Incense curled lazily through the quiet hall, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood. Outside, the imperial garden was unnaturally still, as though even the wind dared not intrude.
Jian Wushuang sat across from Emperor Tian Zhu at a low chess table. Black and white pieces lay scattered in a mid-game stalemate.
The Emperor lifted a piece, paused, and set it down elsewhere. His movements were slower than Wushuang remembered, older, heavier with years and regret.
Wushuang's posture was relaxed, almost careless. One arm rested against the table, the other lazily propping his chin. His smile was polite.
"Ten years," the Emperor said quietly, eyes never leaving the board.
"You've been free for weeks now… yet you've not once come to see me on your own."
Wushuang chuckled softly, a sound devoid of warmth.
"This son feared disturbing Father's peace," he replied lightly. "After all, I am… an unlucky presence."
The Emperor's fingers tightened imperceptibly around a chess piece.
"You've been to court. You've married. You move freely within the capital."
He finally looked up, eyes sharp despite the years lining his face.
"Tell me, Wushuang. How have you truly been?"
For a heartbeat, the memories crashed back, screams, blood on jade steps, his mother going cold in his arms, his elder brother's eyes wide with shock as the blade pierced through.
Wushuang's lashes lowered, hiding the storm beneath. When he looked up again, his smile remained unchanged.
"This son lives well," he said gently.
"Wine tastes sweet. Women are entertaining. Days pass easily."
The Emperor's chest tightened.
"…If you lack anything," Tian Zhu said after a pause, voice low, restrained,
"money, authority, a title, you are still my son. Ask, and I will grant it."
Silence stretched between them.
Wushuang reached forward and moved a chess piece, placing the Emperor in check. Then he leaned back, smiling faintly.
"Father overestimates me," he said calmly.
"This son does not deserve imperial favor."
The Emperor stiffened.
"I only wish to live out my days quietly," Wushuang continued, tone light, almost sincere.
A lie
The Emperor saw it. He saw it in the way Wushuang never called him Father unless spoken to, in the way his eyes never lingered on the palace walls that had once been his childhood, in the way his hands, steady as stone, never trembled, not even now.
Tian Zhu closed his eyes briefly.
"If that is truly what you want," he murmured,
"Then I will not force anything upon you."
Wushuang rose smoothly and bowed, deep, flawless, distant.
"Thank you for Your Majesty's mercy."
As he turned to leave, the Emperor spoke once more, voice barely above a whisper.
"…shuang'er." The Emperor called him using his endearing name.
The prince paused but did not turn back.
"I never wished for you to hate me."
For the briefest moment, Wushuang's smile cracked. Just a fraction. Then it sealed shut again.
"This son would never dare," he said softly, and walked away, leaving behind a father seated before a chessboard, staring at a game he had already lost.
The palace gates closed behind Wushuang with a heavy clang. The warmth of incense and memory was left behind.
The moment he stepped onto the stone path outside, the smile was gone. His expression was cold, carved from ice and shadow.
His eyes no longer masked anything; they were dark, bottomless, carrying the weight of ten unburied years.
Lianju appeared from the side corridor, hands tucked lazily into his sleeves, already opening his mouth
"…Well, Your Highness, did His Majesty cry, beg, and offer you half the empire..... "
He stopped mid-sentence. The look on Wushuang's face silenced him instantly.
Lianju straightened, humor draining from his eyes. Without another word, he stepped aside, falling into place half a step behind the prince.
They walked. Stone after stone.
Then, Wushuang's shoulders tensed. A sharp cough tore from his throat. He turned his face away, pressing a fist to his lips.
Lianju reacted instantly, shrugging off his outer coat and draping it over Wushuang's shoulders without asking.
"…The cold again?" he asked quietly.
"Those wounds from the Cold Palace… are they resurfacing?"
Wushuang's steps slowed, then steadied. He let out a low, humorless laugh.
His fingers tightened briefly against the coat.
Lianju's jaw clenched.
"…If you push yourself like this.... "
"I won't die yet," Wushuang interrupted calmly. His gaze lifted, eyes glinting faintly with violet fire.
"Not until everyone who deserves it freezes with me."
They continued walking, master and shadow, toward a future already soaked in blood and fire.
************************************
Jian Wushuang was home early today, for the first time since they had married.
It wasn't winter yet, but he carried a coat draped over his shoulders. The air was crisp, but not cold enough to justify such heavy clothing.
He looked at her and smiled.
"Wifuu," he said.
She frowned.
"I told you not to call me that."
Wushuang paused mid-step, clearly pleased. The moment she frowned, his smile widened instead of fading, lazy, infuriatingly relaxed, as if her irritation amused him more than obedience ever could.
"Ah," he sighed dramatically, adjusting the coat loosely over his shoulders, "but wife sounds so distant. Wifuu," he repeated deliberately, dragging the word out, "sounds… intimate."
Lianju, standing a respectful distance behind him, cleared his throat and fixed his gaze firmly on the ceiling.
Wushuang's gaze returned to her, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
His eyes flicked once toward the book in her hands, the tea beside her, the stillness of the courtyard, then returned to her face.
"…You look like someone just had her peace disturbed," he added with a soft chuckle.
He stepped closer, stopping just short of invading her space.
"So," he said easily, "did you miss me?"
She rolled her eyes. "As if. I wouldn't even bat an eye if you dropped!" she scoffed.
Wushuang laughed, as if her words were nothing more than an idle joke. He placed a hand over his chest, feigning injury.
"Ouch," he drawled.
"Such cruelty on our first peaceful evening together."
Lianju coughed behind him, clearly trying not to laugh. Wushuang glanced back once, a warning in his eyes, then looked at her again, faint but warm smile on his lips.
"So," he said,
"what terrible thoughts were you entertaining before I so rudely survived?"
"Has the brothel run out of women? Or did you run out of money to gamble?" She teased him, sipping her tea, for the first time in a long while, she chuckled.
Wushuang blinked once. Twice. Then stared at her as if confirming what he had just witnessed.
"…Did you," he said slowly, incredulous,
"just laugh?"
Lianju, three steps behind, nearly tripped over air.
Wushuang's lips curved, not into his usual lazy grin, but something sharper, more alive. He pulled out a chair opposite her, sitting without invitation.
"The brothel is thriving," he replied smoothly.
"And my money? Unfortunately endless."
He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, eyes glinting with mischief.
"But none of them," he added casually,
"have quite your talent for cruelty."
He tilted his head, eyes searching her expression, not pressing, not demanding.
"…Careful," he added with a faint smile.
"At this rate, people might think we're getting along."
She scoffed. "We better start making little ones at this rate, maybe it'll give you a reason to sit still." She blinked at herself, ears burning.
Wushuang went still. Slowly, his gaze slid to her ears. Red. Bright red. Oh.
Lianju made a strangled sound behind him and immediately turned to stare at a pillar as if it held his life.
Wushuang leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the chair, lips curved, not a grin this time, but something dangerously amused.
"…Little ones?" he repeated softly, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded, voice low and teasing.
"My wife," he said, savoring the word,
"that escalated rather quickly."
He leaned forward "Are you suggesting," he continued lightly, "that you're worried I'll run off unless properly anchored?"
His gaze flicked once more to her flushed ears, then back to her eyes, wicked amusement dancing there.
Lianju coughed loudly. Wushuang didn't even look back. His tone returning to playful calm,
"shall I pour you more tea before you say something even more scandalous?"
She raised her hand to swat him away, but he grabbed it instead and, slowly, very calmly, pressed a kiss to it.
For a moment, the world seemed to still.
"Le… let go!" she said, though the words lacked their intended harshness.
The courtyard seemed to quiet, as if the wind itself had paused to listen.
He lifted his head slowly, lips leaving the back of her hand. His fingers remained lightly wrapped around her wrist, careful and controlled, as though holding something fragile rather than restraining her.
For once, there was no teasing smile. Just stillness.
"…If you truly want me to," he said quietly.
He loosened his fingers but did not fully release her.
Lianju, clearly convinced this was no scene for witnesses, had already turned completely away, humming badly to himself several steps off.
Wushuang's thumb brushed, just once, against her knuckles, then he finally let go and leaned back.
The familiar lazy smile returned, though thinner now.
She lowered her hands and frowned. Why was he wearing a fur coat with a month left to winter?
"Did you catch a cold?" she asked.
"A cold?" he repeated.
He tugged the coat tighter around his shoulders anyway, an unconscious motion, fingers lingering half a second longer than necessary.
Lianju finally spoke, voice carefully neutral. "His Highness has always been sensitive to cold. Old injuries don't like changing seasons."
Wushuang shot him a sharp look.
"…You talk too much."
Lianju shrugged. "Someone has to, before Your Highness freezes and insists he's fine."
Wushuang clicked his tongue and turned back to her. Expression softened into something almost… gentle.
"It's nothing," he said quietly.
"Don't frown like that."
"I'm afraid you'd die from your loud mouth than the approaching winter cold!" she said coldly
"Ah," he sighed, pressing a hand to his chest, He looked at her, eyes bright with amusement.
Lianju snorted before he could stop himself. Wushuang shot him a glare.
"You too?"
He turned back, smile lingering, warmer now.
"If winter doesn't claim me," he said lightly,
"your words certainly will."
Then softer, almost thoughtful:
"Come," he said. "If you're going to scold me, at least do it over something warm."
He glanced sideways, smirk returning.
"Tea," he added quickly.
"Behave yourself."