1. The Best Birthday Present

The spring hunt is in a week, and Mei Changsu fears that it might be eventful in the worst way. He is planning to spend his time avoiding Noble Consort Jing, keeping Jingyan in line, and enjoying the scenery, but he knows by now that things never go to plan. He’s been harboring an ill feeling about the trip that has nothing to do with the poison of the bitter flame in his blood, but other than the continued disappearance of Tong Lu, all seems to be right where he put it.

Which, unfortunately, gives him plenty of time to be introspective. It’s not good for his health nor mental acuity, but spending the majority of his life for the last 13 years in a sickbed has acclimated him to traveling the inner roads of regret, shame, and guilt.

Usually his focus is on the distant past or his cut-short future, but as the household hustles around him, packing for the trip while he lays about uselessly in bed, he’s taken up with staring at Meng Zhi.

Who, as usual, is oblivious.

It is part of his charm, Mei Changsu thinks with fond despair as his eyes trace the strong, masculine features of the commander. He has a jawline that would make the gods weep, and Mei Changsu is only too mortal not to be affected. The admiration of such handsome looks gives him a pleasant thrum in his chest, which is a small measure of relief amidst the pain.

Meng Zhi sits on the floor next to the bed in a demonstration of familial casualness that would cause an uproar in any other household. But here he sits, frowning down at the book in his hands, resting against the bed and occasionally reaching out to tuck the covers back over Mei Changsu from where he’s rolled over or shifted them loose.

Mei Changsu finds it amusing that the man claims that he does not enjoy reading, and that he claims he does little of it, while spending hours pouring over military treatises on tactics and strategies.

It was just such a time, a few months ago, that brought Mei Changsu to the awkward position he is in now. They had been sitting in comfortable companionship, drinking tea in the western garden and talking about some court minister or another when Meng Zhi exclaimed, “ah ha!” and dug a thin, well-worn text out from his robe. He waved it around with such vigor that Mei Changsu could not read the title.

“You need to explain this to me!” Meng Zhi announced and slapped the pamphlet down.

Mei Changsu recognized it as a respected, but by no means classic or important or even particularly useful, treatise on naval warfare. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Why on earth are you reading this?”

“It was bumped to number fourteen on the Langya List of Important Texts on Naval Strategy.” Meng Zhi nodded firmly.

“And?” Mei Changsu asked without expecting an answer, already mentally composing a letter to Lin Chen to complain about why this text was on anybody’s list of anything.

“I always read whatever new texts are added to the Langya lists of books on tactics or warfare. This one? I don’t understand at all.He keeps using cranes as metaphors for...something.”

It was definitely going to be a firmly worded letter, Mei Changsu decided, but then veered back to what Meng Zhi had said. “You’ve read all those books on the Langya lists?”

“I am not a man who enjoys reading! But this is my job. Learning military strategy of any sort can teach me new ways to fight.” He held his hands out in an apologetic gesture and gave Mei Changsu a chagrined smile.

They had then spent hours discussing and debating various texts, and while Meng Zhi was not (and never would be) any sort of clever strategist, he did understand military tactics and had a good many interesting opinions on the surprisingly large number of books he had read. It was a side of him that Mei Changsu should have known existed, and part of his drive to continue the discussion was to make up for somehow missing this important aspect of the commander’s personality. Also, it was fun.

As day fell to dusk and Mei Changsu’s coughs had gotten worse, Meng Zhi helped him to bed where they continued the discussion well into the night, Meng Zhi propped up against the mattress while Mei Changsu huddled under his blankets.

At the end of it, Mei Changsu had thrown the sorry text on naval warfare across the bed (he had been aiming to throw it into the room’s brazier, but as usual forgot how weak he is now), and Meng Zhi had laughed with bright eyes and a broad smile. Mei Changsu’s feeble heart had flipped over in an all-too-familiar and alarming way.

He still loved Jingyan, and always would (whether that damned water buffalo ever figured it out or not) but that was an old ache, tied up with grief and trauma in a way that could never be untangled.

This?

This was fresh and new and relatively unencumbered. Meng Zhi knew Lin Shu, and now knows Mei Changsu, and is devoted to both. He is kind yet stubborn. He is handsome and strong in that ineffably masculine way that had always made young Lin Shu sweat shamelessly under his bed covers. He is a good man and that, above all, has ironically been exactly the kind of man Mei Changsu desires most.

And here, now, Mei Changsu is staring at his beloved with the realization that he did not do anything for the man’s birthday a week ago, and he’s stinking of guilt about it like a young courtier pining over a tea house girl, for fuck’s sake.

“Why do you keep staring at me like I’m dying?” Meng Zhi, always perceptive at the worst possible moments, looks up at him from under his lashes. It is an unintentionally coquettish look, and Mei Changsu forces himself to stare back straight on, without flinching, but cannot formulate a reply. “You are the sick one. Rest,” Meng Zhi says and reaches out and puts his large, firm hand on Mei Changsu’s hip, holding him down.

“I forgot your birthday,” Mei Changsu blurts out, his mind turning in the completely wrong direction as it attempts to ignore Meng Zhi’s firm touch, the weight of his hand on him, and the lurid imagings that stirs in him. His mind is his greatest treasure but also his worst enemy, he thinks while trying not to cringe. Maybe he can blame Dr. Yan’s medicine?

“Oh? Good.” Meng Zhi nods agreeably and returns his focus to his book. He does not move his hand.

“Good?” Mei Changsu warbles the question, then starts coughing. Meng Zhi hops up onto the bed and helps him sit up, holding a cloth to his mouth.

“When will this damn cold go away?” Meng Zhi mutters, rubbing his hands up and down Mei Changsu’s back.

Mei Changsu tries to say something reassuring, but instead coughs out the word “birthday?” and feels like he has failed at everything. If Fei Liu could come in and start beating Meng Zhi up, that would be excellent. He is of course not that lucky.

Meng Zhi chuckles. “I love you, but you do not have a good reputation for birthday parties,” he says, adjusting his legs to sit behind him and pulling Mei Changsu into his arms, his very solid thighs bracketing his hips.

His first thought past the shock of being manhandled into such a compromising position is that Meng Zhi is so, so warm . So warm. He’s snuggling backwards even as horror rips through his consciousness. “What did you say?”

“No one in their right mind would invite you to a party. Any party, I suppose,” Meng Zhi explains philosophically, “But especially birthday parties. You are trouble, Mei Changsu.” He laughs again, the vibration rolling through Mei Changsu, back to front.

“Oh.” Mei Changsu blinks and stares at the ceiling, wrapped up in Meng Zhi’s embrace and fondness.

“Ah, did I say something wrong again?” Meng Zhi sighs. “I’m sorry, I think it is funny, now that it is so much later. Too soon?”

“You said you love me,” Mei Changsu says instead.

“Oh. Yes! I do! Of course!”

“Of course?”

“No?”

“No?” Mei Changsu frowns.

“Yes!”

“Yes? What?”

“Mei Changsu! Ha! I love you! I thought you knew that, now that we are lovers.”

“We...what?” Mei Changsu stutters.

Gong Li drops the tea tray he had been carrying into the room, which falls to the floor in a resounding crash of broken china and splashing water. He looks between them several times, turns, and flees. The coward.

Meng Zhi ignores that with a snort of laughter, then kisses Mei Changsu’s temple. “Don’t be shy, between us. I have known ever since you let me into your inner chambers that night, when we were discussing books on military tactics.”

“You have? Known?” He is so very confused, which is rather a novel experience for him. Maybe he needs more drugs from Dr. Yan?

“You let me put you to bed, remember? Of course I knew from that point that we are lovers!”

“But we haven’t...that is…we—” He almost coughs again but Meng Zhi tightens his hold just enough to keep the fit from setting in.

“You are delicate and of poor health. I would never push for more than to be in your exalted company, my love.” He rubs his nose against Mei Changsu’s ear. He regrets that his body does not react normally anymore, not since the operation that turned him into Mei Changsu, but it is an erotic sensation nonetheless.

“Oh.” It is the best response he has, for the moment. He is confident he’ll think of something more intelligent and befitting of his genius later. At some point. Eventually.

In the meantime he allows himself to sink into the warm (so warm!) embrace of the man he has come to love — a most unexpected choice, but for all his vast, storied knowledge built up over decades of study, Mei Changsu has never, ever claimed to understand the ways the heart. He would not have chosen this with anyone given his grim diagnosis, but he is here, now, and Meng Zhi is holding him as if he is precious and pure.

“I can wait for more intimate relations when your health returns,” Meng Zhi says plainly, without shame. He reaches out and grabs his book, opening it with one hand to start reading again, keeping his other hand wrapped firmly around Mei Changsu’s torso. “I promise that will be the best birthday present you could ever give me, dearest Su.”