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Shen Wei is going through his belongings at the university when the smoke messenger arrives. After his death three years ago, someone had packed up his office and, through an administrative oversight—or perhaps they hadn’t known to call Zhao Yunlan—stacked the boxes in a disused study room in the Biology Department. Coincidentally, it’s the same room where he and Li Qian had long ago sought shelter from the Shadow Man’s pursuit.

The Biology Department is currently fully staffed, so Shen Wei has not yet been assigned a teaching role or a new office of his own. He is conducting a research project with some of his peers, however, and has a temporary desk in a shared workspace. Up until now, he’s retrieved from the storeroom only what he needs to get by. But this weekend his household—Zhao Yunlan, Chu Shuzhi, Da Qing and himself—are moving into their new house. Shen Wei wants to contribute to the furnishing of it, so he’s resolved to dig out some of the art and books he collected over his life in modern Haixing. He’ll fetch the rest once they’ve settled in.

He runs a finger through the thin film of dust on the fishtank and weighs the wisdom of keeping an aquarium in the same house as Da Qing. There must be a reason the fishbowl in the flat is empty. He’ll ask Zhao Yunlan about it before—

Fine white smoke streams through the closed blinds, severing his train of thought.

He straightens but resists the old instinct to reach for his dao. These are peace times, and as expected, it’s just a palace messenger.

“Hei Pao Shi daren,” intones the stout little figure in its habitual nasal whine. “The Dijun invites you to a state dinner at the palace in one month’s time, to celebrate Lantern Day. Will you attend?”

“Yes, of course,” says Shen Wei. “Give the Dijun my regards.”

He expects the messenger to disperse, but it lingers. “Further, the Dijun’s Assistant for Events respectfully inquires whether you wish the Lord of the Guardians to be seated with you as your escort?”

Shen Wei pauses as a web of complications arise. His relationship with Zhao Yunlan is fairly common knowledge in Dixing, and when they travel there together, Da Qing’s accompanying them doesn’t raise eyebrows, either—most of the palace regard the Cat as a page or assistant, a fact that Shen Wei has never considered wise to share with him. But Chu Shuzhi is an ex-convict whose sentence Shen Wei himself commuted, no matter that he’s also an officer of the SID and a hero. Adding him to the Envoy’s personal party will be sure to set tongues wagging, especially if Shen Wei requests they all be seated together. Shen Wei needs to discuss it with the others.

He tells the messenger, “I will confirm numbers as soon as possible. I may want four seats at the high table.”

The messenger bows. “The Dijun is extending a separate invitation to the Special Investigation Department, to be his honoured guests. However, Assistant for Events Luo respectfully needs to know whether to seat the Lord Guardian beside Hei Pao Shi daren. Otherwise, Minister of Industry Jiang and Ministry for Cultural Affairs Wu would both be glad of an opportunity to make the Lord Guardian’s better acquaintance.”

“I understand. I will furnish Assistant for Events Luo with an answer within two days.” Shen Wei makes a gesture to dispel the messenger. Then, barely aware of the lingering scent of incense, he stares unseeing at the space where it had been.

The invitation is a logistical and political puzzle: where would it be best to seat each of his people? What would be the repercussions for advertising their household situation in Dixing? Of course he wants Zhao Yunlan at his side, but the more he thinks about attending the dinner with him while Chu Shuzhi and Da Qing are assigned to separate, lesser positions, the more he decides he doesn’t care if claiming them all creates a minor scandal. Shen Wei is proud of their unlikely relationship. He’s spent too many years keeping parts of himself sequestered. He is openly Dixingren in Haixing now, and he won’t disavow the men he loves, in either realm. Da Qing might be happy to sit with Xiao-Guo and Lin Jing, but he belongs with Shen Wei, too, if he wants to claim his seat. And Chu Shuzhi—

Death and resurrection have rendered Shen Wei immune to gossip, not that he ever cared greatly, except insofar as it helped or hindered the enactment of his roles. No, the opinions of strangers are not a problem. If the Dijun questions the situation, Shen Wei will answer to him.

It’s only with that resolved that he realises public scrutiny is not actually his main concern. The real complication is smaller and more delicate.

It’s been just over ten weeks since his and Da Qing’s return to the land of the living, and in that time, Shen Wei has not yet had occasion to don his robes of office in front of Shuzhi—or indeed, to conduct any Envoy business at all in his presence. He’s visited the SID once or twice on official matters, but only in Haixing clothes, and he’s been sure to keep his manner light and casual in the public areas. Formal liaising is for the privacy of Zhao Yunlan’s office.

It hadn’t been a conscious strategy, just prudent and discreet.

Now, faced with the prospect of a Dixing state dinner, Shen Wei discovers he’s slipped into—not so much keeping secrets, as compartmentalising. Again. Something inside him is reluctant to remind Shuzhi of his status. Doing so would risk reintroducing the old respectful distance and disparity in station to what has since become close, equal, and precious.

*

Shen Wei arrives home that evening to find Zhao Yunlan is in the shower, Da Qing’s cat bed is empty, and Chu Shuzhi is on the edge of the regular bed. Shuzhi is head to toe in black, in a thin, long-sleeved t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. He’s cleaning his doll.

The scene instantly brings to mind being interrogated in the SID’s interview room, years ago, back before Shuzhi knew Professor Shen was also the Envoy. Shen Wei had deliberately taunted him then, using Shuzhi’s ignorance as part of his disguise. When Shuzhi later learned the truth, he’d offered no reproaches, only loyalty—nothing remotely like Zhao Yunlan’s I was cheated by you for so long that my heart hurts demand for compensation.

Shen Wei places his box of small sculptures on top of the packed plastic crates by the door, takes off his jacket and his glasses, and tries to unknot the tension in his heart. “Shuzhi, how are things? Does the SID have any new cases?”

“Just an inquiry from an estranged parent in Dixing. We’re tracking down her daughter to pass on a message.” The soft unbleached cloth in Shuzhi’s fingers moves in meditative circles over the doll’s face, but when Shuzhi looks up, his gaze is alert and searching. “You?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Shen Wei hangs his suit jacket in the nearly empty wardrobe. He’s acutely aware of Shuzhi’s attention, but it doesn’t make him self-conscious. If anything, it’s reassuring. He goes to sit next to him, closer to the foot of the bed. “Shuzhi.”

“I knew there was something,” says Shuzhi, wryly. “You asked about the SID so I wouldn’t—”

The bathroom door opens, letting out a gust of steam, and Yunlan emerges naked but for a threadbare olive-coloured towel slung low around his waist. “Ah, I thought I heard the door. Shen Wei! Look at the two of you—already in bed without me.”

Briefly distracted by the towel itself, Shen Wei raises an eyebrow. They’d agreed to throw the worn-out ones away. He’d placed them in one of the ‘discard’ cartons himself. But if Yunlan is attached to them for some reason, of course they can reconsider.

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, it’s a towel retirement party. The new ones are already packed.” Yunlan bends to welcome Shen Wei with a damp kiss that Shen Wei receives like a gift. The towel slips, and Yunlan lets it fall, oblivious to his impending nudity, or perhaps deliberately seductive. Shen Wei smiles against his mouth—there are so many gifts in his life.

Yunlan ends the kiss with a teasing nip and straightens. “What’s up?”

Casual words, but he’s eyeing Shen Wei as if he can see right through him.

Shen Wei laughs a little. Either he’s grown worse at dissembling, or his partners are highly attuned to his mood. “I’m starting to think the serum did give you a special power after all. Perception?”

“I was already razor sharp, and you know it. Is this a clothes-on kind of conversation?” Yunlan picks up the towel and slings it over the door of the wardrobe—which isn’t much better than the floor, but it’s something, and the action gives Shen Wei a very good view. Sadly, Yunlan then pulls on some boxers and a t-shirt. The latter is soft and clinging, with large holes in the armpits. It’s in even worse shape than the towel. Yunlan plucks at the frayed hem with a smirk. “Shirt retirement party. Well?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” repeats Shen Wei. “An Bai is holding a state dinner for Lantern Day.”

Zhao Yunlan nods and pulls up an ottoman to sit facing them. “The SID is invited, and of course Zhu Hong is representing the Yashou at the Dijun’s high table. Ah, don’t tell me, this is a question of seating.”

“Partly.” Shen Wei smiles ruefully, including Shuzhi in it. Drawing him into the conversation. “I’ll be at the high table, and the Minister for Events wants to know if Zhao Yunlan will join me there.”

“Don’t worry about me,” says Shuzhi, promptly. “I’m happiest out of the limelight anyway. I’ll stick with Changcheng and the others.”

Shen Wei and Yunlan exchange glances.

“What if Shen Wei wants you with him?” asks Yunlan.

Shuzhi blinks and looks sideways at Shen Wei. This clearly hadn’t occurred to him. “Do you?”

“Of course.” Shen Wei leans into him. “But it would expose you to gossip and judgement among the other attendees—and eventually, potentially, the whole nation.”

Shuzhi snorts softly. “Nothing new there. Wouldn’t it damage your standing, though?”

Because he’s an ex-convict, he means. And perhaps because of the unconventional nature of their relationship. For both, the answer is the same. “Shuzhi, I’m not ashamed. I know how lucky I am—if others can’t see that, that’s their concern.”

“Spoken like a true rebel,” says Yunlan, with the teasing smirk of someone who spent his teen years doing all the most provocative, rebellious things he could think of. “But at the risk of throwing cold water on the sentiment, you might want to square it with the Dijun first. If it transpires there are rumblings about respectability, you’ll want him on your side.”

Shen Wei suppresses a wave of reluctance. He’s never enjoyed discussing his private life with anyone not directly involved. He’d much rather have a rumour do the work for him. But given the Envoy’s official position, Yunlan is right—this concerns the Dijun too. An unblemished façade of respectability is nearly as important as righteousness itself. “I should inform him regardless. I’ll visit him tomorrow.”

Plainly unconvinced, Shuzhi says, “There’s no need to make some big announcement.”

“It’s a new era down there.” Shen Wei is glad to be able to say that honestly. “An Bai’s administration has achieved what I could not—effective reforms. The schools are well-established now, and with students talking to their older siblings and parents, attitudes are modernising quickly. You’ll see when you go there. With the Regent long since retired, there’s—”

“He might still be at the banquet,” interrupts Yunlan. “That rice weevil.”

“He might, but he’s irrelevant. Now that Dixing is prospering, few listen to him.” Shen Wei isn’t worried about the Regent, but he knows Chu Shuzhi still holds an understandable grudge. “I’ll make sure he’s seated far from us. Shuzhi—”

“Mm?” Shuzhi keeps his own counsel. He has borne much in his life: the loss of his brother, nearly a century of the Regent’s brutality, and on top of that, several years at the SID before the SID viewed other Dixingren as anything more than criminals to be deported. Somehow his goodness, his innate sense of justice has survived. He is smart, stalwart, loyal—unexpectedly gentle at times. He might be the strongest person Shen Wei knows. Although Shen Wei would prefer to shield him from gossip and spite, he knows Shuzhi is only really concerned about the repercussions for others.

Shen Wei could just decide for all of them. Shuzhi wouldn’t argue. He’d even bear the Regent’s company if Shen Wei asked him to—but that’s a problem in itself. How much does their former benefactor relationship still hang between them? They’ve been sharing a bed for ten weeks, their touches pleasurable and uncomplicated. They reminisce about their lost brothers. They both love Zhao Yunlan. Shuzhi doesn’t defer to Shen Wei excessively. He is accepting and considerate by nature, but he no longer gives any indication of being overawed by Shen Wei’s official position. Because he hasn’t had to face it, a voice whispers in Shen Wei’s head, sowing doubt.

Aside from the initial hurdle of suddenly returning from the dead, perhaps this relationship between himself and Shuzhi has been too easy. There must be hidden rapids somewhere. And since sharing Zhao Yunlan has proven unproblematic, isn’t this where they’ll lie?

Shuzhi is watching him with a hint of a frown, and Shen Wei wants only to erase it. To continue their lives in this pleasant, uncomplicated fashion. He cups Shuzhi’s jaw and strokes a thumb over his cheekbone, then kisses him softly. As always, dark energy rises in response. It makes Shen Wei’s breath catch, sets a thrum in his palms and the soles of his feet, intimate and profound. He leans into the kiss, pushing for more.

Shuzhi responds but doesn’t succumb to passion. Instead, after a minute he clasps Shen Wei’s neck and brings their foreheads together. “Shen Wei, it’s fine. I don’t need reassurance.”

“I know.” Shen Wei presses another quick kiss to Shuzhi’s lips. “But I do.”

He stands up and, without ceremony, without letting himself hesitate, allows his Envoy cloak to gather around him, his hair to lengthen, his mask to settle on his face. As always, his skin contracts under the cold of the Envoy’s traditional dress, and as his body temperature drops, his posture automatically stiffens.

“Ha!” says Yunlan, a breath of surprise. Shen Wei hasn’t worn his robes in front of him, either, since he got back—he hadn’t realised. That, at least, won’t make any difference; Zhao Yunlan has never been overawed by the Envoy.

Chu Shuzhi is silent. Shen Wei can’t look at him, is suddenly afraid that their personal relationship won’t survive this. He puts back his hood and gives them both a moment to get their bearings.

The bed creaks as Chu Shuzhi sets aside his doll and gets to his feet. “Hei Pao daren,” he says, in his low voice.

Shen Wei doesn’t know how to interpret the address, doesn’t really know what he wants—which means that as a test, this is unfair. At this point, he’s just glad Shuzhi hasn’t fallen to one knee.

Chu Shuzhi looks like he still might, though. The straightness of his spine and the respectful dip of his head both echo his former fealty. This was a mistake, Shen Wei thinks. It probably seems blasphemous to display such political power, such personal power here by their bed. To remind Shuzhi of past debts, even if that wasn’t Shen Wei’s intention. How could that not weigh on Shuzhi?

Shen Wei’s vast span of experience and the authority that comes with it feels like a burden he’s placed on both their shoulders. He takes off his mask and tries to catch Shuzhi’s eye.

Shuzhi’s expression does soften, but he still looks uncertain. “Shen Wei?”

He’s not questioning Shen Wei’s identity, but perhaps, his right to use Shen Wei’s name. Or maybe he’s unsure what signal Shen Wei is trying to send. Such a fraught, complicated tangle. Shen Wei should have let well enough alone.

“You know the mask is just a mask,” Yunlan tells Shuzhi, a picture of nonchalance. “Professor or Envoy, he’s always Shen Wei underneath.”

Chu Shuzhi doesn’t look away from Shen Wei. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ten thousand years of history and legend. Shen Wei feels it like the crushing weight of mountains. Recalls how he’d swept into the palace that day, imperiously demanding Chu Shuzhi’s release. Now he turns to Yunlan, tries to match his tone, though the robes always make him feel sombre and stately. “It’s different for you—you met me when I was young.”

“Young and formidable, your reputation already whispered throughout the land.” Yunlan clasps Shen Wei’s shoulder. “You think I wouldn’t have been intimidated if I hadn’t already known you?”

Shen Wei can’t imagine it. “You would have seen through the legend just the same.”

He meets Yunlan’s eye, treasuring everything that has occurred between them since that first meeting. Achingly grateful for all of it. But it doesn’t solve the current dilemma. He disengages and turns back to Shuzhi. The past feels very close now, as if he is the young general who has not yet met Kunlun: desperately isolated, cloaking himself in duty and night while everyone keeps their distance. Surely he’s changed since then. Surely Shuzhi knows him better than his troops.

And there, Shuzhi raises his gaze, regards him, and appears to shake something off. The corner of his mouth pulls in, and he steps forward. “Shen Wei, I see you, too. It’s only been ten weeks. Did you think I’d forgotten this side of you? My memory isn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t sure.” Shen Wei’s tension starts to unclench.

“You just took me off-guard,” Shuzhi assures him. “I thought you didn’t want—” His eyes drop to the mask in Shen Wei’s hand, and his cheeks darken. “You must know that when you saved me, and all the years since, I never once thought of Hei Pao Shi—of us having this kind of relationship.”

“I know.” Shen Wei understands completely. He too had only ever viewed their arrangement in a practical light. He had tried once or twice to nurture a friendship between them, but his station had always been in the way.

“Even when you and Zhao Yunlan were openly obsessed with each other, I didn’t dwell on the private implications. It wasn’t my place. But now—” Shuzhi stumbles, his gaze still fixed on the mask. His flush deepens even further. He’s covering with gruffness, but a fine tremor runs through him. Shen Wei is about to say something soothing, to bridge the gap yawning between them. Shuzhi speaks first, says roughly, “But now, if you want me while you’re—if daren wants me—” He swallows. “I’m yours to use as you please.”

Shen Wei feels his own face heat. This was a mistake. Hastily, he says, “That’s not what I meant.”

But he breaks off. Chu Shuzhi looks—embarrassed but energised. Purposeful? Hopeful and alert? And Shen Wei’s body responds to that. He doesn’t want to own Shuzhi, to exert rights over him—but the words yours to use as you please are still hanging in the air, and somehow, desire gathers unbidden in Shen Wei’s body like an excess of dark energy.

He can’t let selfish impulses lead him. As deliberately as if walking a narrow path over a steep drop, he asks, “Is that what you want, Chu Shuzhi?”

Chu Shuzhi glances up, and it doesn’t take a mind-reading power to know his answer. Nor to see that he’s conflicted. “Not all the time,” he says, quietly. “Not instead of the rest.”

“Like roleplay, then,” says Yunlan, clearly trying to be helpful.

Shen Wei sends him an exasperated glance. The Envoy’s robes aren’t a costume, and Shen Wei isn’t pretending to be something he’s not. There’s no roleplay here at all, and Shen Wei still isn’t sure this won’t unravel the precious intimacy the three of them have spun and woven over the last few months. In some ways, this is exactly what he feared when he showed his Envoy face to Shuzhi tonight. It doesn’t feel like a disaster, but feelings can be misleading.

Shuzhi must sense something of this ambivalence, because his manner visibly changes, the poised expectancy deliberately relaxing. “Sorry. Shen Wei, I didn’t mean to make you feel that I only—”

“It’s all right,” says Shen Wei, quickly, and it is. No one has ever found Hei Pao Shi’s authority so appealing. “Except for briefly, a very long time ago, I’ve never associated myself like this with sex—”

“To my everlasting regret,” puts in Zhao Yunlan, exaggeratedly mournful.

He’s shameless! Shen Wei pointedly ignores him and continues, to Shuzhi, “No one else ever saw Hei Pao Shi as someone to—to desire.”

“Fools,” says Shuzhi, positively.

Shen Wei would laugh out of pure incredulity, except that it would break the moment.

Speaking of which, Yunlan chooses that moment to raise his hand like a questioning student. “What about me? Do I play any part in this scenario?”

“You can watch if you don’t heckle.” Shen Wei glances a warning which, of course, makes him grin. Then, belatedly remembering he’s not the only one who might feel self-conscious, Shen Wei checks with Shuzhi. “If that’s all right?”

Shuzhi gives a jerky nod. His physical tension has returned, a sense of waiting that is utterly still and ravenous at the same time. It thrums in the air, his focus on Shen Wei so absolute it crackles like static.

Yunlan must feel some part of it, too, because his voice turns serious when he asks Shuzhi, “Can I touch myself while I watch?”

Still staring at Shen Wei, Chu Shuzhi nods again.

Shen Wei is suddenly relieved by Yunlan’s presence. This experiment veers into a grey area, for all that Chu Shuzhi is giving himself freely. They are reenacting Chu Shuzhi’s relationship with the Envoy as it was, taking that differential and sexualising it. But having Yunlan here does turn it into a kind of roleplay after all, and that feels right.

Chu Shuzhi’s intensity is unwavering. He doesn’t move a muscle. “I’m at your service, daren.”

Speaking gently, but with the authority of the Envoy, Shen Wei says clearly, “Chu Shuzhi, I do not want anything of you that is not freely given. If I ask too much, you must tell me.”

“Impossible,” says Chu Shuzhi. There’s movement at the front of his trousers, proof of his arousal.

Shen Wei’s mouth goes dry.

One thing he is still getting used to about the three of them is the speed with which events can turn sexual, in the privacy of their home. Shen Wei has always been someone who needs a moment—to quiet the part of his mind constantly working on scientific or political problems or, lately, the logistics of moving house. When the others invite him into their embrace, he has to consciously alter his focus, let his desire and feelings rise to the fore. It’s not a problem; Yunlan and Shuzhi keep each other entertained, and once Shen Wei catches up, he’s just as eager and involved as they are, derives just as much enjoyment—but it’s a difference he’s vaguely aware of. Sometimes he marvels how patient Yunlan, of all people, was with him before everything that happened—never making Shen Wei feel that he was too slow to respond.

Anyway, today, somehow, that hesitation isn’t there. Perhaps wearing the Envoy’s robes draws him into the present, out of habit, or perhaps it’s the way Chu Shuzhi is looking at him. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that Yunlan is preparing to enjoy the show, or the fact Shen Wei is in complete control. There’s no hitch at all in his metaphorical step. Everything flows smoothly, instinctively, Shen Wei’s arousal an irresistible tsunami propelling him on.

A part of him still objects to this as vaguely problematic, but he knows Chu Shuzhi well by now. He’s confident he’ll be able to recognise any reluctance if it comes to that. “Very well.” Shen Wei replaces his mask and, as he lowers his hand, notes Chu Shuzhi’s shiver. “I want you to take off your clothes.”

Chu Shuzhi doesn’t hesitate. Quickly, methodically, he removes his garments and folds them roughly, not once turning his back on Shen Wei. His body is strong, muscled, intimately known. The old whiplash scars curl over the cusp of his shoulder. Shen Wei has seen them often enough now that they no longer rouse him to fury; they are part of Shuzhi’s story, proof of his strength. There’s also a fading bruise on his chest in the shape of Yunlan’s mouth, which makes Shen Wei’s heart swell with fondness, distracting him momentarily from his role of Envoy.

Yunlan, still in boxers and disreputable t-shirt, carefully moves Shuzhi’s doll to the window ledge and lays it safely in the corner next to Da Qing’s bed. He stays there, leaning, watching, hands resting on the sill on either side of him. He gives Shen Wei an encouraging wink.

Shen Wei resists rolling his eyes fondly and returns his attention to his position, the robes and mask, and to Chu Shuzhi, who is waiting for instruction. Chu Shuzhi is fully erect, prick jutting out, its head gleaming with moisture. His stomach is taut. His cheeks are flush-dark. His arms hang at this sides, fingers curling loosely. He is a model of patience and deference.

Shen Wei wants him terribly. What should he do—just bend him over and take him? Is that what Shuzhi desires? They’ve engaged in that configuration a handful of times—though usually Yunlan is the demanding locus of their attention. Shen Wei knows Shuzhi would willingly allow it.

But it seems too abrupt and crass a move—especially as the Envoy. There’s too much scope for farce if the robes became tangled. Shen Wei is hard, but he doesn’t enjoy the thought of his prick sticking out of his formal robes like an incongruous exotic stamen. So instead, he raises a hand and uses a kinetic power to retrieve the tube of lubricant from the nightstand and bring it to hover in front of Chu Shuzhi.

Chu Shuzhi takes it.

“I want you to use this and stroke yourself for me. Do not come yet.”

Chu Shuzhi doesn’t question him or ask what will happen next. His ragged inhale is loud in the room as he lubes his prick and drops the tube on the foot of the bed. With his gaze lowered to Shen Wei’s chest, he begins to stroke.

“Use both hands,” says Shen Wei.

Chu Shuzhi’s ready obedience sparks a frisson, adding to the absorbing sight. His lips are pressed together. His eyes burn fiercely. Shen Wei feels a connection unlike any other. The watercolour wash of dark energy at a distance, but also—it’s the difference between asking and demanding. He could have suggested this at any time in the last ten weeks, and Shuzhi would have humoured him, but using his authority to bring Shuzhi pleasure is an entirely different proposition. Shen Wei feels it brush tantalisingly against his ingrained instinct to take responsibility, to carry out his duties. At the same time, it twins with protectiveness and gratitude.

He feels possessive in an entirely new way.

The old fridge conspicuously rattles and falls quiet. In the silent flat, Shen Wei says, “I want to hear you.”

It’s not phrased as an order, but the intent is there, and Chu Shuzhi’s mouth opens, first on a gasp, then a choked, tight moan. It’s glorious.

Drawn in, Shen Wei steps closer, then closer still. Chu Shuzhi is his to command, but he doesn’t want to be greedy purely on his own behalf. “Do you want something more?”

Chu Shuzhi grits his teeth. Shen Wei can almost hear what he’s thinking.

“You are already giving me everything I’ve asked for—you’re very beautiful, Chu Shuzhi, and I will remember this whenever I wear my robes.” It’s nothing but the truth, but the impact hits Shen Wei at the same time Chu Shuzhi lets out a whine. “Don’t come yet,” Shen Wei reminds him. “Do you want more?”

Naked, trembling bodily, still stroking and squeezing himself, Chu Shuzhi nods. He’s incredibly shameless, free to be shameless because he’s handed the responsibility for all of this to Shen Wei. Shen Wei could do anything to him now, anything at all.

What he wants is—yes. Raising one hand, he pulls together some of their mingling dark energy and fashions it into a thick, supple shaft. An additional old power works to make it warm and slippery instead of ice cold. It pulses in the air, unmistakeably phallic.

Yunlan makes a noise, but for once, for maybe the first time in his life, Shen Wei ignores him.

Another gesture from Shen Wei, and the energy shaft trifurcates at one end so that two slimmer tendrils extend on either side of the central stem. “How about this?”

Chu Shuzhi’s hand tightens tellingly and ceases its motion. His gaze flicks to the front of Shen Wei’s robes, and he looks as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t. He swallows and widens his stance. “Yes, daren.”

“If you want something different, or you wish to stop, you need only say,” Shen Wei reminds him, letting his authority rise to the surface. “I do not want your regrets. Do you understand?”

In some ways, this doesn’t feel as different from their usual couplings as he might have expected. A lightning flash of understanding reveals that he’s always, subconsciously, been aware of the power imbalance between them. Shuzhi has always been ready to accommodate Shen Wei’s wishes, and that always makes Shen Wei careful not to ask too much. Here, now, Shen Wei is still holding back, refusing to take his pleasure directly. But there’s no self-denial in it. This display is everything.

Chu Shuzhi nods again, submitting to a plan he must guess at but has not heard in detail. His surrender to Shen Wei’s will appears to be a good portion of his desire and satisfaction. He starts to stroke himself again, each beat purposeful, deliberate.

It’s too much to expect Chu Shuzhi to maintain his balance as they proceed, but Shen Wei doesn’t want to have him lie in the bed they share. That would break the spell. He closes the last distance and clasps Chu Shuzhi’s shoulders, bracing him. “I will hold you up. Lean on me.”

Chu Shuzhi does.

Laying hands adorned with the Envoy’s wrist guards onto Chu Shuzhi’s bare skin makes the connection even more immediate, more personal. Their roused dark energy surges together. Shuzhi’s body is burning hot. Shen Wei’s prick aches in his underwear, and he’s so flushed that sweat tickles the small of his back. He wants to touch every part of Chu Shuzhi, to lick the trails of moisture from his chest. His love is an ocean threatening to pull him off balance and swallow him whole. But he’s decided on a plan, and he’ll see it through.

He sends the dark-energy shaft behind Chu Shuzhi and, holding the central phallus back, directs the side tendrils to wrap around Chu Shuzhi’s hips and coil there, where Shen Wei knows from experience Shuzhi is sensitive. The tendrils branch and spread sinuously up his sides, down over his hips, around his thighs, like fuzzy black tattoos. They hold him in place.

A palpable tremor runs through Chu Shuzhi. He leans more heavily into Shen Wei’s hold, with a moan that sounds helpless, abandoned. His throat moves as he swallows.

He’s still trying to stroke himself as he was ordered, but his control is fracturing.

“Stop touching yourself,” Shen Wei tells him. “Lean your hands on me.”

Even now, Chu Shuzhi hesitates to touch him, torn between obedience and reverence. After a moment, he wipes his hands on his stomach and takes Shen Wei’s shoulders, squeezing through the robes, respectfully controlled.

“Chu Shuzhi, there’s no need to be careful of me. You won’t hurt me.” Shen Wei keeps his voice low and gentle. “Are you ready?”

There’s been no preparation. What happens next hinges completely on Chu Shuzhi’s ability to trust, to accept. His eyes remain lowered. A muscle jumps at the base of his throat. “I’m ready.”

“Look at me,” Shen Wei orders.

At last, he looks up, locks gazes with Shen Wei through the mask. “I’m ready,” he repeats, hoarsely.

“Good.” Shen Wei strategically narrows the phallus until it’s the width of a thumb, though much longer, and tapered. He increases the slickness, uses more tendrils to part Chu Shuzhi’s buttocks, then presses it against his entrance.

Chu Shuzhi’s eyes flutter closed.

Shen Wei knows he should check again, make sure Chu Shuzhi really wants this, but before he can summon the words, Chu Shuzhi blinks. His eyes are hazy and lovely as he looks at Shen Wei. “Your servant, daren.”

And oh, his breath is so shallow the words come out a whisper. He sounds steadfast, grateful, devoted. Shen Wei’s heart contracts with emotion, with desire. He’s very aware of Shuzhi’s desperation to push back, to take more, the effort it’s costing him not to strain against his dark-energy bonds. He’s waiting for permission.

Shen Wei is so aroused by this self-control that he’s close to coming in his robes. His body clamours to divest itself of clothing, to strip and take Shuzhi in his arms. But at the same time, the enforced restraint is exquisite, too. Chu Shuzhi obviously appreciates what they’re doing; his commitment to his role forces Shen Wei to stay the course.

Shen Wei swallows. “You are serving me very well. I have always valued your dedication, Chu Shuzhi. Do not come yet.”

In a slow, smooth, inexorable slide, he compels the dark-energy phallus in as far as it will go.

Chu Shuzhi shouts. For a second, the dynamic between them wavers, and they are almost Shen Wei and Shuzhi again. It’s so easy to imagine Shuzhi ironically scoffing at ‘Don’t come yet.’ But the veil falls back in place, the cloak and mask and distance in status reassert themselves. Shen Wei is Hei Pao Shi, and Chu Shuzhi is trembling, his breath catching over and over. His fingers bite deliciously into Shen Wei’s shoulders.

His quaking provides inspiration. Shen Wei sends an answering ripple through the phallus. Chu Shuzhi gasps, so Shen Wei does it again, creates a standing wave, a continuous vibration inside Shuzhi.

Chu Shuzhi throws his head back, arches into it and pants at the ceiling. His eyes are closed. His skin gleams with sweat, and the musk of it rises between them. The tendrils on his hips and around his thighs hold him steady. His hands on Shen Wei’s shoulders are like iron.

“Daren.” He sounds utterly desperate.

Shen Wei keeps the ripple going and thrusts the phallus in and out a few times, making it gradually thicken and grow. He knows from experience that the stretch is part of what Shuzhi enjoys once he’s warmed up, and sure enough, Chu Shuzhi’s flush spreads down his neck and shoulders. He bites his lips, fraying but patently determined to do as he is bid. There’s no way he can last much longer. Love wells up in Shen Wei’s heart, and he wants to prolong the moment, to tell Chu Shuzhi not to come yet, one more time. But he won’t ask too much, especially not when they haven’t done this before, when Chu Shuzhi might feel unhappy about falling short.

Two more measured thrusts, and on the third, Shen Wei says, “Let go now.”

Chu Shuzhi’s head comes up. He meets Shen Wei’s eye. He’s shaking, but his gaze flickers again to the robes in front of him. He’s still holding back.

It’s his first act of disobedience, and Shen Wei immediately understands. Chu Shuzhi doesn’t want to defile the Envoy’s robes—maybe he can’t bring himself to. And Shen Wei could reassure him that they are easily enough cleaned and restored, whatever happens to them. But these are the robes of a high office of Dixing. There’s a reason he doesn’t wear them when making love with Yunlan. They are not playthings.

Without releasing Chu Shuzhi’s shoulders, Shen Wei commands dark energy to clothe him in the suit he was wearing before, his Haixing clothes. He leaves his hair long, and he lets the mask remain in place. It’s a strange combination, blurring the line between his roles, between this—this carefully balanced game and their ordinary life. But it’s the right thing to do—he feels it himself. “Now.”

“Daren—” Chu Shuzhi gasps and comes beautifully, untouched, striping the crotch of Shen Wei’s pants.

At once, Shen Wei softens the ripples in the dark-energy phallus and slows its thrusts, but he keeps it moving, delving lovingly into Shuzhi’s core. And seeing Shuzhi overcome but still flushed and responding, something in Shen Wei snaps. He can no longer ignore his own hunger. “Shuzhi, may I have you?”

His voice comes out low, throaty, somewhere between the Envoy’s measured authority and his own tone when he’s aroused.

Chu Shuzhi swallows. “Yeah, yes. Please—daren.”

Shen Wei backs up, leading Chu Shuzhi to the sideboard by the bed. He’s not sure what part he’s playing anymore. The game is slipping from his grasp. He tries to gather himself, to retain his position, his command. It helps that Chu Shuzhi continues to comply without question, transferring his grip to the sideboard, bending over it as Shen Wei silently directs him. Chu Shuzhi’s legs are shaking, and it’s unlikely he’ll be able to stay upright on his own much longer.

Shen Wei is more than ready to assist. He stands behind Shuzhi, unfastens his own trousers one-handed and lets them fall. Bypassing his silk boxers, he positions himself. Between one stroke of the dark-energy phallus and the next, he dispels it and its side tendrils and takes the creation’s place. Chu Shuzhi’s entrance is hot and slick from the phallus, and there’s little resistance. Shen Wei slides in easily, with a keen sense of fitting together. Almost automatically, his hands go to Shuzhi’s hipbones, fingertips digging into the soft hollows there, holding Shuzhi up as Shen Wei quickly finds his rhythm. The back spread out before him is landmarked with the long groove of Shuzhi’s spine, the silvered crisscross of old scars, and the graceful wings of shoulder blades.

If it weren’t for Shen Wei’s long hair and the mask, this wouldn’t be far outside their usual repertoire. They’ve had sex like this before, albeit mostly on the bed and always completely naked. The silk boxers do create a sensory difference, but it’s the hair and mask that are evocative, calling out echoes of Shen Wei’s young, lonely self before Kunlun arrived in his life. Echoes of the Shen Wei who arrived in modern Haixing knowing no one, and echoes of the Envoy who rescued Chu Shuzhi from the Regent’s lash. Driving hard into Chu Shuzhi, with his tie trailing and the hem of his shirt brushing Chu Shuzhi’s skin, Shen Wei bends forward. His hair slides around them like a cloak. That his trousers are at his ankles is neither here nor there.

“You have always been everything I’ve asked of you and more,” he murmurs in Chu Shuzhi’s ear—and presses a hand low on Chu Shuzhi’s spine, slipping his thumb into the sensitive crease the way Zhao Yunlan does when he’s fucking. “I’ve always trusted you.”

Chu Shuzhi shoves back to meet him, almost violently demanding despite having spent already. His restraint has completely broken. Only slightly muffled by the boxers, their bodies slap together, their energies flaring like invisible fireworks. With every thrust, the muscles of Shuzhi’s lower back bunch and release under Shen Wei’s palm. The power imbalance starts to tilt, but before it can fully return them to an equal footing, Shen Wei adds, “You have always been mine.”

It’s true. Not like this, but it’s true, and hearing it, Chu Shuzhi goes wild, bucking under him frantically. The last silken strand of Shen Wei’s control breaks, too. Darkness mists his vision, and he spills long and hard, deep inside Chu Shuzhi, riding his motion, racked with intense pleasure.

Chu Shuzhi must feel Shen Wei’s release. Gradually, he slows and calms.

Softening, Shen Wei pushes in a few times more to wring the last thrills of satisfaction from their coupling. Then, still seated inside Shuzhi, he dematerialises the mask and pulls him upright, away from the sideboard, into his arms.

Shuzhi seems a little clumsy and off-balance, so Shen Wei supports him, though he feels none too steady himself. He presses his open mouth to the side of Shuzhi’s neck and traces a pulse point with his tongue. His prick slips free. After a while, Chu Shuzhi’s chest stops heaving.

Shen Wei murmurs into his skin, “All right?”

“Mm. I have to lie down.” Shuzhi sounds hoarse, used, thoroughly smug. No longer the faithful servant.

Shen Wei toes off his work shoes and steps out of his trousers. He tips Shuzhi into his arms and picks him up, partly out of real care and solicitude, partly showing off his strength as a joke.

Appreciative humour lights Shuzhi’s gaze. When Shen Wei lays him on the bed, Shuzhi grabs his wrist and tugs. “Get down here.”

Laughing, Shen Wei answers his demand and stretches out along his side, wearing only his shirt and tie, stained boxers and socks. His long hair gets trapped under his shoulder, and he raises up on one elbow to shake it back, taking advantage of that to lean down and kiss Shuzhi, a casual, joyous kiss.

“I’ve always been yours,” Shuzhi tells him, frankly, no discomfort in it at all.

Of course he knew all along. Of course he’s never forgotten, not for a second, who Shen Wei is. The Envoy loomed large in his life in so many ways—personally, politically, culturally, part of Dixing’s history—it was unutterably foolish to imagine they could just put that behind them. So maybe it’s good to harness it like this, instead of leaving it unspoken. Bringing it to the surface, making it a game—yes, making it roleplay—maybe that’s freeing. Shuzhi certainly seems relaxed and satisfied with how things have gone.

“Now you’ve got that out of your system—” Yunlan flops down on Shuzhi’s other side, stark naked, and snuggles close, smirking across at Shen Wei. He’s hard, so he must not have pleasured himself after all. His lips are bitten red and a little swollen, but he seems in no hurry to pursue his own release. “That was something else,” he says, and then, nuzzling Shuzhi’s jaw, “I had no idea you liked being bossed arou—”

“Don’t get any ideas,” interrupts Shuzhi, firmly, but he turns his head to meet Yunlan’s mouth in a long, luxurious kiss.

Yunlan rubs lazily against his hip as they make out. When he pulls away, he continues as if there’d been no interruption, “I don’t see why Shen Wei and I can’t take turns. After all, I’m your boss, too. I’m the Lord of the Guardians.”

“No,” says Shen Wei, just as definitive as Shuzhi. His hand comes to rest on Shuzhi’s chest almost of its own accord.

Shuzhi looks up, and Shen Wei flushes a little. Is it all right to stake this claim? They are all three of them equal partners in their relationship, and it’s not for him to say what might happen between the other two. But Shuzhi just smiles, his eyes dark and pleased, and tells Yunlan, “That part of me is spoken for. All the other parts are fair game, though.”

“Not completely out of your system, I see.” Yunlan’s teasing carries a slight reproachful note. He changes tack and twists a lock of Shen Wei’s hair between his fingertips. “What about you, Hei-laoge? I never knew you got off on obedience. I could have scratched that itch for you years ago. Ten thousand years ago, come to think of it.”

“That’s not what I want from you,” Shen Wei assures him. Zhao Yunlan’s obedience would be a teasing performance, a push-and-pull. An entirely different thing. Chu Shuzhi’s was so earnest, so reverent, so yielding—A hint of trepidation rears its head, awareness of his own power, his selfishness, worry that he’s been irresponsible by taking advantage of Chu Shuzhi’s loyalty.

Understanding softens Shuzhi’s expression. He runs his hand easily down Shen Wei’s back, soothing every misgiving, setting the Envoy relationship aside. Their energies are quiet now, staticky like laundry, and Shen Wei finds himself able to let the Envoy go, too. Able to smile and press his forehead to Shuzhi’s, man to man. Dixingren to Dixingren.

Yunlan laughs under his breath. “Fine, fine. This is your thing. I’ll claim my own kink from each of you. Hm, I need to think about this some more. Oh, tell me this—why have neither of you used dark energy in bed before? That dildo thing looked extremely promising.”

“It vibrated.” Shuzhi sounds like he’s boasting.

Shen Wei blushes at the reminder and answers Yunlan’s question. “Because it takes concentration to control dark energy, and under normal circumstances—”

“Hmm?” Yunlan flirts teasingly through his eyelashes, a step ahead, as usual.

“—my focus is elsewhere.” Shen Wei lets his gaze slide appreciatively down Yunlan’s body. “Speaking of which, can I—or we—help you with anything?”

“Will you keep your hair long for me, Shen Wei?” Yunlan climbs over Shuzhi and pushes Shen Wei onto his back. “I think that might be my kink.”

“Whenever you like.” Shen Wei pulls him down, kisses him, and feels Yunlan’s long fingers sink into his hair, tugging lightly, making Shen Wei arch up a little.

With his free hand, Yunlan unbuttons Shen Wei’s shirt and pushes it and the tie aside. His knees are snug at Shen Wei’s hips, his gaze knowing and a different kind of possessive. They belong to each other completely—there’s no room for jealousy. He rubs his prick over Shen Wei’s damp silk boxers, over his stomach, again and again. The whole time, his fingers are combing and clenching in Shen Wei’s hair.

Shuzhi moves away down the bed and returns with the lubricant. He himself applies a generous drizzle to Shen Wei’s stomach, and the easier slide makes Yunlan’s breath and movements both speed up. Then Shen Wei covers Yunlan’s prick and presses down, creating a slick tunnel for Yunlan to push into. Shen Wei watches him greedily—the long lines of his neck and body, the increasing effort, and the building intensity in his eyes. That eternally alluring mouth.

Shen Wei reaches up, helpless to resist rubbing his thumb along Yunlan’s full lower lip. “I’m glad you were here.”

Yunlan’s reply turns into an urgent hiss, but his eyes crinkle, and the warm understanding in his gaze reaches inside Shen Wei. It’s the same deep connection as always, a well of mutual love, trust and generosity that has blessed his whole life.

Yunlan’s lips part invitingly, and Shen Wei is glad to oblige. He pushes three fingers through a circle of lips that immediately closes tightly around him, sucking and hot. It sends a sympathetic bolt of heat to Shen Wei’s prick, along with an almost painful pang of fondness and knowing. Yunlan always wants something in his mouth when he’s close.

Sure enough, his rhythm soon falters. Shen Wei considers withdrawing his fingers so he can instead take Yunlan’s by the hips and help him finish—even if it does mean vacating his mouth—but Shuzhi knows them well by now. He licks Yunlan just above the knee, bites him there, and squeezes his rear—quite likely fingering his entrance at the same time.

Yunlan cries out and comes all over Shen Wei. He’s panting, still thrusting fervently. His hands fall on either side of Shen Wei’s head to brace himself—somehow miraculously he manages not to pull Shen Wei’s hair in the process. He hangs there, catching his breath, lean, glorious and messy with his hair flopping into his eyes. If Shen Wei hadn’t exhausted his own resources for now, he would reverse their positions and slide into him, arranging Yunlan’s pliant, cooperative body for their shared pleasure as he’s done so many times before. Letting his own long hair curtain them. Instead he pulls Yunlan down into his arms and strokes his back. Yunlan melts over him like a cooked dumpling wrapper.

Shuzhi lies against their side and kisses Shen Wei’s shoulder lazily. There’s a possessive cast to that, too. Both of his partners have claimed Shen Wei tonight—his underlying self, with all its facets. It feels wonderful.

Yunlan stays sprawled bonelessly on top of him. The expansion-contraction of his ribcage slows and deepens in time with the soft puffs of air against Shen Wei’s neck. He might actually be dozing. His weight is soothing and satisfying, even as his come dries between them, but Shen Wei can’t stop his own busy logistics-brain from stirring—work, the house move, the question of seating at the Lantern Day dinner all raising their hands for his attention—and with that last, a flutter of apprehension returns.

As if he hears Shen Wei’s concerns, Shuzhi moves up to kiss his mouth, gentle and a little sloppy. “So, what’s for dinner?”

“Hmm?” Shen Wei blinks, bringing Shuzhi’s warm dark eyes into focus, the short beard—it’s possible Shen Wei has a type—the close-cropped hair.

“I was going to use up the beef in the fridge, but—” Shuzhi’s head drops dramatically to the pillow. “Now you’ve rendered us both incapable of standing upright, that’s on you.”

Shen Wei breathes a laugh. They’ve been more or less sharing the cooking between them, but it probably is his turn. More importantly, Shuzhi’s manner is casual and reciprocal. Shen Wei’s concern dissolves completely.

“I can cook,” mumbles Yunlan into his neck, barely moving a muscle.

“We had takeaways last night,” objects Shuzhi, tracing Yunlan’s ear with a finger.

“You don’t appreciate my culinary efforts,” complains Yunlan. He sounds muzzy with sleep. “You know, I’m going to miss this old bed, but we gave it a spectacular send-off.”

“A real retirement party.” Shuzhi smirks.

That makes Shen Wei review what has just happened. It’s a strange sort of party when one of them was strictly sidelined for the half the events. Yunlan’s reproach probably hadn’t been genuine, but just to be sure, Shen Wei encircles his waist, kisses his neck. “You’re mine, too.”

“Always and forever.” No tension in his words, just warm, sleepy certainty. “Thanks for letting me watch. Admire my mighty willpower at not jerking off during the show.”

Shen Wei laughs again and bodily tips him sideways into Shuzhi’s waiting arms, then stands up, shortens his hair and begins to dress. They’ve almost finished packing up the flat, so there’ll be plenty more time for lying around together after they’ve eaten.

The handover wakens Yunlan enough that he blinks up from the circle of Shuzhi’s embrace. “So, hey, did we solve the seating plan?”

“I’ll sit with the SID,” says Shuzhi, promptly. “That way I can admire Hei Pao daren from afar.”

Shen Wei takes some of his meaning—he’s not ready to openly come out in Dixing. That’s understandable. Shuzhi hasn’t experienced the recent changes for himself.

“So I’m the one who has to choose which of you to escort?” grumbles Yunlan. Then he snickers. “If anyone down there gets wind of you and me, they’ll think I’m carrying on behind Hei-laoge’s back, and the knives will come out.”

Shen Wei pauses. Yunlan is joking, but he has a point. Dixing already knows about his connection with the Lord Guardian, if not in the specifics. “Would you prefer to sit with Shuzhi? I can arrange it. We’ve already agreed I should disclose our relationship to the Dijun.”

“Technically I’ll be there in my official capacity,” Yunlan points out. “I’ll be expected at the high table—the only question is whether I’m at your side or spending the evening schmoozing the new deacon and the ministers.”

“I’ll ask Assistant for Events Luo if the SID can be seated at the high table as a group,” Shen Wei decides, struck by the solution. It’s a long table, traditionally seating sixty or more, and surely on Lantern Day, given the SID’s collective role in stopping Ye Zun, it would be more than appropriate. Assistant Luo can extend the table, if necessary.

“Okay, but if we can’t, plan B is I sit with the rest of the SID,” reiterates Shuzhi. “Don’t give the organisers a hard time about it. It’s no big deal.”

“All right.” Shen Wei bends to kiss them both, then goes to the fridge to retrieve the beef and other ingredients and takes them to the kitchen. Ultimately, the seating dilemma was only symbolic. Now that he’s sure he and Shuzhi will be all right whatever happens at the dinner, the question is somewhat moot.

Still, he has the—illicit, exciting—feeling that if he wears his Envoy robes to the event, he and Chu Shuzhi may have to discreetly excuse themselves at some point during the evening. Automatically, inevitably, the logistics part of his brain starts making plans.

END