Archive of Our Own ^beta

“...and we’ll continue with the Lunyu tomorrow. You may go now,” Wei Ying said, closing his book to emphasise the point. He spoke downwards, as if addressing the table, while he pulled his sleeves up his wrists. “Unless you wish to discuss today’s material further.”

He didn’t look up, listening for the familiar pattern: the scrape of Yuan Li’s chair as he bounded out of the classroom with a disrespectful shout, the measured footsteps of his brother as he walked in the opposite direction. It was routine. Comfortable. But the room stayed quiet, and when Wei Ying looked up, the two princes seemed to be having a silent conversation that left him puzzled.

Yuan Li was glaring, chin stuck out. His usual mischievousness had had an edge to it this morning, pushing the limits of propriety. First warm day of the season, the prince must’ve been frustrated with having to spend it inside the classroom. Wei Ying hadn’t dwelled on it, just rewarded each inappropriate remark with extra homework.

Yuan Che, however, had never been a problem.

He was glaring back now, looking at his younger brother with a twist between his brows. He’d been quieter the whole day, mind adrift even as Wei Ying quizzed them on a topic they had already reviewed thrice. Wei Ying hadn’t dwelled on that, either. Yuan Che had spent the last few days bedbound with the flu, and he could be trusted to catch up on his own time.

“Thank you, Wei-laoshi.”

Yuan Che looked away from his brother at last, bowing. He left the classroom before Wei Ying could blink, and Yuan Li’s face relaxed at the sight. The younger prince hovered by the door for a split second, looking in Wei Ying’s direction, and then he left without a word.

Wei Ying must’ve been frowning by then, too.

He tidied up his table, leaving the notes he’d made for Yuan Che underneath the Lunyu scripts that they’d been studying. He took the herb sachet out of his pocket and left it in the drawer. Yuan Che hadn’t been coughing, and he didn’t look too pale, but his energy might take a while to recover. He’d stay behind to talk to Wei Ying another day.

*

There was a routine to his job at the palace that Wei Ying had slowly grown used to.

Early mornings were for tea and meditation, and preparing for the classes. Then he met his two pupils and delivered the day’s teachings. Then he spoke to Yuan Che about them—primarily—and retreated for his walk. Afternoons were spent in the garden or in the glasshouse. He’d finish the day with correspondence and more private reading.

Nothing like his soldier days, fitting excitement for his old age. Or, so he’d thought. At the first disruption to the routine, he started to question it whole.

Yuan Che didn’t stay back to talk to him—not the next day, or the day after, and, two weeks later, Wei Ying finally took the sachet out of the drawer, accepting it would never get gifted the way he’d intended.

Both princes remained a little odd for the period, with Yuan Li sneaking Wei Ying glances that could be read as downright hostile, and Yuan Che keeping to himself as if distracted. Whatever the cause, it didn’t impact their usual school performance—average and above-average, respectively—so Wei Ying saw no reason to talk to them about it.

However, there was another thing plaguing him, and he tried not to see a correlation.

For two weeks, he had been returning home from the garden and facing disappointment. It was stupid, and Wei Ying tried not to let himself feel anything but relief, yet opening his books in the evening and not finding a new pressed flower between the pages had left him affected; he was doing less reading and more looking at the collection of dry roses and peonies and camellias that he kept by his work desk. It wasn’t growing.

Somehow, he’d come to believe it would not stop growing.

*

“Your highness,” Wei Ying found himself speaking, just as the boys were gathering themselves to leave. “Do you have a moment?”

He was addressing Yuan Che, who—for a moment—looked up with eyes wide and sparkling, the way he used to. Yuan Li clasped his shoulder before he could speak. “He doesn’t,” Yuan Li said. “Qi-ge is expecting us.”

Wei Ying nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow? I just want to ensure—”

“Goodbye, Wei-laoshi.”

Yuan Li dragged his brother out by the elbow, and Wei Ying could only watch as Yuan Che threw him one last parting look by the door. He looked guilty. It didn’t sit right with Wei Ying. He decided, then, that his routine was already broken and there was no harm splintering it further.

He’d never visited the eleventh prince’s manor, relying on classroom conversations and occasional run-ins in the gardens. He took the liberty, that day, to gather a few books and arrive with the excuse of delivering more study materials. Nothing suspicious about it. Nobody else knew about his nerves.

Escorted to wait in the sitting room, it was Yuan Li who came to greet him. Or scold him, perhaps, looking like he had some choice words lined up at the tip of his tongue. Before he could speak, however, Yuan Che followed after him.

Pale, was Wei Ying’s first thought. He was clutching at his side, a strand of hair falling over his face. His mouth looked stained, his steps faltered, a man with a bad case of the flu but worse. His eyes strayed to Wei Ying and away, back and forth. He wouldn’t speak.

“Now’s not a good time, Wei-laoshi,” Yuan Li said.

“Apologies for showing up unannounced,” Wei Ying started.

Yuan Li opened his mouth to rebuff him.

Yuan Che stifled a groan and bent over.

His eyebrows pulled in and mouth became a thin line, panic shooting up Wei Ying’s spine at the sight. He walked forwards, holding onto Yuan Che’s shoulder before the boy could drop. He remained standing, though, a trickle of blood running down to his chin, droplets pooling below him as the coughing started. Painful, like he was trying to rid himself of a piece of glass, lodged inside his throat and cutting it up with each heave of his body.

“We need a doctor!” Wei Ying said, the same tone he would use to command his men on the battlefield.

Yuan Li didn’t pay him any mind. He supported Yuan Che from the other side, holding onto his arm, expression unreadable. Then, with a final cough, something fell onto the floor and Wei Ying’s eyes widened as he took it in.

It was a blood-red lily blossom.