Angst in the Abyss

“Should we really meddle with magic?” Fan Wei asks, and in any other situation, Mu Ge would be paying more attention, would be listening, but this time—this time…

Prince Fan Wei is getting married.

They’ve known for a long time that this would happen, but it has always been just a plan for a far-off future; it has loomed over Fan Wei’s head all his life and prickled the soft, unguarded places in Mu Ge’s heart every time he secretly lost his breath at the Prince’s teasing words, simple friendly touches, or the daring spark in his eye.

Princess Su—Fan Wei’s betrothed—is coming of age at the turn of the month and so the wedding preparations have begun.

“Your Highness doesn’t need to worry—”

Fan Wei pulls at his arm, stopping their steps up the forest path. Mu Ge instinctively looks at him, then away.

“It seems I should,” Fan Wei says. “You only ever call me by my title when you’re upset.”

That isn’t true. He also uses the title in the rare occasions other people are present. Such different stations, such different lives…

They were never supposed to know each other in the first place, let alone become friends. Mu Ge has grown up under the kind eyes of the town’s folk, an orphan with an unlikely good fortune: he’s never gone hungry for too long, always finds work when he needs it badly enough, has most of his good deeds returned by his neighbours one way or another. He lives alone, independently, earning his stay in the small room of the tavern by helping the owners in any way he can. The nights outside are cold but he never has to brave them, blessed with a flat pillow, thin blanket, and a cot big enough to fit on.

He’s healthy, alive, and never succumbs to despair. How many orphans could say that?

His fortune has to be marvelous - unlike Fan Wei’s.

Prince Fan Wei was born to a life of no agency - from the moment he opened his eyes, his life was planned out for him, each step calculated, each companion vetted based on their family background. When he was just five years old, the neighbouring kingdom’s noble lady—the Empress’s long-time friend—gave birth to a delicate little princess. To tie the future of their two lands together in a harmonious relationship, Prince Fan Wei’s marriage was signed for.

But ever since Fan Wei and Mu Ge met and their friendship became a safety of confidence, Fan Wei has talked about his life as if it were a trap.

The kingdom—his home—he paints like a prison. His life - like punishment. His fate - like a life sentence.

“You’re quite lucky,” Fan Wei said once, “I’m sure your parents aren’t selling your marriage just to ‘strengthen diplomatic bonds’.”

Mu Ge doesn’t have parents, but he has aunties and uncles, and that’s a close enough thing. Even if Auntie Xu uses every chance she can get to talk his ear off about how wonderful of a wife her youngest daughter would make, she doesn’t exactly marry them to each other outright.

But Fan Wei is right - Mu Ge is lucky. He can make his choices.

“You could leave this place and disappear if you really wanted,” Fan Wei would say sometimes in a tone so wistful and with a sigh so deep Mu Ge felt it in his own chest.

Mu Ge could. It doesn’t matter that he would struggle to survive - he barely has any coin to his name: he works for a roof over his head, and a bed to sleep in, and for food to fill his stomach with, and for clothes to put on his back. This town, in this kingdom, is kind, but he’s heard plenty about the cold, strict, unfriendly attitudes of the peoples outside the borders - would they even agree to have a stranger work for them, let alone house him?

The crux of it is: it’s true - with no attachments or bonds, nobody would follow after him, nobody would search for him. He could leave unnoticed, unlike the Prince.

Mu Ge is lucky. Fan Wei is not.

…but there is a way to change that.

“Fan Wei,” Mu Ge says the name, quietly, intentionally, and meets his eye again - this time, for good. “Trust in me, It won't bring any harm.”

A ritual—a practice of magic, secretive, mysterious, hidden away from the imperial sight. Mu Ge would have never come across it, were it not for a sudden, serious ailment some years past, cured by the aged hands and wise eyes of the local reclusive healer. Auntie Cheng didn’t demand money for her help; instead, she had him swear secrecy and transcribe the ancient scrolls holding forbidden knowledge tucked away beneath the floors of her house.

Whenever his duties to all his other benefactors allow, he spends his nights in Auntie Cheng’s old little shack, reading and rereading sentences he could lose his head over, copying them in careful, stark script the woman’s worsening eyesight can tolerate.

The scrolls are fascinating, like fantastical tales, but he’s never felt any need to pay them more attention than the transcribing requires.

Until now.

Two nights ago, he chanced upon a particular scroll. The contents of it are still burned in his mind, the lines of characters feel more like a formative memory than just a set of instructions.

For good fortune, reads the title.

Then, it lists the requirements.

Two people. The one performing the ritual must hold strong, sincere feelings towards their partner. Must wish beyond everything to share one’s good fortune with the other. Must be ready to bear the consequences.

Mu Ge is.

For Fan Wei, he would—he will give up his own luck, he will give all of it to him if it means the Prince can escape his unhappy, constrained life and smile through his days the way he sometimes smiles when he helps Mu Ge pick berries for Aunt Wu deep in the forest—or when he splashes Mu Ge with the water of the clearest stream when Mu Ge is supposed to catch fish for the specialty dish in Uncle Zheng’s tavern.

Happy and free to do as he wishes, Fan Wei could make his dream come true. And if he decides to accept his father’s crown, he will make a wise, satisfied, good Emperor.

That is worth anything Mu Ge could ever offer.

Originally, the ritual caught his eye because of the flowers central to its spell. The flowers bear no name but the vivid blue petals are familiar. Deep in the forest, beyond the berry paths, the stream, and the animal dens, there is a clearing - the grass stalks and tree leaves are barely visible among the sea of breathtaking blue, exquisite and majestic.

The old scrolls had all been created by Auntie Cheng’s elders who had lived and died, lived and died in this very kingdom. The location described in the ritual, then, had to be that clearing.

Yet another strike of good luck.

Magical, Fan Wei called the place when they stumbled upon it the first time, because the rays of the sunlight falling through the opening in the tree crowns high, high above truly created such an atmosphere. 

He didn’t seem wary at all back then, not even an echo of the imperial prejudice present on his face.

Right now, at Mu Ge’s earnest request to trust him, he relaxes and nods.

Just like that, as if trusting Mu Ge and his judgment is the easiest thing in the world.

It only settles his conviction further.

The clearing looks magical in daylight, but at night it becomes bewitching. There’s no rustle of wind brushing against the flowers, no birdcalls, no crunch of old leaves and dry twigs under the animals’ legs, scurrying off to their dens. There’s only the mystical blue wherever Fan Wei’s eyes fall, the flowers seem to glow when touched by the light of the full moon inching closer and closer to the very center of the opening among the tree crowns. Like this, lying by Mu Ge’s side on a bed of the flowers, their hands clasped together in the silver of space between their bodies with fingers entwined with each other, tickled by the delicate petals, staring at the night sky, hearing nothing but the nervous, excited beat of his own heart, Fan Wei is truly struck for the first time with the realisation that what they are about to do, most likely, is dangerous.

Why else would his parents forbid such practices? Why else would the royal libraries hold no books on the topic, no transcripts, nothing except for old scrolls listing the names of people found guilty of witchcraft right next to the punishments they faced? Some were lashed, some exiled. If the crime was especially grave, one could pay with their very life.

It’s bad. It’s forbidden. It’s damning.

If anybody found out…

Fan Wei looks to the side at Mu Ge’s face. His eyes are closed, eyelashes trembling against his cheeks as he, no doubt, re-reads in his memory the instructions for the spell he found who knows where. His forehead and brows, normally smooth and deceptively relaxed as if no worries ever reach him, now are marred with a frown. His lips keep shifting minusculely under the words he doesn’t let Fan Wei hear.

It’s not Fan Wei who is risking anything here - he has nothing to lose. If what they’re doing right now doesn’t change anything about his fate, he will simply continue living as he always has. If his parents find out about this, he will at most be berated and forced to vow never to get involved with sorcery again.

But Mu Ge is not a prince whose family’s bloodline relies on. He is a commoner - simple, invisible, dispensable. In the eyes of the king and the queen, he does not exist. All at once, Fan Wei is struck with the strange, desperate hope that this remains so.

If this comes out, Mu Ge’s name could very well be added to the scrolls.

“Leilei,” he whisper-calls the name that’s only ever been his to invoke and no one else’s, originally meant to tease, now carrying so much more. The word floats between them in a near-echo, quiet and fluttery like its part of the mystical glow of the flowers.

Mu Ge’s lips freeze on the familiar shape of what must be Fan Wei’s name then and he looks back at him - curious, worried, anxious.

“Why?” Fan Wei asks.

Mu Ge frowns. “‘Why’ what?”

Thousands of questions hide behind the one. Why are you risking so much? Why are you here with me? Why do you care when others do not? The one Fan Wei settles on, is:

“Why are you doing this for me?”

He complained to his parents, and talked to his teachers, and grumbled to the ministers who tried to get through him into Father’s good graces, all about his dislike for his station, for his life, for what awaits him. In return, he was scolded and called ungrateful and unfilial, or told he’d understand the responsibility that lies on him in the future, or pacified with half-understanding nods and pretend-sympathy, followed right after with reassurance of the king’s perfect wisdom knowing no bounds.

Everybody listened to him talk; nobody ever heard. Nobody but Mu Ge.

Looking at him now, Fan Wei’s chest constricts at the thought; once again, Mu Ge sees him, listens, and hears.

Mu Ge’s face clears of any doubts and worries, his forehead smooth again as if this question is not as difficult or heavy as it feels still lingering on Fan Wei’s tongue; as if he has long since realised the answer and has been cradling it in the palms of his hands, close to his chest but not where Fan Wei couldn’t see, never straying far.

“A’Wei deserves to be happy,” Mu Ge whispers back, certain and steady. “In any way he chooses.”

There’s not a hint of doubt in his words, not in the sure look in his eyes, not in the relaxed line of his mouth, like he truly believes it, like he’s ready to challenge the unknown and overturn fate itself all for Fan Wei’s sake, just because Fan Wei is unsatisfied. Mu Ge, who keeps his head low in polite respect when in the company of his neighbours, who serves the common people as if they were his benefactors, who smiles in a gratitude Fan Wei suspects is unearned. Mu Ge, who in comparison has so little but so much, who keeps to the rules and the laws and out of the way, who will risk his conscience for Fan Wei.

I should stop this, Fan Wei thinks, whatever ‘this’ is, he has no idea what the ritual is supposed to do exactly—

—but Mu Ge offers him a gentle smile and tightens his hold on Fan Wei’s hand, and he sheepishly looks down in the way Fan Wei finds charming beyond reason. The blue glow of the flowers caresses Mu Ge’s face in an otherworldly light giving him the appearance of an ethereal being himself, something ephemeral and delicate, here but about to slip through his fingers.

Fan Wei’s heart seizes with the sudden certainty that something essential is about to disappear if he doesn’t—

If he doesn’t—

Mu Ge’s lips feel warm and solid and real under his own. His gasp is the only shift of air in the clearing; Fan Wei senses it on his skin more than hears it.

It’s but a short moment before Fan Wei pulls mere inches away. Mu Ge’s eyes are wide, his pupils bigger than ever before as he stares at Fan Wei, breathless, the warm lips Fan Wei has just dared taste trembling again—this time not under the soundless form of his name but due to the ghost of Fan Wei’s lips imprinted on his own. The world is quiet, too quiet to make it through the sound of Fan Wei’s heart, hammering with unmistaken clarity at last.

For Mu Ge, he, too, would risk it all. If this is what sings in Mu Ge’s heart, too, then…

‘In any way he chooses,’ Mu Ge said. He’s still holding Fan Wei’s hand.

Slowly, carefully, with his every movement sure and unmistakable, Fan Wei chooses to lean in again.

Mu Ge’s eyes flit down, over to Fan Wei’s lips then close with the tremble of his eyelashes. This time, they close the distance together.

The full moon shifts into place at the center of the clearing, covering them in a blanket of silver light.

Three days and three nights pass by in a haze of joy, excitement, and worry.

Joy, which colours Mu Ge’s cheeks pink and stutters his heartbeat to go faster and faster, which tingles at his lips in an echo of the kiss and stretches them in an uncontrollable smile whenever the memory of the night wraps its warm, pleasant arms around him.

Excitement, due to the ritual having gone off without a hitch and soon, soon when they go to the clearing again, it will be complete.

Worry, because ever since they parted ways at the edge of that forest, the soon rising sun forcing their paths to diverge lest anybody notices the prince’s absence, Fan Wei hasn’t come to see him even once.

It’s a strange realisation that the quiet and solitude that Mu Ge has never really minded much when fulfilling his tasks is now tinted with the anticipation of Fan Wei walking by his side, or throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close in a teasing attempt to startle a noise out of him, or distracting him with palace-inappropriate chatter, making work take more time than it normally does. It used to be unnerving, then pleasant; now, picking blueberries and nuts in complete silence and realising the basket is full too quickly without playful fingers stealing the fruit right under his nose, enjoying it with the satisfaction befitting an emperor tasting a rare, intricate morsel pulls at Mu Ge’s heart in unease.

Lately, Fan Wei has searched him out every single day: sometimes to hide away from morning till the evening, sometimes for just an hour, to pass his time until his next princely duty. Sometimes, he came into the tavern Mu Ge helped at for the singular minute it took to say hello, purchase a hot bun, and make loud remarks where the owners could hear on how tired Mu Ge looked, how hard he must have been working, how the crown hopes their subjects are given their due rest when so clearly needed, all the while shooting him the raised-brow expectant princely look and just barely hiding the mischievous smile in the very corner of his mouth.

It’s been three days now and Mu Ge hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Fan Wei for a single moment. The possibilities for why are endless.

Maybe he’s busy? With the emperor putting more and more responsibilities on him and the empress wishing him more involved in the planning for his—for the future union, this isn’t hard to picture.

Maybe he thinks they can’t see each other until the three days have passed? Mu Ge has never specified, he’s just told him of the ritual’s instruction to come back to the clearing after that time to harvest the fruit of the spell. Maybe he’s convinced that meeting earlier would affect the result.

Maybe, maybe, maybe—

Maybe…

Maybe he regrets…?

Mu Ge stumbles on the now-familiar forest path. He catches onto the nearby tree and shakes his head to chase the thought away, but it clings on mercilessly. A quick look around confirms, again, that there’s nobody else nearby.

They were supposed to meet at the entrance to the forest at dawn, but the sun inched its way up the sky, painting the horizon hot red, then orange, then light purple and nobody showed up. Perhaps Fan Wei was already ahead, perhaps he’d made his way to the clearing, perhaps he forgot the details of their appointment, perhaps he was just as excited and hopeful and impatient, perhaps he wanted to see Mu Ge just as much as Mu Ge wanted to see him.

Or maybe, after he’d returned to his chambers three nights ago, he realised that his momentary impulse was returned more seriously and shamefully than he’d ever imagined—heavy, daring, restricting. Maybe he washed his lips clear of Mu Ge, changed into robes never stained by his touch, and vowed to never meet him again lest expectations arise and Mu Ge imagines attachments that aren’t his to want.

Maybe he didn’t want anything to do with Mu Ge’s fate after that.

Maybe he decided the shackles of unwanted marriage were more preferable.

Maybe he deemed it a mistake.

The rest of the way to the clearing, Mu Ge wards the doubts off with all his heart-trembling might, his steps unsteady.

Even without the sun peeking through the tree branches and reaching its golden fingers into the clearing to caress the petals with its warm glow, the sea of blue is as breathtaking as ever. The flowers dance shyly whenever a light breeze brushes against them but valiantly keep their faces open for the butterflies fluttering around to perch on if they so wish. The morning dew weighs some of the late blooms down into tilting their heads. In just a couple of hours, when sunlight finds its way in through the tree opening, the droplets will no doubt look like precious stones, glittering like a dream.

Mu Ge stares blankly and wishes it were one.

Fan Wei is not here.

Nobody has been here since that night - the grass and flowers are undisturbed, their stems and stalks reinvigorated and standing tall as if nobody stepped on them, as if nobody lay in them for hours on end, as if nobody tossed and turned and crushed the poor things under the combined weight of bodies holding onto each other with a newfound desire and tacit understanding not to let go.

Still, Mu Ge blinks his eyes hard to relieve the prickle along the rims, clenches his hands, and tries to call:

“A’—” The name he never had any right to use in the first place lodges in his throat and refuses to come out, no matter how feeble his voice. He swallows through the heartache and, at last, accepts his place. “Your Highness…?”

He’s not louder than a whisper, nobody would hear him over nature's sounds even if they stood mere feet away.

But—surprisingly—there is an answer.

In the middle of the clearing, right under the sun-moon opening, exactly where Mu Ge has learned the taste of a lover’s kiss, a pool of blue flowers shake under more than a simple breeze, startling the resting butterflies into a mad dash away from the disturbance.

He freezes and stares, and after a moment of stillness, the flowers shake again, more persistently, followed by a squeal.

Impossible thoughts turn in Mu Ge’s head as he jerks toward it, step after step, eyes fixed on that single spot where something—somebody is waiting.

Among the cradle of the flowers, embraced by the delicate blue petals, there lies an infant boy. In one hand, he’s holding onto one of his chubby legs and with the other, he’s pulling at the nearby flower stems, shaking them with uncoordinated urgency. The moment his blue eyes meet Mu Ge’s, his expectant little face breaks into a wide smile and he squeals again, high and long and joyful, and he releases his hold in favour of reaching his little arms toward Mu Ge, tiny fingers curling and uncurling in clear expectancy.

What is a child doing here…?

Has somebody left him here, naked and alone? But the flowers around are uncrushed, nobody but Mu Ge has walked a path into them—unless it was days ago. The baby doesn’t look neglected, however—wouldn’t he be wailing of hunger by now? Wouldn’t he have soiled the place under him? Wouldn’t there be an unhappy frown instead of the smile on—

Just as he thinks that, the joy on the boy’s face really does start to crumble and the sounds he makes turn distressed.

“No no no,” Mu Ge mumbles and quickly takes off the outer layer of his robe. It’s simple fabric, a little coarse, but it’ll have to do for now. As gently as he can, he lifts the baby into his arms and wraps him in the layer.

The fragile weight of the boy’s head rests in the crook of Mu Ge’s neck, the little fingers that clutched the flowers now cling onto Mu Ge’s clothing, right where the ends of the thin inner layer fold over one another. Only then do the unhappy noises calm into a content gurgle.

The only person who has ever claimed to find Mu Ge’s company so instantly soothing was…

“Fan Wei?” Mu Ge whispers.

Is that the reason why the prince never showed up? Is that why Mu Ge had to walk here alone? Is that why the child answered the call?

But no matter how familiar the baby looks, how similar the shape of his nose and of the corners of his eyes are, how his mouth quirks in the same way as Fan Wei’s own, the baby doesn’t react over his constant happy, quiet hum.

Somewhere above, a bird takes flight off one of the branches, loosening a full-bloom into a sprinkle of petals fluttering to the ground. One of them lands on the baby’s cheek, making his sensitive nose twitch. Mu Ge brushes it off with the pad of his thumb right away lest it cause a bout of grumpiness again. That’s when he notices, at last.

Instead of the prince’s warm brown, the boy’s eyes—now smiling up at him with breathtaking love, recognition, and trust—are deep blue. Just like the flowers.

A ritual from centuries past.

Two people with a strong bond and a shared wish.

Good fortune.

A son.

…Of course.

Of course.

Just as the pieces finally shift into place, the tender spot in Mu Ge’s heart cracks under the weight of conflicting feelings.

The baby is his. The baby is Fan Wei’s. The baby is theirs and they are his.

But Fan Wei hasn’t come.

Fan Wei hasn’t come.

With a terrible burn in his throat and tears flooding his eyes, Mu Ge hugs the boy closer and leaves, taking the gift with him.

The moment he steps back into the town, it quickly becomes clear that something has happened in the few hours he was gone. Left and right, people are rushing back and forth with excited smiles on their faces and rolls of red fabric in their arms. Red and gold hang over doors, drape over balconies, decorate every building and every stall, and still people add more.

The baby has dozed off somewhere near the exit of the forest and is asleep still - it’s better this way, Mu Ge thinks as he pulls at the outer robe to cover the boy’s head completely, to keep him away from the excitement and any potential prying eyes. He secures his hold a bit more, lowers his own head, and takes a less occupied path to his lodgings, keeping close to the outskirts of the town’s market.

“Such a happy occasion, but why the rush?” comes from one of the houses - a couple of washerwomen are hanging their morning washing on the airing lines to dry, chatting to pass the time. Another woman, dressed in slightly more elegant yet still very simple servant clothes, is packing an already dry set into a sack. “Wasn’t the wedding still some weeks away?”

The wedding?

Mu Ge slows his steps and hides in the shade of the nearest house where he can still peek at the group. Back pressed against the wall, the baby sleeping in his arms, his heart hammering in his chest, he listens on.

The third woman sighs and shakes her head. “I’ve heard from Hua-jie that the Prince has really got into trouble this time.”

In trouble…? Fan Wei…

“What did he do?”

“I’m not sure, but the Empress’s scolding echoed through the palace halls long past his return after missing for the entire night.”

“And so they pushed the wedding forward? That makes no sense.”

Mu Ge’s eyes widen. Something terribly cold spills in his stomach and squirms in deep unease.

“...It might.” It’s another voice, likely belonging to the second washerwoman. “Has Prince Fan Wei ever talked favourably about the betrothal? It’s been settled since he was a little boy, hasn’t it?”

“Are you saying…?”

“Sounds like he found himself a lover and the Empress finally found out.”

No…

“What a silly girl… Everybody knows the Prince is spoken for, what was she thinking, trying to touch something that belonged to someone else?”

“I don’t want to be in her skin when the Empress hunts her down.”

“The Empress won’t,” the third woman says slowly, like something in her memory begins to make sense at last. “Apparently, the Prince begged her to let something go and swore to do anything if she did…”

No…!

“So that’s why…!”

“I think so,” the woman agrees, finally tying off the string on the sack and lifting it over her shoulder. “I need to head back to the palace. I’ll come for the rest before sundown, do you think you’ll have it ready by then? Thanks for helping me out - with the ceremony taking place tomorrow, the jiejies at the palace wouldn’t make it on their own.”

Mu Ge doesn’t listen any more. Gripping the child too tight for it to remain peacefully asleep, he takes off.

“Where have you been?!” Uncle Zheng hisses the moment Mu Ge crosses the threshold of the tavern, and drags him to the back room before he can say a word. Once inside, he shakes Mu Ge’s shoulder and lets go.

“Uncle—?”

“Bringing the imperial guard to my tavern at the very start of the day, accusing me of housing a criminal right in front of the patrons! What have you gotten yourself in—?!”

Just then, the squirming bundle in Mu Ge’s arms starts to wail, squirming under the coarse robe. Uncle Zheng’s eyes immediately fling towards it—and that’s it, no matter how Mu Ge tries to turn away, to rock the boy to a calm, to soothe him to quietness back again, the little one’s existence is now known of by another.

The boy is not calming down and Uncle Zheng is now staring at Mu Ge like he’s seeing him for the first time. It’s too late to hide. With a trembling hand, Mu Ge uncovers the baby’s head, pinked with the exertion of sobs and wet with tears. Watery eyes immediately fix on his face. The sight pangs him so—he doesn’t even think before he presses a long kiss to the boy’s forehead, brushes his puffy cheeks dry and rocks him in a hug, murmuring pleas and apologies he doesn’t consciously form.

But Uncle Zheng is still there, still staring, and his throat bobs as he swallows in apparent nervousness. “What’s this…?”

Mu Ge looks at him, then away. What is he supposed to say? Nobody, nobody can know the child was born of magic, nobody can know of its lineage. If they do, if it’s ever found out, then…

He tightens his arms around the child, nameless but his, and refuses to bring the boy any harm.

“I found him,” he mumbles. Among tiny blue flowers. “Abandoned.” Like he was one of them.

Xiaolan, he decides. Your name is Xiaolan.

“Get out,” Uncle Zheng says, still looking at the boy’s face. He takes a step away, then another, shaking his head as Mu Ge stares at him with wide eyes. “Get out of here.”

“Uncle, I—”

“Are you deaf? Get out!”

Xiaolan clings tighter onto Mu Ge’s robe, his fingers nearly dig into the skin as his cries turn louder no matter how close Mu Ge holds him, how much he rocks him. He needs quiet, he needs clothes, probably some food—has the magic kept him fed at the clearing?

Money—Mu Ge doesn’t have much, but the few coins he’s saved up and kept under his pillow should at least buy a cup of milk.

“My things,” he mumbles over the heartbreaking wailing, “I’ll get them and go, I just need—”

“What things?” Uncle Zheng cuts him off, anxious himself. “Do you think the guard left anything after they’ve turned your room upside down?”

They searched…?

“You can’t stay here,” the man continues. “Whatever you’ve gotten yourself involved in—whatever this child is—you need to leave. They had the imperial warrant to take you away; don’t think they won’t come back for you.”

‘Don’t think they won’t come back for the child,’ Uncle Zheng doesn't need to say - it settles like a brick of ice in the pit of Mu Ge’s stomach.

If it’s him the guard is searching for, he could—he should hide Xiaolan somewhere safe, leave him with somebody trusted and run, disappear from his life, sever all possible attachments for his sake. Maybe the separation would spare him, maybe it would extend the life that’s only just come to be—but… One glance at the baby’s teary face, the desperate grip of his small fists, and the swimming blue of his eyes discards the thoughts right away.

Even if Xiaolan’s irises didn’t betray his origins, even if Mu Ge had somebody he trusted to keep him safe, the mere thought of giving the baby away fills him with dread.

He grew up without familial bonds himself, spent countless nights burdened with the weakness of wondering the reasons, mourning the possibilities, wishing to be somebody’s, to be waited for, depended on, trusted. Loved. All he’s ever wanted is there, in Xiaolan’s eyes.

How could he ever abandon him so, painting for him a life Mu Ge has existed through himself?

His son. His family. His Lanlan.

If he must run, if he must hide to keep the baby safe, then so be it. Mu Ge has always been good at staying low.

He cradles the boy’s head to his shoulder, holds him close, and gives Uncle Zheng one last deep bow.

Never before has he felt more exposed in his life than when he desperately tries to remain unseen, sticking to the shadows of the crowded streets. Lanlan is not crying anymore even with the robe covering his face and the many sounds of the townlife grating at his sensitive ears, as if Mu Ge’s resolve to protect him at all cost reaches him through the robes, the arms, the embrace, and soothes any anxiety before it can take root.

Everywhere around him, people prepare the town for the wedding, too occupied to truly give him a second glance.

Fan Wei tried to keep the Empress’s anger away from Mu Ge, the palace servant said. Mu Ge’s heart clenches at the thought of the Prince agreeing to what he had so desperately wanted to escape from, all to keep Mu Ge safe. What went wrong, what led to the imperial guard going after him anyway, Mu Ge doesn’t know, but the facts remain:

Mu Ge wanted to give up his own fortune to free the Prince from a life of unhappiness. Instead, Fan Wei sold his dreams of freedom for a chance of Mu Ge’s own peace.

Fan Wei doesn’t know about Lanlan—that’s heartbreaking in itself—so what he did, he did entirely for Mu Ge’s sake.

Like he truly… Truly cares about him.

Fan Wei’s face from that night glitters in his memory: eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, loose blue petals stuck in his hair from being kissed within an inch of his life. Mu Ge carefully helped him pick the petals out, unable to stop the smile on his lips, and still, even once they reached the forest’s edge, they found some remaining blue flecks shyly peeking from within the Prince’s fringe. When Mu Ge removed the last one, Fan Wei caught his retreating hand and watched him for a long, long time before they had to part, at last.

The ghost of the last kiss Fan Wei pressed to his fingers still lingers there.

It’s hard to believe it’s been only three days. How have things come to be this way…?

Just then, in the corner of his eye, a flash of silver.

“The imperial guard’s here!”

Mu Ge’s heart freezes.

“Again?”

“They really must be looking for somebody, ah.”

“I’ve heard they searched Old Zheng’s place.”

“Do you think it’s that boy—?”

Panic surges through his veins as he picks his pace, tightens his arms around Xiaolan, shhhing the child on instinct before he even makes a noise and ducks into the nearest empty alley he can find.

They’re going to find him.

They’re going to find them—him and Lanlan—Fan Wei’s sacrifice will be for nothing—

Out of nowhere, somebody grabs at his arm.

No—

But no pain or shackles follow: the grip is strong though the fingers clutching at his robe are feeble and wrinkled with age.

Auntie Cheng’s clear eyes swipe over the bundle in Mu Ge’s arms, then fix on his face.

“Come with me,” she whispers.

Complete and certain trust would be a comfort now but it’s not a luxury he can afford.

Desperate and with no other escape routes, he follows.

That night, sitting on the floor of Auntie Cheng’s shack, leaning against the wall, curled protectively around sleeping Lanlan, Mu Ge dreams.

In the dream, he watches from above as the townsfolk make their merry way through the town’s centre in festive moods and colourful robes, and one person—clad in inconspicuous outer layers, a bundle covered in equally plain fabric strapped to his chest, and a folded umbrella fastened to his back—moves against the tide, his destination in the opposite direction. Like a martial hero on a mission, with a tightly folded umbrella fastened to his back in lieu of a mighty sword, he sneaks out through the city gates, into the forest, and toward the kingdom’s border.

In the heart of the city, a royal carriage is drawn by horses decked out in red and gold. Dark clouds cover what was supposed to be a clear and sunny sky. When the bride is escorted outside, the skies rumble.

Snowflakes so bright they seem to glow blue flutter down onto the late-spring flowers decorating the ceremonial path.

A chill picks up.

The bride shivers. Her parents frown.

Up the path, Prince Fan Wei stands with a face so resigned and pale he could very well be attending his own funeral. The white falls onto his hair, his cheeks, his shoulders; it doesn’t melt at the touch of his skin.

A thunder strikes against the imperial temple’s plaque and paints a warning crack in it. He doesn’t even twitch.

“What an inauspicious sign,” the crowd whispers. “Even the gods don’t approve.”

The face of the bride’s father turns stormy. Her mother covers her mouth. The Empress’s satisfied smile falls.

The Prince sees none of it.

The runaways cross the border and disappear.

In the dream, the ceremony is postponed a day.

Then a week.

Then another.

In the dream, the Prince haunts the palace halls, finds his way into the Emperor’s study, finds a scroll recording crimes and punishments awaiting the imperial seal.

Finds a familiar name where it doesn’t belong.

Rewrites the contents. Burns the original. Escapes unnoticed.

Keeps the name for himself.

In the dream, the planned union never comes to be, the betrothal broken and the alliance crumbling. When the never-came-to-be bride’s carriage leaves the kingdom, spring returns once more.

In the dream, Mu Ge finds kindness in the eyes of strangers, unearned water at his lips, freely-shared food in Lanlan’s belly. Village after village, town after town, cot after cot, he runs and runs until one evening, right at sundown, stumbling step over exhausted step along a soft field path, he comes across a pair of locals enjoying a companionable walk. An older woman walks by the side of a thin, quiet, absent-minded looking man, her arm hooked around his, more to offer support than to receive it. Her constant soothing chatter trails off at Mu Ge’s appearance.

Their steps pause at the sound of Lanlan’s upset, grumbling noises of hunger.

The man’s dimmed eyes flicker and soften with an unexpected, pained understanding.

In the dream, the woman says, “I have no place left in my house, but we’ll find you someone who does.”

In the dream, they do.

In the dream, he stays.

In the dream, when Lanlan toddles around with the rest of the village children, a prince of a faraway kingdom stands in Mu Ge’s door, looking nothing like the young man he was when they parted ways nearly two springs past.

In the dream, his smiling eyes shine with tears of disbelief.

In the dream, he says, “I finally found you.”

In the dream, Fan Wei’s neck is circled by Lanlan’s overjoyed arms, and the boy is embraced with the same love thrumming in Mu Ge’s veins.

In the dream, they stay that way.

In the morning, Mu Ge wakes up. He dresses in fresh, borrowed inconspicuous robes, hides away the few coins he’s handed, bites back the polite instinct to decline them.

Auntie Cheng stuffs wrapped rice cakes and dried fruit into his sleeves, ties a water bag to his belt, helps secure Lanlan to his chest. Just when he’s about to sneak out of the cottage, she hands him a folded umbrella.

She says no words; her knowing eyes speak volumes.

With his heart skipping a beat and picking up with a hopeful pang, he takes it.

Clad in plain outer layers, a bundle covered in equally plain fabric strapped to his chest and a folded umbrella fastened to his back, Mu Ge moves through the joyous crowd toward the outskirts of the town, out the city gates.

At the edge of the forest, he takes one last look at the imperial palace; its impressive walls look grey and desolate among the stark gold and red visible even from here.

The groom must already be there.

“We will meet again,” he whispers—to Fan Wei, to Lanlan, to himself—hoping beyond hope it’s not just a fool’s wish.

With the best fortune he could have ever asked for blinking its blue eyes up at him, cooing as if in agreement, Mu Ge turns for the final time and leaves.