Archive of Our Own

part i

Shang Qinghua had seen snow before, in pictures and on holidays, and even at events when he got to travel away from Luo Binghe’s palace. He’d never seen it fall. He always managed to be in places that had only been recently snowed in, or were cold enough to hold the snow until his arrival. Shang Qinghua liked the snow, from what he knew of it. It was pretty, and it always held such a pleasant contrast when it lined the trees, or brushed up against a mountain.

Where he lived, it did not snow. Sometimes there was frost in the morning, during wintertime, and it would cling to the blades of grass like powdered sugar. But he wanted to see it snow someday. He was not sure if that day would come, unless he was in the right place at the right time. It wasn’t the sort of thing he normally let himself think about. 

When Shang Qinghua thought too long on things that he desired, he found himself irritated and disappointed that there was never guarantee that he’d be able to make it happen. He had a job and he had things to do. Shang Qinghua hardly had any time to think about the things he wanted. In fact, he had so little time he did not know what he even wanted in the first place. 

There were many things to be done, none of them for him, and every morning, when he rose from bed and stood in the mirror after putting on his clothes, he repeated his mantra. He did not always think it. But if he were to look back upon every sunrise, he’d be able to feel the stirring in his heart that had said it for him anyway—

The world does not turn for men like him.

__________

Shang Qinghua made his way up the last of the steps, trailing behind Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. They were speaking in quiet tones as they ascended the staircase. The palace was beautiful, as Shang Qinghua had been anticipating. It was an impressive mix of modern architecture and traditional Chinese royalty. There were the curved rooftops and the large archways and there were sections of buildings and cutaways to gardens, but everything was a sleek black, gray, and blue. The sliding doors were not paper, but looked to be black stone, and Shang Qinghua wondered if he’d be strong enough to even open one. They looked so heavy.

Luo Binghe paused at the top and glanced toward Shen Qingqiu. He didn’t seem nervous, per se, but he didn’t seem relaxed either. Shen Qingqiu never looked relaxed, but he looked more stressed than normal. The attendants that were accompanying them were silent, bodies shockingly still despite their movement as they made their way up. 

Shang Qinghua, however, was nearly bursting with anticipation. He’d been waiting for this for a long time. Not only as a personal desire, but also after the recent changes that had been made regarding Luo Binghe’s plans and opportunities. Shang Qinghua was fascinated with this place, always had been, and he’d always wanted to know more.

Once they were in the center of the main courtyard, Shen Qingqiu fell back a little, just enough that he was a step behind Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua caught the way Luo Binghe looked a little lost for a moment, but then he continued forward. He came to a stop in front of one of the palace officials. He was wearing a suit, hands folded behind his back. 

“Welcome,” he said. He bowed. “My name is Wang Zimo. I am to take you to the throne room.”

There was no one else with Wang Zimo, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t decide if that was supposed to be trust or an insult. Perhaps it was just arrogance. 

Shang Qinghua was anticipating seeing the king more than anything. The king wasn’t elusive necessarily, but he did not often conduct business with other royals or politicians. The fact that Luo Binghe was able to arrange this meeting at all was just proof of how far Luo Binghe had come since Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua had taken it upon themselves to help him take the throne. 

The anticipation was beginning to make Shang Qinghua feel ill, if he was to be honest. Shang Qinghua knew of every important person in the entire country, and then most of the important people everywhere else. And this king, the king of the northern territory, was very important. Any time their territory was in attendance to any sort of event or meeting, it was a representative. 

As they continued to walk, Luo Binghe kept glancing backward, eyes meeting Shen Qingqiu’s frequently, and then back farther to Shang Qinghua, too. 

Shang Qinghua quickened his pace just slightly and moved until he was flanking Luo Binghe’s other side. Luo Binghe turned when he sensed him coming up and widened his eyes just slightly as if he was saying I’m scared.

He offered Luo Binghe a small, hardly perceptible smile that said nice try. Luo Binghe faced forward again after his faux-nervous expression softened into something more amused, and Shang Qinghua suppressed a small laugh. As they walked, Shang Qinghua found himself thinking of when Luo Binghe had first alluded to being nervous about his new position as a ruler of a large territory.

It’d been at his coronation banquet after they’d all socialized enough for a lifetime. Shang Qinghua had been standing by the refreshments table, very slowly getting a cup of water for more time not speaking to anyone back near his table. Luo Binghe had come up next to him, a flute of champagne in his hand. It was barely touched, and Shang Qinghua wondered if he was just tilting the glass up to his lips but not drinking.

Luo Binghe had ducked his head slightly, voice low. “Hua-ge, I can’t keep all their names straight. How do you do it? You even know them before they’ve introduced themselves.”

Shang Qinghua had smiled a little and leaned back against the table. Luo Binghe rested against the table next to him. “It’s my job.”

Luo Binghe was quiet for a moment, and then seemed to take an actual sip from his glass. He looked at Shang Qinghua. “I feel nervous. I’m supposed to make good impressions with all of these people.”

Shang Qinghua studied him, then glanced away to the other side of the room, where Shen Qingqiu was speaking to someone Shang Qinghua had seen Luo Binghe speaking to earlier. He looked back at Luo Binghe, who just looked back at him wide-eyed. Shang Qinghua snorted. “Are your sensitive little nerves why your shizun is now speaking to the people you’re supposed to be making a good impression on?”

Luo Binghe smiled into his drink and took another sip. “There’s too many people, I needed a break.”

Shang Qinghua could relent. He was also tired. It was why he’d run away to the refreshment table. 

“Who is the most important person here?” Luo Binghe asked. “Besides me.”

Shang Qinghua laughed again, but then he considered. He looked throughout the room. Not far from the exit, the Mobei clan representative was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Well… probably the Mobei representative. He will be as close as you can get to Mobei Jun.”

“Why Mobei Jun?”

“Mobei Jun has the most power next to you—second largest territory, decent relations with all other important leaders, stays out of most wars, but every time they get involved, the war is over shortly after.” Shang Qinghua paused. “And there are things he might be able to do for you that Shen Qingqiu and I can’t.”

Luo Binghe made a derisive noise. “Unlikely.”

Shang Qinghua smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment. However, neither me nor your shizun will ever know what it’s like to be in your position. He’ll be able to advise you in ways we cannot.”

Luo Binghe was quiet in response, and while he pondered this, the representative seemed to sense they were discussing his king. His eyes were cold and calculating as they fell on Luo Binghe. He hadn’t moved much throughout the entire night, and he spoke only when spoken to. He seemed to be taking everyone in. Shang Qinghua was sure that he’d go back and report every detail to Mobei Jun. 

He stood out, despite only being a representative. His dark hair was long and loose, falling down his back. He was big, too, looming over anyone who came near. Shang Qinghua had known immediately that he was attending for Mobei Jun. He wore a suit like everyone else, but he had the classic Mobei Clan robe over it. It was sleeveless and long, reaching to his calf, looking almost like a cape or billowing robe. It was a dark blue with a brighter blue embroidery along the bottom. It may as well have been a sign hanging above him, saying he was there for Mobei Jun.

The man’s gaze slid away from Luo Binghe and fell on Shang Qinghua. He held his gaze for a moment. And then before either Shang Qinghua or Luo Binghe could process it, the representative was pushing away from the wall and making his way over. 

“He’s coming over,” Shang Qinghua hissed through hardly-moving lips. He turned towards Luo Binghe and shot him a look. “Be on your best behavior.”

Luo Binghe made an offended sound, but said no more. He took another drink from his champagne as Shang Qinghua stood straight.

The representative was in front of them a moment later. 

Shang Qinghua bowed his head. “Hello. I’m aware you are representing Mobei Jun, but am unsure of your name.”

He was staring down at Shang Qinghua with a neutral expression, but his eyes were almost unsettlingly seeing. He then looked at Luo Binghe, who was still leaning against the table. He looked back at Shang Qinghua. “My name is not important. All you need to know is that I represent Mobei Jun.”

Shang Qinghua glanced to Luo Binghe. “Alright,” he said. “As you know, this is Luo Binghe.”

The man hummed and followed Shang Qinghua’s gaze.

Luo Binghe pushed himself away from the table finally and stood straight. He studied the representative. “You represent Mobei Jun.”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Luo Binghe asked, eyes a little suspicious as they swept over the man. 

Shang Qinghua’s lips parted—Luo Binghe truly lacked tact. Or, perhaps, humility. He didn’t say anything in the presence of Luo Binghe and the Mobei representative. He at least understood his own position in reference to them. 

“Do you speak for him?” Luo Binghe continued. “Do you just take in information and report back to him? Why isn’t he here?”

The representative regarded Luo Binghe coolly. Shang Qinghua, not for the first time, found himself a little dazzled by this man. While he hadn’t spoken to him yet, he had taken note of him. He was the one Luo Binghe needed to impress most. Shang Qinghua found within himself a selfish piece that wanted to impress the Mobei representative, too. They always had such a presence and Shang Qinghua was not invincible to it. Particularly this one. There was something about him.

“Whatever is needed, I do,” the man said. “If there is information he needs to know, I will tell him. If I must speak for him, I will. He was not able to come, so I am here in his stead.”

Luo Binghe pursed his lips, seemingly unsatisfied with that answer. 

Shang Qinghua caught Shen Qingqiu realize who Luo Binghe was talking to. Shen Qingqiu hastily retreated from his own conversation to come over. Shang Qinghua digressed to Shen Qingqiu. If anyone was going to make Luo Binghe exercise manners to the most important person in the room, it would be Shen Qingqiu.

Shang Qinghua took a mild step back to make room as Shen Qingqiu approached. 

Shen Qingqiu bowed as he stopped next to Luo Binghe and the representative. “Hello,” he said, “I can see you’re representing Lord Mobei Jun today. Welcome.”

The representative looked at Shen Qingqiu, expression just as calm and neutral as it was before. Other Mobei representatives had been calm, based on Shang Qinghua’s experience. But never this unbothered. This representative did not seem apprehensive whatsoever.

“This is my shizun,” Luo Binghe said, shifting towards Shen Qingqiu with a sweet smile. “He’s taught me everything I know.”

“Shizun,” the representative repeated, eyes narrowing imperceptibly, but Shang Qinghua caught it anyway.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Shen Qingqiu said, somewhat weakly, as if he had wished Luo Binghe hadn’t said that. “But for all intents and purposes, I suppose.”

The man turned and looked back at Shang Qinghua. “And you? What are you then?”

Shang Qinghua ducked his head respectfully. “A mere advisor.”

“And what do you advise?”

Shang Qinghua glanced back up at him. “Foreign affairs and culture.”

The man’s eyes flashed with a recognition that Shang Qinghua did not understand. The man looked between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu again. “And your shizun, what does he do?”

Luo Binghe didn’t like that question. He narrowed his eyes and stepped toward him. “Why does it feel like you’re interrogating me, on the night of my coronation?”

The representative’s expression cooled again, and Shang Qinghua thought that he looked a little amused for a moment. “Forgive me,” he said, not very remorsefully. “I wish only to give a detailed report to Mobei Jun.”

Shang Qinghua’s head tilted slightly. It was odd, for the representative to refer to Mobei Jun as such, with no formal address.

Shen Qingqiu pressed a warning hand to Luo Binghe’s back, and Luo Binghe relaxed, stepping away again.

The representative turned toward Shang Qinghua. “Regardless of what your shizun does, my business is with him.”

Shang Qinghua hardly held back the expression of surprise that wanted to break over his face. 

“Shishu?” Luo Binghe asked. “Why?”

“Foreign affairs, correct?” The man asked, holding Shang Qinghua’s gaze. “Am I not foreign? And it’s the day of your coronation—your advisor will know more about what I want to know than you will at this stage.”

Shang Qinghua started to sweat, but not out of anxiety. The representative had a very piercing gaze, and Shang Qinghua felt completely dazzled by him. 

Shen Qingqiu was the one to speak next. “Alright. Then we will leave you to it while we go speak to the other guests. Thank you for your attendance. Please send your king our regards.”

The man didn’t acknowledge him again. Instead he turned to the table and picked up a glass of champagne himself. He looked at Shang Qinghua as he took a sip.

Shang Qinghua looked back at Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe, who were already walking away, Luo Binghe getting the most quiet scolding of his lifetime. Shen Qingqiu was practically dragging him away.

“What would you like to know?” Shang Qinghua asked, looking back at the man and hoping he looked calmer than he felt. His palms were sweating, he felt warm, and he felt excited. He always enjoyed speaking to Mobei clan representatives. And this one was—

The representative reached up to swipe his dark hair away from his face. He scanned the room and then looked back at Shang Qinghua. “What does Luo Binghe want with the Mobei Clan?”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth parted, and then he paused. He covered his mouth quickly before his laugh could fully escape. The man looked surprised for a moment, but then his expression softened back out. “Sorry,” he apologized quickly. “Your forthrightness took me by surprise. I suppose mincing words is useless.”

The man’s face softened a little more as he waited for the answer. 

Shang Qinghua grabbed his own flute of champagne. He took a sip. “The easiest answer I can give to you is that Luo Binghe is not his father. And in order to proceed, he needs to build his own alliances with the surrounding territories.”

“And the interest in the Mobei Clan?”

Shang Qinghua considered his answer. He wondered if honesty was better in this situation, and after his impression of this man, he thought that it would likely be appreciated more than anything else. “That’s probably my fault.”

The representative raised his eyebrows in question and then gestured for him to elaborate.

Shang Qinghua’s fingers tapped against his glass. “I find the Mobei Clan to be good at strategy and conflict and I think those are the two things Luo Binghe needs help with the most. Input and a good example from someone successful in those areas would be good for him.” He paused and then smiled wryly. “And it couldn’t hurt to have someone like the king on our side.”

The representative looked pensive for a moment. “Hm,” he said. “Interesting.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he felt like that would sound too desperate. 

The man stepped closer and Shang Qinghua had to tilt his head up a ridiculous amount to keep meeting his stare. Shang Qinghua felt his heart putter in his chest. “What will you do, if you get what you want?”

Shang Qinghua’s hand tightened on his glass and he pulled it closer to his chest as the man leaned into his proximity. “Are you asking me? Or are you asking me to speak for Luo Binghe?”

The man’s head lowered, tipping closer to Shang Qinghua’s. In actuality, he was not that close. But to Shang Qinghua, it felt as though he was only an inch away. “As of right now, you’re the only one who could answer that question, whether for yourself or for Luo Binghe. So tell me.”

Swallowing, Shang Qinghua considered. “I feel like you’re looking for a particular answer.”

The representative smiled a little, and his teeth were a bit sharper than Shang Qinghua anticipated they’d be. The smile was gone a moment later, and only left a muddled sort of pleasure behind. “Maybe.”

“I need to ask another question before I can answer you,” Shang Qinghua said. His hands were sweating still.

“Ask.”

“Do you want my answer, or what I’ll tell everyone else when we form that alliance?” Maybe Shang Qinghua had given away too much about his suspicions when he’d said “we.” 

But the representative didn’t seem to mind—the sharp pleasure was back, flashing and brief. “Yours.”

“Then I’ll make sure that alliance lasts forever. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to ensure it.”

“I’m sure the king will be happy to hear that,” the representative murmured.

Shang Qinghua was perhaps entirely off. But perhaps he was entirely right. “You can tell your king that in the near future, perhaps there are other things that could be worked out between us that would make him happy.”

Luo Binghe stood on the side of the doors that led to the throne room. None of Shang Qinghua’s suspicions had been confirmed on the night of Luo Binghe’s coronation, nor on any of the days after. Though they would be confirmed in just a few moments. Shang Qinghua had never felt more lucky to be Luo Binghe’s foreign affairs advisor than he did in that moment. 

Wang Zimo bowed to them. “I will go inside and tell the king you are ready. The doors will open when he is ready to receive you and you may enter at your leisure.”

Luo Binghe shifted a little, but a swift poke from both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua had him stilling once more and nodding. 

Once Wang Zimo was gone, Luo Binghe immediately turned to Shen Qingqiu. He pouted, this expression seeming to say I’m the emperor, why does it feel like I’m a mere peasant? Shen Qingqiu sighed and turned away, as if saying he wasn’t going to feed his pity party. Luo Binghe looked upset at that and then turned to Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua just shrugged. 

Luo Binghe sighed. “I’m not really nervous,” he said. “But…”

Shang Qinghua eyed him. 

“But what?” Shen Qingqiu asked.

Luo Binghe was dead silent for several moments and then turned to look at Shang Qinghua again. “Shishu,” he said.

Shang Qinghua tilted his head in question. He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t know what Luo Binghe was thinking based solely on the expression he was wearing. “What is it, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe turned around so that he was facing both of them. He looked at Shen Qingqiu for a long moment and then looked to Shang Qinghua. “I know that you really want this.”

Shang Qinghua nodded. “Yes. We all do.”

“No, especially you.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, surprised. 

Luo Binghe smiled in a charming way, sudden and blinding. “I’ll do my best, shishu.” He turned to Shen Qingqiu. “I promise, shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu smiled faintly and then gestured for him to turn back around. 

Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure what to say to that.

A few moments later, the doors slid open. Luo Binghe stepped through. 

Shang Qinghua kept his head respectfully down for as long as he could. As they approached, Shang Qinghua heard Luo Binghe make a surprised sound in the back of his throat, and it confirmed everything Shang Qinghua had thought before he saw it with his own eyes. 

When Shang Qinghua lifted his head, it felt so slow. It felt like it had taken forever before his eyes finally trailed up over the black marble stone and up dark steps, up toward the chair at the end of the room. There, sat on the throne, was Mobei Jun. 

That banquet had been one night, and his conversation with the representative had been even shorter than that. Yet it felt monumental to look upon him. And it made his stomach absolutely roll to know that he’d been speaking to Mobei Jun that entire time. 

Mobei Jun wasn’t looking at Luo Binghe. He was looking at Shang Qinghua. When Shang Qinghua met his stare, he looked pleased. He had his chin and cheek resting on his fingers, so his head didn’t move when his gaze slid over to Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua felt flustered, but with Mobei Jun’s gaze off of him, he was able to focus back on the task at hand. Which wasn’t good either, because that just made him aware of the tension in Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders. 

“Bixia,” Shen Qingqiu said, ducking his head. He’d spoken because Luo Binghe had failed to greet Mobei Jun.

Shang Qinghua found his eyes locked back onto Mobei Jun, checking for his reaction. He supposed Mobei Jun wouldn’t have much to say about customs given that he also was not following what was expected of him. And there was also the elephant in the room, that they’d all met Mobei Jun before. 

“Mobei Jun,” Luo Binghe said, tone neutral and hard to decipher. Shang Qinghua couldn’t tell if he was irritated, pleased, amused, or apprehensive. Perhaps he was exactly twenty-five percent of each. 

Mobei Jun looked deviously pleased by the meeting. He eyed Luo Binghe for several long moments, still silent, and then his gaze slid over to Shen Qingqiu. He looked as neutral as he had when he’d met him at the banquet. Then, his eyes moved back over to Shang Qinghua. If he’d looked mischievous before, he looked particularly gleeful to see Shang Qinghua. 

Shang Qinghua felt his own burst of satisfaction. He’d known and it hadn’t been something he could say or accuse. Given his position, it would never be a good idea for him to make the sudden claim that Mobei Jun was posing as a lowly servant. Despite the fact that he was. And perhaps it hadn’t been clear to Luo Binghe, but to Shang Qinghua, who knew about as much as a foreigner could about the Mobei Clan, it was all over Mobei Jun’s face. 

“Welcome,” Mobei Jun eventually said, “to the Northern Desert.” His eyes hadn’t left Shang Qinghua. 

Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure what to do. He was unsure if he was meant to acknowledge for the others, or if he should to remain silent. It seemed rude to Mobei Jun to not acknowledge it, and it seemed rude to Luo Binghe to be the one to speak next. Swallowing, Shang Qinghua picked what he felt to be the lesser of two evils. “Thank you, my king. We are pleased to be in your presence.”

Mobei Jun sat up a little straighter and dropped his hands to rest on the armrests of his throne. He continued to stare at Shang Qinghua. Then he stood and took the few steps down the dais to approach the three of them. 

Luo Binghe’s spine was ramrod straight. His hands were lax at his side, but that was almost worse than if they were clenched. Shang Qinghua watched Luo Binghe, and he felt more nervous than he ever had. Luo Binghe had never encountered someone like Mobei Jun before, and that was obvious. Not only this, he’d never encountered someone who seemed not only uninterested, but more interested in speaking to someone else. 

Shang Qinghua elected to look at no one anymore. He lowered his gaze just enough that he was staring toward the ground at the far end of the other room. 

Mobei Jun stopped in front of Luo Binghe and reached out a hand to shake it. Shen Qingqiu let out a small breath, as if one of relief. 

Luo Binghe was unmoving for several moments, and then finally reached out to grasp it. Shang Qinghua still was not looking. He felt like it’d make it worse to watch it unfold. Maybe he was just trying to save himself the discomfort. 

“Your palace is unique,” Luo Binghe said. “I haven’t seen anything like it before.”

Mobei Jun glanced around and then took a step back after releasing Luo Binghe’s hand. “It is how it’s always been—periodically adjusted so that it remains convenient.”

There was another lull of conversation. Luo Binghe did not know how to do this with someone who was not afraid of him.

Mobei Jun took a few more steps back and his gaze smoothly wandered over to Shang Qinghua again, briefly, and Shang Qinghua pointedly did not meet it that time, though he was watching Mobei Jun closely through his peripheral. 

“Dinner should be ready for us,” Mobei Jun said. “I will take you to the dining hall.” He turned without another word and gestured for them to follow.

Shang Qinghua let his eyes find him again, and took in the signature Mobei Clan vest tunic. It was longer than the one he’d worn to the banquet, and was much more detailed in its embroidery. There were more blues and silvers and jewels woven in. His hair was similar to how it’d been at the banquet, but also had silver and black jewelry woven in like the tunic. Shang Qinghua urgently stomped on the growing feeling in his chest. 

He felt a tap on his hand. 

Luo Binghe was looking at him, a question on his face.

Shang Qinghua shrugged, trying to convey by his expression alone that he was just as flabbergasted as Luo Binghe was. Shen Qingqiu looked furious for some reason, and kept his face forward, expression like stone. Luo Binghe frowned and then faced forward again. 

It was quiet as they walked through the halls. The floors there were also that dark stone. It was somewhat like walking through a cave. But it was the nicest cave Shang Qinghua had ever been in. Mobei Jun led them through until they reached another set of sliding doors. These doors were made up of black wood and dark green paper. He opened them and gestured for them to enter first. 

Luo Binghe entered, and Shen Qingqiu followed. Shang Qinghua didn’t look at him, but he knew Mobei Jun was watching him again as he walked in behind them. Mobei Jun closed in behind him and followed. His presence was large behind Shang Qinghua, the weight of his presence alone like a blanket. 

Shang Qinghua remembered feeling like MobeI Jun had a large and looming presence at the banquet, but in his own palace, in his royal attire, and adorning his true title, it was even larger and even heavier. 

They sat down in their seats, leaving Mobei Jun at the head. There were empty plates at their spots, and almost as soon as they’d sat down, servants entered the room with platters of food. 

Shang Qinghua did not feel ready to eat. It’d felt so sudden, to come straight from travel to food, but he’d expected it. It was one of the things the North always did, and it was not out of hospitality. It was a way to be quick and efficient, and to avoid pleasantries. It also was a strategy in itself, in that the guests were often tired and ready to retire. Any negotiating that happened to occur during dinner would be agreed upon when the clan’s guests were at their most exhausted throughout their stay.

Despite having known this already, Shang Qinghua still found himself impressed. He was not bad at strategy, but there were things, and this was the perfect example, that he would not be able to teach Luo Binghe, and they were things that Luo Binghe would excel in. His style was different than predecessors. Luo Binghe’s father was the first in his line to be emperor, and his rule was more tyrannical than anything else. Luo Binghe could be so much more than that. He needed someone who dealt with affairs like he did, but more diplomatically. 

Despite the goal of weakening them with having to eat upon arrival, Luo Binghe only seemed to feel better at the prospect of food. Luo Binghe was not one to tire easily, and he always liked eating new food. If Mobei Jun was one who wanted to be impressed by lack of weakness, this was a good way to show Luo Binghe’s strength in a way that would not offend Mobei Jun.

“I’ve never had Northern food before,” Luo Binghe said, picking up his chopsticks as soon as the servants had backed away from setting their plates. 

Shang Qinghua also picked up his chopsticks. He hummed in agreement but did not speak. Shen Qingqiu was silent as he began to eat. He didn’t seem happy with how their visit was going, but Shang Qinghua was unsurprised by that. 

Mobei Jun had food in front of him as well and had taken his first bite already so that they could begin to eat, but after his first bite, he’d ceased eating. His chopsticks were set down on the small block so they wouldn’t touch the table. He watched them. “When you retire for the night, feel free to share with your attendants what you prefer so that we can have it again some time before you leave.”

Shang Qinghua found himself hiding a smile in his food. It had been a very polite thing to offer, yet he’d sounded so dry as he said it. 

Mobei Jun was slow as he ate. He would take a bite and then set his chopsticks down in favor of speaking. Although, speaking was difficult for anyone when in the presence of a Luo Binghe who had found his footing. Luo Binghe was able to speak now, able to move his hands and look around instead of standing still and looking in one place. He was able to be polite and rude at the same time, as sharing food always allowed in these situations. 

Although there had been no clear agenda for the visit, it was obvious to everyone that it was mainly about allowing Mobei Jun to get to know Luo Binghe enough to determine if they would be able to negotiate an alliance of sorts. It was something that might not ever be put on paper given the fact that alliances with the Mobei Clan were few and far between. 

There was a slight dip in conversation again, and Mobei Jun ate a little bit more. Shang Qinghua found himself full from the food that had been on his plate in what felt like a never-ending cycle. He liked most of it, but there were a few things he liked more than others. But he enjoyed being finished more than anything, for it gave him more time to watch Mobei Jun.

He was a sight to behold. He looked other-worldly really. Shang Qinghua, if he was a fly on the wall, would find himself staring at Mobei Jun for hours and never tire of it. Shang Qinghua found himself getting distracted by it, and also by the things he’d only ever read about in his studies that Mobei Jun said flippantly as if it was normal and an every day occurrence. He spoke of the waterfalls that were just the right temperature so that when they reached the bottom, it turned to slush and snow and ice. He spoke of the frozen creeks and how the land looked after it had snowed. He spoke of all the things that Shang Qinghua had always wished to see. 

Shang Qinghua wanted to ask when it would snow and how often it snowed. He wanted to ask if Mobei Jun thought it would snow soon. It’d be like a dream, to be able to see it.

After Mobei Jun had finished discussing what the expanse of land was like between the back of the palace and the village that resided on the other side of the forest, he’d looked back at Shang Qinghua. His gaze had wandered over the plates and the cutlery and the cups of wine and water. He looked at Shang Qinghua’s plate, and then his chopsticks, as if noting that he was no longer eating. Then his eyes met Shang Qinghua’s again. 

“Shang Qinghua,” he said, voice neither friendly nor aggressive. It was an even tone, but there was an undercurrent of something. Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure what. 

Shang Qinghua straightened a little at the sound of his name. “Yes, my king.”

“You seem to already know what I’ve spoken of.”

Shang Qinghua wondered if it’d be bad to mention the fact that they’d already met and spent at least an hour in each other’s company only a few months prior. He thought back to their conversation, and he thought that Mobei Jun wouldn’t mind if he mentioned it. In fact, he had a creeping suspicion that Mobei Jun was waiting to see who would bring it up first. Shang Qinghua’s apprehension to mention it mainly came from the look that Shen Qingqiu shot him every time he caught Mobei Jun looking at Shang Qinghua. It was as if he was demanding that Shang Qinghua not ruin this for Luo Binghe, and that you should know better than anyone else how important this is.

Despite that, Shang Qinghua kept finding an odd sort of selfishness whenever he thought of Mobei Jun. He did all of these things for Luo Binghe. It was all for Luo Binghe. But in all of the things he’d done for him, ever since he’d been brought to the palace as an advisor, Shang Qinghua had never been able to do something for Luo Binghe that also felt like doing something for himself. 

Shang Qinghua was untethered to any place. As an orphan growing up and climbing his way to a position with the previous emperor, he had loyalties and he had desires, but he did not think that they existed in the way that perhaps others’ loyalty felt. Shang Qinghua was loyal and Shang Qinghua was dedicated. To what, he did not know and had never known. He cared about Luo Binghe. He wanted Luo Binghe to succeed. But Luo Binghe ruled over a place that might not have even been Shang Qinghua’s at all. In fact, it was likely that it was not. 

The North had always entranced Shang Qinghua. Every part of it. So for this, Shang Qinghua felt selfish. 

“I do,” Shang Qinghua responded. “As I told you the last time we met, it’s my job to know it.”

A small and slow smile spread over Mobei Jun’s face as he stared at him. He looked pleased that Shang Qinghua had brought it up. He looked like he wanted anyone to, but that he was glad it was him. 

Shen Qingqiu stiffened, however. Luo Binghe looked over at Shang Qinghua, not angry, but surprised. It was the sort of thing Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were always telling Luo Binghe not to do. 

Mobei Jun leaned back in his chair. “Well,” he said. “Tell me the things you don’t know about then, and perhaps I could enlighten you.”

Shang Qinghua felt unreasonably bold. Perhaps there really was something to making guests eat dinner right away. He felt sticky and warm and oddly happy. “The things I’m curious about I’d rather see for myself.”

“Like what?”

“The waterfalls,” Shang Qinghua said. “The snow.”

Luo Binghe was looking between them as if watching a tennis match. Shen Qingqiu was pointedly looking at neither of them. 

Mobei Jun hummed thoughtfully. He did not say any more, but his gaze lingered. Shang Qinghua’s gaze lingered, too, and when he looked away, felt even warmer than he already had.

“Have you corresponded with Mobei Jun in-between Binghe’s banquet and now?”

Shang Qinghua didn’t look up even though Shen Qingqiu’s sharp tone was cutting. Luo Binghe was in the room beside Shen Qingqiu’s, but Shen Qingqiu didn’t seem to care if he heard. Shang Qinghua grabbed his bundle of belongings before taking it to his own room since they’d left his things with Shen Qingqiu.

“Well?” Shen Qingqiu prompted, when Shang Qinghua didn’t respond.

Shang Qinghua stopped in the doorway. “No, I haven’t.”

“It seemed as though you have.”

Shang Qinghua looked at Shen Qingqiu and he felt so tired. “I spoke to him for a while at the banquet. Anything that seemed like correspondence was from that.”

“He was a lot more friendly to you than to Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu said, sated somewhat by the denial that they’d communicated privately without anyone knowing.

“We don't even know what that means, even if it’s true,” Shang Qinghua pointed out. He leaned against the wall beside the door. “If he is being more friendly with me, that could just mean that he plans on murdering me in my sleep.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Shen Qingqiu said drily. 

Shang Qinghua smiled faintly. “You know I appreciate the North. Perhaps he could sense that in me.”

Shen Qingqiu looked unimpressed.

Shang Qinghua pushed away from the wall. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

Shen Qingqiu grunted a little bit but otherwise didn’t respond. He turned away and began unpinning his hair. Shang Qinghua left his room and walked past Luo Binghe’s to move toward his own. His room wasn’t directly next to Luo Binghe’s and it wasn’t next to Shen Qingqiu’s either. He was at the end of the hall, where the corner of the guest building was. 

He hoped the rest of his stuff was there and that it was only his clothes that had been placed in the wrong room. He was exhausted, and didn’t want to bother going back out for anything more. If he had to face plant into the bed without preparing at all, so be it. 

Shang Qinghua pushed open the sliding door with a little difficulty. It wasn’t full on stone like the doors in the courtyard, but it was certainly heavy with the kind of wood that was used. 

He froze in the doorway.

The room was beautiful. The entrance was like any other room, and then the bed was also like what he’d seen in Shen Qingqiu’s. Except that behind it there was a large semi-circled window behind it, large enough that he could see straight out into a garden. The walls on the far side of the room were not walls, but water, cascading down from the roof into a small trough that led to the artificial creek in the garden. It was completely unnecessary, but the prettiest room Shang Qinghua had ever seen. 

“Do you like it?”

Shang Qinghua startled, whirling around and clutching the wrap of clothes in his arms. “My king!”

Mobei Jun was standing behind him, not quite eager, but not quite anything else either. He looked down at Shang Qinghua, seeming to fill the doorway with his presence. 

Shang Qinghua gulped and then nodded. “Yes… It’s beautiful.”

Mobei Jun’s expression softened out. He looked up behind Shang Qinghua. “There’s a door to the gardens on the right, if you find yourself wanting to go. It only extends on that side, so no one else has access to it.”

Shang Qinghua blanched. “I—What?”

Mobei Jun looked back at him. “May I?”

“Of course,” Shang Qinghua said hastily, stepping aside so that Mobei Jun could enter.

Mobei Jun stepped into the room and Shang Qinghua trailed after him helplessly. He pointed toward the doorway that led to a small sunroom. “You can go through there to enter the garden.”

Shang Qinghua had no idea what to say. “My king…”

Mobei Jun turned back to him. His eyes glimmered in the low light. “Yes?”

“I don’t mean any offense—the room and the garden is beautiful…”

“But?”

“I’m confused. Why isn’t Luo Binghe in here?”

Mobei Jun stepped toward him, hovering close the way he had at the banquet. There was hardly any distance between Mobei Jun and the bag of clothes that were still held in Shang Qinghua’s arms. “May I call you Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua blinked. “Uh—yes. Of course. Call me whatever you’d like, my king.”

Mobei Jun’s lips twitched. “Qinghua,” he said, voice melding into a shape that made Shang Qinghua’s knees weak. “Is this not my palace?”

“It is,” Shang Qinghua said, sounding breathless even to himself. 

“Are you all not my guests?” He swayed just a little bit closer.

Shang Qinghua’s grip on the clothes was weakening. “We are,” he said faintly.

“Then can I not place you all where I wish?”

Shang Qinghua’s lips parted as he stared up at him. He couldn’t keep his thoughts straight. “You can,” he whispered. “Wherever you want me to go, that’s where I’ll go.”

Mobei Jun sucked in a faint breath. He glanced down at the clothes in Shang Qinghua’s hands, and looked angry at them, like he was frustrated that they were in the way. He looked back up at Shang Qinghua. 

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “Will they know?”

Mobei Jun’s eyes widened slightly, and then his face cooled again. He tilted his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Know what?”

“That I’m in this room,” Shang Qinghua whispered. “Luo Binghe—is his room just as nice?”

Mobei Jun blinked. “What do you think?”

Shang Qinghua immediately flushed and he looked away. “Will they be able to tell I have a nicer room then?”

“Who are ‘they?’ Luo Binghe and his shizun?”

Shang Qinghua nodded.

“Why does it matter?”

Shang Qinghua blanched. “Because Luo Binghe is the—”

Mobei Jun shook his head and Shang Qinghua stopped talking at once. “I give this room to whom I want to give it to. That is all.”

Shang Qinghua clutched the bundle in his arms tighter. If he let go of it he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “We’re here for him. For Luo Binghe.”

“Is that so?” Mobei Jun asked easily. “I’m certain that Luo Binghe is here for Luo Binghe. I would wager his shizun is, too.”

Shang Qinghua’s breath sped. Was he so transparent? “I—am also here for Luo Binghe.”

Mobei Jun sighed. He stepped away and began moving back to the doorway. “Perhaps.” He paused then, but then seemed to decide against whatever it was that had stopped him. He left the room a moment later, the sound of his leather shoes loud along the stone.

Shang Qinghua slumped as soon as he couldn’t hear Mobei Jun’s footsteps anymore. He pressed his face into the bundle and let out a deep sigh. No matter what happened, all Shang Qinghua knew was that leaving this place would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

__________

Shang Qinghua was returning from a meeting with one of Mobei Jun’s advisors when he decided to detour his return to his room. He wandered the open spaces, and made sure to linger in the main courtyard, where there seemed to be hundreds of things to examine and hundreds of things to stare at. It was all so beautiful and it was all so new. There were no plants and decorations like this back where they’d come from. The air was so crisp and clean, too. 

While he was sitting at one of the benches, toying with a flower bud that had fallen onto the ground, a shape appeared beside him and then sat down next to him on the bench. 

“Shizun is in a meeting that’s lasting much longer than he said it would,” Luo Binghe sighed. 

Shang Qinghua hummed. “Mine lasted longer than it was supposed to, as well. But I think both me and the king’s advisor were growing tired of talking in circles.”

“Shishu,” Luo Binghe said.

Shang Qinghua looked over at him. “Hmm?”

Luo Binghe’s legs stretched out in front of him, and he examined the tips of his shoes. “Do you know where you were born?”

Shang Qinghua was surprised at the question. “No. But I was dropped off at the orphanage near what’s now your palace. I sincerely doubt whoever bore me decided to travel a great distance before leaving me on their doorstep. It’s likely that is where I was born.” He didn’t mention that sometimes he thought that perhaps he was born from a different planet.

Luo Binghe made a thoughtful sound. “Shizun said that you and Mobei Jun haven't spoken between the banquet and arriving here.”

The change in topics was confusing to Shang Qinghua, but he didn’t feel good about it. “I haven’t,” he confirmed.

“It really seems like you have. Even this morning, during breakfast, he wouldn’t stop looking at you.”

Shang Qinghua blinked and looked back down at the flower in his hands. He flushed.

“I just have this terrible thought that keeps popping up in my head,” Luo Binghe said quietly.

“What is it?” Shang Qinghua asked, looking back at him. He tried to read his face. “You can tell me.”

Luo Binghe took a moment. “Do you remember how when I first took my father’s throne, many of the people who’d helped raise me and teach me began to curse me and plot my demise?”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth parted, and he felt hurt lance through his chest. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“Well, you keep saying that next to me, Mobei Jun is strongest. And even though I’m powerful and feared, I’m still working on a lot of things. Mobei Jun… And you… it feels…”

Shang Qinghua could hardly believe that he was being accused of going behind Luo Binghe’s back to usurp him. Shang Qinghua felt almost enraged in his hurt. Instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath in through his nose and then let it out slowly. He’d had a lot of practice in not lashing out to the outlandish accusations Luo Binghe frequently made. 

“Why are you so quiet?” He asked anxiously.

“Binghe,” Shang Qinghua began quietly. He looked over at him. Luo Binghe was already staring at him, crocodile tears hanging on his lashes. Shang Qinghua suppressed a sigh and pushed through. “I know that you’re afraid of me and Shen Qingqiu leaving you or betraying you.”

The tears fell and Luo Binghe sniffed. 

“That fear comes from the betrayal of others, not because we’ve done anything to deserve your concern that we would betray you too. I would never hurt you. Neither would Shen Qingqiu. When you find yourself wondering if we would do that to you, think of the things we’d have to do to prove our loyalty in order for you to believe we’d never do that to you. And then ask yourself this—have we not already done it? Have we not already proved it?”

Luo Binghe swiped a hand under his nose. He nodded once. He stared at the ground again as he thought about it. “Alright, shishu. You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Shang Qinghua laughed a little. He patted Luo Binghe’s hand. “So dramatic.”

“So what’s with the staring then?” Luo Binghe asked, blinking away the last of his tears. Shang Qinghua never knew when the tears were real or not.

Shang Qinghua flushed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do! How could you not?” He immediately argued.

“I don’t!” Shang Qinghua said, turning fully away from him. “No idea!”

“Hua-ge!”

“Binghe,” a voice hissed. “Don’t call him that so loudly.”

They both looked over to see Shen Qingqiu approaching, an irritated expression on his face. Luo Binghe immediately stood and went to meet him in the middle. “Shizun,” he said warmly. 

Shen Qingqiu softened a little, but looked like he didn’t want to. “What are you two being so loud about?”

Before Luo Binghe could respond and embarrass Shang Qinghua any more, Wang Zimo approached them, calm and collected as normal.

Shang Qinghua stood and moved to go stand beside Luo Binghe as Wang Zimo bowed.

“Good afternoon,” Wang Zimo said. “The king is eating lunch and has extended an invitation to you all if you would like to eat, as well.”

“Sure,” Luo Binghe said easily. “Shizun, are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” he said. He looked at Shang Qinghua. “And you?”

Shang Qinghua was trying way too hard not to be overly eager. “Sure,” he said. 

Luo Binghe smiled, looking much more at ease after confirming that Shang Qinghua did not want to betray him. He began forward. “Let’s go then.”

That evening, Shang Qinghua retired to his rooms as soon as he could. He felt exhausted still from traveling the day before. The conversation he’d had with Mobei Jun’s advisor had been excruciating and long. They had similar ideas but completely different ways of execution. He had found himself wondering multiple times if it was a joke and that man was a fake strategist sent to test him.

It was dark out again given that it was winter, and Shang Qinghua wished he’d been able to look in the daylight, but he thought even in the darkness the garden outside of his room would be a sight to behold. So while he waited for dinner, Shang Qinghua went out into the sunroom, and then out into the garden. He slid the door shut behind him. The snow hadn’t been cleared from the garden, but it had been brushed away from the stone pathway. Yet again, however, it had snowed before Shang Qinghua had arrived.

He stepped carefully from stone to stone, until he was at a bridge that crossed over the creak. He stopped on the bridge and looked over the garden. It expanded out past Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu’s rooms, but just as Mobei Jun had said, there was no access except through Shang Qinghua’s room. 

He leaned against the hand railing and put his chin in his hand. He felt so tired. It was so quiet and peaceful there, with the quiet trickle of the stream below him.

“What do you think?”

Shang Qinghua jumped, just like he had the night before the last time Mobei Jun snuck up on him. He straightened and turned toward him. He bowed.

“Please,” Mobei Jun murmured. “You don’t have to do that.”

Shang Qinghua straightened and felt more lost without the bundle of clothes in his arms. “My king.”

Mobei Jun was facing him, standing at just the right angle so that Shang Qinghua could clearly see him from the light of the moon. “Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua felt his cheeks heat. Something about the way he said his name made his chest fold. “It’s beautiful,” he said, in answer to Mobei Jun’s question. “Just as I expected it to be.” Before Mobei Jun could respond, he asked his own question. “How did you get here? Did you go through the guest quarters?”

“There’s one other entrance,” Mobei Jun said. He had an odd gleam in his eye, that made Shang Qinghua think he was hiding something.

Shang Qinghua smiled at him. “I see. You won’t tell me where that is?”

“Maybe someday,” Mobei Jun said. 

Shang Qinghua turned back again to lean against the railing. “I really do like it out here. It’s very peaceful.”

Mobei Jun hummed. It was quiet for several moments before he spoke again. “You met with my advisor today.”

Shang Qinghua tensed a little. “Ah… Yes.”

“How did it go?”

Shang Qinghua took so long trying to figure out if he should be honest in this scenario too, or if lying was better, that he didn’t realize he’d been silent for an abnormal amount of time. 

“You can be honest.”

Shang Qinghua smiled up at him sheepishly. “I was confused, honestly. Your advisor… he had odd input. Things that seemed unnecessary or just simply lacked general knowledge about terrain and politics in other territories.”

Mobei Jun sighed. “He was the only replacement for the previous strategist who passed a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua said. That made sense. 

“I suppose I’ll need to sit in on his meetings to ensure the quality of work he produces.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers felt restless. He tapped them on the rail. He looked up at Mobei Jun. Mobei Jun was already looking at him. “Oh?”

Mobei Jun turned to face him completely. “I’ll probably have to start coming as soon as possible.”

“Mm,” Shang Qinghua agreed. “It would be the best way to make sure he’s doing as you wish.”

Mobei Jun nodded. “Even if the meetings start as early as tomorrow.”

Shang Qinghua just stared at him. He found himself once again not able to think straight. He straightened up too and turned to face Mobei Jun. “Of course my king is welcome at any meeting this one has in his palace.”

Mobei Jun stared at him for a long moment and then he was stepping forward. He was very close again. Shang Qinghua didn’t move, and he hardly breathed, afraid that Mobei Jun would move away. “You knew who I was at that banquet.”

Shang Qinghua’s hands twitched at his sides. He had the unbidden image of reaching out and touching him. The desire was heavy, but he did not reach out. He nodded up at him. 

Mobei Jun’s head ducked a little farther. “Tell me how.”

“It’s not like my king was trying to hide it,” Shang Qinghua said softly.

“Yet no one else caught on.”

Shang Qinghua lowered his head and his gaze. He stared at Mobei Jun’s chest. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

Mobei Jun reached out and his finger found Shang Qinghua’s chin. He tilted his head up, and Shang Qinghua let out a small gasp at the contact. His hands twitched again and he clenched them to refrain. “Tell me.”

“My king did not act like the other representatives,” he breathed. “And you were not afraid of Luo Binghe.”

“How did I act differently?” Mobei Jun’s gaze wandered over Shang Qinghua’s face, as if taking him in entirely.

Shang Qinghua’s heart was pounding in his chest. “I don’t know,” he said. “You just—I’m sorry—my king had a presence that the others did not have. Calm and assured and—”

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun interrupted gently. He leaned a little closer. “There is no need to be so formal with me.”

“There is most certainly a need,” Shang Qinghua argued. “I already am much too informal with you, given my position, and—”

Mobei Jun’s thumb brushed over Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip, and his breath and his words and, Shang Qinghua was certain, even his blood halted. It was the kindest way anyone had ever told him to stop talking. “Qinghua,” he said again.

Something about the way Mobei Jun said his name gave him courage. Shang Qinghua’s breath left him long and deep. He reached up, slow, and his fingers brushed against the back of Mobei Jun’s hand. Mobei Jun’s eyes drooped a little with the contact. “I don’t know how I knew,” he said. The touch wound over the knuckles and soft skin of Mobei Jun’s hand, and then settled at the wrist. “I just knew something. And then I think it was that you wanted me to know. So I did.”

Mobei Jun tipped closer, and his hand moved to hold onto Shang Qinghua’s face instead. He was so close that Shang Qinghua could see the faint trace of blue in his dark eyes. The corners of his lips turned up. “Yes. I did want you to know, and that is how you knew. And I wanted you to know because I knew that you would.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes closed. Mobei Jun’s forehead touched his, and he let out a small sigh and tipped into the feeling. “What are you doing to me?” Shang Qinghua whispered. 

“Everything I possibly can.”

Shang Qinghua laughed a little. He pulled back and opened his eyes. Mobei Jun stared back at him, expression open. “Why did you want me to know, my king?”

“I’d heard of you, for years. I was curious about Luo Binghe, so I came to see him and thought if I met you in the meantime, then I could kill two birds with one stone.”

“You wanted to meet me?” That seemed outlandish. 

“Yes. All of my representatives reported things that impressed me about you. I wondered if you were as they described.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “Was I to your liking?”

Mobei Jun’s smile was wider than Shang Qinghua had ever seen, and amused. “I believe it’s obvious that you being to my liking is an understatement.”

Shang Qinghua’s face flamed, he turned his head away and huffed out a breath. Mobei Jun’s hand on his face was gentle enough that it was easy to move his head. But Mobei Jun’s hand remained.

“Don’t look away,” he murmured, gently pulling Shang Qinghua’s face back. 

“Then don’t say things like that,” Shang Qinghua hissed back.

Mobei Jun tilted his head up a little farther, and it bared Shang Qinghua’s throat. “No?” He asked. His hand trailed down the side of Shang Qinghua’s face, and then down the side of his neck. “You don’t like it?”

Shang Qinghua’s breath sped again. “My king,” he said weakly, desperately.

Mobei Jun’s face was so close. Their noses were almost touching. “I like it when you call me that.”

His voice was making Shang Qinghua weak, body feeling like he couldn’t move. His thumb found the thudding speed of Shang Qinghua’s pulse. “I know that you came to rest. I won’t bother you any longer.”

There were about a hundred things Shang Qinghua could say to that, but they all sounded desperate. Instead of saying anything, he found Mobei Jun’s hand again and held onto it. 

Mobei Jun pulled away, though his hand was still on Shang Qinghua’s throat. “Rest for now. I know you’re tired. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Alright,” Shang Qinghua said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Mobei Jun’s fingers were slow to trail away. “It’s too cold out here. Rest inside.”

Shang Qinghua looked at him for a moment longer, and then turned to head back to his room. Every step away solidified more and more that leaving this place would hurt insurmountably. 

__________

It was two weeks after their arrival, and every day passed similarly. There was breakfast, and then meetings, and then lunch, and then more meetings before a few free hours before dinner. Some of that time had been taken up by sightseeing in the village with Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, but Shang Qinghua also found himself wandering around the estate. It was beautiful and intricate enough to explore for a decade and still find things to be in awe of.

Mobei Jun, true to his word, had started attending the meetings that his strategy advisor had. Some of them were with Shang Qinghua, and despite the fact that Mobei Jun said close to nothing during those meetings, they still were Shang Qinghua’s favorite. 

Despite the fact that Shang Qinghua had things to do every day and was most frequently with Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, it seemed that there was always a time, every evening, when Mobei Jun would find him alone. Perhaps there was a slight mutual effort, given the fact that Shang Qinghua always spent time by himself before dinner or after dinner. The moments in which he felt overwhelmed were unbearable, and it seemed that after a full day in that place, that overwhelming feeling was inevitable. 

The overwhelming feelings were the sort of thing that lay at the back of his mind, but were always present. It was difficult to parse out when there were so many other things to consider, but the answer, and the truth, and the ache, and also the relief were there. It was the other things, the things that complicated everything, that kept it from drifting to the front. But Shang Qinghua found it best this way, given the fact that those realities that kept the desires of his heart tampered were so real that what his heart wished were too complicated to entertain they could be possible. 

Every time there was even an inkling of a thought that reflected what resided deep in his chest, he ran from it as quickly as he could. And it was hard to run when he had to look at Luo Binghe’s earnest face, and Shen Qingqiu’s scathing criticism, both too seeing and both too intelligent to pass over what Shang Qinghua laid bare just from the way he moved and breathed in this place. 

How miserable it was to seek solace, and then to always be met with the very reason he was in turmoil to begin with. How miserable it was to crave Mobei Jun, to want him anyway, to feel good and warm and relieved, despite every word exchanged being another complication that added to Shang Qinghua’s initial dilemma. 

Shang Qinghua had been avoiding the gardens. He knew that eventually, during their stay, if Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe saw him go toward his rooms, one day they would look for him there, and they would see where Mobei Jun had placed him, and if they go through until they reach the garden, it would be even worse. It felt almost as though he was hiding something from them, even though he’d done nothing, had hidden nothing, and his only other option would have been to deny the very person they were trying to get along with. In fact, he’d done the only right thing. Yet even still—he felt torn in half.

Instead, Shang Qinghua went very clearly in the opposite direction of his rooms and made his way to the other side of the courtyard. It was the direction of where they did their meetings—there were offices, studies, libraries, a map room, and the armory. It was where business took place. But the glimpse of the library that Shang Qinghua had seen had been something he wanted to explore a little more, for despite business being had in that end of the palace, it was still a library, and no one had serious or private meetings in the library.

He felt the gaze of Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu on his back as he went in that direction. 

While he was still in the courtyard, but several paces away, Luo Binghe called out to him. “Shishu, where are you going?”

“The library,” he said, glancing back and then continuing forward. 

“I thought you wanted to rest,” Shen Qingqiu followed up. 

Shang Qinghua bristled with annoyance. He did not answer. 

Neither of them said anymore.

Shang Qinghua wound his way through the halls, though they could hardly be considered halls. It was as though someone had started building a hallway, but then had stopped before building a ceiling or roof. Given other parts of the palace, Shang Qinghua assumed it was yet another thing that was built with the cover of night in mind. There were many things that seemed to have been built solely for how it’d look with the stars overhead. 

But even in the daylight it was nice. Shang Qinghua still liked it. Back south, where the palace was built more traditionally, it was beautiful still, but there was nothing about Luo Binghe in it, and Shang Qinghua found that it’s what the palace was missing. Mobei Jun had not been the king in the north forever but despite that, it was like he lived in the walls anyway. 

The library was large and cylindrical. It wasn’t wide or deep, but tall and swirling. Shang Qinghua took a few moments in the entryway, just taking in the room and tracking the winding staircases. It flowed so beautifully, as if one sweep of movement, one long paint stroke. The platforms and stairs and ladders were all white, like marble, and the bookcases were white, too, such a sharp contrast from all the black and navy blues throughout the rest of the palace. 

Shang Qinghua stepped further inside. There were so many things he could look for. He could look for maps, look for history books on other places he was interested in, or even the northern territory itself. He could look for books on cuisine, and cultures, and language. He wanted to look for those things, and he found himself wishing that he had more time. He was always wishing for more time. Everything he’d ever wanted to do had only required of him more time. And he never seemed to have it.

So with the time he did have, Shang Qinghua moved towards the books that appeared to be fiction. Out of all the things he could learn about this place, and all the things he could learn about other places he did not know, he found that no matter what, no matter what place, it was easiest to tell what kind of people lived there by what kind of fiction they enjoyed. 

What things did Mobei Jun wish for out of life that he had not found? What were the things that did not exist, that could not be, that he desired? Shang Qinghua wanted to know. He wanted to know all of it.

When he found the books that he’d already read and knew were fiction, Shang Qinghua knew he’d found the right section. He began looking for new titles—for things that were unfamiliar and interesting. Some of it was in a language that he did not know. Some of it was in languages he recognized but did not speak. There were things he’d never seen before, but also things that were very familiar.

And then the flame in his heart that he was trying desperately to ignore was ignited yet again, as it always was. 

After over a week, Shang Qinghua was practiced in the signs of him before he was able to speak first. 

“How did you know where I was?” He asked, turning his head and releasing a book he’d been about to pull out.

Mobei Jun was at the end of the aisle, quiet as he leaned against the shelf and watched him. “I heard you say it. I wasn’t far from the courtyard when you’d left.”

“Have you just been watching me?”

Mobei Jun’s face turned with amusement. “Not really. I wasn’t able to come right away.”

“So you were watching me,” Shang Qinghua confirmed teasingly.

Mobei Jun walked toward him, the humored upturn of his lips growing. “Only a little.”

Shang Qinghua turned to face him as Mobei Jun came to a stop beside him. “My king,” Shang Qinghua said in belated greeting, ducking his head.

Mobei Jun caught his chin and tilted his head back up. He sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so formal sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Shang Qinghua asked, heart weakly trying to adjust to his body after being touched by Mobei Jun.

“Sometimes…” Mobei Jun began, looking thoughtful. Then he looked arrogant. “Sometimes I like it.”

Shang Qinghua’s face heated up. Mobei Jun’s tone was entirely suggestive and it made him prickle with want. “Is that so,” he practically croaked.

Mobei Jun’s finger dragged from Shang Qinghua’s chin down the column of his throat, and then to the top of Shang Qinghua’s robe. It was a short and thin robe, one that reached his mid-calf and was more like a formal leisure-wear than anything. It was a dark burgundy to match the colors of their country. Beneath the robe were his cream-colored pants, and a gold undershirt that just peeked out at the cross of his robe. Mobei Jun’s finger found it, at the dip in his collarbone. 

“My king,” Shang Qinghua said, like he needed Mobei Jun to save him from Mobei Jun.

Mobei Jun’s eyes were on his own finger, but at the sound of Shang Qinghua’s voice, he looked up and met his gaze again. “I like it like that.”

For a very brief moment, Shang Qinghua didn’t know what he meant. But when it dawned upon him, he felt faint. Again, he said, “my king.”

Mobei Jun’s hand trailed then over Shang Qinghua’s robe, down his chest, and then gentled at his stomach. He settled his hand on Shang Qinghua’s waist, and then his other hand came up to bracket the other side. They drew him further in, fingers flexing against Shang Qinghua’s back. 

Shang Qinghua hoped Mobei Jun would forgive him. He held onto Mobei Jun’s arms and stepped closer. But Mobei Jun only looked happy. “What else am I meant to call you, my king?”

Mobei Jun’s hands moved to his back, one hand trailing its fingers up the line of his spine and then back down. Shang Qinghua leaned against him helplessly. “You may call me your king whenever you would like,” he said. “I only ask you say it because you mean it.”

“I always mean it,” Shang Qinghua whispered back. 

Mobei Jun sighed, as if burdened. “No. Sometimes you say it out of obligation.”

“If it was obligation I would say bixia, as the others do,” Shang Qinghua said, voice hushed like he was to be punished if anyone else heard. “Perhaps you wish for me to be less formal, but I have only ever been honest with you.”

Mobei Jun’s face turned in a way that Shang Qinghua had not seen before. “Then I will cherish it every time you call me so.”

Shang Qinghua stared up at him, and a longing filled his chest so strong it was as if someone had flooded him from the inside. Something about Mobei Jun’s expression opened the gates of his heart. “I want to be the only one who says it.”

Mobei Jun’s chest rose and then fell, as if the admission had a physical effect. He wrapped his arms around him and held Shang Qinghua to himself.

Shang Qinghua’s fingers squeezed where they held onto his arms. Feeling Mobei Jun beneath his hands was euphoric. He wondered what it’d be like to touch him bare, with no fabric in-between. His face warmed even further just at the thought. 

“Look at me,” Mobei Jun murmured. 

Shang Qinghua looked at him.

“You already are the only one who calls me that.”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers tightened even further. He pressed up a little, but even that still felt so far away from Mobei Jun’s face. “Really?”

Mobei Jun hummed. “Does that please you?”

Shang Qinghua felt like he was about to collapse. He let go of Mobei Jun’s arms and pressed his hands to his face instead. He ducked his head, and the top of his hair brushed against the clothes at Mobei Jun’s chest.

Mobei Jun laughed. It was a quiet sound, but still there, and his hands lifted from Shang Qinghua’s back to hold his wrists. “Qinghua,” he said. “Why are you hiding from me?”

Shang Qinghua didn’t have a good answer to give him. Mobei Jun’s fingers were cool against the inside of his wrists, and ticklish too. They crept up to try and get between his face and his palms, but Shang Qinghua wouldn’t budge. 

“Qinghua,” he said again. “I already hardly get to see your face. Let me.”

Perhaps Shang Qinghua was in the mood to push it. He turned away and dropped his hands, so his back was facing him. “I can’t look at you.”

Mobei Jun stepped closer and his hand found Shang Qinghua’s waist again. He bent his head forward to try and look at him that way, but Shang Qinghua just turned his head to the side. Mobei Jun sighed, and his breath fanned down Shang Qinghua’s throat in the process. He shivered, and then Mobei Jun’s lips were hovering dangerously close to his ear. “You would deny your king of seeing you? Even though that’s all he wants?”

Shang Qinghua’s hand gripped onto the one holding his waist. “You can still see me,” he said, a bit petulantly. 

Mobei Jun hummed, and his lips brushed over the shell of Shang Qinghua’s ear. “From the back,” he amended, “which admittedly isn’t so bad either.” His hand snaked forward and settled over Shang Qinghua’s stomach. 

“My king,” Shang Qinghua breathed incredulously, almost inaudible. 

He felt Mobei Jun smile against his ear. He pulled him flush to his chest. Shang Qinghua’s free hand moved to cover his face again in his embarrassment, but Mobei Jun’s other hand caught it before it could reach its destination. He brought Shang Qinghua’s hand to his lips and then kissed over his knuckles. “Tell me what will convince you.”

“Convince me of what?” Shang Qinghua said, body stiff in the restraint it took to not melt in his arms and never leave. 

Mobei Jun was quiet for a moment, as if he hadn’t really thought how to phrase it yet. His lips were still against the back of Shang Qinghua’s fingers. Instead of saying anything or answering the question, he turned his hand over and kissed the pads of his fingers. Shang Qinghua’s breath was getting heavier, and his head felt almost faint from the lack of oxygen from trying to keep his breathing still. 

“My king, what do you want to convince me of?”

Mobei Jun pressed his lips to Shang Qinghua’s palm, harder than the previous kisses, and then trailed to his wrist, only to go back up to the tips of his fingers.

Shang Qinghua supposed it was only fair to not press, given his own lack of responses to Mobei Jun, and refusal to answer and speak on things Mobei Jun wished to discuss.  In acquiescence and in appreciation for his patience, Shang Qinghua turned his head. He rested his forehead against Mobei Jun’s temple and closed his eyes.

“Regardless of what it is,” Shang Qinghua began in a murmur, “I hope that you do it.” And he really did. He would need to be convinced. If Mobei Jun could convince him, Shang Qinghua thought that he’d be the happiest man to ever live. 

Mobei Jun took a deep breath in and then let it out slow as he lifted his head away and turned his head to look down at him. “Alright,” he said. “Then I will.”

The days passed and it never got any easier. There were still things Shang Qinghua did not know about himself, but he knew most of it now, and he felt like he’d learned more about himself than anything or anyone else. There were things he discovered that he desired that he’d never known he’d ever want. 

He also realized fully, more than he ever had and in a way he had not known before, that the world would never turn for him.  He could give everything, and he could pour all of himself into everything, as he’d already done, and he could even be important. He could be important and necessary and perhaps even desired. But even still, it was all for another and that other would always be the one that the world would turn for. And it was alright that way. Shang Qinghua cherished the people the planet spun for. But it did mean one very serious thing—Shang Qinghua could want and desire and beg and still, there could be nothing. He had no power over the things he wanted. He could only hope that someone with that power would happen to desire the same things. 

As was inevitable, Luo Binghe walked into Shang Qinghua’s room eventually. He’d frozen in the doorway, mouth falling open as Shang Qinghua stiffened on the other side of the room where he was putting up his hair for the day.

“Ahh, Binghe—”

“What the fuck?” Luo Binghe said incredulously, stepping further into the room. He was looking around, expression stuck between being offended and being impressed.

Shang Qinghua felt nervous. He laughed weakly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement, Hua-ge.”

Shang Qinghua’s smile looked more like a grimace. He turned to look back into the mirror and finish putting the pins in the small bun that held half of his hair. He needed something to do with his hands so it wasn’t obvious that he was nervous. “You’re right.”

“You’ve been in this room the whole time and never said anything,” Luo Binghe accused, moving to sit on the chaise near the vanity that Shang Qinghua was at. He paused for a moment. “Why do you look nervous?”

Shang Qinghua shut his eyes briefly. There must have been some spell cast over this place that made him easier to read. Or maybe it was just that he had never been more himself, and he’d never practiced hiding that before.

“Did you think I’d be mad he gave you this room instead of me?”

Shang Qinghua finished putting his hair up and then dropped his hands. He turned to lean against the vanity and looked over at him. “A little.”

“Maybe I would have been when we first got here,” Luo Binghe said, tone so simple. Luo Binghe was good about that. Everything was so simple with him—just as Shang Qinghua would expect, and then sometimes even simpler than that. “It’s been long enough and I’ve seen plenty that tells me if there were a better room than mine, he would give it to you without question.”

Shang Qinghua quickly looked away from him. 

Luo Binghe laughed. “I don’t think it’s any sort of secret at this point.”

Shang Qinghua shrugged a little bit and then looked down. 

A silence stretched out before them, the only sound being the sound of water trickling from the faux wall. This kind of quiet was unsettling when Luo Binghe was a part of it. Shang Qinghua tried not to physically flinch. 

“Hua-ge,” Luo Binghe said, voice more serious. 

“Yes, Binghe,” Shang Qinghua murmured back, looking over at him again.

“There’s one thing you haven’t done that would help convince me that you would never betray me, and would prove that I can trust you.” He kept Shang Qinghua’s gaze as he said it. 

Shang Qinghua frowned. “What is it?”

“Speak to me as you did before,” he said. “Before, when my father was alive, and you said what you were thinking because you didn’t have to worry about formalities. Back when you took care of me.”

That cut Shang Qinghua deeply. “Don’t I still take care of you?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe said. “In a different way. In a way that I prefer less.”

Shang Qinghua sighed and tipped his face toward the ceiling. “Am I not still honest?”

“Hua-ge.” An admonishment. “Hua-ge, be clear with me.”

“About what, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe thought about it for a moment. “You want to stay here.” Silence again. Before Shang Qinghua could respond, Luo Binghe continued. “At first I thought maybe you were just charmed by this place and that’s why it seemed like you’d rather stay here than go back home. But it’s been over a month now, and we’re going home soon. And I can’t shake the feeling that if we go, even if you are with us, you won’t be coming back.”

Tears sprang to Shang Qinghua’s eyes and he fixed his gaze onto the far wall as he tried to hold it in. His hands clenched where they were hidden in the fold of his arms. He hated that. He hated that Luo Binghe had said so. Because he was right, and Shang Qinghua had been trying not to think of it. And now that he’d said it, Shang Qinghua would have to accept it. He wouldn’t be able to pretend that wasn’t true.

Luo Binghe’s voice was wobbly. “And I feel like if you were just honest about it with me, we could figure it out. Or at least we could talk about it so that it didn’t frighten me so much.” The simplicity again. Sometimes things were so simple. 

Shang Qinghua pushed away from the vanity and sat down beside Luo Binghe on the chaise. “Alright then, Binghe. Let’s talk about it then.”

Luo Binghe sighed and then leaned down to put his head on Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, even though he was so much taller and it couldn’t have been comfortable. It reminded Shang Qinghua of when they were younger, and things were very different. And even though things had been hard then, too, somehow it’d still been easier.

“What do you want to know?”

Luo Binghe’s breath was even and tempered. “Do you want to leave?” Do you want to leave me?

Shang Qinghua thought of how to answer, and eventually decided that he couldn’t. Not when it was two questions. “You have to be honest, too, Binghe.”

Luo Binghe laughed wetly. “Alright. Do you want to stop being my advisor?”

“No,” Shang Qinghua said.

“Do you want to leave the palace?”

“Yes.”

Luo Binghe hummed thoughtfully. “Are you happy there?”

Shang Qinghua’s hands moved idly in his lap. “I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“Are you happy here?”

Shang Qinghua laughed then, and then Luo Binghe laughed too, like he couldn’t help it. “I’m so miserable, Binghe.”

“Alright, alright,” Luo Binghe said, like he would amend the statement. “Do you think you would be, if you got to stay?”

Shang Qinghua, for the first time since arriving, really thought about it. He thought about what it would be like to be in the north instead. Even if he didn’t get to stay in the palace, he thought about what it would be like to be under Mobei Jun’s rule, living in the crisp mountain and forest air. He thought about the things he’d always wanted to see being not so far away. He thought about the new things he’d learn. He thought about being away from Luo Binghe. He thought about starting over completely, and having—

Even the thought of daring to say he’d have Mobei Jun was still too much to really consider. 

“I don’t think happy is a very good definer for what I would or ever could feel,” Shang Qinghua eventually said. “I think there are things I would miss and things that would be difficult, about living here instead. But there are also things I really want to do, and I could only do them here.”

“I think I get what you mean,” Luo Binghe said. “Sometimes I think about what it would be like to live in a cabin in the forest with shizun, where I don’t have to do any of the things I have to do now. But there are perks to what I do now, too. Things I get to do for him and give him.” He paused for a long moment, but he didn’t sound like he was finished, so Shang Qinghua let him think. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I think the happy part of me is shizun, and then everything else just is what it is.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed the lump in his throat as it constricted his airway. That was it really. The palace he grew up in was what it was. And the north was what it was, too. There were good things and bad things to both. But Mobei Jun was in the north. That’s where Shang Qinghua wanted to be.

__________

The night after speaking to Luo Binghe, Shang Qinghua found that he couldn’t sleep. Despite having the entire day to think about what he’d spoken about with Luo Binghe, he found that he was still too busy to really consider it. And every time he’d seen Mobei Jun, it was like all thought left his head. He couldn’t think clearly about anything, even about his own desire for him. And Mobei Jun always did things that flustered him even more, just by existing. Shang Qinghua had to admit at this point that it wasn’t so much Mobei Jun trying to bully him, but that everything about him was inherently Shang Qinghua’s weakness.

The ceiling of his room was enthralling to look at. Depending on how he looked at it, sometimes it looked like it was open, like the hallways were, and he was just staring at the sky. But it was just black velvet, with white gemstones woven in throughout. Shang Qinghua sighed probably a hundred times before he finally gave up and pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

He walked over to the sunroom and stood there for a moment, trying to consider if it was too late or too cold to go outside. But once again, he found that when he thought about it, it really didn’t have to be so complicated. He stepped out into the garden.

Shang Qinghua hadn’t gone out into the garden for several days. It was so beautiful. He felt like he saw new things every time he went out. 

He crossed over the bridge, and he thought maybe he could explore, since it was the middle of the night. He’d never gone much farther on the other side of the bridge, where Mobei Jun typically came from. He was curious about where the other entrance was, and he thought that Mobei Jun wouldn’t mind too much if he looked.

The stone pathway continued through the garden, weaving through trees and flowers, and a bigger pond that the stream led into. There was a small enclosure with places to sit, but instead of going to explore that part of the garden, his eyes were drawn to a structure farther back. It looked like rock and stone—a bigger enclosure. Shang Qinghua couldn’t see what was inside, so he headed in that direction. 

He stepped quietly over the stone, making his way until he reached the rock. The pathway continued in a narrow stretch between the wall of the palace and the rock. He stepped over to it and made his way through. 

The first thing he saw was plants stacked up onto the stone floor. Then he saw the start of what must have been a pool of water. He rounded the edge of the rock as he stepped into the enclosure. It looked like a hot spring.

Those thoughts evaporated from his head a moment later, for sitting in the far back, watching him, was Mobei Jun.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes bugged out of his head, took in the fact that he was shirtless and probably naked, and his face flamed. “My king! I’m so sorry!”

Mobei Jun’s expression was completely unbothered, but he did seem amused. He tilted his head. “What are you sorry for?”

Mobei Jun started to stand and Shang Qinghua immediately whirled around. “Oh my god,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry because I just walked in on you—I don’t even know! What are these, your private bathing chambers?”

The sound of Mobei Jun leaving the water was making Shang Qinghua’s entire body feel like he was about to burst in flames. He heard him stand out of the water and Shang Qinghua felt like running away. 

“These aren’t my private bathing chambers,” he said, sounding like he was about to laugh.

Shang Qinghua relaxed a little. “So it’s just a hot spring?”

“A cold spring.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes widened again. 

“You can turn around. I have a towel on.”

Shang Qinghua didn’t think that was much better, but he turned around anyway. He looked at the water and pointedly away from Mobei Jun. “Cold?” He asked. “You were just sitting in a cold spring?”

“Mm,” he confirmed. He stepped toward Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua looked at him again, breath shallow in his chest. He tried very hard to not let his gaze wander, even though he really wanted to let it.

“You can use it whenever you want,” Mobei Jun said, coming to a stop in front of him. 

Shang Qinghua laughed weakly, looking off to the side again. There, he saw a doorway that was too dark to really see inside. “I don’t think so. I’m human after all. I’d die of hypothermia.”

Mobei Jun reached out and held Shang Qinghua’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You do run warm. And if you are not used to it, it would not be good for you. Perhaps you can build a tolerance.”

Shang Qinghua flushed. 

Mobei Jun’s mouth softened into something close to a smile. He leaned in closer. “It’s late. Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Shang Qinghua said. “Why are you awake, my king?”

His fingers released Shang Qinghua’s chin, and moved to caress his face instead. Shang Qinghua reached up cover over it. Mobei Jun’s hand was still cool from the water. “I was thinking.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to ask what about. He could feel his warmth bleeding into Mobei Jun’s hand. “What about, my king?”

“Only a few more days,” he murmured. “And then you’ll go.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart pulsed painfully in his chest. He held onto Mobei Jun’s hand tighter. He shuffled closer.

“That’s what I was thinking about.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed. “I was thinking about that, too.”

Mobei Jun sighed, and stroked Shang Qinghua’s cheek with his thumb.

“Why did you…” Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure how to phrase it. He tried again. “What made you treat me the way you have? Before coming here, we’d only met once and spoke briefly.”

“Perhaps it was brief to you,” Mobei Jun said. “I did not consider it brief.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyebrows pulled together.

“As I told you before, I have heard of you. I feel like I’ve known you longer than this. I feel like I’d been waiting for you for a long while. And then when I did meet you, we spoke for a good portion of the night. It was enough for me.”

Shang Qinghua felt like he was dreaming. “I don’t understand.”

Mobei Jun continued to feel over his cheek. “I don’t either, but I also don’t care to. It’s not worth toiling over, wondering why something is the way it inarguably is. Is it not enough, that I want you? Does there need to be any more?”

Shang Qinghua blinked a few times, and he felt many different things at once. “It’s enough,” he eventually said quietly. “More than enough. I think any more would kill me.”

Mobei Jun smiled and he bent a little closer still. His lips brushed over his forehead. “I’m not a patient man and I’m not one to not get that which I desire either. When you go back to Luo Binghe’s palace in the coming days, remember that.”

Shang Qinghua’s breath sped as his gaze remained open, fixed on Mobei Jun’s throat. He swallowed, and watched a water droplet trail down Mobei Jun’s collarbone, and then down his chest. Shang Qinghua had not known the definition of desire until this. “That makes me feel much better, my king,” he said.

Mobei Jun pulled back, and watched Shang Qinghua’s gaze. Shang Qinghua didn’t shy away from it this time. Instead, he let his gaze drift a little lower. He wanted to see and he wanted to covet this. He didn’t know who else got to see this. If he wasn’t the only one, he at least wanted to be among them. 

Shang Qinghua’s mouth was dry. “Can I touch you, my king?” He rasped. 

Mobei Jun’s breath halted for a moment. “Yes.”

Shang Qinghua reached up with his free hand, for his other was still holding onto Mobei Jun’s. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was almost trembling. His fingers pressed into Mobei Jun’s chest, and he let out a small sigh. “Oh, my king.”

“Qinghua,” he said, somewhat choked. 

Shang Qinghua dragged his fingers lower, over his sternum, the tips getting wet from the lingering water from the cold spring. He trailed lower and lower, until his fingers were tripping over Mobei Jun’s abdomen. It rose and fell beneath his hand, quickening in a way that made Shang Qinghua doubt his own vision. 

Breath fast and almost heaving, Shang Qinghua looked up at him. “My king,” he said helplessly.

Mobei Jun stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Shang Qinghua and bent into the embrace. His arms wrapped around him entirely, engulfing him. He pressed his face into Shang Qinghua’s throat and found Shang Qinghua’s ear. “You’re not of this world, are you?”

Shang Qinghua’s fingers rested on his shoulders and then hesitantly slipped back until he felt Mobei Jun’s hair. “I—”

“Please,” Mobei Jun cut him off, lips finding Shang Qinghua’s jaw and pressing in closer.

Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut and slid his fingers through the tresses. He felt the soft strands for a moment, but then let them tangle into his hands and he tugged very gently. He turned his face into Mobei Jun’s hair and stepped even closer. Their feet slotted together. 

“You don’t have to ask me for anything,” Mobei Jun said. “Just take it.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but ask. “Why?”

“Because it feels good,” he breathed. His mouth was cold, too, but was warming against Shang Qinghua’s heated skin. “Because I want you.”

Shang Qinghua could hear the unspoken undertone to that. “You know that I want you too, don’t you?” He asked, grip tightening so much he wondered if it felt unpleasant. Mobei Jun didn’t shy away from it but leaned into it.

“I do,” he said. “Sometimes.”

Shang Qinghua’s chest ached. Mobei Jun was something to devote himself to. More than anything he’d ever devoted himself to before. He pressed into him so hard that it hurt. “I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted. So much that I can’t bear it.”

Mobei Jun pulled back just enough to look down at him. “I won’t kiss you now,” he murmured, bringing his hand around to trace over Shang Qinghua’s lips. They parted underneath Mobei Jun’s fingers, and Mobei Jun watched with rapt attention. “But someday.”

Shang Qinghua held onto his wrist and then kissed over his hand. “Do you promise?”

Mobei Jun smiled. “I promise.”

__________

It was just starting to snow the last night that Shang Qinghua was in Mobei Jun’s palace. He’d wanted to see it, laying gently over the landscape. But alas, he would have to see it on the way out. He sat on the railing of the bridge in the garden in order to watch it. He watched it fall slow, tiny little flakes that melted as soon as they touched the ground.

Shang Qinghua held out his hand and watched the dots melt on his hand. 

A moment later, fingers brushed over his wet palm, and then curled over his fingers. He looked over.

Mobei Jun was staring at him. His face was even, but he looked unhappy.

Shang Qinghua looked back at him. 

After a moment, Mobei Jun blinked and seemed to come out of his stupor. He moved behind Shang Qinghua and placed his arms around his waist. Mobei Jun wasn’t warm, but his body still heated against Shang Qinghua’s. His chin rested over Shang Qinghua’s shoulder.

Shang Qinghua held onto Mobei Jun’s arms. He leaned into him. 

“One day,” Mobei Jun murmured, lips against his ear. “I’ll see you here again, in this garden. And when I do, that will be it. When that moment comes, I will have you forever.”

__________

Luo Binghe had been right. When they went back to his palace, Shang Qinghua had not come back with them. 

part ii

The libraries back at Luo Binghe’s palace were, truthfully, also nice. They weren’t quite as visually stunning, in Shang Qinghua’s opinion, but he could acknowledge it was more about taste than quality. Regardless, he had always spent a lot of his time in the libraries, and that did not change after they had returned. He found that it was the easiest place to be. There was enough happening that did not require too much thought unless it captured enough of his attention, and it also was quiet enough that it wasn’t overwhelming. But he was never alone with his thoughts, which was really the worst nightmare of them all.

They’d all been a little different after coming back, for different reasons. Shang Qinghua thought that it was not worth mentioning why things felt different for him. He thought that even if he were to explain it, it wouldn’t matter, and nobody would understand. At least, nobody around. 

Luo Binghe had changed in the way that he’d realized for the first time that perhaps he was not quite the king of the world yet, even if that reality was near for him. He learned that there were still things he needed to practice, still things he did not know how to do that he needed to know how to do. He had learned that there were things in his life that would never feel good or never satisfy him, no matter how hard he tried. He learned many things, and grew, just as Shang Qinghua thought he would after sending him there to meet Mobei Jun. It was why he’d wanted an alliance with Mobei Jun in the first place. 

Shen Qingqiu had also changed a little. Perhaps he changed less than Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe, but still, he changed. He changed in the way that he seemed to understand just how close he could get to losing the things he’d been striving for all his life. He learned that there were things he did not want to lose and there were things that he wanted from the earth that he could not get. He had learned somewhat of what Shang Qinghua had learned. Just of a different flavor. And Shang Qinghua thought that maybe he had also learned just how much he cherished what he did have, and that it would be a devastating blow to lose it.

Shang Qinghua was not envious of their revelations. He did not want what they had, and he found that he always seemed to want different things. In many ways, Luo Binghe was similar to him. They had similar ways of thinking, deep at the very root, despite the fact that often time their ways of executing it was so vastly different that they could not be farther apart. Where Luo Binghe valued Shang Qinghua’s level-headed thoughtfulness, Shang Qinghua admired Luo Binghe’s courage.

He’d heard Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe discussing him a few weeks after their return. They hadn’t known he was around the corner while they sat and ate their lunch. 

“Didn’t you say his room was fit for royalty?” Shen Qingqiu had asked.

“Oh yeah,” Luo Binghe said. “—Here, shizun, try this cake—I asked around about it, and apparently it’s the quarters that are used when the king is betrothed. That’s where the consort goes.”

Shang Qinghua’s entire body froze. He thought even his organs stopped function. 

“What?” Shen Qingqiu hissed. “He put him in there immediately upon arrival!”

“I know,” Luo Binghe responded back, just as vehement. “I don’t think he told shishu though. I think shishu just thought that it was a nicer room.”

“I don’t understand what Mobei Jun’s intentions with him are,” Shen Qingqiu sighed.

“He did agree to an alliance, by the end of it,” Luo Binghe said. “And they haven't had an alliance with anyone in a long time.”

Shen Qingqiu was quiet for a moment. “Yes, but I don’t understand why he behaved the way he did. He always disregarded you. It was disrespectful.”

Luo Binghe was also thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe, but it made me trust him a little more, to be honest. Besides, shizun, I don’t think the alliance was for my sake.”

Shen Qingqiu made an irritated noise. “Don’t even say it, Binghe.”

“But it’s true, shizun,” he said, pout audible in his voice.

Shen Qingqiu sighed. “Maybe.”

“If it wasn’t for shishu, none of this would have happened,” Luo Binghe said. “The alliance was for him.”

Shang Qinghua felt tears well up and he turned away. He couldn’t bear to listen to anymore. 

These days, Shang Qinghua felt like a punished child, made to go sit in his room alone to atone for an offense he did not understand. Everything was familiar and even comfortable. It was where he’d grown and where he’d learned so many things that he knew now. But something about it felt cold and colorless. The reds were duller, and the golds were dimmer. 

Shang Qinghua couldn’t get Shen Qingqiu’s question out of his mind. Truly, what had been Mobei Jun’s goal? He’d seemed genuine, and it would have been a gargantuan sort of prank to pretend for all that time. But where had it even taken them? Where could they go? He hadn’t heard from Mobei Jun since they’d said goodbye, and it had already been several months.

The other attendants and officials seemed to know that something had happened while they were in the north. They said nothing about it, but Shang Qinghua had found that there was no use in hiding it if Luo Binghe already knew. And he didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes, he looked sad, like he wished Shang Qinghua didn’t feel the way he did. But that had been another way in which he’d changed since coming back. Luo Binghe had straightened his priorities somewhat, and he didn’t seem so afraid of being abandoned anymore.

He’d said as much one day, in a roundabout sort of way, that made Shang Qinghua think he was in the process of being comforted. But Luo Binghe wasn’t very practiced or good at comforting, so it just had come off as bratty and arrogant. He’d told Shang Qinghua that he didn’t think he needed a foreign affairs advisor anymore. Shang Qinghua had already taught him what he knew, and also how to assess new situations that came up. He talked about how he still had Shen Qingqiu and that he would never be above reaching out to Shang Qinghua if he had any questions anyway.

Shang Qinghua appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn’t sure what to do with that information. After Luo Binghe had said it, and had given him permission to go, Shang Qinghua found that he still wasn’t sure what that left him with. It did not matter that he wanted it. It did not matter that he wanted it so desperately that sometimes he couldn’t sleep at night. None of that mattered. He couldn’t demand anything from Mobei Jun, whether or not Mobei Jun got mad at him for it. 

However, on one of those sleepless nights, Shang Qinghua found himself at his desk anyway, sitting by the low light, and staring at a blank sheet of paper. The world was more advanced than letters now, but if he never got a response, he could tell himself until the end of his days that it’d simply gotten lost in the mail.

Shang Qinghua wrote down very little. He kept it short and simple. He just told Mobei Jun that he wished he was there. There wasn’t really much else that he could say and nothing he could ask for. So he just said what was true, and then he sealed an envelope. He did not address it. He set it down on the desk and then went back to bed. 

__________

“Hua-ge.”

Shang Qinghua blinked and turned his head. 

Luo Binghe was behind him on the roof. He sat beside him, legs dangling off to match Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua nodded at him in greeting and then leaned back on his hands and tipped his face back up to the moon. 

“What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking,” Shang Qinghua said. “And I wanted to look at the stars.”

Luo Binghe hummed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Shang Qinghua said. 

Luo Binghe laid back onto the roof and pillowed his head on folded arms. “Are you sad?”

Shang Qinghua groaned a little. “Why are you asking me such serious questions?”

“I want to know,” he said defensively. “Tell me, are you sad?”

“Yes, obviously!” Shang Qinghua said, exasperated, and then moved to lie back, too. “I thought the entire palace knew that by now.”

Luo Binghe made a noise of agreement. “Yes, that’s true.”

Shang Qinghua laughed despite himself.

“Why are you said, Hua-ge?”

“Why do you think?”

Despite the obvious rhetorical tone, Luo Binghe answered anyway. “I think you’re sad because you complicate everything.”

Shang Qinghua rolled his eyes. “Okay, tell me how I can make it simpler.”

“You’re too afraid of being wrong.”

Shang Qinghua’s lips pressed into a tight line.

“You’re afraid that you’re wrong about Mobei Jun, and that you’re wrong about the north, and I guess I’ve just never really understood the big deal about pride. If you’re wrong, you’re wrong, and if you’re right, you’re right. If you want something, ask for it.”

“I think if things were really that simple, there wouldn’t be so many problems in this world,” Shang Qinghua muttered.

“I think there are so many problems in this world because people make it complicated when it could be simple,” Luo Binghe shot back. “If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t. Isn’t this worse than knowing it won’t work? What’s the worst that could happen about asking?”

“What if asking is the wrong thing? And if I don’t ask, that’s the right thing?”

“I think if asking makes you wrong then I’d wonder if you should have been right in the first place,” Luo Binghe said. “You’re so good at strategizing that I think it’s working against you. Not everything has to be a strategy. If you could strategize your way through the world successfully, you wouldn’t be sitting here on this roof in the middle of the night wishing you were somewhere else.”

Shang Qinghua smiled, even though he felt like crying. “So what do you think I should do then?”

“Now that, I do not know!” He said brightly. 

Shang Qinghua laughed and turned a little to punch him in the arm. “You fucker.”

Luo Binghe laughed too and pushed him away. “I could execute you for that.”

“And waste all your hard-earned wisdom? Your ego could never.”

Luo Binghe blinked innocently at him. “Everything I know comes from shizun.”

Shang Qinghua rolled his eyes and laid on his back again. “Just erase the last fifteen years of my life why don’t you.”

“And you,” Luo Binghe admitted. “But mostly shizun.”

Shang Qinghua hummed noncommittally. 

“But also me, too,” Luo Binghe continued thoughtfully. “A lot of it is from me.”

Shang Qinghua smiled. For a moment, he felt the infrequent, fleeting feeling he’d sometimes get when he realized that maybe everything he’d done for this place wasn’t for nothing. Shang Qinghua was a sum of his parts. All of them, even the parts he sometimes regretted. And Luo Binghe was not something he regretted. “Well, Binghe, the best I can do is consider your words and see if I like them.”

Luo Binghe sighed magnanimously. “So difficult.”

“It’s hard work giving advice, isn’t it?” Shang Qinghua drawled. “Imagine that being your whole job.”

Luo Binghe faked a shudder.

Shang Qinghua smiled again and pushed himself back up. He twisted to look down at Luo Binghe. “I know what you’re doing and what you’ve been trying to do. And I appreciate it. I’m proud of you.”

Luo Binghe blinked owlishly at him. 

“I’m really proud of you,” Shang Qinghua said a little more firmly.

Luo Binghe’s eyes pooled and he shot up to wrap his arms around Shang Qinghua. “Ahh, ge,” he cried.

Shang Qinghua patted his hand. “There, there.”

Luo Binghe stopped crying the next moment, since he could control his tears like a faucet, and then stood up. He held out a hand. “Come on, Hua-ge, let’s go inside.”

Shang Qinghua grabbed his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up.

__________

Mobei Jun was like a storm. 

Shang Qinghua had only seen him pretending to be a servant, and in his own home. It was another thing entirely for him to appear where he had not been anticipated, let alone as a king from another land. 

Shang Qinghua had been in Luo Binghe’s throne room, looking over a few maps while Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe discussed the merits of establishing a trade deal with a king a few countries to the west of them. Shang Qinghua was looking over the terrain for travel when the doors opened, and Mobei Jun stepped inside, without warning.

Eyes wide, Shang Qinghua could only stare at him in shocked silence. He listened hard for Shen Qingqiu or Luo Binghe to react, hoping desperately that this was not a terrible hallucination. 

Mobei Jun’s gaze was fixed upon Luo Binghe, calm, as he stepped inside. 

Luo Binghe stood and stepped off of the dais. He didn’t say anything, but he looked a little nervous as he glanced at Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua scrambled to his feet, but didn’t move. He’d been at a low table to the side of the room, and that was where he remained. 

“Ahh, you made it,” Luo Binghe said, smiling sheepishly at Mobei Jun, and then glancing at Shang Qinghua again. 

Shang Qinghua swallowed, too overwhelmed to really process the fact that Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu seemed to know that Mobei Jun was coming. 

“I thought you’d be coming later,” Luo Binghe said. “I haven’t had the chance to, uh… prepare for your visit…”

Mobei Jun regarded him coolly. “I arrived earlier than I anticipated. I didn’t want to waste my time down in the village."

Shang Qinghua found the wherewithal to step around the table and he made his way over slowly. The sound of Mobei Jun’s voice alone was like a salve to all of Shang Qinghua’s aches. “My king.”

Mobei Jun turned. The expression on his face shifted into something else, though there wasn’t a particularly notable change. But Shang Qinghua could feel it more than he could see it. In his tone, however, there was an audible difference in the way it softened. “Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed and broke their gaze. He looked at Luo Binghe. “You didn’t tell me.”

Luo Binghe grinned weakly. “Ahh… Shishu, you see… I was—Well. I just thought it might be best to tell you when you only had a few hours to prepare, but evidently…”

“Why?”

Luo Binghe shrugged lightly. “Surprise.”

Shang Qinghua felt embarrassed for some reason. He looked back at Mobei Jun, who was still looking at him. “What brings you here, my king?”

Mobei Jun just looked at him. He did not say anything. Instead, he seemed to study Shang Qinghua, eyes tracking over Shang Qinghua’s face and then down to his feet.

Shang Qinghua felt his body grow warm under the attention as he waited for a response, but he eventually figured that he was not going to get one.

Mobei Jun's eyes flitted back up to Shang Qinghua’s face. His brows furrowed, as though he wanted to say something.

“Binghe…” Shang Qinghua said again. He was having a hard time looking away from Mobei Jun. His hands felt ticklish, like he needed to hold onto something.

Shen Qingqiu sighed, heavy-laden. “I think maybe Mobei Jun would do a better job of explaining that to you over Binghe and I. In fact, I don’t think I could even stomach pondering the words before they left my mouth.”

Mobei Jun sent a sharp glare in his direction, but Luo Binghe moved between them and frowned at Mobei Jun in warning. “Shishu, please show Mobei Jun to the guest quarters. You can speak on the way.”

Shang Qinghua was unmoving for several moments, and then he looked back at Mobei Jun, who only looked back at him and waited in silence. Shang Qinghua gestured for him to follow. 

Shan Qinghua glanced around as they made their way through to the back of the throne room, where the door was to get deeper into the palace. “Does my king not have attendants with him?”

“They’re somewhere,” he said dismissively.

Shang Qinghua blinked a few times. He felt like he’d been flipped over like a pancake. He couldn’t keep a thought straight. Once they were out of earshot of Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe, Shang Qinghua slowed his pace. Mobei Jun fell into step beside him. He wore what he wore in his own palace, but a little less formal. Shang Qinghua wondered if he was pretending to be a representative again. 

They didn’t speak as they walked, despite the suggestion for Mobei Jun to tell him what was going on while they made their way to the guest quarters. It felt like it’d be unbearable to discuss it out in broad daylight, where anyone could hear them. 

Even though Shang Qinghua felt completely blindsided, he also felt a bit giddy. It’d been a surprise, but the only kind of surprise he would have welcomed. There was something about Mobei Jun. Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu were undeniably familiar to him. Yet even still, after all this time, Mobei Jun still held some sort of modicum of Shang Qinghua that felt more familiar than anyone else ever had. 

“Here we are,” Shang Qinghua said softly stopping in front of the door to their nicest room. “I hope it’s alright for you. If you want, you can rest until dinner is prepared later, or you can—”

“Come inside.”

Shang Qinghua looked up at him. He felt so relieved. “Alright.”

Mobei Jun pushed open the door and then entered, glancing around briefly before turning and looking at Shang Qinghua, where he was following in behind and sliding the door shut.

Shang Qinghua leaned back against the door, hands folded behind himself. He chewed lightly on his lip. “My king,” he began softly. “What are you doing here?”

Mobei Jun stepped toward him. “I wanted to discuss something with Luo Binghe. Why? Are you not happy to see me?”

Shang Qinghua looked down at his feet. He shook his head. “My king, I’m very happy to see you.” His voice was embarrassingly shaky, and his cheeks were most likely pink. “How long will you be here for?”

Mobei Jun stepped closer. “I don’t know. Not long. It depends on how long it takes to discuss. I could be gone tomorrow.”

Shang Qinghua’s jaw tightened. He felt like crying. He’d never cried so much in his life than he did within those last few months. He took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to make sure his voice was even. “Oh. I see.”

 “Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said gently. “Look at me.”

Shang Qinghua blinked a few times, hoping his eyes didn’t look too misty. He looked up at him. “What is it, my king?”

Mobei Jun stepped even closer, until he was looming above him. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you look sad? You look like you haven’t slept.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed through the tightness in his throat. He shifted uncomfortably. “Do I?”

Mobei Jun reached out and held his face. “Yes.” He stopped for a moment, and then spoke again, voice gentler. “I missed you.”

Shang Qinghua’s chest heaved once on a sob, and then he pressed forward into his arms.

Mobei Jun held onto him at once, hand on the back of his head. “Qinghua, what is it?” He asked, not sounding alarmed necessarily, but distraught.

Shang Qinghua’s voice was muffled, but trembling. “When you go back, take me with you.”

Mobei Jun’s body stilled against Shang Qinghua’s. Then he gripped onto him, tight. “What?”

“I can’t bear it. Take me back with you. Please.” Shang Qinghua gripped onto the back of his robe. “If you leave and don’t take me with you, I might just follow you anyway.”

Mobei Jun rested his lips to the top of his head. “Qinghua, that’s why I’m here,” he said lowly. “I want you to come back to the north with me.”

Shang Qinghua sucked in a breath. He gripped onto him tighter. He looked up at him. “My king.”

Mobei Jun looked back down at him. “I came because I want to take you with me, and I’m prepared to do anything to get you to come back.”

“I left all of me with you,” Shang Qinghua said. “All the parts I like anyway.”

“Qinghua,” he said, tipping closer. 

Shang Qinghua reached up and held Mobei Jun’s face. “If I need to be forgiven, then forgive me.” He pressed closer, until their foreheads were touching, and their noses brushed.

Mobei Jun held onto Shang Qinghua’s wrist, eyes slipping shut. His mouth parted and he breathed out shakily. Shang Qinghua watched him, and he felt like he must have at least hallucinated this. 

“My king,” he whispered again. “My king, my king.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Mobei Jun said.

“Forgive me,” Shang Qinghua responded. He kissed him.

Mobei Jun’s response was swift and crushing. He let out a small groan, wrapping his arms around Shang Qinghua and pulling him up. His mouth moved insistently against Shang Qinghua’s, both of their breath gasping and desperate. Shang Qinghua tangled his fingers into his hair and tugged when Mobei Jun’s tongue pressed against the seam of his lips. 

Shang Qinghua let out his own sound, lips parting against Mobei Jun’s. When his tongue brushed against his own, he felt a pulse of desire so strong that the grip around Mobei Jun’s shoulders weakened. Mobei Jun just pulled him up farther, until Shang Qinghua wrapped his legs around his waist and leaned fully into him. 

Mobei Jun’s hand held the back of his head to keep him close as he kissed down Shang Qinghua’s chin and throat. “I wanted to be the one to kiss you,” he murmured, his wet mouth trailing heat across Shang Qinghua’s pulse.

Shang Qinghua smiled turning his head down to kiss him again, unable to help himself. “You can kiss me next time.”

Mobei Jun’s lips closed over his, the sound of it loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Alright,” he breathed. “Next time.”

He began walking, until he could press Shang Qinghua into the wall. He held onto him with one arm, and with the other, held Shang Qinghua’s face again. His lips pressed into his over and over, like he was pausing just to feel it start all over again. Mobei Jun’s lips were soft and cold, and it was like it’d sapped every terrible moment Shang Qinghua had within the past four months. It was like the departure had never happened. 

“My king,” he whispered again. He was all Shang Qinghua could think about. “My king, my king.”

“What is it?” He asked, kissing down the other side of his neck. He trailed back up and then dragged Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip up between his teeth, slow, licking against it and then letting it fall back into place. He kissed where he bit, once, then twice, and then kissed him fully again. 

Shang Qinghua felt lightheaded. “I…Mm.” He tangled his fingers into Mobei Jun’s hair and then twisted away from the kiss to trail his own kisses down Mobei Jun’s jaw and throat. “I delight in you. So much that I have found I cannot delight in anything else.”

“Qinghua,” he said, pulling him back to look at him. “Come back with me.”

Shang Qinghua hugged him to himself, burying his face into his hair. “Alright, my king. Take me with you.”

__________

Shang Qinghua stayed in the same room that he did when he’d first come. Knowing what it was supposed to be made it a little more overwhelming, but also warmed a part of him that had never been warmed before. Mobei Jun still would meet him in the garden when he went. And without Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu to interrupt, they spent every meal together, just the two of them. 

Mobei Jun had gotten rid of his strategist advisor. Even though Shang Qinghua technically wasn’t given that position, or any position really, that’s what he did regardless. It was his specialty, and it was the entire reason Mobei Jun had ever noticed him in the first place. Mobei Jun valued Shang Qinghua’s opinion more than Luo Binghe ever did, and something about that was fulfilling. 

Shang Qinghua had free time that he spent in the library nearly every day. And Mobei Jun would find him there too. In fact, if they were not already together, it seemed that Mobei Jun was always there anyway, even if for only a fleeting moment. It felt like just them sometimes. There were other servants and other advisors, and Shang Qinghua still saw Wang Zimo frequently. But so often it was just the two of them. And Shang Qinghua wondered before how Mobei Jun had been so elusive before, and he was guessing that it was just that Mobei Jun knew how to be in many places at once, it seemed, and he always knew when to arrive and when to leave. And Shang Qinghua felt something fold within himself when he was able to admit that Mobei Jun always remained with him longest, and always returned to him first.

It was hard sometimes to remember that he maybe did not technically have the rights to behave as he did with Mobei Jun. Sometimes he had to remember that when others were around, he had to be more formal, and speak more impersonally, even if it made Mobei Jun scowl every time. It was like he wanted Shang Qinghua to break the custom, to see him claim him in that way. And Shang Qinghua did want to do it. But he thought that maybe there was a time and place for that, and it had yet to come. 

But Shang Qinghua did consider it and he did think about it. He thought about where it was all meant to go when they continued on like this. He thought about Mobei Jun’s intentions and he thought about his own. He thought about what he wanted and he thought about if he was allowed to have it. And he daydreamed about when the time might come that he would be able to have Mobei Jun in such a way that everyone knew it.

But most notably, he found that even despite his wonderings, he was content in all of it. Not because happiness was his measure, but because he felt more at home than he ever had. And more than that, he felt like he had a companion, in whatever way he was able to have it. And he would take anything, as long as it was Mobei Jun he got to have it with. 

__________

For all of Shang Qinghua’s efforts to begin again and to start anew, still there lingered himself. He wondered sometimes, if it was possible to be rid of it, to be rid of him, and found it so irritating that he couldn’t. However, there was something about that… about being so fed up with the way things had to be, that made being known ecstasy. 

It wasn’t so much himself that he didn’t like, but his inability to do certain things. He found himself frustrated when things didn’t go according to plan. Or, most hatefully, when he remembered again that the world did not spin for someone like him. And he hated to remember it because there were things he needed to do. He needed to be with the one it spun for, and he needed to make it happen.

It spun for the man on that throne, just a few steps away, lounged and relaxed, and dark and so beloved that everything in Shang Qinghua ached when he looked at him. He couldn’t have been more perfect. He was the most perfect creature to exist, in any universe, and Shang Qinghua felt like he was having a religious experience each time he looked upon him. Even greater was his speechlessness when he remembered the way Mobei Jun had kissed him that night, when he’d come to retrieve him from his prison.

Although, after some time in the palace with Mobei Jun, Shang Qinghua realized that it wasn’t the world that spun for Mobei Jun. It was the universe. The universe existed so that he could be in it. And perhaps it was only Shang Qinghua’s universe that thought so. 

It was a thing that love did that Shang Qinghua had not anticipated. Before he’d thought it would be contained inside. He thought it would fill him, make him happy, make him feel weightless. And it did those things, too. But mostly, it made everything Mobei Jun. The cold air was Mobei Jun, the warm air was Mobei Jun, the sky was Mobei Jun, the moon was Mobei Jun, the water, the leaves, the grass, the snow—everything. 

Shang Qinghua drifted in and out of these thoughts, just as one would when the universe was right in front of them. He rested at one of the low tables on the side of the throne. He had his chin in his hand, and he stared upon Mobei Jun, watching him and his expressions as he spoke to their guests. The way everyone was standing, the only person who could see Shang Qinghua look so shamelessly was perhaps Wang Zimo, but Wang Zimo never seemed to care that much about Shang Qinghua’s personal relationship with Mobei Jun. 

Mobei Jun could see it too, Shang Qinghua supposed, but he only looked over at him sometimes, and when he did, he always had a somewhat amused look on his face before turning back to the person in front of him. 

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help it. It was the only way he could find himself to be bold. It was still difficult to be forthright, even despite the fact that Mobei Jun most certainly knew already how bewitched Shang Qinghua was by him. Mobei Jun would ask for his informalities, as he always had, and would insist that Shang Qinghua feel as at home there as Mobei Jun did. 

But that just simply wasn’t the way it could go at the moment. Shang Qinghua could come and he could be useful. He could advise Mobei Jun in the ways that he knew how and he would do it with as much dedication as a human being could muster, and then perhaps a little more. But there were limits to his ability to take liberties that others would understand. Mobei Jun might not be angry with it, but there were others. If they did not like it, he wasn’t sure what that would do for Mobei Jun. The Mobei Clan reputation was important, and helped keep them seated where they were in the food chain. Shang Qinghua would not be the one to hurt it.

So Shang Qinghua took his liberties where he could. He gazed upon Mobei Jun like he was a painting, studied him like art, and let himself feel it deeply, the way art was intended to do. 

When it was Mobei Jun, Shang Qinghua, and Wang Zimo who remained, a silence laid out before them. Wang Zimo, who was used to the request, left before it could be made. Mobei Jun was looking at Shang Qinghua, mouth shut as he waited for Wang Zimo to leave. When the door clicked shut, Mobei Jun sat up in his throne and beckoned Shang Qinghua over.

Shang Qinghua rose from the floor, legs shaky from disuse and sitting down for so long. 

“Why do you choose the floor?” Mobei Jun sighed, not for the first time.

Shang Qinghua walked to him and then stopped at the step of the dais. He smiled. “That’s what I’m used to.”

Mobei Jun didn’t seem to like that answer, and his expression darkened.

Shang Qinghua smiled, and felt his heart flutter.

Mobei Jun indicated with his head for Shang Qinghua to come closer. 

Shang Qinghua stepped up onto the dais. He moved until he was standing directly before Mobei Jun. He knelt onto the ground in front of him, and watched Mobei Jun’s face as his eyes followed and glimmered. Shang Qinghua rested his hands on Mobei Jun’s knee and then placed his chin on top.

Mobei Jun breathed in and then out, like he was trying to control himself. 

It was a magnanimous task, to not push and push and push when the universe seemed pliant under Shang Qinghua’s fingers. 

Shang Qinghua gazed at him a little more, for he had not gotten his fill yet. “Yes, my king?” He asked, and he knew that he was being excruciatingly earnest.

Mobei Jun’s eyes slipped shut and he tipped his head back until it was resting on the top of his throne. “You make everything so difficult.”

Shang Qinghua knew what Mobei Jun meant, but he took advantage of it. He had never claimed to be good, and Mobei Jun would now have to live with the fact that he’d brought someone so selfish and easy to fall into temptation as Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua, after all, was a man, and men were not known for their tenacity in the face of such hardship.

“Difficult?” Shang Qinghua asked, letting a soft sound bleed into his voice. “Why difficult, my king?”

Mobei Jun’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the dark ceiling of his throne room. “Staring at me like that, the entire time, as if you knew all it did was distract me.”

Shang Qinghua smiled and he let his arms drop. He hugged Mobei Jun’s leg and pressed his nose and mouth into the cloth of his pants. “My king, you would ask me not to worship after liberation?”

Mobei Jun turned his head down. “Come up here.”

“And now you ask me to ascend,” Shang Qinghua said, pouting as he put his chin back on Mobei Jun’s knee. “How am I, a mere mortal, meant to ascend to the heavens to you with no help?”

Mobei Jun reached down and tilted his chin up. “Change your metaphors,” he murmured. “Make them more accurate and perhaps the climb won’t be so bad.”

Shang Qinghua grasped his wrist and held it as he turned his head down to kiss over Mobei Jun’s fingers. His eyes slipped closed. “And what would you have me change it to, my king? What would be more accurate? I will follow what you tell me, for anything you say is true is also my truth.”

“Perhaps I’m a stone at the top of a mountain,” Mobei Jun murmured. His voice was soft, thoughtful as his fingers pressed into Shang Qinghua’s lips. “And you’re the life that climbed up each step to make me realize I was actually a seed planted in the earth.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes opened. He looked at Mobei Jun, and held his hand to his own cheek. Mobei Jun leaned down, and his voice lowered. 

“Life has given the seed the ability to bloom. And now it cannot leave. Even if it were to go, it’s imprinted itself so deeply that the effects of it will remain forever.”

Shang Qinghua reached up, and threaded his fingers through Mobei Jun’s hair. He tugged lightly, and Mobei Jun bent down further as Shang Qinghua raised himself up. “My king, that’s utterly ridiculous,” he breathed as their foreheads connected. “Perhaps we should meet in the middle.”

Mobei Jun hummed, then let out a breath, and then reached out to lift Shang Qinghua just as Shang Qinghua pressed up. Mobei Jun gathered him into his arms and pulled him back onto the throne, mouth on his a moment later. And maybe Mobei Jun was being honest about feeling like Shang Qinghua brought him life. Shang Qinghua thought that he could believe that if he wanted. Regardless of what Mobei Jun thought and regardless of whether or not Shang Qinghua was life, Mobei Jun was still the universe.

__________

Shang Qinghua was down in the village when he’d first heard that people knew who he was. He’d known that he was somewhat known by people, given that he was Luo Binghe’s advisor and helped him usurp the throne. He had not known that he was known as Mobei Jun’s advisor yet. It’d only been a few months, and it seemed that word had reached far enough that it was a discussion amongst the people.

He was buying packaged foods that he could bring back. Mobei Jun liked certain treats that were made in the stalls away from the palace, and while normally there were servants to go get them, Shang Qinghua had wanted to go down to visit and had intercepted the servant on his way out to go instead. 

A few of the men eating lunch at a table nearby mentioned his name, and Shang Qinghua’s ears perked up.

“—Shang Qinghua has been present in the king’s meetings lately. He still wears the colors of Luo Binghe, the emperor.”

“He’s just visiting? For what? And without the emperor or any of their servants?”

“It’s been a few months, I’ve heard.”

Shang Qinghua grabbed the bag of cookies he was given and held onto them. He shifted to a nearby stall and pretended to be interested in the ornaments.

“Do you think he’s a spy?” One said thoughtfully. “Whether for us or them? It’s odd, isn’t it? There’s no clarity on whether he’s here for us or for the emperor.”

Shang Qinghua considered this. 

“I hope the king knows what he’s doing,” one muttered. “He’s never steered us wrong before, but this is really fishy… that Shang Qinghua guy has a literal track record of usurping. And suddenly he’s leaving the emperor, who he’s helped raise up into the most powerful man in the world?”

Shang Qinghua felt like lightning struck him. This had been the last thing he wanted. He did not want people to ever question Mobei Jun. Perhaps Shang Qinghua was welcome now. What of later, when his presence practically spoke rumors itself? The world did not turn for men like Shang Qinghua. He’d be reminded of this fact until he was dead. Mobei Jun said he was life. Shang Qinghua thought he was Oizys, for misery seemed to follow him.

Shang Qinghua held the bags of food in his hand and then stepped slowly away. He smiled at the shopkeeper, weak, and then went back up toward the palace. He stood at the bottom of the steps and paused for a long while. He was unsure of how long. He’d even stopped to sit down at the very bottom. He looked at his bags of treats for Mobei Jun, and found himself smiling despite himself. Once again he found himself understanding Luo Binghe, even though they reacted so differently. If Shen Qingqiu was Luo Binghe’s happiness, then Mobei Jun was Shang Qinghua’s. 

Mobei Jun wasn’t one to indulge in food for the taste. But there were some things, and there were even more things that he wanted to show Shang Qinghua. There were things Shang Qinghua knew he liked that he had not been able to try yet due to the season not allowing for it until only just recently. Shang Qinghua wanted to go give it to him.

He wanted to share them, and tease Mobei Jun, and just be near to him. Now more than ever, he missed him. He rarely went away from the palace. And if he was honest with himself, he’d wanted to go so that when he came back, it would be sweeter, to return. To be able to say he’d gone away and come back, returning and soaking in that reunion. 

If anything, he wanted it even more now. Except it was almost animalistic this way. Before it was innocent and sweet and adoration. Now it was desperate and rotten and selfish. And it was truly terrible that perhaps Shang Qinghua liked it even better that way. But the more he thought about how good it would feel, the more he became afraid that he would not get it.

Shang Qinghua, after the sun had gone from the middle of the sky to the top of the trees, thought that it had been long enough. He stood and turned to look up at the stairs. Whether he was climbing to reach the celestial bodies, the top of a mountain, or a palace that housed his soul, he would go anyway, even if the journey killed him.

When Shang Qinghua reached the courtyard again, his feet hurt. It hadn’t been as bad as that very first time with Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, but it was still unpleasant. Wang Zimo was walking by when Shang Qinghua was nearing the throne room, so Shang Qinghua called for him. 

Wang Zimo turned at the sound of his name, and his eyebrows twitched inward, and it was an expression Shang Qinghua had not seen on him. It looked almost like irritation.

Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure what to do with that, but it made his stomach plummet further. “Where’s the king? I want to bring him the snacks I got from he village.”

Wang Zimo seemed to realize there was a bag in his hand. His expression smoothed out, and he shifted a little, turning to face Shang Qinghua as the irritation faded away at Shang Qinghua’s words. “I believe he is in the map room.”

Shang Qinghua turned to the right and immediately made his way over, calling out a thank you to Wang Zimo. He checked on the cookies on his walk through the halls. They looked fine, not as though he’d sat on the steps of the palace for a couple of hours. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone around. The palace wasn’t one to bustle, so it was infrequent that Shang Qinghua ever saw that many people, but it seemed quieter than normal, and there were even less signs of life than there usually was. 

Shang Qinghua walked up to the map room. The door was slid half open, and he could see Mobei Jun leaned over the table, hands resting on the edge. He was looking over it intently. Shang Qinghua paused and instead of just barging in, he half stepped into the room and knocked lightly on the door.

Mobei Jun whirled, snarling, “What?”

Shang Qinghua froze, mouth parting in surprise. Mobei Jun also stilled as soon as he laid eyes on Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua only had time for one pulse of an ache in his chest before Mobei Jun was crossing the room and wrapping his arms around him. Shang Qinghua just felt confused.

Mobei Jun lifted him just slightly, face buried in his throat.

Shang Qinghua put his arms around him too and stroked Mobei Jun’s hair with the hand not holding the bag. The tight embrace soothed all of that dull throbbing in his chest and in his bones, as if the previous several hours had never happened. “Hello, my king,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

Mobei Jun pulled back and stared down at him intently. “Where were you?”

Shang Qinghua blinked up at him. “I was in the village, my king,” he said. “I was getting you the snacks you like.” He brought his arm down and showed him the bag.

Mobei Jun stared at the bag and then looked back up at Shang Qinghua’s face. He hugged him again and nuzzled into his jaw. “You were gone a long time. Did something happen?”

Shang Qinghua still felt confused. “I was just a bit distracted. I’m sorry. Is everything alright? You’re upset…”

Mobei Jun didn’t answer right away. “… I hadn’t seen you in a while, so I went looking for you. The only person who could tell me where they’d seen you last said they saw you going down the stairs and leaving the palace.”

Shang Qinghua pulled back far enough to look back at Mobei Jun’s face. “My king, do you really think I’d leave you? After I begged you to take me with you?”

Mobei Jun met his stare and then he looked away, something akin to a pout on his face. “I know that you wouldn’t, but I…”

“You what?”

“Fear doesn’t always mean distrust.” Mobei Jun looked back at him, as if knowing that would be Shang Qinghua’s next question. “But I cherish you. It’s simply impossible not to be frightened of losing you.”

Shang Qinghua’s jaw tightened. He tried not to get emotional, though his eyes stung. Sometimes Mobei Jun said things that were so deeply in tune with what he was feeling, as if he was only an extension of himself.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you when you came in,” Mobei Jun said. He avoided Shang Qinghua’s gaze as he reached up to stroke his cheek. “I was…troubled…by your absence.”

Shang Qinghua gripped onto the bag and then pushed up to kiss him. Mobei Jun let out a slight surprised noise, and then immediately wrapped him back up into his arms. Shang Qinghua dropped the bag onto the floor and then hopped up to wrap his legs around Mobei Jun’s waist, and tangle his fingers into his hair. 

“I wanted to show you something, too,” Mobei Jun murmured against him, mouth growing slick as he opened it and Shang Qinghua pressed his tongue to his lip.

“What is it?” Shang Qinghua breathed, more focused on the way Mobei Jun’s hands felt on his back, sliding lower and lower with every press of lips.

Mobei Jun turned to walk deeper into the room, though his mouth was still kissing along Shang Qinghua’s throat. “I had it with me when I went to look for you, so you can look at it here.”

He set Shang Qinghua down and gestured to the box on the table beside the map.

Shang Qinghua glanced at the map quickly, and decided not to mention that the map was of Mobei Jun’s own terrain, as if he was planning on going out to look for someone. Shang Qinghua went to the box and flashed a smile to Mobei Jun. “Well now the cookies I brought feel inadequate, you know.”

Mobei Jun sidled up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Truthfully, this is more like a gift to me.”

Shang Qinghua hummed, intrigued. He lifted the lid to the box and held the lid in his hands, frozen as he stared down inside. “My king,” he said weakly.

Mobei Jun held him tighter. “It’s something I must insist,” Mobei Jun said quietly. “I can’t bear to look at you in red anymore.”

In the box, was an embroidered clan robe. Shang Qinghua could only look at it for a moment, for the next had his eyes swimming with tears. “Are you sure?” He asked, voice alarmingly raspy.

“Certain.”

Shang Qinghua turned into him and pressed his face into his chest. Mobei Jun held him back for a moment and then pulled away to finger at the tie around Shang Qinghua’s waist, where the red robe lay over Shang Qinghua’s shoulders. Shang Qinghua let him do it, staring almost vacantly at Mobei Jun’s collarbone as he slid it off of Shang Qinghua’s frame.

Mobei Jun hummed when Shang Qinghua was left in a white, long-sleeved undershirt, and felt along him there too, just because he could. Shang Qinghua looked up at him, and Mobei Jun smiled in a self-assured way, smug. Shang Qinghua laughed a little and caught his hands as they began to roam. Mobei Jun relented and reached around to grab the robe from the box. He let it unravel and then let Shang Qinghua slip one arm in, and then the other.

The tie was thick and wide, and Mobei Jun tied it slow, so that Shang Qinghua could see how to do it. And Mobei Jun even looked a little unsure how to do it, for he’d never done it from this angle before, and that alone was a gift. Shang Qinghua felt like everything in him was collapsing, and it felt so good to know that Mobei Jun was there with him in it.

It felt so good to be loved. It felt so good to be known by whom he desired to know him. It felt so good. Mobei Jun felt so good.

__________

Shang Qinghua, who valued progress, always hated when he encountered setbacks. Even for things that didn’t have a tangible measure, he knew when he was retreating rather than pushing forward. 

He’d found a book in the library. It was a book he’d loved as a child, and it happened to be the same edition that he’d had when he was young. He’d flipped through it, and the edges of the pages looked worn, as if also read more than once, and Shang Qinghua found that he wanted to show Mobei Jun. Perhaps he was the one who’d worn those edges. 

Shang Qinghua began to make his way back to the throne room. Mobei Jun normally was there at that hour, whether or not he had people coming. He had the book in his hand as he went through the hall that led to the throne room to enter through the back. 

“My king,” he called, voice perhaps a touch too sweet to be mistaken for anything but naked affection. He walked further into the room. “Look what I found in the—Oh.”

There were men sitting along the tables, staring at him with irritated expressions on their faces. He had clearly interrupted. He stopped along the side of the room, horrified. He had not known people were visiting.

Mobei Jun was looking at him too. “Found what?” He asked, eyes tracking the book in his hand. He didn’t seem phased by the interruption at all. 

Shang Qinghua did not think that Mobei Jun would be upset with him. But the fear that Mobei Jun had talked about—about losing what was cherished—that was true and Shang Qinghua knew that feeling well. He did not want to be a burden to Mobei Jun. He looked at the men in the room and knew that they would leave the palace and would stir dissension or mistrust because of Shang Qinghua. No matter what he did, what he could ever do, he was a foreigner. He was a foreigner who had helped a man kill his own father.

“Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes snapped back to Mobei Jun. “My king,” he said, bowing. “This one was not aware you had company.”

“Qinghua…” Mobei Jun’s voice was low, unhappy. 

“This one apologizes. I will leave you to your meeting.” His head was still ducked.

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said sharply. “Stay. It’s alright.”

“We were having private discussions about the trade route,” one of the men said. “This one would prefer if it remained private, bixia.”

Mobei Jun turned to him, almost slow. His expression evened out into something dark and irritated. “Repeat what you just said.”

Shang Qinghua briefly shut his eyes and then opened them again. He did not move and stared pointedly at the wall.

The man’s voice was hesitant. “This one greatly values assurance that discussion of trade routes remains private.”

Mobei Jun sighed deeply and stood up. “Qinghua. Come here, please.”

Shang Qinghua swallowed and went over to him. He stopped beside the dais and then ducked his head again. 

“Onto the dais.”

The men shifted, surprised.

Shang Qinghua felt his cheeks redden. He stepped onto the dais and approached him, head still bowed.

Mobei Jun tilted his face up with gentle fingers. He looked at him for a moment, and then down at the book still in his hands. “What did you want to show me?”

“Ahh, my king, it’s really not important,” he murmured quickly, low enough that the others probably couldn’t hear. “I’ll just go, it’s really not a big deal.”

Mobei Jun’s eyes flashed. “I want to hear about what you found.”

Shang Qinghua flushed a little deeper. “My king…” he whispered, a little exasperated. He darted his eyes to the side, trying to indicate that he didn’t really want to say while others were around.

Mobei Jun hummed, and then tilted his face up again. He bent down to Shang Qinghua’s ear. “Then tell me like this.”

Shang Qinghua clutched the book. “I…” His voice was weak. “Um…”

Mobei Jun’s face was covering Shang Qinghua’s, so the others couldn’t see that Mobei Jun’s hand trailed down his neck lightly, teasingly. “Go ahead.”

“I found one of my favorite books in the library. I had the same copy. I wondered if you’d ever read it before.”

Mobei Jun pulled his head away and looked down at it. He held out his hand, and Shang Qinghua handed it to him. He looked at it and then handed it back to Shang Qinghua. “Yes,” he said. “Many times.”

Shang Qinghua felt like he was going to burst. He stared at him. He was so in love with him. Mobei Jun smiled and stroked his cheek once, then twice.

“Remain here a moment longer, please.”

“Alright, my king,” Shang Qinghua said, breathless.

Mobei Jun’s hand lingered on him, and so did his gaze. He turned away. Something about the air changed. Shang Qinghua couldn’t see his face, but he knew that it was not the face he’d given Shang Qinghua. The man who’d asked for privacy seemed to gulp. 

“You know that I take respect seriously,” he said. “You know that I value loyalty and good sense.”

The room was silent. 

“It seems to me that you’ve failed to deliver on all three,” Mobei Jun said. “I no longer need your input about the trade routes. Leave.”

“Bixia—”

“If you do not leave my sight this instant, I will do more than handle this on my own.” He paused. “All three of you, leave.”

“We didn’t—”

“Do you think that I did not see the expression on your faces when he entered?” Mobei Jun sneered. “You may as well have looked at me that way. Disrespecting him is an offense I will not overlook. Leave. I will not say it again.” 

The three of them stood up, looking flabbergasted and angry. They left the throne room, unhappy and stiff, as if they were bursting with the need to rampage. Shang Qinghua was certain of what they would say as soon as they were out of hearing distance.

Mobei Jun moved to sit back down on the throne. On his way, he grabbed onto Shang Qinghua’s hand and brought him over. He sat down and then pressed a kiss to Shang Qinghua’s palm. “You said you had the same copy,” he murmured, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all.

Shang Qinghua stared at him. He laughed a little, unable to help himself. Mobei Jun looked up at him, surprised at the outburst, but then his face softened a little. Shang Qinghua knelt down in front of him and then set the book down onto the ground. He rested his head on the inside of Mobei Jun’s thigh and gazed up at him. “My king, that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”

Mobei Jun leaned forward and held his face. “What are you thinking about then, my love?”

Shang Qinghua’s breath sped. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kick them out, for—I don’t even know what.”

Mobei Jun’s face looked irritated and he leaned back. “They were disrespectful to you and I have no tolerance for that.”

“They aren’t disrespectful to ask for privacy.”

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said sharply. He stopped and then seemed to be thinking about something. Something like determination crossed his face. He bent forward again and put his hand back on Shang Qinghua’s cheek. “Qinghua, do you know what room you stay in?”

Shang Qinghua’s face flamed immediately. “Haha….”

“You do.”

“Yes,” he said weakly.

“Then don’t you understand?”

“No,” Shang Qinghua said, a little petulant.

Mobei Jun slumped back again, annoyed.

“You told me that sometimes you’re afraid of losing me,” Shang Qinghua said, voice low. “Because you…cherish…me.”

Mobei Jun frowned at him. 

“I also feel afraid,” Shang Qinghua said. “I wanted this so badly. I wanted you so badly. And now…” He closed his eyes and pressed in a little more. “I really don’t want to lose you.”

“Do you believe that it would be possible to lose me, when I wanted you so badly? When I would have started a war with Luo Binghe to take you?”

Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes closed harder. “I've never had anything I wanted before.”

Mobei Jun quieted. 

“I really don’t know how to do this,” Shang Qinghua whispered. He opened his eyes and shifted to kneel straight. “I’ve never had what I wanted, so I don’t know how to keep it. I’m afraid that because I don’t know how, I’ll mess it up. I…I couldn’t bear it,” he murmured. “I really couldn’t bear it.”

His eyes prickled with tears and he looked down. He didn’t want to look Mobei Jun in the eye as he did this. 

“Perhaps you want me, too. And while I still cannot fathom it, even if I could, it still leaves me with the fact that I could ruin other things for you, could be a curse, and not even mean to do it.”

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun said. “I find your faith in my legacy endearing. But I am not afraid of more enemies. Particularly when neither you nor I made them. They are my enemy the moment they choose to treat you poorly. It is unacceptable.”

Shang Qinghua shook his head.

Mobei Jun caught his hands and leaned forward. “You are mine. As if I came from you, I am yours. You cannot ruin anything for me. You could not.”

Shang Qinghua’s tears spilled over his cheeks. “I’m sorry for coming in today.”

Mobei Jun sighed deeply and kissed his palms, multiple presses of his lips to each one. “Arguably, I ruined your life.”

“No,” Shang Qinghua protested. “I wanted to leave. I was unhappy. You saved me from a lifetime of misery and loneliness and I will always be grateful.”

Mobei Jun stared at him, almost expectantly.

Shang Qinghua’s head dropped and more tears fell.

“Qinghua, everything I did disrupted your life, whether you wanted it or not. Talk about grateful—I’m grateful, for letting me have you. Let me repay you. Even if you are to ruin everything, burn my palace to the ground, and bring me to the woods to live off of the earth, I would be willing if you were there with me.”

Shang Qinghua grabbed his hand and nuzzled into his palm.

Mobei Jun shifted forward and slid off of the throne until he was knelt beside him. Shang Qinghua crawled into his lap and buried his face into his throat. Mobei Jun wrapped his arms around him in return and held him to his chest.

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun murmured in his hair. “Come walk with me in the garden.”

__________

“Qinghua,” Mobei Jun breathed on a sigh. His hand was in Shang Qinghua’s hair, holding onto the back of his head. His other hand was a weight on Shang Qinghua’s spine, grabbing and releasing with every pulse of his heartbeat. “Are we not supposed to be separate the night before?”

Shang Qinghua mouthed along his jaw. He nodded a few times. “It is certainly a custom some people follow, yes.”

Mobei Jun sighed again, his hand sliding low and then back up again. His hips pressed up, and he drove in deeper.

Shang Qinghua gasped against him, and his back arched as he pressed further into him, too. “Oh, my king,” he breathed. “Mm.”

Mobei Jun turned his head to mouth at him, too. “Are you not the one who is always insisting on following customs?”

Shang Qinghua rocked up and down, sliding along Mobei Jun’s cock. The sound of it was wet in the quiet. “I think it’s unfair and cruel to give your consort the room connected to yours and expect him to not seek you before the wedding.”

“What if I had locked my door?” Mobei Jun asked, voice muffled against the skin of Shang Qinghua’s temple. “What would you have done?”

Shang Qinghua pushed himself up, hands resting on Mobei Jun’s chest. He pursed his lips. “Probably break in.”

Mobei Jun put his hands on Shang Qinghua’s hips and smirked up at him. “There has to be some sort of bad luck associated with that.”

“Is luck not on my side?” Shang Qinghua asked. He rolled down and then pushed himself up again. He smiled at Mobei Jun’s expression of desire, held it, and then sat down all the way again. He ground down into him, breathless when he spoke next. “A mere servant like me… favored by the king…” he gasped when his wriggling struck him in just the right spot. “Given the entire world, the solar system, the galaxy, everything… It cannot be bad luck to indulge the gift given to me.”

Mobei Jun knew the look on his face, and his hands gripped onto Shang Qinghua’s hips so that he couldn’t move. He rolled up into him, grinding up into the easy pleasure inside of him. “You may take anything you’d like. I’ll make sure you have it.”

Shang Qinghua stared down at him, mouth parted on his pleasure, and in that moment—though he’d already been doing such a good job of seeing lately—it was like the road to El Dorado had opened before him. Tears pooled and he shut his eyes. They hung on his lashes, and he lost himself in the sensation of Mobei Jun inside of him. It didn’t have to make sense that Mobei Jun wanted him. There were plenty of things that had never made sense, yet they were. Why not this? Why not Mobei Jun? And Mobei Jun was powerful—enough to keep Shang Qinghua.

A moment later, before the thoughts could fully settle, lips were on his own, and Mobei Jun was sitting up to keep them close. He kissed him, open mouthed, and one hand pressed to the small of Shang Qinghua’s back to keep him seated on top of him, while the other came up to caress Shang Qinghua’s face and to thumb over the line of his lashes. 

“What is it?” Mobei Jun whispered into his mouth. “Tell me, and I will fix it.”

Shang Qinghua held Mobei Jun’s face in return, and kept his face close. “I am so eager to be with you forever.”

Mobei Jun groaned softly, mouth moving over his a little quicker, a little desperate. “What could I have possibly done to deserve this?” He whispered, so low that Shang Qinghua wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear it.

“Is there anything that anyone could do?” Mobei Jun continued. His lips slotted into Shang Qinghua’s in a way that left Shang Qinghua feeling lightheaded. His tongue lingered over Shang Qinghua’s, and then up to press into the roof of his mouth, tasting and savoring.

Shang Qinghua wriggled up and then sank back down. He shuddered, and then did it again. He did it again and again, until he was desperate. Until he was hanging onto Mobei Jun’s shoulders, face tucked into his throat, breathing heavily into his skin and begging for more, for all of it, and to be able to keep it forever.

Mobei Jun’s arms came around his waist and helped him along. “Qinghua,” he said, strained. “”Qinghua, tell me. Do I know you?”

Shang Qinghua gulped and nodded. “Yes. No one knows me like you.”

“So tell me what that means. Tell me what must be true, if I know you.”

Shang Qinghua tangled a hand in his hair again and pulled. “You love me.”

Mobei Jun dipped and pressed his lips to Shang Qinghua’s ear. “And in turn, no one knows me like you. Which must mean that you love me.”

Shang Qinghua nodded again, quick and desperate. His nails dug into Mobei Jun’s shoulders. He pressed into him so tightly that it hurt.

“That’s all there is.”

Shang Qinghua gasped and felt something coil and unloosen in him in quick succession. Mobei Jun held him through it. Shang Qinghua saw stars. Mobei Jun was so much more than a stone. And actually, as Shang Qinghua considered it, Mobei Jun was more than the universe, too. It didn’t matter what turned for who. Shang Qinghua loved him. Mobei Jun loved him back. That’s all there was.

__________

Shang Qinghua, who had never loved someone so deeply, did not know everything about himself. He did not know what he was like when he was in love. He did not know what he was like and who he was when he was loved in return. He did not know that there were things he’d do and say, when it concerned Mobei Jun. There were liberties he would most certainly take, he found, if put under the right circumstances. He had never thought that he would be so territorial over another person, until he had found the one that was his.

Mobei Jun did not socialize regularly. He spoke to people only that needed to be spoken to. It was another way in which they were similar. Mobei Jun was the only one he’d ever known for pleasure. The rest had all been business, even if business existed amongst affection sometimes. With Mobei Jun, it was all pleasure. It was all desired. It was all good. Sometimes business existed there, but even that, when with Mobei Jun, was more like play.

A representative from a more distant country had come to discuss with Mobei Jun their previous deals on trade. At the time of the meeting, everyone knew who Shang Qinghua was. He was the Mobei Clan consort and treasured to Mobei Jun. People knew that disrespect to Shang Qinghua was not tolerable. In fact, nothing made Mobei Jun angrier.

People were kind to Shang Qinghua in order to make Mobei Jun happy. Which was often also the wrong choice, given the fact that Mobei Jun did not like it when people seemed overly interested in him. People often had difficulty in finding a proper balance. Mobei Jun had high standards, and expected them to figure it out.

Shan Qinghua had gotten used to it—to the way Mobei Jun would defend and punish anyone who he deemed as too uncouth or even too kind. 

This representative, Wu Xinyan, seemed to have found the right balance. She was perfectly pleasant, respectful to both Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua had met other representatives from the area, but he’d never met her before. She was even-tempered, and conversed well with both Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun. 

However, Shang Qinghua had been pulled away right before the customary dinner upon arrival. Shang Qinghua had been asked by another advisor to discuss something regarding Wu Xinyan before the night continued. When Shang Qinghua was in one of the offices, despite the advisor calling him in, it was Wang Zimo who spoke. “Consort Shang,” he said. “Wu Xinyan coming as a representative is very important. While only a representative, she is very admired and valued. Bixia can be…dismissive sometimes, so we just wanted to make sure you were aware of this.”

Shang Qinghua raised his eyebrows. “Well, truthfully, I already knew this… After all, I am a foreign affairs advisor.”

“Ahh, yes, we didn’t mean to offend… It’s just that we are anxious for trade routes to remain open with them and we are asking on behalf of the villages.”

Shang Qinghua considered. “Hmm. Alright then. I’ll keep that in mind. She seems perfectly pleasant, so it shouldn’t be a problem. My king doesn’t seem to be opposed, though I would follow his discretion regardless. If he denies renewal, I would imagine he had good reason.”

Wang Zimo just bowed. 

Shang Qinghua turned and left the room, heading back toward the dining hall used for guests. He preferred dinner alone with Mobei Jun, in the dining room that was just for them. It was much more pleasant, but even still, there were things to appreciate about the dining hall, too.

When Shang Qinghua walked in, he came in from the back, since that was where he’d come from after using one of the offices. From that angle, Mobei Jun’s back was to him, and he could see Wu Xinyan’s face. She was leaning toward Mobei Jun, smiling in a way that women who used to gently offer marriage to Luo Binghe would. Shang Qinghua became very practiced at knowing that face, for it always helped him strategize how to get what they wanted from those Luo Binghe met with.

In this scenario, the only strategy Shang Qinghua could even consider coming up with was how to cut all ties with her and never look at her face again. Perhaps ruin things for her, too. Destroy her good reputation. It would be easy. Shang Qinghua didn’t even have to really think about it. He already knew how he could do it.

The next thoughts he had were surprise, but with himself. He’d never felt so jealous. Mobei Jun was always so attentive, uninterested in anyone but Shang Qinghua. To walk in on her having all of his attention, while Shang Qinghua was away, unknowing of anything spoken of in his absence—it was excruciating. But the more surprising thought was about his complete lack of remorse. In fact, he felt righteous. He was not sorry to Wang Zimo for what he was about to do and he was not sorry to Wu Xinyan either.

Shang Qinghua took a deep breath. He walked in and made sure to arrange his expression to something pleasant. As he approached, Wu Xinyan’s words dwindled away and she glanced over at him. Mobei Jun turned, too. “Apologies for my late arrival.” He stopped beside the table. He turned to Mobei Jun. He ducked his head. “My king.” He looked at Wu Xinyan and ducked again. 

Mobei Jun held out a hand and Shang Qinghua took it. Mobei Jun squeezed lightly in greeting, and then released him so that he could sit.

“It was not without reason,” Shang Qinghua said easily as he slid into place. “In fact, I hope you will be pleased to hear that it was to beseech that we renew the trade routes. It seems your products are held in high regard.”

Wu Xinyan smiled and turned to him. Her pleasant expression was not anywhere near the charming interest that it had betrayed to Mobei Jun. Shang Qinghua felt his fingers twitch. “I am pleased to hear that,” she admitted, perfectly humble. “Regardless of how tonight ends, I will share that with my master with joy.”

Shang Qinghua returned her smile and then looked at Mobei Jun’s plate. “My king, why haven’t you eaten yet?”

“I was waiting for you,” Mobei Jun said. 

Shang Qinghua put his chin in his hand and gazed at him. “How thoughtful of you, my king.”

Mobei Jun was watching him, like he knew something was off, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Well, now that I am here, please don’t let me delay you any longer.” He smiled and continued to stare at him. He gestured for Mobei Jun to begin.

Mobei Jun’s stare lingered for a moment longer, but then he took a bite. Shang Qinghua looked down at his own plate and then began, too. The things on his plate were all his preferences, and he knew that Mobei Jun must have requested it that way. It made him feel better, to know he’d done that in front of this woman. Though it shouldn’t be necessary for her to see to know that Mobei Jun was Shang Qinghua’s.

Shang Qinghua hummed contentedly as he ate and Mobei Jun did as he always did. He hardly ate, and preferred to begin negotiating while the guest ate. Shang Qinghua ate alongside her, and only hated her more. She had not gazed on Mobei Jun the same way since Shang Qinghua had arrived, and that was the first and only clue needed to know that it was purposeful.

“So,” Shang Qinghua said, “renewals normally consist of discussing future plans, concerns that have come up in previous years, and how to improve. Forgive me if I missed some of this discussion, but would you care to go over it again if you have?”

Wu Xinyan looked at him and blinked. She did not seem to expect him to take part in the conversation. “Ahh, we did not go over that yet.”

“Oh, then what were you discussing before I arrived?”

If she knew it was a trap, she didn’t let on. “I was asking about the room,” she said easily, glancing up toward the ceiling. “It looks like the night sky, but it’s velvet, isn’t it? With white gems? I had been wondering if any other rooms in the palace had it inside, for I find it beautiful.”

Shang Qinghua wanted to gouge her eyes out. The library and the consort room had the velvet ceiling.

She glanced at Mobei Jun. “Bixia said that the library and one of the guest rooms has it.”

Shang Qinghua took another bite of his dinner. It tasted like ash. 

“I asked if I could use that one while I’m here.”

Shang Qinghua froze, eyes on his plate. It’s still your room and you share with Mobei Jun, it’s still your room and you share with Mobei Jun. It repeated over and over in his head in an attempt to keep it together before he ruined her life prematurely. Although, despite the fact that he was with Mobei Jun now, that room was still treated like his and always would be. He was the consort.

“No,” Mobei Jun said, voice cold and decisive. “Qinghua arrived before I could mention that it is no longer a guest room, but his.”

“Ahh, no problem, no problem,” she said and then smiled again. “I just thought I’d ask. I will take what I can get.” She paused. “Though, aren’t you married? Why does he have a separate room?”

Shang Qinghua hated her. “My office,” he clarified, tone much more pleasant than he felt. “The ceiling is beautiful though, isn’t it?” He glanced up and then back down, a smile on his face.

She nodded, mouth fitting into an O as she took in the information.

Shang Qinghua leaned back and then took a sip of his water. He wasn’t hungry. In fact, he didn’t even want to think about eating another bite. He was so angry. He looked back at Wu Xinyan. “What are your thoughts on the trade route?” He prompted. “I would like your input, given the fact that I am new to the details of your specific deal with the Mobei clan.” It wasn’t true. Mobei Jun knew that. Shang Qinghua didn’t look at him.

She finished chewing as she considered. She set her chopsticks down. “Well, the current route is the most economical for both of us. It’s the clearest and quickest path, which makes it easier to get to and from as well as ensure timely estimates on arrival.”

“What are the alternative options?” He asked, a little too innocently. He’d already prepared a proposal for a new route, but now he was going to trap her with it.

Mobei Jun was watching him, and Shang Qinghua could feel the stare. He refused to meet it, but he knew that Mobei Jun could tell that Shang Qinghua was completely full of it.

“They’re all options previously visited and decided against,” she said. “The route plan would not change in a renewal.”

The gentle ease in her voice that betrayed her desire to be calm and assertive was exactly what Shang Qinghua needed. “Indulge me, would you?” He asked, leaning forward with a sweet smile. “I want to know what’s so rocky about that terrain between our countries.”

She smiled and acquiesced. “Well, the roads to the east of the current route is less-traveled, so it would be quicker, but because it goes through several spots of forest, often-time snow or rain makes conditions poor. The road to the west, is the clearest route but that means everyone takes it. The current route in the middle is the most reliable, and has been ever since the trade was established.”

Shang Qinghua hummed. “What about the fourth road?”

“Fourth road?” 

“Yes, as I was preparing for our meeting, I looked over the maps.” His smile was still on his face. “It’s a straight shot. No forest. People travel it, but it goes into the mountains, so not many people do. However, the village at the bottom of the palace is near the mountain entrance, so the drop-off location would just have to be changed.”

She stared at him. She glanced at Mobei Jun. “Well, that’s something that bixia and I would have to discuss.”

Mobei Jun turned his stare onto her, and Shang Qinghua looked at him finally. He tried not to let it show on his face that he was eager. Mobei Jun’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that not what we’re doing?”

Wu Xinyan opened her mouth and then closed it. “Ah… Yes. I just mean that it wouldn’t be as simple as just saying so.”

“No?” Mobei Jun asked. “How else might it happen?”

She took a deep breath and then blew it out slow. “Well, I don’t make the decisions.” She smiled easily. “I will bring that suggestion back to my master, as I will for the other things we discuss today.”

Shang Qinghua would let that one simmer. “Tell me the other aspects of the trade deal,” he said. “The current products we get from you are clearly well-desired.”

Wu Xinyan looked a little more at ease at that question. “Yes, we have a substantial forest of expensive wood that’s used for luxury building. That’s the most practical product, but our trade is mostly made up of fabrics, pigments, and gemstones from our natural reserves.”

Shang Qinghua nodded. “What are your pharmaceuticals like?” He asked. He already knew.

Wu Xinyan paused for a moment, and then stared at him. “Consort Shang, you tease me. You pretend as if you do not know about us, and come with thorough questions.”

Shang Qinghua smiled and laughed. He took another bite of his food. “Well,” he said, after chewing, “As I said, I was just curious, so I researched before your arrival.”

“We do have advanced pharmaceuticals,” she said. She also took a bite and then swallowed it down. “However, that may be above my pay grade. I would not be able to come back to my master with a deal made with—” She cut herself off.

Shang Qinghua blinked at her innocently. “Made with…?”

She took a deep breath, as if making peace with her answer. “I cannot say that I discussed this with Consort Shang and make it happen.”

“Why is that?” Mobei Jun drawled.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the table. “Because this one was tasked with discussing renewals with bixia. This one is happy to answer Consort Shang’s questions, but the negotiation must happen with bixia.”

It was already over. Mobei Jun stood up, and she stiffened, but did not meet his gaze. He walked over to Shang Qinghua and touched his face. Shang Qinghua looked up at him. Mobei Jun stroked his cheek. “Are you telling me that your master will not accept a deal with Consort Shang?”

“No, he would not,” she said.

“Hmm,” Mobei Jun said. “You’re certain of this?”

“Yes.”

Mobei Jun kept looking at Shang Qinghua, and his lips turned up suddenly, like he was amused. Like he knew exactly what Shang Qinghua had been doing. Shang Qinghua found himself smiling back. Mobei Jun looked at Wu Xinyan. “Alright. Then you may tell him that your deal with Mobei Jun is this—The Mobei clan will no longer trade with him. Leave the palace so that you might tell him as soon as possible.”

Shang Qinghua turned his head down to look at her, too. She stared at them, mouth parted. But then her face cooled, almost like she’d been expecting it ever since Shang Qinghua walked in. After all, she would not be the first that was turned away after disrespecting the consort. She pushed away from the table and left.

As soon as she was gone, Shang Qinghua turned and grabbed Mobei Jun’s collar. He pulled him down until Mobei Jun’s head was level with his. Mobei Jun leaned against his chair, smiling. “Tell me now if you don’t want me to ruin any deals with them for the foreseeable future.”

“They won’t have a deal with the Mobei clan while I’m alive,” Mobei Jun murmured. “Do as you wish.”

Shang Qinghua kissed him.

__________

Many of Shang Qinghua’s things were in the consort room. He preferred his office to be there than where the other offices were, for it was connected to his room with Mobei Jun. It made things easier, and was able to remain his space, even though it was supposed to be converted to a regular guest room after a consort was decided. Instead Mobei Jun had it blocked off from the rest of the guest quarters so that the only entrance was through the garden, and the hallway stopped before reaching the door.

He sat at the desk in the sunroom. The light of the moon helped light up the book that was open on the table. He had his chin in his hand. He had put off reading the book. It was a new one that had just come in, from an anonymous writer who had written the first account of the usurpation of Tianlang Jun, Luo Binghe’s father. Shang Qinghua looked at his words on the page. 

He pouted, having been sad to leave out all the parts with Mobei Jun. His favorite part had been when he got to write about the deal being made with the Mobei clan. Mobei Jun had to remind him that everyone would know who wrote it if he kept going into detail about how beautiful the Mobei clan king was.

Shang Qinghua played with the edges of the paper and found himself daydreaming a little, thinking about what it might have been like to be able to write out the rest. To write out his side of it. He thought about writing what it was like to see the palace for the first time, to meet Mobei Jun for the first time, and then the second time when he knew exactly who he was. He thought about how it all seemed so much like a dream.

He’d never really written before. But writing for Luo Binghe had made him want to write more. He’d never had the time before now. But now he did, and now he had things he really wanted to write about. He wanted to write about Mobei Jun the most. Although he worried if he wrote him down, it would just seem as though he was fantasizing about his dream man. Which, in a way, he would have been.

Shang Qinghua had a moment of clarity the next moment. He could think about writing about Mobei Jun. And he probably would, the next time they weren’t able to be together. But at the moment, Shang Qinghua could either think about him, or go and lie in his arms. 

He stood up and left his book on the table. He moved to the door and stepped out. He shut it behind himself, and when he turned, he froze. Mobei Jun was standing on the bridge, paused in his journey over the wood. The snow fell gently around them. 

Mobei Jun’s face softened. 

Shang Qinghua felt his heart spasm. “I thought you were sleeping, my king.”

“I couldn’t, without you.”

Shang Qinghua’s breath was visible in the cold, but it halted at Mobei Jun’s words. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m coming now.” Shang Qinghua took a step over the stones and made his way over to the bridge. 

Mobei Jun held out his hand when Shang Qinghua neared. Shang Qinghua slipped his hand into Mobei Jun’s, and Mobei Jun pulled him away.