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The pavilions of the Eastern Palace were quiet, the hush of snow pressing against the high red walls. Shen Zechuan sat by the raised dais, a hand resting lightly on his fan, as the soft strains of a qin filled the air. Xiao Xun’s small hands moved carefully over the strings, his brows furrowed in concentration. Beside him, the qin master, an elderly man by the name of Xu Liang, watched attentively, correcting the crown prince’s posture with gentle murmurs.
The fire in the braziers roared, but the cold seeped into the room all the same. Qudu’s winters were usually mild, but this year, the frigid winds had crept southward with a ruthless bite and the palace felt it in every stone and shutter. Shen Zechuan was often tired these days, extending much of his efforts to quell the various regions’ many issues that cropped up during the winter, especially one as unprecedentedly harsh as this. Visiting Xiao Xun was one of the few respites he treasured, but he knew that he’d been dragging out this particular visit a touch too long.
Shen Zechuan rose slowly when the piece ended, meaning to leave for his next agenda without disturbing the boy’s practice. Yet the moment he pushed to his feet, his vision swam. He stumbled, one foot sliding unsteadily over the tiled floor, and caught himself on the side of his chair. A murmur rose at once among the gathered attendants, and Xu Liang rushed forward, bowing deeply.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice tight with concern. “Forgive this old man, but might Your Majesty rest a while? The snow has been cruel these days.”
Shen Zechuan smiled calmly, his hand tightening on the chair until his knuckles whitened. “It is nothing,” he said, his voice composed but too thin to be truly convincing. “A moment’s dizziness. Your concern is noted, elder Xu.”
Xiao Xun had abandoned his qin by now, hastening over with his robes trailing behind him. “Huang-shu,” he exclaimed, his young face pinched with worry. “May Xun’er come with you? Xun’er will excuse himself to Xu-xiansheng and Kong-taifu.”
Shen Zechuan reached out, patting the boy’s hair with a faint smile. “Xun’er, be good. Your lessons must not be delayed for trifles like this.” He lowered his voice, as though sharing a secret. “If you wish to accompany me later, you must first master today’s piece.”
Xiao Xun’s brows furrowed deeper, but he nodded reluctantly under Shen Zechuan’s calm gaze. Shen Zechuan composed himself and made his way out of the pavilion. He managed to cross into the adjacent courtyard, intending to walk unassisted, but a few paces short of reaching the moon gate, a wave of pain hit his head like a blow. His steps faltered, vision narrowing, breath tightening in his lungs, and the floor tilted violently beneath him.
“Your Majesty!” someone cried, too late to catch him.
The Nanlin Hunting Grounds were nearly buried under the snow, but Xiao Chiye stood tall against the freezing wind. He wanted to take this opportunity to train the Imperial Army’s new recruits how to weather harsh climates. Xiao Chiye barked out orders while overseeing a flurry of drills, uncaring of the frost clinging to his hair and fur coat.
“Strength!” he called. “The cold will spare neither you nor your enemy.”
The recruits, teeth chattering, roared back their affirmation. Xiao Chiye allowed a small, approving nod, then turned when he saw a rider approaching through the storm, the imperial seal glinting at the messenger’s belt. Something in his gut churned at the harried posture of the messenger. Before the man had even dismounted, Xiao Chiye gestured for him to speak freely.
“Your Excellency!” the messenger gasped, kneeling on the frozen earth. “His Majesty—His Majesty has fallen ill—collapsed—”
Xiao Chiye’s heart sank to his stomach. He did not wait for the rest of the message and ordered immediately to Chen Yang, who was already making his way over, “Chen Yang, take command.” His voice was ice and iron. Without waiting for a reply, he whistled for Lang Tao Xue Jin and spurred it hard toward the palace. The snow tore at him as he rode, but Xiao Chiye leaned low, his heart a brutal drum in his chest.
The inner court of the palace was heavy with tension when Xiao Chiye stormed through the gates. Every attendant and guard seemed to move with silent urgency, heads bowed, whispers flying like birds in the halls. He did not slow his steps. His boots tracked melting snow across the polished floors as he made his way to Qianqing Palace, brushing past people who barely dared lift their heads.
Inside the bedchamber, the air was oppressively warm. Braziers lined the walls and the floor was heated. The air was filled with the bitter scent of herbs. In their bed, Shen Zechuan lay half-buried under layers of blankets, his skin pale as the snow outside. Xiao Chiye crossed the room in three strides.
“Lanzhou—”
There was no answer. Shen Zechuan’s breathing was shallow and fast, fever-slick hair clinging to his brow. Xiao Chiye sat by the bedside, gathering Lanzhou’s hand into his own. It was hot and frighteningly frail.
The chief imperial physician knelt nearby, hands folded tight. “Your Excellency,” he said in a low voice, “this one knows not how His Majesty’s condition deteriorated so quickly. The chill—perhaps old injuries…” He trailed off, shame coloring his face. Xiao Chiye gritted his teeth, keeping his gaze locked on Lanzhou’s face. He had not seen him fall sick like this, not since the days before his ascension. The years of hardship had left their scars too deep.
“Prepare the medicine,” Xiao Chiye said tightly. “I will attend to His Majesty.”
It had been a few quarters since the imperial physician excused himself to concoct the prescription, and Xiao Chiye remained sitting rigidly by their bedside. Shen Zechuan’s breaths came shallowly, barely disturbing the thick quilt drawn up to his chin. The fever had painted his cheeks a flushed, unnatural red, but his lips were bloodless. A folded towel sat forgotten at the edge of the basin; Xiao Chiye had been cooling Lanzhou’s forehead diligently, wringing and replacing it with exacting regularity. Still, the fever raged on, as stubborn as the man it consumed.
Two other imperial physicians returned a while later to administer medicine, whispering amongst themselves in helpless tones. Xiao Chiye ignored them. His world had narrowed to the faint rise and fall of Lanzhou’s chest and the fever-damp skin beneath his fingertips. He remembered too well how Lanzhou had once lived on poison and borrowed time. Those days were supposed to be behind them. The palace was supposed to be a fortress against harm and the throne a shield.
And yet, here they were.
Xiao Chiye leaned closer, brushing damp hair from Shen Zechuan’s temple, his touch tender and slightly desperate. Outside, the snowstorm thickened, drowning the city in gale. Xiao Chiye sat through the hours unblinking, his thumb stroking slow circles over Shen Zechuan’s knuckles.
Then, the faintest shift, a tiny jerk of Lanzhou’s hand, broke the stillness. Xiao Chiye straightened attentively. “Lanzhou?” he coaxed softly, pressing tender kisses on his hand. “Where is Lanzhou?”
Another breath, shaky but steady. Then, with great effort, Shen Zechuan’s lashes fluttered open, pupils sluggish but aware.
Shen Zechuan responded hoarsely “Here…”
The relief that crashed over Xiao Chiye nearly undid him. He knelt by the bed, bringing a cup of warm tonic to Lanzhou’s cracked lips.
“Drink for me,” Xiao Chiye said softly, his voice rough. “Slowly.”
Shen Zechuan managed a few sips before turning his head weakly aside. His eyes, glassy with fever, tried to focus on Xiao Chiye’s face.
“Ce’an,” he rasped. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. I won’t let you fall.” Xiao Chiye soothed gently. He set the cup aside and cupped Lanzhou’s face in both hands. “Lanzhou. You scared me.”
A ghost of a frown touched Lanzhou’s lips, but it faded quickly. He tried to shift under the blankets and winced. Xiao Chiye pressed him gently back down. “Don’t move. Rest.”
“I told you before,” Shen Zechuan whispered, barely audible. “Just tired, nothing more. The snow…”
Xiao Chiye scowled and turned his glare toward the carved ceiling, as if he could strike the clouds themselves. Shen Zechuan let out a soft, exhausted laugh. He let his gaze drift toward the silk curtains, where the snowstorm still raged beyond the frost-glazed windows. After a moment, he said quietly, “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You didn’t want me to worry?” Xiao Chiye echoed incredulously. “You collapsed in the snow, burning with fever, and you think I wouldn’t worry?”
He dropped his forehead against Lanzhou’s, careful of the fever-heat. A long pause stretched between them, filled only by the low hiss of the braziers and Lanzhou’s uneven breaths.
At last, Shen Zechuan spoke quietly. His hand found Xiao Chiye’s wrist and clung weakly. “You’ve been working hard these past weeks,” he murmured, voice rough with something deeper than sickness. “Even now, when things are at peace. I know you worry that—”
Xiao Chiye stiffened and buried his head in the crook of Lanzhou’s neck. His arms tightened around Lanzhou instinctively, fiercely, as if shielding him from his own fears.
“Ce’an,” Shen Zechuan said, more serious this time, but Xiao Chiye only pressed his face in further. Shen Zechuan stroked Xiao Chiye’s hair a few times, pulling faintly at his braids. Xiao Chiye breathed in his scent that was overpowered by the bitterness of medicine.
“A-Ye,” he repeated. “My love, even if one day this body of mine gives way, you mustn’t fear. We have fought so long for this peace we have ushered. I would not leave you so easily.”
“Don’t say that,” Xiao Chiye growled under his breath. He untangled himself from Lanzhou to tuck the blankets tighter around Lanzhou’s body, cradling him as if he could shield him from all things. “You will not leave. We are bound together, I won’t allow it.”
Shen Zechuan leaned into the warmth of his Ce’an’s touch, his body seemingly fragile in a way that Xiao Chiye could not bear. “Lanzhou will stay with me forever.” Xiao Chiye whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss to Shen Zechuan’s clammy forehead.
Shen Zechuan smiled, slow and serene, and let himself drift against Xiao Chiye’s chest, safe in the circle of his arms.
The snowstorm had thinned overnight, leaving the palace grounds wrapped in a heavy, glittering hush. Inside Qianqing Palace, the fever had broken at last.
Shen Zechuan stirred awake to the muted light of late morning filtering through the curtains. His body ached down to the bone, but the worst had passed. He knew it in the looseness of his chest and the clarity returning to his mind.
Beside him, Xiao Chiye dozed lightly, head bent awkwardly where he had fallen asleep with his hand wrapped around Shen Zechuan’s frame. Shen Zechuan turned his head slightly and watched him in silence for a time. The fierce lines of his husband’s face were softened in sleep, worry still etched deep into the corners of his mouth and brow.
A pang of tenderness stirred in Shen Zechuan’s chest. He shifted, enough to brush the tips of his fingers against Ce’an’s hand. Xiao Chiye woke abruptly. His gaze snapped to Lanzhou’s face and softened the moment he saw clear, steady awareness.
“You’re awake,” Xiao Chiye said, his voice rough from sleep.
“I am.” Shen Zechuan agreed, lips curving faintly. His voice was still thready, but it no longer scraped like broken glass. Xiao Chiye pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
“You’ll stay in bed,” Xiao Chiye declared firmly once they parted for breath. “You’re not moving even a toe until you’ve recovered.”
“My, is that a decree Xiao Ce’an?” Shen Zechuan teased, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How bold of you.”
“Mn. A husband’s command,” Xiao Chiye clipped smartly, straightening only to bundle the blankets more securely around Shen Zechuan’s body. Before Shen Zechuan could reply, there was a soft knock at the outer doors. An attendant’s voice followed.
“Your Majesty, Your Excellency, His Highness the Crown Prince requests permission to enter.”
Shen Zechuan smiled faintly and nodded. Xiao Chiye rose and opened the door himself. The small figure briskly paid his respects to Xiao Chiye with a quickly bowed “ Er-shu ,” before darting past him, carrying a bundle clutched tightly to his chest.
(“Cheeky boy,” Xiao Chiye grumbled fondly as he made his way back to the bed.)
Xiao Xun’s face was serious beyond his years and his steps were hesitant until he caught sight of Shen Zechuan sitting up.
“Er-shushu!” Xiao Xun greeted, the tension in his small shoulders loosening visibly. He rushed to the bedside but stopped a few chi away, as if afraid that even his nearness might somehow worsen Shen Zechuan’s fragile state.
“Xun’er brought something for er-shushu.” he said, lifting the bundle in both hands with solemn ceremony. Xiao Chiye helped Shen Zechuan sit up a little more, tucking pillows behind him, then took the bundle, unfolded it carefully and handed it to him.
Inside was a piece of thick paper, covered in painstaking brushstrokes. A sketch: a pavilion half-buried in snow, a single sturdy plum tree blooming defiantly in the courtyard. Under the tree, two figures were drawn, a small figure seated at a qin, and a taller one holding an umbrella against the snow. Shen Zechuan’s heart filled with warmth.
“It’s not very good,” Xiao Xun said hurriedly, cheeks flushing. “Feng-xiansheng said my hand was too stiff. But I wanted you to have it! Because the plum tree blooms even in the worst winter, and…” His voice faltered. “And you’re like that, er-shushu.”
Shen Zechuan reached out and smoothed the edge of the paper.
“It’s perfect, Xun’er,” he said, voice thick.
Xiao Chiye stood behind him, watching quietly, a strange tightness in his chest. Xiao Xun fidgeted, glancing at him for reassurance. Xiao Chiye ruffled his hair roughly, the way his father had when he was young. “He likes it, Xun’er. You did well.”
The boy brightened, though he still looked hesitant to linger.
“May Xun’er stay for a little while?” he asked shyly. “Xun’er can sit quietly and won’t disturb er-shu and er-shushu.”
Shen Zechuan nodded. “I would like that very much.”
Xiao Xun carefully settled onto a low cushion near the bed, pulling out a small book to study from. Xiao Chiye sat back down beside Shen Zechuan, folding his larger hand around Lanzhou’s once more.
A few days had passed, and Shen Zechuan’s strength slowly returned, his movements languid as a cat stretching under a patch of sunlight. Each evening, Xiao Chiye carried him from the bed to the broad divan by the hearth, refusing to let him exert himself.
Tonight, his Lanzhou sat curled against him, firelight glinting along the fine edge of his profile. Xiao Chiye had just begun to doze when Shen Zechuan stirred deliberately, tilting his face up with the lazy grace of a man well aware of how closely he was being guarded.
“A-Ye,” Shen Zechuan murmured, dragging his vowels low and coaxing, “aren’t you tired of holding me so stiffly?”
Xiao Chiye’s arms tightened instinctively around him, feeling that this man was up to no good. “You’re still recovering.”
“And am I not in your arms now?” Shen Zechuan pressed, his fingers ghosting along Xiao Chiye’s collarbone, featherlight. “Or are you afraid of breaking me?”
His smile was a slow, dangerous curve, one that Xiao Chiye had learned long ago meant trouble. “Lanzhou…” he warned, but his voice had already grown thick and heady.
Shen Zechuan tilted his head back, exposing his jade neck. He brushed his lips against Xiao Chiye’s jaw in a teasing whisper of a kiss. “Xiao’er, you treat your wife so delicately now,” he sighed woefully, his fingers slipping beneath the edge of Xiao Chiye’s collar. “But don’t you remember? After the pox, how you fucked me, even when I could hardly lift my head?”
Xiao Chiye’s breath shuddered.
“You’re wicked,” he muttered, peppering kisses to Lanzhou’s lips. “Heartless cad. Evil man. Always have been.”
Shen Zechuan laughed, soft and sinful, and tugged weakly at his robes. “Indulge me, A-Ye,” he whispered. “I want you.”
That was all it took.
Xiao Chiye lifted him carefully, carrying him back to their bed. He undressed Shen Zechuan slowly, reverently, peeling away layers until he lay naked before him. Shen Zechun’s skin was still too pale from illness, but his eyes peered up at him seductively in the dim light. He reached for Xiao Chiye, undoing the fastenings of his belt with slow, deliberate movements, tugging down his robes to reveal the broad planes of his chest. Xiao Chiye caught his wrists, pinning them lightly to the bed.
“You shouldn’t exert yourself,” he scolded, his mouth brushing Lanzhou’s fingertips.
Shen Zechuan smiled, slow and devastating. “Then do all the work, my A-Ye.”
Xiao Chiye groaned low in his throat and bent down, kissing him deeply, savoring the faint herbal taste still lingering on Lanzhou’s tongue. His hands roamed slowly, tracing the shape of Lanzhou’s body, skimming over the hollow of his hips, the faint indent of his ribs, the shallow dimples on his back. Everywhere he touched, Shen Zechuan melted under him, pliant and eager, quiet sighs escaping his lips.
Xiao Chiye slid down, mouthing lazily along Lanzhou’s throat, tasting the fever-warmed skin, the fluttering pulse that jumped beneath. Lanzhou arched into him, weak but greedy for every scrap of attention. When he took one of Lanzhou’s nipples into his mouth, Lanzhou gasped sharply, a beautiful, broken sound. His hands threaded into Xiao Chiye’s hair, tugging with weak desperation.
“ Ngh, ” he moaned softly. “More…” the single word was a command. Xiao Chiye obeyed, lavishing attention along his wife’s chest, down the taut line of his belly. His touch was maddeningly slow, until Lanzhou was trembling beneath him, flushed and panting, legs falling open in helpless invitation. Instead of settling between them, Xiao Chiye guided him to lay on his side, gently closing together his thighs. Shen Zechuan was momentarily confused, but then knew what Xiao Chiye intended to do.
Like a pampered fox, Shen Zechuan whined a little, resisting feebly to once again spread his legs. Xiao Chiye’s hands gave way instantly, helpless against his wife. Daringly, Shen Zechuan murmured “Want you inside.”
Xiao Chiye froze for a heartbeat, heart pounding painfully against his ribs.
“Lanzhou…” he said hoarsely, lifting his head to search those luminous eyes for any sign of distress. Shen Zechuan looked back at him steadily, his cheeks flushed, his breathing quick. “Just your fingers, Ce’an,” he pleaded, shy and sweet. “I want to feel you properly.”
Xiao Chiye cursed under his breath, pressing a trembling kiss to Shen Zechuan’s navel. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Slowly, carefully, he reached for the small jar of ointment by the bedside, coating his fingers. Shen Zechuan shifted under him, spreading his legs even further with an inviting little tilt of his hips. Xiao Chiye felt that his wife was purposely riling him up and wanted to punish this move of his.
Xiao Chiye lowered his hands to grope Lanzhou’s ass, but instead of teasing him with his fingers, Xiao Chiye dropped his face lower. He shifted Lanzhou’s legs, cradling one over his shoulder, and ghosted kisses along the inside of his thighs. Then, he dipped down to feast on that pink fluttering nub. Xiao Chiye latched his mouth on Lanzhou’s hole, parting him with a wet, deliberate stripe that made Lanzhou inhale sharply through his teeth. Xiao Chiye groaned against him, mouth already slick and open, tongue circling with lazy precision until Lanzhou arched with a broken sound.
Xiao Chiye sucked him gently, gradually plunging his tongue deeper until Shen Zechuan’s composure began to fray. His fingers dug into Xiao Chiye’s hair, urging him closer with unspoken desperation.
“Ce’an,” he gasped, “I’m—if you keep—”
Xiao Chiye didn’t stop. He just hummed into him, the vibration making Lanzhou moan aloud, thighs tightening briefly around his head. Xiao Chiye heard Lanzhou’s breaths quicken, signaling an incoming climax, and lifted his head smugly. His chin was wet, eyes dark with want. Cock flushed and leaking against his stomach, Lanzhou glared at him like an aggrieved maiden.
Xiao Chiye thought this expression was too cute on his wife. He quickly bent to capture Shen Zechuan’s mouth in an obscene kiss while cautiously sliding a finger inside him. Shen Zechuan tensed, a small gasp escaping his mouth that was immediately swallowed by Xiao Chiye.
Lanzhou’s hole was wet and relaxed from his previous ministrations, so he was met with minimal resistance as he pressed his finger in and out of the tight warmth. Xiao Chiye brought his other hand to circle and pinch Shen Zechuan’s nipples while simultaneously dominating his mouth. Shen Zechuan was both overwhelmed and left wanting by the sensation.
“You’re still being too careful,” Shen Zechuan admonished against his lips, huffing faintly. “What happened to my fierce er-lang?”
Xiao Chiye groaned. He was exerting everything in himself not to pound Lanzhou into the bed until he cried so beautifully, yet it was hard when Shen Zechuan insisted on provoking him like this. With much restraint, he pressed a second finger in, working him open with deep, deliberate strokes. His fingers searched for the sensitive place inside Lanzhou that would make him jolt with pleasure. Sure enough, once he found the tight bundle of nerves, he continued stroking it until Lanzhou was writhing under him. His body was clenching and softening in a rhythm that had Xiao Chiye gritting his teeth against the urge to do more, take more.
When Xiao Chiye’s other hand pulled away from his reddened nipples and closed carefully around his length, Shen Zechuan gasped, his back arching helplessly off the bed. He let out a low, broken moan. Xiao Chiye stroked him in time with the patient thrust of his fingers, coaxing him open, grounding him in pleasure that washed away the lingering ache of illness. Shen Zechuan shuddered, hips lifting up weakly into Ce’an’s palm and down on his fingers, his breath catching in desperate little gasps. It was too much, the careful stretch inside him, the sure grip around him, Xiao Chiye’s low voice murmuring praises against his throat.
When Shen Zechuan came, it broke from him like a wave cresting, his body tightening deliciously around Xiao Chiye’s fingers, spilling hot between them. He clung to Ce’an blindly, trembling through it, his lips parting in a soundless cry as Ce’an held him through every last shiver. When Xiao Chiye finally withdrew his fingers, Lanzhou whimpered at the loss, legs curling instinctively around his waist.
Xiao Chiye gently unlatched Shen Zechuan’s legs and guided his pliant body sideways, settling himself behind him. He coated Lanzhou’s inner thighs with oil and slotted his cock in place, pressing firmly between them. The friction was hot and aching as Shen Zechuan wordlessly tightened his legs around him, caging him in. The sensation was exquisite. Lanzhou’s plush thighs were warm and tight.
Xiao Chiye rocked against him, slow and grinding, dragging the head of his cock against Lanzhou’s inner thighs and occasionally teasing it against the furl of his entrance. Lanzhou’s breath hitched with every shallow thrust, his hands scrabbling at the sheets, his hips canting back weakly to meet him.
It was unbearable, how beautiful he was like this. Half-healed and yet still demanding all of Xiao Chiye without ever needing to say it.
Xiao Chiye buried his face in Lanzhou’s nape, working bruises into his silky skin and groaning as his pleasure built inexorably. Feeling the rocking sensations of being rutted against and the friction of Xiao Chiye’s hard length against his hole, Shen Zechuan too let out low, breathy gasps. Xiao Chiye turned Shen Zechuan’s head sideways to capture that soft tongue, capturing Lanzhou’s quiet moans as his cock slid in and out between his thighs erratically, leaking pre-cum that mixed with the oil and Shen Zechuan’s earlier spend. From the frantic ministrations in his mouth, Shen Zechuan could tell Xiao Chiye was close.
“My husband,” Shen Zechuan whispered affectionately, clutching at Xiao Chiye’s strong arms that were wrapped tightly around his waist. “How I love you so.”
These words pushed Xiao Chiye over the edge as he spilled between Lanzhou’s legs, shuddering with the intensity of it. Shen Zechuan chuckled lightly, stroking his arms delicately like a cat.
For a long while, neither man moved. The only sound in the room was their quieting breaths and the wind outside. Seeing his seed trickle between Lanzhou’s thighs stirred the fire inside Xiao Chiye anew and he felt his cock twitch in interest. But though he felt ready for more, Xiao Chiye restrained himself to a single round tonight, mindful of Shen Zechuan’s condition. Instead, Xiao Chiye untangled himself from their bed, meeting some resistance from his spoiled wife, who attempted to cling onto him.
“A moment, Lanzhou. Let me clean you up.” He said softly, relishing Shen Zechuan’s needy, reluctant assent.
Xiao Chiye fetched a warm, damp cloth from the basin by the hearth, careful not to leave Shen Zechuan’s side for long, and cleaned the mess from his trembling thighs and flushed skin. Shen Zechuan watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, body loose with pleasure and trust, offering no resistance as Xiao Chiye wiped him down with loving strokes.
Once he was done, he set the cloth beside the bed and pulled the blankets up, tucking his wife close against him, careful not to let the cooling air touch him. Shen Zechuan rested his cheek against Xiao Chiye’s chest, listening to the heavy thud of his heart.
“…My husband is so indulgent with me,” Shen Zechuan mused, a faint, lazy smile upon his mouth.
“Mm. My wife is shameless,” Xiao Chiye reproached against his hair. “He knows I’ll do anything he asks.”
Shen Zechuan tilted his head in faux innocence and let out a pleased little hum.
Outside, the snow began to ease, revealing a hint of the pale winter moon. Together, they would see spring come again.