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The letter comes in a small scroll, delivered around the foot of the Marquis’ prized white falcon. It’s short, straight to the point and brings the news that Xie Zheng had deemed most important.
Prince Changxin is dead. Fan Changyu is alive. Xie Wu was injured.
While Xie Qi normally admires his lord’s concise nature, there are times that he wishes the mighty Marquis of Wu’an would be a bit more lengthy in his missives.
How difficult could it be to write one more small note? A simple Xie Wu is recovering well, or Xie Wu is not dying while you’re 500 li away and cannot be at his side.
But no. Xie Zheng is as he has always been, and Xie Qi is left to deliver the news to the small family of people who Xie Zheng and Fan Changyu care about.
He tells them that their family is fine, their people are okay and will reunite with them soon. He delivers the news with a smile on his face, and all the while he wants nothing more than to run to his horse and race all the way back to his family.
However he cannot do that. He is a commander; the leader of his squadron, he cannot abandon the duty assigned to him for his personal feelings. He cannot abandon his Lord’s family just to return to his own.
The days run long after that. Every moment stretches into hours. Hours that he fills with anything he can possibly think to do. He patrols, he trains, he shares meals made by Mrs Zhao and pretends that he can enjoy the food that is tasteless in his mouth.
Every once in a while he walks into the woods by himself, wandering until he finds a quiet, secluded place that is far enough away from the villa that no one will find him. There he leans against a tree, or a stone, or simply lies upon the ground and lets his worries pour out of him in silent, shaking grief.
No more news arrives for quite a while, and every day that accursed bird doesn’t show up is one that Xie Qi is plagued with nightmares.
They’re formless, imagined things. Shadowy attackers on a shifting battlefield toned red in blood. At the center, always just out of his reach, is Xie Wu. He fights, bold and brilliantly, as he always has, and for the briefest of moments Xie Qi is happy.
The dreams all end the same way. Be it a sword, spear, or an enemy’s arrow. Night after night Xie Wu falls, blood spurting from his neck, his chest, a severed leg or arm, just out of Xie Qi’s reach.
Every night Xie Qi wakes up panting and panicking and still too far away from the person he cares most about in this world.
More days pass, more patrols, more meals, more days alone in the woods that he returns from feeling heavier than before.
One day the little girl, Changning, gives him a poorly woven ring of delicate white flowers and asks him if he’s sad. “My big sister used to look sad like you,” she says, “when brother-in-law left for the army.”
He wants to laugh, but the amusement doesn’t come. He gives her a small smile and hopes she doesn’t see the falseness of it. She offers him a wrapped sweet and tells him not to worry too much.
That night he sleeps a little better. When he wakes up, it’s to the early morning light instead of the fading visions of Xie Wu dying before him. For the first time since he got the news, Xie Qi feels a bit lighter.
That afternoon he smiles, genuinely, at Changning and thanks her for the flowers. She ropes him and a few other guards into a game with her and the young boy. He imagines Xie Wu would tease him for playing with the children, and his heart aches.
He smiles again, and this time it stays. His worries don’t disappear, but now his dreams are of a reunion instead of death, of his return to camp, of finding Xie Wu once again, happily recovered from his injuries and chiding him for worrying.
And just like that, on the day that Xie Qi completely forgot to listen for the sound of bird calls, the falcon arrives and brings with it another letter.
The brushstrokes are poor and yet he knows immediately whose hand had written it. At the bottom of the strip of paper, in lieu of a signature, is a shakily painted spring blossom.
Xie Qi barely breaks through the tree line before the tears begin to fall. Relief. Like dipping into a mountain stream on a scorching summer day. His worries fade away as he reads and rereads those messy characters.
Shoulder broken. Recovering. Be well, return soon.
So much like their Marquis. Xie Wu is ever straight to the point. Xie Qi cannot help but to smile, small and fond. He tucks the letter into his clothes, under his armor and close to his heart. He takes up his sword and heads back to the villa with lighter steps.
He will complete his mission and protect his Lord’s family well. For the time being he will put that same faith in Xie Zheng and trust him to protect his own family the same way.
So Xie Qi waits. He waits as the months pass, as summer gives way to the crisp coolness of fall, then as the colorful autumn fades into winter.
The first snows blanket the ground, and shortly afterwards the falcon returns once again. This time it bears with it the message he has been waiting for.
Victory is ours. Returning home.
Five days later the Marquis of Wu’an and newly appointed flower-crowned General Fan Changyu appear at the villa’s gates and they bring his whole world with them.
Xie Wu looks well. His face has filled in a bit, his cheeks not as hollow as their last meeting. He glows with health in the mid-morning sunlight. Xie Qi feels like crying, but he doesn’t allow himself to.
Instead he pays his respects to his Lord and Lady, gives his reports to the Marquis, and tries very hard not to turn his head and look at Xie Wu who is standing just to the side of him.
They feast in the evening. Tables full of steaming food and drinks. Laughter rings out as celebration reigns.
Xie Wu offers him a drink and gives him an exact recounting of the past months events. Xie Qi folds his hands to stop himself from reaching out and tangling Xie Wu’s fingers with his own.
The alcohol warms him. Xie Wu, so close, so alive and unharmed, makes his heart sing a pathetic little song.
The night winds down and the guests begin to retire. Xie Qi gathers Xie Wu, flushed with alcohol and mumbling about grand battles, and stumbles back towards his own quarters.
Xie Wu leans on him heavily as they walk. Xie Qi’s heart aches with the touch. His fingers clench tighter in the cloak wrapped around Xie Wu’s shoulders.
They stumble into his room. The lamps have not been lit, and the moonlight dimly paints a glow for their eyes. The doors are slammed closed and Xie Qi is suddenly pushed against them.
“I’ve missed you.” A raw, honest confession mumbled against his neck from Xie Wu’s lips.
His eyes are too warm, his heart too full. His fingers tuck a few strands of hair behind Xie Wu’s flushed ear. “I’ve missed you as well.” Xie Qi answers honestly.
I’ve missed you so much. I miss you now, even with you in my arms. Don’t part from me again.
Words he doesn’t say aloud. Feelings that can’t be voiced. Xie Qi pours them all into his kiss.
Wine and braised pork. The taste of Xie Wu’s tongue against his own. Their arms wrap tight around each other. Their breaths mingle and their hearts race in sync.
They fall into the small bed together, boots and cloaks still on. Like two pieces of a tiger tally, long separated and now together once again.
Whole at last.