Archive of Our Own

Of all the plans Wang Yixiang has hatched during his lifetime, freezing to death on this barren stretch of enemy land is by far the worst.

But what choice does he have?

He could always crawl back into the sea with what little strength he has left and let the saltwater fill his lungs instead, but that seems counterintuitive after he'd just spent such a long time and all of his energy dragging himself onto dry land. Even now, he'd hate to think he has struggled for nothing, which is stupid considering he's only delaying the inevitable.

Yixiang rolls over onto his back, chest heaving. His wet robes might as well be anchor chains with how effectively they pin his spent body to the ground, and the throbbing in his left foot means that walking is unlikely. The sound of the short, wheezing bursts of air through his chattering teeth is not promising either.

His time is growing short.

He got lucky in the aftermath of the attack and found a piece of the hull big enough to lie on. Without it, the icy water would have stiffened his limbs long before he paddled ashore. But it's a hollow victory. There is no one here, and even if there were, Yixiang would have a hard time convincing them to help a stranger from the mainland.

Were he still in possession of his trusted twin blades, he might give himself a warrior's death, swift and bloody. Go out on his own terms. But his weapons are gone. They rest somewhere on the bottom of the sea along with the grain that was supposed to put an end to the long war between his Emperor and Prince Regent Kwan, forever lost.

The blood that seeps into the snow from an arrow wound on his upper back flows more freely after his arduous journey landwards, but not nearly fast enough to save Yixiang from the undignified, miserable wait.

This is not how Yixiang expected it all to end.

Apart from the rhythmic whooshes of the waves lapping the rocks, it's perfectly quiet around him. Snowflakes as big as moths flutter down from the gray sky, melting on his cheeks and tangling in his eyelashes. Barely a single brown leaf quivers on the towering tree behind him, as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation of his passing.

Did he do enough to balance the scales of his cosmic karma? Will history remember him as an instrument of chaos or a man who fought tooth and nail for order and justice? He'd worked so hard to end the conflict they accused his father of sparking, only for hope to slip through his fingers before the finish line.

It's not fair. It's not fair. He is not done. He still has so many things to do, so much to accomplish, his family's honour to restore—

He can't leave yet.

He is not ready.

Yixiang fights the darkness that lurks on the edges of his vision for as long as he can, but even the Emperor's War Dog can't win against the forces of nature by his will alone.

Just when he thinks he is done with pain for good, it finds him again.

Yixiang groans when a sharp sting radiates outward from the burning spot on his back. He knows better than to move, recognising the slide and pull of thread on the edges of his wound, but tension still coils through his body as his senses reawaken one by one.

Alive.

He is alive.

"Sister, did you hear that?" Someone shouts in their enemy's tongue. "He's awake!"

Yixiang is near-fluent in the language himself, at the insistence of his tutors, but he isn't sure if he should give that information away yet. Some of the wariness abates, however, because the voice clearly belongs to a young child.

He is not in hostile hands.

Not yet, anyway.

"Hush, Bibi. What have I told you about using your outdoor voice in the house?" Another voice admonishes quietly.

"…to only use it if I need help."

"That's right. Mr Choi doesn't like loud noises."

"Pah," a third voice chimes in, this one clearly belonging to an older woman. "Don't you heed my grouchy old husband's words, Eunbi-yah. Children should be seen and heard."

"But preferably not when I'm trying to focus on stitching together this poor sod," a man says right next to Yixiang's ear. "Stay still, mister. I'm almost done."

Yixiang's head is turned towards the papered window, and as much as he wants to put faces to the voices, he doesn't dare defy the man's order yet. If there's one thing he has learned in his years in the military, it's that doctors should always be obeyed.

He focuses on subduing the shivers caused by the pins and needles all over his skin as the warmth of the hearth banishes the chill from his bones. The strangers have changed him into dry, clean clothes, which are considerably coarser than his own fine robes, but Yixiang is not complaining. He is grateful to feel anything at all.

The air is fragrant. Yixiang's nose picks up tea, fortifying herbs, and the sour notes of a stew simmering somewhere in the dwelling. The room is dim, with only a lantern here and there to dispel the winter darkness, but he can still hear sounds from the village beyond the house, so it's not nighttime yet. He hasn't been out for too long, thankfully.

"Do you think he understands us?" the child whispers.

"Only one way to find out," the second person says. "Yah! You alive? If you are going to die, please do so before we use all our savings on medicine!"

"Eunju!" the woman hisses. "Mind your manners, miss! You cannot put a price on a person's life!"

"No? Then why don't the shops hand out barley rice for free?" Eunju says, a mulish tone in her unusually low voice.

Yixiang snorts, amused. She's got a point.

"So you do understand," Mr Choi says. "Good. Listen, you're not out of the woods yet, mister. You lost a lot of blood, and your foot is broken. Lucky for you, it looks like a clean break. It will heal well if you keep weight off it for at least a moon's turn. The problem is this wound." Yixiang feels a tug as the man tightens another stitch. "It looks like the arrow was dipped in some nasty stuff, and a fever might take you yet."

"He seems hale," Mrs Choi says. "I'm sure he'll pull through with the right medicine."

Yixiang doesn't say it out loud, but he intends to. He would have succumbed to the cold after he failed to protect the grain, his men, and their vessel from pirates, but Yixiang will not be taken to an early grave by something as stupid as poison or cow shit. He'd heard that some island savages slather dung on their arrowheads to ensure that even surface-level flesh wounds fester, but hadn't witnessed the practice firsthand before. Rotten cowards. Such wretched tricks go against everything Yixiang was taught.

"You mean the expensive kind," Eunju sighs. "Fine. Leave it to me. Bibi, stay here with Mr and Mrs Choi."

"Yes, sis!"

"Just don't leave her alone with that man. We don't know if he's a bandit or a scoundrel yet."

"I'm not," Yixiang spits out, his wounded pride reacting before he has finished deciding how to introduce himself. Whatever. It's probably not in his best interest to fake being mute in the long term, anyway. These people sound like simple, kind-hearted country folk, so as long as he doesn't divulge his true identity, he should be safe here until he can send word to his uncle.

"No offence, mister, but that's exactly what a bandit would say."

"But sis, didn't you say that you saved him because you thought he was too handsome to be a—"

"Hush, Bibi!"

"My name is Yu Yixiang." His pronunciation is not solid enough for him to pass as an island native, so he'll have to risk exposing himself as a foreigner. "I was hired to protect a shipment of grain by a merchant from the mainland, but our vessel was attacked by pirates near the shoreline. As far as I know, I am the only one left alive."

"Blasted pirates!" Mrs Choi slaps a tabletop somewhere in the room. "Vermin, the lot. They've grown bolder as the war goes on. If only the prince—"

"Enough, wife." Mr Choi clears his throat. "Let's not bother the poor man with war talk. Eunju, hurry with the medicine. I wrote you a list. It's on the table there. The apothecary should have everything." The old man pats him on the shoulder. "I'm almost done here, Mr Yu. I apologise. It's not pretty work. Horses and sheep rarely require stitches, you see, and I'm quite out of practice."

So not a doctor, but a veterinarian. Oh, well. Beggars can't be choosers.

"It doesn't matter. Thank you, Mr Choi. I owe you my life."

"Don't thank me, thank Beom Eunju. She's the one who carried you home all the way from the beach."

"Thank—"

"Oh, sorry. She's gone. But she'll be back soon with your medicine."

"Sis is as fast as the wind! You'll see!"

Content with that, Yixiang lets himself drift off again.

Someone is unrobing him.

Yixiang reacts on instinct, gripping the front of his tunic and jerking out of their reach.

"Sorry, sorry!" the person squeaks. "Mr Choi told me to change your dressing, and you've been in such a deep sleep that I thought—"

"It's fine."

Yixiang adjusts his clothes, then turns to survey the sun-filled room and the stranger backing away from him.

The first thing Yixiang notices is that she is taller than any noble lady or maid he has seen back home. The woman stops in the middle of the room with her broad shoulders curled forward and her head bent in a respectful greeting. Her long black hair falls over one shoulder in a messy braid, and when she finally looks up, Yixiang finds himself unsettled by her enormous eyes and flushed, round cheeks. He lowers his own head.

She responds with another, deeper bow, and Yixiang bends farther down, too, until the stitches on his upper back make themselves known with a fresh twinge. He straightens up, scooting higher on the bed before facing his saviour.

"Miss Beom Eunju." Yixiang clears his throat. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my life last night—"

"Oh, no." Eunju shakes her hands, palms up. "That was two days ago, Mr Yu. You were out cold all day yesterday. Mr Choi said that could happen with the medicine we gave you. I was certain you weren't gonna make it. I even carved—" She falls silent, flashing him an embarrassed smile. "Never mind. How are you feeling?"

Her teeth are like pearls, white and perfectly aligned. Yixiang has never seen a woman smile open-mouthed that way. He realises too late that he's staring and ends up bowing. Again.

She returns the bow, bending at the waist with her eyes fixed on him under her fringe. Her brow is slightly furrowed.

"I am well." Yixiang is relieved to move the conversation along. He tests his shoulder, rolling it forward gingerly. It's sore but doesn't feel inflamed. "Thank you. For the medicine."

"You are welcome. Is there anyone you wish to contact? Letters travel slowly to the mainland from here with the war and everything, but we can try to send word to your family back home."

Eunju's voice is peculiar, pitched lower than any woman's he has heard before, but to be fair, he doesn't have a large pool of samples to compare it to. Women in his home country are like ornaments: quiet and pretty, never in the way and rarely vocal enough to hold his interest for long. His uncle has hounded him about choosing a wife for years, but so far, Yixiang has successfully dodged his every attempt to set him up with some vacant-eyed noble girl.

His destiny lies far beyond the marriage bed.

"There is no need," Yixiang says. "I have no close family left."

Eunju perks up at that. Her posture shifts, pulling her short jacket tight across her shoulders. The voluminous layered skirts below hide the shape of the rest of her body, and Yixiang tears his eyes off it, ashamed that such crude curiosity even crossed his mind.

"You are an orphan too?" she asks. Her gold-speckled eyes shine in the winter sun streaming in through the yellowed paper, and Yixiang finds he can't hold her gaze for long.

"Mm," he hums and turns to survey the humble yet clean room.

The furniture is well made if not flashy, and each item has its logical place, even though the overall impression might be that of chaos to a casual observer. The room looks lived-in. Comfortable. Nothing like his own rooms at his uncle's house, built and designed to inspire awe and intimidation in visitors.

"We lost our parents a few moon-turns back, too." Eunju's voice softens with grief. "Roadside bandits attacked them while they were on their way to sell their wares in the capital. Mr and Mrs Choi, our next-door neighbours, have been looking out for us ever since."

"Where is your husband? Was he conscripted?"

"I am unwed," she says, her brow knitting together. "And will remain so, I believe."

"Why?" Yixiang blurts out.

She appears to be of age, capable, and easy on the eyes as well, so it makes no sense for her not to marry, especially if she is an orphan with a sister to support.

Her head dips down, hiding the blush creeping up her face. She fiddles with the scarf wrapped around neck. "I cannot bear children because of an injury I sustained when I was young. But it doesn't matter." She straightens to her full height and draws her shoulders back. "I can make a living for myself and my sister on my own. My mother taught me how to make maedeup, the finest in Lisan, and as soon as I fix up her shop, I will continue to sell them. I don't need a man to provide for me."

"Maedeup?" Yixiang is unfamiliar with the word.

"These." Eunju points at the intricate beaded and tasselled knot hanging from the fastening of her jacket.

They have something similar at home, but nothing as elaborate. The craftsmanship is impressive, and the pieces must fetch a handsome price.

"I see," Yixiang says.

In truth, the notion of an unwed woman running a business to support herself and her blood relative is incomprehensible to him. It has more to do with his upbringing than anything else, though. Yixiang realises that some people, especially those born into the lower classes, might not have a choice in the matter. No one wants a barren wife, do they? At best, she might hope to become a concubine, but based on their brief interaction, Yixiang doubts she has the predisposition for the role.

"Are you hungry, Mr Yu? Mrs Choi made breakfast."

Yixiang nods. "But could I trouble you for some water first?"

"Of course!" Eunju busies herself with pouring him a cup from a pitcher on the table. "You speak our language well. Have you worked on the island before?"

Yixiang wets his scratchy throat, mulling over his answer for a moment.

"I've met all kinds of people in my line of work," he says carefully. "I picked it up here and there."

"You must be pretty smart, then. My father's hair turned almost entirely white while he taught me to read and write." Eunju smiles, her nose scrunching up. It's big, wide and almost hawkish, in stark contrast to the girls across the strait who all seem to have tiny button noses behind their fans, but it suits her face, balancing out her eyes and lips. She'd stand out on the mainland, and not only because of her lanky build; her striking features would make her an exotic beauty among the throngs of near-identical delicate little flowers at court.

"Is there something on my face?" Eunju asks. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she rubs her cheek with the side of her hand. "I was stoking the flames in the kitchen earlier, and it wouldn't be the first time I've got soot all over myself."

Yixiang almost leans forward for another bow, his body responding to the hot flood of embarrassment, but he stops himself at the last moment.

"No. I apologise. I was merely lost in thought," he says woodenly.

"You've suffered a great tragedy. It's only natural to be out of sorts." She gestures to a pile of fresh bandages on a tray beside the bed. "Can I change your dressing before you eat?"

"No need." Yixiang shakes his head a little too vigorously. "I can do it myself."

Eunju blinks down at him. "How?"

It's a fair question. Yixiang probably couldn't reach even if he had full mobility in his right arm, which he very much does not at the moment.

He frowns.

"I do not wish to be an inconvenience," he confesses at length. "I cannot even repay you for your kindness at the moment, but as soon as I get well, I will work—"

"Nonsense. If we refuse to help one another, what good would all the riches in the world do us?" She snorts, then approaches him briskly. "Please remove your tunic."

Yixiang hesitates. Their customs dictate that an unmarried man and woman should never be left unchaperoned in a room to preserve the woman's modesty and reputation, and now she is asking him to disrobe as well.

It's uncouth.

"Is Mr Choi unavailable?" Yixiang asks, his fingers clutched around the lapels of his tunic.

Eunju sits on the edge of the bed. This close, Yixiang can smell her, the smoke clinging to her clothes, mostly, but underneath, a whiff of something else, herbal and sweet. Lotion or hair oil, maybe.

It's alarmingly intimate.

"Why?" A furrow forms between her eyebrows. "Granted, I'm no doctor or scholar, but if you think I can't even do this much—"

"No, no, no, I don't doubt your capabilities, Miss Beom. I only meant…" Yixiang falters, flustered by the indignant fire in those marble eyes. "Won't there be…talk?" He glances at the papered window where faint noises from the street can be heard.

Understanding melts the lines from her forehead, then she smiles, rueful.

"Mr Yu, I am an unmarried orphan who was jilted by the only promising scholar in the village when he learned I cannot provide him with offspring. And in case you haven't noticed, I am a head taller than half the men around here. There has been talk for as long as I can remember. If I let it bother me, I'd spend all my days wringing my hands with my ear pressed against the wall. Now, can we please get on with this? I have work to do downstairs."

Yixiang pulls the tunic off his shoulders too fast, wincing as a ripple of pain runs through his upper body.

"Careful." Eunju puts one hand on his bare upper arm to steady him.

Yixiang is unaccustomed to being touched so casually by a woman. To his horror, he feels a flush creep up his face.

Mistaking his discomposure for further signs of soreness, she guides…no, forces Yixiang to rest against the headboard, and more of that confusing heat rushes to his face.

"Don't overexert yourself, Mr Yu. Are you in pain? Do you want something for it?" Eunju's eyes are narrowed in worry. They're the colour of burnt mahogany up close, round and earnest. So unlike Yixiang's own. His cousin once said he looks cruel, like a fox on his way to the henhouse. Eyes befitting a man bred to wage war.

"I'm fine." Yixiang slows down his breathing. "Save your medicine."

"If you're sure…" Eunju reaches behind his back and undoes the wrappings.

Yixiang has no choice but to let her, leaning forward with his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

"I am. But thank you."

"Why do you have so many scars?" she asks once the soiled strips have been removed. "Have you been a guard for long?"

"Yes. My father trained me from a very young age."

Eunju's face twists into a mask of pity, then she lowers her voice: "Were you hard to teach as well? It's okay if you're not a very good guard, Mr Yu. Have you considered changing professions? If you get injured this much…"

Yixiang coughs up a chuckle. "Thank you for your concern, but it's alright, Miss Beom. I guess I've just been unlucky. My father died before he could finish my training, but my uncle took over for him."

She doesn't need to know that most of the scars were lessons or punishments from his uncle rather than from enemy blades or arrows. Not that he had escaped his countless battles entirely unscathed, but his back especially is an account of his failures as a disciple rather than as a fighter.

"So, it's a family business then?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"I'm going to clean the wound now, so brace yourself. It's going to sting." Eunju dabs the stitches with a damp cloth, and Yixiang grits his teeth.

"What happened to him?" she asks next. "Your father. Did he die on the job?"

Yixiang doesn't want to think about his father.

He was still a child when the Emperor's men stormed their family estate and ransacked each room in search of something. Yixiang did not understand the meaning of the bloody jade tiger seal his parents were presented with in the courtyard at sunset. He could only look on helplessly as his mother wailed on her knees and his father was dragged off to be executed. Only after his mother had hanged herself and his uncle had taken him in did Yixiang discover that the seal belonged to the neighbouring island's royal family. The King and Queen had been assassinated while visiting the capital on the mainland, and their son, the Crown Prince, a boy around the same age as him, had gone missing along with the seal. His body was never found.

Yixiang's father took the fall for the crime and was sentenced to death by lashing, but even his blood could not quell the brewing unrest between the two nations. War was inevitable. Yixiang has been the tip of the Emperor's spear since he was sixteen, spurred on by the desire to restore honour to his family name and make his uncle proud. But he never truly believed that the answer lay among the dead on the field. Yixiang had searched for a peaceful resolution to the conflict for years with his trusted advisors, and the gift of grain from the Emperor to the Prince Regent was the culmination of those efforts, the first step on the road to peace. Only Yixiang had failed to deliver it safely.

His father's spirit must be hanging his head in shame.

"My father put his faith in the wrong people," Yixiang says, "and he died because of it."

"Did you avenge him?"

The question takes Yixiang by surprise.

"Not yet. But I've been trying to gain merit in this lifetime, so his spirit may be appeased."

Eunju nods solemnly.

"I haven't found the bandits who killed our parents either, but when I do, I will show them no mercy."

"You…fight?" Yixiang frowns.

"A little. My father knew some martial arts and taught me how to defend myself. He left me his sword."

Yixiang had never heard of such a thing: a father teaching his daughter to wield a blade. It must be an island custom.

"Bandits are ruthless savages who won't hesitate to take a life. Don't put yourself in unnecessary danger, Miss Beom. Your sister needs you alive."

Eunju ties a knot in the dressing and leans back, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You don't think I could take a band of boorish mountain bandits?"

"Women don't do battle where I'm from," Yixiang says, tugging his tunic back on. "I meant no offence."

"Let's spar when you've healed up." Eunju points her chin at his injured shoulder. "I'm not saying I'm better than you, but the only scar I have is from when burned my wrist on a hot pan." She shows him a pale, uneven patch of skin below her left thumb.

Yixiang doesn't know whether to laugh or gape.

Against his expectations, the coming days in the Beom home are anything but boring. The house is loud, filled to the brim with laughter, talking, and occasional shouting. The Chois come and go as if they lived there too, and the sisters seem to visit their neighbours just as often. People show up unannounced every day, and Eunju greets everyone with the same dazzling smile and generosity she'd shown Yixiang.

He observes their day-to-day lives from the second-floor window in secret, squirrelling away every overheard piece of information about Eunju, her family, and the town. Yixiang learns that the townspeople largely hold Eunju in high regard because of her sewing skills, benevolence, and upright character, but some gossip about her and spread rumours about how she was born under a calamitous star, destined to bring bad luck upon herself and the people around to her. Eunju is not afraid to call out the scandalmongers, and Yixiang can't help but grin to himself as he once again listens to her give the mean-spirited widower who lives across the street a piece of her mind.

Her business seems to flourish as well. She has to turn down orders because she can't keep up with the demand; the knots take a long time to craft, and she is busy with cleaning, cooking, and caring for her sister and Yixiang.

His foot is healing well, but he still has to use a crutch to hobble around. The shoulder is taking longer because of the tainted arrowhead, so unfortunately, Yixiang is of little help with the household chores, but he still wants to pitch in. He owes the sisters that much.

Yixiang has no experience in teaching, but he has a deft hand with brush and ink and an abundance of free time on his hands, so he presents the idea to Eunju one evening after dinner.

"You want to teach Eunbi to read and write?" Eunju asks, her eyebrows rising.

"I'm not an expert in your language, but I'm confident that I could teach her basic penmanship. Compared to the characters in my language, yours are easy."

"Please, sis, can he?" Eunbi turns to Eunju, her eyes imploring. "I want Uncle Yu to be my teacher!"

"Yah! Am I not good enough for you anymore?" Eunju stabs the air with her chopsticks. "You ungrateful little brat."

"But you hate writing!" Eunbi's face scrunches up into an adorable frown, and Yixiang conceals a smile against the rim of his cup. "You say only dullards like Mr Son bother with writing down their thoughts!"

"Mr Son?" Yixiang asks. The name has come up before, but Eunju has always smoothly changed the subject whenever someone mentioned him. Yixiang has grown curious about this mystery man.

"Her old fiancé. Our parents arranged the union," Eunbi says before her sister can cut her off. "But he broke off the engagement when he passed his exams and became a big-shot scholar." She ptui's over her shoulder. "We don't talk about that cur in this house."

"Bibi!" Eunju cries, scandalised. "Who taught you to speak that way?"

"…Aunty Choi."

Eunju glances at Yixiang. "Please excuse her." She glares at the little one. "Losing her parents at such a young age made her a little unruly. I try my best, but…"

Yixiang inclines his head. "No need to explain it to me, Miss Beom. I understand."

"Bibi, you know that Mr Son is a respected member of our town, and just because—"

"—and as long as he refuses to pay you back for your family's kind-hearted sponsorship, he can choke on dry rice!" Mrs Choi pokes her head in through the door out of the blue. "Don't shine that freeloader's shield for him, Eunju. He doesn't deserve your gracious words after he took your family's money, then abandoned you when he learned about your injury. Until he pays up, his name is a curse word here!"

"Your family sponsored him?" Yixiang asks.

Mrs Choi leans farther inside. She is carrying a bucket in one hand, and judging by the hour, she is on her way to top off the chicken feeders. Chores have never stopped her from gossiping before, though.

"They all but paid for his studies," she scoffs. "They helped his widowed mother through some harsh winters while he was at school, too. Yet Mr Son dropped her like a hot sweet potato as soon as he found out about her condition. Now Mrs Son flaunts her fancy new clothes and jewellery while our poor orphaned girls barely scrape by. It's a disgrace!"

"Please, Mrs Choi, leave it," Eunju says, an edge of desperation in her voice. "Water under the bridge."

"I intend to pay you back everything I owe as soon as I am fit enough to work, Miss Beom." Yixiang digs out a piece of paper from his robes and lays it flat on the table between the stew bowl and the spicy fermented cabbage Yixiang has developed quite a taste for. "Here. I've kept a detailed account of what my upkeep has cost you so far. This is just an estimation, of course, as I am unfamiliar with the market prices in this region, so please review it at your earliest convenience and let me know—"

Eunju snatches Yixiang's careful calculations, balls up the paper, and goes into the kitchen. Yixiang can only look on, blinking, as she feeds the ball to the cooking fire.

"Teach Bibi until you've healed," she says as she sits back down, "and we'll call it even."

It turns out that Eunbi is a bright pupil, if a little too easily distracted. A pot calling the kettle black; Yixiang's gaze keeps drifting to Eunju's workstation across the room while Eunbi practices her brushstrokes. The way Eunju manipulates the thread with her deft fingers and an assortment of tools and gadgets is hypnotising. Her focus, speed, and mastery of the various techniques are nothing short of awe-inspiring. Yixiang enjoys watching her craft immensely more than overseeing his men on the training field.

More than once, Eunju catches him staring, and Yixiang acts as if he is only stretching his neck or trying to find a misplaced item in the vicinity. He's fooling no one. Not even Eunbi.

"Do you like my sister?" she asks conspiratorially one evening after Eunju steps outside for a moment. "You keep looking at her."

"It's her work I'm looking at," Yixiang says blandly. "This is the first time I've seen someone make maedeup. The process is very interesting."

Eunbi frowns. "No, it's not. She's just shuffling a bunch of colourful threads around."

"Well, yes, but she's doing it in a way that creates beauty. It requires skill."

"I don't want to make maedeup when I grow up." Eunbi makes a face. "I'm going to be a warrior. Like my dad."

"Oh?" Yixiang's eyebrows shoot up. "Your father was a warrior?"

"She is telling tall tales," Eunju interrupts them, her arms laden with the bedding that had been hanging in the yard all day to air out. "Father slaughtered pigs for a living."

"That's just what he called the wicked scoundrels who tried to do harm to innocent people! They lived like pigs, so they died like pigs too." Eunbi pretends that her brush is a sword - one dripping ink all over the parchment instead of blood.

"What's wrong with pigs, huh?" Eunju snorts, shaking out one blanket in the pile. "They're docile animals who only want to eat and sleep before it's their turn to take the knife and nourish our bodies."

"Sis," Eunbi whines. "You're ruining it."

"Alright, Bibi, I'm sorry. You're right. Father was a fierce and noble hero, and he tirelessly defended the town from hordes of wild hogs who…hungered for human flesh!" Eunju roars and approaches her sister with her fingers curled into hooves. Eunbi screeches in delight, her brush held out in front of her as Eunju launches her attack.

Yixiang watches them tussle from the sidelines, his face sore from smiling so much.

He distantly remembers that having a family felt like this.

Two weeks into his stay, Yixiang asks Eunju if he can help with the dishes after dinner. Before, he had always excused himself quickly after finishing his meal, fearing his presence would cast a shadow over the warm domesticity of the sisters' home, but now that his shoulder allows a wider range of movement, he would feel like a layabout if he didn't at least offer to assist with the workload.

He is expecting Eunju to decline because until that very morning she had forbidden Yixiang from even making his own bed, but to his surprise, Eunju nods and throws Yixiang a clean rag from across the kitchen.

"Here. I'll wash, you dry."

Yixiang doesn't hesitate. He meticulously wipes down every dish Eunju hands him before depositing them in their rightful place, his brow crinkled in concentration.

Behind them, Eunbi lies belly-down beside the fire and plays with her collection of self-made animal figurines, lining up her pine cone pig army and decimating them with a slingshot Mr Choi had whittled for her.

It's quiet, the kind Yixiang is most foreign to. He doesn't even know what to call it. Contentment? The quiet on the battlefield was only ever anticipatory, the lull before the storm. Here, it's not oppressive at all, doesn't itch like a set of hemp mourning robes.

"Does your shoulder hurt?" Eunju asks, leaning in and unceremoniously yanking down Yixiang's tunic on one side to inspect the wound.

Yixiang, still unaccustomed to her candour, freezes in place.

"Looks better."

She pokes the edge, and Yixiang winces when the soap on her finger elicits a sting.

"Sorry!" She dabs the wound dry with her jacket sleeve. "I wasn't thinking. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," says Yixiang, more amused than in pain.

No one else has ever dared to touch him so freely. Even the battlefield doctors are always more reserved with physical contact than she is.

"I don't think you should go back to your old job," Eunju says as she pulls his tunic back into place.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"You don't have room for more scars." Eunju grabs the dish pail. "Do something else." She strides outside to toss out the dirty water, leaving Yixiang staring after her.

If only he could. But his fate had been sealed even before his father was framed for the murders. This period of respite at the heels of his biggest failure has been welcome, but the real world on the other side already beckons to him. In a moon turn, he'll be well enough to travel to the outpost the Emperor set up on the west coast and board a ship back to the mainland. There, he will get on his knees and bare his teeth on behalf of the Son of Heaven once more, and his time in this house will fade into memories and dreams as did his time in his mother's arms.

When Yixiang was a child, he used to regard the beggars on the streets with keen pity, grateful for his family's good fortunate and status. Then he got older and learned this: money and prestige feast on freedom. His life has never truly belonged to him.

Beom Eunju might not have riches or a family name that people utter with reverence, but she is a sovereign ruler of her own future, and thus, wealthier than Yixiang could ever hope to become.

"Teacher Yu?" Eunbi calls out, extracting him from his thoughts.

Yixiang looks over. "Mm?"

"Mr Choi made this for me today." She lifts a round piece of wood to which the old man has drawn floppy ears and a snout. "It's a puppy! But the hogs ate one of his legs before I could save him, see?" she asks, pointing at the smooth spot underneath the makeshift toy; the three remaining 'legs' are more or less in their right places, and Mr Choi has even nailed a strip of leather to the back for a tail. "What should I name him?"

"Wang," Yixiang says unthinkingly.

"That's a terrible name for a dog. Our King is dead." Eunbi frowns. "I'm going to call him Ddalgi because I like them."

"What does ddalgi mean?"

"It's a big red berry. Ddalgi. We eat them in the summer."

She's probably talking about strawberries. Yixiang adds the word to his mental library.

"Eunju loves strawberries too, but she always lets me have the biggest ones," Eunbi continues.

"She's very kind."

"If you think so, then you should sleep with her." Eunbi pouts. "She steals my blanket every night. I'm tired of sharing my bed with her."

Yixiang drops the bowl he's been absentmindedly rubbing for the past five minutes. To his relief, it doesn't break.

"You don't have a fever, do you, Mr Yu?" Eunju asks when she returns with the empty pail a moment later. "Your cheeks are red."

Yixiang shakes his head.

"I'm fine."

"Can you sleep with Mr Yu tonight, sis? I want my own bed back."

"Don't be silly." Eunju slams down the pail and dries her hands on her apron. "Guests don't share their beds. What would Mother say to you for even suggesting such a thing?"

"Then can he move in, so that he's not a guest anymore?" Eunbi's lower lip juts out. "Mom said the frost could take my fingers and toes if I'm not careful, and you always take my blanket in your sleep."

"She told you that after you were a dummy and took off your boots to play in the snow, Bibi." Eunju rolls her eyes. "We sleep by the hearth. Your fingers and toes are safe."

"You're the dummy. We were playing rabbits, and rabbits don't wear boots," Eunbi mutters.

"I'm sorry, little miss Beom." Yixiang hangs the rag out to dry. "As soon as I have healed and paid off my debt to you, I'll go back home, and you can have your bed back."

"Why? Sis said you are an orphan too."

"Yes, but my roots remain on the mainland."

Eunbi makes a rude sound. "That's stupid. You're not a flower. And even if you were, dirt is dirt. Why can't you grow here?"

Eunju glances at Yixiang from the corner of her eye.

He can't decipher the meaning behind the half-lidded look.

"You're right: people are not plants," Yixiang says gently. "But I don't belong here."

"Come on, Bibi. It's bedtime. I'm gonna wash your ears and find you an extra warm pair of socks for the night." Eunju ushers her sister out of the room, ignoring her whines of protest.

Yixiang hurries upstairs while the sisters bicker in their bedroom.

How would he explain to a child that his roots are shackles of filial duty and thus immovable?

Even iron can be melted, but only death can release someone from a bond forged in blood.

The news of the War Dog's downfall reaches even this remote corner of the island eventually. A regiment of the Prince Regent's troops spread the word as they sweep the area for refugees and deserters, rounding up everyone who didn't have their papers in order. The townspeople rejoice upon hearing about Wang Yixiang's death, but the military presence in their streets somewhat dampens their joy.

The soldiers are a gruff bunch, turning house after house upside down in their search for more bodies to put on the front lines. They eat and drink their fill in the local establishments, then refuse to pay, invoking the war effort and their service to the common good. The way they conduct themselves rankles Yixiang. He'd never let his men treat the common people with such arrogance and callousness.

He'll have a miserable time travelling back to the nearest military camp in such loathsome company, especially with his leg still on the mend, but Yixiang doesn't have a choice. He has no papers to present.

The neighbourhood celebrations of his death don't faze him; the island people have every reason to despise the tip of the Emperor's spear. It's his sudden departure from the Beom household that aches more than Yixiang expected.

Perhaps he has grown too complacent. Even a prized fighting dog will forget the taste of blood in the hearth's warm glow.

Yixiang is putting his borrowed room in order when Eunju bursts through the door, her head barely visible over a mountain of blankets.

Did she air them out again?

Perplexed, Yixiang watches her dump everything on the floor before she bends down and folds the mattress on his bed in half.

"Quick, lie down." She motions to the bare half of the bed.

"Huh?"

"Our house is next." She glances at the window, through which the hollering of the soldiers can already be heard. "Lie down and stay quiet. I'll handle the rest."

"Miss Beom, you don't have to do this. I will go with them willingly. You've done enough for me. I will send you the money when—"

"If you don't shut up and lie down right now, I will knock you unconscious and fold you in there myself, I swear."

Taken aback by the fire in her eyes and the iron in her tone, Yixiang climbs onto the bed frame and arranges his limbs so that he just about fits, curled up like a sleeping cat.

If only his uncle could see him now.

Cheeks aflame, Yixiang remains motionless while Eunju gets on the bed and settles on her back, her long legs coming to rest on top of Yixiang's lower body. The blankets cover both of them moments before the soldiers burst into the house.

Mr and Mrs Choi quarrel with them in the kitchen, then two sets of footsteps stomp up the stairs.

Yixiang holds his breath.

The door bangs against the wall when they enter the room, armour and weapons clanking.

"What is the meaning of this?" Eunju asks, channelling her inner Mrs Choi at her angriest. "You can't just bust into a lady's bedroom as if it were the local tavern! Don't they teach you any manners in the army?"

Yixiang can feel her calves tense against his lower back.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but we're here to inspect the house for refugees."

"Well, do you see any? No? Get out! Can't you see I am unwell and not fit to receive guests?"

"We have to search the premises thoroughly, Miss."

"Be quick about it, then. I need rest."

The soldiers poke around noisily, opening cupboards and chests and grousing under their breaths when they come up empty.

"Excuse me, Miss, but we have to check the bed, too," one of them says at length. "There have been rumours of a man staying in this house."

"Rumours? What rumours?" Eunju scoffs. "Did you hear that ridiculous lie from the widower across the stream by any chance, hm? Did you know she and her son owe my family a hefty sum? They're only spreading lies and stirring up trouble to avoid paying up!"

"Even so. Miss, if you'd please move?"

Yixiang stiffens. He should have fought back against Eunju's reckless plan harder. If she's caught hiding a mysterious man from the mainland, she could be accused of harbouring a spy, and treason is punishable by death.

His life is not worth it.

Eunju fiddles with something under the covers. Yixiang can't see what it is, but he can hear rustling, then suddenly the overwhelming scent of blood floods his nostrils.

"You want to see what ails me? Fine! Here! If you must search every nook and cranny, you're welcome to dig under my skirts too. You're not afraid of a bit of woman's moon blood, are you?"

Eunju parts the top half of the covers, and Yixiang flinches when a ray of light reaches his corner of the bed.

"Sorry, Miss. Excuse us, Miss."

"Go, go, go…"

The men clatter out of the room as fast as they can.

Yixiang waits for their voices to fade into the distance, and only then does he dare emerge from under the blankets, his hair mussed and his tunic askew.

Blood stains the front of Eunju's skirt, but she is grinning from ear to ear.

She holds out a small ceramic vial.

"Pig's blood."

"Clever," says Yixiang, smiling even though his heart is still pounding wildly in his chest. "But you shouldn't have taken such a risk, Miss Beom. They could have arrested you."

"You've seen enough fighting, Mr Yu. I couldn't let them take you to the battlefield, not while you're still injured." Eunju springs up. She frowns at the state of her dress. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go change. Stay here for now. You need to lie low until they leave town."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Eunju straightens her jacket and sweeps her braid off her shoulder. "Bibi would have been sad to lose her favourite teacher."

"I think she would have been considerably sadder to have lost her sister," Yixiang points out.

"I know a Constable on the police force. I'm going to ask him to get you new papers, so that this won't happen again."

"Are you sure that's safe? Can you trust him?"

Eunju leans on the doorframe and nods. "He was a good friend of my father's. I'm sure he will grant me this one favour when I explain the situation."

"Alright."

Yixiang doesn't know what else to say. The gratitude is too large to fit into his mouth, so he does what comes naturally to him and bows instead.

"I'm not doing this with you again," Eunju says, her eyes glinting with amusement. "My back is already sore from lugging all that bedding up here."

"I'll carry it downstairs for you." Yixiang gathers the blankets in his arms, but Eunju stops him with a firm shake of her head.

"You can't be seen for a few days, remember? Leave it. I'll pick it up later. Rest up, Mr Yu. I will bring you some supper after dark."

Yixiang stalls mid-bow, but it's too late.

Eunju rolls her eyes at him, then leaves with a smile on her lips.

The soldiers eventually vacate the town, riding off into the woods at sunset, and the town sighs a collective breath of relief.

Yixiang comes out of his room for the first time in days late that same night, summoned by the peculiar activity in the backyard. The sisters usually go to bed early, but Yixiang finds Eunju kneeling by a low table under the oak tree, even though it's almost midnight. A spirit tablet sits before her, and Eunju is setting down bowls of food when Yixiang rounds the corner.

She starts even though Yixiang isn't very stealthy with the crutch tucked under one arm.

"Yah!" She holds a hand to her heart. "Do I need to put a bell on you?"

"Sorry." Yixiang inclines his head. "I'm interrupting. I'll go."

"No!" The volume of her own voice startles her, and she peeks behind Yixiang to check if she woke up Eunbi, but the house remains silent and dark. "I mean… You can stay," she adds, gesturing at the stool by the back entrance.

Yixiang sits, squinting at the tablet in the flickering candlelight. His eyes grow large at the name crudely carved on it: Wang Yixiang.

"Why are you making offerings to a fallen enemy general?" Yixiang asks. "Couldn't you get into trouble for this?"

"Yes." Eunju sets down the last bowl. "But I don't care. My father taught me to stand for what I believe is right."

"And why is this right?" Yixiang frowns. "His father killed your King, Queen, and Prince, and he himself slaughtered countless of your countrymen. Why would you mourn for him?"

Eunju's profile, back-lit by the lantern, is solemn, her brow creased in contemplation.

"My father always told me not to judge a person by their reputation but by their actions. Their own actions. In Wang Yixiang, I only ever saw a man who tried to advocate for peace. Did you know he was most famous for his defensive strategies, not for orchestrating aggressive offensive campaigns? You do not blame the shoal for sinking your ship; you blame the man who refused to build a lighthouse. The Prince Regent…" Eunju trails off, scanning the fence line warily. "…he is the ruthless one."

Yixiang grips the wooden stool with both hands lest he slip off as if an earthquake were shaking the ground beneath his feet.

How can this stranger see him with more clarity than many of his closest advisors?

The townspeople have been burning paper effigies of him for days, drinking wine so that the men can imagine wetting Yixiang's grave soil as they stumble to pull down their pants behind their houses. On the mainland, they are likely cursing his name for failing to turn the tide of the war before his premature demise. His uncle certainly won't shed a tear for him. Here, he is an enemy, a butcher, a scourge; elsewhere, a disappointment.

Beom Eunju might be the only person in all the lands to hold a memorial for him in good faith.

"You should value your own safety over my namesake's memory," Yixiang whispers, no longer trusting his voice. "If that woman across the street catches you—"

"Fear is a poor master." Eunju holds her head high as she lights a few incense sticks. "My parents were brave and noble to the end, and I intend to live by their example, Mr Yu."

Yixiang nods. He was a fool thinking he could sway Eunju's mind once it had been made up, anyway.

"Would you like to honour him as well? He must have been a revered hero on the mainland." Eunju picks up another bundle of incense sticks and offers them to Yixiang.

Would he make a mockery of Heaven by bowing to his own spirit tablet?

Yixiang doesn't care.

"Mm."

With some difficulty, he kneels beside her on the patio. She steadies him by the shoulder, her fingers sure and warm through the cotton of his outer coat.

"Careful. Don't put all your weight on your leg. Here, lean on me."

She holds out her arm, and Yixiang doesn't have the heart to turn her down, even though the position doesn't put any actual pressure on the break.

He inhales the fragrant incense smoke and bows, wishing with all his might that Wang Yixiang could truly be laid to rest and Yu Yixiang could emerge from the ashes and live a life free of obligation and status.

"Thank you, Miss Beom."

They stay there in silence for a long time, the dead leaves of the young oak murmuring above them as if they were trying to tell them a secret.

Three days later, the Chois are at the market with Eunbi, and Eunju is out fixing up her family's stall when a group of young punks accompanied by a bearded old man sneak into the house. They tear the place apart in search of something, knocking over furniture, digging through chests, and even tearing out floorboards.

The soundscape awakens unpleasant memories of the last evening Yixiang saw his father.

He creeps down the stairs and listens in by the window, worried that his intervention would only court more trouble for the Beom sisters. His presence here is still a safety risk to them, after all.

"Don't leave a single pot or pan unchecked!" the old man barks. "The—" he says an unfamiliar set of words, "—must be in here somewhere!"

"Quickly now, brothers. Before the woman comes back and alerts the police," one of the younger men says, clapping his hands impatiently. His words carry a blocky quality that makes Yixiang suspect that they, like him, are foreigners in this country.

Yixiang risks a peek through the door while the gang is busy rummaging through the cupboards.

There are four of them, with the tallest one seemingly in charge. He is watching over the others: a bulky one around the same age, and two youths barely out of adolescence. Based on their sun-kissed complexion and the shape of their eyes, he'd wager they're from the southern isles. Yixiang has had very few run-ins with the southerners in the past, as they want nothing to do with the war and prefer to do their trading with the western mountain tribes.

"She can cry out for her beloved Constable all she likes," says the unkempt local man, "but the law is on my side! She is unwed, so I'm entitled to my brother's house. I've allowed them to live here during the mourning period out of the goodness of my heart, but now it's time for them to find their own way in the world."

So, Eunju's father has a brother. How unfortunate for the sisters. Yixiang doesn't know the island laws too well, but unmarried women have few rights anywhere in the world, it seems.

"Yudai, look! I found this stashed behind the plaque up there!" One of the shorter guys, a puppy-like man with his eyes entirely hidden by his overgrown fringe, bounds over to the tall one with an ornate wooden box held out in front of him. "That piece of paper must be in here."

So that's what they're looking for: the title deed.

No, Yixiang can't let them have it. He will do whatever it takes to keep a roof over the sisters' heads and deal with the fallout later. Granted, he might not be in peak fighting condition yet, but he could take these backwater goons with his hands tied behind his back.

Yixiang steps out from his hiding spot and charges at the closest man, the thickset one.

"Yah! Who the hell are you?" He lifts his bulging arms into a defensive position, but not quickly enough.

Yixiang delivers a solid blow to his sternum with the heel of his hand, and the man stumbles into a nearby chair and falls over, gasping for breath.

"Fuma!" the shortest man cries out, jerking towards his comrade.

"Harua, get back! Take Taki and the box and get out of here!" The one giving the orders before, Yudai, steps up, brandishing a short knife.

"What about me?" The uncle waves his arms around. "I'm the one paying you!"

"Take him with you! He still owes us the other half!"

Yixiang can tell from the way Yudai grips the knife that there is no killing intent behind it. The man is a street hooligan, not a trained assassin.

Taki, the man hugging Eunju's box, is wavering, clearly torn between a paycheck and leaving his friends behind. Maybe they are actual blood brothers.

It makes no difference to Yixiang. He cares only about what's inside the box.

He picks up the nearest fist-sized item from the floor, Eunbi's beloved doggy toy, and hurls it at Yudai's face before leaping over a table towards Taki.

With a frightened yelp, the man finally flees, only to run straight into Eunju just outside the door.

She'd said that her father had taught her some swordsmanship; Yixiang had grossly underestimated what that meant.

In open-mouthed awe, he watches her incapacitate the four ruffians with nothing but a wooden measuring stick. Her movements are powerful and precise, never wasting energy as she deals blow after blow where it'll hurt but not injure. It isn't easy. Yixiang knows it from experience - both from the beatings he took from his uncle on the training fields and as a teacher himself.

The intruders, recognising defeat, kneel and apologise profusely while Eunju chastises them, giving each a tap on their behinds with the stick, then sending them scurrying away bruised and in shame.

Eunju doesn't touch her uncle, but Yixiang can see the way her hand tightens around the worn wood as they argue outside.

"You might have gained the upper hand here today with the tricks my brother foolishly taught you, but I will take this matter to the magistrate tomorrow and have you evicted before the tide turns, mark my words!" The uncle shakes his fist at Eunju one last time before dragging his old bones out of the gate.

Eunju's chest heaves as her eyes track his hasty exit. When he's out of sight, she marches over to where Yixiang waits by the well.

"Did they hurt you?" she asks, already parting the front of his tunic to check him for injuries.

Yixiang is slowly growing used to her proprietorial approach to his body, but his face still heats when he realises that half the town is peeking through the fence holes at his bare chest.

"No. I'm alright." He clutches the edges of his robes under his chin and turns to face the house. "Should we go put everything in order before Eunbi and the Chois come back?"

Eunju glances at the curious onlookers as well, then nods.

"Yes. Let's go."

She picks up the box from the patio table on their way in, tucking it firmly under one arm.

"Did they open it?" she asks once they're in the privacy of her home.

"No." Yixiang shakes his head, then bends down to gather the pieces of a broken jug. The floor is wet with its contents, and the hem of Yixiang's borrowed robes absorb some of the water.

"Did you?" Her voice is oddly strained.

The title deed is clearly not the only item the box protects.

Yixiang looks up at her. "No. I wouldn't."

Eunju studies his face for a drawn-out moment. Then a shadow of a smile passes over her face, and she lets her gaze drift around the chaos in the room.

Most of the furniture is still intact; only the chair that the biggest guy fell into didn't make it. The floor is littered with broken dishes, clothes, and Eunbi's toys, but nothing too valuable had been smashed. It'll take a while to clean up the room, though.

"What a mess," Eunju sighs. "But it could have been worse if you hadn't stepped in, so thank you." She gives him a grateful nod. "I knew I could trust you, Mr Yu."

Yixiang stares at the jagged ceramic pieces in his palm, his mind drawing circles around the uncle's threats of putting Eunju and her sister out on the street for being such impudent little brats. He should bite his tongue, wait and see what Eunju's Constable friend has to say about the matter, but…

"Enough to allow me to marry into your family?" he blurts out.

"What?" Eunju whirls back around, her eyes as big as wok pans.

Yixiang straightens himself to his full height.

"I know I'm nothing but a penniless stranger from the wrong side of the sea, Miss Beom, but I would happily become your live-in husband if it meant that you and Eunbi could keep your home. I still owe you for saving my life, and if you won't accept my coin, please accept my hand in marriage." Yixiang bows.

"You would do that for me? For us?"

"Of course. It would be in name only, of course—"

"—of course—"

"—and once the matter with the title deed has been settled in the courts, you are free to divorce me and carry on with your life."

Eunju strokes the golden crane inlay on the lid of the box, her eyebrows knitting together.

"I would provide for you," she says, almost too gently to hear.

"Hm?"

"If you wanted to stay. If you had nothing to go back to…" Eunju lifts her chin. "I would provide for you. Even if we'd never—" A frown crinkles her face momentarily. "—if we were never a proper husband and wife. You'd have a place here. With us. For as long as you need."

"Thank you." Yixiang tips forward into another bow. "But that won't be necessary, Miss Beom. I must go back home after the spring thaw."

"Yes. Of course. I understand." Eunju presses the box to her chest and nods decisively. "I will make the arrangements then. Mrs Choi will be excited. She loves weddings."

"Good. Great." Yixiang bobs his head too.

"I'll get a broom."

"I'll fetch a rag."

They clean the first floor without exchanging another word. It's not awkward or tense, but something new has definitely materialised between them, an invisible thread, the tug of which Yixiang feels every time he moves now.

He never wanted a wife - still doesn't, not in the traditional sense - but he would not mind sharing his life with someone as extraordinary as Beom Eunju.

There is only one person Yixiang trusts with the secret of his survival. Until now, he had been putting off contacting his closest advisor and friend, Shu Wei Lian, because he wanted to lick his wounds in peace, but now he needs something he can only ask from a close confidant: money.

Yixiang has the utmost respect for the way Eunju works herself to the bone to provide for her family, but he intends to make sure the sisters are set for life after they part ways. Financial stability is about the only thing he can gift them. Wei Lian doesn't have access to Yixiang's family fortune, of course, but he comes from equal wealth and can surely lend Yixiang enough to secure a comfortable future for the Beoms.

Wei Lian's mother is related to Yixiang's uncle by marriage, and the boys grew close while studying under the same tutor, despite the two-year age gap. He was the only childhood friend Yixiang ever made, and that bond has lasted through the years despite the different life paths they took. Wei Lian always had a distaste for fighting and an inquisitive mind, so he pursued an academic career and now works at a prestigious university in the capital. His second, more time-consuming position is overseeing the network of spies Yixiang employs both on the mainland and on the island. Yixiang is curious to learn how his failure to deliver the grain and subsequent disappearance was received at court, but that can wait. First, the gold.

Yixiang has to ask Eunju to pay for the delivery of the letter, which bothers him more than eating their food and wearing their dead father's clothes, but there is no way around it. The end justifies the means. He also lies to her about the purpose of the letter. Eunju thinks he is informing a distant relative about their marriage, as Yixiang doubts Eunju would accept money from him even to settle the debt he has racked up.

In the meantime, the wedding arrangements proceed at a swift pace. It takes Eunju and Mrs Choi less than a week to order two sets of wedding robes, send out the invites, and organise everything for the banquet. Yixiang offers to help, but Eunju brushes him off, insisting that she has it all under control. He doesn't doubt her, but it doesn't feel right to let her shoulder yet another responsibility alone.

Eunju's Constable friend drops by to deliver Yixiang's brand-new papers personally a day before the big day. He congratulates both of them with heart-warming sincerity and apologises for not being able to attend the festivities the following day.

"You will treat her right, won't you, Mr Yu?" The Constable claps him on the back. "These girls have suffered too much for some mainland scoundrel to sneak in and cause them further grief."

"I swear it," Yixiang says, bowing. "I owe Miss Beom my life and would never deliberately hurt her."

"As handsome as he is reliable," Mrs Choi chimes from behind them, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the bitter cold. "Finally, a man worthy of our sweet, hard-working girl!"

Yixiang inspects the documents the Constable handed over. There it is: Yu Yixiang. It's wild to think that the man he pulled out of thin air exists now. He is free to stay in this town, to work, to marry. Yixiang is no longer a mere ghost here. He may only have another moon-turn left in this house, but he will do everything in his power to make sure that time doesn't go to waste.

He will not squander his one chance to bring something other than death and chaos into this world.

Sometimes, when he knows battle is inevitable, Yixiang leaves his body even before breaking his fast, retreating into a faraway corner of his mind and returning only when he stumbles back into his tent after sunset with strangers' drying blood itching his arms and cheeks.

On his wedding day, Yixiang is viscerally anchored in his skin instead.

The sunlight glimmering on the sparse dusting of snow in the yard, the astringency of his morning tea, the weight of the wedding robes - these sensations imprint themselves onto his permanent memory one by one, overwriting entire chunks of his previous life. Or maybe it's Yu Yixiang who is absorbing everything, hungry to experience the world before Wang Yixiang sheds him like a second skin.

Whatever the cause, it's wildly disorienting. Yixiang feels as if he were a step behind the others all day, moving at a different speed than the rest of the world. A statue in the middle of a bubbling stream.

The music is loud and jubilant. The red of the wedding drapery runs deeper than any blood he's ever washed off himself, rivalled only by the rouge dabbed on his bride's lips. Never has wine tasted so sweet and full-bodied as the mouthful from their linked cups. And even though his nose is stuffy and his eyes water from the incense smoke, the scent brings back memories of bowing to his own spirit tablet beside Eunju, igniting a foreign inner warmth.

It's an onslaught of sensory provocations, and by the time it's all said and done, Yixiang is light-headed and more than a little overwhelmed. He's not usually a big drinker, but he shuffles into a corner and fortifies himself with wine now, desperate for a reprieve from the bustle of the party.

His wife finds him there a little while later.

"Are you in pain? Tired?" Eunju, ever observant, asks in a hushed tone after the ceremony. "Should I kick everyone out?"

Yixiang grips the front of his robes, his eyes darting to the room full of guests, and Eunju's lips twitch into a grin.

"I won't check your wound here. Don't worry. These busybodies would probably love nothing more than to watch us consummate our marriage right there on the banquet table, though," she snorts.

Yixiang inhales some of the wine he'd been sipping and chokes, coughing up a storm as the liquid burns his throat.

"Are you okay?" Eunju claps him on the back several times, hard, right on the stitches, and Yixiang nearly crumples to the floor from the throb that stabs through him.

The string of curses from Eunju's mouth makes the neighbourhood women grazing on plates of sliced pork gasp and raise their hands to their mouths.

Yixiang breaks into laughter when Eunju bows to them, apologising profusely for her colourful language.

The wives shuffle farther down the table, rolling their eyes, and Eunju turns towards him, flushed to the tips of her ears.

Then, a curious look overtakes her powdered features. She tilts her head slightly, the glittering ornaments in her hair clinking.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Yixiang wipes his mouth on his sleeve, mortified at the prospect of having spit dribbling down his chin in the middle of his own wedding celebrations.

"Just this." Eunju pokes at the left corner of Yixiang's mouth. "Your laugh. It's the first time I've heard it, you know."

"Oh." Suddenly self-conscious, Yixiang clears his throat, drawing his shoulders back and pressing his lips together.

"Don't do that. It suited you." Eunju smiles. "You should laugh more often."

Yixiang can't remember the last time he had something to laugh about on the mainland.

"You should embarrass yourself more often, then," he says, fighting a smirk and losing. He blames the wine. "It suits you."

Eunju smacks her on the shoulder, far from the wound this time.

It seems to take forever, but at last, the last of the drunken guests totter out of the gate into the winter darkness.

Grateful for a bit of privacy after being paraded around from morning to night, Yixiang retreats into his room and peels off the wedding robes. He is sore from standing and bowing for hours; the break in his foot is finally announcing its presence, even though he used his crutch throughout the day.

He washes himself, making use of the pail of boiled water and a rag Mrs Choi left for him, ever-so-slightly woozy from having drunk more wine than he has in years. Wei Lian would have a good chuckle if he saw his friend right now - if he even recognised him.

Downstairs, Eunju and Mrs Choi are still putting things away and talking in secretive murmurs in the yard. Eunbi nodded off hours ago and was carried off to sleep at the Choi's house, but it isn't until Yixiang hears Eunju's footsteps outside the doorway that he realises why.

It's their wedding night. They're supposed to share a bed and—

Yixiang is wearing nothing but his underthings when Eunju barges in. He resists the urge to hide himself under the covers like a child, which is absurd. It's not as if Eunju hasn't already seen him in a similar state of undress before.

"Sorry!" Eunju whirls around and waits for him to pull on a robe. "I had to come, or else there would be talk around town about us not consummating the marriage. I can sleep on the floor, though. Just staying in the same room should be enough to appease them."

She is still in her embroidered wedding robes, but her hair is free from accessories, and she has washed her face as well. Yixiang likes it more without the powder and rouge. She looks more like herself.

"We can share the bed." Yixiang sits down on the edge and gestures at the ample free space between himself and the window. "There is plenty of room."

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose." She kicks the floor with the tip of her boot, a natural blush bringing out the roundness of her cheeks even more.

"Don't be silly. We're husband and wife now, aren't we? Even if it's in name only, I'd say that means I'm no longer a guest in this house. I'm sure your mother would approve."

A hint of sourness twists Eunju's lips, and she lowers her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the red scarf around her neck.

"Sorry." Yixiang's frowns, his mistake dawning on him too late. "I shouldn't have brought up your parents. I'm sure a sham marriage is not what they wished for her daughter. But we can divorce as soon as the business with the title deed has been settled, and you can remarry if—"

Right. She can't have children. The best she could probably do is some widowed old man who already has a son or two. But the thought of her becoming a housemaid to some geezer who doesn't appreciate her for her strength, wit, and humour makes Yixiang's rib cage tight with anger.

She deserves better.

"It's alright." Eunju puts on a brave smile. "My parents only ever wanted to keep my sister and me safe. Once the house is in my name, I can go back to restoring our shop and selling maedeup. Nothing makes a woman feel safer than money."

Sudden noises from the yard draw Yixiang's attention.

Eunju trails after him when he goes to the window to see where the hushed bickering is coming from.

"Shit," Eunju whispers, yanking the window shut in Yixiang's face. "It's my uncle and his wife. They must have their suspicions about our abrupt nuptials. If they have evidence that we didn't consummate…"

Trusting the candlelight to cast their shadows onto the paper, Yixiang pulls Eunju into a loose embrace.

She lets out a surprised breath but doesn't protest.

"Is this okay?" Yixiang asks, his cheek nearly touching the side of her face.

"Yes." Eunju circles his shoulders and bends her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. The tip of her nose is cold. "It shouldn't take much to fool them. They're not bright people."

The last hug Yixiang received was from her mother, on the day she took her own life.

This is not that.

Eunju's shape is so different from the soft fragility Yixiang had recognised in her even as a young boy. Her mother was a tiny woman, her bones bird-like, and her scent was always flowery and sweet.

Eunju is solid, wiry strength running through her tall, willowy frame, and the way she smells makes his head spin. There is a layer of incense smoke clinging to her clothes, but underneath lies that spicy scent from before, unique and heady. Yixiang wants to bury his nose under the scarf that's wrapped tightly around her neck and inhale until it replaces all the air in his chest.

Inexplicably, a vision of Eunju's pearly teeth sinking into the flesh of Yixiang's neck flashes through his head, and he flinches as if it had really happened, unbidden heat pooling into every hollow point in his body.

It must be the wine burning through him.

"Let's move to the bed?" Eunju suggests, tugging at Yixiang.

He nods in reply, feet clumsy as they find their way blindly towards the platform.

Yixiang's calves hit the edge first, and for a dizzying moment, he imagines falling down, feeling the full weight of Eunju's body crashing on top of him, but he shakes off the fantasy quickly, aware of the two pairs of eyes peeping at them through the holes in the gate.

At the last moment, he twirls them around, cushioning Eunju's fall with one arm as they dive onto the mattress, their robes all in a tangle. Yixiang gets his knees under himself in time, keeping a respectable distance between their bodies, but their faces come closer than ever before. Eunju's pupils are blown wide, a rosy tint staining her cheeks as she wiggles higher up the bed.

"Don't come any closer," she says urgently, sounding near-frightened, and Yixiang stiffens.

"This is just for show," he assures her. Or himself. Both of them. "I would never take liberties with you like that."

"I know. Just—" Eunju looks away, crossing her arms across her chest. "Don't."

The confirmation that he's causing Eunju distress douses the budding flames in his belly at once. Yixiang holds the position a while longer, hoping his falling hair hides the gap between them, then he leans in and blows out the candles before rolling over onto his back beside his fake bride.

"That should do it. Sleep well." He hopes he doesn't sound as unnerved as he feels. It's not Eunju's fault that they've been thrust into this ridiculous charade.

"Sleep well."

After that awkward first night, their life as a married couple quickly settles into a natural flow, like a steady stream of water carving out a path for itself in soft soil.

They continue to sleep in separate beds, although Eunbi grumbles about it at first. Eunju explains to her that Yixiang has vivid nightmares about the day he was injured and thrashes in his sleep so much that Eunju would be in danger of suffering bruises if they shared a bed.

It's a lie. Yixiang hasn't slept this well since he was a child, but Eunbi doesn't need to know that.

As the set date for her shop's opening draws near, Eunju sits at her crafting station from sunset to mid-afternoon, pausing only to stretch her limbs and prepare lunch for all of them. She often sings under her breath while she works or cooks, and Yixiang remains in the vicinity if only to listen to her lovely voice. It's nice. Song is not something he has often indulged in.

As the days pass, they also talk more and more. Eunju expands his vocabulary, and Yixiang teaches her phrases in his language, teasing her when she butchers them. Yixiang doesn't share Eunju's interest in the everyday lives of her neighbours, but he likes the way she recounts stories about them. It lays bare her kindness, her sincerity. She's not gossiping; she's living the highs and lows alongside the townspeople. It's new to Yixiang. In his circles, their actions affect the lives of all the people in the realm, but none of them know a single person by name outside their tightly knit sphere of power and blood.

They ought to learn a thing or two from Beom Eunju.

Eunbi often plays outside with her friends during the daylight hours. She never strays too far, though, which surprised Yixiang. In some ways, Eunbi is very much a rebel in the making, but when it comes to orders from Eunju, she always obeys them to the letter. It underlines the trust between them - and makes Yixiang feel like a rotten bastard for the lies he has stacked upon lies from the get-go. He tells himself they're necessary for the safety of the Beoms, but he's also been selfish, plain and simple. Yixiang can't deny the allure of breaking free of his role as the edge of the Emperor's blade, even for a short while.

He knows this is playtime that he hasn't earned, but each day his conscience gets quieter.

When his shoulder finally permits it, Yixiang takes over more of the cleaning duties in the house. They don't discuss it beforehand as such. Eunju simply thanks him after he takes care of the dinner dishes one evening, and Yixiang keeps going, doing laundry, sweeping, airing out the bedding... It's mindless work. Keeps his head blissfully empty while Eunju visits her friends or goes to the market.

Yixiang still teaches Eunbi in the evenings, too. Her writing has improved a great deal over the past weeks, and she reads much faster than when Yixiang first started tutoring her. However, despite her developing skills with the brush, the little girl's heart is not fully in her studies but beats for the art of sword fighting. Despite Eunbi's pleas, Eunju refuses to teach her sister what their father taught her, maintaining that she must turn ten first, as she did before their father agreed to instruct her.

There's another thing Eunbi doesn't need to know: Yixiang first gripped a sword when he was five years old. In fact, this is the longest he has gone without carrying one.

A fortnight before the stall is set to open, the carpenter Eunju hired to help renovate the premises takes a nasty fall and sprains his wrist. After some deliberation, Eunju decides to finish the alterations herself instead of wasting more money on another professional. Yixiang offers to help, but she is determined to do everything on her own, insisting that someone needs to stay behind to guard the house. They haven't heard from her uncle since the attempted burglary, but Eunju's Constable friend told her he has contacted the magistrate already, so she should expect to be summoned to a hearing soon.

Which is why Yixiang is baffled when Eunju returns home with four familiar figures in tow around sunset one day. He watches them approach from his vantage point upstairs, a frown creasing his brow. What is she doing with the southern riffraff? Did they cause her trouble again?

He hobbles downstairs as fast as his foot allows him, meeting Eunju and her unexpected entourage by the gate.

The men have sheepish expressions on their dirt-streaked faces, but Eunju's head is held high. "Meet my new employees," she says, gesturing at the four ruffians lining up for Yixiang's inspection without being asked. "I caught them vandalising my stall this morning since I hadn't paid their 'protection fee' like all the other shopkeepers. I let them know how I felt about their extortion business, and we came to a mutually beneficial agreement. Today, they fixed the damage they caused for free, and going forward, they will do honest work an honest pay. Isn't that right, boys?"

They nod enthusiastically, stealing only shy glances at Yixiang from under their shaggy fringes.

"Alright," Yixiang says mildly. Their bashful faces make him bite down a grin. Eunju truly is a born leader.

"We won't let you down, boss," the one called Yudai says.

"You can count on us," another one, the short fellow, pipes up.

"I know I can, because if any of you cause more trouble in this town, I will teach you a lesson your backsides won't soon forget." Eunju crosses her arms and raises her chin, and her new crew all but expose their bellies in surrender.

Yixiang chuckles, no longer able to hold it in.

It seems like Eunju doesn't need to bring children into the world the conventional way; perhaps she was fated to adopt lost souls and raise them to become upstanding citizens without help from anyone - least of all his husband.

"Go home, all of you. Meet me tomorrow at the shop, bright and early."

"Yes, boss!"

"You got it, Miss!"

"See you tomorrow, Miss Beom!"

The men scurry off, and Eunju turns to Yixiang.

"They're really not so bad." She smiles. "They haven't had it easy on the island. The war has hit everyone hard."

Yixiang's eyebrows lift. "Oh? I thought the southern isles were impartial."

They walk into the house side by side, out of earshot of any nosy passers-by.

"Just because they haven't picked a side, it doesn't mean they're out of war's reach." Eunju goes straight into the kitchen and washes her hands in a pail of fresh well water Yixiang had warmed up for her in advance. "Soldiers on both sides have razed entire towns to the ground, leaving thousands of refugees roaming the countryside in search of food and shelter. And while the men are busy killing each other, there is no one left to work the fields, so grain grows scarce and more expensive. Then some obnoxious, rich merchant swoops in and buys the remaining grain to sell to the Emperor and the Prince Regent for profit, so the southerners are now going hungry too. Yudai, Fuma, Taki, and Harua came here to enlist in the army after they were promised warm tents and three meals a day, but once they arrived, they learned that the Prince Regent is using foreigners as slaves, sending them out to die in hopeless attacks on the Emperor's fortified garrisons supplied with nothing but rusted swords and scraps of leather armour. They fled and hid here."

Yixiang reels. He didn't realise Eunju, a simple countrywoman, knew so much about the realities of war. More than Yixiang in some regard because he has only seen one side of it.

"If the Prince Regent is so loathed by his people and acts against the common good, why can't they…" Yixiang searches for the right term in Eunju's language but can't find it, so he simplifies: "…get rid of him? The Emperor would be open to a peace treaty. He is tired of war. We all are."

"To go against him would be interpreted as open disloyalty to the crown, so no one dares to voice their discontent. The Regent rules with an iron fist." Eunju dries her hands on a clean rag, her face carefully blank. "As the former King's nephew, he is the only one who can rightfully claim the position until the missing Prince is found - dead or alive."

"Alive?" Yixiang blinks, dumbfounded. "How can anyone still believe he's alive out there? They found blood in his bed, didn't they? Wang Chenyu was executed for the three murders and high treason."

"We had no control over that trial nor the conviction. The court record keeper never even received the royal tiger seal allegedly found in Wang Chenyu's possession so that it could be—" Eunju utters a phrase Yixiang hasn't heard before.

He repeats it, then asks: "Does that mean what I think it means? That no one made sure the seal was real?"

"Yes. Authenticated," Eunju says, slower this time. "Irrefutable proof of the Prince's death is required for an official coronation: the remains, or else a century must pass from the day of his disappearance. Only then can the court declare him dead in the absence of a body."

Yixiang leans back against the counter, his foot suddenly aching worse than on the day the bone cracked.

"How is it possible that the seal never reached the court?"

"Supposedly, it went missing during delivery. I'm guessing few people know about this on the mainland?"

"No one knows. I thought both nations had settled on Wang Chenyu's guilt."

Eunju nods sagely. "I figured as much. It seems more people willed the war than wanted to evade it."

Yixiang considers these new pieces of information while Eunju boils water for dumplings.

Across the courtyard, they hear Mr Choi and Eunbi argue about the winner of their card game, her voice rising above his like the clear ringing of an infuriated bell in the evening's hush.

"So, do you think there's a chance that Wang Chenyu was framed?"

It's a daring question, but Yixiang risks it; he is desperate to know what Eunju thinks.

She puts down her ladle and turns to face Yixiang fully, her eyes fixed on his.

"Yes. I'm almost certain that he was."

It gets slightly hard to breathe.

Yixiang couldn't articulate why her opinion makes him feel so intensely. Eunju is just one person on the island, a commoner among thousands, but in the short time he has spent with her, he has grown to value her perspective more than many of his generals'. It shouldn't matter if this one woman believes his father is innocent when the rest of the world condemned him unquestioningly, but it does. It's everything to Yixiang.

He wishes he could embrace her again, have her arms squeeze Yixiang's blurred outlines back into the right shape, that he could breathe in her now-familiar scent until his lungs stop hurting.

But it's impossible. It would make Eunju uncomfortable, and Yixiang would rather cut off one of his fingers than make her voice tremble the way did on their wedding night.

"Can you fetch Bibi?" asks Eunju, returning to her cooking. "She needs to wash up before dinner."

"Of course."

Outside, Yixiang takes his time crossing the yard as the cold helps to clear the fog from his mind a little.

He didn't ask how Eunju had come to learn so much about the events that changed the course of their nations. Had she merely heard rumours from passing travellers and soldiers? Or is it common knowledge on the island that someone on the mainland orchestrated the murders to sow discord between the court and the Emperor?

Were his people tricked into fighting a war for the benefit of grain merchants and power-greedy ministers who whisper poison into the ears of men who were born with the right blood in their veins?

For the first time since the attack, a desire to speak to his uncle rears its head. Or rather, the desire to confront him.

They'd never quite seen eye to eye. Yixiang's father distrusted his wife's older brother, so Yixiang rarely saw the man in his younger years. The misgivings persisted in Yixiang after his uncle took him in. The way all ministers who have serious sway over their ruler, he is cold, manipulative, and cunning. Wang Chenyu wasn't the easiest man to love either, but at least he was honest, with a strong moral compass and a backbone to match.

Zhang Jianguo is a venomous snake in the grass, one whose hiss you don't hear until it's too late to jerk out of reach of his fangs.

Yixiang had no say in whose roof he lived under, but at least he could decide whose footsteps to follow in.

But right now, his uncle, the Emperor, and the war can wait.

Yixiang has a more pressing task at hand.

"Bibi, dinner!" he calls out through the Choi's doorway.

"Coming, teacher!"

Yixiang visits the market for the first time for the opening ceremony of Eunju's business. It used to belong to her father, but with the help of her new employees, she has transformed the pork stall into a quaint little shop where she sells her handicrafts, sewing services, and dyed silk thread.

The day is overcast but warmer than the preceding ones, and the market is bustling. Eunju's shop draws a lot of attention, and she's struggling to keep up with the sales and inquiries, even with Mrs Choi and the southerners helping wherever they can.

Yixiang is a fish out of water amidst the chaos. He tries his best to stay out of the way, hovering off to the side while the neighbourhood women bicker over who spotted which maedeup first and who's next in line. Many of the faces are instantly recognisable to him from the wedding, but one stands out: the short, expensively dressed woman who arrived on a horse-drawn wagon with two maids. The maids are holding up one length of fabric after another from the wagon while she considers which of Eunju's knots would go with which pattern, her head cocked and one painted nail tapping her lower lip.

Before Yixiang can think twice about it, he strider over to her and says: "I would pair this maedeup with this fabric, and this one with something darker. It will look better with a…" He doesn't know the local word for contrast, so he goes with: "…different colour."

The woman's eyes narrow as she mulls over his suggestions, then her face lights up with a smile. Behind her thin lips, her front teeth are sharp and little misaligned; it suits her oval face and the shrewd glint in her gaze.

"Juju said her husband is easy on the eyes, but she didn't tell me he's got a keen interest in style as well." She bows, but her eyes never lower. "I am Na Yuna, Eunju's best friend. Pleased to meet you, Mr Yu."

Yixiang bows. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Na. I'm glad you could make it to the opening."

He hasn't heard Eunju mention her before, but that doesn't mean she is lying.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world. She's been working so hard to make her dream come true, and I wanted to support her on her big day."

"Mm. Have you talked to her yet?" Yixiang looks over his shoulder, but can't spot Eunju through the throng of frenzied shoppers.

"Nah, not yet. I don't want to bother her right now. I'll catch up to her once it quiets down. Here." She digs out a hefty, clinking bag and tosses it to Yixiang. "For the maedeup - and the style advice."

The weight of the bag tells Yixiang that it contains way too much for just three knots, but he's not dumb enough to comment on it. The woman can clearly afford it.

"Thank you, Miss Na. I'll make sure she gets all of this."

She inclines her head, then sashays into the shop to browse the selection of threads.

Yixiang is watching her disappear behind a gaggle of older aunties when a familiar voice close to his ear startles him out of his thoughts.

"What is the royal head seamstress doing in this poky town?"

"Mouse!" Yixiang is so relieved to see his best friend that he sets aside what the man said in favour of pulling Wei Lian into a one-armed hug.

"Xiang Xiang." Wei Lian smiles as he steps out from under Yixiang's arm. "You look good. For a dead man, that is." He lifts one eyebrow archly.

Yixiang glances around, but no one seems to pay any attention to them. "Keep your voice down, idiot. Why are you here?"

"If this is the welcome I get, I shouldn't have bothered," Wei Lian snorts.

"It's not that I'm unhappy to see you. It's just…" Yixiang tugs his friend a little way down the road, away from the hubbub and the two maids waiting beside the horse. "I wasn't expecting you to show up in person. How did you get here?"

"Flew on a magical sword."

Yixiang rolls his eyes. "Be serious for once. The journey across the sea is dangerous for civilians. The army could have attacked your ship, or you could have fallen prey to the pirates prowling the waters around the island."

"Well, it's a good thing our ship was sanctioned by the court, then. It just so happens that I came over with a diverse group of highly respected scholars who are looking to make advancements in medicine, and the Prince Regent gladly opened his borders to us."

"Medicine? You don't study medicine."

It's Wei Lian's turn to execute an exasperated eye-roll. "I am the War Dog's spymaster, Xiang Xiang. On paper, I'll study whatever is necessary to get me to my newly resurrected friend."

"Shh!" Yixiang checks their surroundings again, but the market hums on around them as usual. Luckily, few islanders understand their language. "Keep a low profile while you're in town, alright? No one can know who I am around here."

Wei Lian gives Eunju's stall an appraising once-over. "And who are you now, exactly? A shop assistant?"

Yixiang doesn't even know anymore. A husband? A teacher? A housekeeper?

"I go by the name Yu Yixiang, so address me accordingly from now on. To these people, I am a caravan guard from the mainland, and I was injured while protecting a cargo of grain. A local family took me in and nursed me back to health."

Wei Lian's eyes sweep over him next. "Injured? How badly? Is that why you haven't come back yet? Or is it about the money?"

"I'm alright. It was just a broken foot and an arrow to the upper back. I'll be well enough to travel in a few weeks."

"About the attack on the grain shipment…"

"Shh!"

Mrs Choi jogs towards them across the street, her wide face scrunched up in a frown. "Mr Yu!" she cries out, waving her arms. "Mt Yu, that cur Mr Son showed up, and he's making a scene right there in front of the customers, cussing out your poor wife and spewing nasty lies. Can you please help?"

"Your what?" Mouse hisses, but Yixiang is already moving.

At the counter, a man in trim scholar's robes is shoving a wooden box in Eunju's face and yelling something about a broken promise. The southerners are standing behind Eunju with their arms crossed, with identical glares on their faces, and Yixiang has to hand it to Mr Son: he has guts. Most men would have been deterred by the bodyguard squad alone.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Yixiang asks loudly as he gets close enough to be heard over the man's hollering.

The crowd parts in two before him, more people gathering around from all corners of the market to witness the drama unfold.

Mr Son turns around to look at him, his weasel-like face twisted into an imperial scowl. "The problem is that I've just returned from the capital and learned that my betrothed has married a stranger without my knowledge or permission while I was away. I am here to demand that she divorce this crippled mainland savage at once and honour our engagement."

Eunju has her arms crossed over her chest. Loose hairs flying around her face, and an ink smudge stains her left cheek. She doesn't reply immediately, but her eyes brim with fire.

"You jilted her a long time ago!" Mrs Choi says. "You're the one who dishonoured your engagement first. She is free to marry whomever she chooses!"

"I did no such thing," Mr Son announces haughtily. "I merely stated that I will require a fertile concubine as a marriage gift since she can't give me a legitimate heir herself. Our engagement was still valid when I left to finish my studies in the capital. Your marriage is illegal, and I am here to challenge it." He presents the contents of the box to Yixiang: a pair of clay dolls. Something a betrothed young girl would give their fiancé in a fit of childish fancy.

"I would not marry you if you were the last man alive, Son Yongpil," Eunju says, her voice low and menacing. "You and I have no business left besides the money your family owes mine. If you're not here to pay me back or buy maedeup, you'd better leave before I knock your head off your shoulders!"

"Challenge?" Yixiang tilts his head, eyeing the scholar from head to toe. "I accept. If you wish to take my wife from me, I'll gladly fight you for her, Mr Son."

"Fight you?" Mr Son scoffs. "That's ridiculous. She is mine by contract. I will not fight the street-dog that stole food from my pantry for the scraps. If anything, you ought to pay me recompense for claiming her maidenhood—"

Yixiang shifts his weight off his weaker foot on instinct before throwing the punch. His injured shoulder holds up pretty well, better than Mr Son's nose, anyway.

Blood spurts out of both his nostrils as he staggers back, and the crunch of broken bone echoes through the mob in a shocked murmur. The box falls to the ground, spilling the dolls onto the wooden platform.

Eunju's eyes widen, then her lashes flutter as she turns to stare at Yixiang.

"I apologise. You could have handled him without my interference, wife. I shouldn't have lost my temper." Yixiang bows, his raised hands clasped together in contrition.

The sight of blood finally rouses the spectators. They holler and surge, driving Mr Son back from the shop steps and towards the market exit. His hands clutch his disfigured nose, red running between his fingers in rivulets, and Yixiang can't remember ever getting such a rush of satisfaction from violence before.

"Alright, people, the show is over!" Mrs Choi shouts over the excited thrum of the crowd. "The shop is closed for the day. We thank you for your business and hope to see you here again tomorrow!"

A few persistent shoppers gripe under their breaths as they drag their feet down the steps, but most market-goers have the good sense to grant Eunju some privacy after such an unsavoury incident. Only one customer remains behind - the rich lady Yixiang talked to earlier.

Wei Lian slips away too before Yixiang can decide whether he should introduce his old friend to everyone or not. If he's being honest, it's a relief that Wei Lian makes the choice for him. He's not sure that he would've had a decent lie in him under the circumstances; Yixiang's blood still boils from Mr Son's crude remarks.

"Yuna!" Eunju exclaims when her friend emerges from the thinning sea of people. "You came!"

"Of course I did, my little gyul. And I'm glad I came early, or I would have missed this stirring show."

The two embrace, then Yuna turns to Mrs Choi and clasps her hands between her own.

"Mrs Choi. A pleasure to see you again. How have you been? How's that handsome husband of yours?"

"Miss Na." Mrs Choi smiles warmly. "We're both well, thank you. How are you? It's been so long since your last visit. Is your mother well?"

They catch up while the southerners board up the shop front. Harua goes about making tea by the small fire pit in the back, and Yuna has one maid fetch a box of sweet, crumbly cakes from her wagon before sending them both off with the horse. The tension melts away gradually as they sit at a low, round table and sip from their cups, with Yuna, Eunju, and Mrs Choi keeping the conversation flowing. The men are content to just nod along silently and nibble on the treats.

It turns out that Yuna is indeed working at the court as a seamstress. How did Wei Lian know that? Well, technically, it's his job to know all manner of things, but still. Odd. Yixiang can't help but wonder how Yuna and Eunju met when they live such worlds apart, but that remains a tale for another time.

Dusk has nearly fallen by the time Yuna rises. "I should go. I'm tired from the long journey. Will you join me for supper at the inn tomorrow, Juju? I'm staying at the same inn as last time."

"I'd love to. Yudai, Fuma, could you please escort Yuna to her room? Mr Son might lurk around the market somewhere, and nothing's more dangerous than a man with wounded pride."

"Of course, Miss Beom." Yudai nods. "Fuma, let's go."

"Can I come too?" Taki asks, his pleading eyes bouncing from Yudai to Eunju. Out of all of them, he seems to have the hardest time whenever the four separate even for a short while.

Yudai makes a motion with his hand that Yixiang associates with calling a dog to heel, and Taki hastens after them, beaming like the sun.

"Ready to go, Yixiang?" Eunju asks. "If you don't mind cleaning up by yourself, Harua?"

"No, not at all, Miss. Leave it to me."

Yixiang thanks the boy, then trots after Eunju.

They walk alongside the bubbling stream that cuts through the town, each of them stewing in their thoughts until Eunju eventually breaks the silence: "Thank you for dealing with Son Yongpil today. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the whole story. I didn't realise he would be stubborn enough to still hold on to the contract our parents made, even though my father made it clear we ought to just break off the engagement since we couldn't afford to supply him with a concubine."

"He seems to have strong feelings for you."

"Pah. He has strong feelings about losing something that he perceives as his property." Eunju snorts derisively. "We have never been close."

A chilling possibility suddenly occurs to Yixiang, and he stops dead in his tracks.

"He can't force you to marry him after we divorce, can he?"

On the mainland, few women get a say in who they marry, and if Eunju has already been promised to Mr Son once…

"He's free to try." Eunju steps around to face Yixiang, but she keeps taking slow steps backwards. "I'll break his fingers if he so much as tries to touch me."

Inexplicably, the memory of their wedding night surfaces out of nowhere, and Yixiang flushes with fresh shame. The theatre was necessary, but the way his body reacted makes him no better than Son Yongpil.

Never again, Yixiang vows. Eunju has made her feelings regarding unwanted touching clear enough.

"What?" Eunju asks sharply, and only then does Yixiang realise that he's been quiet for too long. "You don't think I can do it?"

"Don't get your hands dirty. You should just let me kill him for you," is what comes out of Yixiang's mouth.

Eunju's feet stutter to a halt. Her lips part, yet no sound escapes for a long time as they stand and stare at each other, the offer hanging heavily in the air between them.

Wang Yixiang has been inhabiting Yu Yixiang's skin for so long that he'd almost forgotten his true nature, the ugly truth at his centre; he is a killer. And now he'd let Eunju see too much. The illusion of him being a decent man is ruined for good.

"Sorry. That was—"

"You'd do that for me?" Eunju asks, shuffling closer. Her eyes are wide and bright.

There's no point in denying it anymore.

"Yes." Yixiang inclines his head, the hair tied on top of his head falling down his shoulders and hiding his face momentarily.

"You wouldn't have to dirty your hands either if you stayed." Eunju's voice is full of odd heat. "I still can't afford to buy him a concubine, and he's been absent for several years, but you married into my family willingly. The magistrate would rule in our favour if it came to that. Don't divorce me. Don't leave. We'll find—"

"I have to go, Eunju. I'm sorry. It's not about—"

—what I want—

"—you or Eunbi. I still have things to take care of at home. Responsibilities. I hope you understand." Yixiang studies Eunju's expression in the descending darkness.

She nods, then lowers her chin. "Yes. Of course. It's okay. We'll be fine."

It sounds more like she's convincing herself, and Yixiang's heart turns like a boulder in his chest.

"But I'll make sure you two will never want for anything after I go. I promise. You won't have to marry anyone or mend that grouchy old widow's skirts or eat pig offal ever again."

"I like pig offal," Eunju says, a woeful smile on her lips. She wipes something from the corner of her eye. "Come on. It's cold. Let's go home."

The next day, Eunju leaves for work before Yixiang has woken. A scribbled note downstairs informs him she took Eunbi with her today and that there's congee on the stove for breakfast. It's strange being at the house all by himself, but convenient too, as Yixiang is eager to hear from Wei Lian.

Yixiang boils water and washes himself, then some clothes, and lastly scrubs the floor with the leftovers. He doesn't realise it's lunchtime until a young boy he's seen playing with Eunbi arrives at the gate with a packaged meal.

"Aunty Eunju sent this," he says, thrusting the box at Yixiang without meeting his eye. "She said there should be enough for supper too. She won't be home until late."

"Thank you."

Yixiang is about to close the gate, but the boy lingers, so he stops and arches an eyebrow.

"Eunbi said…" He glances up at Yixiang. "…that you made her an abacus."

"That's right." Yixiang nods.

It's nothing special: a wooden frame with nutshells hanging on rows of slim, polished branches. Eunbi has a good head for numbers, and Yixiang had wanted to teach her some basic shopkeeping ahead of Eunju's stall opening.

"Could you make me one too?"

In the grand scheme of things, the request is humble, but it's also the first time someone from the village has asked him for anything, treated him like one of their own, and Yixiang is deeply touched by it.

"Yes, of course. I'll have Eunbi deliver it to you when it's done."

"Thank you, Uncle!" With that, the boy darts away.

Yixiang realises too late that he should have asked for his name. Next time.

A few hours later, he's working on the abacus when he hears rustling from the backyard. Wei Lian. No one else is dumb enough to wade through the dry, tangled bushes that line the outer perimeter of the fence.

"The Emperor should dismiss his guards and just plant a bunch of whatever that thing is around the palace walls," he says by way of greeting as he enters the house, brushing dead leaves and twigs off his robes. He's never been much of an outdoors person.

"You could have just knocked on the front gate." Yixiang gives him an amused look over the half-finished abacus frame. "No one here knows who you are."

"One mainlander won't raise too many eyebrows, especially if they speak the language fluently and marry into an island woman's family, but two together will make people talk."

Yixiang sighs and sets down the slim pieces of wood. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but our marriage is inconsequential. I'm only paying back a debt. She would lose the house to her uncle in court if she'd made an inheritance claim unwed, so we came to an agreement. We'll get a divorce as soon as she has officially gained ownership of the property."

"That's very noble of you, Xiang Xiang, but do you have any idea how much trouble your disappearance has caused on the mainland?" Wei Lian folds himself down opposite Yixiang and lowers his voice. "Your uncle has been causing unrest at the Imperial Court for years, but while you've been here playing house, he's grown more brazen than ever before. Do you know why?"

"I have nothing to do with whatever is going on between him and the Emperor, and you know it. My uncle doesn't listen to me. I am a soldier, not a politician."

"Oh?" A wry smile tugs at the corners of Wei Lian's mouth. "Do soldiers usually spend their days plotting for peace?"

"Do politicians?" Yixiang deadpans.

Wei Lian chuckles. "You got me there. But Yixiang, listen." The mirth drains from his face, and he leans forward over the low table. "I believe your uncle arranged the pirate attack on the grain shipment. A maid we planted in his household overheard him berating a rough-looking islander for something a few days after you went missing. She doesn't know the language very well, so she only caught bits and pieces, but she thinks he was angry that you were harmed in the assault."

Yixiang wishes he could say he was surprised, but in truth, he'd been suspecting his uncle of fanning the flames of the war for a while now. Zhang Jianguo and the Emperor have a complicated relationship that Yixiang doesn't fully understand; trust and animosity seem to exist in equal measure between them, and so far, the web of responsibility, power, and tradition has kept the scales from tipping too hard in one direction. Was Yixiang's death the final straw? He didn't think his uncle cared much for him, but perhaps he unwittingly played some critical role in the game between the Emperor and his oldest advisor.

"What is he up to now?" Yixiang asks, already weary of it all.

"He's been sowing dissent as usual, and this time not only among the ministers but among the lower classes too. His message is clear: the Emperor is old and soft, and his failed attempts at reconciliation with the Prince Regent have not only lost the nation their greatest weapon against the island brutes - you - but have shown everyone what a weak-willed and fatigued leader he is. He has been quietly gathering men under his banner, and the steel forges on Qingban Mountain have been burning red-hot day and night."

"Is he trying to incite a revolt?" Yixiang blinks, truly shocked this time. Poisonous words are one thing, but open rebellion against the Son of Heaven? It's unthinkable.

"If he is, he might have a real shot." Wei Lian thumbs at the sharp tip of one of Yixiang's tools on the table. "The Emperor's most loyal forces are far from the palace on a mission to avenge your death, and the people are increasingly displeased with not only the endless war but his continued failure to produce a legitimate heir."

The Emperor, famously, has three daughters. His one and only son was stillborn and took his mother, the Emperor's first wife, to the grave with him. There had even been talk of a curse stalking His Imperial Majesty, especially among the superstitious country folk.

"Shit." Yixiang rubs his temples. "I have to come back with you, don't I?"

"Why do you think I came in person? Yixiang, our country needs you now more than ever. If we fall into civil war, the Prince Regent will burn what's left of us to the ground before next year's spring thaw."

"I know." Yixiang casts a look around the room. "But I can't leave before the matter with this house has been settled. Can you give me a week?"

Wei Lian's eyebrows draw together in plain dismay, but then he sighs and nods. "Fine. One week. I'll arrange for us to travel to the nearest shoreline outpost in seven days. Here." He unties the heavy cloth bag hanging from his waist and tosses it onto the table. "The money to support your fake wife."

"Don't call her that," Yixiang says, more vehemently than he intended.

"What did you call your marriage again? Inconsequential?"

The trouble with old friends is that they know you all too well.

"Shut up, Mouse. Go dive back into the bushes. Make sure no one sees you."

"I have to say," Wei Lian says, rising from the stool, "country life suits you, Xiang Xiang. I barely recognised you yesterday. You don't look like someone carved you out of marble with an axe anymore." He bends down and taps Yixiang's cheek, which, admittedly, is less sunken in than before.

Yixiang gives him his best murder stare in, but unfortunately, Wei Lian is one of the few people who has never been deterred by his eyes.

"Cute."

"Get lost."

For once, Wei Lian obliges him without further comment.

Yixiang takes a walk after sunset. He needs to clear his head, and the empty house is only throwing his thoughts into further disarray.

Tomorrow, he will visit the magistrate and see if a handful of silver can persuade the man into having the hearing sooner rather than later. In the best-case scenario, the magistrate can be bribed into making a ruling then and there. Wei Lian certainly gave him enough coin to incentivise even a morally sound man, and from what Yixiang has heard, the magistrate has as much love for gambling and strong wine as he does for dealing justice. If Eunju can't appeal to his righteous side, Yixiang will feed his corrupt underbelly instead. Whatever it takes.

Yixiang's feet take him into the woods beyond the village. The pale moonlight pushes through the winter-stripped trees with ease, lighting the road for him even before he realises he's heading for the beach where Eunju first found him.

The way there is rough. Horses and carts trampled the mud when it was still soft from the sun during the day, and now, the night's chill has left it frozen with treacherous grooves and humps all over. Yixiang can't imagine carrying a grown man on his back all the way from the coast to the house on this road, in the blistering cold no less. It's not the first time he has thought that Eunju is stronger than him - if not physically, then in will - and it won't be the last.

When he reaches the shore, the sea is a pool of churning ink, with the moon painting a deceitfully inviting bridge across its infinity. The wind whips at Yixiang's robes and hair, but he can hardly feel the chill. He imagines a boat on the horizon, the one that will rip apart the fragile tether he had to this land.

He aches.

Not for what awaits him on the other side, the exhausting cycle of violence and waiting for violence, but what lies nestled in the valley behind him. The hearth song of peace. Of joy. Of home.

The impossibility of it.

Yixiang hasn't cried since the day he found his mother swinging from the rafters, the hem of her skirt dripping urine on the floor and flies buzzing lazily around her swollen, purplish head, but something lodges in his throat while he stares at the horizon. No tears well up, but he can't swallow the lump either; another discomfort Yixiang will just have to learn to live with.

He turns back.

Eunju must be home by now, and Yixiang doesn't want her to worry.

Eunju is not at home.

Yixiang can tell even before he opens the gate that no one has been inside since he left. Maybe she had so much fun with Yuna that she lost track of time? Eunbi is staying at a friend's house across the street tonight, so Yixiang doesn't have to worry about her, at least.

Across the yard, light shines through the Chois' papered front window, so Yixiang knocks on their door frame.

"Oh, Mr Yu. Good evening. We wondered where you'd gone." Mrs Choi tightens her hold on the shawl she always wears around her shoulders.

"Just out for a walk. It's good for my foot." He lifts the injured leg a little, as if she'd forgotten about the fracture. "Do you know if Eunju is still at the inn with Miss Na?"

Mrs Choi peeks over his shoulder, then frowns at the sight of the lifeless Beom house.

"She's not back yet? Strange." Her eyes suddenly widen, and she covers her mouth with her hand. "She wouldn't have…"

"Wouldn't have what?" Yixiang resists the urge to shake the rest out of the old woman.

"Mr Son's mother visited her at the shop today. She said something about her son wanting to clear the air between them and settle their grievances once and for all. I assumed she'd dismissed her, but…"

"…but she might have gone over there after supper? Alone?"

Mrs Choi nods. "She might have. If she thought they were ready to pay her back—"

Yixiang has heard enough. He dashes across the yard and through the gate before it occurs to him that he doesn't know which house belongs to Son Yongpil and his mother.

Mrs Choi, bless her soul, shouts the directions from her doorway before he has time to turn around, so Yixiang keeps running, over the bridge and to the left, the fifth house down the lane with the busted gate…

There.

Halfway down the unfamiliar yard, Yixiang falters.

Why did he immediately assume Eunju needed his help? She'd won a fight against four grown men; how much trouble could she have with one bookish weasel? If he just barged in now, it would imply that he didn't trust Eunju to handle her own affairs, and the last thing Yixiang wants is to shame his wife in front of her ex-fiancé.

So he creeps to one window and listens in, unwilling to leave before he makes sure she's alright.

He can hear people talking inside, but he can't make out the individual words. They must be somewhere at the back of the house. Yixiang feels like a common thief as he slinks around the corner and climbs over the wooden fence to get closer.

"…should go. My husband is waiting for me." It's Eunju, but she sounds weird. Sluggish, as if she were about to doze off.

"It's still early. What's the rush? Have some more wine. It's the good stuff from the capital, not the swill you normally drink here."

"No. I need to get to my husband…"

So the bastard got her drunk.

Yixiang's hands curl into fists by his sides, but he refrains from storming in. It would take more than a few drinks to render Beom Eunju helpless, and he'd already robbed his wife of the satisfaction of putting the man in his place once.

"Why? What's so special about him, hmm? He's from the enemy, Eunju. Why him?"

Yixiang should put an end to this before the wine coaxes dangerous truths out of her. Without a doubt, Mr Son would use their fake marriage as extortion material, and Yixiang can't let anything interfere with the matter of the inheritance.

But before he can act, he hears the scrape of wood on wood, then Eunju's voice, louder than before.

"Because he's a good person. A better man than you could ever hope to become, Yongpil. I don't care where he came from. He's right where he belongs now, and I'm proud to call him my husband."

"Proud to have lowered yourself to become a crippled mainland thug's wife? Pah! That dumb brute has nothing to offer you. I just passed my royal exams, Eunju. I'm going to make something of myself in the capital. Divorce him, and you still have a chance to—"

"You could study for a thousand years, and you still wouldn't be half as wise as Yu Yixiang! I don't give a pig's trotter about your education. I love my husband, and there's nothing you can say to make me abandon him. Now get out of my way. I'm going home."

Yixiang knows Eunju is only trying to convince Son Yongpil to leave her alone, but he can't help but smile to himself. Not many people have such nice things to say about the War Dog.

"You uppity bitch," Yongpil snarls. "Screw Yu Yixiang. You shouldn't get to choose. You were supposed to be mine. Mine. When will you women learn that the only thing you're good for is opening your fucking legs—"

Having heard enough, Yixiang punches a hole in the window, pieces of paper and splintered wood flying everywhere as he jumps through the frame.

But Yongpil is already writhing on the floor when Yixiang takes in the scene. The man's hands are cupped, tellingly, over his crotch, and Eunju towers over him, her chest heaving.

"Eunju."

She swings around, a little wobbly on her feet.

"Yixiang." A smile lights up her face at the sight of him. "Did you come to take me home?"

"Yes. Of course I did. Come on."

Eunju stumbles over to him. Her palms are hot and damp around Yixiang's wrists. And her eyes… The pupils are so dilated that the ring of brown is almost gone. After each lethargic blink, she takes a while to refocus on Yixiang. The colour on her face is not the rosy pink flush from a jar of decent wine, but a feverish red, and a fine sheen of sweat covers her skin.

"You smell of the sea," she mumbles, leaning forward with her nose twitching. "Like the day I found you."

"Eunju, how much wine have you had tonight?"

"Two." Eunju holds up her pointer and middle finger.

"Two jars?"

No wonder—

"Cups. Two cups." She giggles, stepping closer and leaning heavily on Yixiang's shoulder. Her body emits heat like a smouldering log, even through the several layers of winter clothes.

Yixiang glares at Yongpil. The man is still cradling his privates at their feet, his breath coming in pained bursts.

"Yah! You. What did you give her?" Yixiang asks.

Yongpil blinks up at them, his lashes wet with unshed tears. "Nothing," he spits. "Only the finest wine in all of—"

Yixiang doesn't have time for this.

He nudges the man on his back with one foot, then sets his heel over where Yongpil clutches himself.

"Tell me now, or the unfortunate woman who ends up marrying you will have to turn to a farmhand if she ever wants to carry a child."

The colour drains from Yongpil's face, and he licks his lips. He reminds Yixiang of a lizard, especially with how his nose is swollen and discoloured, with a ring of crusted blood visible around the inner rim of one nostril.

"It was only a few drops," he says, bringing his knees up as far as he dares without touching Yixiang's foot. He stammers a couple of words Yixiang hasn't heard before. "It makes women…happy." Then, another unfamiliar word. "Loose, you know? It's perfectly safe, I swear. I've used it before. The women are fine. In fact, they thanked me in the morning for the best night of—"

Yixiang passes the crotch and stomps down on the man's stomach instead. He squeaks, then groans, rolling onto his side and curling up into a ball.

"Never approach Beom Eunju or her sister again. Don't talk to them, don't send them letters, don't walk past their shop. You're not even allowed to look at them. Do you understand? You two are nothing to each from now on. Nod if you understand."

Yongpil's head bobs up and down furiously.

A tug on Yixiang's robes shifts his attention back to Eunju. He turns around and steadies her with a hand on her arm.

Shit, she's shaking.

"I want to go home," she mutters. "Can you take me home, Yixiang?"

"Yes. Let's go. Lean on me."

The way back seems three times as long. Eunju can walk, but she pays no attention to her feet, tripping over every obstacle that happens on her path and occasionally her own skirts. She's in no danger of falling over, though, not with the way she grips Yixiang's arm hard enough to bruise. She keeps her face tucked against his neck, probably in fear of someone from the neighbourhood catching her in this state, and Yixiang does his best to make it look as if they were just out for a romantic evening stroll.

At some point, Yixiang considers picking her up and carrying her home, but as they're already on perilous waters, the drug scrambling her mind and senses, he can't afford to give her the wrong impression. Eunju has never been so vulnerable with him before, and Yixiang won't let her down in her hour of need.

When they arrive, the Chois are waiting for them on the porch.

"Eunju!" Mrs Choi hurries over to them as soon as they enter through the gate. "Is she okay? What happened?"

"Son Yongpil drugged her." Yixiang tries to extricate himself from his wife, but she refuses to let go. "She'll be fine in the morning. Can she sleep over at your place tonight?"

"Drugged her?" Mrs Choi inhales sharply. "That good-for-nothing son of a bitch. I'll poke a new breathing hole in him if he ever steps foot inside these walls again! Oh, pet. It's okay. You're safe now." She caresses Eunju's sweat-dabbled temple.

"Why our house?" Mr Choi asks, frowning. "Shouldn't she stay with her husband at a time like this?"

What can Yixiang say to that?

To make it worse, Eunju says: "I want to go home with Yixiang. No one else."

In all honesty, Yixiang isn't sure he could have even pried her fingers off his forearm without hurting her.

"Okay." He sighs in defeat. "Let's get you to bed."

With any luck, she'll nod off once Yixiang tucks her in.

"Take her upstairs," Mrs Choi says in a low voice. "It's more intimate up there."

Yixiang makes a face at the implications, but again, what can he say to that?

Eunju makes it up the stairs without a hitch, but the moment they waddle through the curtain, Yixiang comprehends the magnitude of the mistake he's made.

The shaking, which Yixiang had taken as a sign of drug-induced fatigue, was actually from the effort of Eunju holding herself back in public. In the dark privacy of the bedroom, she spins them around and pins Yixiang against the wall by his waist so roughly that it knocks the air from his lungs. Before he can recover, Eunju seals her mouth over his and swallows his shocked exhale as if it had always belonged to her, her thumbs digging into the tensing muscle on either side of Yixiang's navel.

Arousal stabs him; a knife to the gut, only the blade is made of fire instead of steel. Yixiang's eyes flutter shut as the warmth unfurls and seeps through his limbs, thickening his blood until it's simmering honey in his veins.

There's so much to take in. The yearning, unsure pressure of his first kiss. The scent of the winter night clinging to Eunju's clothes. The barely audible vocalisations she makes low in her throat. The foreign heaviness pouring between his legs.

The jumble of sensations renders Yixiang dopey, slightly out of sync with the world again. But just as she did on their wedding day, Eunju seems to sense it now. She withdraws half a step, and the grip she has on his middle loosens into a caress. Her thumbs draw soothing circles into his abdomen until Yixiang lowers his shoulders and shuffles his feet apart, instinctively adjusting his stance to accommodate her better.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she whispers against his lips, bringing one hand up to tap the wound on his upper back through the clothes.

Yixiang shakes his head.

He'd all but forgotten that he was injured.

"Good. I only want to make you feel good, Yixiang."

Eunju swipes her tongue across his lower lip, the tip teasing the seam with a flicker, then trailing along the upper curve.

Yixiang's knees buckle. He scrabbles for purchase on the uneven planks at his back, his nails sinking into the shallow crevices as the floor lurches beneath his feet. For a few dazed blinks, Yixiang fears he might faint.

"Ah, Eunju, wait—"

She doesn't listen.

One of her hands comes to cradle the back of his head as she devours the rest of his feeble protests. Yixiang lets her nudge his mouth open, feeling unbearably clumsy when she slots their lips together in a new way and moves softly but insistently against him in her own secret rhythm. She keeps Yixiang pressed flat against the wall, as if she were afraid he'd bolt at any moment.

It might be a valid concern if Yixiang could control his body at all.

And that's before Eunju nudges a knee between his trembling legs.

Yixiang's breath hitches. His hips jerk forward, unbidden, desperately seeking more pressure. Not on the part would expect a man to want to be touched but farther down, where Yixiang suddenly feels an emptiness for the first time in his life. The sharp point of her kneecap pushes up, up, up, and pinpricks of light burst behind Yixiang's closed eyelids. Eunju's tongue slides into his mouth, and she tastes so good, sweet as ripe late-summer fruit…

Right. It's probably the remnants of Yongpil's drug he's tasting.

The thought sobers him up.

"Eunju. Eunju, hey. Slow down." With some difficulty, Yixiang gets an arm between them, and gently he pushes Eunju back. Her eyes shine in the almost pitch-black room as she processes the words. Yixiang tries very hard not to stare at how her lower lip glistens with spit. His spit. "This isn't you. The drug Yongpil gave you is making you act this way. You should sleep it off. You'll be back to normal in the morning."

"Normal?" She sounds amused by the word choice, but lets Yixiang take her by the elbow and guide her to the bed.

He is a fool to think it was going to be that easy.

As she falls backward, she grabs a fistful of Yixiang's clothes and yanks him down on top of her. His trained reflexes save them from a full-on collision, but she takes advantage of his momentum and kisses him again, craning her neck for a better angle, her other hand snaking into the gap at the front of his loosened robes.

Yixiang wrenches free, breathing heavily, acutely aware of how his body is reacting to its first bit of mutual desire. The stupid thing doesn't know it's not real.

Not for Eunju, at least.

But for Yixiang, it's not just about the novelty of touch. It's about Beom Eunju herself. From the day they met, Yixiang has been drawn to her, and not only because she's the most beautiful human he has ever laid eyes on; she is also everything he wishes he could be himself. Patient, caring, just. But headstrong and playful, too, the wife he didn't dare to dream existed in the world. In the long run, Yixiang would have been better off not knowing she does, because how does he walk away from this? From her?

He doesn't need to wonder about that for much longer if he lets this go further than this, though. Eunju won't forgive him if the morning finds them entwined after a night of passion that she can barely remember. Their first (and only) time would always be a memory stained by Son Yongpil.

But it will be difficult to make her see reason under the drug's sway.

Ignoring his protests, Eunju surges up to nip at the column of his throat, and with a frustrated exhale, Yixiang sits back on his heels.

"No, Eunju, you have to stop."

She looks devastating under him. Now that his eyes have grown accustomed to the dark, he can make out the delicate, round outlines of her features, the blush sitting high on her cheekbones, the peek of white between her parted lips.

Yixiang needs to get out of this room before something happens that he'll truly regret.

"Why do I have to stop?" Eunju asks. Her lips purse into an adorable pout.

While she's distracted, Yixiang takes her hand out from his inner robe and sets is carefully on top of her rib cage.

"I told you. This isn't who you are. If I let this happen now, I'd be as bad as Son Yongpil, and I'm nothing like that conniving bastard. I'd never expect you - or any woman for that matter - to 'open their legs for me'."

You'd think a seasoned war general would see an attack coming from this distance, but in his defence, most of Yixiang's blood is not currently flowing to his brain.

Eunju flips them over before the movement even registers with him. The room does a somersault, and the next thing he knows, he's on his back, blinking up at Eunju looming over him. She secures a solid grip on his arms, pressing them onto the bed on either side of his head before she bends down and nuzzles the tips of their noses together.

"And what if," she asks, her exhale ghosting over his lips, "I want you to open your legs for me?"

Yixiang makes a thin, involuntary sound that probably conveys confusion in some animal species.

Unfortunately, to the human ear, it sounds a lot like a whimper.

"Please don't be mad at me," Eunju adds in a whisper.

Yixiang frowns. Why would he be mad? He's not the one who was drugged with a potent aphrodisiac that—

Eunju knocks apart his knees with her own, settles between his legs, and slowly, deliberately grinds her hips down between Yixiang's thighs.

A hot, hard length rubs against him through the two sets of jumbled robes, and it takes Yixiang precisely five heartbeats to realise what he's feeling.

The recognition sets off a hidden tripwire inside him; his entire body clenches at once, then releases in hot, cramping waves that well up deep from his belly. Yixiang gasps through it, his hips stuttering and nails snagging in the folds of Eunju's clothes. For a horrifying moment, Yixiang thinks he wet himself, but no, it's not that.

"Did you just—" Eunju trails off, mouth hanging open.

He did.

Yixiang came in his underclothes like a sleeping teenage boy.

He hides his face under his arm, the inner corners of his eyes prickling. Air rattles in and out of him noisily, too fast, but he can't help it, not with how his lungs have shrunk to half their usual size.

"Yixiang. Yixiang, it's okay. Look at me." Eunju pulls at Yixiang's elbow, but his shame is stronger than Eunju's will. "Please look at me."

Yixiang can't. He can't.

His uncle was right. He is soft. He is weak. Yixiang was born wrong. He should have been a girl; he doesn't have the constitution to be a proper man. The criss-crossing scars on his back twinge from the phantom cracks of his uncle's whip, but the tears stinging his eyes are worse - proof that Yixiang is still that snivelling little baby who cried out for his mama—

The bedding rustles. It's Eunju. She—

—he—

—is climbing down from the bed. Leaving.

Yixiang's heart stops. He throws out one arm blindly, grasping a handful of fabric and the tassel of the maedeup hanging from Eunju's jacket. Yixiang tugs, his face pressed into the crook of his arm, and all of his words still stuck somewhere in his collapsed lungs.

Stay.

Eunju hums inquisitively. Yixiang yanks on the tassel one more time, then turns to his side, bundling himself against the wall to make room for Eunju behind his back.

"I was only going to fetch a rag," Eunju says as he lies down beside him, his breath tickling Yixiang's ear. Yixiang shivers, and Eunju wraps one arm around him, hugging him tightly to his chest. "I wouldn't leave you like this, Yixiang." The assurance comes with a rain of kisses on the back of Yixiang's neck. "I would never leave you if it were up to me."

Below, he feels that newfound part of Eunju poke him in the thigh, and Yixiang's belly quivers at the sensation.

If only he were a girl. Eunju's beloved wife. He'd only have to pull up his skirts and arch his back and—

The fantasy chokes another embarrassing sound out of him, and Eunju coos into his ear, his nails clawing at the scratchy material of Yixiang's robes.

Yixiang wants. Even with tears drying on his face and come cooling under his robes and his uncle screaming in his ear, he wants. Things he has never thought of before, things he doesn't have a name for, things that would make Zhang Jianguo unsheathe his sword and bury it between Yixiang's ribs.

Yixiang rocks back against Eunju, his blood singing under his skin, rushing back down to where he's feeling tender and overheated. His cheeks burn with how lewd he's being, but it's like he's the one who's been drugged now; his body living a life of its own, craving more.

"Yixiang—you—you're not mad?" Eunju asks, and Yixiang would laugh at the wonder in his voice if he could, but there isn't enough breath inside him for it.

So he just shakes his head again, no. No, he is not angry. He might be a little crazy, though. The guilt over Eunju's compromised mental state has long dissipated, for one.

Eunju tears and pulls at his robes, then discards his own jacket and skirt until there's nothing between them but skin - a long, warm expanse of sweaty skin. Eunju gathers Yixiang's hair and sweeps it over his shoulder, leaving his back fully exposed. He checks the arrow wound first, careful not to touch the fresh scar tissue directly. Next, his curious fingertips trace the constellation of scars across his back, moving methodically down to the dip of Yixiang's waist.

"These are all the same…" Eunju says at length. Yixiang freezes. "The same width, similar length, even about equally old… Why didn't I notice that before? You didn't get these on the job, did you?"

Yixiang has allowed his uncle to take enough from him already. He can't have this, too. Yixiang won't let him.

He only has to wriggle up the bed just so, and the wet head of Eunju's cock slips between his thighs. It's too dark for Yixiang to see, but it's enough to feel it, to hear Eunju's shaky inhale, to have his fingertips fall away from the scars and press into the grooves of Yixiang's rib cage instead.

"Ah, Yixiang…"

Eunju's hips twitch forward, and Yixiang has never felt as powerful as he does when he presses his legs together on either side of Eunju's shaft and coaxes a low moan out of him.

The sound alone stirs Yixiang's own cock back to life.

"Can I?" Eunju asks tremulously, planting kisses on the marred skin on Yixiang's upper back.

"Anything," Yixiang rasps.

Eunju rolls against Yixiang a few times, experimentally, his puffs of breath damp on the jut of Yixiang's right shoulder blade, then reaches for the clay pot of medicinal salve on the windowsill. The stuff is thick and waxy when scooped out of the jar but turns oily with body heat, so it smears easily when Eunju massages a handful onto the sensitive skin of Yixiang's inner thighs.

The slide is smooth after that, oil and watery liquid from Eunju's cock dripping onto the sheets as Eunju thrusts into that tight space faster, harder, one hand clutching Yixiang's hip and the other circling his waist.

Eunju's desire makes Yixiang feel small. Not insignificant, just… cared for, like some furry little thing burrowing into its owner's lap. Safe. Comfortable. Yixiang doesn't have to think about a thing. He can just be. Be used for something other than violence for once.

Eunju suckles and nibbles at his shoulders, back, and arms, hungry for him in ways that are more tangible than the blades, axes, and spears swinging at him on the battlefield.

Why would he go back? Why can't he stay here where he's happy and warm and loved—

Eunju's movements grow erratic as he gets closer to the edge, his kisses more teeth than lips, and his fingertips sinking deeper into Yixiang's flesh (sure to leave marks that will last for days), and Yixiang loves it, loved the burn on his skin, the slick sounds of Eunju fucking his thighs, the smell of sweat and arousal in the air.

Then Eunju cants his hips up, and the tip nudges against that taut stretch of skin Eunju had teased with his kneecap before.

Yixiang stops breathing.

Behind him, Eunju stalls too, but their hearts beat in thunderous unison. They teeter at the edge of something, tense and uncertain, a question strung between them that neither can shape into words.

Finally, each reading the answer in the other's body language, they move, Yixiang bending his spine and Eunju pulling him back with a hand on his lower belly, and that point of blunt pressure shifts.

Impossible, Yixiang thinks, even as he silently asks for it, it can't—

Eunju guides Yixiang's top leg back and over his hip with one hand while the other holds him steady, firmly in place for when he pushes against the clench, Yixiang's name breaking in two in his mouth over and over again as he catches on the rim, then sinks in—

—he is inside Yixiang—

—and it stings a little, the stretch, the drag of skin on skin, a little too dry despite the coating of oil, but it's the best kind of ache, sets Yixiang on fire from the inside out, his limbs trembling uncontrollably and his breath wheezing out in hiccuping bursts—

Eunju's hips jerk forward, once, twice, shallow thrusts with only the head breaching him, Eunju's groans becoming more high-pitched, urgent—

A wet warmth floods Yixiang. He clenches around the sensation, arching into it, sucking Eunju a little deeper while he shivers through his orgasm.

Yixiang blinks, dazed.

He did that.

He made Eunju come. Yongpil's drug had nothing to do with it. Eunju chose him, trusted him with his secret, desired him enough to break the borders of what Yixiang thought his body was even capable of. Now, Yixiang wants to learn more, wants to find out about all the ways they fit together.

He once believed that his destiny was too great to be contained by something as trivial as a marriage bed; he was wrong. This is it. This is his entire world: the length of this room, Eunju's body notched perfectly against his, the kings and emperors of the surrounding lands nothing but names in their neighbours' mouths. Yixiang doesn't give a shit about the war at that moment. The emperor can drop dead for all he cares. This is all he needs.

Everything between Yixiang's legs feels heavy, swollen, tight, and he wraps his fingers around himself for the first time in his life, desperate to relieve the hot throb at the base of his spine.

He whines quietly, caught between the feeling of Eunju softening inside him and the tentative flickers of pleasure from his own touch. It's so foreign. The velvety texture over the web of bulging veins, the skin pulled back over the head, the coarse hairs prickling the side of his hand on every downstroke.

"Yixiang," Eunju whispers breathlessly. He lets go of Yixiang's hip and runs a hand over the oily residue on his inner thighs. "You're incredible. So good for me," he murmurs, slippery fingertips skidding over Yixiang's wrist before joining him where he's got himself in a loose hold. "Let me help you. My pretty husband." His thumb massages a spot on the underside of the tip, and the rest of his fingers lace with Yixiang's, speeding up his faltering rhythm.

Good. Pretty. No one's called Yixiang those things before. It has never mattered who he is or what he looked like, only what service he could provide - for his uncle, for the Emperor, for the realm.

Eunju slips out of him, and it's the feeling of his seed chasing him out and trickling down the swell of Yixiang's ass that has him spilling into Eunju's palm with a hoarse cry.

Good.

Pretty.

Tomorrow, Yixiang will send Wei Lian back home empty-handed.

From now on, the only goal Yu Yixiang has in this life is to be the best and prettiest husband to his beloved.

All else is inconsequential.

A clatter pulls Yixiang from the clutches of sleep. It's still nighttime, shadows congregating thickly in the corners of the room, but his gut tells him that dawn isn't far off. Beside him, curled under the blanket, Eunju is dead to the world, his mouth open and nose whistling quietly on every inhale.

Yixiang looks around for the source of the noise, wondering if Mr Choi's weak bladder woke him up too early again, when he hears another bang directly below them.

Someone is in the house.

Eunju put the box with the title deed in a new hiding place, and even Yixiang doesn't know where, but there are only so many possibilities in a home this size. Any thief worth their pay would find it if given enough time to search, and now more than ever, Yixiang can't let that piece of paper fall into the wrong hands.

He throws on a clean set of robes and quickly ties his hair up out of the way before creeping downstairs.

A black-clad figure is moving around in the kitchen, their silhouette stealthy but easy enough to spot through the back door when Yixiang's eyes grow accustomed to the dark.

Yixiang won't wait for them to stumble onto the box this time around, not when it clearly holds more than one of Eunju's secrets.

He darts under the heavy curtains, hoping to knock the intruder unconscious before they realise what hit them, but it's as if they were expecting him, because as soon as Yixiang enters the house, they take off running through the front door.

Shit. It's unlikely that they have the deed, but the matter is too important to let hinge on uncertainty.

He pursues the thief into the yard. The lithe figure jumps onto the old butcher's table in the corner and vaults over the wall, agile as a cat. Yixiang uses the gate, worried that he'll lose his target before can get eyes on them again, his senses heightening as he dashes onto the street.

Fortunately, the runner isn't as bright as they are spry. Instead of disappearing into the narrow pathways between the neighbouring houses, they sprint towards the market in full view of the moon. Yixiang goes after them, gaining on the smaller opponent until they finally make a sharp right onto a smaller side street.

Yixiang uses a shortcut, leaping over an empty cart and weaving his way through the bundles of sticks old man Kim stores in the alley beside his house. He glimpses the intruder hurtling past the alleyway entrance and sprints faster, the cold air rousing in his lungs and the packed earth solid under his boots. He turns a corner and—

Over a dozen men brandishing polished tridents rush at him from the shades of the surroundings buildings, trapping Yixiang in a tight circle in the middle of the street.

An ambush.

Of course. The thief isn't stupid; Yixiang is just gullible.

Wang Yixiang would have seen this coming.

He is unarmed, and besides, any resistance he puts up might reflect badly on Eunju and Eunbi, so Yixiang drops to his knees and laces his fingers on the back of his head without hesitation.

The ring of soldiers splits on one side to let through the feline figure of the 'thief'. Yixiang risks a glance up when they approach him, half-expecting to see someone from his uncle's household, but no.

It's Na Yuna.

Only she no longer looks like a woman at all. Barefaced, in form-fitting black clothes and a topknot, she gives off the aura of a trained assassin rather than a delicate lady. Yixiang only recognises her by her crooked sneer.

Behind her - or him - stands a young man Yixiang hasn't seen before, one with features that have more in common with Eunju's southern employees than island natives. The soldier is shaped like a beanpole, ears like butterflies on either side of a boyish but deadpan face, but the way he carries himself tells Yixiang that he would be the hardest to subdue out of all of them.

Yuna steps as close as he can get while remaining out of Yixiang's reach, his eyes drawing tight at the corners.

"You thought you were safe here, didn't you, Dog?" he hisses, his voice pitched considerably lower than before. "Hiding in the skirts of two innocent orphan country girls? Shame on you." He leans in and spits in Yixiang's face.

Yixiang lowers his chin to his chest, resisting the urge to wipe the warm drip of saliva from his cheeks on his shoulder.

He has nothing to say in his defence.

"Jo." Yuna's tone is as hard and flat as a shovel. "Break one of his feet, then put him in the cart before anyone sees him. Send a rider ahead to inform the Prince Regent: we're bringing him Wang Yixiang on a serving platter."

The tall soldier marches forward, a simple block of wood in his hand. Leftovers from when old man Kim renovated a rotten corner of his back porch, probably.

If Yixiang is lucky, the man will go for his right foot and cause a nice, even break with a single hit near the toes.

Yixiang closes his eyes and lets the pain wash over him.

It doesn't surprise him to learn that his luck has well and truly run out.

The dungeons under the fortress are damp and chilly. Yixiang had huddled against a wall at first, but the stone was so cold that it turned his skin grey, so he sits unsupported in the middle of the cell now, the ache in his lower back nothing compared to the agony lancing through his foot every time he puts any weight on it. His right leg is shackled at the ankle with a chain that's just about long enough to give him free rein of his enclosure but keeps him from touching the door.

He will most likely never walk without a limp again. Too many fractures in the small bones. They won't heal right in these circumstances, if they have time to heal at all. Yixiang still doesn't know which holds more value to the Prince Regent: his life or his gruesome public death. He tries not to think about it too much. He has twisted his brain into enough knots while rolling around in his misery, and any speculation concerning his future seems futile when he knows for a fact that it won't involve Beom Eunju in any shape or form.

He gets watery congee for breakfast, stringy bits of meat and leftover rice for lunch, and a spicy vegetable dish for dinner. The portions are small, but he can't complain. It's better than what he has survived on some of their longer overseas campaigns, for sure.

Monotony is his true enemy down here. He sleeps as much as he can, eats what's brought to him, exercises the parts of his body that aren't broken beyond repair, and spends the rest of his time drowning in daydreams.

In his fantasies, Yixiang fulfills all the promises he made for spring: he teaches Eunbi's friend to use the abacus, repairs the janky well crank in the yard, and designs a banner for Eunju's shop.

He never follows his dreams into the upstairs bedroom, though.

Yixiang knows better than to poke at an open amputation wound; it won't make the limb grow back.

Yixiang has eaten precisely twenty-one bowls of unsalted congee (his only measure of time since sleep visits him at irregular hours) when the heavy iron doors at the end of the hallway screech open. It's unusual for anyone to drop in outside his designated meal times, so it piques his interest. No point in letting it show, however. Yixiang stays hunched over his empty breakfast bowl, only his eyes flicking towards the entrance.

A procession of soldiers in full gear enters first, their tridents held out in front of them. It's a comical sight considering Yixiang seems to be the only occupant down here, and he's not only behind a locked door and chained to the wall but barely able to walk with his left foot a mess of swollen tissue, trapped blood, and cracked bone.

Finally, strolling a dozen steps behind them, two figures in resplendent robes emerge. One in dark blue, and the other wearing royal red. Elaborate gold-thread embroidery embosses both their silken outer robes, but the man in red stands out even from afar, his tall black hat with upward-pointing flaps on top, like mouse ears pressed together, towering over their escort of soldiers.

Only the rightful King can wear that hat on this island.

Yixiang frowns.

Did they actually find the missing Prince? Has he returned after all this time? Or maybe it's his remains they uncovered, the original jade tiger seal nestled in a pile of tiny bones in some nameless grove somewhere on the mainland, and the Prince Regent was finally properly coronated.

The soldiers part, forming an orderly line on either side of the dank corridor. They lower the single-pointed ends of their weapons, the sounds of their sharp tips hitting the floor not quite in unison but reverberating through the tunnel in a discordant series of clanks.

The thin, dappled light that filters in shyly through the barred windows near the corridor ceiling illuminates the delicate, round face of the young royal, and—

The measly bowl of porridge turns to stone in Yixiang's stomach. He rolls over onto his knees to hide his face behind the lank curtain of his hair as the last of the colour drains from his cheeks, his heart echoing the bang of the tridents in the quickened beat of a cornered rabbit's.

"Kowtow to His Majesty, King Byun Euijoo, you mangy mutt!" one soldier bellows, and Yixiang's forehead thuds onto the straw-strewn floor.

It's Beom Eunju.

Eunju is the missing heir to the royal throne.

Yixiang's brain whirs into motion like a water mill in the wake of a storm.

If the young prince narrowly escaped the assassination attempt under the Emperor's roof, likely accompanied by at least one of the dead King's loyal knights, what better way to keep him safe than hiding him in plain sight as a humble peasant girl on the island? Especially if they suspected the boy's uncle to be responsible for the attack in a desperate bid for power.

Yixiang has to applaud the plan for its ingenuity - and Fate for having such a twisted sense of humour for putting him in its path.

All winter the legitimate King of the nation had been unsuspectingly sheltering one of his greatest enemies. Euijoo might have respected Wang Yixiang in death, but that doesn't mean he would've chosen to share his house, hearth, and bed with the man responsible for butchering countless numbers of his countrymen if he'd known Yixiang's true identity. Yixiang certainly wouldn't have stayed if he'd learned that he was living off the charity of the man his father was convicted of orphaning.

Yixiang can't face him. It's too bitter a spoonful to swallow, too big a betrayal to see reflected in the only pair of eyes Yixiang has ever loved more than he has hated himself.

"So this is him," the King drawls as he approaches the bars, the former Prince Regent keeping step with him to his left. Not a trace of the kind-hearted country seamstress lingers in his tone. "The War Dog."

"Yes, Your Highness," says Kwan Mansoo, the old King's nephew and Byun Euijoo's cousin. He is approximately fifteen years Euijoo's senior, a short man with a boxy build, a groomed beard, and sunken eyes.

"Is he in good health?" Euijoo asks. Nonchalantly. Like he's inquiring about the weather. "The peace talks will fall through if our only bargaining chip crawls into one of these dusty cell corners to die before the Emperor even gets here. He looks scrawnier than I imagined, too."

Yixiang is light-headed, grateful for the cool stone against his skin. It keeps him grounded, helps with the mortified heat washing over his face.

"One of his feet was broken upon his arrest - a standard procedure with prisoners who are at flight risk - but otherwise, he is in one piece."

"Which one?" Euijoo's voice is thicker now, subtly weighted with emotion he can't quite temper, and Yixiang's vision goes blurry, because he hears it now, the care, the worry, the confirmation that Euijoo is not here to punish him for his lies but to orchestrate his release.

Not that he ever truly doubted it. Love makes fools out of everyone, but he'd rather be a fool than a man bereft of all hope.

"Hm?" Mansoo hums, uncomprehending.

"Which foot was broken? The Emperor might ask me about the specifics of his condition, and I want to give him an accurate account of his injuries. They might decrease the man's value in his eyes."

"I don't know. Yah!" Mansoo addresses him, and Yixiang recoils. "You! Mutt! Do you understand us? Show us your feet. Feet!"

Yixiang rises, his chin tucked against his chest, and slowly unfolds his legs. Even in the low light, the difference between the left and the right one is plainly visible.

"Has he received any medical attention?" Euijoo asks after a moment of quiet inspection. "That doesn't look like a clean break. If he can't walk again, the Emperor might not even want him back."

"He's still a skilled strategist from what I hear. I'm sure they'll figure out some use for him, even if he's permanently crippled. Besides, if your goal is peace, they won't need a war general anymore, will they?"

"I don't care if they fatten their hogs with him once they get him back, but I need these negotiations to go smoothly, Cousin. Nothing will jeopardise the promise I gave my people at my coronation."

Mansoo scoffs. "Peace, peace, peace… What about justice, Your Highness? The Emperor invited your family into his house to die, then trained the son of their murderer into an attack dog that's been mauling your loyal supporters to shreds on his orders for a decade! You shouldn't beg that mainland tyrant for peace. Lure him here and cut his head off—"

"Enough, Cousin! I already told you. I spent years preparing myself for this, travelling around the island and listening to the concerns of my people in disguise, and their message is clear: they are weary of war. They wish to prosper, not merely to survive. I am eternally grateful to you for securing me the means to launch these peace talks and allowing me to claim my birthright, but make no mistake, Cousin. I rule this country now. I decide. If you are unhappy with my rulings, you are free to voice them in the council meetings, but do not challenge my authority in front of my prisoner ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

There is something deeply wrong with Yixiang because Euijoo's ice-cold tone makes him want to slink over and writhe around at his feet like a cat in heat.

The malnutrition and isolation must be softening his brain.

"Yes, Your Highness," says Mansoo through gritted teeth. "Clear as a mountain stream."

"Good. Now get a doctor in here. And bring the prisoner a bucket of hot water and a rag. He stinks. Increase his rations, too. The Emperor will be here in a few days, and I want this doggy to wag its tail at its owner when we let it out of its cage."

It suddenly strikes Yixiang; this could be the last time they breathe the same air. If Euijoo reconciles with the Emperor, Yixiang will be whisked back home, and Euijoo will remain on the island, forever trapped by his blood and his duty to his people. There is no natural way for their paths to cross again. The King is not someone they will allow to wander off the grounds without a handful of guards dogging his every move, and Yixiang, well, his uncle will probably unearth new wars for him to fight in due time, if his foot endures it. And if it doesn't, he will be another kind of prisoner on his estate, forced to pore over maps and resupply cost calculations and training reports for the rest of his days.

Yixiang lifts his gaze, a torn sound clawing out of his throat.

Euijoo and Mansoo have already turned away, taking measured, regal steps towards the exit, and there's nothing Yixiang can do, nothing he can say that would convey the weight of everything he feels for this person in that moment.

"Thank you," he blurts out, his eyes stinging and his chest on fire. "…Your Majesty."

Euijoo halts, then hooks his chin over his shoulder.

"Oh, look. A talking dog," he says, but his eyes…

That one look is enough to unravel Yixiang. He presses his injured foot against the floor to stave off the explosion of grief and regret brewing behind his ribs.

Mansoo chuckles at the King's quip. "Come, Your Highness. We have a lot to catch you up on."

The soldiers file out after their commander, and only after they've shut the door behind themselves, does Yixiang let himself fall apart.

Water, a clean rag, and an extra meal arrive first. He even gets a fresh set of robes and some underclothes.

Yixiang washes himself as thoroughly as he can in the darkest corner of his cell, only a little surprised to find a compact dagger stashed in the bucket. He might indeed have use for it. If the former Prince Regent is so keen to disrupt the peace negotiations, the fastest way to do that would probably be to kill Yixiang before the Emperor arrives.

Or the second fastest. The fastest would be to kill the King, but Yixiang won't pursue that strain of thought any further because he can't protect Euijoo from here, and wallowing in the reality of that would make him lose his grip on reality.

Yixiang hides the dagger in his new underclothes, wrapping it in the excess fabric at the waist until it sits snugly horizontal below his navel.

The doctor trudges in later that day. He doesn't speak to Yixiang directly even once, addressing only the apprentice he has with him, but even though the examination hurts so much that Yixiang passes out for parts of it, he gets the gist of the doctor's conclusion: the foot is so severely broken that it will take up to a year for the bones to solidify in their shattered state. The good news is that the area seems to get sufficient blood flow, so it's unlikely to blacken and rot.

It's not what Yixiang wanted to hear, but he'll take it over a bone saw any day.

Two congee bowls later, Yixiang is about to turn in for another restless night of tossing and turning on the smattering of straw by the wall when he picks up a sound he hasn't heard in the dungeon before. It's not the loud scream and thump of the main entryway, but a low grating sound, stone rubbing against stone, followed by a subtle swoosh of air.

It's enough of a deviation to make the hair on his arms stand on end. Yixiang digs out the dagger where it's pressing against his lower belly and tucks up his sleeve, unsheathed.

But it's not an assassin that creeps into view a minute later. It's his uncle, with Kwan Mansoo lurking behind him, his eyes darting around the dungeon as if he were expecting someone to pop out at any moment with r trident thrust forward.

Yixiang is too tired, in too much pain, and way too fucking well-acquainted with his uncle's antics to feel any semblance of shock. He regards Zhang Jianguo warily as the man produces a key from a pouch at his belt and throws the door open, an unreadable expression darkening his once-handsome face.

"Yixiang." He studies his nephew from head to toe like one would a horse that they're considering purchasing. "You look dreadful."

Yixiang nods. He doesn't have the energy to play the part of the bratty ward tonight.

The former Prince Regent glides into the cell after Jianguo, licking his lips in a manner that reminds Yixiang of Son Yongpil. It's only fitting; both men are equally vile. Mansoo's presence here confirms Yixiang's suspicions of his uncle having a hand in the deaths of Euijoo's parents, and, more pressingly, spells a clear and present danger for Euijoo himself. Kwan Mansoo is obviously not ready to hand over the keys to the kingdom yet, and if he reached out to Zhang Jianguo again, it can only mean they're about to cause another big stir together.

His uncle rarely makes a sneaky backdoor entrance that doesn't precede bloodshed.

"Come closer. How's your foot? Can you walk?"

Yixiang hobbles forward as far as the chain permits him.

Jianguo sighs. "I guess that will have to do. Yixiang, we have little time. The Emperor has arrived, and tomorrow, the new King is going to propose a truce. We must act tonight."

"Act how, uncle?" Yixiang asks levelly. "What's your plan?"

He can already guess at least half of it.

"We kill the King—"

There it is.

"—and the Emperor. Tonight, while they both sleep."

After what Wei Lian told him, Yixiang shouldn't be as stunned as he is, but to threaten the Son of Heaven goes against everything Yixiang was raised to believe in. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes before he can stop himself from reacting.

His uncle meticulously crafted Yixiang into a weapon and handed him to the Emperor to use at his leisure. Now he is asking Yixiang to twist the blade around and bury it in the man's gut?

"Why? We'd all be disembowelled for high treason before the moon turns," Yixiang utters once he has regained some of his composure.

An annoyed groove forms between Jianguo's bushy eyebrows. He sighs, and it's the precise sound he used to make when Yixiang failed to recite long sections of his textbooks correctly from memory as a child.

Yixiang swallows the lump of irritation in his throat with practised patience.

"New information has come to light." Jianguo beckons Mansoo to approach.

So far, the man has largely ignored them, possibly due to not understanding their dialect very well, but he slides beside Jianguo now, smelling of flop sweat and wine. His uncle switches to the island language, a smile like a crack in a porcelain mask appearing on his face when Mansoo's eyes snap to him.

"Should the King perish tonight, the crown would go to Kwan Mansoo. As the late King's nephew, he is the closest living heir to the throne. Someone will suffer the consequences of the young King Byun's untimely death, yes, but King Kwan will ensure that it won't be anyone from the mainland. Isn't that right?"

Mansoo bobs his head, his grin smarmy and offputting.

"It's not the islanders I'm worried about," Yixiang says and releases a puff of air through his nose, "but the imperial court. You don't think—"

"Yixiang." Jianguo's nostrils flare, and he switches back to their own tongue. "I told you I have some new information for you, so shut your mouth and listen for once."

Yixiang's jaw snaps shut. It's a reflex that his uncle trained into him from a young age, and Yixiang loathes himself for not having outgrown it yet.

Still in their language, Jianguo continues: "The Emperor has learned that you are his biological son and declared you as his legitimate heir before the imperial court. He is keeping the matter a secret from the island royals for now, so that they don't get any crafty ideas about keeping you as a hostage on a more permanent basis."

Yixiang's brain tumbles to an utter standstill. A high-pitched giggle bubbles up from his chest, and he slaps a hand over his mouth, his uncle's reprimand from a decade ago ringing in his ears.

You sound like a girl, Yixiang.

"What?" he asks after what feels like a full minute of Jianguo simply waiting for him to absorb the news.

And it is news, and not a joke, because Zhang Jianguo categorically does not joke.

"Don't say 'what' when you heard me perfectly well, Yixiang."

Another burst of laughter erupts from him, a considerably more threadbare one this time.

"Excuse me, Uncle. What I meant to say was, What the fuck."

Jianguo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't be crass, Yixiang. It is unbecoming."

"Can we hurry this along?" Mansoo cuts in, wiping beads of perspiration off his brow. "We don't have all night."

"Yixiang…" His uncle's eyes drift away, as if the subject was already boring him.

Yixiang's hands ball into fists, the right one around the dagger's handle. The feeling of the worn wooden curve warming against his skin calms him down somewhat.

"You are the twin brother of the Emperor's firstborn son. As you well know, he and his mother did not survive the birth. Only a few people knew about your existence, and they were paid to keep their mouths shut or discreetly disposed of. You and your wet nurse were taken to Wang Chenyu's residence on the night you were born, where he and my sister agreed to raise you as their own, as they could not conceive a child themselves." Jianguo's gaze lands back on Yixiang like a slap. "After the word of your capture reached the imperial court three weeks ago, the Emperor was made aware of your true origins and given irrefutable proof of the deception. You are now his only son and heir in the eyes of the law and the Heaven. Tonight, we kill the old fool, and you take the throne like you were meant to."

Yixiang listens to his uncle dispassionately upend his entire life, barely breathing in fear of missing some vital detail of the story.

And it is a story to him, a make-believe tragedy, because how could he possibly feel any relation to this wretched secret baby and his dead mother and brother based on nothing but words from the man Yixiang grew up resenting? How is he supposed to take his years on this earth, ball them up in his hands like they're dough and squeeze them into the mould Zhang Jianguo whittled for him in the span of a minute?

"By whom?" he asks into the silence that has descended into the cell.

Who spirited him away? Who paid the maids and the doctors? Who took him to Wang Chenyu's house?

And who spilled everything to the Emperor when Yixiang was imprisoned?

It's a pointless question; Yixiang already knows the answer, and since Zhang Jianguo knows he knows, he refuses to voice it for him.

The more pertinent demand is: "Why?"

"We do not have the time to go into that right now. Hold out your leg. I have the key to the cuff."

"Euijoo and the Emperor both have quarters in the main building," Mansoo says, glancing over his shoulder as Jianguo crouches to open the lock around Yixiang's ankle. "My men are ready with the oil, awaiting my—"

Yixiang plunges the dagger into the soft spot beneath the hinge of Mansoo's jaw, then grips his hair to keep him in place while he yanks the blade to the left in a decisive arc, slicing the vessels that supply blood to the brain.

A warm spray freckles Yixiang's face, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open. He needs to witness the life drain out of Kwan Mansoo to the last drop.

For Euijoo. For his parents. For himself.

Blinking blood out of his eyes is also worth it to see the expression on Jianguo's face, the pale oval twisting into naked horror at his feet. For once, anger doesn't find his childhood guardian first.

"Yixiang, what have you done?"

Mansoo staggers and crumbles against the bars, his bejewelled fingers flexing around the yawning wound across his neck. The whites of his eyes flash in the darkness, the wet gurgles of his final breaths loud and obscene before they get farther apart, quieter.

Yixiang lets the weapon clatter to the floor only after the air stops hissing out of the man altogether.

A part of Yixiang would revel in claiming Zhang Jianguo's life as well, but his death would sever the last thread that connects Yixiang to his past, and he's not ready to let go just yet.

Jianguo springs upright. He jerks towards Yixiang, probably fighting the urge to press his thumbs into Yixiang's windpipe until he stops breathing too.

No doubt Jianguo could end him in a fit of rage, but Yixiang's death serves him no purpose now, so Yixiang can't be bothered to muster up fear.

"You could have had it all, Yixiang. Why did you throw your legacy away? Just to spite me?"

Yixiang didn't think Jianguo could physically sound so raw. So earnest.

Yixiang wipes the blood from his lips before he speaks. "The people deserve peace." He inhales deeply, then shouts with all his chest: "Guards!"

A harsh breath escapes Jianguo, and he lurches backwards, supporting himself on one of the vertical bars.

"And what about peace for your mother's spirit?" he rasps, his eyes red-rimmed and wide. "Does she not deserve respite?"

Yixiang frowns. "What are you talking about?"

The dungeon door lets out its customary wail at the end of the corridor.

"You look just like her, Yixiang," Jianguo whispers, a single tear glistening on the jut of his cheekbone. "But only when you don't smile."

The man who had clobbered Yixiang's foot, Jo, bursts through the entrance first, with three other soldiers at his heels.

Yixiang laces his fingers behind his head and gets on his knees again, clumsily, the stone slippery with blood under his feet, but Jianguo—

—he whirls around and raises his arms.

"I did it! I killed Kwan Mansoo! I confess!"

Yixiang can only gape as the soldiers swarm into the cell and wrangle the man he thought was his uncle out of the dungeon.

Jo stays behind, the line of his shoulders stiff as he stares down at the corpse of the former Prince Regent.

Then he tilts his head towards Yixiang, his face shrouded in shadow.

"Good," he says in Yixiang's birth language, choppy but understandable. "You. Do good."

Yixiang can't think of anything appropriate to say to that, so he bows.

A few hours later, the soldiers return with Zhang Jianguo. They usher him into another cell down the corridor, then come get Yixiang.

"The King wishes to interrogate the sole witness to the esteemed former Prince Regent's murder."

He is so deep inside his own head that he doesn't recognise the man taking off his ankle manacle until he looks up and winks at Yixiang.

It's Yudai.

Yixiang peers into the faces of the other three people in the cell with him, and sure enough, Taki, Harua, and Fuma smile back at him from under their short-rimmed felt hats. Well, Fuma doesn't smile as much as just look back at him, but still. They're here. It has to mean something.

But Yixiang is wise enough not to ask them about what's going on with Jianguo within earshot.

The southerners escort Yixiang out of the fortress towards the back of the estate where a beautiful, lone building sits under an osmanthus tree, surrounded by waterways and decorative bridges. Winter is unclenching its hold on the island little by little, but the shallow channels are still frozen, the air crisp and glittering. The area must look gorgeous in spring.

They go slowly, Yixiang leaning heavily on Fuma to his right and Yudai to his left. It's been less than a moon's turn since Yixiang last saw the vast night sky, but the sight of it curving above them, deep blue and dotted with stars, almost brings tears to his eyes. He couldn't know for sure he'd ever glimpse it again.

The house is equally exquisite inside, where lavish drapery and dark wood furnishings create a sense of timeless elegance. Euijoo's friends lead him through an empty receiving room into an adjoining room, past an opaque, embroidered screen, behind which—

—Byun Euijoo, Na Yuna, Jo, and Shu Wei Lian are kneeling on the floor, unwrapping several corpses from layers and layers of white linen cloth.

"Yixiang!" Euijoo shoots up and dashes to him, his open red overcoat flapping behind him like wings.

Yixiang stares dumbly at the scene, too baffled to brace for Euijoo's full-body hug. The impact jostles him so hard that he reels back, instinctively putting out his bad leg to steady himself. Bright-hot pain immediately shoots up his calf, and his left leg gives out. He'd slump to the floor if four pairs of hands weren't on him in an instant, propping him up while Euijoo corrects their stance by tugging Yixiang against him.

"Sorry, shit, I forgot—" Euijoo steps back and glances down at his bare feet. "You don't even have shoes…"

"Nothing would fit my foot right now," Yixiang says, sounding just about as faint as he feels.

The fractures are but a tiny part of the fog swirling around his skull, though.

"Please tell me none of this is yours." The tips of Euijoo's fingers ghost over the dried maroon splatters on his face.

Yixiang had already forgotten about the blood. He shakes his head and turns away, his skin heating at the thought of Euijoo seeing him like this, his monstrous core laid bare.

Euijoo cups his chin and forces Yixiang to look at him head-on.

He has nowhere to hide.

"What's wrong, Yixiang?"

"I should have told you," he mumbles, acutely aware of the seven pairs of eyes on them. "I'm sorry I lied. You deserved better. And now you—you're the King, and I've done so much harm to your people—"

"Hey." He jostles Yixiang's jaw gently. "Most of my people are in this room." A frown shadows his familiar, round features.

Yixiang had missed them so much he's sore with it.

"What? Did you think I'd be mad at you for following your Emperor's orders?"

Yixiang can't recall a time in his life when he wasn't expecting to me met with anger and disappointment.

He says nothing, a little overwhelmed, rocking himself softly, anchored by Euijoo's hold.

"I've been terrified for you, Yixiang. Do you understand? When I woke up that morning, and you weren't there…" He shuffles closer, almost as if sealing them in their own little world of rustling fabric and shared breath. "…I thought you'd left. That I'd scared you off. My memories were all jumbled up, and my head was pounding, and you were just gone. I asked everyone in town if they'd seen you. I even went back to the beach." A gust of laughter warms Yixiang's cheek.

"I didn't mean to leave you."

"I know. Yuma finally confessed after I'd scoured the town and the woods for three days straight. He thought he'd done me a favour, the idiot."

"Yah!" the man in question hollers from across the room where he is currently hoisting a very dead man onto a chair behind a low writing desk. "How was I supposed to know that the formidable enemy general everyone calls a fucking War Dog is in fact a fluffy little puppy raring to roll over and bare his belly for you?"

"Hey! That's the Crown Prince you're talking about! Watch your mouth," Wei Lian interjects.

"Not my Crown Prince," Yuma retorts snidely. "Mine was cornered into becoming the king just so he could save your prince's ass."

"And remind me again: whose fault is it that it needed saving?"

"Mouse," Yixiang calls out with a sigh. "Leave it." But oddly, the bickering actually soothes him. It's something he can control, at least.

"I'm just saying," Wei Lian can't help but add, "if Yixiang hadn't slashed the Prince Regent's throat tonight, you'd all be, well—" He glances down at the nameless corpse he's dragging into one corner by the armpits.

"Yeah, about that…" Yixiang's eyebrows draw together. "What exactly is happening here?"

"We're burning ourselves alive!" Taki pipes up, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?"

Yixiang might be befuddled, but he's not stupid; he knows what Taki means. They intend to set fire to the house and leave a corresponding number of corpses inside. In their charred state, it'll be impossible to confirm their true identity, so if they're lucky and get out of the area unseen in the chaos, as an escape plan it just might work.

What astounds him is that Euijoo would leave all of this - the power, the opulence, his people - behind for…what? To be with him?

Euijoo grabs his hand, squeezes it with all his strength.

"Wei Lian helped us set this up. I've been King for two weeks, and I hate it, Yixiang. I wasn't hiding in Lisan because I was waiting for the most opportune moment to step out and take the crown from my cousin. My plan was always to live out my days in the countryside with Eunbi. Yuma's job was to keep us hidden while still keeping me in the loop about what Mansoo was up to." Euijoo looks over his shoulder at his friend. "Yuma's been pushing me to take a stand against him for years, but I didn't want to risk exposing myself."

"I'm sorry I put you in—"

Euijoo cuts him off with a fierce kiss.

Yixiang flushes crimson all over again because everybody's watching, but Euijoo doesn't seem to care, and eventually, Yixiang gives in and opens his mouth, a hint of rusty blood swirling between their lips before Euijoo withdraws far enough to murmur: "Together in life and death, remember?"

Their wedding vows. Yixiang remembers. He just didn't think his entire life would revolve around them a few moon-turns later.

"But…" Euijoo takes a deep breath, as if fortifying himself against something. "Do you want to become the Emperor one day? I know you care about the people on the mainland. If we run away, you'd be no one again—"

"Most of my people are in this room too," Yixiang says firmly. "And I wouldn't be no one. I'd still be your husband—right?"

"In this life and the next." Euijoo imprints his smile on Yixiang's lips. "Now, come on. Are you ready to burn to death?"

It feels like Wang Yixiang already died once, washed up on a foreign shore under a veil of virgin snow.

"Ready."

He is eager to see who he gets to become next.

The peace treaty holds. Kwan Mansoo's son is too young and timid to start another war. The Emperor's health has steadily declined since the fire. Zhang Jianguo vanished during transport to the mainland. Yuma says that if His Highness wants a report from him, he is free to write and ask for one himself.

Yixiang's eyes skim over Wei Lian's letter, but his attention is still mostly on Euijoo, who has long since stopped pretending to massage ointment onto his foot and is now leaving gleaming trails of oil up his legs until his fingers slide under the white linen cloth wrapped around Yixiang's hips. It's still damp from the thorough sponging Yixiang gave himself after dinner.

"I just washed," Yixiang grumbles, glaring at the oily marks on his calves and thighs.

"Would you scold an artist for setting his brush on a fresh canvas?" Euijoo asks, his gaze half-lidded again even though he is the reason Yixiang had to heat more water for a scrub less than an hour ago.

"Eunbi is not asleep yet," says Yixiang, but he is already parting his thighs, his breath hitching when Euijoo's nails card through the sparse hair above his knees.

"She wasn't asleep two hours ago," Euijoo points out. "Taki will keep her busy, and Yudai will put her to bed when he's had enough of the racket."

The window beside them is open. The draft carries the scent of plum blossoms into the room, and Yixiang closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Harua told him that in a few more moon-turns, the cherry trees will flower and paint the valley floor pink. Yixiang can't wait to show Eunbi.

"You're insatiable." It's meant as an accusation, yet it sounds a lot more like praise with how Yixiang's voice stretches like melted sugar towards the end.

"Yes," Euijoo nods shamelessly. He bends Yixiang's left leg back and slides a finger into him, making a pleased noise when Yixiang takes it without resistance, still slick and loose from before. The skin is more sensitive now, rubbed pink and tender, but secretly, Yixiang loves it. Loves that Euijoo is so starved for him it aches a bit.

The cloth around Yixiang's middle until falls away, and Euijoo leans down to mouth at Yixiang's cock.

"I could never get enough of you." Euijoo kisses the head, open-mouthed and wet, and Yixiang's hips buck up, a wanton moan slipping from his lips. "Ah, Yixiang. You're being so good for me again." Euijoo pushes a second finger beside the first and presses upwards, rubbing that spot that makes Yixiang whimper and leak without fail. "My pretty husband. You should see yourself."

Yixiang hopes he could. He's sure that through Euijoo's eyes, he'd be able to transform at last, be reborn fully. Leave his past self behind once and for all, that clay doll with Zhang Jianguo's fingerprints all over it.

On some sleepless nights, he thinks about his twin brother and the mother he never knew, fumbling for some sense of loss buried in his body, but the cavities inside him get smaller and smaller every day. In the beginning, it had felt like betrayal, a failure to carry on another legacy, but Euijoo is patiently teaching him to live for the living and let the dead go.

It's a lesson Jianguo ought to have learned long ago.

Yixiang blinks himself back into the present when Euijoo grips his hips and lifts him to perch on his thighs. Yixiang's untied hair fans across his shoulders and arms, silky from the hundred brush strokes Euijoo insists on giving it after every bath.

"Bad?" Euijoo touches Yixiang's injured foot with two fingers.

The swelling has gone down, but he'll be walking with a cane for a long time yet. The position isn't the best, not with how his bent leg distends his ankle, but Euijoo is supporting most of his weight, so for now, he doesn't feel the strain.

Yixiang shakes his head, and Euijoo notches him higher, then lowers him with infinite care, his eyes wide and alert for any sign of discomfort in Yixiang's expression.

Like this, sinking onto Euijoo in increments, watching the honest wonderment on his face, hearing it in his uneven breath, having it stamped into Yixiang's skin in nail marks and delicate bruises, he can scarcely believe he once perceived himself as a weapon. One that longed to be sheathed, yes, but ultimately forged for violence.

"What are you thinking about?" Euijoo asks.

They move against each other like blades of grass swaying in the breeze, less hurried than before but not yet sleepy the way they get sometimes when it's late or very early.

"That I was made for you," Yixiang confesses, a little embarrassed.

He's still getting used to how unguarded he gets like this, how effortlessly Euijoo tears him open even without using his teeth.

Yixiang half-expects Euijoo to make fun of him in that affectionate, playful way he does when Yixiang says something silly, but no.

He inhales as if he were coming up for air, hips jolting upward. With both hands gripping Yixiang's waist, he drags him down to meet his thrust, eyes fluttering shut as he makes a mess of Yixiang for the second time that evening.

Yixiang winces when Euijoo goes boneless a moment later, and the shift in weight sends a twinge through the top of his foot.

"Sorry, wait—" Euijoo helps Yixiang lay down beside him, panting all the while.

Yixiang lets him catch his breath, strangely thrilled by the reaction, because usually Yixiang is the one who trips and falls over the edge without warning first.

"That was a dirty trick," Euijoo says at length, peeking at Yixiang from under his forearm.

"You asked." Yixiang shrugs, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"And you were telling the truth," Euijoo concedes. "Weren't you?"

It's possibly the only truth Yixiang knows through and through.

"Mm."

Euijoo rolls over to his side, takes Yixiang's cock in his hand and strokes it slowly, almost absent-mindedly.

"I dreamt we were wolves a few nights ago," he says, and Yixiang's brain scrambles to catch up.

"You and I?"

The sluggish rhythm is maddening, but Yixiang would never ask Euijoo for more than he chooses to give, so he commands his body to stillness, toes curling in the bedding.

"Yes, but the others too. We were all running in the woods together."

In the mornings, Yixiang loves to hear about Euijoo's dreams. He happily immerses himself in the memory with him, lets Euijoo's melodic voice lead him deeper into the recesses of his mind.

Now, he's too far gone to concentrate, with Euijoo's come slick and warm between his legs, his own need a hot, urgent thing in the palm of Euijoo's hand.

"That…sounds nice," he breathes, his cock weeping helplessly onto Euijoo's wrist.

"It was so vivid. The night air, the smells and sounds of all these soft-fleshed animals burrowing in their holes, this…awareness of all of you right behind me..." he trails off, a faraway look taking over his face.

Just as an involuntary whine is about to crawl out of his chest, Euijoo refocuses on Yixiang. The apples of his cheeks are pink and glowing, and his eyes dark, all pupil. His arm speeds up, veins snaking down the length of his forearm, and Yixiang wraps his fingers around the thickest part, wanting to feel the muscles working to satisfy him.

Euijoo brings him to the brink quickly and suspends him there like a musician holding a chord.

But what coaxes Yixiang's release out of him isn't just touch; it's Euijoo knocking their foreheads together, a thumb tracing the damp curve of Yixiang's lower lip, and words, whispered fervently between them.

"And I got this feeling…that the rest of the wolves in the forest belonged to the moon, but we, our pack…we only belonged to each other."

It is not where Yixiang imagined he'd find the peace he'd been chasing after his entire life: on foreign land, surrounded by outlanders, between the sheets with the enemy King's arms around him while the imperial crown awaits for him on the mainland to no avail.

The sight of him now would probably send Zhang Jianguo, the Emperor, and a good number of the senior ministers into an early grave.

Good riddance.

Yixiang doesn't belong to the moon anymore.