propaganda (SPOILERS) under cut
Jin Guangyao: All his mother ever wanted was for him to be in his rightful place by his father's side. Everything he's ever done, it's just to keep himself and the memory of his mother alive. He's honouring her, honouring her memory. If his father orders him to do something awful, then how can he say no, and disrespect his mother's memory? And if his father continues to disrespect his mother's memory... how can he be allowed to live?
Xie Wang: He was rescued from the streets, raised up from nothing. How can he not give his yifu everything he asks for? Do everything his yifu asks him to do? Become everything his yifu wants him to become? Yifu is the only one who loves him. Yifu is the only one who cares for him. Yifu is the only one he loves. Yifu... yifu doesn't care about him at all.
Prince Yu: You could be the emperor, they told him. Of all your brothers, you're the most like your father, they told him. All you have to do is play the game and wait for it to be your turn, they told him. He played the game, and he played it well, and it was finally his turn. He was finally chosen. Except, he wasn't. He was a front, allowing his pathetic younger brother to steal what was rightfully his out from under his nose. You have one last chance, they tell him. And what other choice does he have?
Shulin: His mother (the one who raised him) told him that she found him, abandoned. Asked him if he wanted to know where he came from. He was just a child. Of course he wanted to know where he came from. And then his home, his people (the ones who raised him) were destroyed. Destroyed by his mother (the one who swapped him for another child, the one who left him to die). Of course he wants his birth mother, his birth people to suffer the same fate as the only people who ever really cared about him. It's a kinder death than they deserve.
Xiao Yu: He is not his father's favourite son. Everybody knows that. As a child, he had liked to think he could compete, but he should have known better. Even with Chuhe gone, even as the only possible candidate, the title of crown prince is still not his. What's worse, though, is that he is not his mother's favourite son, either. She sits and she sighs about some other child that he has never met, as if he isn't right here, not loved by either of them. No matter. He'll use whoever he has to to get the power he deserves.
Ye Zun: He is nothing, he knows. You have no power, they jeer as they spit at him and beat him. His master laughs at his downturned head, taunts him with the knowledge that his own brother sold him to his life of misery. He has never had power… until he does. And once he’s found his strength… why would he give it up? Why wouldn’t he make them pay?
Shen Jiu: He was plucked out of a ditch as a child, with nothing. No food, no home, no parents. Only an older brother, and for years it’s enough. Then, not even that. Later there's power and prestige, but alongside it hatred, mockery. And then he dies, unmourned, unnoticed, unloved. Even his so-called older brother doesn’t notice. This is a secret he has always known - the only way that the story can end happily is without him.
Runyu: He has been pushed to the side in favour of his brother, but he can’t hate him. He is the only one who has stood by him. If that means stepping into the shadows as he strides into the light… well, it is no hardship. Until he meets her. His future wife, their fates intertwined since birth. The one shining promise that has kept him warm through the tormented millennia. And so, for the first time in his existence, he chooses to be selfish. Is that so wrong?
Yin Pei: Dear tumblr user. If you’ve made it this far, I’ll be real with you. I don’t remember what happens in tv shows unless I become obsessed with them or have watched them recently, and neither of those apply here. I can’t remember anything about Yin Pei except he had daddy issues and we referred to him as Kylo Pei in the group chat. Make of that what you will
many thanks to @nemainofthewater for writing ye zun, shen jiu, runyu. I don't know who they are
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Mowen×Lan Jue×Shulin
In the calligraphy stall meet up era. You can choose to have all three meet at the same time (I hear that's what happened in the book, Shulin was with him when Mowen ran past the stall on horse), or meet separately with Lan Jue and hear of the other person through Lan Jue. Or not to have met Lan Jue at the same time at all, as in Lan Jue met Mowen after Shulin's disappearance. I simply just want *complicated feelings TM involving the three of them.
If you want you can add an epilogue with what went on with Mowen in the time Shulin reappeared and Mowen had yet to leave for war.🤭
Hi Nonny! Thank you for the prompt (っ˘ω˘ς ) I hope I do it justice.
Just a bit of disclaimer, I didn't read the novel nor am I planning to.
~*~*~
1.
Shulin feels a little hapless when he sees that his second favourite poem from Peizhi is tainted by the dust of the road. The haplessness grows into a budding spark of anger.
Especially when the rider of the horse that has just upended two days' worth of hard work, turns back to look at them, a corner of his lips lifted in a confident smirk that curls that spark into something that sits deeper, lower in his chest.
When he turns to Peizhi, he finds that his Zhiji has his eyes fixed on the rider. Even more so when said man dismounts in a graceful flourish that sees the sunshine catching on the richness of his robes.
Handsome doesn't even begin to describe the man. Tall, strong and proud, there's a sense that this man was born to be a hero. Just like those in all the stories he read as a child.
If he was so inclined, he thinks he could pick up a brush of his own to dedicate pages upon pages of written beauty to him.
Interesting, Shulin thinks distantly, feeling a prickle of warmth in his sternum that was most decidedly not anger, watching the man pick up the scroll of poetry, dusting it off with elegant fingers as he walks up to them.
2.
Wang Yan, Mowen, is for a lack of a better word, a tool.
He flirts, incessantly. Breaking hearts left and right, dragging both Shulin and Peizhi along with him on whatever latest escapade he had landed himself in from making eyes with some Minister's daughter or some pretty scholar who fell victim to his roguish charms.
Because a rogue, he is. Mowen with his easy, confident demeanour as he slinks up to their door to beg for dinner and a drink, or some company, or even just to sit and watch as he and Peizhi work on their letters or read the evening away.
Mowen is, in short, not part of the plan.
He can't be part of the plan. Shulin idly entertains the idea of shuffling forth a deviation or two just to send the man away for a few years. Away far enough from the intrigues of court and whatever machinations he has planned for himself and Peizhi. Away for long enough that he can be out of the way. Out of trouble.
Shulin kills that thought before it can take root. Caring for something is a burden. Caring for someone is a curse that he cannot afford. But when Mowen slides down on the floor next to Shulin, shoulder knocking against his knee as he passes over a bottle of Nv Er Hong he filched from his father's cellar, there's a twist in his heart.
A budding that blooms under the warmth and fondness of Mowen's smile directed at him. Shulin swallows down the venom that dances on his tongue and carves a smile in reply instead as he takes the bottle.
3.
"You like him."
Peizhi's voice is steady even if his gaze isn't. Shulin allows him to settle his hands on his hips, allows himself to be pulled closer in a tangle of limbs, hair, robes, skin to skin with no beginning and no end to where Peizhi's warmth is his and Shulin's chill is his own.
"You like him too," Shulin sighs, nuzzling his cheek to Peizhi's. "Don't lie. I saw how your brushstrokes falter when he bent over to pick up some boxes for me."
The non-answer wrapped in a slow hum is all Shulin needs to tilt his head and nip at a plush bottom lip, suckling it until Peizhi grunts in pain.
"What about you?" Peizhi asks, sliding his hand between the folds of his robes. His touch feels like a red hot brand. Shulin parts his lips on a shaky exhale as his eyes flutter shut.
"I like him enough," Shulin answers softly. Darting his gaze down to the pale slope of Peizhi's shoulder, he permits himself a heartbeat of honesty. "I like who you are when you are with him."
"Me too."
Shulin tilts his eyes to meet Peizhi's. Hand taking his own, Peizhi lifts his knuckles to his kiss-bitten lips, summer cherry red and half split by his efforts.
Dimly, he wonders if Mowen would permit his own lips to be painted in this same colour too.
4.
They're fine.
They'll be fine. They'll survive, they will thrive, and they will grow.
They will be without him.
They will be safe.
5.
Xu Dong sketches a quick bow in between hurried steps, barely a tip of his head to them as he carries Peizhi's orchid to his bedside. A good man, Xu Dong. Shulin is grateful that Peizhi has someone by his side like this.
"Why?"
Mowen's voice cuts through the quiet. Shulin turns to meet his eyes. There's no smile on his lips now. No confident amusement, none of the swagger he is known for throughout the capital.
Shulin regards him from over the rim of his cup of tea. The corners of Mowen's eyes are red, and anger colours the handsome lines of his face. Betrayal, the realisation settles in Shulin's bones like a run of lightning, because of me.
Mowen blinks, sitting back. Shulin quickly hides a cough in his sleeve. "I have no good answer," He rasps, clearing his throat.
It's at that that Mowen's body snaps forward, leaning halfway over the table to grab him by his shoulder. "Years, Shulin," He seethes. "We looked for you, searched every single time we caught wind that someone saw you. Why--"
"Why I never came back?" Shulin finishes in a whisper, lifting his eyes to meet Mowen's gaze. Swallowing down the copper tang on his tongue, he smiles, knowing precisely just how the red of his blood colours his lips.
To his surprise, Mowen shakes his head.
"Why are you back at all? Why now?" He stands, turning away from him as if he can't look at him for a moment longer. Shulin's hand itches to reach out but chooses to fold it in his sleeve instead.
"Would you believe it if I said it was because I missed you? Both of you?" He offers. A half-truth coloured with a patina of a life spent in a house in the middle of a lake when the truth hadn't yet unfurled her poisoned petals, and where Shulin had been the happiest since his childhood.
Mowen's fists clench and unclench. Shoulders tensed and unhappy. "Don't take me for a fool, Shulin. And please don't lie to me. I'm marching with the army tomorrow and I don't want to die with any regrets."
Shulin rushes forth, grabbing him by the arm. "You won't die."
"You're not a god, Shulin," Mowen chuckles softly, listing a little against him. Sliding his hand over Shulin's, he pats it gently, gripping it and pressing it to his chest. "You can't plan for everything."
I can, I have, I will, He aches to say. "Neither can you," Is what he offers instead, moving to press their bodies close. "So, none of this inauspicious talk."
When Mowen tilts their faces together, locking their lips in a familiar slide and push and pull, Shulin can only sigh.
+1
"Is this really necessary?"
The shackles around his ankles clank in a discordant rhythm when he kicks the chain out in time to the rocking of the carriage. The action hurts his toes, but the pain is a welcomed frisson that cuts through the fugue of whatever drug Kuruo has supplied Peizhi to keep him in a constant state of delirium and dreaming.
They've been travelling for days. Shulin has been asleep for about as many of them.
Consciousness is a slipper eel that stays out of reach for the most parts. Whenever he tries to recall how he even got here, all that comes to him are the flashes of red mist, the scent of night blooms, an ache that cuts through his bones, and then.
Here. In this rocking carriage that makes him faintly nauseous, with his two lovers - former? Shulin really cannot say - as they escort him to distant lands.
Mowen's throat bobs. Probably swallowing back whatever is on his mind. Shulin laughs at the thought that Mowen is restraining himself because of him.
Lolling his head to the side, he squints up at the sudden sunlight in his eyes. Blinking sluggishly, he waits until his vision adjusts. Waits until the silhouette of Peizhi's form against the window materialises in his sight.
"I've lost," Shulin croaks. "If you, either of you, ever loved me, then kill me. I'm--"
"Shut up!"
Mowen pulls him back, chains and all and for a brief moment, Shulin thinks he will slide a blade between his ribs. Letting it find a home close to his heart. It would be fitting and it would be the least that he could do.
"No one is killing you," Mowen says, pulling him close to his chest with a gentleness Shulin isn't sure he deserves in the slightest. "We won't let them. We won't let you either."
Obediently following when Mowen tips his head back, lovingly coaxing his lips to part so that he can feed him Kuruo's concoction, Shulin knows, knows without a shadow of a doubt in his heart that Mowen won't force him if he chooses to close his mouth right now.
If he refuses to drink this, refuses to play along as they take him to whatever distant cage they have constructed to contain him, Shulin wonders with no small amount of interest about what they would do.
He parts his lips on a pant, blinking slowly as he swallows.
Whatever they have planned, Shulin wants to be part of it.
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Snippet
I finished the sixth chapter of "Detoxify", clocking in at 7.5 K for that chapter alone.
Karaoke night at Four Seasons Manor, first intermission
PoV Qing-er AKA Zhaoling-gongzhu
The first set of songs ended on this high note, and while the Scorpion put on much quieter canned music, everybody went to put away their old drinks, acquire new drinks, or donate to Shulin’s project. Both he and his partner, Peizhi, were extremely busy during the intermission. Mowen had referred to them by those old-fashioned nicknames, so that’s who they were now. They nun, the guy in green, and two other guys whom Qing-er already knew, a social justice lawyer and his TCM practitioner husband, helped with answering all the questions.
Qing-er realized she was no longer nervous but actually looked forward to singing for all these nice people; she couldn’t possibly be worse than their hosts. So she walked over to tell Mowen so, and to thank him again for helping her earlier.
The guy in green gave her a long look and a polite but lop-sided smile; she felt she’d met him somewhere, too. “Hello,” she said, to cover up that she had no idea who he was. His green clothes were actually a pair of so-called harem pants with a tribal pattern, and a loose tee-shirt with a stylized lotus on the chest; he was most likely another TCM practitioner, qigong teacher, or something of that kind.
Mowen put away the cheque he’d been given and came over to offer her more baijiu from his bottle, but the guy in green interfered. “Excuse me, Miss Zhao, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be a good idea; his baijiu takes itself quite seriously. Here, have one of these.”
He gave her a bottle hidden underneath the table that contained, as per the rather plain label, sparkling kombucha with a herbal infusion, dark and opaque with matcha. “Shulin makes those,” he said. “Not enough to pass around, really, but I guess it’ll be good for you. Keeps one sane and upright in this madhouse. Can you take these other two to A-Fei? He’s by the stage, on the left side, taping the cables back on yet again. He’s supposed to perform at least three more times, so he needs some sane and upright. I’m afraid Wen-laoban keeps filling him up with beer.”
“You are crazy,” Peizhi told him, for whatever reason, as he handed her two more bottles of the stuff. Apparently, the supply of Shulin’s pick-me-up was strictly limited.
She nodded, and made her way through the crowd towards the stage. The green guy had opened her own bottle, and she tried it while she walked. It was great -- powerfully flowery, carried by the deep green taste of the matcha and the natural fizzy sweetness of the kombucha. If that drink was home-made by Shulin, it was probably very medicinal and came only in very small batches.
“Are you A-Fei?” she asked the denim-clad behind sticking out from underneath the stage. The man called out something to a little helper that was, apparently, crawling underneath the stage for him, then came out and looked up at her.
“The guy in green asked me to bring you these,” she said, thrusting the bottles at him. “He thinks Wen-laoban is giving you too much beer.”
He grinned, with teeth. This close up, she could see he was quite old, at least thirty, but rather handsome in a mature way. The guy in green was definitely prettier.
“Great qinggong, though,” she said. “And great singing voice. I think somebody said you’d perform some more?”
He nodded. “I’m on again when this break ends, and I’m still sorting cables. They should just let me go kill the sound guys. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
He stuck his head back underneath the stage. “A meter to the left I think!” he shouted to his invisible little helper.
Qing-er wandered on, sipping on her artisanal super-rare kombucha as she went.
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