. The first time, Luo Binghe had snuck into Shen Yuan’s chambers in the dead of the night—and it hurt. With Luo Binghe so big and eager and desperate, Shen Yuan remembers the burst of stars in his vision, the pain so sharp that all the tears could have filled every well and pond in the imperial palace. 

Luo Binghe’s tears, that is. 

Riddled with guilt, he cried so much that Shen Yuan’s own tears dried quickly, his focus turned from his own pain to Luo Binghe’s.

But true to his nature, Luo Binghe is a quick learner. He read every text he could find, summoned imperial doctors to ask what must have felt like the strangest questions. Now, he carries a vial of oil with him everywhere he goes. Eases into Shen Yuan after a great deal of preparation with his fingers and tongue. 

This time was no different, Luo Binghe’s mouth swallowing Shen Yuan down, his fingers slipping—first two, then three—into Shen Yuan, wet with oil. (“Is this okay? ” he’d whisper, and Shen Yuan can only nod, lost in a haze of desire.)

Shen Yuan’s own mouth trembles now, restraining a smile as he takes in the way Luo Binghe’s headpiece is askew, the way his guanyin pendant dangles from his neck and over his rumpled collar. The pendant is a gift from Luo Binghe’s mother that he wears under his robes and close to his heart—a sweet secret between him and Shen Yuan, ruined by the mess that he’s making of his attire. 

Now twenty-one, Luo Binghe may look and feel like a man, but he’s still very much a child. 

Reaching out, Shen Yuan tucks the pendant into Luo Binghe's collar with careful fingers, smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric as best as he can. Then he lifts his hands to adjust Luo Binghe’s headpiece, brushing thick curls out of the way. As he works, he can feel Luo Binghe’s gaze on him, soft and fond. 

“Thank you, Shizun.”

“Mn,” Shen Yuan says, still fiddling with the headpiece. “Did you hear what I said?”

“That someone saw us?” Luo Binghe rests his hands on Shen Yuan’s hips, and Shen Yuan has to fight against the thought of those hands hoisting him up, holding him steady against the shelf. (His body aches in a delightful way at the memory.) “Did you see who it was?”

“They had dark green robes.” Shen Yuan’s eyes flick up to Luo Binghe’s. “And there’s only one person I know of who wears that shade of green.” 

Luo Binghe frowns. “Zhuzhi Lang? Impossible. He never leaves Royal Father’s side.”

“What if His Majesty ordered him to follow us?”

Luo Binghe's fingers curl around his chin. “He may have,” he says, after some thought. “Royal Father can be really nosy sometimes.” Dropping his hand, he takes Shen Yuan’s, lacing their fingers together. “But you have no need to worry, Shizun. Whatever happens, I will protect you.”

Shen Yuan smiles up at him, shyly, lashes fanning out. “I know.”

Luo Binghe returns the smile, his face glowing like the last vestiges of the setting sun.

They check the state of their clothes and hair one last time before they step through the doors of the library, hand in hand.

Zhuzhi Lang is waiting for them outside, whisk swaying back and forth at his arm. 

Luo Binghe’s reaction is instantaneous—he tugs Shen Yuan behind him, as if his body could hide Shen Yuan’s presence and all evidence of their wrongdoing. Shen Yuan would laugh if the sight of Zhuzhi Lang hadn’t knocked all the air out of his lungs.

“What can I do for you, Zhuzhi-gonggong?” Luo Binghe asks, serene.

Zhuzhi Lang lowers his head in a bow. “Peace to Your Highness, Master Shen Yuan.” He straightens, face expressionless. “His Majesty would like a word with you both.”

“Oh?” Luo Binghe says; Shen Yuan takes great comfort in his composure. “What for?”

“His Majesty did not say.” 

“Then we shall meet with Royal Father after the festivities are over.”

When Luo Binghe moves to step past Zhuzhi Lang, the eunuch shifts, blocking his path. 

“Forgive this servant’s audacity, Your Highness, but His Majesty is waiting for you in the Hall of Mental Cultivation.”

Luo Binghe grits his teeth. “Zhuzhi Lang, you—”

“We shall be there,” Shen Yuan says, quietly.

Startled, Luo Binghe turns to look at Shen Yuan, who looks back at him with a wistful gaze. As grateful as he is for Luo Binghe’s efforts, there’s no way out of it; they’ll have to see the Emperor and accept punishment. Better to go with dignity, free and willing, than be dragged there kicking and screaming. 

He can only hope that his death will be a painless one.

The clicking beads sound ominous in the silence.

Shen Yuan stays on his knees, watching as the Emperor circles to the front of his desk, lips curled in a smile. Beside him, Luo Binghe’s fists clench on his thighs, his shoulders raised. 

The Emperor's voice is smooth as silk.

“Where did you go, in the middle of a celebration?”

“Royal Father,” Luo Binghe starts, but the Emperor clicks his tongue. 

“Not you, Second Prince. I am speaking to Master Shen Yuan right now.”

Of course he is. 

Shen Yuan drops his gaze to the floor, lashes lowered. "To answer Your Majesty, we went to the library."

"To what end?"

"To…" Shen Yuan's fingers dig into his knees, the fabric of his robes bunching around them. "To…"

"Lying to His Majesty is an offense punishable by death," Zhuzhi Lang points out.

They know. 

They must know. 

The Emperor wouldn't be smiling like that otherwise, his eyes curved like crescent moons, his mouth tilted upward at one corner. 

Best to confess and beg for mercy.

Eyes squeezed shut, Shen Yuan throws himself to the ground, forehead slamming against the back of his hands. "Forgive me, Your Majesty! This servant knowingly entered a forbidden relationship with the Second Prince and should be punished for my sins!"

" Shizun ." Luo Binghe leaps to his feet, sleeves rustling in a flurry. "Royal Father, I pushed Shizun into a relationship. I made him confess after he tried so hard to conceal it, to behave in a way that is appropriate for the palace. Please,” he says in a ragged voice that makes something catch in Shen Yuan’s throat. “Punish me ."

“Your Majesty,” Shen Yuan says, voice raised, pushing past his fear, his guilt. The Emperor can’t possibly punish his own son, but some irrational part of him is determined to absolve Luo Binghe of all blame. "Second Prince is young and passionate, but I am older and his tutor. I shouldn’t have given into his advances. This servant has been foolish, Your Majesty. This servant deserves punishment!”

“No! I won’t let you give in like this!” Luo Binghe curls over Shen Yuan, arms around him and chest to his back, hot and trembling. “If you wish to punish him, Royal Father, you’ll have to go through me first!”

Silence falls, broken by Luo Binghe's heavy breaths, no doubt close to tears. It's beyond dramatic, Shen Yuan thinks. Beyond absurd. And yet, he can't help but feel the need to comfort Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe, who adores him, who protects him, who’s willing to sacrifice everything, just for him. 

"Whatever happens," Shen Yuan whispers. "I have no regrets."

Luo Binghe makes a sad, fractured sound.

The silence drags on, long and drawn-out and torturous. 

Then the Emperor laughs, a low huff of amusement. 

“I see.”

…...what?

Slowly, Shen Yuan lifts his head up, hardly daring to breathe. “Your Majesty…?”

“Just that I see the depth of your feelings for each other,” the Emperor says. “It couldn’t be any clearer than if you had painted it with stars in the sky.” The smile spreads across his face. “Which helps to finalize my decision.”

Here it comes, his punishment.

Luo Binghe presses further into Shen Yuan, as if he’d blend their souls together with the small movement.

“I am abdicating the throne.” 

A beat, before Luo Binghe’s incredulous voice echoes through the study hall. 

“What did you say?”

“Zhuzhi Lang and I are going on a trip,” the Emperor announces brightly. “To see the world, just as your mother and I have always wanted.”

“Royal Father,” Luo Binghe says, far too quiet. His quivering takes on a different quality, something more heated. Closer to anger. “You can’t just up and leave whenever you like.”

The Emperor shrugs. “I am the Son of Heaven. What I say, goes.”

“Then why did you call us here?” Luo Binghe hisses then, the weight of his body lifting from Shen Yuan as he rises to scowl at the Emperor. Shen Yuan’s heart twists at the loss of warmth. “Why did you put us through all that if you don’t disapprove, and the one you should be speaking to is Bing-ge?”

“Why?” The Emperor tilts his head, the dangling beads to his headpiece swaying. “Because I don't like secrets in my palace. Because I wanted to see with my own eyes the love you and Master Shen Yuan have for each other. And because, Second Prince…" His smile turns sharp as a knife's edge. "You will be the next Emperor.”

Shen Yuan stiffens, Luo Binghe tensing beside him. So they do know. They know, yet they've summoned them for something more horrifying, more heinous. The Emperor is bound to the throne, the country, the traditions and customs of the Forbidden City. To everything they've planned to escape from. Their freedom, their future—gone, just like that. 

A punishment worse than death.

“Bing-ge is older,” Luo Binghe says, his voice sounding distant over Shen Yuan’s pounding heart. “Bing-ge is the rightful heir…”

Chuckling, the Emperor sets his beads on the desk. “Can you imagine your brother running a country? Imagine him mediating clan disputes, managing expenses of court and harem, listening to our people’s needs?"

“What makes you think I can?” Luo Binghe retorts.

The Emperor clasps his arms behind his back, eyes and mouth curving. 

“You have Master Shen Yuan.”

Shen Yuan gapes at him as Zhuzhi Lang draws out a scroll from his robes and unfurls it. 

"By royal decree, the Second Prince shall ascend the throne. Master Shen Yuan shall be bestowed the title of Imperial Adviser and accompany the Second Prince to all court gatherings. Meng-gonggong shall remain as the Second Prince's personal attendant. The Second Prince shall take Ning Yingying, daughter of Commander Ning of the Bordered Yellow Banner, as his Empress. The Second Prince shall also take Sha Hualing, daughter of General Sha of the Plain Red Banner, as his Noble Consort—"

"I'm not taking any wives," Luo Binghe snaps.

The Emperor sighs. "No one is asking you to love them. Only to produce heirs."

"Even worse,” Luo Binghe says. “The only person I’ll ever bed is Shizun!”

"Mm. And what are your thoughts, Master Shen Yuan?"

Shen Yuan looks up, his gaze meeting the Emperor's. By some miracle, his life has been spared. Spared and given to Luo Binghe, to fulfill his obligation to king and country, until the end of his days. To the Emperor’s question, there is only one right answer—the very one that he detests with every fiber of his being.

Dutifully, Shen Yuan squeezes it out through clenched teeth. 

“For the good of the country, it is His Highness’s duty as Emperor to continue the lineage and bloodline of the imperial Luo family.”

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe gasps, while the Emperor nods, approving. “As expected. With Master Shen Yuan by your side, you’ll do just fine.” 

“But Shizun—”

“Well then,” the Emperor declares, ignoring the open look of irritation Luo Binghe shoots at him. (The Emperor is far more magnamious than Shen Yuan imagined.) “You will attend the next court with Master Shen Yuan, where Meng Mo shall read my royal proclamation. Zhuzhi Lang and I would have left by then."

Luo Binghe stares at him. "You're going to escape in the dead of night?"

"It will take far too much explanation otherwise," the Emperor says cheerily. "Shall we return to the celebrations, Zhuzhi Lang?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

"Royal Father," Luo Binghe shouts, but the Emperor doesn't look back, leaving with Zhuzhi Lang in tow.

Depleted, Shen Yuan slumps back on his heels. Luo Binghe’s right there, hands on his shoulders. With this, Shen Jiu will never want to see him again. With this, the final frayed strand of brotherly love between them will be severed. Even if Shen Yuan used his new role to secure a comfortable life for Shen Jiu, the resentment will linger, driven by the belief that Shen Yuan has been playing him this entire time, a pawn on his chessboard. 

Shen Yuan doesn't even play chess well.

“We can run,” Luo Binghe says, fervent. “We can leave, tonight. Take a boat out while everyone is distracted by the festivities.”

“His Majesty will find us,” Shen Yuan sighs. “He’ll send all eight Banners if he has to.”

The corners of Luo Binghe’s eyes turn red, his voice wobbling. “If I hadn’t pulled you into the royal archives… if I hadn’t been so impulsive…”

True. But even if Luo Binghe hadn't done it, even if Shen Yuan hadn't given into his base desires, it wouldn't have mattered. 

“Silly. His Majesty has long known about our relationship through Meng-gonggong. If not today, he would have found some other way to catch us in the act.” Shen Yuan flicks Luo Binghe lightly in the forehead. “Do you understand, Binghe? It’s not your fault.”

Luo Binghe swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Mn.”

Tongue clicking, Shen Yuan tugs his arm down. “That’s not how an Emperor would act. And remember to hold back your tears; your court will be looking to you for strength and guidance.”

Luo Binghe nods. “In that case, I will hold my tears until it’s just the two of us.” He pulls Shen Yuan close. “No one will know my true heart but you.”

Shen Yuan gazes back at him, fond but scared. Terrified, really. With a full harem at his beck and call, there’s no knowing that Luo Binghe’s heart will stay his. But what choice does he have?

“Then I will keep it close to mine,” he whispers.

Luo Binghe's smile is incandescent as the north star, and Shen Yuan lets it guide him home.

The coronation is grand, with all eight Banners lined up in straight rows to pay tribute to their new Emperor. 

Luo Binghe’s robes are golden yellow, the signature dragon motif rising toward the heavens. He sits on the throne, legs spread, head held high—every inch a ruler of their great country. On his left stands Meng Mo, now in darker, grander colors, a sign of his rise in status. On his right stands Shen Yuan, still in plain green, fan fluttering by his face. 

The Bannermen's voices boom across the square. 

"Long live the Emperor! Peace and prosperity to Your Imperial Majesty!"

Luo Binghe lifts a hand, and the armies quiet down.

"Meng Mo has read the royal decree, but I have one more announcement to make. Master Shen Yuan shall have Qing Jing Palace as his permanent residence in the Forbidden City. His brother, Master Shen Jiu, and my Royal Brother, Bingge, may come and go as they please, with Master Shen Yuan's permission." 

Shen Yuan's fan slows. His eyes flick to the older twins in the front row, heart sinking at the rage—the humiliation—on both their faces. Shen Jiu is one thing, but Luo Bingge must loathe the idea of asking a common-bred scholar for permission to enter his former home. 

With a single declaration, Luo Binghe has unwittingly stirred a maelstrom of chaos upon his new reign. 

You have Master Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan snaps his fan shut, fingers curled tight around the smooth guards. 

He will support his Emperor, come what may.