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By the time Zhu Hong comes back to Yashou territory, Ya Qing is seething.
It's grown late, the sun already low and disappearing behind the trees, the shadows lengthening. They sit down together in front of the old Snake's house, the three tribe leaders and the girl the Sacred Wood chose for their High Chief, and Zhu Hong tells the story that, by now, Ya Qing has already heard second-hand from multiple different sources. Zhu Hong sits stiffly and speaks haltingly, choking on the words more than once: of the showdown in Dixing and the end of Ye Zun, of the Black-Cloaked Envoy's and the Lord Guardian's sacrifices, of the high price paid for victory ripped, at the last moment, from the jaws of defeat.
"The price of salvation," Zhu Hong murmurs, and she sounds like she's quoting someone.
Her face is pale, her expression blank. She's been crying, and gone beyond crying. Ya Qing sits back, crossing her arms over her chest, as the girl's uncle pats her hand, awkwardly trying to comfort her.
Ya Qing almost feels sorry for her.
"Hei Pao Shi," Ying Chun says quietly. "We won't forget," and Ya Qing remembers she knew him, aided him - from Zhu Jiu's description, it was for the Envoy's sake that Ying Chun first broke her tribe's oh-so-precious neutrality. "Chief Zhao -"
Zhu Hong lets out a sob, chokes it off with clenched fists.
"Are you going back to the city?" her uncle asks, perhaps to distract her. "You should stay with your family for a while. Rest. You can, now. We finally have peace again."
Ya Qing's jaw hurts, she bites down on her fury so hard. She can see where this is going already, the Snake Tribe ready to bury its collective scales in the sand again, the Flower Tribe - because Ying Chun isn't exactly speaking up, is she? - content with their roots in human gardens, and everything, everything Ya Qing strove for, carelessly cast aside. All her effort, all in vain.
Zhu Hong's head, bowed until now, comes up. For the first time, something sparks in her eyes. "I - Fourth Uncle, there's so much to do. We can't let this pass us by."
Does she mean -?
Ya Qing turns to look more fully at her, but the old Snake pats her hand again, and Zhu Hong deflates. Ya Qing wants to shake him - shake them both. She presses her hands, unclawed, unclenched, against the bench she is sitting on.
Waits.
Waits, as the sky darkens further.
Zhu Hong, clearly lost in her own thoughts, spares her no attention. Ya Qing keeps waiting, holding back. She knows how to be patient in her anger.
After a while, Ying Chun leaves.
After a while, the old Snake tries to bring his niece inside. She shakes her head, and he goes alone, throwing a half-helpless, half-challenging look at Ya Qing. She ignores him.
The colours of sunset have long since faded into night; the breeze has grown chill. Now that they're alone, Ya Qing stands up. Leans forward, braces her hands on the table. "Zhu Hong."
The young woman looks up. Rouses again from the blankness of her grief. "Yes? Ya Qing, what do you want?"
Ya Qing glares at her. "The Sacred Wood chose you only because of the human you were following," she says snidely. "Now that he's gone - are you the High Chief or not?"
Zhu Hong sits up straighter. "I am," she says, sharply, not hesitating. Her eyes seem focused on the present for the first time. "And don't you forget it!"
It's dark, dark as Dixing before ... before, and Ya Qing's eyes are afire.
Zhu Hong isn't afraid of Ya Qing. She's not - she has no space left inside of her for fear, just now. But looking up into the woman's eyes, that sharp, searing gaze that seems to cut through her, weigh her and judge her wanting, there's a broken part of her that wants to back down. To bare her throat - the throat Ya Qing once held in her claws, threatening to rip it - and give in.
The rest of her is suddenly angry. Incandescently angry with everyone - not just Ya Qing, who helped Ye Zun bring things to this point, but everyone who didn't stop this sooner. With her uncle, who hailed her as High Chief and treats her like a child. With Zhao Yunlan, who dared die on her, leaving her with this mess of an aftermath and no clear path to follow.
So what if Ya Qing is judging her? Bah. Compared to watching Lin Jing carry Zhao Yunlan's body out of Dixing, this is easy.
She stands up, eyes flashing red. "Ya Qing," she says, the words coming on their own, she's not sure from what resource left inside her, "you want things to change? I'll change things. It cost us too much; I won't let this be in vain."
Ya Qing straightens. Zhu Hong can't read her. "All right," she says, "High Chief," and she even sounds grudgingly respectful. "Where will you start?"
Zhu Hong throws herself into the work. She's been telling her uncle for years that staying isolated in their villages won't do the Yashou any favours, and now, as she badgers and orders and insists - presumes upon a chieftainship she knows she hasn't earned - somehow, this time, her uncle begins to listen. Ying Chun begins to listen, cautiously at first, then with hope.
The humans are easier, in comparison, right now. Minister Guo, after the Dixing invasion, is more than willing to broker an agreement with the Yashou who stood by their side. When she announces upcoming negotiations with the Haixing minister, asks the tribe leaders for their most urgent concerns, she feels like she's accomplishing something, finally.
The looks she receives - she almost buckles under the weight of the tribe leaders' surprise. No faith.
And why would they have faith in her - yet?
Zhu Hong scowls, grits her teeth. Being treated like a child always makes her want to pout and sulk like a child. She can't afford to, now. But she can't stop herself from saying it, petulant and loud: "You didn't think I could do it, did you?"
"Ah-Hong ..." her uncle says, trailing off.
Ya Qing snorts. "No," she says, and Zhu Hong's eyes jerk towards her even as Ying Chun flinches and nudges Ya Qing, prompting her to be more gentle.
But of course Ya Qing won't.
"They didn't think you could. I didn't think you'd even try." She gives Zhu Hong a sharp smile. "Good job, proving us all wrong."
Zhu Hong spent years around Zhao Yunlan; she knows when someone's being rude on purpose. The damnedest thing is, it works. It braces her, when her uncle's apologetic smile only makes her want to hide in embarrassment.
She returns the smile, just as sharp. "I told you I would."
"They must respect us as a nation, first." Zhu Hong sounds confident to Ya Qing's ears, like a leader. She's been throwing herself into what she calls Yashou renewal with all the force of her grief, and not relenting. Ya Qing is almost proud of her.
She nods. "Nothing else means anything if they won't do that. Will they? They want our territory - they always want more."
This girl, this woman, once turned her back on her tribe and came back only in the aftermath of loss. This High Chief had her rank handed to her almost unwanted - had nearly rejected it. But she's growing into it now. She's not the spoilt girl any more, won't pout for what she wants - the least you could ask of a leader, so why is there such satisfaction in watching her?
How irritating.
"They've left us alone here so far," the old Snake says. "It's not so urgent. But if they'll agree to stay out of our lands ..."
Of course that appeals to him. Ya Qing bites back her frustration. If it helps secure their territory, she'll suffer listening to his yearning for isolation, too. She clenches a gloved fist. "It is urgent. What about your Forbidden Area? The passage isn't active any more, but it's still ancient technology, and they know of it now. You think they won't want access? If you want to be left in peace, push for an agreement now while you can. While they still remember we fought side by side. You really think that's going to last?"
"Treaties can be broken," Ying Chun says, throwing a sideways look at Ya Qing, softening it with a smile. "But they have protected us for a long time."
"No, they haven't," Ya Qing says, impatiently, the old argument again. "The Guardian Treaty only kept us apart, not protected. That's not the same thing. It's been holding us back -"
"All right," Zhu Hong interrupts. "Let's not get into this again." She shakes her head. "Either way, we'll do better this time."
Ya Qing finds herself believing her.
Over a year ago, she chose to kneel for Ye Zun, full of hope - humbled herself for the one person in either realm who was willing to challenge the status quo, or so she'd thought. Weeks ago, she knelt for High Chief Zhu Hong without any faith at all, merely acknowledging, reluctantly, defeatedly, the Sacred Wood's choice. And yet it's the gesture made in defeat that, somehow, seems to be paying off.
Zhu Hong leans back in her seat and looks up at Ya Qing. The Crow is pacing in front of her, back and forth, the length of the small office Zhu Hong has made for herself - for the High Chief - in the Snake Tribe village house where she lives, now that she regularly spends time here.
Preparations for treaty negotiations are going well, and just today, Xiao-Guo told her in confidence that his uncle wants to expand the SID. She'll push for turning it from the Haixing Inspectorate's enforcement agency into a multinational institution, something her people will have a say in governing.
She hasn't spent much time with her SID friends. She can't stomach seeing Zhang Shi walk around in Zhao Yunlan's body. But she doesn't have to make an effort to keep in touch; they're all too much part of each other's lives to be able to let go.
This, though - the Snakes in her home village, and the other tribes and their leaders, all the Yashou that she's making an effort to get to know better - this is her life now, just as much and more. She has a purpose here, something only she can do.
She'd been wary of Ya Qing at first, but so far, all Ya Qing has done was to urge her further on the path she's walking already. It's strange to find herself of a mind with a woman who was their enemy all year, and maybe she shouldn't be proud of it, but she is - she's bringing together all three Yashou tribes.
Until now, every time Ya Qing has come here she's been straight and to the point, demanding or complaining or simply informing Zhu Hong about whatever brought her. Today, she says nothing. Something is eating at her.
This is one of the things Zhu Hong hopes to learn from Ya Qing one day: how to look like even her frustration has power, rather than being helpless and futile.
Zhu Hong leans forward, closes her laptop. "Are you going to say it?"
Ya Qing stops her pacing. "Say what?"
"Whatever's bugging you. Is it that you want me to ask? This is me, asking."
Her wry tone has Ya Qing's eyebrows rising. "I want to know," she says finally, with a huff, "why it's you."
"What?" Ya Qing is staring at her like she's trying to solve a puzzle, and Zhu Hong has no idea what she's talking about.
"You," Ya Qing says, pointing at her with a gloved finger, "turned your back on your tribe and went to live among humans. You hid your scales and tried to slide into a fake human skin. You didn't even want to be High Chief. I gave everything for the sake of my tribe - so why are you the one who was right?"
She's bitter, Zhu Hong thinks. Angry at me. And, I'm perfectly safe with her anyway. The anger, miraculously, is wrapped around respect.
Then Ya Qing's words catch up with her. Gave everything - what a nice euphemism. Zhu Hong can still see Jia-ge's lifeless body, dead at Ya Qing's claws. Her childhood friend. The poor Snake guard had only tried to help Zhu Hong take a look at the Forbidden Area, and it had brought him right into the Crow's path.
With Ya Qing glaring at her in accusation, somehow Zhu Hong's confidence grows. She feels stronger, ready to face her. She's confronted more dangerous people than Ya Qing, thrown herself against Ye Zun himself - and Ya Qing, for all her sharp edges, for all her lashing-out, means her no harm. If she did, she wouldn't keep helping.
Zhu Hong stands up, comes out from behind her desk and meets Ya Qing's eyes. "Because," she says sharply, lashing out in return, because she can, "whatever my faults, I'm not a murderer."
Ya Qing flinches, looks away, and a petty part of Zhu Hong exults, even as her gut churns at scoring a point over the death of a friend. And yet: I can meet her now, equal to equal. She takes me seriously. It's a thrill, from this woman who is impressed with so very little.
"Yes," Ya Qing says baldly, after a moment, rallying. "I killed. It led us nowhere. I regret what I did. But we needed something - we couldn't go on as we were, and no one was listening. It fell to me, me and my mistakes, because that was all I had. Should I have done nothing, content to have our kind fade? It's what you did, isn't it?"
If it had worked out, if she'd gained from Ye Zun what she wanted, Ya Qing wouldn't be regretting anything, would think it worth the price. Zhu Hong shivers at that vision. But she does regret it now, immersing herself in darkness all in a futile hope it would buy her what she thought they needed. She's been trying to make up for it, ever since she turned from Ye Zun - even apologised in front of everyone, at the memorial the tribes held for the victims of Ye Zun's war. No, Ya Qing won't fall into such a trap again, won't again believe death and destruction can buy her anything.
And Zhu Hong is sure of Ya Qing's commitment to their shared work. If she wasn't, if Ya Qing hadn't already proved invaluable even as she kept challenging Zhu Hong, it would be easier to dismiss her, ignore what she's saying.
Instead, Zhu Hong grits her teeth and admits the truth. "It's what I did. I was wrong. We none of us made the right choices. Not my uncle, not Ying Chun, certainly not you. We were all wrong; is that what you want to hear? Not as wrong as you, but wrong enough."
Ya Qing stills. "You're less stupid than you look."
For some reason, Lao-Zhao's voice sounds in the back of her head: You're not completely useless, then. The similarity makes her gut churn, and something inside her ache.
Her heart is hammering. Why is this woman getting under her skin? Why is she letting her? But Zhu Hong can do this. She flashes her eyes red. "What do I look like, then?"
Ya Qing's eyes sweep over Zhu Hong's face, her body. She leans in close, crowding Zhu Hong against the edge of her desk. "Not so bad," she murmurs, her voice pitched low. "Not so bad at all."
Zhu Hong's breath hitches, heat surging through her, and she almost gasps. Ya Qing is only taunting her, has to be, but she feels flushed, acutely aware of Ya Qing's closeness -
Ya Qing pulls back abruptly, eyes narrowing. For a moment she seems poised at the edge of turning, of changing form and flying away.
She doesn't.
"You," Ya Qing snarls. "Is it easy for you, coming back here? Shedding your false human skin like the Snake that you are, reborn High Chief of all Yashou? Without once having to renounce your past, while everything I tried to build crumbled to worse than nothing in my hands? Am I supposed to have faith in you, now? What am I supposed to do with you?"
"I don't know," Zhu Hong snaps back, pushing away from the desk, into Ya Qing's space. "Do you even know what you want to do?" And then, just as Ya Qing's lips pull back, "Are you trying to threaten me, accuse me, or flirt with me? I can't tell."
Zhu Hong's face is burning with her own daring, and there's a matching flush on Ya Qing's high cheekbones. The air seems to be charged between them, sizzling with danger. What is she doing? What are they doing? All Zhu Hong knows is she won't back down. And Ya Qing, in all her pride - how could she?
"I," Ya Qing growls, "don't know. Which do you want it to be?"
Lobbing the ball back at her, slamming it into Zhu Hong's face. How about all of the above? she thinks wildly, and then they're crashing into each other, bodies and mouths colliding, hands grasping, clutching, until they're breathless with it, panting and dishevelled, Zhu Hong's trousers half open, Ya Qing's skirt hitched up.
It's nothing like her teenaged experiments, and even less like anything she ever imagined with Zhao Yunlan.
Ya Qing pushes her against the desk again. Zhu Hong lifts one hip on the edge, leaning back - too far back, knocking into the tin jar filled with rock sugar candy she keeps on her desk. Knocking it over. It clangs loudly to the floor, metal on wood, skips twice, then rolls with a clatter until it comes to rest against the wall beneath the window. They both freeze, the moment broken.
Zhu Hong tries to catch her breath, waits for regret or shame to well up inside her, for embarrassment or contempt on Ya Qing's face. What spreads in her chest, in her gut instead is a stunned, overwhelmed want, and Ya Qing's flushed face mirrors it back at her, just as intense.
She shouldn't. How can she? But she feels alive under Ya Qing's gaze. She feels able to stand up and do anything - not just in the heat of the moment, but with intent.
"Yes," Zhu Hong whispers, and grins helplessly at the delighted smile blooming on Ya Qing's face.
Deliberately, with intent, she takes Ya Qing's right hand in hers, slides her other hand up her wrist and forearm to the end of her glove. Slowly peels it off. Ya Qing's pupils dilate further at the blatant invitation, and her lips part.
Zhu Hong lifts Ya Qing's hand, now bare, to her lips. Ungloved fingers shouldn't feel so daring, so arousing, so much. She slides her mouth along Ya Qing's index finger, watches - feels - Ya Qing's breath hitch.
"Keep the other glove on," she says.
Ya Qing's mouth curls into a wicked smile. "Oh, I will."
Zhu Hong kicks off her shoes, shoves impatiently at her trousers. "Get that dress off," she demands.
They don't make it further than the desk that day, Ya Qing leaning over her, bare fingers sliding down her belly, into her curls, between her folds, finding her shockingly wet already. Two fingers push easily inside her, and she moans, runs her hands greedily over Ya Qing's shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her hips, then clutches as Ya Qing thrusts and her insides contract.
Zhu Hong presses her fingers against the wetness between Ya Qing's legs - they match; Ya Qing's body wants, just as much - and strains up to put her mouth on Ya Qing's breast. Ya Qing, breathing harshly, curls her fingers inside Zhu Hong and pushes, thrusts deeper - too soon, already Zhu Hong is shivering apart, Ya Qing's gloved hand cupping her breast, a lace-covered thumb rubbing over her nipple, and the bare fingers of her other hand burying themselves, again and again, in Zhu Hong's cunt. She cries out, wild and unbridled, and lets herself fall.
Ya Qing stares down at the woman spread out on the desk under her. Whatever she expected when she came here - furious, frustrated, in need of something she couldn't name - it wasn't this, Zhu Hong's pretty mouth sucking her breast, her face flushed with pleasure, Zhu Hong's body naked under her hands, opening eagerly, hips rocking into the motion of Ya Qing's hand.
Not so long ago, she'd thought of her only as a somewhat irritating girl, and then a fake leader who took the Sacred Wood without meaning it, who would do nothing with it. But Zhu Hong has proved her wrong.
She's beautiful and fierce and ready to fight for what she wants, what the Yashou need. She's unintimidated, yet listening to Ya Qing. She rises to the challenge.
Yes, Ya Qing thinks, this is what she wants - a woman who meets her head-on, who will fight and disagree and still welcome her, who can take her claws and will lash out in turn, who will not be wounded by sharp words.
A month ago, Zhu Hong was not this woman, but she's been coming into her own all this while, with Ya Qing at her side.
Ya Qing wants to keep her. She's never wanted anything so much in her life.
"Go, you!" Lin Jing says, when Zhu Hong tells him. "Ya Qing? She's gorgeous. Can't believe you actually went for her. Score!" She has to stop him from going on about Ya Qing's physical assets - she really doesn't want to hear it from him - but he won't ask about Ya Qing's changed loyalties. From his own not-quite-relationship with Sha Ya, he understands that part better than most.
Whatever Zhu Hong used to think she wanted, it wasn't a woman angry at the world, driven and prideful, determined to hold on to every shred of power, determined to prove herself. But Ya Qing drives her forward, too - stops her from stopping, from falling prey to insecurity. Ya Qing's anger spurs her on when she's losing momentum; her intensity makes her want to rise and match it in kind. Ya Qing's want makes her feel worthy, and strong, and proud. Ya Qing's hands make her want to shiver apart under them and be reborn, putting herself together again renewed.
With Ya Qing, she can be angry. She can let herself be furious, and funnel her anger into her work, become a better leader for her people. She won't let them down again.
It's a lot to put on one woman, one former enemy, one reformed killer. Jia-ge is not the only one who fell by her hand, not by far, but now, this sharp-edged, bristly, prideful person is on Zhu Hong's side.
One ruthless woman, who won't let her stop.
She needs it. She should hate it, perhaps, needing something - someone - so much, but she can't. With Ya Qing, she's never felt more in control of her life.
It was too good to last, is Ya Qing's first thought when, three months later, the passages to Dixing both sputter back to life. Why should this work out any better for me?
Because each passage has spat out a person: by the Locust Tree, the Black-Cloaked Envoy, Shen Wei; in the Yashou Forbidden Area, the Lord Guardian, Zhao Yunlan.
Because Zhu Hong stares at the human like he's every wish she's ever had, granted to her out of the blue.
Because in the face of this, what place is there for Ya Qing?
And everyone knows. Hard to miss the look the old Snake gives her, half pitying, half wary.
Ya Qing turns on her heel, wings erupting, and launches herself into the air - she doesn't care where she flies; she just needs to beat her wings until every muscle aches. It can't fully drown out the churning in her gut, the ache in her heart, but it's better than nothing, which is what she's left with, otherwise.
Zhao Yunlan, himself, alive.
Zhu Hong can't look away from him. From them, after the approximately two minutes it takes for Shen Wei to surge in through a portal of his own, for the two of them to fall into each other's arms. They both look healthy, unhurt, unbloodied. There are tears in both of their eyes, and a soft expression on Lao-Zhao's face that she never saw until Shen Wei came into his life.
She's no longer jealous, no longer greedy for what they have.
She hugs Lao-Zhao, and then, after a moment's hesitation, Professor Shen, too. "Zhu Hong," he says quietly, surprised and touched.
Zhao Yunlan nudges Shen Wei. "Two passages, two people. Do you think -"
Shen Wei nods. "We need to check the Dixing side."
Zhu Hong nods, snuffles, manages a smile. "I should go see where Ya Qing went." The stupid, prickly woman left almost as soon as Zhao Yunlan appeared.
Zhao Yunlan's eyebrows go up, and she feels herself flush, wondering what he can read on her expression. "Huh," he says, and leans a little more into Shen Wei, who ducks his head with a brilliant smile. "Look who's all grown up!"
She bats her hand in his direction, exasperated, glad. "Look who's growing more childish by the day."
He shakes his head, laughing. "Can't wait for this story," he says. "And we've got one, too - but we should check on Dixing first. So, later."
"Later," Zhu Hong repeats, stupidly. He's back, and she's not looking at him the way she used to, but still, something's been made right with the world as she watches them walk back into the Forbidden Area.
It's Shen Wei who turns around at the entrance, Shen Wei who says, "Zhu Hong. Grasp what you want, with both hands."
Before she can respond, he's already gone, both of them vanished inside.
Zhu Hong recruits a few Crows to track down Ya Qing - they listen to her now; it's still, somehow, a surprise - and finds her a sleek-feathered, sharp-beaked bird perched on the roof of her Crow village house.
"Are you coming down?" she calls up. A challenge, and she knows Ya Qing can never resist a challenge. Sure enough, the next moment she's diving, and her human form is taking shape in front of Zhu Hong.
"High Chief," Ya Qing says, and that's a challenge, too. Her expression is closed in a way that shrieks defensiveness, and Zhu Hong wants to pat her cheeks until she looks more like herself. "What now?"
"What now?" Zhu Hong repeats, incredulous. It's Ya Qing who taught her how to turn anger into fuel rather than helpless frustration, but now Ya Qing sounds tired, run down. Is she truly so jealous, so insecure? "Come on, surely you can do better than that, Crow Tribe leader."
The taunt works. Ya Qing bristles, and in her eyes, her anger blooms after all. "You think I've forgotten?" she snaps. It's lucky the Crows respect their leader too much to listen in; Ya Qing is making no effort to be quiet. "The Sacred Wood sprouted for you because of him. He put it in your hands; he told you to accept it; he spoke for you afterwards. You're the High Chief he made, who follows him - all the Yashou in a human's hands. Are you telling me you won't go back to following him now?"
Zhu Hong stares. "What?"
The words take a moment to fully sink in. Ya Qing isn't wrong: she never thought to become High Chief, didn't want it, hadn't even been asked. Being handed the title, she'd nearly turned it down, knowing herself unfit. Everything Ya Qing's come to respect about her only came later, after Zhao Yunlan was - gone.
"You think I'm a puppet," Zhu Hong says, half offended, half appalled.
It does make more sense, this. Ya Qing, capitulating to a romantic rival without trying? That beggars belief. But Ya Qing, forgetting how to have faith in her? That merely hurts, the way Ya Qing's claws sometimes hurt. Zhu Hong stands her ground, not letting it show. This is hardly new; Ya Qing's never been good at having faith.
"Aren't you?" Ya Qing's words are cutting, but she won't meet Zhu Hong's eyes. "Weren't you, the day you held the Sacred Wood?"
Why won't you be angry at me the right way? Zhu Hong grasps for an answer, for the right words. "I've grown since then. We all have. If you think I'm failing - tell me to do better!"
Ya Qing's eyes widen. Her hands shoots out, closes around Zhu Hong's wrist, too hard. "You mean that?"
She's afraid, Zhu Hong realises. Afraid that, once again, everything she did will prove false and in vain.
It's not an unreasonable fear.
Zhu Hong swallows, doesn't pull away from Ya Qing's painful grip. "You're right, I didn't want it then. I didn't know what I could do. I don't know how he knew, or if we just got lucky, but I can do this. I'm the High Chief, not Lao-Zhao." She leans towards Ya Qing. "Crow Tribe leader, if I forget - if I spend too much time on humans, neglect my own people, I expect you to remind me. In every way you can."
Ya Qing's eyes spark, and there she is, her focus back on Zhu Hong with all her usual intensity, examining her face for a long moment.
Please, Zhu Hong thinks, frantically.
Ya Qing lets out a shuddering breath. "I will," she murmurs, choosing faith, finally, after all, and pulls Zhu Hong into her house by the wrist. Her grip is still tight but no longer crushing, no longer desperate. She kicks the door closed behind her and pushes Zhu Hong against the wall, her lips brushing against Zhu Hong's ear, her breath hot. "I swear it. Consider this your first reminder."
It's as solid a vow of loyalty as Zhu Hong can imagine - from either of them.
Feathers spread over Ya Qing's features; her beak briefly nips at the place where Zhu Hong's shoulder meets her neck, before she shifts back and human lips close over the same spot. Zhu Hong shivers, arching against Ya Qing, pulling her up for a kiss.
"With the passages open," she murmurs against Ya Qing's mouth, some moments later, "the political landscape has changed again. We'll have a lot of new work to do."
"Good," Ya Qing says, and she's smiling, her still-gloved fingers finding their way under Zhu Hong's shirt, the lace of the fabric a delicious friction. "I like you when you're thinking ahead."
"You always like me," Zhu Hong retorts.
Ya Qing pulls away, just so she can look down her nose at her for a moment. "Nowadays."
"Exactly."
Zhu Hong reaches out, cups Ya Qing's face between her palms, thumbs spread out over cheekbones, drinking her in for a moment. Then she leans in, holds her still as she brings their mouths together - grasping what she wants, with both hands.
Whoever they used to be, this is who they are now, reminding each other to do better. For their people, for each other, for themselves.