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Shen Wei sat up straight and put his hand over his chest. He’d felt a stab of pain, sharp and sudden, just over his heart. For long moments the discomfort was enough to take his breath away. Then the pressure began to ease. Shen Wei slowly sank back on the seat. His fellow commuters were busy with their own affairs at the end of the day, and no one had noticed his momentary discomfort.

Anniversaries were always difficult. Shen Wei had never been a superstitious man, but this unlucky fourth seemed especially hard. Four years ago Ye Zun had crouched over him to plunge an ice dagger into his chest. Shen Wei could still hear Zhao Yunlan screaming as the force of Ye Zun's blow broke his ribs and pierced his heart.

Shen Wei winced, closing his eyes. Deep breaths, inhaling calm. Exhaling painful memories. 

Just let it all go. 

“Shen-jiaoshi?” interrupted a timid voice. “Are you all right?” 

His eyes flew open. A student seated across the aisle was leaning forward. “Do you need help?”

“I am fine,” Shen Wei answered immediately. He thought the student’s name was Xue Liqin. She had been in a large introductory class last year, a shy woman who seldom spoke in class. 

“I am fine,” he repeated, because Xue Liqin just seemed more worried. He made himself smile at her. “Perhaps a touch of indigestion from lunch.”

She looked entirely unconvinced, asking with a quick, worried smile, “Can I call someone to meet you at your station?”

“There is no need. Here is my stop now.” Shen Wei stood. “Thank you for your concern. Have a good evening.” 

He told himself that he was certainly not fleeing from a concerned undergraduate as he shuffled into the line of commuters exiting the metro, even though this was not his neighborhood station. He usually got off at Jufeng Street, six blocks down. 

As Shen Wei descended the stairs to street level he even told himself the extra walk would do him good, especially when he was having trouble shaking off the persistent bad memories. The sky overhead was dark and a wind had risen. Shen Wei stepped back into the shelter of a shopfront and buttoned his overcoat, double checked that his briefcase was zipped, then started for home. 

For the first year after his own, utterly unexpected survival, he’d had almost no memory at all of those desperate final hours. There was only a glimpse of his poor lost didi finally reaching out to take his hand, and of Shen Wei clasping the trembling fingers of his little brother in turn. 

Then he had awakened in Zhao Yunlan’s arms. And oh, his beloved had been so angry, clutching Kunlun’s broken pendant in one fist, his eyes red, shouting at Shen Wei in a hoarse voice. Shen Wei had reached up to touch that beautiful mouth but had no words of his own to offer in turn. Then Zhao Yunlan had curled his body down around his own and wept. 

It had turned out, perhaps unsurprisingly, that living was far more complicated than dying. The succeeding months were full of the hard work of healing both Zhao Yunlan and himself while the two of them were being called on daily, almost hourly to assist in rebuilding institutions damaged in both their worlds as a result of the invasion. The first anniversary of Ye Zun’s death crept up on Shen Wei like a cunning foe, and the solemn ceremonies of remembrance in Dixing and Haixing were surprisingly painful. Shen Wei thought he had learned to bear the grief of being unable to save his brother. In truth, he had simply been too busy and too exhausted to think very much about it. 

Too relieved by Zhao Yunlan’s presence across the breakfast table every morning, at his side during meetings at the Xingdu Bureau or the Dijun Palace, in bed beside him every night, to think about the bad times. 

But standing in the throne room for the first year anniversary while the Regent droned and nattered through his interminable speech, Shen Wei abruptly remembered himself bound and flogged here, his blood spattering the stones underfoot. His didi had been so fixated, gloating and cruel. Shen Wei made his peace with what had to happen next. If he could not reach Didi, he would goad his brother into killing him. The resulting cataclysm of dark and light energy would save Dixing and Haixing both from Ye Zun’s monstrous hunger. 

It had been Shen Wei's final secret. His relief at knowing Zhao Yunlan would finally understand had carried him through hours of torture and pushed him to his feet once more to face the palace guards. It had all made perfect sense at the time.

One year later, looking down at a stone floor long since cleaned of Shen Wei’s blood, it suddenly became clear that Shen Wei had been just as fixated, just as monomaniacal as his poor didi. 

Shen Wei locked his knees and hadn't collapsed in the middle of the Dixingren remembrance ceremony. His trembling fingers were hidden by his long sleeves. If the three sticks of incense juddered in his hands as he bowed, the sweep of the cloak at his back surely hid that as well. Still, Zhao Yunlan had glanced up, an eyebrow raised in question, and Shen Wei had to look away. 

Even now on the fourth anniversary of his didi’s death, walking home with his overcoat buttoned against the wind, memories of Zhao Yunlan’s grief and rage tore at him. It seemed as incomprehensible as ever that he could have accepted death as Zhao Yunlan, bound and helpless, howled in protest. After Ye Zun slammed the ice dagger home, Zhao Yunlan had screamed for Ye Zun to kill him, too. How could Shen Wei have sprawled on the palace floor with Zhao Yunlan’s anguish ringing in his ears—and merely welcomed death since it meant his plan was working?

A plan that killed Didi and left Zhao Yunlan screaming. 

It was shameful, monstrous even. No surprise that months had passed before Shen Wei had allowed himself to remember. 

The first raindrops began to patter down on Shen Wei’s shoulders and bare head. Shen Wei suppressed a sigh. If walking alone wouldn't clear his head, maybe the rain could wash the dark thoughts away. He tucked his glasses away and raised his face to the sky. 

Zhao Yunlan didn't talk about those dark hours. There had been angry, confused questions in the early days, shadows behind the relief of their both still being alive. Something he saw in Shen Wei's face had stopped the questions, though. Zhao Yunlan would smile and shake his head, laughing a little. It was the easy chuckle he used to smooth over an awkward social moment. Sometimes he would lay a hand on Shen Wei's shoulder and say something like, "We're both here. That's what matters now," and eventually he stopped asking questions altogether.

Shen Wei had been relieved, but hadn't really understood until his memories started to return. He remembered what he had done, even some of what he had thought, but in retrospect, it was very hard to remember why it had seemed necessary. 

Zhao Yunlan's light energy had been poison in his system, weakening his body the longer he allowed it to circulate through his meridians. Had it affected his reasoning as well? As upsetting as the idea was, it was even worse to think that he had been as sane as he ever was when he decided to sacrifice himself, regardless of the cost to Zhao Yunlan. 

He had gone to Dixing in search of the wick for the Guardian Lantern. But the moment he realized that Wu Xiaojun was in thrall to Ye Zun, he had instead permitted himself to be betrayed and delivered into his brother's hands.

He remembered a moment of grief for the butler Wu, murdered by Ye Zun and unmourned by his son, and his realization of how powerful Ye Zun had become. Then the decision. This was how he would save Zhao Yunlan. This was how he would save everyone in both their worlds, and all it would cost was the lives of his brother and himself. 

The rain was falling harder. Now the screams in his memory were his own. His rage and despair when Ye Zun told him that Zhao Yunlan was on his way to the palace, and Shen Wei realized he had not saved his beloved. He had not saved anyone, and all he could do was recommit to his fatal course. Then he had not even permitted himself to remember it. Such headstrong madness. Such cowardice. He was no different from his brother, and there would never be enough rain pouring down from the heavens to wash him clean. 

A big vehicle, colorless in the early dark, rolled up to the curb and stopped. A window slid down. “Dammit, Shen Wei! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Zhao Yunlan.” Shen Wei crossed the sidewalk to the big jeep. Zhao Yunlan pushed open the door for him, and Shen Wei climbed in, asking him, “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Zhao Yunlan rolled his eyes at him before pulling back into traffic. “I swung by your stop so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the rain, and one of your students said you’d gotten off at the previous station. What were you thinking?”

Shen Wei blinked and looked away. He unbuttoned his overcoat, fished out a handkerchief and blotted his face dry. It didn’t help very much. His wet hair was still dripping under his collar. “I merely wished to stretch my legs,” he tried. “I’m sorry for getting water on your upholstery.”

Zhao Yunlan’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He glanced sideways at Shen Wei. “Yes,” he said in a voice that was entirely too controlled. “Because the Jeep is certainly what I am most concerned about right now.”

“I apologize,” Shen Wei said again. 

Zhao Yunlan barked a laugh, harsh and no humor in it. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should never have let you go to campus today.”

Shen Wei frowned. “But I had office hours and my graduate seminar.”

“And heaven knows nothing could get in the way of those!”

Shen Wei’s frown deepened. Zhao Yunlan was angry. He put his hand on his beloved’s knee and said his name, and Zhao Yunlan’s shoulders slumped. 

“It’s not you,” he said, eyes still on the road. “I knew today would be hard, and I let you go to work anyway.”

“But I am fine,” Shen Wei told him. 

“No. Neither one of us is fine today.” At the light, Zhao Yunlan finally turned to look at him, and this time he was smiling sadly. “You won’t even use a little dark energy to magic yourself dry?”

“Ah.” Shen Wei glanced down at himself, his wet overcoat and boots. The rainwater dripping under his collar was making him shiver. It honestly had not occurred to him to dry off with Dixingren talents. What comfort did he deserve when he had not saved his own brother? When he had been prepared to abandon Zhao Yunlan?

He knew better than to say any of that out loud. He cupped his hand and allowed dark energy to pool softly. The air in the jeep grew warmer and dryer. It was a modest effect—Shen Wei did not have the inclination or the energy this dreary afternoon for a flashier talent. 

“Thank you,” Zhao Yunlan said seriously and soon they were pulling up to the curb in front of their home. Several months ago, Zhao Yunlan, Da Qing and Shen Wei had bought a modest house with a small central courtyard in the oldest part of the city. The old walls were thick enough to muffle the noise of traffic and neighbors. A little plum tree in the courtyard had bloomed so sweetly in the spring and gifted them with fruit in late summer. Shen Wei was happier here than he had ever been anywhere in his very long life, save only, perhaps, for those barely-remembered years when he and his didi had lived with their family in Dixing. 

Still, Shen Wei was not ready to go home just yet. 

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll walk back from the garage with you.” The only downside to their little home was the lack of parking. Zhao Yunlan’s monster red Jeep had to be kept in a private garage three blocks away. 

“Shen Wei, please go inside and get dry. I have an umbrella and I’ll be back in five minutes. “

“I am dry,” he protested. 

“That puff of warm air was mostly to make me feel better,” Zhao Yunlan told him bluntly, and Shen Wei flinched. Zhao Yunlan scrubbed his hand over his own face. “Please, Shen Wei, do this for me. I’m not in a very good place right now. The one thing that would make me feel better is knowing that you are warm and dry at home.”

Shen Wei raised no further objections. Eyes lowered, he unfastened his seat belt, opened his door and slipped out of the truck. He splashed across the sidewalk to their front door as Zhao Yunlan pulled away. The last of this year’s geraniums, planted in a terra cotta pot on the front step, were drooping in the downpour. 

Inside the atmosphere was cold and humid. This old house got very damp without heat on rainy days, even with the dehumidifier running. Of course, right now the dank air fit Shen Wei’s mood. He had angered Zhao Yunlan and had no way to comfort him. 

Shen Wei hung up his overcoat,  took off his boots and padded across the foyer in slippered feet to adjust the thermostat. The furnace clanked. Now the room smelled of the damp and of warm air. Shen Wei walked to the office and took his paperwork out of his briefcase and stacked it carefully on his desk. The individual pages wrinkled easily in the humidity. Through the window into the courtyard, the little plum tree was a dark sentinel. Shen Wei turned on a lamp and his view of the courtyard vanished, replaced by a reflection of the office and of himself standing there looking bedraggled. 

Shen Wei ran his hand through his wet hair. No wonder just looking at him made Zhao Yunlan sad and angry. 

So, dry clothes, then he would start dinner. Chicken and ginger and garlic would drive the cold and damp away. Zhao Yunlan would be warm and well fed in his own home. Shen Wei could not banish grief and anger, but he could make his beloved comfortable on a dark and rainy night. 

He undressed in the bedroom, moving very slowly. His heart ached in his chest, but he no longer knew if it were the memory of Ye Zun’s furious blow or simply the knowledge of his own shortcomings. The very air seemed thick, his sorrow and his concern for Zhao Yunlan making every movement and every thought an effort. He hung up his coat, put away his glasses, his collar bar, cufflinks, belt, and sleeve garters, and then he placed everything else in the laundry hamper, save for his suit pants. He had gotten mud on the cuffs walking in the rain, and they would need to be sent out for cleaning. He crouched down and folded them carefully into the dry cleaning bag he kept in the bottom of the closet.

He had not realized how slowly he was moving until Zhao Yunlan announced from behind him, “Ah, now this is what a man wants to see when he gets home in the evening.”

Shen Wei rose and turned to face him, barefoot in his briefs. “I’ll have dinner started soon.” 

Zhao Yunlan strode into the bedroom and plucked up the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Shaking it out, he wrapped it around Shen Wei’s shoulders. “I am thinking tonight would be a good night for delivery,” he said, and softly kissed Shen Wei. He drew back and asked, ”Sit with me?” His smile was melancholy, but his eyes were gentle. 

“Of course,” Shen Wei agreed, helpless before that soft expression. To his surprise, Zhao Yunlan guided him to the dressing bench. He’d expected Zhao Yunlan would take him to bed. Lovemaking did not cure grief, but the sweetness of lying in Zhao Yunlan’s arms was always a balm.

Zhao Yunlan scooped up Shen Wei’s slippers, abandoned as he undressed, and knelt before him, lifting one foot and then the next to ease the boiled wool slippers back on his feet. “Zhao Yunlan—” Shen Wei began.

“No husband of mine is going to have cold toes if I have anything to say about it,” Zhao Yunlan declared grandly. He sat beside Shen Wei and ruffled his damp hair, then took Shen Wei’s right hand in both his own and simply looked at him. Shen Wei dropped his eyes. The moment stretched in silence until Shen Wei met his gaze. 

Zhao Yunlan’s eyes crinkled. “Long day?”

“It was fine,” Shen Wei lied automatically. Zhao Yunlan winced and to his surprise Shen Wei heard himself confessing, “A student on the train home saw that I was...unhappy. I could not explain and I did not want her to worry. That is why I disembarked before my usual stop.”

Zhao Yunlan lifted Shen Wei’s hand and kissed the backs of his fingers, then tucked Shen Wei’s hand up under his own chin, still holding on tight. “Let’s not do this next year,” he told Shen Wei. 

That was not what he had been expecting. However, it was certainly easier to answer. “Both the Palace and the Bureau will plan formal remembrances for the fifth year anniversary. Our presence is certain to be requested.”

“Aiyo, I’m sure you’re right,” Zhao Yunlan groaned. He squeezed Shen Wei’s hand. “Only good thing about it is that we’ll be showing up together for everything.” He finally released Shen Wei’s hand, but only so he could scoot closer on the bench and throw his arm over Shen Wei’s shoulders. “Warming up?” he asked. 

“Yes.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. The blanket and the weight of Zhao Yunlan’s arm were both a comfort, and the house was warmer now. He thought the remaining cold was a figment of his aching heart. 

As if he’d heard Shen Wei’s thoughts, Zhao Yunlan slipped his free hand under Shen Wei’s blanket and laid his palm on his chest, fingers spread. Shen Wei inhaled sharply at his touch.

 “I’m sorry,” Zhao Yunlan said, though he didn’t move his hand. “Are my fingers cold?”

“No.” Shen Wei placed his own hand over Zhao Yunlan’s.

“You wouldn’t tell me even if they were,” Zhao Yunlan accused, but he was smiling.

“No,” Shen Wei agreed softly. “I probably wouldn’t. You might take your hand away.”

Zhao Yunlan ducked his head. “Is it really so hard for us to tell each other the truth?” He looked up at Shen Wei through his bangs, smiling to take the sting out of the question. 

“I would do anything for you,” Shen Wei said. “That will never change.”

“Shen Wei, Shen Wei, Shen Wei,” Zhao Yunlan said ruefully. “I will never deserve you, but I swear you will be the death of me one day.”

Well, that was too close for comfort. Shen Wei’s heart ached even under the warmth of Zhao Yunlan’s palm. He felt his eyes beginning to fill, and he said hurriedly. “I’ll get dressed and start dinner.” 

When he tried to rise, however, Zhao Yunlan kept his arm flung over Shen Wei’s shoulders. “Stay with me?” he asked. “I know that cooking is a comfort and an escape for you, but right now I need comfort, too.”

Shen Wei sat back. “Zhao Yunlan,” he said. He smoothed Zhao Yunlan’s hair back out of his eyes. “Tell me, please. Anything you need.”

“I’d like to know if the old scar is hurting you.” Zhao Yunlan spread his fingers across Shen Wei’s chest again. “You told me once you could still feel it sometimes.”

Shen Wei did not remember that confession. “The wound has long since healed,” he said. “It has been years now.”

“Four of them, yes, I know,” Zhao Yunlan agreed dryly. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only on occasion,” Shen Wei whispered, surprising himself with the new confession. Zhao Yunlan winced before he could stop himself, and Shen Wei was immediately sorry to have said anything. 

“Is now one of those occasions?” he asked.

“It is certainly not...unendurable.”

“Oh, Shen Wei!” Zhao Yunlan groaned. He threw both arms around him and pulled him close. With his arms trapped by the blanket, Shen Wei could not easily embrace him in turn, but he got one forearm up and patted Zhao Yunlan’s side. He could feel his ribs through his T-shirt. 

Shen Wei would do anything for him, but he did not know how to protect Zhao Yunlan from his own bad judgment. “I don’t want to fail you again,” he whispered. And then, astonishingly, he continued, “Sometimes I am so afraid.” He might have been that young warrior at Kunlun’s side once more, as if he had learned nothing at all in ten thousand years.

“But Shen Wei—” Zhao Yunlan eased himself back, though he kept his hands on Shen Wei’s shoulders. “You have never failed me. I’m the one who—I should have known. Everything was moving so fast back then, just one crisis after another. I’m not making excuses for myself, that’s just how it was, and I could not imagine.... Aw, dammit. That's not important now. The only thing that matters is that you’re hurting. How can I help? Do we need to go to Dixing? Consult a healer?”

Shen Wei shook his head. “It’s only the anniversary of Didi’s passing,” he said, but his voice broke mortifyingly and he could not continue. This was intolerable. He was worrying Zhao Yunlan, there was no dinner started, and he wasn’t even dressed. 

Before he could say anything more though, Zhao Yunlan cupped his head with both hands, fingers curved at the back of Shen Wei’s skull. His eyes crinkled as if he were smiling. “Sit here for just a moment?”

Shen Wei nodded. Zhao Yunlan jumped up and went to the dresser, returning with a set of pajamas.

“I’m not going to bed yet,” Shen Wei objected mildly. 

“Ah!” was Zhao Yunlan’s only response, pointing a finger at him. He stepped into the hall and returned with the fluffy robe Shen Wei kept in the bathroom. “Shivering under a blanket is no way to end the day. Here we go. Arms through the sleeves.” He took the blanket away and fussily helped Shen Wei button the pajama top, then gave him an arm to stand as he pulled up the bottoms, finally slipping the bathrobe over his shoulders. He crossed the robe snugly over Shen Wei’s chest and belted it tight around his waist. Then he put his hands on Shen Wei’s shoulders and stepped back to survey his handiwork. 

Shen Wei blinked at him. He would have  felt a little silly about all this, being treated like he couldn't dress himself, except that Zhao Yunlan was so serious and seemed so pleased. He regarded Shen Wei critically, scanning him from head to his slipper-clad toes. He adjusted the front of Shen Wei’s robe so more of his chest was covered. 

“There,” he announced at last. “Now this is what a man really wants to see when he gets home at the end of the day. Are you warm enough? Comfortable?” 

Shen Wei said quietly, “Thank you, yes,” and a brilliant smile broke across Zhao Yunlan’s face. 

Shen Wei smiled back at him. How could he not? 

Zhao Yunlan threw back his head with a laugh. “Come sit in the living room with me. We’ll get something delivered for dinner.”

Shen Wei allowed himself to be walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa closest to the fireplace. Zhao Yunlan unfolded a blanket over his lap, carefully tucking it under his legs and stealing a kiss as he straightened up. Then he turned on the electric heater in the old fireplace, making artificial flames leap in the dark space. 

“It’s an excellent night to be home,” Zhao Yunlan announced, snapping on the television. The screen was mounted on the wall over the fireplace. “It’s Grand Prix weekend this week. Lots of good reruns and commentary leading up to it.” On the screen, three sportscasters were doing just that, offering commentary on a race they seemed to be examining screen by screen.

“Ah,” Shen Wei said, enjoying Zhao Yunlan’s pleasure too much to object. “How fortunate.”

Zhao Yunlan grinned. “Yup! What do you want delivered for dinner? Noodles? Seafood? Good night for splurging, maybe.”

“Is there leftover soup in the refrigerator?”

“The pork and lotus root? Oh that was good!” Zhao Yunlan agreed. “Da Qing may not have gotten into it since it’s not your fish and tofu soup. He inhales that, damn cat.”

“I should make a pot for him this weekend,” Shen Wei agreed. Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow at him. “And for us.”

Zhao Yunlan smiled. Over the fireplace, wildly impractical cars built only for speed and literally nothing else roared around a track taking them nowhere. The sportscasters discussed the race (last year’s, perhaps? Shen Wei had no idea) with excited gesticulations. 

Zhao Yunlan glanced at the screen. “Oh, here it comes,” he murmured, stopping to watch. One of the absurd cars spun off the track, swerved around and crossed the track again, causing three more vehicles to crash. “Did you see that?” Zhao Yunlan clucked disapprovingly. “Grosjean never took his foot off the accelerator. Cost him a three-place grid penalty but if you think he learned anything...”

“Race car drivers...driving recklessly?” Shen Wei said seriously. “This is hard to imagine.”

“I know!” Zhao Yunlan agreed fervently. “At those speeds the slightest miscalculation—” He broke off, remembering who he was talking to. “Very funny. Seriously though, that driver is a menace. But he keeps winning races so they won’t slap him down like he deserves.”

“It’s almost as though incentivizing speed at the cost of all else is an important factor in racing,” Shen Wei agreed, deadpan. He started to fold the blanket away. “Why don’t you sit here and watch your races while I heat soup for both of us.”

That took Zhao Yunlan’s attention away from the screen at once. He replaced the blanket on Shen Wei’s lap. “If you’re sure you’d rather have leftovers than takeout?”

“Yes, I think so. As long as that’s alright with you.”

“Perfect,” Zhao Yunlan pronounced. “I’ll bring some tea while you sit here and rest, and I’ll reheat stew for us both. Sound good?” he beamed down at Shen Wei.

As usual, Shen Wei could only smile back at that beautiful face. “Of course. Thank you, Zhao Yunlan.” 

His smile got even broader. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, bustling away into the kitchen. 

“I will not,” Shen Wei agreed. His heart was still heavy, but it was very good to be at home with Zhao Yunlan while the rain pattered down outside. On the television, the absurd vehicles Zhao Yunlan so loved were jostling for position on the track, their engines screaming, and the sportscasters gravely discussing every aspect of this ludicrous sport. But Shen Wei was thinking how astonishing it was, after all his failures, that he got to enjoy the comforts of home with his beautiful Kunlun. His emotions were so raw, Shen Wei was half afraid he might weep, despite the background of Formula One racing. 

Then from the kitchen came a clatter, Zhao Yunlan’s angry exclamation, and a crash. 

He sat forward at once. “Zhao Yunlan?” 

“Nothing! It’s nothing. Don’t get up. I just dropped the kettle.”

Dropped the kettle?

“Let me help,” Shen Wei started to rise just as Zhao Yunlan stuck his head around the door and demanded, “Shen Wei, do not get off that sofa!”

Shen Wei sat back, blinking. 

“Please,” Zhao Yunlan said in a more normal tone of voice. “I assure you I can boil water for tea.”

Shen Wei folded his hands in his lap. “Of course. Thank you.”

Zhao Yunlan snorted and disappeared back around the corner. Shen Wei leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He listened to Zhao Yunlan stomping and clattering around the kitchen and wondered how making tea could possibly require so much noise. 

Zhao Yunlan reappeared at last, triumphantly bearing a steaming mug. “I thought ginseng would make you feel better on a night like tonight, but I couldn’t find any ginseng root in the cupboard, and then I finally found a box of tea bags.” His shoulders sagged a little. “I know it’s not as good as steaming the root and cutting it up like Mom used to do.” 

Shen Wei reached for the mug at once. “This is perfect,” he assured Zhao Yunlan. He cupped the mug in both hands and brought it to his face to inhale the steam. “Thank you. But won’t you have some as well?”

Zhao Yunlan wrinkled his nose, then grinned apologetically. “Too bitter for me.”

Shen Wei blew across the surface and took a sip. “Rather, this is a great comfort on a bitter evening.”

“And it comforts me to see you drink it. I’m going to heat that soup for both of us now,” Zhao Yunlan backed up. “No, I don’t need any help. Just drink your tea and relax.”

Shen Wei settled back obediently, sipping his infusion to the whine of Formula One engines and the racket of Zhao Yunlan slamming pots and pans about. Shen Wei’s every instinct was to get up and help, if only to spare the wear and tear on their kitchen goods, but he forced himself to remain where he was. The clatter from the kitchen faded at last, but only because Zhao Yunlan had come back to the living room. “Don’t get up!” he said immediately. 

Shen Wei blinked his eyes open. To his surprise, he’d been on the verge of falling asleep. He carefully put the empty mug on the coffee table. “I am not getting up,” he promised.

“One question, and then I’ve got this. So, to reheat the soup, you would just put it in a saucepan? On top of the stove?”

Not for the first time, Shen Wei wondered how Zhao Yunlan had managed to survive long enough in this era for Shen Wei to find him. He crossed his arms over the blanket in his lap so he wouldn’t be tempted to get up. “Yes,” he told Zhao Yunlan very seriously. “In a saucepan on top of the stove. You may want to keep an eye on it and stir it occasionally so the lotus root doesn’t stick to the bottom.”

“Right! Got it!” Zhao Yunlan vanished back into the kitchen. Shen Wei smiled after him. His dear Zhao Yunlan, who would do anything for him. Face death at his side, fetch him his warm robe from the bathroom door, even tackle the mystery of reheating leftover soup.

A wave of great tenderness swept over Shen Wei. He found himself shivering, although he wasn’t really cold anymore. It was simply the overwhelming emotions of gratitude and love, almost more than his tired body could handle on a rainy night after a very long day. He pulled the blanket up, tucking it over his shoulders. It wasn’t the same as Zhao Yunlan’s arms, but it was the blanket his beloved had brought to him with his own hands. 

He settled back, smiling instead of worrying about the racket from the kitchen. 

I’m so sorry, Didi, he thought then, and although the thought pained him, it was a grief he could bear now. I tried to give up the world for you, but it never would have been enough.

The next time he opened his eyes, the house was silent save for the rain on the roof and the soft hiss of the fan in the fireplace heater. The living room smelled faintly of pork and lotus root soup. Shen Wei was lying on the sofa with his head in Zhao Yunlan’s lap, and the room was lit only by the television and the artificial flames of the electric heater. Shen Wei rolled his eyes towards the TV. Zhao Yunlan was still watching racing coverage, but he had muted the sound. 

“You can listen to your show,” Shen Wei said. His voice was a little hoarse. “I don’t mind.”

Zhao Yunlan smiled down at him and cupped the side of Shen Wei’s face with his hand, thumb gently brushing Shen Wei’s jaw. “Hey there. Have a good nap?”

“I believe so.” He was very comfortable and very, very relaxed. He thought he should probably get up, but this was so pleasant he didn’t want to move yet. “Did you have dinner?”

“I did, and it was delicious. There’s a bowl left. Would you like me to reheat it for you?”

Shen Wei worked one arm out from under the blanket and took Zhao Yunlan’s hand in his own. “It makes me very happy just to be here with you, my beautiful Zhao Yunlan. Would you sit with me here a bit longer?”

Zhao Yunlan’s smile grew softer. “Oh yes,” he murmured. “I think I can do that.” He guided their joined hands down to Shen Wei’s chest and gently laid them both over his heart. “How does the scar feel? Is it still hurting you?” He was still smiling down at Shen Wei, but his brow showed a furrow of worry.

Shen Wei was so relaxed he answered honestly. “It is very tender, always, but it is a part of me. I am glad to bear it.”

“Shen Wei—” Zhao Yunlan began in concern. 

“Although I failed Didi, I still have you, and you are my world, Zhao Yunlan. May I have a kiss?”

“Oh, yes,” he breathed. Bending low over Shen Wei, he touched his lips to Shen Wei’s brow, and then found his mouth. The angle was awkward, but the warmth and sweetness of those beautiful lips against his own eased the pain in his breast and made Shen Wei shiver with pleasure. 

Zhao Yunlan eased himself back. His mouth was red and wet. “Are you cold, baobei?”

Shen Wei reached up to touch Zhao Yunlan’s face. “It is not the cold that makes me tremble.”

"Ah." Zhao Yunlan fumbled for the remote and managed to click the television screen decisively off. Then he caught Shen Wei's hand where it rested against his cheek, and he grinned down in a way that still made Shen Wei blush, even after all this time. "Then perhaps that is enough racing news for tonight."