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Kuanglu was never truly meant to be nocturnal. Like most living beings, she grew up geared towards the sun – sunflowers, all of them, eager to catch every ray of light. That doesn’t mean it was ever a hardship for her to become the servant of the God of the Night; a small price for the pleasure of his company, his slowly developing trust, and she paid it without hesitation or regret.
Even now that she’s been by the side of the Heavenly Emperor for much, much longer than she ever knew him as the Night Immortal, Kuanglu sometimes craves the quiet solitude of the early days. She fondly remembers fulfilling her duties alongside him while most of the court – no, most of the world – was fast asleep. Keeping him company. Easing his loneliness as much as he’d allow.
She fell in love with him a little more each passing night, back then, an infatuation that grew into something more solid. Something built to last. She stopped waiting for him a long time ago. Over centuries, millennia, it ceased to matter to her whether her feelings would ever be returned.
***
He sits outside for tea, alone, like he does so often. Reminiscing. He was once part of a family; not one that treasured him ortreated him fairly, but Kuanglu supposes there must be something about them that he misses. Familial bonds are strong; they leave a trace, even when severed, and even the oldest scars ache now and then.
With time, however, she learned to read whether those moods are something he drowns in willingly, or something that pulls him under against his will. Today it seems to be the latter: the tension in his shoulders and his rigid posture are familiar tells. She watches him a moment longer before she waves for one of her underlings to bring the court reports for the day. She looks through them until she finds one that warrants disturbing him. Still not urgent, precisely, but important enough to allow them the pretense.
He looks up, says her name, smiles politely. She sits down opposite him and hands him the scroll. His fingertips brush hers, briefly, and she rears back like she's been burnt – immediately worried she's broken their protocol. It's not like they never touch, but not in circumstances such as these; touch is reserved for worries and support, for situations in which there is no way around physical contact. But this... this is an indulgence, and once she starts entertaining those, she might forget how she ever lived without them, forget how to stop again.
When she looks back up, his smile has faltered. He holds the scroll, gingerly, thumb of his other hand rubbing over the pads of his fingers, where they connected.
Kuanglu rises to her feet and bows, hurries back into the palace. She tries to convince herself that she doesn't feel his gaze boring into her back as she departs, determining that the tingling sensation that travels up her spine to be wishful thinking.
***
She deems it a fluke. Chides herself for misunderstanding, for the hubris of assigning meaning to such a tiny, accidental gesture. She's long past hope – more than that, she's long past the point where hope had any impact on the feelings that reside in her heart.
They're going over letters from his governors in the Six Realms, reporting their woes and their victories – both of them small and commonplace, for his reign has become the longest period of peace and prosperity the Six Realms had ever experienced after its tumultuous start. He still reads them all, and then hands them over to her to be meticulously filed. He likes having a routine. Order soothes him. These are among the things that Kuanglu learned with time.
They have tea and flower cakes, they discuss stately matters, and once they've gone over the entire correspondence together, Kuanglu gathers the letters and intends to take her leave for the day.
“If there is nothing else,” she says, readying to rise, the letters folded into her arms. “I'll be on my way.”
“Will you stay with me a little longer?” he asks. He leans over, placing his palm atop her hand, and Kuanglu freezes. Doesn't dare move. Looks up at him and blinks.
He holds her gaze and takes a deep breath, his face unmoving but for the hint of a smile, and he doesn't move either. Doesn't take his hand away. She knows she should, but she doesn't want to take hers away from his grasp either.
She's unsure. The ground has become unsteady beneath her feet, rewriting unspoken rules that have guided their behavior towards each other for literal ages. She stares at him, and he stares back, the smile on his lips growing a little more confident, a little more steady with every passing second. She sees herself in that smile, sees the reflections of her own hopes and dreams, held so closely to her chest for so long, and she... she doesn't know how to react. She's afraid this is still all a grand misunderstanding and her heart will suffer for it later if she makes a wrong move now.
“Your majesty,” she asks, genuinely confused, “what is the meaning of this? What do you want from me?”
It must have been the wrong thing to say, because his face falls and he pulls his hand away after all, averts his eyes, clears his throat. Doesn't look back at her when he says, “I apologize. You may leave.”
***
She tosses and turns for half the night, until she finally sits up and swings her legs out of bed. There will be no rest. Her heart is in turmoil, and her mind won't shut up for long enough to let her drift off.
But that's okay. The night was once her friend, her home, and they are still on good terms.
Kuanglu dresses and leaves her rooms for a quiet stroll under the shine of the moon. She doesn't think much of it, doesn't carry the intention to chase him down, and yet, when she sees him sitting under that tree, the much-grown beast of dreams sleeping away its gluttony by his feet, this meeting seems like it may have been inevitable. A glimpse into a past, becoming a door to a different future.
She's getting ahead of herself. She's awake; this is not a dream. Not her dream. Won't go the way she’s wished for so long, she’s imagined so many nights.
“Kuanglu,” he says as she approaches him, instinctively drawn to him before she has a chance to reason with herself. He sounds oddly reserved. He looks at her with something like longing. She's only ever seen him look that way at one person, and it was never her. Except... there is no one else here, now. Only the two of them.
And he is looking at her.
“The other day,” she starts, and a shadow of guilt, of regret, flickers across his face. She hurries to sit down beside him, reaching for his hand, and her heart beats in her throat when he lets her instead of pulling away. “Your majesty, I didn't mean... You've known how I have felt about you for a very long time. And I still do. Nothing has changed. But I... I dare not assume you feel the same. All I want is to be at your side, forever, and – “
She falls silent when he reaches up to cup her face with his hand. “Oh, Kuanglu,” he says with a smile. “Here's where you are wrong. Everything has changed.”
She holds her breath. Stares at him. Waits for him while he waits for her, while she realizes that the next step has to be hers. Because of who they are. Because of his past. Because of what happened between him and another woman a lifetime ago.
Kuanglu leans in, presses her lips to the side of his mouth, feather-light. His lips part the slightest bit, and he lets out a noise that's half startled sigh, half encouraging moan. And then, finally, she kisses him, her hand still grasping his like a lifeline, his other hand still touching her face.
He's careful about this, like he is about most things. She wants more, wants everything, but everything has its rhythm and she knows, somehow, a kiss is all that will happen between them tonight. They will stay here for a little while longer, and then she will go back to her bed, and he will remain here or go back to his own, and she'll wait him out for the next step.
They part, and she rests her forehead against his, smiling brightly. “Your majesty,” she whispers, and he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “Yu-er,” she tries, and his eyes go wide with old, remembered pain. It's what one would also call a child, and she curses herself for the misstep. Loving him has always been guesswork, but rarely ever did her faulty guesses impact him so closely, so deeply, so intimately. Rarely did he let her this close. “Runyu,” she says next, weighing the melody of those two characters together on her tongue, familiar and foreign, like she's not only saying, but hearing them for the first time. She repeats them, once, twice. “Runyu. Runyu.”
He closes his eyes and smiles. Pulls her closer, pulls her into his arms. “Yes,” he says, his breath warm at the side of her neck. “Yes, Kuanglu.”
***
It lasts for a few days – this wonderful push and pull, secret besotted smiles while they discuss stately affairs, stolen glances, hurried kisses where no one will see – and then, all of a sudden, it ends, like it never happened at all, Runyu closed off to her like the time she asked for a red thread from the Fox Immortal, early in her time in his service.
Kuanglu is devastated. Confused. He still looks at her with longing in his eyes, his gaze wandering to her lips ever so often, but it's like he's reining himself in, staying absent of her with intent.
She finally pins him down after a meeting with his generals. Says his name. Watches him shudder but turn away, ready to run out on her, and reaches out to wrap her hand around his wrist to make him stay. Part of her expects him to wheel around and chide her for the disrespect, he's her Emperor, who does she think she is, but he trembles under her touch, like a leaf in the rain. Shakes himself free of her, but only to interlace their fingers.
“I made a vow,” he says. “That day, to Xufeng. I will lead the Heavenly Realm for as long as I'm alive, but I will not strive for happiness, as penance for what I did to him and Jinmi.”
And so much makes sense, all of a sudden. His solemn attitude in meetings, more so than even in the first years of his rule. The absence of festivities and anniversaries other than the most basic of ceremonies to honor his accomplished generals and advisers. He's become something of a myth to his subjects, a benevolent but absent power that acts in their best interest behind closed doors, a ruler that exists but isn't seen.
“I'm sorry,” he says. He squeezes her hand, once, as if in apology, and then he lets go. Steps away. Turns to leave.
She doesn't follow him.
***
Selflessness is a trait Kuanglu wouldn't have assigned to herself when she was a little girl. She grew up sheltered and happy, her childhood tears spilled over pretentious desires. Sneaking into his service at the beginning, much like she'd like to insist otherwise, had also been an entirely selfish act. And for a while, she wanted. She wished. She did so desperately. She schemed for it, a little, here and there, but she learned to be content with his trust, if she could not have his love. She’s witnessed his darkest hours, shared his sparse moments of joy, and never did she stray from him. She won’t start now.
But he's right. Everything has changed. And if he doesn't dare fight for them, bound by a promise made in the wake of his biggest mistake, then maybe that task falls to her. She isn't bound by it; she can argue, she can beg and cry, she can ask the person who took that vow from Runyu to release him, release them both, of its shackles.
***
Kuanglu has never been to the home of the Water Immortal and the Fire Immortal in the Mortal Realm. Runyu visits them sometimes, but there was never need nor opportunity for her to accompany him, much less to come here on her own. It's modest but peaceful, and when the Water Immortal spots her on the beach of their little lake, she doesn't hide her surprise. She looks... worried, and that both fills Kuanglu with guilt and gives her a glimmer of hope.
“Is something wrong – “ the Water Immortal asks, and Kuanglu feels the need to cut in, avoid any misunderstandings.
“No,” she says, bowing deep. “Everything is in order in the Heavenly Realm. His majesty is in good health.”
The Water Immortal inclines her head, now curious rather than concerned, and waves for Kuanglu to follow her into her home. Kuanglu nods and hurries after her, and, after she's sat down and turned down the offer for tea and cake, feeling undeserving of the Water Immortal's hospitality, she voices her request.
The Water Immortal eyes her, then nods, and asks her to wait while she fetches her husband so they can all have this conversation together.
Between the three of them, the Water Immortal, the Fire Immortal, and the Heavenly Emperor, a lot of pain has been dealt. They each caused one another endless suffering. The vow that Runyu made to his brother was not, as such, out of line or especially cruel. He could have killed Runyu that day and seized power over the Six Realms, and not have faced much by way of consequence or opposition. And yet, the pain ran in every direction. All of them were hurt, and all of them hurt each other in revenge for their own suffering. There was cruelty and unforgivable betrayal. And yet, Kuanglu doesn't feel in the wrong. She can demand this of them. From the Fire Immortal for eyes that remained closed to Runyu's struggles and pain, his very situation in the Heavenly Palace, for so long. From the Water Immortal for the constant humiliation of baring his heart to her and being rejected time after time, not even out of malice, but a misunderstood concept of honesty born from pain and aimless resentment in need of a target. They are not without fault, either, and she isn't afraid to remind them in order to achieve his freedom.
Besides, the three of them are, after all, still a family. In spite of past events, they allowed their son to grow up with love in his heart for his only uncle.
So Kuanglu tells them. Everything they already know about her love and devotion, everything that transpired between her and Runyu recently, and how he turned her down in honor of the promise he made to the Fire Immortal. “I won't ask you to forgive him,” she says once she's done with her account, glancing towards the Water Immortal when she's mostly addressed the Fire Immortal so far; his gaze has seemed more lenient, more open to her words. “Either of you. I wouldn't be so impudent. But...”
And here she doesn't know how to continue. I'm being selfish. I could stand futilely wanting him when he didn't want me back, but now that he does, I'm afraid I can't stand it for another day. I love him and I want him and I've always done so and it's enough. It's enough. For both of us. His whole life, he’s been someone’s living shame, someone’s instrument and tool, someone’s second choice. But he isn't mine. He never was. I've loved him, and only him, for as long as I can remember.
“But you've waited for so long,” the Water Immortal finishes in her stead, knowingly, her smile not as innocent as it once was but every bit as gentle, and sends a glance towards her own husband. The father of her son. The love that didn't come easily, and that Runyu stood in the way of, once. “And punishing you was never our intention.”
***
The very next day, the Fire Immortal pays one of his rare visits to the Heavenly Realm. News of his arrival spreads through the court like wildfire, everyone holding their collective breaths as to what this visit might mean. Kuanglu keeps away from him, orders someone else to lead him to the Emperor in her stead. She can't bear the wait, can't imagine what she'd do if the purpose of this visit is not to set Runyu free of his vow.
The two brothers, it is said, settle in the Emperor's rooms for a private conversation. For most of the court, that must take some of the suspense out of the whole affair; for Kuanglu, every passing minute is like walking over fire. They take a long time. She busies herself with her duties, of which there are many, and she's in the grand library when she's informed that the Fire Immortal left. Just that. Runyu doesn't summon her, like she'd half-hoped, half-feared. She keeps working, files away reports, reviews the newest tallies from the court's suppliers, everyday tasks that soothe her mind.
Her quest for distraction comes to an abrupt halt when one of her father's fairy servants comes running her way, gesturing wildly, her face marred with confusion and excitement.
“Your father,” she says, somewhat breathless. “The Heavenly Emperor just had him invited over for tea. We don't know why. Do you? What is going on?”
The court has been as quiet as the rest of the Six Realms for a very long time, so no one expects trouble. Still, some still remember the days when their Heavenly Emperor was lovesick and whimsical, which means some worries will remain.
“I'll find out,” Kuanglu assures, then sends the fairy servant away and makes her way over to Runyu's palace alone. She can't stand someone else watching her dissolve into nerves with every step, watching her pace in front of the palace while she waits for her father to reappear.
He does, some time later, and he's not alone. Runyu greets her with a smile, but doesn't say much beyond exchanging pleasantries with both her and her father. He then takes his leave, his steps light as he heads off for a stroll around the gardens, or so he says.
Kuanglu's father stares at Runyu's retreating figure as if he's just seen a ghost. Shakes himself. Turns to her, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “I think the Heavenly Emperor just asked me for your hand in marriage.”
***
There is no grand ceremony. The only people bearing witness to their union are her father, the Water Immortal, the Fire Immortal, their son, the Fox Immortal to officiate, and, after some persuasion, Yanyou and A-Li.
There is no crown. Only their most trusted subordinates will ever call her by her new title. For the public, the Heavenly Emperor will remain a creature shrouded in mystery, a redeemed man who chose to become a mere instrument for the peace and welfare of the Six Realms, a man who has sworn off his emotions as a means to atone for past sins.
But for Kuanglu, he will be her husband. She will be his wife. In private, in secret, they will have a chance at happiness.