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The villa of Greenhaven settled into its new shape like a giant bird leisurely stretching its wings. The workers and foremen had been hounded to tears by one master, finicky and used to the planning of military campaigns, and robbed of sleep by the other master, who blessed them with the intricate design of a single courtyard before washing his imperial hands of the project. Thanks to these painstaking efforts, everything about the place turned out pleasing, nothing overlooked. When the gardens and orchards burst into life with spring, the estate truly lived up to its name.
If some birds flitting in and out of the pavilions happened to be wooden, or the clang of iron puppets disturbed the peaceful ambience, this suited the inhabitants perfectly well.
After so many tumultuous years, life in the mountain-backed retreat had been suspiciously harmonious. It was high time trouble came knocking.
“Chang Geng, come have a look at this!” A ding echoed across the courtyard as Gu Yun poked at whatever was being peeled free of the wooden crate.
Ever since the renovations were completed, a winding stream of gifts had started to trickle in. Most were turned away on his retired majesty’s orders, but gifts from friends were naturally welcomed. Gu Yun had never stopped to consider that he had so many friends, but he took it in his stride. Chang Geng believed that an emperor had few true friends and didn’t think he’d have done much better as himself; he was a little bewildered by the show of eccentric affection.
“What is it?” Chang Geng’s voice floated out through the window of his study. How he never ran out of paperwork was a mystery, but he was clearly the happier for it. Some might assume years of ruling had left him with a penchant for control. Gu Yun, the most intimate witness to the trait, was of the opinion that his husband had been like this all along.
“Ge Pangxiao, that brat, sent us something. How hard is the Lingshu Institute working their people these days if the director can’t come and visit? Back in the day, they sure took their sweet time whenever I requested anything…”
“Mm, I wonder who fixed their funding.” Chang Geng appeared in the doorway, rubbing his fingers together in a way that suggested ink stains. “He’s enjoying himself, we shouldn’t hold that against him. What has he sent us?”
When the last of the packing straw was brushed off, silver-coated metal glinted like fish scales in the sunlight. But this fish was a peculiar sort.
“An automaton?” Chang Geng murmured, tracing the smooth metal with his fingers.
It was indeed a delicate puppet with an intricate mask for a face and a pair of dark gemstone eyes. They opened and closed seemingly of their own will, each covered by a fan of stiff silver lashes like sharp blades of grass. Outfitted all in green like an expensive musician, its shapely hands held an instrument – a metal flute.
The iron puppet was sophisticated and refined, a gift befitting an emperor.
The Marquis of Anding’s brow darkened as he stared at it. He drew his windslasher-shaped jade flute from his sleeve, twirling it like a cat lashing its tail. The similarity between the instruments was hardly accidental.
Chang Geng, deft with mechanisms as ever, turned on the automaton. His imperial fingers were now stained with ink and engine grease. He smiled faintly as he stepped back and the iron puppet whirred to life.
A faint flow of air emerged from the puppet’s slit of a mouth. Its finger joints bent smoothly to cover the holes of the flute. The tune that emerged was a popular melody in the flowery style that had been fashionable during the last years of the Taishi era. The sound was smooth and flawless, a true marvel of engineering.
Gu Yun happened to dislike that style immensely. He had never mastered a single song.
Chang Geng’s hand covered his fist. Gu Yun realized he’d been gripping the jade flute with brutal force. He let out a dry chuckle and glared at the automaton.
“Ge Pangxiao meant nothing by it,” said Chang Geng, unfairly siding with the offender. “You know how he is when it comes to inventions. Look at all the details – it’s not just any prototype. He was clearly thinking of you.”
How could anyone forget, Chang Geng thought privately – the Marquis of Anding’s playing was certainly remarkable!
The precise, metallic notes filled the small courtyard. The melody was cheerful, but Chang Geng thought it lacked a bit of life. On the other hand, it didn’t threaten to wake the dead. There was definitely potential here.
“You don’t need to placate me,” Gu Yun said gloomily. “He thinks he’s quite funny, eh? The joke’s on him when I master that song better than his damn puppet. I’ll practice day and night until his visit.”
Chang Geng paled slightly, lifting his sleeve to cover it up. The note declaring the automaton “a practice partner for Marshal Gu” slipped deeper into the folds of cloth.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Chang Geng had once asked Chen Qingxu about Gu Yun’s musical prowess. After all, Doctor Chen was a brilliant physician and an accomplished musician besides.
“Ah, yes. I have been subjected to his playing. Thankfully, his archery is less prone to friendly fire.”
Chang Geng felt a twinge of disloyalty but couldn’t refute her; he’d harbored similar thoughts since he was a boy.
“Do you have any insight on the cause? I’d appreciate a professional opinion.”
Chen Qingxu’s lips quirked. “As a musician? He’s completely tone-deaf, likely a lost cause from birth. As a doctor… It might be related to his poisoning. Are there songs he can actually play?”
Chang Geng furrowed his brow. A memory of a soothing song played on a leaf surfaced. At the time, he hadn’t known that Shen Shiliu’s playing was cause for alarm. “A few simple tunes. Things he knows by heart. He rarely plays them, but I feel like he’s always known those songs.”
Chen Qingxu nodded. “It’s likely he had some musical ability as a child and retains what he learned before the poisoning. His hearing was probably affected in ways that were less than obvious, when everyone was only concerned about his ability to swing a sword.”
Chang Geng recalled what he’d heard of Gu Yun’s endless training with murderous puppets. The cause of the oldest, faintest scars among many; things Gu Yun brushed off with a laugh. Swinging a sword had no doubt been young Gu Yun’s focus, too.
“Do you mean he might not be aware of what his playing is – like?”
“That depends on how self-aware he is and how much he cares about the opinions of others. ”
Chang Geng smiled faintly. “Your neutral statements are rather barbed. Very fitting for the court.”
“That’s only because you aren’t oblivious. I would be a bad fit for the court, I’m sure.”
“Doctor Chen is wise and talented indeed. There isn’t much to be done for Zixi at this point, is there?”
“You know I don’t work miracles. Since tone and pitch are beyond him, you might consider telling him the flute isn’t the ideal instrument.”
Chang Geng sighed. Gu Yun genuinely enjoyed playing, whether he did it to be a pest or in earnest. He also knew his husband’s temperament. Gu Yun didn’t give a whit if all the world criticized him, but if Chang Geng said something, he might actually listen.
And Chang Geng… wasn’t sure he wanted that.
He feared he would commission the Lingshu Institute for a pair of special earplugs before he’d see that joy taken away.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The next day, the musical automaton had disappeared from the small courtyard. When Chang Geng went to investigate, he heard the clang of swords from the training grounds where the practice puppets were stationed. He hurried there with an ominous feeling in his heart.
Chang Geng was greeted by a scene no less absurd than expected. The musical puppet had been placed smack in the middle of the training courtyard. It stood there holding its flute, uplifting music pouring from the instrument in a desperate stream. Compared to the sturdy training puppets, it was a silvery wisp of a thing, terribly out of place.
Gu Yun, on the other hand, was entirely in his element. He had bound up his hair and even deigned to wear a pair of bracers. He was fighting two bladed puppets and a third shooting darts from the roof. In one hand he held a sword, while the other gripped a white flute. Chang Geng stared in growing astonishment as his husband played with the puppets like a whirlwind, parried two darts with his iron bracer and vaulted to the poor musical automaton to give its metal flute a whack with his own. The flute tilted several inches downwards, and the noise cut off with a sound like the screech of a disgruntled mandarin duck. Cackling, Marshal Gu flew back to his other targets with a nimbleness that would cost him come evening.
The musical puppet lifted its instrument jerkily, assumed the correct posture and began to play again. Chang Geng noticed scratches and scrapes on its delicate hands. The front of the grasshopper-green robe was nicked. The little musician’s eyes were open and stared at him like murky wells, full of grievance.
This mocking fight set to a musical accompaniment showed no signs of stopping until Chang Geng’s patience ran out.
He darted to the poor automaton, snatched the metal flute and blew a loud, piercing note to rival Gu Yun’s best efforts.
Chang Geng remained standing in front of the puppet with his arms crossed. Gu Yun skidded to a halt before him, eyes widening. A dart fell limply to the ground as he gave it a backhanded smack.
“Gu Zixi, how old are you?” Chang Geng said, fixing his husband with a frigid glare. “What on earth are you doing?” He whacked another dart aside with the abused flute. “Tell me that was the last dart.”
“That was the last,” Gu Yun said, deigning to answer the most pressing but least important question. He wiped his face with his sleeve.
“And?” Chang Geng pointed to the puppet over his shoulder.
“Well, I thought I’d move it to the training grounds to let it see what happens if it won’t behave. Otherwise it might start to think it’s better than the rest.” Gu Yun grinned, bright-eyed and disheveled. Chang Geng refused to acknowledge this.
“That’s absurd. It has no thoughts or feelings.”
“But I do,” Gu Yun said as though that made perfect sense. “And you seemed very taken with the thing. So I was testing it out to see if it was any good. Turns out it’s not very reliable.”
“Reliable? When you swore you’d start practicing I actually thought you meant music. How is this reliable of you?”
“You don’t want me to play,” Gu Yun said bluntly. “So I found another way to play. But it seems you’re unhappy with that, too.”
That was an unexpected counter. Unfortunately, Chang Geng was too incensed to appreciate it in the moment. “Indeed. You were using the flute I gave to you as a cudgel.”
Gu Yun looked briefly chagrined, but upon inspecting the near-spotless, exquisite jade his smile returned. “And it fared much better than its counterpart. What a multi-faceted weapon!”
Chang Geng stepped aside to glance at the puppet, which had not resisted damage all that well.
“This was a gift from Ge Panxiao to us both,” he said with quite a bit of heat. “Did it occur to you that it might be to my liking?”
Gu Yun’s expression shifted interestingly from mocking to apologetic to indignant. Unfortunately, he had always been gifted at making a bad thing worse when he opened his mouth. “Obviously, since you placed yourself between it and my blade.”
“You’re impossible,” Chang Geng ground out. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”
“I have a few suggestions,” Gu Yun said, raising a rakish eyebrow. “If you’re finally running out of ideas.”
Chang Geng wouldn’t fall for such a blatant distraction tactic. Marshal Gu wasn’t even trying.
“I’m not interested,” he said and took some satisfaction from Gu Yun’s astonished look. At the same time, it made him feel a little… strange. He didn’t like to think he was usually that easy to fool. Now, he wasn’t inclined to fool around at all. “And put that puppet back where it belongs. It’s not your toy to bash and batter.”
Gu Yun gave the puppet a decidedly murderous glance. “No, I won’t. Didn’t you say it belonged to us both? What happened to that?”
Chang Geng felt the headache creeping up his temples. “You happened. Won’t you let up? At least an automaton is capable of silence.”
“Fine.” Gu Yun stuffed his flute in his sleeve without flourish. “You can sleep with it then if you prefer peace and quiet!”
An awkward hush fell upon the courtyard. The gentle whirring of the gears came to a halt. Gu Yun sheathed his sword with a swish. Chang Geng set the metal flute in its place with a clink. They left the courtyard and, not knowing what to say, went their own ways.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The night wasn’t cold, but the divan was terribly uncomfortable. Marshal Gu noted with dismay that he had grown too used to the comforts of the marital bed.
He had fully expected that the quarrel would be solved before sundown, but Chang Geng showed no signs of relenting. When Gu Yun poked his head in the study, he practically felt the pressure of thunder. The usually light quill crackled like lightning on paper. His husband seemed resolved to work the whole night through.
It had been a long time since Gu Yun had seen Chang Geng moody like this. Amused and bemused in equal measure, he was reminded of the sensitive teenager whose temperament often left him mystified. But wisdom comes with age – he refrained from poking at this. Gu Yun wasn’t entirely sure where things had gone sideways. Still, he had his ways of placating his husband. They never failed.
Unfortunately, Chang Geng was determined to prove him wrong. He remained as immovable as the mountains. “I’m not tired in the least,” he said calmly, and shrugging Gu Yun’s arms off his shoulders. “But you may sleep wherever you wish.”
Whereupon Gu Yun realized that he had practically exiled himself. The annoyance from earlier perked up. If his husband insisted on being unreasonable, he wasn’t about to beg for asylum. He was well capable of roughing it for a night.
Outside in the pavilion, Gu Yun took a deep breath of the fragrant air. He had planted many things here with his own hands. Somehow it left him dissatisfied. He folded his long legs and willed himself to sleep. Eventually, years of habit kicked in, and he fell into restless dreams.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
When Gu Yun woke up, it was to the smell of the pacifying fragrance. He opened his eyes slowly. The early morning was white with mist. Chang Geng was half-draped over him, his head resting on Gu Yun’s chest. Dew had gathered in his hair, loose on the quilt he had spread over Gu Yun. Chang Geng was sound asleep, kneeling on the floor like that. Gu Yun felt a twinge of fondness at the sight. He couldn’t resist brushing the hair away from his husband’s face.
Chang Geng blinked at him, dark eyes hazy.
“When did you get here?” Gu Yun asked, his voice a bit hoarse. “And why are you sleeping like that?”
He felt Chang Geng’s laugh against his chest. “Too early in the morning. Turns out I sleep very well like this.”
So you couldn’t sleep alone, Gu Yun thought, fingers carding through Chang Geng’s hair.
“Come up here,” he said, maneuvering his sleepy husband until Chang Geng was leaning against his chest, bracketed by his legs, and pulled the quilt over them both.
“Why were we fighting again?” Gu Yun said as they watched the feathers of dawn spread over the sky.
Chang Geng sighed, more contented than vexed. He seemed to weigh his answer. “Over something foolish,” he said in the end.
Gu Yun huffed into his hair. “I promise to leave the puppet unscathed. Place it wherever you want to. Just keep it out of the bedroom, all right?”
“You’re jealous,” Chang Geng said. “How can you be jealous of an iron puppet?”
“I can be jealous of anything,” Gu Yun assured him. “And I had to contend with a whole empire for years on end. Consider my remarkable restraint.”
“Incredible,” Chang Geng murmured, but apparently he did consider it, since he turned and kissed his husband, sleep-soft and slow, with no care for anything else.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
One blue evening, when the gas lamps had already been lit, the notes of a guqin filled the small courtyard. The player was clearly improvising, merging folk song flair and intricate embellishments for his own amusement. It was neither cheerful nor melancholy – a strange, sea-green song.
Chang Geng rarely played unless they had guests. Gu Yun took this opportunity to enjoy watching him. Marshal Gu sat cross-legged on the ground, ostensibly working on a carving. He was even wearing a monocle with multiple lenses, a concession to the finer details. Every now and then, he switched lenses to find out which one would grant him the best view of Chang Geng’s hands.
So focused was he that he started as the notes drifted off.
Gu Yun glanced up. “Why did you stop?”
Chang Geng laughed a little. “I ran out of song.”
“Nonsense, you were just showing off.” Gu Yun hummed several few off-key notes. “That wasn’t a real ending.”
“Well, it wasn’t a real song to begin with. Here I thought you were just staring at me, but you remember it… quite well. I was just thinking about that.”
“What?” Gu Yun scoffed. “Can’t I look at my husband with impure intentions?”
Chang Geng waved his hand. “Don’t distract me. I was thinking that you looked like you wanted to play.”
Gu Yun swallowed several responses along the lines of “yes, you” and swirled the tea in his cup. A tiny leaf had fallen into it. “Nope. I just like to look at you.”
Chang Geng frowned, the faint lines on his forehead painted deeper. “It’s not that I don’t want you to play. I didn’t realize you thought that way.”
It took Gu Yun a moment to understand which route Chang Geng’s thoughts had taken. “Of course not, I’m a delight. That… I was angry, all right? Just forget it. I’ve forgotten it.”
Chang Geng sighed. “Would I have given you a flute back then if I didn’t want you to play?”
“You might have had misplaced romantic notions.”
“Misplaced?” Chang Geng lifted an eyebrow. “I was absolutely right. And you enjoy playing. I even… You played ‘March of the Iron Puppets’ to me when I was a child. I liked that.”
Gu Yun grinned. “It was the only thing my mother could sing. She said I was the more gifted of us.”
Chang Geng cleared his throat. Doctor Chen’s words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them. Tonight, he found he didn’t want to talk about the poison which had done so much damage to his husband. Why lament lost opportunities on an evening full of promise?
“Come on then. Play with me.” Chang Geng smiled. “You said the song ended too soon.”
Gu Yun was somewhat torn. That slowly blooming smile reeled him in without fail, yet… “I fear my flute and your guqin might not get along.”
“Zixi, come here.” Chang Geng watched him, expectant. There was a glint of command and a spark of mirth in his eyes.
Gu Yun had to concede that he, too, was only mortal.
He went over and perched awkwardly on the low seat. “Now what?”
“I thought we might play together.” Chang Geng ran his fingers gently on the strings.
“You know I don’t…” Gu Yun paused. “Well, tell me what to do.”
“I will.”
And Chang Geng did just that.
It spoke of long practice that they managed to settle somewhat comfortably. Gu Yun leaned against Chang Geng’s chest, enveloped all around by his heat. Even their arms were pressed together, Chang Geng’s bared to the elbow, tanned skin stark against Gu Yun’s cloud-grey sleeve. Chang Geng gave it a little tug.
“How are you supposed to play like this?”
“I’m awaiting for your instructions,” Gu Yun said expectantly.
Chang Geng huffed but decided on a demonstration. His fingers slid up Gu Yun’s forearms, rolled up the fabric and left the memory of rough fingertips in his wake. Then he stroked the exposed skin all the way to Gu Yun’s wrists, hooking his thumbs at the pulse-point. Gu Yun felt his pulse quicken almost unbearably as always when things were slow and Chang Geng threatened to take his time.
“Well?” Gu Yun said, turning to look at his husband. “Any further requests? Are you certain it’s the guqin you want to play?”
A strand of Chang Geng’s hair, still dark as a crow’s feather, wound over Gu Yun’s shoulder. His eyes, just as dark, were smiling. He picked the monocle off Gu Yun’s nose and set it aside.
“This is how we play.” Chang Geng took a hold of Gu Yun’s hand and placed it on top of his own. Their hands matched finger for finger, not quite scar for scar. “You’ll feel the song, the music and the reverberations. And me, when I’m playing – you’ll feel that too.”
Gu Yun, suddenly less than eloquent, felt Chang Geng’s smile against his cheek. He watched in fascination as their hands aligned and settled on the strings. Although his musical skills were sometimes under criticism, his reaction time and sense of rhythm left nothing to be desired. When Chang Geng eased them into a slow melody, Gu Yun followed without hesitation.
It was true – he did feel the notes, their hum through the backs of Chang Geng’s hands, subtleties he might not have caught by ear alone. Moreover, as the song swelled into something quicker and deeper, he felt the bend of Chang Geng’s fingers, joint for joint, strong and delicate. He felt the whole of Chang Geng’s body taken over by the song and let himself be swept along.
Gu Yun hadn’t heard the song before, but it made him think of flight: kites and metal wings and the smell of violet gold, the joy of tumbling through clouds in heights not meant for man. He grinned at the daring feats evident in the music, which circled higher and higher, quicker and quicker. It felt like their flesh had fused together because he no longer thought of his hands as his own, didn’t think of anything besides the music and the heat –
Until it all came crashing down in a handful of broken notes. Gu Yun had no idea whether he had fumbled or Chang Geng had planned such an abrupt ending. His thoughts were scattered, overheated. Sweat was beading at his hairline. His fingers twitched to brush it away. Then he realized he was gripping Chang Geng’s left hand tightly. The fine bones were like a set of strings against his palm. When he tried to ease up, Chang Geng held on tighter. He was holding Gu Yun’s right hand. They mirrored each other perfectly.
“You planned this,” Gu Yun said. It was hardly an accusation – a great strategy should be appreciated. The thrill of the music stuck to him, light and exciting and solid as sun-heated metal. He felt drunk on it, absolutely wasted.
“I didn’t,” Chang Geng replied, his voice low and a little breathless. “But I know you. I know us. I know we’re good together, whatever we do.”
Gu Yun laughed, throwing his head back on Chang Geng’s shoulder. An inexplicable joy was welling up in him. The gas lamp wasn’t quite like the moon and the tea a sad excuse for wine, but tonight they were the best in the world.
Chang Geng kissed his exposed throat in an ungentle promise. Gu Yun’s breath hitched. He brought their joined hands to his waist, guiding Chang Geng’s hands to roam without restriction. Already entwined like this, it didn’t take them long to get delightfully lost.
Together they were the best in the world.