#Yanli your husband is a murder gremlin just like your brothers and the sooner you accept it the better life will be

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[@theleakypen​ *points accusingly* Look what you did! 😁]

[Second Chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

It starts small and slow, because Yanli asked and because A-Yao listens. It’s more delightful than she could have imagined, to shyly mention something and see it tucked away behind a smile. To have it come back later and set before her in reality. 

She isn’t truly used to receiving a great many gifts--A-Cheng and Xianxian are men of action, showing love in hugs and favors and tucking her into bed when she is too tired or sick to do so herself. (Now she has 3 people who would do this. Sweet boys. How lucky is she?) 

Usually, it’s her that brings the food they like, makes sure to tuck little notes into the folds of their clothes when they pack for a trip, brings back little knick knacks from the market that might make them smile. So, when she wakes alone in the crisp air of their bedroom and goes to do her hair for the day, she is startled to find a silver hair pin topped with a delicate metal lotus with tiny pink beads tucked in the petals that mirror the ones interspersed throughout the 2 trailing chains that dangle beneath it. There is no note, but it had been placed very obviously and precisely in the middle of her table. Yanli finds herself smiling as she picks it up and admires it, noting the fine, swirling engravings that etch down the stick itself. It’s a gift! For her! 

She, of course, slides it into her wound hair and finds herself holding her cheeks as she grins at herself in the mirror and  turns this way and that, watching the little chains sway with her movement, clicking gently. The flush on her face matches the beads. It’s a little silly, she tells herself, to be blushing over a gift like this. He’s my husband! I’m already married! 

There is still that giddy lightness in her chest that feels as though she will burst out laughing at any moment, like the morning sun has roosted in her heart.

Because it’s more than just the gift, of course. She and A-Yao had been chatting over tea one evening on the pavilion over the lake, listening to the night frogs and the fresh wind through the curtains and distant treetops. It had been very soon after their realization (their breakthrough, she privately considers it, the silly man, of course she cares for him, of course) and he had been watching her with warm eyes. “Jiang-furen,” he had said lightly, because it made her wrinkle her nose at the formality--and she had, and he had smiled. “Would you allow this one to court you?”

Oh. 

‘I think I would like to try,’ she had told him, and with such confidence, too. Loving. And here they were, at the trying part. Complication had swelled within her chest like a tide, wanting and fear and a sudden shyness. The thrill of flattery and being wanted; the fear of ruining this, too, somehow, by too demanding. Unworthy.

The fear that she would not be able to...feel the right way. She had never been in love, not even the giggling, girlish love her friends had spoken of as children, nor had she ever understood the longing whispers of her shimeis and shijies when they saw the young men unloading the boats, sweaty and gleaming in the sun. She had been confused when her mother had lectured her on the importance and the virtue of staying out of the beds of men. It had just never seemed as difficult as anyone made it out to be. She had been prepared for the duties of a wife and a mother when she had agreed to marriage--both times--and had not meant to shy from it. It was the way things were. And she did want a child--several of them, actually. 

And then had come A-Yao with his gentle understanding and his poor wounded heart and his telling her that she had no obligations and him, no expectations. And that secret part of her that had bound herself up tight in the waiting had breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Now, within the bounds of marriage, she was being asked. Is it what she wanted, of them, with him. It was real and present with no barriers, time or otherwise. And she didn’t know. Because he was sweet and kind and she did not want any part of him hurt.

It had almost been easier when there had been a straight path she had been bound to walk with no option of deviating. Inevitable. 

Oh, and she had been silent for too long, leaving him waiting and wondering. She had felt him go completely still across the table. Hurriedly, she moved her hand over to cover his, to quell any rising anger or misunderstanding, had opened her mouth to try to stumble through an explanation--

And his hand had covered hers. And he had waited. And she had loved him for it. His face was stiffer than she might like, his pleasant smile up, now, like armor against whatever he thought was going through her mind, but he allowed the time it took for her to gather this all up. “A-Yao…” she had begun and her throat had closed up and she had chastised herself for being a silly, stupid girl and making him wait, making him fear that she was saying no, because she wasn’t, she did want to try, for him, for her, because she could feel the first step in her heart of loving him in a way that was unlike A-Cheng and A-Xian, unlike her mother and father, but she couldn’t say exactly where or how far those steps would take her and she would never want to break a promise or get his hopes up and be unable to--unable to--

“A-Li,” he had said, polite shield of a smile disappearing, brow tucking into worry as her eyes filled with frustrated tears. “Have you...changed your mind?”

She shook her head quickly, mouth working and oh, why couldn’t she ever just speak? 

“Are...you sure? You don’t....”

Yanli nodded, just as vigorously and she sniffed, trying to stem whatever this was. “I’m...Of course….Yes, of course, you can, I’ll....”

Hurriedly, he had risen to kneel beside her, below her, both his hands on hers, now, where they rested on her knees, face open and almost scared. “A-Li,” his tone had been urgent. “What do you think I’m asking you?”

Finally, finally, she had choked her way through an explanation, an apology, a promise to try to do better, to try to fix whatever incomplete love she was offering and his fingers had tightened over her own. 

His voice had been rough. “I would never ask something of you that you’re not ready to give.”

“But...what if...I’m never ready?” she had managed in a watery whisper.

His answer had been as gentle as the breeze that brushed by them from across the lake, flickering the flames in the lanterns. “Then I will never ask.”

“Wouldn’t that be horribly selfish of me?” Her eyes had remained fastened on the rise and fall of his chest in his purple robes, unable to meet his gaze. She could hear her mother in her head, knew what she would say; yes. Selfish and childish and unrealistic. If Yanli could not cultivate, if she could not be strong or clever or useful, what on earth did she expect to be her duty to her family? Did she think she was special? Did she think that marriage was just easy for everyone? 

“Why would it be selfish?” 

When she gave a small, despairing laugh at what she assumed had been a joke, he had simply blinked at her. She had wiped her eyes. “Children, for one, A-Yao.”

Something distant had come over his eyes, the look he got when he was puzzling through a problem for A-Cheng on the spot and his tone was one of musing when he said,“If you wanted a child, I could get you a child.”

That laugh had burst from her in shock and some of the tightness in her chest lightened. “You’re as ridiculous as A-Xian. Is YaoYao 3, as well, with that sort of reasoning? Where do you think children come from? A roadside store?” Shaking her head, she had bopped the tip of his nose with the crook of her finger and tucked his already neat hair behind his shoulder, soothing herself, giving an excuse to be close to him.

He had smiled, slow and sleek, head tilting a little, saying, “Of course,” and nothing more. When he had simply waited patiently for her to stop fussing over his hair, she had taken his dear face in her hands and ran her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’re here again,” she had noted and knew by the way his smile dimmed, slightly, and the softness that came back into his eyes that he, too, was thinking of their wedding night when they sat in this very same position; him at her feet, promising to take no more than what was offered; her holding him in fondness. She sighed and tilted her head in hopeless asking. “And what about a wife’s duty to her husband? The other part you’re promised.”

“Neither of our vows said any such thing. All I was promised was loyalty and support.” His voice had quieted further, and a tentative had hand lifted, and rested on her cheek, light as a moth’s wing. “Which you have given. I want to court A-Li because…” To her delight, his cheeks had pinkened slightly, and he looked young and sweet and oh, yes, she loved him as A-Yao--whatever that meant to her, she did. “Because I want to. I-I want to do it the right way, to please you, and bring you gifts and gain your favor. Because you deserve it.”

She had felt a warm curling in her throat, like tears, but not (loved! loved!) and she had smiled and hadn’t been able to help from leaning down and kissing his forehead, kissing the tip of his nose. Then, daringly, because she wanted to, she had brushed her lips over his and he had sat, hands carefully in his lap, still as a stone as she pressed them, warm and soft against hers. He smelled like the fragrant flower tea they had been drinking. “You already have my favor, ” she had murmured when she sat back from the chaste kiss, feeling her own face heat up as his had. Oh, as his was!

“If it…” he had started, almost staccato and slightly too loud, as if he had surprised himself and he pressed his lips together and made a face like he regretted it. But then he pushed out, almost in a rush. “If it makes you feel any better, I also wasn’t...looking forward to...that night. I...would have slept with you. If it was what you had required.” He took a breath and pressed his hands, chill in the night air, over the backs of hers on his face. “But, now, we can go as slowly or as far as only you desire. It is in your hands. I’m simply happy to have A-Li.”

Her heart felt as if it were the tail of some magnificent fish, fluttering and flashing around with a gleaming joy. She believed him. Knowing what she knew of his mother, of his father, and of how that rested in him like chains and blood and hurting, she believed every word. Safe. Safe to test, to try. To stop.

He was safety.

“One condition,” she had said, schooling her face to seriousness and warning so quickly, he must have known it was a jest. 

He, in turn, however, didn’t make light, and only smiled, dimpled and almost completely real. “Name it.”

“I can court you in turn.” 

At this, his face had dropped into blank startlement for a brief moment before a crooked little smile had hitched itself back on his face. That was real. She had been able to tell. “Of course,” he had agreed steadily. “Anything at all.”

And now, as she leaves their room with his first gift in her hair, she sees him down the walkway, slim and purposeful in his angling, talking to A-Xian about something. All at once, something mischievous and powerful skitters up from her stomach and down her arms like laughter and she straightens and glides like she was taught, a grin on her lips. A-Xian looks up first and grins back. Excitedly, he bounds up for her to stroke his cheek, which she does, still walking, still passing, and as she draws level, she gives a preening toss of her head, making the little beads of the pin click and flicks her eyes over.

A-Yao is watching her performance with eyebrows raised, eyes wide in surprised appreciation, fresh delight pressed behind his lips, making his whole face light. Like they are sharing a private joke. Like he thinks she’s beautiful and funny. His regard feels like lovely fingers combing through her hair and, beneath this silly posturing, she’s blushing all over again. “Husband,” she greets with exaggerated propriety, inclining her head. The chains sway in her peripheral vision.

He inclines his head back, smile wide and gracious. “Wife.”

She doesn’t break her stride, continuing her glide down the walkway, not looking back. She hears A-Xian say, “What the heck was that about?”

She is in earshot long enough to hear A-Yao laugh, quietly.