Mysterious Lotus Casebook Week

"it's complicated," he says. "i'm not suitable for you anymore. my birth father is a traitor to the throne."

"most people don't know that," she says calmly, "and that's not what i care about anyway."

fang duobing knows that, of course, but he's trying to be rational and considerate rather than just plunging in head first for once. he has learned from the past few months, after all! "i'm not suited to be a prince consort anyway," he says.

"i know that too," zhaoling says. "you want to roam the jianghu and solve crimes and be a great hero like li xiangyi." it's a bit embarrassing to have it laid out so plainly after everything, but fang duobing can't really contest that. "i won't stop you," zhaoling adds, and fang duobing blinks.

"huh?" he says eloquently.

"it will be good for your image," zhaoling continues, "if you travel for a couple years and build up your reputation. no one will contest our marriage if you're a hero of the people."

"oh," fang duobing says, completely turned around by the direction this conversation is going.

"what i'm saying is you can do what you want to do and i'll handle the politics." zhaoling's smile is a touch sardonic, strange on her sweet face. "there's a lot of things i don't know," here zhaoling raises a delicate hand to her chest, "but i do understand the imperial court… and my father. but none of that matters if you don't like me."

"you won't force me?" fang duobing says.

"i might have before," zhaoling says candidly, every inch an imperial princess, the only daughter of the emperor. "but now it's a lot of trouble for someone who would be miserable at me for the rest of my life."

she's more savvy than fang duobing gave her credit for. "why do you even want me," he says, curious about her reasoning, since she's so aware of the political complications.

"i like you," she says simply. "you're kind and you want to help people."

"oh," fang duobing says again, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

"so i want to know," zhaoling says, "before i start expending effort on this. should i bother?"

"i could like you," fang duobing says, almost against his will. he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in the gilded cage of the imperial palace but it's hard not to feel for zhaoling. she's fair and kind and went quite far out of her way to help him and li lianhua when they were in search of the mother bug. far enough to be treasonous, in the mouth of the right minister.

"could isn't good enough," zhaoling says.

"i like you as a person," fang duobing tries again, starting to smile helplessly.

zhaoling purses her lips. "you could do a lot of good as prince consort," she says. "even if you don't know that yet. we can manage that as a partnership too, if you want to. but i 'd rather have a husband."

"it came to me in a dream," di feisheng says, eyes intent on li lianhua's face. li lianhua blinks.

"a dream? lao di, have you gone mystical on me?"

"you don't remember," di feisheng says, obscurely disappointed, and that isn't a question either, but li lianhua feels compelled to answer.

"no?" he says. "remember what?"

di feisheng hums, rolling his shoulders. "come stretch with me, xiangyi."

"huh? now?" li lianhua says, but di feisheng is already turning away, heading for the barre. li lianhua follows, off-balance and confused by this contemplative and almost melancholy di feisheng, automatically moving through the familiar pattern of warm up stretches despite the gulf of years. "it's the middle of the night, lao di," he says, reaching for more familiar ground.

"you're here," di feisheng says simply, like that explains everything. he turns to face li lianhua then, and frowns. "you've regressed," he says, disapproval clear in his voice.

"it's been ten years," li lianhua says, defensive despite himself. "my body isn't what it used to be."

"still," di feisheng says, grasping li lianhua by the shoulders and moving him away from the barre. "haven't you kept in practice at all? sit down. straddle."

"di feisheng," li lianhua says, complaining even as he lets di feisheng guide him down to the studio floor. he stares at himself in the mirrors, pale and thin, chunky sweater and tattered jeans. "i'm not dressed for this," he says sulkily.

di feisheng tsks, settling down behind him, close and warm. "don't make excuses," he says, hands at li lianhua's knees, adjusting the angle and pulling his hips as wide as they'll go.

"i'm not! it's science," li lianhua protests, "a muscle deteriorates if you don't use it—"

"so use it," di feisheng says into his ear, and li lianhua keeps himself from squeaking by sheer force of will. unfair! di feisheng leans in, chest hard against li lianhua's back, applying gentle pressure. "reach," he says, and li lianhua finds himself obeying despite the indignant noise that escapes him.

"there's really no point in making me do this," li lianhua says, and di feisheng laughs, warm breath on his neck making li lianhua shiver.

"we'll see," di feisheng says, and his eyes are dark and fathomless when li lianhua finds them in the mirror.

*

di feisheng dreams of the sea. there's a storm-tossed ship, lightning, the weight of a sword easy in his hands and a man in white with a face he knows and then… later, the man, a dog, a boy. It slips away, leaving him unsettled and awake, a blur of vivid, impressionistic information he can't quite untangle. it follows him through brushing his teeth, taming his hair, the commute to the studio. it hovers over him as he stretches and warms up, xiangyi's face slipping in and out of focus in his mind.

his brother was old enough to know who they were, to remember why they had to run. how different would his life have been if they had been able to stay together? would he still have grown so arrogant and proud with the weight of history behind him? would he have been worse, a nanyin prince bent on revenge? it doesn't bear examining.

without the spectre of his own death on the horizon, li lianhua has the time and space to excavate old ghosts. he was never a nameless street urchin. he'd had a family, a brother, who loved him. a brother whose love had never been twisted with envy. a brother who, to his dying breath, had protected li xiangyi with every ounce of strength he'd had. if only qin mushan had found them sooner. if only shan gudao had never been ill, had never forgotten the pendant was never his. if, if, if. li lianhua closes his eyes. takes a breath. he'd never planned on living long enough to examine these things.

perhaps his shifu and shiniang had thought it better not to burden him with the past. qin po's face is serious but serene as she tells him what she knows, as they make offerings at qin mushan's grave and li lianhua learns to mourn for a family he never knew he had. he can't find in himself to resent his teacher's decisions, only a slow and heavy sadness that he's not here to tell it himself.

li lianhua has done his best to leave that world behind, but there's no helping the way his heart aches watching his old rival execute a series of leaps and turns that they undoubtedly would have fought over in workshop. li xiangyi's signature was speed and lightness; di feisheng's has always been power and here it is, on full display, yet gentled in a way that that makes li lianhua feel like a bit like he's been stabbed. there's a melancholy there that reflects the music, an expressiveness honed and polished over the years li lianhua's been away. he tells the story of a solitary warrior with no one to challenge him with his whole being.

"he's been doing original work more than classical repertoire lately," his companion whispers and li lianhua elbows fang duobing to shush him. that gets him a dirty look but the desired result, and the reminder that he isn't alone isn't really unwelcome. li lianhua takes a deep breath through his nose, releasing it slowly as he watches di feisheng dance across the stage. di feisheng had always chafed a bit beneath the traditionalist bent of the ballet world, had talked often of starting his own company, going his own way, commissioning and choreographing original pieces. it's good that one of them reached their goals, at least.

"so, what did you think?" fang duobing asks eagerly, later, as they walk away from the theatre into the chill of early winter. li lianhua hums in reply, hands stuffed into the pockets of his wool coat and scarf wraped around the collar, up to his ears. "i mean, he's no li xiangyi," fang duobing continues, without waiting for more of an answer. "but no one is, and he's the top of the top right now."

"he's earned his spot," li lianhua says quietly, looking up at the sliver of moon in the light-clouded sky.

"i mean, yeah," fang duobing says. "and i really like this wuxia series he's been doing. but i'm still going to be better than him one day."