Huáisāng leans over the painting as he makes his final touches. His tongue sticks daintily out the side of his mouth, stained black from the ink that flows from his brush. Dust motes dance through the warm afternoon light streaming in from the window to illuminate his work. The only sound is that of his brush and his ink.
A knock at the door breaks the quiet.
“Gōngzǐ, Jīn-gōngzǐ has arrived.” A voice comes from outside the room. Huáisāng’s head pops up and he flings his brush into its holder before darting over to the door and flinging it open.
“Sāngē is here?” he says, bright eyed.
“He just arrived, gōngzǐ. Niè-zōngzhǔ is welcoming him in the Swords Hall,” the disciple replies. Huáisāng’s smile splits his face.
“Thank you!” Huáisāng runs back into his room to scoop up his painting and tuck it into a qiankun pouch in his sleeve. Painting secured, he spins round and heads for the door.
“Gōngzǐ, are you going to clean your brush?” the disciple asks, despair writ large on her face.
“You can do it for me,” Huáisāng says, “Sāngē is here!” He brushes past the disciple.
“Gōngzǐ!”
Huáisāng flings himself down the corridor towards the Swords Hall, ricocheting off corners and disciples, who call after him to slow down and watch where he is going.
Outside the Swords Hall, he pauses, taking a moment to straighten his robes and pat his face dry. Then, he pushes open the doors. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the indoor lighting and he blinks about owlishly.
“Dàgē? I heard Sāngē had arrived,”
“Huáisāng,” Jīn Guāngyáo says, warm like a summer afternoon. Huáisāng’s eyes begin to adjust and he drinks in the sight of his Yáogē in the Jīn colours. He’d looked better in Niè.
“Dìdi, there was no need to rush, he will not be running off before he has had his chance to spoil you.” Niè Míngjué straightens his skirts and falls back into his seat, a kind of practiced boredom that Huáisāng knows is not real.
“Dàgē, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with adding a fan or two to Huáisāng’s collection, he will only make more anyway.” Jīn Guāngyáo says smoothly, smiling at Huáisāng and gesturing him forward.
Dàgē humphs. “He should be going to saber practice, not writing poetry on fans.”
“But Dàgē-” Huáisāng takes a step forward.
Míngjué holds up a hand. “Go, take Jīn Guāngyáo and do whatever it is you’ve been excited for all week, we will talk about saber practice later.” He waves his brother off impatiently.
Huáisāng lights up and bounds across the room. “Thank you, Dàgē!” Huáisāng reaches for Jīn Guāngyáo’s hand to drag him away. “Sangē, come with me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dàgē glaring and pulls his hand back. “Ah, haha, come, come!” He gestures for Jīn Guāngyáo to follow him.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jīn Guāngyáo says, eyes meeting Huaisang’s across the room.
“This way, Sāngē. I’ll bring him back soon, Dàgē,” Huáisāng says over his shoulder, as he ushers Jīn Guāngyáo out of the hall.
“Sure,” Dàgē says, rolling his eyes affectionately, “if you’re not back in 2 hours, I will come looking.”
“I’ll keep that in mind~”
Huáisāng leads Jīn Guāngyáo, Sāngē, Yáogē, to a quiet garden not far from the hall. It is autumn and the flowers are beginning to die back, the smell of fruit heavy in the air. Huáisāng leads him to a bench set under a small fruit tree and presses their lips together.
“Hello there, Sāngsang,” Yáogē says before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I have something for you.”
“Did you come early just to give me a gift, Yáogē?” Huáisāng leans into his space for just a hint of the fragrance he is wearing today.
Yáogē smiles enigmatically. “Would you like to see it, Sāngsang?”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘aren’t I funny’. Yáogē rolls his eyes and Huáisāng cracks, stifling a giggle behind his hand. Yáogē waits patiently until he’s done.
“On three?” He asks.
Huáisāng nods and shoves his hand in his sleeve. Yáogē smirks.
“One,”
“Two,”
“Three!” The pair of them brandish their gifts at each other: Huáisāng’s barely dry painting, Yáogē’s closed fan.
Huáisāng squeals in delight. “Yáogē, you got me a fan!” He grasps it and flicks it open, admiring the delicate painting on the inside.
“It’s always a crowd pleaser,” Yáogē says dryly before spreading out the painting to look at it. A tranquil pond flanked by greenery; a mulberry bush and a peony in the foreground, reaching towards each other across the water. Huáisāng looks up. Jīn Guāngyáo’s eyes are wide, like he’s memorising every detail.
“It’s a little clumsy in the symbolism but…”
“It’s beautiful, Huáisāng, I will treasure it.” Yáogē says softly. He looks up at Huáisāng. There is an ethereal openness in his face that takes Huáisāng by surprise.
“Every time you look at it, I will be thinking of you,” he says. His smile softens.
“How will you know I am looking at it?” Yáogē leans in, his breath soft against Huáisāng’s cheek.
“I’m always thinking of you, Yáogē.” Huáisāng catches Yáogē’s chin and gently slots their lips together.