#difang

I'm doing a bunch of rewriting of my difanghua fic (which I'll hopefully start posting at the end of July, just in time for the 3 year anniversary of the airing of the first episode of MLC), so I figured now would be a good time to post an excerpt!

Have some pre-difang vibes, with a very out of it and in pain DFS and an unfortunately horny FDB.

***

"A-Fei?" Duobing called a few minutes later. "May I come in?"

Di Feisheng swallowed back a curse and made one more attempt to get his almost completely numb fingers to grab onto the hairpin of his xiao guan. Finally, finally, they closed around the decorative dragon head with enough grip that he'd be able to pull it free. "Yes," he managed, wincing at how strained his voice sounded.

He let go of Xiangyi's hand just long enough to stabilize the xiao guan and pulled on the hairpin. It came out, and his hair tumbled free. The instant relief of not having that extra weight and pressure on his screaming acupoint and skull, of not having to ask for help getting it off, or to not have to force himself not to flinch away or choke someone in response to encroaching hands, made him have to close his eyes to breathe through their traitorous attempts to burn.

"Um," Duobing said, his voice too high and choked.

Di Feisheng's eyes flew open, and he blinked repeatedly to force them to focus and show only one Duobing instead of two, standing just inside the privacy blinds. "What?" he asked, once the world stopped warping.

"N-nothing," Duobing said, a little too quickly. "Glad to see you're getting ready for bed. Shall I take that hairpin before you take someone's eye out with it?"

have a snippet because the image of di feisheng with one of fang duobing's old practice swords would not leave me alone (from its cold blossom, again)

-

Sometimes, Fang Duobing longs for the way things were more malleable in the jianghu, drawn along lines that would bend and curve. You could meet people more candidly and take their measure, rather than hold to the strictures of rank and status.

He stutters to a stop. He's not alone.

Across the paved pathways and decorative trees lies an expanse of sandy ground where he does his daily exercises. A rack of practice weapons, mostly left over from his youth, stands under the roof of the veranda.

A familiar, sheathed dao rests in the rack. Hulijing is lounging on the veranda steps, an idle audience more concerned with the patch of sunlight spilling into the yard.

On the training ground, a wooden sword in his hand, Di Feisheng is pacing through a form. He never moves without purpose, but there is a lightness to him now, the blade floating through each swirl and block and adroit lunge. The rather ragged tassel hung from the hilt dances alongside him, a counterweight to his strokes.

An uninvited, incredulous laugh breaks through Fang Duobing's foul mood. "Lao Di, what are you doing?"

Di Feisheng finishes his form, the point of the sword tilting down. He is still in his travelling clothes, his hair windswept. "Waiting for you."

"Someone did find you a room, though? Tea, food, water to wash with?" As soon as the questions are out of his mouth, Fang Duobing clicks it shut. He's fretting like a nervous young wife. If it were summer, Di Feisheng would probably sleep on a rooftop of his own volition.

okay I'm pretending to write, have a morsel from an ex tempore difang thing

-

Fang Duobing glances back at his companion. Di Feisheng pushes a pin through his damp hair, gathered into a coil. The water in the basin he used is cloudy, and on his bared neck, the scarlet stain remains. There's no mirror in the room; has he even noticed?

"Wait," Fang Duobing says.

Di Feisheng goes still, only a flicker of puzzlement in his eyes. Fang Duobing dips a cloth in the bucket of hot water. On a ragged stint of purpose, he presses the cloth to Di Feisheng's throat, half expecting to be rebuffed.

He is not.

The marks left by Di Feisheng's bloody hands are still on his own outer robe, slung over the clothes stand. That was the moment he knew they'd survived. The proof was in that grip, in its fearful strength.

Why is his throat so thick? Drops of water from the cloth slide down Di Feisheng's shoulder. With quick, rough motions, he wipes at the smear. The cloth turns a brownish pink.

There it was, the gaping slash across skin and tendon and vein. Gone now.

Di Feisheng's jaw twitches. Fang Duobing is scrubbing at his neck with force fit to bruise.

As if he'd brushed against a flame, Fang Duobing jerks back. "Sorry. I didn't realise—you still had blood there, I wanted to—"

He's washed the stains of a fight from Di Feisheng's skin before. But this time, Di Feisheng nearly—far too nearly—slipped through his reaching hands, gasping and glassy-eyed.

I was trying to get an entirely different story moving, but this sad futurefic has apparently consumed me.

here's difang as a pair of wandering youxia, then. previous snippet here for context.

---

As the soldiers wave them through, Di Feisheng keeps a steady pace. Fang Duobing pulls his mare so close that their knees brush. As soon as they're over the bridge and out of sight of the checkpoint, his hand seeks out Di Feisheng's. Di Feisheng opens his chilled fingers so Fang Duobing's can fit between them, warm as a gasp and as fretful.

Di Feisheng murmurs, "Will you whistle for the damn dog?"

Fang Duobing laughs—a release of tension, sharp in the air—and does as bid.

Before a count of ten, the dog lopes out of the field, her paws muddy and her coat strewn with millet stalks. She shakes them out in a great shudder.

"She has a name," Fang Duobing says, fondly chiding. "It's not Dog."

"She answers to it. When she can be bothered. How much farther do we have to ride?"

Fang Duobing peers at the rugged foothills that breach the fog in the northwest. "It's not on my map, but that merchant told me yesterday there's a village some way off the road. With some luck, it's too small for the army to care about."

"Save your prayers for the next temple. I'll settle for sleeping under a roof tonight."

"The night frosts are over." Fang Duobing remains given to imprudent optimism. "You're such a warm-weather creature. If word got out how clingy you get on cold nights, your reputation would never recover."

"That reputation I no longer have, you mean?" Di Feisheng welcomes the banter. Nothing keeps Fang Duobing down for long, but the season wears on both of their spirits. The end of winter should be a hopeful time, the year new and full of promise.

For him—for them—the advent of spring will always taste of loss. Fang Duobing carries his grief more lightly, but Di Feisheng knows its weight is no less than that of his own. It was a bitter lesson, but one he tries not to forget.

They've shared the road for a long while now. He's stopped scanning every crowd for sly eyes and a lively step, a phantom that still hovers close in quiet moments.

He squeezes Fang Duobing's hand, in reassurance and in reminder: here they are, the two of them, alive on this crisp morning on the empty road.

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing Characters: Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, eventual OT3, No beta we die like shan gudao, POV Multiple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, we're just at the beginning don't worry about it, this is a long ride, note that author isn't super good at tagging, li lianhua will be along but this starts with these two, i wrote this to be gay and intense not to make sense Summary:

Fang Duobing meets Di Feisheng in a worn-down warehouse by chance.

so, uh, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated?

still trying to beat back this writer's block, but here, have a steamy difang morsel.