Archive of Our Own

One.

The coals and cinders in the large copper basin had been extinguished, but only just. Some of the fragments still glowed a faint cherry red, and he could feel their heat from where he stood, warming the small room.  

There would be a couple of eggs buried at the bottom of the basin, he knew from experience.

From experience, he also knew that those eggs would be all he would get for breakfast today. There would be no use in feeling upset. Emotions served no purpose, and could get you killed on a dig. Food was a luxury, and it was better to learn to go without now, than to flag later when supplies ran low while underground.

The boy studied the basin of coals and cinders carefully, identifying the largest gap between two uneven fragments. He exhaled, and reached in with the index and middle fingers of his right hand, rooting around carefully. It hurt – it still hurt – but not as much as it had hurt the first time he had done it, two winters ago. Eventually, his fingertips brushed against a smooth, curved surface. Shifting to adjust the angle of his wrist, he pinched the egg between his fingers and pulled it out in a swift and single move.

The skin of his fingers was only lightly pink, a vast improvement over the angry blisters from his first few tries.

Beside him, the clan elder hummed his approval and nodded for the boy to continue.

Two.

He had a new name now: Zhang Qiling. It sat on his shoulders uncomfortably, like a hand-me-down coat that hadn’t been cut for him, chafing at the seams and smelling of camphor.

“Zuzhang,” Zhang Haike said as he came over to stand beside him. (And that was new too, this title.) “Shall we continue inwards?”

Zhang Qiling studied the body at their feet. Zhang Haizao had been more of a hindrance than a help on their mission so far. They would be able to move faster, Zhang Haike and him, if it were just the two of them, but –

“The passage from here onwards is narrow. It would be quicker if I went ahead alone.”

Zhang Haike frowned. “You’re sure.” The way he said it, it was not a question.

Zhang Qiling nodded. “Wait here for me. If I’m not back by the next morning, bring his body back.”

“If anything happened to you…”

Zhang Qiling shook his head and stooped to duck into the tunnel that had revealed itself behind the wall of the main burial chamber before Zhang Haike could say anything more.

He had been right about the passageway. He had been crawling on his elbows and knees for a good hour, when the passage – more a tunnel, by this point – suddenly opened up into a small room.

Warily, Zhang Qiling climbed out of the tunnel. The room was bare, as were two of its walls. Its third wall contained the passage that would lead him back to the main burial chamber. On its fourth wall was set the bronze head of a cattle-like creature with a long horn that protruded from its brow. A xiezhi, Zhang Qiling recalled. In the gloomy room, lit only by his torch, the xiezhi’s head seemed to glow.

Zhang Qiling reached his hand cautiously into the xiezhi’s mouth. It was not the first time he had done something like this before, or the tenth, or even the hundredth, but the split-second of trepidation never went away, the fear and uncertainty that this one, this one, would be the one that was booby-trapped. Carefully, he swept his fingers around the xiezhi’s metal throat, pausing on a ridge at the back of the xiezhi’s tongue. He pressed on it.

There was a click. A panel in the wall beneath the xiezhi’s head slid away, revealing a hexagonal copper bell.

Zhang Qiling exhaled. He hadn’t realised that he had been holding his breath. He retrieved his hand from the xiezhi’s head, and snatched up the bell, stuffing it into his bag.

Almost instantly, the walls of the room began to groan and shake. Zhang Qiling threw himself back into the tunnel, just as the first pieces of ceiling stone started to fall.

Zhang Haike was standing on guard at the other side of the passageway. He relaxed his stance as Zhang Qiling climbed out into the main burial chamber, although he still kept his dagger unsheathed. “Did you get it?”

Zhang Qiling walked past him, to where Zhang Haizao had fallen. Rigor mortis had not quite set in yet, and it was still relatively easy to manoeuvre the body onto his back. He wiped his hands on his thighs, checked that the bag with the bell in it was still secure, and stood. “Let’s go.”

It would be a long trek back.

Three.

Feeling out a wound was trickier than feeling out cold metal or carved stone. The inside of the human body was slick with blood, and subcutaneous tissue clung hotly to his fingers, blunting all other sensation. It was not something he liked to do for wounds that were not his own.

Before him, Panzi’s body spasmed as the man let out a pained grunt. Zhang Qiling watched from the corner of his eye as Wu Sanxing’s nephew winced and looked away. The boy screwed his eyes tightly shut, then cracked his eyelids open again to peek at Panzi’s wound with a morbid curiosity. The sight almost made Zhang Qiling want to smile.

He shifted the angle of his fingers slightly. His fingertips brushed over a hard, rounded shell. There. He pinched the corpse-eating beetle between his fingers, and pulled it out of Panzi’s belly in a swift, sure move. Panzi gave a harsh cry, his back arching off the ground.

Zhang Qiling eyed the beetle critically. “This one’s dead. Suffocated in his belly.” He tossed the green-hued beetle to the side, then turned his head to regard towards Wu Sanxing’s nephew, looking him squarely in the eye. “His wound is too deep. If you don’t disinfect it, it may get infected. That’ll be very troublesome.”

To the boy’s credit, he didn’t flinch.

Wu Sanxing’s nephew. Wu Xie, Wu Sanxing had introduced him as. Xiao San-ye, Panzi and Dakui had called him. Zhang Qiling thought the words “Wu Xie” suited the boy. Well, not a boy, really. Most people in their line of work started much younger than Wu Xie. But unlike the rest of them, Wu Xie was an innocent.

“And who the fuck are you, anyway?” Wu Xie snapped at the plump man who had joined their party, and for the second time in as many minutes, Zhang Qiling fought the urge to smile. An innocent with a potty mouth, he corrected his assessment wryly.

Still, an innocent was an innocent, and innocents never lasted long, not in their world. Zhang Qiling had met two others before, that he could remember. Both of them had been newcomers, as wet behind their ears as Wu Xie was now. The first had died horribly on his maiden dig, too much of a fool to know when to let go. The second had survived his own maiden expedition, but barely. Rumour had it that he had moved back to the countryside to live with his parents shortly after, where he kept to a room was lit solely and permanently by candlelight – too terrified of the dark, but too fearful of the possibility that he might be spotted by unfriendly eyes under bright light.

As a rule, Zhang Qiling did not bother with innocents. They were a liability to any party, and they were not worth his time. And yet, there was something about Wu Xie which made Zhang Qiling want to protect him; something that made him want to preserve Wu Xie’s innocence, to keep the boy unsullied, even if just for another day. It was a sentiment that went beyond professional pride, and one which Zhang Qiling still could not quite understand himself.

Perhaps it had been the careful and almost gentle way Wu Xie had supported his weight after their encounter in the bandit caves, while he was still weak from the loss of blood, even though he could tell that he had not endeared himself to Wu Xie much. Or perhaps it had been the way Wu Xie had insisted on ordering stir-fried pig’s liver for him at dinner, or the way Wu Xie had picked a few pieces of liver from the dish and placed it in Zhang Qiling’s bowl while steadfastly avoiding Zhang Qiling’s gaze.

It had been a long time since Zhang Qiling had wanted anything.

He would continue to observe Wu Xie, he decided.

In the end, as he watched from his vantage point as Wu Xie climbed out of Lushang-wang’s Seven Star Palace, Zhang Qiling finally allowed himself a small smile. Then, satisfied that Wu Xie was safe, he slipped away.  

Four.

Being back on the other side of the Bronze Gate felt strange. The world had moved on without him, unfamiliar in ways he had no point of reference for.

It had been a month since he had followed Wu Xie back to Hangzhou; a month since Wu Xie had told him that he’d prepared a room for him, for however long he wished to stay. In that month, he had fallen into a routine of sorts: mornings wandering around the tourist district by the West Lake, where he observed the people around him and re-acquainted himself with this new version of an old city; afternoons helping Wu Xie out in his shop or with the day’s chores; evenings with Wu Xie as they collected the dog from Wu Erbai’s place and walked it; nights where he retired to a bed that was far softer than he was used to. Now that he had fulfilled his duty, his days and weeks stretched out before him, yawning possibilities.

For a moment, he felt almost like one of the many people who strolled leisurely along the shores of the West Lake. It was disconcerting.

His mobile phone buzzed. It was a new one, a gift from Wu Xie and Pangzi, who informed him that any old phone he might have had used before 2005 simply would not do now. Absently, he fished the phone out of his pocket, and swiped the screen to unlock it.

Wu Xie: Xiaoge, are you coming home soon?

The corners of his lips twitched. Yes, he typed.

I want to eat chou doufu! came the swift reply.

This time, Zhang Qiling smiled.

It was still early for most of the street vendors to be out, but he managed to find one. He paid for the deep-fried cubes of smelly tofu by scanning the vendor’s “QR code” with an “app” on his mobile phone, using “money” which Wu Xie had “sent” to him. (Another thing he would have to get used to. Money you couldn’t see or smell or touch. Who would have thought?) Then, as an afterthought, he paused by another street stall and bought a portion of spicy stewed river snails.

Back at Wu Xie’s, Zhang Qiling could hear Wu Xie’s voice from the hallway. Wu Xie was talking to someone on the phone, it seemed. Shaking his head, Zhang Qiling toed his shoes off, before striding in the direction of Wu Xie’s voice.

Wu Xie looked up with a smile as Zhang Qiling entered his study. His eyes brightened when he spotted the bags of food in Zhang Qiling’s hand, and he gestured for Zhang Qiling to put the food on the table and to take a seat. It was a challenge to find a spot on the table large and clean enough for the food, but Zhang Qiling managed, shifting a couple of files and jadeite paperweight to do so. He took the containers of food out from their bags, arranging them so that they would be within Wu Xie’s easy reach. Then, he took the seat across the table and picked up the paperweight again, studying it idly. (Late Qing dynasty, he noted. It was a qilin in repose. There was a hairline crack in the jadeite near the qilin’s hind legs, not immediately noticeable to the casual eye, but enough to reduce its value significantly on the collector’s market. He wondered how long Wu Xie had this paperweight for.)

Across the table, Wu Xie was wrapping up his call. He set the phone down with a sigh, then reached eagerly for the golden, fried tofu cubes. He stuffed one in his mouth, then gave a muffled yelp. “Hot!”

“Eat slowly,” Zhang Qiling said reflexively.

Wu Xie glared at him as he stuffed another tofu cube in his mouth, making his cheeks bulge almost comically. Like this, he almost reminded Zhang Qiling of the boy he had met at the foot of Wu Sanxing’s apartment block, more than ten years ago. 

As though aware of his gaze, Wu Xie tugged at the collar of his turtleneck sweater, then at the cuff of his right sleeve. He did it quick enough that Zhang Qiling might have missed it, had he not already been on a look-out for it.

There had been many changes in the ten years that he had been away.

Wu Xie was reaching for the snails. Wordlessly, Zhang Qiling handed him a toothpick.

“Xiaoge,” Wu Xie said he busied himself with digging the meat of the snail out its shell, “would you be alright if we left you alone for a few days?”

It turned out that the call had been from an old university friend of Wu Xie’s father. This friend had gone into academia, focusing on archaeology. His university was trialling a new programme where the students, led by the teachers, could experience what it would be like going into a tomb that had only been recently excavated. And it was precisely because this tomb was still relatively new, that he hoped that Wu Xie would be able to lend his expertise.

“I’ll have to go,” Wu Xie was saying with a grimace. “It’ll be a favour to my father, really. I’ll take Pangzi with me, just in case, but I don’t think there’ll be any issues. The tomb sounds simple enough, and I haven’t heard of anything bad happening in that area. We shouldn’t be away for more than a week. Xiaoge, you’ll be able to manage by yourself for a week, won’t you?”

“Wu Xie – ” Zhang Qiling began.

“I’m not saying that I don’t think you can manage,” Wu Xie rattled on. “I know you managed just fine for years before Pangzi and I came along. It’s just that 2015 is very different from 2005. If you need anything, you can ask Wang Meng to get it for you. Pangzi and I will check in with you every day. Xiaoge, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go with you,” Zhang Qiling finished. Wu Xie was right. 2015 was very different from 2005. He still had not finished cataloguing the differences between the Wu Xie whom he had parted with at Changbai-shan ten years ago, and the Wu Xie who sat before him now, no longer a boy, with crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and new tics which screamed that he was hiding something.

“Great,” Wu Xie continued. “I’ll speak to Wang Meng… I’m sorry?”

“Wu Xie,” he repeated slowly. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh.” Wu Xie blinked.

Zhang Qiling leaned forward, using a bamboo skewer to spear a cube of fried tofu for himself. He sat back in his seat as he chewed, watching Wu Xie patiently.

Wu Xie’s mouth opened, but no sound came out of it. He blinked again, and coughed. “Well,” he said, setting down the toothpick and discarding the now-empty snail shell into the plastic bag. “Guess it’ll be the Iron Triangle again, just like old times.” The tips of his ears were faintly pink, and when he smiled, he almost looked like the boy who had followed Zhang Qiling doggedly up the mountain so many years ago.

=-=-=

The tomb did seem as simple as set out in Wu Xie’s brief. As tombs went, it was small had a surprisingly straightforward layout: a single floor, with a central hallway that ran throughout the length of the tomb and six side-chambers, three on either side. Its artefacts had already been removed by the Ministry of Culture for documentation and preservation, leaving the tomb bare. The team from the university theorised that the tomb was used to inter the priestesses of a local cult that worshipped a tree spirit, and the murals in the tomb supported this theory. Every inch of its walls was covered with painted trees, their trunks glided with gold leaf, and the serpentine vines that draped over their branches, with silver that had blackened with age.

“It’s like a forest,” Wu Xie leaned in to whisper to him.

At the front of the party, Pangzi was remarking to the teacher that the students might even be able to finish documenting the tomb in a couple of days, when several things happened. A student bent down to tie his bootlaces. The student behind him did not notice. She tripped over him, and crashed into the wall ahead. There was a rusty shriek of metal on stone as the floor beneath her cracked open. Immediately, Wu Xie lunged forward, pushing her out of the way. A dull, heavy thud echoed through the hallway. The student whom Wu Xie had saved, sat up shakily. And Wu Xie was gone.

“Tianzhen!”

“Consultant Wu!”

The student on the ground began to cry. One of her classmates rushed over to help her up. Both their faces were pale.

Zhang Qiling clenched his fists. He could feel his heartbeat and breath quicken, as nausea roiled in his belly. It was a moment before he identified the emotion for what it was: fear.

“Pangzi,” he bit out.  

Pangzi nodded. He began to herd the party towards the exit of the tomb, pausing only to grip Zhang Qiling’s shoulder. “Xiaoge, we’re counting on you.”

Zhang Qiling took a deep breath. Emotions served no purpose, he reminded himself. They only hindered you, weakened you, got you killed.

Slowly, he brought his hand up to cover Pangzi’s, and nodded.

Emotions served no purpose, but Wu Xie had always made him want to break every rule.

Alone in the hallway, the trees on the walls seemed to lean in on him, a living forest. Zhang Qiling turned his attention to the wall which the student had fallen against. There should be a trick panel, he guessed; one which, when pressed, would trigger the trapdoor in the ground. He ran his fingers across the wall carefully, pausing at about waist height, at a painted branch that protruded from the wall ever so slightly. He pressed his palm against it, and braced himself.

Nothing happened.

He frowned, and crouched down, so that the panel was now at eye level. It appeared that the angle and impact from the student’s fall had jammed the mechanism. He drew his hand back and stabbed his fingers at the wall, momentum driving his strength. There was a sharp crack as stone crumbled and fell, leaving a hole just wide enough for his fist to pass through. Zhang Qiling reached in without hesitation, his fingers feeling around the hollow space behind the wall until they hooked on a catch. He tugged.

Instantly, the ground beneath him rumbled open. Zhang Qiling retrieved his hand, let himself fall.

It was not a long drop.

When he stood up, Zhang Qiling blinked. He hand landed in a grove of sorts. The trees, the same trees that had lined the walls above, surrounded him in a ring, no longer pigments and foil but actual leaves and bark. Vines, just like in the murals, trailed up the trunks of the trees to wrap themselves languidly around the branches. There was light, a soft golden glow, and it took a moment before he realised that the glow was coming from the trees themselves. The air around him was warm and damp, almost tropical. It was a completely different world from the cool and dry tomb above.

“Xiaoge?”

He had turned around even before realising it. “Wu Xie!”

“Xiaoge, you came for me.”

It was impossible to tell who had moved first. They met in the middle, as Zhang Qiling hugged Wu Xie towards him. He could feel Wu Xie’s arms wrap around his waist. His hands, as though they had a life of their own, reached up to cradle Wu Xie’s face. “Wu Xie, are you alright?”

“Xiaoge, don’t go.”

The air around him was warm and damp. The sound of splashing water filled the cavern as the hot spring bubbled up from the depths of Changbai-shan, spilling into warm pools of water that were just deep enough to bathe.

Zhang Qiling shook his head. “Wu Xie, I can’t.”

“I know,” Wu Xie whispered. His smile was sad. “But you can’t blame me for trying again.”

Against his better judgment, Zhang Qiling’s mouth curved into a smile too. He found himself leaning in to press his lips against Wu Xie’s tenderly. In his arms, Wu Xie shivered.

Zhang Qiling drew back, his hands thumbing Wu Xie’s cheeks. “Be good.”

Wu Xie turned his face to nuzzle against Zhang Qiling’s palm. He ducked his head to press a kiss against the inside of Zhang Qiling’s wrist.

The inside of Zhang Qiling’s unbroken wrist.

Zhang Qiling blinked.

His blade cut through the vines easily. Hot fluid splattered against him as the vines recoiled. Instinctively, he brought his arm up, shielding his face from the worst of the splatter. When he glanced down, the dark blue fabric of his hoodie had been stained black. A few droplets had landed on the back of his hand. They were a dark, rusty red.

Something shifted. Unthinkingly, Zhang Qiling dived to the right and rolled. The vines shot past his left flank, striking the ground on his left before retreating once again.

“Xiaoge!”

Zhang Qiling jerked his head back. It was Wu Xie, a Wu Xie, covered in blood. Unthinkingly, he brought his blade up to the imposter’s throat. “You’re not worthy of this face.”

This Wu Xie did not seem to notice the sharp metal at his throat. “Xiaoge, move!” He gave Zhang Qiling a hard shove. They fell to the ground, as vines shot speared through the space they had been occupied a mere second before, narrowly missing the tops of their heads.

“Move,” the Wu Xie cried again, his hands tugging at Zhang Qiling’s shoulders. They rolled, just in time as the vines whipped back. Their momentum took them outside the ring of trees. Zhang Qiling watched over the imposter’s shoulder as the trees started to shake. Then, as suddenly as it all began, everything stilled. The leafy crowns of the trees settled, and the vines hung peacefully from the tree branches once more.

“Finally,” the imposter panted, releasing his hold on Zhang Qiling’s jacket and sitting back.

Zhang Qiling eyed him carefully. This Wu Xie was older than the Wu Xie before. He had crow’s feet, just like the real Wu Xie, his shirt and jacket were the same as those which Wu Xie had worn this morning at breakfast, albeit with a torn collar and cuffs, sleeves riding up the wearer’s arms, and –

Zhang Qiling paused. There were scars on the inside of this Wu Xie’s right arm. A few years’ old, by the look of them, from wounds that had cut deep and hadn’t all healed clean. They marched up the arm in a line, one after another, like soldiers in formation, disappearing into the sleeve.

These scars were not from his memory. Zhang Qiling exhaled shakily. “Wu Xie?”

As though sensing where Zhang Qiling’s gaze was, Wu Xie tugged his sleeves down absently as he smiled an equally shaky smile. “Xiaoge, it’s me.”

His body was moving again before he realised it. Zhang Qiling gave himself over to instinct as he crushed Wu Xie to his chest. His hands roamed up and down Wu Xie’s body, seeking for wounds. There was so much blood –

“Xiaoge? Xiaoge!” Wu Xie’s hands were pushing at his chest. Zhang Qiling frowned, holding on tighter. “Xiaoge, listen to me, I’m alright. It’s not blood. It’s sap. Those vines, they dragged me into one of those trees, but I cut my way out. Xiaoge, I’m alri – mmpfh – ”

Wu Xie’s mouth was as hot and soft beneath his as it was ten years ago on Changbai-shan. He even made the same sounds, the same soft, choked whimpers that deepened into moans when Zhang Qiling broke the kiss to nuzzle and suck at the soft patch of skin behind the curved hinge of Wu Xie’s jaw.

It felt like coming home.

“Xiaoge!”

Reluctantly, Zhang Qiling allowed himself to be pushed away. Wu Xie’s face was a delightful red.

“Xiaoge, I think I know where the exit is, but I’ll need you to…”

Zhang Qiling nodded. He stood up, and walked to the edge of the underground chamber, where a stone plinth had been erected. A bronze statuette of a tree had been set on top of the plinth, its trunk gilded with gold leaf, its vines made of silver. Its mechanism was easy enough to figure out, and as Zhang Qiling watched with satisfaction as the stone wall behind the statuette slid away to reveal a tunnel, rough-walled but high enough that a man would not need to stoop. The air in the tunnel smelled fresh. The passage sloped upwards, and Zhang Qiling thought that he could make out a glimmer of light in the distance.

When he turned back, he discovered that Wu Xie was still seated on the ground. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I sprained my ankle just now.” Wu Xie’s tone was apologetic. “I’ll need you to help me up.”

Zhang Qiling strode over briskly. He shouldered his backpack on one shoulder, and was reaching for Wu Xie’s, when Wu Xie grabbed his arm.

“Xiaoge, wait!”

He had a feeling he knew what Wu Xie would say next. Wordlessly, he picked up Wu Xie’s backpack, passed it to him, and watched as Wu Xie began rummaging through its contents. He accepted the lighter which Wu Xie handed to him, the sticks of explosives, the large hipflask of –

“Baijiu?” he asked incredulously, as he uncapped the bottle and sniffed.

Wu Xie ducked his head, looking sheepish. “I took it off Pangzi.”

Zhang Qiling decided that he would not question the matter further.

At his feet, Wu Xie was repacking his bag. He spoke as he packed. “Xiaoge, we can’t let others find this grove. It’s too dangerous.” He looked up when he was done, meeting Zhang Qiling’s gaze with a heat that was almost feverish. You know what to do, those eyes seemed to say. Please.

Zhang Qiling understood. He nodded.

It took a little creativity, mainly because there were fewer sticks of explosives and less baijiu to go around than would have been preferred, but Zhang Qiling managed. Stepping back, he flicked the lighter, tossing it at the trail of baijiu he had poured. He did not look to see where the lighter fell, but sprinted back to the entrance of the tunnel, where he had moved Wu Xie to earlier. Not breaking his stride, he bent, scooping Wu Xie up with an arm around Wu Xie’s shoulders and another behind Wu Xie’s knees. Wu Xie’s arms were snug around his neck as he sprinted through the passage. Behind him, there was a loud whump as the flaming trail of baijiu reached the first of the explosives.

=-=-=

In the month that he had been living with Wu Xie, Pangzi had dropped by for dinner more evenings than not. Pangzi would linger after dinner, insisting that the three of them watch some movie or another, Tianzhen, we must get Xiaoge caught up on pop culture.

Pangzi favoured action movies, ones with fast cars and shapely women and explosions which lit the sky. Most evenings, Wu Xie would spend half the movie criticising Pangzi’s latest pick, although Zhang Qiling suspected that Wu Xie secretly enjoyed those movies too.

Zhang Qiling did not mind Pangzi’s movies. He liked watching Wu Xie and Pangzi bicker about them.

As he emerged from tomb, Wu Xie in his arms and the orange heat from the burning grove behind his back, Zhang Qiling fancied he felt a moment of kinship with the protagonists in Pangzi’s movies. The thought made the corners of his mouth twitch.

Against his chest, Wu Xie stirred. A hand pinched his nape gently. “What are you smiling at?’

Zhang Qiling could feel his lips curve. “Nothing.”

Five.

On their second night back in Hangzhou, he woke to the sound of Wu Xie pacing outside his room. It took a moment before he realised that uneven shuffle outside his door wasn’t a dream, and when he did, he bolted awake.

He made it a point to make as much noise as possible, as he got up to open the door. “Wu Xie?”

Wu Xie, it seemed, had started to make his way back to his room. He turned back the instant Zhang Qiling’s door opened, and looking as caught off-guard as Zhang Qiling felt. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly beneath the collar of his turtleneck sweater, and he blinked owlishly.  

“You should be in bed,” Zhang Qiling said.

“Can we speak?” said Wu Xie at the same time.

There was an awkward silence as they regarded each other. Zhang Qiling sighed. “Come in,” he said, opening the door wider. He stood aside as Wu Xie limped in, and watched as Wu Xie paused in the centre of his room, seemingly deliberating between sitting on the room’s sole chair and the edge of the bed, before opting for the chair.

Zhang Qiling took the bed, and waited.

“Xiaoge,” Wu Xie finally said, “about that kiss…” He broke off, biting his lip. Zhang Qiling wondered how long Wu Xie had spent rehearsing this speech. Wondered if he should have rehearsed his, too.

When it became clear that more words were not forthcoming, he said, “We don’t need to, if you don’t like it.”

“No!” Wu Xie’s response was gratifyingly quick. “It’s not that I don’t – ” He broke off again, shaking his head fiercely. His fists, where they rested on his thighs, clenched, and for a moment, Zhang Qiling felt tempted Wu Xie’s fists in his hands.

He didn’t, but continued to wait.

Wu Xie exhaled audibly. “You kissed me in that grove,” he said.

 Zhang Qiling nodded.

“And you kissed me that night on Changbai-shan.”

“I did,” Zhang Qiling acknowledged. He felt his lips quirk. “You kissed me that night too.”  

“That’s… that’s not the point!” Wu Xie sputtered. “I… Xiaoge, what if I told you that the Wu Xie you kissed in the grove, wasn’t the same Wu Xie you kissed on Changbai-shan?”

This was not the conversation he had been expecting. Slowly, as though approaching a nervous puppy, he reached over. The skin on the back of Wu Xie’s right hand was cool to touch. “Wu Xie, is this about your scars?”

“Pangzi told me that you asked him about them tonight,” Wu Xie said. He did not resist as Zhang Qiling turned his fist over gently.

“Hm.”

“He said that he thought you should hear it from me.”

“He did,” Zhang Qiling acknowledged. Slowly, he pushed the sleeve of Wu Xie’s sweater up, once again revealing the scars on Wu Xie’s inner arm. Wu Xie remained silent as he counted them. “Seventeen.”

“Yes,” Wu Xie agreed. He seemed to be watching Zhang Qiling intently for a reaction. When Zhang Qiling did not respond, he drew his hand back, reaching up to tug at the collar of his sweater. “And this.” There was a scar there too, stark where it ran close to Wu Xie’s carotid artery. An inch or so lower, and Wu Xie might not have survived.

Unconsciously, Zhang Qiling’s fingers curled into fists.

Wu Xie glanced meaningfully at Zhang Qiling’s hands. “You don’t… find them ugly?”

“No.” Zhang Qiling forced himself to relax. He leaned closer, taking both Wu Xie’s hands in his, and felt reassured when Wu Xie did not pull away. Their eyes met. Abruptly, Wu Xie laughed, and Zhang Qiling wondered what Wu Xie had seen in his expression.

“Good,” Wu Xie was saying shakily. “I may need more time, but does this… I mean… are we now, you know… together?”

Zhang Qiling decided that another kiss would be the better response.

=-=-=

He moved in to Wu Xie’s room the next day, on Wu Xie’s insistence. Wu Xie claimed that sharing rooms was what lovers did, although Zhang Qiling would be his first, and he guessed that he was Zhang Qiling’s too, so he supposed they could both take their time working up to it, and in the meantime, Xiaoge, you should pamper me more, the doctor said I shouldn’t move my ankle too much.

It was just Wu Xie’s style, Zhang Qiling thought ruefully. He made you wish to stop his mouth, and he made you want to listen more. For the first time, Zhang Qiling found that he had the power to do both.

“Xiaoge!” Wu Xie sputtered when Zhang Qiling finally allowed him to come up for air. “I was serious about the doctor’s orders.”

“I know,” Zhang Qiling replied dryly, as he rearranged them so that Wu Xie was seated between his legs. He hooked his chin on Wu Xie’s shoulder, and turned his head to press his lips against the scar on Wu Xie’s throat. “I was there.”

This time.

=-=-=

He waited until the following Wednesday, when Wu Xie had deemed his ankle well enough for him to hobble around his shop, before he let himself into Wu Xie’s study.

Wu Xie kept his completed journals in the bottom right corner of his bookshelves. It was easy enough to find the journals for the ten years he had missed.

It was also easy enough to see that a couple of journals had been removed.

Zhang Qiling set back on his heels as he eyed the shelf of journals contemplatively. The books in the other shelves stood straight up, back to back, like guards at attention. Meanwhile, the journals sagged against each other, as though pining for their missing comrades. The edge of the shelf which housed the journals was noticeably free of dust.

A recent removal, then. Frowning, Zhang Qiling stood up.  

Wu Xie’s not a neat person by any measure, but there was an order in the way he kept his things, more so when he thought he was being particularly clever.

Since that night, Wu Xie no longer wore turtleneck sweaters around the house. It seemed that their main purpose had been to keep Zhang Qiling from noticing the scar on his neck – which, Zhang Qiling acknowledged, would otherwise have been difficult to hide, even with a collared shirt.

Wu Xie kept the now-abandoned sweaters in a tidy, folded pile at the back of his wardrobe. It was to Wu Xie’s wardrobe that Zhang Qiling directed his attention next, and to the wooden puzzle box he found beneath the sweaters. It took a while, but finally, as he wedged his finger between two side panels, pressing on the button he found there, the lid of the box sprung open.

“I guessed you would, you know,” Wu Xie said. He was leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, his expression inscrutable. It was in fact too early for Wu Xie to have left his shop for the day, but Zhang Qiling did not find his presence surprising.

He lifted the journals out of the box, and placed them gently on the mattress beside him. “I won’t read them if you tell me not to.”

They watched each other quietly. Finally, Wu Xie lowered his eyes. “I know.”

=-=-=

He fell asleep that night with Wu Xie tucked up behind him, Wu Xie’s face buried between his shoulder blades and Wu Xie’s arm – the scarred arm – tight around his waist.

In the morning, there were ten journals stacked neatly on the table by his side of the bed.

Plus one.

Wu Xie was hot and tight around his fingers, his hips moving to meet every shallow thrust Zhang Qiling’s hand, and Zhang Qiling was certain that he would never tire of Wu Xie like this. He spread his fingers, angling them just so, and bent his head down to take Wu Xie in his mouth again. Above him, Wu Xie gave another whimper and flung his arm up to cover his eyes.

Zhang Qiling sucked hard, then pulled away from Wu Xie’s dick with a soft pop. “Let me see your face,” he chided, reaching with his free hand to tug Wu Xie’s arm away.

“Then switch off the lights,” Wu Xie grumbled. His cheeks were a beautiful, flushed pink. The sight made Zhang Qiling want to kiss them, and so, he did.

“But I like looking at you,” he whispered as he pulled away, nipping at the sensitive shell of Wu Xie’s ear for good measure.

Wu Xie shivered. “Just… do it right now, alright?”

They had been working towards this for weeks now. Reluctantly, Zhang Qiling withdrew his fingers from the snug, welcoming space. He slid on a condom and slicked himself up. Then, he wiped his hands on the bedsheet and picked up his mobile phone.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wu Xie sounded irate.

“Checking Baidu Baike,” Zhang Qiling confessed. Another new thing from those ten years. It still amazed him what he could find online. “We should do this properly.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Xiaoge, put that down and – ah!”

They both gasped as Zhang Qiling lined himself up and pressed in. Wu Xie was even tighter like this, so tight that it almost hurt, squeezing onto him like a vice. He stilled.

Beneath him, Wu Xie was trembling, his arm flung over his eyes again, his mouth a small ‘o’. Zhang Qiling stroked his flank soothingly, and leaned over to kiss away the tears that had beaded on his lashes. “Wu Xie, shhh…”

“Xiaoge…”

Wu Xie was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with every breath. Zhang Qiling gave him another kiss, then started to sit up. “Shall I…?”

“No, don’t, I want…” Wu Xie’s grip on his wrist was uncompromising.

Zhang Qiling stilled. Gradually, Wu Xie’s breathing slowed, and the pressure on Zhang Qiling’s cock eased. Finally, Wu Xie gave him a tremulous smile.

“Hey, be gentle with me, okay?”

Zhang Qiling felt something in chest twist.

He eased in slowly, bottoming out with a gasp. Wu Xie’s fingers were digging into his back. They rocked together gently like this, until eventually, Wu Xie’s breathing picked up again, and he could feel that Wu Xie’s cock, pressed between their bellies, was hard once more.

Suddenly, he remembered that spot, the one which made Wu Xie whimper and moan out every time Zhang Qiling had rubbed his fingers against it. He rolled his hips experimentally, and was rewarded when Wu Xie gave a sharp cry, Wu Xie’s legs tightening around his waist.

Feeling pleased, Zhang Qiling shifted his angle slightly and deliberately missed the place that had made Wu Xie react in such a satisfying manner. Wu Xie twitched and whimpered, his hips rolling up to meet Zhang Qiling’s, as though begging for more. Zhang Qiling smirked and continued to miss that place, once, twice, before hitting that spot again. This time, Wu Xie yelled, his back arching off the mattress.

Wu Xie had turned his face into the pillow, exposing his neck. It was perfect opening for Zhang Qiling to kiss the scar on Wu Xie’s neck again, and when Wu Xie tried to push him away, he grabbed Wu Xie’s arm and kissed the scars there too.

Wu Xie’s voice was a hitching sob. “No, don’t. Don’t look. Ugly…”

“Not ugly,” Zhang Qiling promised.

They continued to move. Wu Xie seemed impossibly hot beneath him, against him, around him, as he clutched at Zhang Qiling desperately, and it struck Zhang Qiling then that he would do anything, anything at all, to keep this man safe and whole and with him.

From the corner of his eye, he spied Wu Xie reaching between them for his cock. Zhang Qiling slapped Wu Xie’s hand away, closing his fingers around the hard member instead. “Mine,” he growled against Wu Xie’s lips, and bit at Wu Xie’s mouth while Wu Xie choked out, yours.

It only took two or three more pumps before Wu Xie was coming, hot spurts that striped their bellies. Wu Xie clenched down on him as he came, making him gasp. Another thrust, and Zhang Qiling could feel himself coming too. The intensity of the sensation caught him by surprise, and he collapsed forward, only remembering at the last moment to catch himself on his elbows, to keep his weight from crushing Wu Xie.

Wu Xie’s eyes were wide and dazed, his mouth slack. Tenderly, Zhang Qiling pressed a kiss on his forehead, as he withdrew slowly from his body. “How do you feel?”

Wu Xie blinked. His lips twitched. His voice was hoarse as he croaked, “Like I could sleep for the rest week.” Then, he began to laugh. Full-bellied laughter, the kind which made his body shake in Zhang Qiling’s embrace.

Zhang Qiling felt his lips quirk in response, and he buried his face against Wu Xie’s collarbone as he gave himself over to the peal of laughter too.