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There are certain things it is impossible to forget:

The electric whole-body awareness of your first proper kiss.

The settling bloom of your newly-formed golden core.

The first time your baby smiles.

The feeling of a knife piercing your chest.

Qin Su opened her eyes with awful, resigned certainty. The scent told her half of what she would see; the accents told her the rest. It had taken years for her to stop having nightmares about this day, and years past that to stop feeling comfort from the memory of her husband’s arms wrapping around her for the first time.

For once, this old nightmare was a relief: she was alive, in full control of her body, and perhaps able to act upon the information so carefully smuggled to her.

That did not stop it from being a nightmare.

The Qishan Wen did not care about her. She was nothing more than a symbol of the control they wished to force upon the other sects, an example who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been travelling back to Sihong after visiting a cousin in Hedong when they had stumbled into a Qishan Wen patrol and been taken prisoner.

Her attendants were being questioned. “Who are you?” and “Where are you going?” and “Who do you report to?” as if Qin Su and her people were spies smuggling messages between disparate groups of so-called-rebel soldiers. Maybe some people were doing that; Qin Su had no doubt that the Meishan Yu’s disciples would be positively gleeful at pretending to be harmless young women and then turning on their supposed captors.

Her husband—her ex-husband—had never told her about such things.

But then, Qin Su hadn’t wanted to know any details of the war. She had been content to hide in her family’s house in Sihong, nestled safely between Lanling and Gusu, and wait until everything settled down and she could find the handsome young soldier who had saved her from the Qishan Wen’s heavy hands.

At least Qin Su could be reasonably sure, as she huddled behind the all-too-thin flap of the tent they had deposited her in, that this would play out as it had in the past. Because, quite clearly, that’s where she was. Dreams and memories were not so solid as this, and she was deathly certain that if she was not in the past she was simply dead. Since she seemed to be alive—the mosquito bite itching on her arm and the sodden edges of her robes didn’t feel like they’d belong to a dead woman—she must have been thrown back in time.

Qin Su knew many people who might wonder Why or How this had happened.

Qin Su did not care. Her place in the world was defined by the relationships she could make, not by the changes she could impress upon the world. She was not Yiling Laozu or Hanguang-jun; she was not even Lianfang-zun with a smile sharp enough to kill or the Headshaker whose uncertainty drew everyone into his sphere.

Therefore, it did not matter how this had happened. A curse, a blessing, a joke of the gods— It didn’t matter. She was here now, and this was her life to live.

Outside, the voices grew louder. Qin Su couldn’t remember the names of her maids; it had been nearly two decades, and they had all retired after this day, too traumatized to continue their service. Qin Su remembered giving them gifts of jade and gold, as if money could cure the tears on their faces or the fears in their hearts. It had been nothing, but it had been what she could give.

A scream. Qin Su did not need to pretend to fear for the sake of the guards standing watch outside the red cloth walls, not as the sound of a whip cutting wind continued, interspersed with screams and sobs and shouts of “I don’t believe you!”

Soon, Qin Su told herself. Soon they will come, and you will be so relieved that you will throw yourself into the arms of the first man not dressed in Qishan’s blood-stained white, and you will weep and wail, and he will comfort you, and you will—

She could not fall in love with Meng Yao a second time.

The rest played out as she recalled:

Swords rang against each other, talismans lit up the air, and in the end a young man with wide eyes and an earnest face opened the tent she sat within. Qin Su looked up at him, silhouetted against the evening sky, and her only thought was: Rusong would have looked so much like him, if he had lived.

She had forgotten how young Meng Yao had been, and it broke her heart to see him now, to hear him ask—a quaver in his voice—if she was alright.

Qin Su gulped back tears. “I’ve been better,” she said, which was nothing like what she had said the first time, and Meng Yao gave a shy chuckle.

“Let me help you, guniang,” he said, all courtesy. “We’ll get you back to our base, and from there we can help you make your way home.”

And, because Qin Su had no good reason not to agree, she let him lift her from the ground. She even leaned on his arm as she walked out; she hadn’t realised her legs had fallen asleep. The shaky feeling in her gut had as much to do with the youth at her side as the bodies lying in the mud.

Her girls cried out as they saw her, and Qin Su passed into their arms with relief. Their names came back alongside their faces, and she patted their hair and brushed their tears away, even as her body sympathetically wanted to sob alongside them. Qin Su let it happen; there was no shame in weeping, and it suited the body she wore.

If it made the soldiers uncomfortable, well, so much the better. Qin Su had no desire to spend time with people whose first response to trouble was to strike it down.

Qin Su stared out over Hongze Lake, unattended to after having finally shaken her maids. Everyone expected her to be horrifically traumatized after having been captured. Qin Su supposed they had to blame the sudden shift in her personality—the way she had withdrawn from them, the way she sometimes forgot people’s names, the acerbic edge to her tongue—on something, and the war made more sense than any truth Qin Su could share.

At least Sihong was beautiful, and Qin Su’s memories of her family’s waterfront halls were not too badly overlaid by years of future grief.

The soft sound of a door sliding open drew Qin Su’s attention away from the peaceful waters. “A-Su,” her mother said. “Hui’er said I would find you here.”

“I may paint the view.” Qin Su had brought supplies for such an act out onto the porch. She hadn’t unpacked any of them. When her mother didn’t respond, even with a neutral hum, Qin Su turned to face her. “Did you wish to speak to me, Mother?”

Yi Xiaotan was a beautiful woman, with coloration that bloomed when wrapped in the Sihong Qin’s spring-green robes. In her youth, Qin Su had heard many times that she resembled her mother—“She smiled more back then, like you do now,” Bicao had murmured once—but she hadn’t truly understood. Children resembled their parents, Qin Su knew, but usually they had the courtesy of only doing so after their parents were well past the age in question. It took years to grow into understanding the shape of that familiarity on your own face.

Qin Su understood now. The lines of her mother’s face perfectly matched those which had begun to form on Qin Su’s, and Qin Su had seen the same weight around her own cheeks and hips after bearing Rusong. The sorrow, too, had made its mark on Qin Su after Rusong’s death; she had never again been as carefree as the youthful self she now wore.

Yi Xiaotan came to stand next to Qin Su. She made no move to touch Qin Su; unlike almost every maidservant and even Qin Su’s father, who patted her shoulders and held her arm in unthinking support, Yi Xiaotan’s hands stayed carefully folded in her sleeves, her every gesture well-marked. Qin Su supposed she knew why, but they hadn’t talked about it. Her mother’s assumption about Qin Su’s changed mood was incorrect, but it wasn’t a bad guess, especially considering what Qin Su had so recently—two decades in the future—learned about her mother’s own history.

“You’ve been rebuffing us for a week,” Yi Xiaotan said, voice carefully neutral. “Your mother wishes to know if she can help A-Su settle back into her home.”

Was it her home? Qin Su glanced north, towards the distant shadow of Jinlin Tai, invisible past the horizon. All she could see were coiling clouds, a flock of birds making their slow way across the heaven’s dome, and the hazy line marking where Hongze Lake’s vastness touched the air. “I don’t know.” Qin Su sighed, and slumped against the railing in a very unladylike way. Nobody would care; her mother would only appreciate the honesty which Qin Su had been withholding. “I don’t want people treating me like I’m about to break.”

Silence followed. Qin Su supposed she could resist this tactic, but she had confided in her mother all her life. Who else could she come anywhere close to trusting? She glanced sideways, smiled a little in an effort to smooth the concern furrowing her mother’s brow. “Neither my captors nor my rescuers touched me in an intimate way, Mother. Please, don’t worry.”

Shock widened her mother’s eyes. Inevitable. Necessary, even as Yi Xiaotan’s fingers clamped down on Qin Su’s wrist. “A-Su—”

Qin Su laid her hand on top of her mother’s. “Mother. Those Qishan Wen brutes questioned my girls and intimidated me, but they did not hurt me. The soldier who found me was a perfect gentleman.”

“If you weren’t hurt, then why…” Her mother’s voice trailed off.

A loon called, low and mournful, and Qin Su bit her lip. Childish habits were acceptable in a child’s body. “I don’t know what to do.” It was true. She’d been thinking about that ever since she woke up, and the closest she’d come to a decision was, “I want to do something to help people suffering from the war, but I don’t want to be anywhere near the lines of battle.”

Her mother’s eyes welled up, but no tears spilled. They trembled alongside Yi Xiaotan’s voice as she asked, “Is staying here not enough?”

The sheltered house. The tranquil lake. The echoes of childhood. Qin Su shook her head silently.

“What, then?” her mother asked. “And where?”

That was the sticking point. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she could help. “Gusu, perhaps.” Qin Su smiled, the outline of a plan coming together in the back of her head. “The Cloud Recesses still need to be restored, do they not? If you permit, I could take some of our craftspeople there to help them rebuild. We aren’t in the middle of any particular projects right now.”

“The Gusu Lan?” Yi Xiaotan studied Qin Su’s face, her dark eyes trying to plumb the depths of Qin Su’s changed soul. “But we are under the Lanling Jin’s protection.”

“They share Hongze Lake. It is by the whims of a treaty—and Father’s friendship with Jin-zhongzhu—that we are on the Lanling Jin side.” The more she thought about this, the better Qin Su liked the idea. The Gusu Lan were known for their peaceful and withdrawn lifestyle. After living so long as the de facto Jin-furen, busy with extravagance every day, such a culture appealed.

And, of course, there were certain things—certain people—she would never need to interact with if she stayed in Gusu.

Yi Xiaotan gently stroked Qin Su’s cheek. “I understand your desire to help, but…”

Politics. Qin Su had lived them for long enough to understand the implication her mother didn’t want to make. Qin Su straightened her back, pulling herself up to her full height. She was just barely taller than her mother this way, evidence of how secrets weighed upon the body. “I know Father is sworn to serve the Jin,” Qin Su said. “But I am not asking Father. I’m asking you. Mother, where else should I go? Would you rather I offer to help the Yunmeng Jiang? Or stay here, where Jin-zhongzhu could call us into service one day?”

Distress wracked her mother’s face.

Qin Su hated knowing exactly how to push to make her mother break and give her what she wanted. She did it anyway. She wrapped her mother in a hug and whispered, “Please, Mama. Let me help the Gusu Lan. They are good and diligent people, and if I impress them… maybe I’ll even secure a marriage alliance out of it.”

Yi Xiaotan started crying in earnest.

Qin Su stroked her back, waiting, letting the idea of a Gusu Lan marriage settle inside her ribs. The idea was a new seed, but full of life. As her mother finally nodded acquiescence, Qin Su smiled. She looked forward to cultivating this plan.

The Cloud Recesses of Qin Su’s memory, both then and now, was built of pale wood and surrounded by well-tended groves of thickly-leaved trees.

She had never seen the burnt halls. The ashen scent lingered heavy and acrid, utterly unlike the delicate scent of flowers and waterfalls which usually perfumed the air. Behind her, the two dozen workers she had brought—carpenters, stoneworkers, cultivators specialising in restoration—murmured amongst themselves about the breadth of the damage.

Qin Su took a deep breath and stepped towards the gates. Those were solid stonework, arrays inscribed into the bones of their supports, and were still polished to a pristine shine. The walls and wards had clearly halted the blaze, and the view through the open doors was gut-wrenching. There should be shade covering the winding road up to the Cloud Recesses, with the many-storied library barely visible through the boughs, not these skeletal branches stark against the open sky.

“Good afternoon,” Qin Su said to the young disciple waiting at the gate. “My name is Qin Su. I’ve brought my people here to help with the repair and restoration efforts.”

The disciple bowed properly. “Gusu Lan welcomes Qin-guniang. Please allow Lan Tian to escort you to Lan-xiansheng; he’s organizing our workforce.”

“Thank you.” Qin Su bowed, gestured at her people to follow, and entered the Cloud Recesses.

Qin Su looked around as they ascended the curving steps. The Qishan Wen had clearly put effort into dismantling the many fire-retardant wards Qin Su knew were worked into the Cloud Recesses’ buildings; otherwise, more studs would still be reaching towards the sky undaunted by ash. As it was, the only structures she saw were newly hewn, unmarked by the weathering of time.

The Cloud Recesses were barren in comparison to what Qin Su was accustomed to, but it had been long enough to show signs of the work already being done to recreate the Gusu Lan’s primary residence. It was still a garden, but today it looked like a rock garden: grayscale, but tended, with the labyrinthine paths curling around the foundations where buildings once stood and soon would stand again.

The sound of hammers and saws drew the ear, and Lan Tian led them straight towards the center of the noise. Lan Qiren met them there, his ice-blue robes belted with true white in mourning for his brother and all the others who had fallen defending the Cloud Recesses from the Qishan Wen. Qin Su bowed to him, her people following suit. “Lan-xiansheng,” she said. “Thank you for taking the time to welcome us.”

Lan Qiren stroked his beard and studied her. She returned the favor, bolder than a young woman of her apparent age should be, but Qin Su didn’t care. Lan Qiren did not look very different from Qin Su’s recent future memories: His hair showed the same thin trails of silver, and responsibility had cut lines around his eyes, but grief sat heavier in his face and his body seemed more tightly wound.

He carried himself, Qin Su realised with a jolt, like Jiang Wanyin often did. Had. Would. Was this what had turned them both into islands? But Jiang Wanyin had not softened again with age the way Lan Qiren had. Sect responsibilities had piled themselves on his shoulders, while Lan Qiren’s nephews had removed some of those burdens.

Perhaps she could remove a few more. Perhaps she could shift a few things, and prevent Jiang Wanyin’s face from becoming stuck in a scowl.

Lan Qiren bowed to her, precise and proper. “Qin-guniang. The Gusu Lan thank you for this unnecessary kindness.”

“We are not a warrior sect.” The Sihong Qin didn’t prioritise either the sword or combative musical cultivation; they tended more towards practical applications of arrays and specialised wards. Qin Su, being uninterested in battle, had been content to cultivate those more peaceful arts. “We wish to do our part to help those who fight, and this is what we can offer.”

“It is more than many do,” Lan Qiren said gravely. He extended a hand deeper into the Cloud Recesses, where new buildings stood. “Please, let us discuss how you can help.”

Qin Su bowed again, beckoned forward the leader of her craftspeople, and followed Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren had been aware of Qin Su’s existence before she arrived at the Cloud Recesses, of course. He knew the names of every young woman close to his nephews’ ages; in a world where the Qishan Wen hadn’t chosen to overreach themselves, he would have gently been encouraging Lan Xichen to meet potential marriage candidates. But there was a war, so Lan Xichen was busy, and Lan Qiren still bore the weight of this mountain on his shoulders.

He had allowed their home to burn, and so he had to be the one to restore it. The other elders—the real elders, a quiet voice in Lan Qiren’s head still insisted, as they were all at least two dozen years older than him—had sighed, patted Lan Qiren on the shoulder, and wished him the best of luck. Then they’d started making their own plans for where to live while he worked on rebuilding their mountain home.

At least the Qishan Wen had only set the Cloud Recesses itself ablaze. Caiyi Town had been treated poorly, its people harassed and its goods stolen, but they could recover from that within a year. Lan Qiren hadn’t dared to lead his people back to the Cloud Recesses until the war started in earnest, and only in the last months had they reconstructed enough living spaces to stay on the mountain itself instead of relying on Caiyi Town’s charity.

Upon reflection, Qin Su may have taken that into consideration when bringing her contingent of people over: Caiyi Town would certainly support the Gusu Lan, but people from another region would need to purchase lodgings. Here in the Cloud Recesses, however, simple food and shelter would be provided in exchange for the aid and skill her people provided.

Lan Qiren stared down at his desk—simply built, even for his sect; everything was, right now—and the neatly organized piles of papers laid upon it. Reports from Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, and the other sect members on the front lines. Letters from the Gusu Lan elders who had chosen to recover with allied sects and distant relations as yet untouched by battle. Blueprints, preserved from the old library, which showed the next set of structures his craftspeople wished to erect.

And, in elegant script, a note from Qin Su about supplies the Cloud Recesses needed. Lan Qiren had laid it out next to the more prosaic—though no less neatly written—note from Lan Rong, the disciple in charge of the rebuilding efforts. Very few items appeared on both lists, which lined up with what Lan Rong had told him a week ago about Qin Su firmly taking over every single task usually given to a sect’s furen.

For the first few days, Lan Qiren hadn’t believed it. He didn’t think Lan Rong had lied to him; he simply didn’t expect Qin Su to have the necessary experience. By all accounts, the Sihong Qin were a minor sect, and Qin Su was doted upon by both her parents. She was polite, skilled at embroidery, and with a solid but unimpressive understanding of cultivation.

But then, nothing in Lan Qiren’s notes about Qin Su suggested that she would have come here, unescorted but for a single handmaid, and dedicated herself to helping the Gusu Lan rebuild.

Lan Qiren had been aware, at some level, that fewer people had come to ask him questions since Qin Su had arrived, that he had been given more time to catch up on correspondence and meditation, and that meals had arrived more consistently. He had assumed it was because more hands meant his disciples could shift their priorities. But now, seeing Qin Su’s requests and reasoning, Lan Qiren thought instead of his great-aunt Lan Bailing, who had run so much of the sect in his youth.

He raised his eyes to the window, and caught sight of spring-green edged with gold sweeping by, surrounded by the sky-pale robes of the Gusu Lan. Qin Su looked confident in the midst of disciples older than her, none of whom she had known before arriving. It was the same self-assuredness Lan Qiren had spent so much time ensuring his nephews would carry themselves with, and it sat on her shoulders like a summer shawl; light and easy and without a thought given to it.

She turned in his direction—incidentally, he was sure—and Lan Qiren caught the faintest hint of her laughter carried on the wind.

Qin Su was in the kitchens checking the most recent delivery from Caiyi Town when Lan Qiren entered. She knew it was him because nobody else caused the servants to pause their tasks and hold a bow; for the other upper-ranked cultivators, they merely bowed, but were not required to halt their work. The murmurs of “Lan-xiansheng” also helped, of course, because there was a particular tone which all members of the Gusu Lan used to refer to Lan Qiren.

“Lan-xiansheng,” Qin Su said a moment later, turning to give her own courtesy. “What brings you here today?”

Lan Qiren returned the bow and gestured for the servants to return to work. Qin Su passed the list off to Yang Xiaodong, a senior cook, so that she could give Lan Qiren her whole attention. He seemed out of place here, in such a domestic setting; he always gave off an air of untouchability and reserve better suited for scholars’ halls.

“Qin-guniang.” Lan Qiren folded his hands into his sleeves. “I would enjoy having tea with you, if you are not too busy.”

Qin Su glanced at Yang Xiaodong, who said, “I’ll let you know if anything is wrong with the order, Qin-guniang.”

“Then I am not too busy,” answered Qin Su. “Do you have tea prepared, or…?”

“If Qin-guniang would not mind.” Lan Qiren cupped his hands at her in preemptive thanks. Qin Su, to her surprise, blushed. While he had sometimes asked simple favors of Qin Su in her past life, this was the first time Lan Qiren had sought her out in this one.

“Of course,” Qin Su said, hurrying over to the storage area dedicated to tea. She didn’t pause to think before picking out a simple aromatic blend she knew Lan Qiren particularly favored; they had only just gotten it in, since he hadn’t seen fit to request it previously. Something about the Gusu Lan rules meant that their inner family always chose to prioritise others over themselves, even when giving themselves a little bit of priority would raise their spirits and therefore make everyone’s lives just that little bit smoother.

Qin Su handed the tea to her maid, Zheng Fei, who had assembled a tray with cups and teapot. Nothing ostentatious, but nothing too simple; Qin Su approved of the simple porcelain with its crackled green glaze. Then Qin Su turned to Lan Qiren and offered him her arm.

Only as Lan Qiren took it, his hands gentle, did Qin Su remember that asking the uncle of her husband’s sworn brother to escort her was quite different than so forwardly inviting Lan Qiren to do the same when they were both unmarried. At least he didn’t seem to have noticed, though Qin Su caught both Yang Xiaodong’s smirk and the way she gestured for the other servants to keep their faces calm. Zheng Fei kept her face composed as well as she followed them out of the kitchens, tea tray in her hands.

Pale spring was turning to lush summer. The Cloud Recesses were still a construction zone, full of bamboo scaffolding and sawdust, but Lan Qiren led her towards the back woods. Those, the Qishan Wen hadn’t burnt, and they grew as steadfastly green as ever. “There have always been a few formal meditation spots in the woods,” Lan Qiren told her as they walked. “But recently, more informal pavilions have sprung up.” His eyes sparkled, and the slightest smile bent his lips. “Since they do not ask permission, I turn a blind eye towards what could be an unnecessary use of resources, and ask Lan Rong to ensure we have enough wood.”

Qin Su covered her mouth to hide a smile of her own. “Will our acknowledgement of their work concern them?”

Lan Qiren shook his head. “It will settle their worries. Acknowledgement means they can act more openly.”

Qin Su considered this as they continued down the unmarked path, dappled sunlight warm on her face and the humus soft underfoot. “You could simply speak to them,” she said, passing under a low-hanging sprout of bamboo Lan Qiren raised out of her way. “Then they would know more quickly.”

“Unfortunately, they would expect I wished to scold them.” Lan Qiren glanced sidelong at Qin Su. “You do not share that expectation.”

“Why would I?” Qin Su met his eyes. Daring, if she were truly the twenty-one-year-old young lady he thought she was. Inevitable, after having spent over a decade wrangling old Madam Jin and influencing the women’s world to help her husband’s political gambits go off smoothly. “I am not a member of your sect, and I have done nothing to displease you.”

She had, admittedly, not asked permission to take over many duties of running the sect, but all of Lan Qiren’s subordinates and servants had seemed so grateful that Qin Su hadn’t even considered that Lan Qiren himself might be upset. If there were any other sect elders in the Cloud Recesses right now, Qin Su didn’t know where they were, and most of the sect members able to fight were off with Lan Xichen. Who else could take on such duties? Qin Su knew she was capable of it, especially for such a small portion of the Gusu Lan.

Another tiny smile, nearly hidden in Lan Qiren’s beard. “Qin-guniang is very skilled.”

Qin Su ducked her head. She couldn’t give an honest explanation of how she had accumulated such experience. “My mother taught me well.” Another truth, one that would be put aside as polite dissembling but would not offer openings for other questions. She let her eyes flick up through her lashes, equally aware of how flirtatious her unthinking actions could appear and how stopping would draw more attention than continuing. “Is that what you wished to speak with me about, Lan-xiansheng?”

“Among other things.” Lan Qiren nodded forward along the path, and Qin Su followed his gesture to where a small pavilion stood in the midst of a stand of bamboo. “In part, truly, I wished to give you a pleasant afternoon not filled by helping another sect to whom you owe nothing.”

Qin Su owed the Gusu Lan many things, she suspected, though the balance of what exactly was owed was complicated. Lan Xichen and her husband had intertwined their lives more cohesively than most sworn brothers, and Qin Su had grown fond of her second set of in-laws. She said none of this, but instead let that fondness flow through her and out in a warm smile. “Thank you.” She laid her free hand on top of his. “I am also glad to provide you with a reason to take a break of your own, Lan-xiansheng.”

Finally, Lan Qiren blushed, the tips of his ears darkening as he kept his eyes fixed forward. “I know my duties,” he said. “Ensuring you are treated well during your time with us is one of them.”

They stood at the edge of the pavilion. Qin Su could—should—pull away to sit. She didn’t. Instead, she sighed. “If I wanted to be wrapped in a silk cocoon and kept far from any sign of war, I would have stayed home.” Lan Qiren’s fingers tightened on her arm as he turned towards her, falcon-gold eyes finally meeting her gaze. “Lan-xiansheng,” Qin Su said, “is it so surprising that I wish to be here?”

“I will not ask you to stay,” he replied, which was not an answer, “but I will gladly welcome your presence and aid for as long as you wish to give it.”

Qin Su couldn’t stop tears from collecting in her eyes at his words. Lan Qiren would keep his word, and the whole of the jianghu knew it. But this particular promise was not about her, not entirely; it was about his brother, and the Madam Lan who had never gotten to take on the role in any meaningful sense, and how Lan Qiren did not want to become his brother.

“Thank you,” Qin Su said, very simply. Then, to dispel as many of the gathered emotions as possible, she released herself from Lan Qiren’s grasp and moved to the table. “Tea,” she said, waving Zheng Fei forward to prepare it for them. “I’m told this is your favorite.”

His eyes crinkled as he sat across from her. “I wondered what Qin-guniang would select. How thoughtful of you.”

“Lan-xiansheng deserves his joys as well.” It was perilously close to emotions Qin Su didn’t want to think about. She cast about for another topic, but there were so few topics safe to discuss. Too many were about the war or intimate feelings.

But Lan Qiren did not reply. He merely shook his head and drew a warming talisman on the table for Zheng Fei to set the kettle upon. “Tell me about Sihong,” he said as the water began to heat. “I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting.”

A safe topic indeed. Qin Su took it as the offering it was, and began to talk about the lakes and rivers of her childhood, the waterbirds and the way the sun looked rising over waters she had once thought were large enough to be the ocean. Lan Qiren was a good audience, attentive and full of questions to draw out details Qin Su took for granted.

By the time they had finished the tea, Qin Su was content to return in silence.

This time, Lan Qiren offered her his arm.

He even smiled when she took it.

As months passed and Qin Su settled into the Cloud Recesses, she found herself far fonder of their routines than she had expected. It was calming to know exactly what was supposed to happen, and to only be responsible for resolving some of the inevitable uncertainties which arose through the course of the day.

Knowing that certain times were protected, that nothing could prevent them from happening, was also a gift.

Qin Su woke at the same hour as every member of the Gusu Lan, despite Zheng Fei’s muttered complaints—her maid was decidedly not a morning person—because she liked the quiet pre-dawn hours. She broke her fast with simple Gusu Lan fare, stayed in the central hall to listen to the servants and soothe disagreements before they had a chance to blossom, and then—in mid-morning, after having been up for hours—took tea with Lan Qiren.

It was, Qin Su admitted to herself, her favorite part of the day. He varied the locations of their tea based on the weather, the sect’s current projects, and what news he wished to share with her. His networks were vast: Gusu Lan elders had scattered to the four corners, taking grandchildren with them, and they all sent letters between each other. The dovecote had been, Lan Qiren admitted, one of the first buildings they restored, simply because Caiyi Town had been overwhelmed by their birds—and the birds themselves had been discontented without their familiar home.

The Gusu Lan and their winged messengers were similar in that respect. Qin Su could see, as she walked the enclosure each afternoon, checking on the progress of their efforts, how moods improved as the Cloud Recesses were slowly restored. The process went more quickly with cultivation powering it: wood and water sigils coaxed materials into shape, metal and earth sigils hardened them, and fire sigils taught them to resist that which had turned the previous buildings to rich ashes.

The gardens flourished. That, too, relaxed the tensions in everyone’s spines. It also brought more variety to the nightly meals; subtle herbs and spices highlighted the flavors of the roots and vegetables the Gusu Lan favored, and provided mouth-watering aromas to their rice and breads.

In the evening, when Qin Su caught up on her own correspondence, she sometimes heard a qin’s soft music emanating from Lan Qiren’s rooms. Occasionally, it would even continue long enough to curl around her ears and guide her to sleep.

This letter is folded to show only the message; its preamble and sign-off are hidden from view, though it’s clear they were lengthy.

“Lan-xiansheng,” Qin Su said, offering him a plate of bao. “The kitchen staff worry that your nights grow over-long.”

Lan Qiren looked up from his desk with a smile. Unlike his nephews, who had often brought him similar evening snacks in their youth, Qin Su’s voice never held an edge of rebuke. Her eyes, dark and unflinching, always met his steadfastly and promised a kind of understanding Lan Qiren was unused to feeling from someone younger than he was. “Does A-Su not worry?” he asked, half-teasing, the way he would address a member of his family.

Only when Qin Su’s eyes widened and she took half a step back did Lan Qiren realise his words may have been ill-considered. Some indiscretions, such as playing qin, could be forgiven or explained away. Others, like forms of address, were less open to interpretation. Lan Qiren would not close a distance Qin Su wished to keep. “My apologies, guniang,” Lan Qiren said, clasping his hands and bowing his head. “You have become such a part of the household in so brief a time; I forgot myself.”

Qin Su still looked pale—unexpectedly so, when he was certain the people who would have called her ‘A-Su’ most often would be her parents—but her smile seemed genuine. “It startled me, nothing more,” she assured him. “I—” She ducked her head, the paleness fleeing, chased away by a deep flush. “I am honored that you think so highly of me, Lan-xiansheng.”

Lan Qiren rose on his knees and reached for the plate Qin Su still clutched. She did not flinch away from him when he took it, nor did she run as he set it on his desk, both of which Lan Qiren was grateful for. He didn’t expect Qin Su to be the kind of person to run from complicated conversations, but one never knew when one might hit a nerve.

He needed time to process what Qin Su had said, both with her words and her body. Politic nothings, earnestly meant, might buy him that time. “Qin-guniang is skilled at managing households,” Lan Qiren said, watching Qin Su’s reaction to his retreat into formality. Then, because he wanted more information about what had prompted her reaction, he added, “Any bachelor given the privilege of benefitting from Qin-guniang’s services would grow so fond of her.”

Qin Su laughed a little, tension running from her muscles as she did so. Interesting. Especially in combination with how she folded to her knees beside his desk, as if Qin Su had wholly set aside whatever had prompted her strange initial reaction. “My parents gave me leave to stay here so long because I told them it would be good for my marriage prospects.” Qin Su picked up a bao, warm and soft enough to dimple in her hand. “Try one, Lan Qiren. Xiaodong taught me how to make them.”

Automatically, Lan Qiren took the bao and said, “Thank you.” He should bite into it and fully accept this offering, but Qin Su had so determinedly changed her own form of address that instead Lan Qiren met her eyes and murmured, “A-Su.”

This time, she smiled. Not the petty self-satisfied smile Lan Qiren so often saw on outrageously flirting teenagers during guest lectures, but the quieter, more hidden smile Lan Qiren saw on the faces of grown men and women delicately navigating the natures of their station. It suited Qin Su’s bearing, Lan Qiren realised, though not her age.

It also sent heat coursing through Lan Qiren’s cheeks. He hadn’t dared respond to such overtures since— Well, since Zangse had visited, nearly three decades ago now. He had been too busy raising his nephews and leading his sect.

Lan Qiren averted his gaze and bit into the bao. It tasted as good as it looked and felt, the flavors delicate and subtle on his tongue. He swallowed. “Thank you,” he said.

“If I can bring Lan Qiren some joy,” she said, hands folded properly in her lap and spine bamboo-straight, “then I am pleased.”

It was against the precepts of the Gusu Lan to converse while eating. Lan Qiren set the bao aside. “One could say that you should call me Lan-shu.”

Qin Su winced, so delicately it had to be intentional. “One could say that,” she agreed. “But would Lan Qiren prefer that?”

Lan Qiren would not. She would notice if he refused to answer, and assume the correct answer. He smoothed his beard, which he was sure Qin Su knew was a way he calmed himself when too agitated, and said, “You spoke of marriage prospects.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I am not in any rush,” Qin Su said smoothly. “I know Lan Qiren is busy. I do not wish to keep you from your work.”

Lan Qiren could identify the opening she had left him. If he chose not to take it, she would give him another one day. He bowed to her. “Thank you for the bao, A-Su.”

She returned the courtesy. “Do not stay up too late, Lan Qiren.”

Qin Su rose, warm autumnal robes billowing around her, and Lan Qiren watched her walk steadily out of his rooms without a backward glance.

He did not get much work done the rest of that night.

Snow dusted the ground and drifted through the trees for the first time this winter. Qin Su appreciated the sight; it softened the boundaries of the half-finished Cloud Recesses, leaving it a pale slate to match the overcast sky. In this, the land resembled its name.

Beside her, Lan Qiren did not seem to be watching the snow. In another man, Qin Su might think it was because he’d seen the snow come too many times to care, but after so many months she knew Lan Qiren favored a meditation of presence. He would choose a spot and sit there, eyes open, taking in the world and allowing it to pass through him while he observed every detail and made it part of himself. Qin Su had attempted it with him once and found it overwhelming and overstimulating; Lan Qiren, in contrast, relished the opportunity to obliquely engage with everything around him.

Qin Su gave him until the tea boiled to stew in his thoughts. When the kettle boiled and Lan Qiren still did not stir, Qin Su repressed a sigh, poured the tea, and murmured, “What keeps you from enjoying this beautiful morning, Lan Qiren?”

“Mm?” Lan Qiren raised his head absently. His eyes, always striking, appeared yet more so as winter subdued the world’s natural shades. They bloomed—chrysanthemum-gold, fire-bright, hawk-sharp—in the uncanny shade which characterized the Lan’s core bloodline. Qin Su had heard it said that a dragon dwelt far back in the Gusu Lan bloodline, and those eyes showed the dragon’s mark upon them. She couldn’t speak to the truth of the rumours, but when Lan Qiren focused his entire attention upon her Qin Su could easily understand why it was believed.

“Would you like to be distracted from your musings, or will you share them with me?” Qin Su offered Lan Qiren a cup of tea.

His fingers overlapped hers as he took the tea. His skin was cold, and Qin Su bit back the maternal instinct to tell him to move closer to the brazier he’d lit for her comfort. Lan Qiren’s cultivation could hold back the chill, if he chose. Right now, it seemed, he preferred to let the world touch him.

Lan Qiren sipped the tea, and Qin Su amused herself for a moment thinking of the steam rising from its surface as a dragon’s breath. Then, as Lan Qiren set the cup down and turned once more to the stretch of fallow land which had once—he had told her, pained—been the Cloud Recesses’ creche, he said, “My nephew writes to me of war.”

Qin Su was too well-trained to wince. She did so anyway, because Lan Qiren wouldn’t allow it of himself, and someone should acknowledge how painful any news of the war was. “Are your nephews safe?”

“In body, yes.” Lan Qiren frowned, and his fingers tightened on the porch’s railing, skin stretching tight and pale over his knuckles. “I am not so sure about their hearts.”

There were so many sorrows in war. Qin Su didn’t think too much had changed from her first time living through it, but she didn’t want to guess at what the most recent concerning event was.

Instead, she laid her hands over Lan Qiren’s and asked, “Would sharing their news help?” She had moved too close. She knew that. The careful dance of not discussing the intimacy they shared—or questioning if it was only because of the Cloud Recesses’ isolation—could be broken if either of them pushed too hard. Still, Qin Su did not retreat from her position, her arms resting on his, able to feel the movement of his chest as he breathed.

His fingers relaxed beneath hers. He turned his head, met her gaze, said, “It was written in confidence.”

“And I will not speak of this to another soul.” Qin Su wanted, more badly than she had ever expected, to lift a hand and smooth the wrinkles beginning to form on Lan Qiren’s forehead, just beneath where his ribbon sat. She could not; it would be too much, might break this fragile moment. “Let me take this burden from you, Qiren.”

Silence, save the shush of wind amongst the trees, the talisman-muffled rhythm of construction, and the cooing doves. Qin Su’s heart beat in her palms, surely strong enough that Lan Qiren could feel it, but she did not cower. The worst that could happen was that he would say no. There would be no punishment, nor any scathing remarks; if Lan Qiren said ‘No,’ he would simply be setting a boundary, and it was no judgment upon her.

Lan Qiren let out a sigh, warm as a cloud, and said, “My nephews will be heroes of this war.”

“And you are rebuilding their home.” This was familiar territory. “It is just as important.” Moreso, in Qin Su’s mind, but when Lan Qiren was thinking of his nephews she could not say so.

He nodded in acknowledgement and withdrew to the table, poured himself another cup of tea. Qin Su followed, arranging herself next to the brazier and accepting her own cup—perfectly warmed—from Lan Qiren’s hands.

“Lan Wangji worries about that Wei Wuxian, of course.” The smallest shake of Lan Qiren’s head. “But it is Lan Xichen whose letters have troubled me of late.”

Qin Su bit the inside of her cheek. She no longer had to guess what event had occurred. Lan Qiren’s next words merely confirmed it.

“I’ve spoken of his friend, Meng Yao, before.” Lan Qiren sipped his tea, eyes downcast. “Lan Xichen tells me that Meng Yao deserves more than he is being offered, but—” A sigh. Lan Qiren tugged on his beard. “Lan Xichen’s most recent letter spoke of Meng Yao betraying his people to stand with the Qishan Wen.”

There it was. Qin Su tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders, giving up all pretense of drinking tea. The fabric in her fingers was the most she could handle. “Did I tell you that Meng Yao was the one who rescued me from Qishan Wen soldiers?” She couldn’t remember. Everyone had known their story by the time they had been wed. Here and now, her brain full of slow and unshakable knowledge of how things went last time, Qin Su couldn’t remember if it had come up. She wouldn’t have brought it up, she didn’t think, but…

“You hadn’t.” Lan Qiren’s voice, gentle without being soft, cut through her mental spiral. “A-Su, do you believe that man would change his allegiance so decisively?”

She shook her head, immediate and instinctive. “There is nothing for him there.” Qin Su saw Lan Qiren’s brows furrow at the certainty and weight of her words, but she couldn’t stop herself from speaking. All she could do was desperately wrestle them into something the young woman she acted as would know. “The Qishan Wen would never trust a traitor. They might use him, but how could he gain any rank? If Lan-zongzhu cares for him as much as you say, then he would be better off with the forces of Gusu Lan, or returning to the Qinghe Nie to serve Nie-zongzhu; why ask Wen-zongzhu for a position instead? Meng Yao is many things, but he is not an idiot.”

“Why indeed.” Lan Qiren studied her thoughtfully. “Your wisdom does you credit, A-Su.”

Qin Su looked down. It wasn’t wisdom; it was experience. Even if she explained that to Lan Qiren, he would ask her what the difference was, since many people fail to learn even when given the opportunity to do so. “I doubt I am thinking of anything Lan-zongzhu could not.”

“It is quite possible he has been too busy to think clearly about this incident—especially if those around him have already made up their minds that Meng Yao is a traitor and will not consider another perspective.” Lan Qiren leaned across the table to touch Qin Su’s shoulder. “Thank you, A-Su; your conviction sets this old man’s mind to rest.”

“You aren’t old.” This was a far safer topic. Qin Su glared at Lan Qiren, who seemed far more shocked by her speech than was warranted. “You’re younger than my parents, and they aren’t old. Has being called an elder your entire adult life twisted your concept of age, Qiren?”

He laughed, a clear and bell-like sound, deep and rich as it echoed in her chest. Qin Su had never heard this laugh before; quiet smiles, occasional chuckles, but nothing so open.

Lan Qiren restrained himself a moment later, which Qin Su took as evidence that this reaction had surprised him as much as her. “Apologies, A-Su,” he said, still smiling. “It has been a long time since someone younger than I am has dared scold me.”

“Perhaps I should do so more often,” Qin Su said, her heart racing. She had not meant to like Lan Qiren as much as she did. She had not expected him to respond in kind.

His smile widened. “Perhaps you should.”

Returning to Sihong for the Spring Festival was important, of course; there was no excuse Qin Su could make as an unmarried young woman to avoid it.

“You’ve grown so much,” her mother exclaimed upon her arrival, checking over her with hands and eyes alike. “The mountain air has been good for you, A-Su.”

“Thank you, mother.” Qin Su smiled at her, then shifted her gaze to where her father stood. “Father. It’s good to see you again.”

Qin Cangye had been leading a force under Jin Guangshan’s banner the last time she’d been home. The worried tension in his face eased as he too stepped forward to clasp her shoulders. “My A-Su. Have you been treated well?”

“Lan-xiansheng is a perfect gentleman,” Qin Su reassured her parents, drawing them back inside the manor as she spoke. She hoped neither noticed the way her tongue stumbled over the syllables; she had grown too used to calling Lan Qiren by his name alone. “As I’ve told you in my letters, he and his people have treated me with utmost respect, and have been most grateful for my help.”

“Good, good.” Her father kissed the crown of her head. “Go rest, my dear; we’ll see you at dinner.”

Qin Su bowed and let the household’s familiar servants lead her off to her old rooms.

Very quickly, she realised that the Sihong Qin’s lake house felt claustrophobic in comparison to the light and airy buildings of the Cloud Recesses. Though Qin Su knew they were modest in comparison to the Lanling Jin’s golden towers, the wealth on display turned Qin Su’s stomach—and so did the food. The Gusu Lan’s vegetarian diet agreed with her, it seemed. Qin Su gave up on eating meat after a single day, though she couldn’t resist the fresh fish from Hongze Lake.

Seeing her parents again was lovely. Halfway through the week, when Qin Su realised that she thought of this as a visit and her parents expected her to stay, the remaining days became much longer.

“You said you were looking for marriage prospects,” Yi Xiaotan reminded her as they walked along the half-frozen lakeshore. “By your own admission, none of Gusu Lan’s young men are there.”

“Lan Qiren is,” Qin Su replied, without even thinking about it.

Her mother looked at her, silent, for a long moment. Frost crunched underfoot, and broken ice hissed against itself as wind rocked the lake. Then Yi Xiaotan said, “You were not yet born the last time Lan Qiren expressed interest in marriage. You cannot hang your hopes on him.”

Qin Su looked along the shoreline, down south towards Gusu. “Who would you have me look at instead?” she asked. “The young heroes of this war? I do not want a husband whose hands are covered in blood, Mama, and I want a husband who respects my skills. Lan Qiren easily fulfills both those qualities.”

Yi Xiaotan grasped Qin Su’s arm and shook her once, sharply. When Qin Su met her eyes, Yi Xiaotan leaned closer and murmured, “You truly want him? He is a generation older than you.”

And I am a generation older than I seem. The words stuck in her throat until Qin Su could swallow them down, lemon-sour, and instead say, “I know what I want, Mama.”

“And he is not forcing anything on you?” Yi Xiaotan’s worried face would have been laughable to Qin Su if she were truly this young; Lan Qiren’s strictness and adamant adherence to propriety had been jokes among her generation while at summer guest lectures.

Now, Qin Su gently took her mother’s hands. “I promise,” she said. “He has not. He will not.”

“His brother—” Her mother shook her head, sending her hairpins faintly jingling. “But he is not his brother, is he?”

Qin Su grimaced. The circumstances of Madam Lan were a secret she had never learned. No rumour was kind to her; few had wholly positive words about Qingheng-jun. “No,” she said. “He is not.” She had said something similar about Jin Guangyao, a lifetime ago, promising her mother that he was not his father. She had been correct: Jin Guangyao’s vices were secrets and spilt blood, not Jin Guangshan’s indiscriminate lust. They had been no less effective in causing her pain.

Lan Qiren, on the other hand, seemed to have quietly taken his brother as an example of who he never wished to become. He shouldered Qingheng-jun’s role without apparent frustration of what his life could have been, and acted with dignity, and truly believed in his sect’s rules. He seemed to think his vices were taking honey in his tea, loving his nephews, and enjoying Qin Su’s company. Perhaps there were hidden depths, but after so much time living alongside him, Qin Su doubted they were anything as harsh as what Jin Guangyao had hidden from her.

“The Twin Jades have grown up well,” her mother said hopefully, drawing her back to the present. “Would you perhaps consider them?”

Her mother’s thoughts were not hard to follow; Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji were more easily understandable choices for her marriage. Qin Su shook her head, both to banish her thoughts and answer her mother’s question. “I think Lan-zongzhu will marry for politics, not love.” Not that Lan Xichen had done either in her first life. Perhaps it would be easier if his sworn brothers were not at each other’s throats. “Lan-er-gongzi…” Qin Su held back a huff of laughter; her mother wouldn’t understand it. “He will marry for love, not politics, and I do not think he would love me in that way.”

Yi Xiaotian sighed, but straightened her back. “And you are certain that Lan Qiren is interested in you?”

Qin Su flushed, thinking about it. “We take tea together most days,” she told her mother. “He lets me call him Qiren, and calls me A-Su in turn. I doubt he would admit to interest, but his actions speak strongly of his feelings. If the option is presented to him…” She trailed off suggestively, flicking her eyes up at her mother’s.

Her mother pursed her lips, but nodded and resumed walking. “Not during war,” she said, a minute later. “But I will speak to your father about you returning to the Cloud Recesses. We just want you to be happy, A-Su; you know that.”

Qin Su wrapped her mother up in a hug. “I know, Mama,” she said. “Thank you.”

Only when Qin Su returned did Lan Qiren realise how much he had missed her, and how little he had expected her parents to allow her to return.

“Welcome back,” Lan Qiren said, greeting Qin Su with a bow. “Yang-ayi will be glad to see you again.”

“And you?” Qin Su tilted her head, sending her earrings swinging against the curve of her throat. He shouldn’t let himself follow that line, either of thought or of motion. “Are you glad to see me again, Lan-xiansheng?”

Somehow, she infused the title with the same teasing tone in which she said his name. Lan Qiren clasped his hands behind his back. “I will enjoy having more conversations about poetry and philosophy with you, Qin-guniang.”

Qin Su smiled. “Then I will see you this afternoon,” she said. “Shall I take the same quarters as before?”

“If Qin-guniang desires those rooms, then they are hers.”

“Lan-xiansheng is very kind.” Qin Su curtseyed. “I shall take my leave now, after this journey.”

Lan Qiren inclined his head and gestured down the path. “Of course.”

He watched her go, spring-green cloak sweeping along the ground like the promise of flowers yet to bloom.

Qin Su had not attended Jin Guangshan’s flower banquet in her first life. But this time around, having learned too many of the slow consequences, she did not want to stay away.

“My parents will attend,” Qin Su told Lan Qiren. “Father is one of Jin Guangshan’s lieutenants, and served him well in the war, so they cannot avoid it. Think of it as escorting me to visit them.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You have already organized everything for us both, have you not?”

Qin Su blushed. “Should I have done otherwise?”

Lan Qiren gently raised her chin. “A-Su has a very strong will,” he said. “I would not ask her to hide that strength.”

As they neared the gates of Jinling Tai, Qin Su grasped Lan Qiren’s arm. “I don’t know what they will speak of,” Qin Su murmured when he looked at her with concern. “But I do know that they are war heroes flush with victory. Please, Qiren, speak on behalf of the common people who happened to live beneath the Qishan Wen. Do not allow them to suffer.”

He said nothing, eyes narrowed. Not in refusal—Qin Su knew his expressions too well for that—but with the same curiosity that any display of her inexplicable knowledge led to. “What rumours have you heard, A-Su?” he asked at last. “Xichen and Wangji have not mentioned any similar possibilities to me.”

“My parents do accuse me of having a soft heart.” Qin Su stared at the golden walls which enclosed her best and worst memories. She had hoped to never see them again, but there truly wasn’t any way around this. That bitterness colored her words. “Do I need to have heard rumours to fear that the habits which we objected to from the Qishan Wen will become acceptable when enacted upon their territory? Take revenge on those who harmed us, to be sure, but for those whose only sin is living under their rule…”

Lan Qiren took a deep breath. “We need, at the very least, to consider our actions carefully.” He patted her shoulder. “I will share your concerns with Xichen, A-Su, and I will keep an eye on the other sect leaders.”

Qin Su closed her eyes and leaned towards Lan Qiren’s willow strength. “Thank you,” she said. His hands wrapped around her, supporting her. She shouldn’t linger in his grasp, but she wanted to take as much comfort from Lan Qiren as she could before entering those gates.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lan Qiren’s qi slipped into her, worried and questioning.

“I’m fine, Qiren.” Qin Su sighed, and forced herself to support her own weight again. With a wan smile, she tried to lighten the mood. “I’m not looking forward to Mama pointing out all the young war heroes I could arrange a marriage with.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes shuttered, and he withdrew a step. “They would be appropriate.”

“I don’t want war,” Qin Su said. Lightly, she brushed his arm with her fingers. “Why, then, would I want to wed a war hero?”

The only gold she wanted was Lan Qiren’s eyes, she did not say. But still, as they lifted and met hers once more, Qin Su found herself steadied, and her heart rose with his tiny smile. “A-Su has particular tastes,” Lan Qiren murmured, quiet enough to remain unheard.

Qin Su grinned at him. “Does Qiren disapprove?”

“Qiren wishes to see his nephews again,” Lan Qiren said, a typical deflection when he couldn’t bring himself to admit to his answer. “Come, Qin-guniang; we have dallied long enough on the road.”

Nothing about the feast was particularly interesting until Jin Guangshan introduced his newly-acknowledged son, Jin Guangyao.

Lan Qiren had seen the young man earlier that day, because Lan Xichen had wanted to introduce his uncle to his sworn brothers. Lan Qiren already knew Nie Mingjue, of course, but had only heard of Meng Yao through Lan Xichen’s constant letters. The smile on Lan Xichen’s face predisposed Lan Qiren to like Jin Guangyao, though the scowl on Nie Mingjue’s made him more concerned about their brotherhood’s long-term stability.

Jin Guangyao was polite, hid his nervousness well, and was self-effacing in a way that Lan Qiren felt could easily become grating. Lan Qiren brushed it off, assuming that his manner was an artefact of his recent rise to the named family of Lanling Jin and also Lan Qiren’s own presence; he had been told he was intimidating to those who did not know him. Qin Su said it was because his expression was so often serious and severe, even when he was only being thoughtful.

Now, as Jin Guangyao entered the hall with a bow and a self-conscious smile, Lan Qiren did his best to present a welcoming face. Heavens knew that few other attendees looked well-disposed towards the double agent whose actions—distasteful as they were—had allowed the sects’ combined forces to win the war.

Jin Guangyao made his way to the front, gave a deep bow to his father, and launched into a well-practiced speech welcoming everyone to his father’s hall. Lan Qiren listened with half an ear, filtering out the political spin, and wondered why Jin Zixuan wasn’t the one talking. The sect’s heir was here, after all, sitting by his father’s side and still making moon-eyes at Jiang Yanli. Qin Su had told him, in confidence, that she had been exchanging letters with Jiang-guniang and she seemed disinclined to agree once more to Jin Zixuan’s suit if the Yunmeng Jiang could find another source of support for their rebuilding. Lan Qiren hoped, for her sake, that she found another alliance.

“—and so, we wish to announce that Lanling Jin will once more host the Baifeng Shan Night Hunt at summer’s end.” Jin Guangyao’s smile did not reach his eyes. “We hope that this event will mark a joyous return to normalcy for all our sects.”

Amidst the celebratory shouts and congenial calls for toasts, Lan Qiren’s eyes caught upon movement near the entrance. A familiar shade of green, trimmed more heavily with gold than he was used to. Unease rose in his chest as he glanced across the hall to where the Sihong Qin were seated; as he anticipated, Qin Su was nowhere to be found, and her parents were whispering to each other.

Lan Qiren sighed and rose himself, answering Lan Xichen’s questioning look with a smile and a wave of his hand; this was nothing Lan Xichen needed to concern himself with. His nephew nodded and returned his attention to Jin Guangyao, who was now enjoining everyone to enjoy the feast.

At the door, Lan Qiren found Qin Su’s mother was three steps ahead of him.

“Qin-furen,” Lan Qiren said, voice no louder than a whisper, as soon as they had passed out of the hall’s sight.

She spun to face him with a gasp. Her hand pressed to her chest as she recognised him. “Lan-xiansheng.”

Lan Qiren cupped his hands in respect. “I noticed your daughter’s sudden departure.”

“Did you.” Yi Xiaotan’s eyes were cradled by crows-feet that had yet to mark Qin Su’s face, but there was strikingly little difference between their faces otherwise. Certainly they both knew how to sharpen their gazes to knock him off-balance. “And you thought she would find your presence comforting in her distress? Do you even know what has upset her?”

“I do not know.” Lan Qiren’s lips tightened. Qin Su carried mysteries, however, and he suspected this was related to the silences she moved around with such grace it was easy to forget they were there. “Do you?”

“No,” Yi Xiaotan said, after a pause long enough to tell him she wished she did. “Answer the other question, Lan-xiansheng.”

“After so many months graced with her company, I cannot help but desire to do my best to care for her.” Lan Qiren bowed. “I would, of course, defer to Qin-furen if you think Qin-guniang—” He paused, caught the narrowing of Yi Xiaotan’s eyes, and tried again, using the name echoing in his heart. “If you think A-Su would prefer your company to mine.”

Yi Xiaotan tapped her fan against her lips, studying him. Lan Qiren held his bow. He had never allowed himself to truly consider what it meant that Qin Su had said her parents wished for her to find a husband while also spending the majority of her time with him. He had resisted the urge to read into the intimacy of the names they exchanged and the way she touched him. He had held himself back from admitting what her feelings for him might be, let alone his for her.

But now Qin Su’s mother stood before him, a full head shorter than him but pine-straight as she judged him. Lan Qiren had nowhere to hide now; all emotions must be laid bare, or else Qin-furen could judge him wrongly.

Quietly, he said, “A-Su has been an unexpected light in my life. If I can return that gift to her, then I will be content.”

Slowly, Yi Xiaotan’s lips curved into a smile. “A-Su told me you would likely consider a marriage offer if we presented one to you.”

Lan Qiren raised his head.

“I did not believe her then.” Yi Xiaotan sighed and shook her head. Then, more imperiously, she flicked her fan towards an archway. “Go on, Lan Qiren. We shall speak of this later. I saw her heading towards the peach courtyard.”

“My thanks, Qin-furen,” Lan Qiren managed to say. He turned, body graceful even as his mind reorganized itself, and headed towards the beckoning green.

An afternoon of walking through Jinlin Tai had almost convinced Qin Su she would be able to make it through this visit without bursting into tears.

Qin Su had been able to greet Jin Guangshan at her parents’ side. Seeing the way her mother withdrew into herself, only responding with the most exacting courtesy had been awful, because she couldn’t show her own knowledge, but it had provoked simmering rage in her. That rage—along with her parents’ genuine delight at seeing her once more—had allowed her to survive until the evening meal, she suspected. There was little about Jinlin Tai which she liked anymore, after all.

She had never thought about how many little changes Jin Guangyao had made to Jinlin Tai during his time as acting sect leader. The murals, the statues, the gardens—everything had carried his touch by the end. This Jinlin Tai was blessedly free of his influence. Qin Su still thought the Lanling Jin’s home was filled with needless displays of wealth—she greatly preferred the Cloud Recesses—but they had merely left her biting back insults uncalled for by the circumstances.

Qin Su had known she would not be at her best here. That had been acceptable.

What had not been acceptable was seeing his face again, cinnabar blood-bright on his forehead, damning him despite supposedly marking the Lanlin Jin’s cultivation of wisdom. Dimpled cheeks, perfect posture, soft voice with pitch-perfect intonation; it would be so easy to once more find him charming. So many other people did, after all.

Qin Su lasted a minute before starting to feel nauseous. She had lasted a few minutes longer, staring down at her white-knuckled hands, before telling her mother she felt unwell and escaping.

With luck, she could plead illness and escape any further interactions.

This peach garden had never been a favorite of hers. It had been too public for Jin-furen’s taste. It hadn’t been one of Jin Guangyao’s preferred courtyards, either. Now, thinking about it, Qin Su had to wonder if the peach wood had been repellant to the evils of his soul. If so, then this would be the best refuge she could find. Qin Su curled against the rough trunk of a peach tree, gazing up through its branches at the young green fruit beginning to grow. They would taste better than memories, even hard and sour as they were right now.

Behind her, footsteps on the path. Too firm for her mother. Too deliberate for her father. Qin Su turned, caught between memory’s fear and the hopes of this new life.

The pale robes which greeted her were trimmed not in gold but in blue, embroidered with weaving clouds and not endless peony petals. Qin Su closed her eyes to hide the tears welling up. She should stand and greet Lan Qiren, but the effort was too much, and if he had come here to seek her, then he had noticed—even in a busy hall, even when politely focused on the speech—her distress, and would not expect more out of her than this.

Indeed, after only a second’s hesitation, the footsteps continued until they reached her side. Lan Qiren’s scent, sandalwood and citrus, washed over Qin Su along with his gentle voice. “A-Su,” he said. “May I sit?”

He didn’t need to. Qin Su had chosen her seat with more regard for staying unseen than for comfort; her robes would no doubt need to be cleaned, since she had curled onto the ground instead of a bench.

Still. Qin Su nodded silent acquiescence. She didn’t trust her voice yet.

Lan Qiren folded himself down beside her, close enough that his leg brushed hers. Close enough that she could feel his warmth. “I believe your mother is testing me,” he said, which was so incongruous with everything in Qin Su’s head that she looked up and blinked her eyes clear to ensure she was hearing correctly. Lan Qiren’s eyes spoke of his concern, but his smile was genuine. “She mentioned you believe I would consider a marriage offer from you.”

“Am I wrong?” Qin Su gestured at him, glad for the distraction from the riptide of her out-of-time thoughts. “You are here.”

He dipped his head, acknowledging her point; someone of his status would not hurry after her—would not be here in place of her own mother—without a potent tie. Qin Su watched the slow movement of his fingers along his chin, the tug of his beard as he thought, and once more wanted to smooth the divot between his eyes. She had placed it there. She could erase it, if she could only find the right words to say.

There didn’t seem to be any right words. There was only the silence and the slowly darkening sky. Servants would be placing lanterns soon, and unless they wished to give credence to whispered rumours of scandal, they should be gone before then.

It was unfortunate, then, that Qin Su did not wish to move.

At last, Lan Qiren spoke again. “There are few possibilities for your distress that neither your mother nor I would conclude was the source of your sudden flight from the hall.” His hands flipped palm-up in his lap, almost a shrug, and his eyes were lantern-warm as they met hers. “Would it help to speak of it?”

Qin Su wrapped her arms around her legs, set her chin on her knees, and stared at the courtyard’s entrance. This wasn’t her mother, asking with the weight of her own past biasing her towards a particular answer. This was Lan Qiren, speaking as neutrally as he could despite the undercurrent of concern which drove him to speak at all.

“I will not speak of this to another soul,” Lan Qiren added, and the cadence was clearly not his own. Qin Su squinted at him and caught his smile as he finished his words. “Let me take this burden from you, A-Su.”

He was quoting her own words back at her. Qin Su let loose a trembling laugh, which all too quickly turned to sobbing tears. Lan Qiren’s hand tentatively rested on her back, large and warm. When she nodded again and leaned towards him, Lan Qiren wrapped her up in his arms, soothing her with practiced skill. He did not ask her to stop, nor comment on the mess she was no doubt making of her face and his robes; he simply rubbed circles down her spine and waited, silent and patient as the trees, until she could speak again.

Qin Su did not pull away when she finally regained control of her body, though Lan Qiren’s grip was loose enough that she easily could. Instead, she stayed there, listening to his slow breathing and steady heartbeat. It had been a long time since anyone had held her like this. Jin Guangyao had never been able to; his touches had been public and fleeting, not this lasting private support.

She had lived through one marriage founded on secrets. If she truly wished to build a second life with Lan Qiren, she could not keep this from him.

Carefully, Qin Su sat up. She took Lan Qiren’s hands when he let them slip from her and set them in the overlapping folds of their robes. “Do you want the truth?” Qin Su asked, her voice no louder than the cicadas beginning to sing. “I could tell you a honey-sweet lie. It would be much easier for everyone to believe,” she added bitterly, “and it would even bear some resemblance to the truth.”

“The truth is always worth knowing,” Lan Qiren said, solemn as the stone so many mistook him for. “No matter how hard it is to swallow.”

The truth could kill. The truth had killed. But the truth did not yet exist in this life. Qin Su swallowed and squeezed Lan Qiren’s hands tight. “Then I will tell you the truth.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“How long ago does your story begin?” Lan Qiren asked, still so calm.

Qin Su laughed, choking on the sound. “That’s the problem.” She released one hand, scrubbed at her eyes, and then smiled wearily at Lan Qiren. “It begins when I was rescued from the Qishan Wen by a man named Meng Yao. It begins when I married that man three years after the war’s end. It begins when he killed me thirteen years later. It begins when I was rescued by him once more last year. Which beginning would you like, Qiren? How much of this story can you listen to and still believe?”

“A-Su,” Lan Qiren said, and his hand came up to her cheek. Gently, he brushed away another spot of wetness that must be a fresh tear. Qin Su clung to his wrist, kept his fingers pressed against her cheek; an anchor when she was adrift at sea. He smiled at her, eyes soft, and said, “This Lan will listen to as much of your story as you wish to share. This Lan promises he will believe every word.”

By the time Qin Su had finished crying once more and could begin to speak, the servants were lighting lanterns against the darkness.

Qin Su did not care about those lights, for all the shadows lingering in her heart had been vanquished by the trust shining from Lan Qiren’s eyes.

After hearing a truly extraordinary story—which included several mentions of events which Lan Qiren was certain could be unpacked into more stories he would find confusing and concerning—and a stop in the Sihong Qin’s rooms—where Qin-furen fussed over Qin Su and Lan Qiren felt extremely out of place yet unwilling to leave—they returned to the great hall.

“You don’t need to do this,” Lan Qiren had told Qin Su.

She had raised her chin and stared at him, the willpower of a sect matriarch concentrated in her young face. “I do not want to be ruled by fear, Qiren.”

It had taken no more argument for Lan Qiren to accede to her wishes. It had never taken much. Qin Su wrapped her hands around his arm, despite her mother’s presence, and Lan Qiren pretended that he did not see Qin-furen’s smug smile.

Dinner was well-past when they entered. Lan Qiren scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Lan Xichen stood with Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, of course. Equally unsurprising was the way Lan Wangji had already vanished. Of their age-mates, Jiang Wanyin had been ensnared by Jin Guangshan’s conversational net, but Lan Qiren saw Nie Huaisang slipping through the crowd towards him, Jiang Yanli at his side. Wei Wuxian, normally the center of a crowd, was conspicuously absent. Jin Zixuan stood at the center of a cluster of sect matrons, red-faced and looking decidedly uncomfortable; Ouyang-furen seemed to be leading their discussion.

None of those were his goal, however, so Lan Qiren let them be and looked instead for Qin Cangye. He was deep in discussion with Fu Huan, He Su, and Yao Fang; as they approached, Lan Qiren realised the sect leaders were talking about trade agreements that could be renegotiated now that the war was over.

As they approached, Lan Qiren was acutely aware of the tension in both of the women beside him. Qin-furen concealed it with practiced skill—Lan Qiren had never spotted it before, and even now he only could because Qin Su had told him what to look for. Qin Su, in contrast, likely looked perfectly put together from the outside, only the clutch of her fingers on his arm giving her away. They both walked steadily, and Lan Qiren did not wish to reveal secrets which were not his—especially not ones which he had only barely begun to understand.

Qin Cangye caught sight of them when they were three paces away and exclaimed, “Ah, my dear!” with a smile that left no doubt to the true affection between the couple. A beat later, as the men welcomed them, Qin Cangye followed up with, “Lan-xiansheng, it is so kind of you to care for our daughter.”

Lan Qiren bowed. “It is no difficulty.”

“She looks like a little furen on your arm, Lan-xiansheng.” Yao Feng’s snicker would have been inappropriate in almost any setting, let alone in front of Qin Su and her parents. Lan Qiren had never thought highly of the man—his tongue, among other parts, was too unrestrained—but he’d never been given cause to respond in the way he wished.

Now, however…

Lan Qiren kept himself expressionless as he turned to face Yao Fang. Let Qin Su and her family pierce Yao Fang with their eyes. Lan Qiren had a far better weapon: the truth. “I would be lucky to have such a wife,” he said, and unleashed his smile—small, precise, and no less heartfelt for any of that—upon Qin Su alone.

She looked up at him, her smile equally private and content. “Lan-xiansheng is kind to say so,” she replied, matching him beat for beat as if they’d practiced this instead of following the steps so clearly before them. “But I am not the one Lan-xiansheng must ask, should he have such an intention.”

“Of course.” Lan Qiren raised his gaze to where Qin Cangye was admirably restraining himself from gaping and Qin-furen radiated delight. “Qin-zongzhu, Qin-furen? Perhaps a more private setting?”

“We would be honored, Lan-xiansheng,” Qin Cangye said. He bowed, extending a hand towards the door they had so recently entered from. “Shall we?”

Everything else was just a formality.