Xi Yu first noticed his own willfulness in a very small matter.
That evening, after returning from the market, he sat on the low couch eating grapes.
The grapes were bought by Que Zhi, washed and served in a coarse earthenware bowl, droplets of water still clinging to the skins.
Xi Yu ate one and spat the seed into his palm, only to realize he had nowhere to put it.
Que Zhi was wiping his curved saber at the other end of the couch, so Xi Yu reached over and tugged at his sleeve.
“Your hand.”
Without looking up, Que Zhi opened his palm and extended it toward him.
Xi Yu dropped the grape seed into his palm and went on to eat the next one.
The motion was as natural as if it had been repeated a thousand times—he ate one, spat the seed, Que Zhi caught it, and he ate another.
By the seventh grape, he suddenly froze. He looked at the small pile of moist grape seeds accumulating in Que Zhi’s palm, his thumb loosely cupped around them to keep them from falling, while his other hand still steadily held the cloth for wiping his blade.
He had spent eighteen years in the Cold Palace, and the first thing he learned was not to be a burden to anyone.
When Old Zhou brought him meals, he would wash the bowls spotless before returning them—not even a trace of oil left. Not because Old Zhou required it, but because he was afraid that if he caused even the slightest inconvenience, even that one kindness would be taken away.
Later, on the Gobi, when Que Zhi broke off pieces of dried bread for him, he would pick up every crumb and eat it, not daring to waste a single one.
When Que Zhi carried him across rivers, he would go rigid, barely daring to breathe.
He was afraid of owing favors.
He was afraid he wasn’t good enough.
He was afraid that the warmth he’d finally gained might be taken back if he did something wrong.
But now—what was he doing?
He was spitting grape seeds into someone’s palm.
Que Zhi caught them so naturally, neither disgusted nor annoyed, as if his palm had been made precisely for holding grape seeds.
It was only now that Xi Yu truly realized—
Que Zhi had been rubbing his thumb lately.
He’d thought it was because the bracer was too tight. But now he understood—how many things had he handed to Que Zhi these past days?
Grape seeds, half-eaten flatbread, fat he didn’t want to eat, a damp cloth he’d wiped his hands on. Every time, Que Zhi opened his palm and took them.
He’d taken them so naturally that Xi Yu had never once thought it wasn’t just how things were.
But this wasn’t just how things were.
No one should be expected to catch another person’s grape seeds.
He swallowed the grape in his mouth, bent down, and scooped the seeds from Que Zhi’s palm back into his own hand.
“I’ll throw them out myself.”
Que Zhi looked at him, puzzled.
Xi Yu stood up, walked to the bronze basin, and dumped the seeds into the leaf basket beside it.
He filled the basin halfway with water, brought it back, set it beside the couch, took Que Zhi’s hand, and pressed it into the water, bending down to wash his palm.
Water splashed noisily. Xi Yu dried it with a cloth and placed it back on Que Zhi’s knee.
With downcast eyes, his fingers lightly twisting the hem of his robe, Xi Yu spoke softly, a hint of self-reflection in his tone—not self-abasement, not timidity.
“Do you ever think I’m a lot of trouble? That even my grape seeds need you to catch for me?”
Que Zhi let out a sigh, his voice full of tender concern, yet he didn’t treat Xi Yu as someone fragile to be coddled. His tone was gentle and steady:
“Not at all. On the Gobi, you’d go thirsty and hungry without saying a word. I’ve never once thought you were trouble.”
“Not on the Gobi. Not on the snowy mountain. Not in the stone hut. Not before, and not ever.”
“Now that you’re willing to spit your seeds into my hand—it’s not trouble. It means you’re finally not afraid of me anymore.”
Que Zhi cupped Xi Yu’s face in both hands.
His movements were impossibly gentle, his thumbs brushing across the young man’s slightly warm cheeks. His gaze was tender and reverent as he bent down and placed a soft, devout kiss on Xi Yu’s smooth forehead.
Then he tilted his head slightly lower, still holding Xi Yu’s face, gently guiding him to meet his eyes. His deep gaze was filled with wholehearted sincerity.
He spoke slowly, each word earnest: “…A’yu. May I call you that?”
“Mm—yes, you… you may.” Xi Yu felt as if he might melt entirely.
“I am so grateful—that in this lifetime, I met you, won your heart, and get to be your husband.”
Que Zhi’s eyes were full of reverence and sincerity as they traced the lines of Xi Yu’s brows and features. His voice carried a quiet sense of gratitude and contentment, his gaze growing ever more tender and warm:
“My wife is so beautiful, gentle, courageous, upright, and clear-minded… There is no one who wouldn’t love you. I am so fortunate that I became the one you chose to look upon with special favor.”
He leaned in slightly, his forehead resting against Xi Yu’s, their breaths mingling. His eyes were so soft they could drown a person, his voice low and affectionate:
“So, A’yu—none of what you’ve given me has ever been trouble. I do it all willingly.”
“Willingly. I only want to cherish you and protect you.”
Xi Yu, his face still cradled in Que Zhi’s hands, had eyes glistening wet, his entire face flushed crimson. His long lashes trembled as he dared not meet Que Zhi’s deep, burning gaze.
He bit his lip softly, his heart warm yet shy, the tip of his nose tingling faintly. After a long silence, his voice came out soft and trembling:
“Don’t… don’t praise me like that. I’m not as good as you say.”
Xi Yu knelt on the low couch, looking at those palms that held his warmth, that held every stray temper he’d had nowhere to put. He reached out and folded Que Zhi’s fingers one by one, covering that old scar on his palm.
Then he looked up. In his peach-blossom eyes, there was no teasing, no push-and-pull—only a light quieter than firelight.
He said, “Que Zhi. With you, I’ve learned to be willful. I never dared before. From now on—”
“From now on, keep doing it,”
Que Zhi turned his hand over and held Xi Yu’s fingers gently, as if holding a bird that had finally chosen to land in his palm.
“From now on, you can spit grape seeds into my hand. You can leave your hair loose when you don’t want to comb it. You can give me the dishes you don’t like. You can wake me up in the middle of the night to talk. You can say you’re too tired to walk after riding at the horse grounds. You can call my name anywhere, anytime.
From now on, be as willful as you like—I’m here. No one will dare say a word against you.”
The coolness of the well water still lingered in his palm, but Que Zhi held on lightly, as if afraid of crushing something fragile—or as if waiting for Xi Yu to pull away.
Xi Yu looked down at their joined hands, then up at the face whose features were carved in light and shadow by the bronze crane lamp.
Suddenly, he reached out and pinched Que Zhi’s cheeks, gently pulling them apart.
“Say what you mean and mean what you say. From now on, every single grape seed—you catch them all.
And once you catch them, no returns—I mean the grape seeds, not me.”
“Never. Not ever.”
Xi Yu let go and leaned back onto the edge of the couch.
He adjusted the wick of the bronze crane lamp, brightening the flame. The bronze mirror reflected his still-damp fingertips—every crevice between them marked by the care this person had given him.
He pressed the night’s fluttering excitement deep into his knuckles, locked it within his palms, and then climbed into bed.
Que Zhi tucked the corner of the blanket around him, then picked up the empty bowl from the couch. “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Anything’s fine. You still have to comb my hair.” Xi Yu pulled the blanket up to his chin, leaving only his eyes visible.
“Alright.”
Que Zhi bent down and pressed a light, tender kiss to Xi Yu’s warm cheek, his breath cool and gentle, his voice low and affectionate: “Sweet dreams.”
Then he turned and slipped quietly away, softly closing the door behind him.
The room fell silent, save for the faint rustle of the night wind brushing past the eaves.
Xi Yu lay in bed, his clear eyes open, gazing at the soft shadows cast upon the canopy above.
His mind replayed Que Zhi’s gentle whispers, his heartfelt praise, and that confession filled with such devotion.
Slowly, he lowered his long lashes, warmth spreading through his heart. A soft, unconscious smile curved at the corners of his lips.
Gradually, his thoughts settled, wrapped in a quiet sense of happiness. Carried by tender reflections, he drifted peacefully into sleep.
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