#it's new chapter sundaaaaaayyy

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 Xia Jiang’s mouth is flecked at the corners with foam, twisted with hate and desperation. Months of privation have stripped the humanity from him, and the animal beneath is a vicious, feral thing. Mei Changsu keeps his breathing even. He has walked through fire and hell. He has nothing to fear in this place or from this man, save only that Jingyan has come with him. For Jingyan, he will have to be clever and careful.

 It is for this reason that he is genuinely paying attention as Xia Jiang raises his arm, finger pointed in accusation, and declares that this Mei Changsu is the famed criminal Lin Shu. Even so, it still catches him by surprise. He stares into Xia Jiang’s wild eyes, shock un-hidden on his face. There is no way Xia Jiang could possibly know this, and after a moment he realizes that Xia Jiang does not. He knows only that all is not as it seems, and has chosen the accusation most likely to upset the emperor. That he is right is pure coincidence, and it will not save him.

 It is not only Xia Jiang in the room, though. When he turns away, he finds Jingyan staring at him, truth raw and brimming in his eyes. Xia Jiang has a wild guess with no evidence, but Jingyan has a bet unpaid for years, a god’s measure, and a suspicion that Mei Changsu has been dodging for months. Jingyan meets his eyes and Jingyan knows.

 The emperor, meanwhile, is leaning in, eyes narrowed. “This man looks nothing like the criminal Lin Shu, Xia Jiang. How do you explain this?”

 Xia Jiang bows low. “Your majesty, there are methods, people in the Jianghu with the power to give a person an entirely new body. The Xuanjing Bureau has records of such people living within our borders, some in the mountains near Meiling. Lin Shu must have relied on such a person to give him a new face, so that he might come back to destabilize your majesty’s rule.”

 His declaration is interrupted by Jingyan’s snort. “This is your grand accusation? A witch in the mountains and a magical transformation? You waste the emperor’s time.”

 “Jingyan.” The emperor’s voice is just at the edge of level. “The imperial library also has records of such people.”

 Jingyan shakes his head. His eyes turn again to Mei Changsu, just for a moment. “I do not believe this. Even if such a thing were possible, Lin Shu is dead.” His eyes drop to Xia Jiang’s stooped form. “Xia Jiang has sworn these many years that he saw Xie Yu kill Lin Shu with his own eyes. Does Xia Jiang mean to say that he has been lying to the emperor since the days of the Chiyan Incident?”

 Xia Jiang’s mouth twists in frustration. “Your Highness, if he were not Lin Shu, why would you have trusted him to advise you. Why would a Qilin Talent pick you, if he were not Lin Shu.”

 Jingyan’s eyes cut to Mei Changsu’s face, before dropping to the floor. “If he were Lin Shu, he would never have hidden such a thing from me. If he were Lin Shu, he would have told me who he was. I do not believe this.”

 Mei Changsu has at this point had quite a lot of practice in keeping his face neutral. He is certain he appears perfectly indifferent. Xia Jiang, meanwhile, grows increasingly desperate. He turns his accusations next on Mei Changsu, but it is becoming increasingly clear that he has run to the end of his plan. He has no further evidence to offer, merely circumstance and suspicion. Even a year ago, that would have been enough, but Xia Jiang has underestimated Jingyan’s skills, and Jingyan himself is no longer undefended. The emperor is paranoid, but he is not forgetful, and the spring hunt was only weeks ago. They are going in circles, but Xia Jiang is losing ground and he knows it.

 “Mei Changsu,” cries Xia Jiang. “Will you allow your body to be examined, or will you confess your crimes now.”

 “What would it accomplish?” snarles Jingyan. “If magic has given him an entirely new body, what proof could this examination offer? Any person might be Lin Shu, and there would be no way for anyone to show their innocence.”

 The emperor’s fist tightens, and Mei Changsu makes his move. “I will confess that I am Lin Shu.” The room falls silent. He presses on. “There is no evidence that I can offer of my innocence, and Xia Jiang has no proof of my guilt. We are at an impasse. If his majesty wishes to execute me, I will not stand in his way. I am Lin Shu.”

 For a moment, no one moves. The room is utterly still. Mei Changsu takes a breath. “Does his majesty believe me? At Mount Jiu An, it was Prince Jing who brought soldiers to save his majesty, where if he had delayed even one more hour, the throne would have been his to claim at that moment. It was Xia Jiang who sent Prince Yu’s rebellion to the mountain in the first place. I am loyal to the son of heaven. If he wishes me to confess, I will not refuse.”

 The emperor shuts his eyes, and Mei Changsu knows that he has won. Xia Jiang clearly knows as well. He falls to his knees begging, and when this fails to win back the emperor’s trust, he lunges at Mei Changsu. He is still screaming entreaties as the guards drag him away.

 Xia Jiang knows he is going to his death, and Mei Changsu sends a vague thought in Lin Chen’s direction. In his final words to the emperor, though, he has landed a blow. Gao-gonggong disappears on whispered orders, and the sudden, tense silence is loud enough to echo. The emperor tries to dismiss Jingyan but Jingyan, who has been vibrating with tension and visibly biting his tongue for most of this meeting, will not go. Not even to see his mother. He comes to the very edge of defying a direct order before Gao-gongong returns, and the veneer of pretense evaporates.

 Mei Changsu is not sure what will happen, should he take the cup. His health has always been fragile, but starvation, thirst, cold, and heat pose no true threat to his un-life. His plans are not yet fulfilled, but Jingyan is well-positioned now, and certainly capable of carrying out the remaining steps without him. Lin Chen might see their wager paid, or he might not. Additionally, he has no idea how the emperor will react if he takes poison and lives. He reaches for the cup, but Jingyan is faster.

 Jingyan’s jaw is tight, but his eyes are no longer wild and wide. His words are as steady as his hands. The poison in the little cup barely ripples. The emperor makes an abortive half-gesture towards him, but Jingyan’s shoulders are set with absolute certainty. He will not flinch. This same posture carried him out of hell. He meets his father’s eyes as he raises the cup towards his lips, and Mei Changsu is forced to consider yet another course of action. While he might survive the poison, Jingyan certainly will not. If one of them should drink, it should be him. He’s not sure, however, if he can wrestle the cup from Jingyan, and even if he could it would be wildly inappropriate. He might be executed anyway for laying hands on the crown prince. He is bracing himself for a surprise attack when the emperor caves, and Jingyan pours the poison on the floor.

 The tension running out of the room staggers them all, but it is Mei Changsu who can barely keep his feet. Jingyan ushers him out of the room, and by the time Meng Zhi catches up with them he is swaying on his feet, almost grateful to accept the offered arm for support. Jingyan leaves to visit his mother, but his parting gaze is knife sharp, as clear as a vow.

 Mei Changsu spends most of the remaining day in bed, a futile effort that does almost nothing to soothe his household. Li Gang is once again insisting that a doctor be called for, and Mei Changsu briefly wonders whether he might convince Lin Chen to visit, and how Li Gang would react. He’s not quite sure whether the chuckle that echoes softly in his ear is a memory or not, but he does not push his luck. Nie Feng is restored to his old self, delighted to be home with his wife, and Mei Changsu isn’t quite sure what all these favors are going to cost him in the end. Li Gang will fret, but Mei Changsu has been far sicker, and never yet has Li Gang disobeyed his orders.

 It is late evening, most of the house abed, when the small bell in the passageway finally rings. Jingyan looks awful, drained and exhausted with tear tracks staining his cheeks. Only one of them is dead, but Jingyan looks like a man walking out of his grave nonetheless. Mei Changsu pulls him quickly into the study, and for a moment there is only quiet. It is difficult to meet Jingyan’s gaze, but impossible to look away.

 “It is you then, isn’t it.” Jingyan’s voice is hoarse.

 Mei Changsu nods, and fresh tears flow down Jingyan’s face. He takes a ragged breath.

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “I didn’t want you to have to mourn me twice.” Two years ago, with Lin Chen, those words had sounded reasonable. Now, faced with Jingyan’s tears, they are idiotic and insufficient. He searches for something else when Jingyan speaks again.

 “When I got home and you weren’t there,” his voice breaks. “I thought I had failed you somehow, or that I had been tricked, and you were never there, even though I was sure I had felt you behind me.”

 Mei Changsu bites his lip. “I was with you all the way out of the underworld, but I woke up in Meiling. After that, I thought it would be better to gather strength, before I came back for you.”

 Jingyan shuts his eyes. It does nothing to check the tears rolling down his cheeks. “These past two years, there were so many times I thought maybe—but by then I was so sure that I had failed. I thought I was going mad, that the gods were making me see things, to punish me for my hubris, for daring to ask for you back.”

 It’s too much. Mei Changsu lunges across the space between them, pulling Jingyan in. Jingyan’s head tucks into his neck, and he is so warm against him, even as tears run into the collar of his robes. They are both shaking with the force of Jingyan’s sobs, and if Mei Changsu’s arms aren’t strong enough to hold them together, Jingyan meets him halfway. Mei Changsu presses his cheek to Jingyan’s head, whispers into his ear. “I never could have done any of this without you. You made all of this possible. You’re a miracle Jingyan. I bet my soul on you and I would do it again in a moment.”

 Jingyan pulls back to look at him and he’s so close, his eyes so wide and full. Their eyes meet and they are both caught, suspended and still. Jingyan lifts a hand, and Mei Changsu is briefly certain it is reaching for him, but his fingers curl in on themselves and he tucks his hand away in his sleeve. Something flits across his face and he looks, for a moment, slightly embarrassed. His eyes on Mei Changsu’s are just a bit guarded as he gathers himself, spine straightening as he pulls back. These past two years, he has watched Jingyan pull away from him more times than he can count, and it has always hurt, but it has never felt wrong like this.

 Something within him breaks, and he reaches for Jingyan. His fingers slip over Jingyan’s jaw, and he almost misses his hold, for Jingyan is already reaching back, leaning in, face tilting up to meet Mei Changsu’s own. Jingyan’s mouth is soft under his, a shy, vulnerable invitation. It breaks his heart, and he can do nothing but press in. Jingyan’s hands clutch at his robes, anchoring them together, and Mei Changsu leans into it, strives to pour as much of himself into Jingyan as he can. Perhaps he can patch Jingyan’s broken heart by feeding him pieces of his own. They fall in together, sinking to the floor, and Mei Changsu sends seeking hands to write certainty into Jingyan’s skin.      I am here, I am here, I am here.  

[acesgroupchat]

They march shoulder to shoulder, more than seventy thousand strong. Their feet beat perfect silent time on the polished stone floors. In death as in life their marshal leads them.

Father and son march side by side at the head of the column. Behind them, an army stretches in steadfast order, as far as the eye can see. Beside them, princesses, consorts, and ministers walk together, upright, proud, and certain. Together they come to the banks of the river. Together they go into the water, heads held high and steps in steady rhythm.

Lin Shu lets the water flow over his legs, swell against his chest, close over his head, and feels his soul washed clean. Beneath the water, his mother reaches out to take his hand.

The bright fields of the afterlife welcome them, and the makeshift camp of Chiyan’s dead becomes a bustling city. Her residents settle in and find themselves beginning to heal. Names, now restored, are hung with pride in doorways. The prayers of the living wind among them, bearing the faint perfume of incense in their wake. Older family members come to greet them and welcome them home. They are barely out of the river when Lin Shu raises his head and finds Tai Nai Nai standing before him, arms held out in welcome. She looks as frail as she had when he last saw her living, but her embrace is firm and certain.

It is all that was promised and more. Lin Shu watches as his parents settle into a new rhythm of social calls and easy activity. Aunt Yueyao is a frequent visitor, and Prince Qi joins her often, his wife and children tagging along. They are all eager for news of Tingsheng, and Lin Shu tells story after story, everything he knows of the last fourteen years, of Jingyan’s careful work and Tingsheng’s cautious joy. It is not the life that they had any of them expected or wished for, for Tingsheng or for themselves, but it is reason enough to hope, and for that they are all grateful. It is enough. It is perfect.

Even so, he finds himself walking often, to the edges of their little city, deep into the fields and along the riverbanks. His home is bright and full of easy conversation, a place of comfortable welcome. Beside the rushing waters is the only time he cannot hear the joyful laughter, which echoes in his ears everywhere he goes. He skips rocks through the current. Once, he thinks he sees one make it across to the black stone of the other bank.

He is on his way there when he turns a corner and finds himself somewhere else entirely. The faint scent of rot fills his mouth, and plum trees stretch before him as far as his eyes can see, full of a first delicate bloom. For a moment, it brings him to a stumbling halt. Not far from him, half sheltered under the branches of a tree, a figure in white turns toward him.

Lin Chen snorts, eyes sweeping over him. “It figures that you would be here. Grown bored again already?”

Mei Changsu takes one step towards him, then another and another. It is not far to walk, and Lin Chen meets him halfway.

It is easier, after that. His family home is open to him always, and he is there often, but just as often he finds himself wandering through the gardens, and through the various chambers and halls that are Lin Chen’s own, but which nevertheless open to him at the first thought, sometimes before he realizes exactly where his feet are carrying him. This is a source of endless amusement for Lin Chen, who has left off even feigning annoyance in favor of mocking Mei Changsu mercilessly for not realizing something that should, apparently, have been obvious.

“Really Changsu, when I said that the garden was closed to mortals what did you think I meant?”

“Fei Liu comes and goes as he pleases.”

Lin Chen snorts. “Fei Liu is the son of a nymph whose mother drowned herself in the river. He wouldn’t know mortality if it bit him.”

Fei Liu, who had been lounging on a branch above them, chooses this moment to throw most of an orange peel at Lin Chen’s head. Lin Chen grabs at his ankle, but Fei Liu springs up out of the branches, soaring away over the treetops and out of sight.  Lin Chen watches him leave before settling back against the tree trunk in a lazy sprawl. Mei Changsu lets their shoulders press together, stares up into the crowding leaves above them. He finds, though, after a moment, that he is not quite finished with this conversation.

“I cannot be the only mortal you have ever brought here.”

He should not be able to feel Lin Chen roll his eyes, and yet he does. “First of all, I have never brought you anywhere. I cannot be held responsible for your trespassing. Second of all, just who do you imagine I would have brought here? This is my private garden, where I come to retreat from the burdens of mortal suffering. Letting mortals in here entirely defeats the point.”

Mei Changsu pauses. He is not particularly inclined to let Lin Chen accuse him of jealousy, but the question has been nagging at him for some time. “What of the others who have shared your bed? You have brought none of them here?”

Lin Chen, as expected, bursts out laughing. The trees around them shake, raining down leaves and petals on them both, and Mei Changsu feels himself shaking where Lin Chen’s shoulder is pressed to his. Lin Chen laughs for an unreasonably long time, slowly tipping sideways with the force of his mirth until he is sprawled across Mei Changsu’s lap, grinning up at him. Mei Changsu waits very patiently as Lin Chen collects himself, though he does not stop giggling even as he even as he dries his eyes on his sleeve.

“What others? Changsu, I didn’t even have a bed until you decided I needed one in order to nurse you properly.”

“You didn’t have a bed?”

“Why would I? You know I don’t sleep, Changsu, we’ve been over this.”

Mei Changsu purses his lips rather than answer, but Lin Chen, predictably, reads the answer on his face anyway and succumbs once again to gales of laughter, swamping them both in drifts of flower petals. Mei Changsu decides that perhaps he will pay his parents a visit after all.

And it’s better, like this. Dividing his time between his family home and Lin Chen’s ever-changing halls and gardens. It is a paradise. It is more than anyone could ask or wish for. It is almost perfect.

“You miss him,” says Lin Chen. It breaks the lazy stillness of the garden, and Mei Changsu is forced to open an eye. When no further elaboration appears forthcoming, he hums an inquiry.

Lin Chen waves a hand, a broad, expansive gesture that sets the plum blossoms rustling. “Your prince. You have been pining for him, just as he pines for you.”

“I don’t pine,” he protests. Lin Chen gives him a flat look.

“He sends prayers to me as well, you know. It’s a habit he picked up during the many, many years you were so judiciously refraining from telling him where you were. I rather thought he would stop once this matter was resolved, but instead he has taken to pestering me after your wellbeing. Every day sending along his hopes that you are well cared for, and not being made to pay some absurd toll for his good fortune, and that you have everything that you might wish here in the afterlife. He has left you a staggering number of offerings, as I know you are keenly aware.”

Mei Changsu opens his mouth, and finds he has no words to answer. He closes it again. It is true that Jingyan’s prayers have become something of a constant companion. They are a treasured part of his existence, a devotion he does not deserve but clings to anyway. It is also true that he is beginning to worry for Jingyan. He does not know how much time has passed for Jingyan since his second death, but the grief that laces his prayers has only grown, shows no sign of abating. It is painful, to think of Jingyan in pain, and here in the underworld there is absolutely nothing that he can do to console him.

“You miss him, Changsu. Is it such a terrible thing to admit?”

He shuts his eyes. “There is nothing I can do for him now.”

Lin Chen chuckles. “Look at you, so aware of your condition. How you’ve grown.” When Mei Changsu swats at him, he catches his hand, twines their fingers together. For a moment, there is quiet. Then,

“What if there were a way for you to return?”

The words go through him like lightning, and he sits up. It jostles Lin Chen, who glares at him. His posture is still relaxed, but there is a weight to his gaze.

“You said it was impossible.”

Lin Chen doesn’t answer. An orange falls from the tree, into Lin Chen’s outstretched hand, and he begins to peel it, the soft skin parting easily beneath his long fingers, forming a long coil.

“Lin Chen. You said that it couldn’t be done. What do you mean?”

“I said that I would not, not that I could not.” Lin Chen sighs, and sits up. “It is a difficult thing, for a mortal to return to life once they have left it. Almost impossible, but not completely, as you yourself have experienced. For those who are not mortal, the matter is somewhat simpler.” His eyes meet Mei Changsu’s and his gaze is very sharp. “You have not been strictly mortal for some time now, Changsu.”

He swallows. “And you would let me go, just like that, if I asked?”

Lin Chen’s free hand catches the back of his head, and tugs him into a kiss. His mouth is firm and certain, and Mei Changsu finds himself melting into it when, just as suddenly as it began, the kiss ends, and Lin Chen pulls back. His smile is gentle, but there is heat in his eyes. “I know you will come back.”

Mei Changsu clears his throat. “And you would not mind if…”

Lin Chen laughs softly. “I have known your heart since well before you first stumbled into this garden. If I had minded, we would never have begun. He seems like a sensible person, far more sensible than you, in any case.” The last of the orange peel comes free, and Lin Chen sets it down carefully by his hip. “Jealousy is not in my nature, Changsu. You miss him. He misses you as well, clearly. If you wish to return to him, you can.”

His hands are shaking, he realizes. He closes his fingers in his own sleeve and tries to collect his thoughts. For all that it seems impossible, there can be no question of his answer. “How do I get there?”

With an easy, graceful motion, Lin Chen splits the orange in his hand, six segments coming off into his palm. “These will allow you to walk among the living without pain.” He presses five of the segments into Mei Changsu’s hand, the last held between his fingertips. “When they run out, it will be winter. Return to me then.”

He presses the final segment to Mei Changsu’s lips, fingertips dragging across his mouth as the fruit slides inside. The delicate skin breaks against his teeth and juice floods his mouth, bright and sweet, tasting only of sunlight. As the garden fades around him, Lin Chen’s voice echoes in his ear.

“I will be waiting, Mei Changsu.”