Work Text:
There is a sound.
A rustle of fabric, the scuffing of a shoe on the polished wood floor. No, not a shoe, a sock.
The sound of someone trying to be silent.
Jin Guangyao eyes remain closed, his breathing is calm. He shifts in his bed, subtly, naturally. His hand moves under his neck roll, to the sheathed knife he keeps there. It is warm, like always, it pulses under his touch. He stills his mind, commands his traitorous heart to stop its pounding, and prepares.
An intake of breath.
“Husband.” Jin Guangyao relaxes. It is only his wife. He opens his eyes and pretends to come awake. “I could not sleep.” Her small hand touches his shoulder, and he shifts over to make room.
Qin Su is heavy with child and often has trouble sleeping. He pulls her against him, buries his face in her hair, and they curl together, her back against his chest. She smells of sweat and flowers, and her body is warm and soft. In the dark, he allows his face to twist into bitterness. Qin Su, his devoted lady wife. Qin Su, his sister.
Before he met Qin Su, it had never occurred to him that he may come to care for a wife as a man cares for a woman. Ever since his father gave him his name, he had been plotting his marriage. He must choose someone whose family was important to his father, so that his father would think twice about putting Jin Guangyao aside for another. Yet the family must also be ambitious enough to see him as a war hero that would elevate their status, rather than a prostitute’s son that would shame them. Even though he became Jin Guangyao, there were too many gentry who thought him shameful. The Qin family were perfect — devoted and trusted servants of the Jin for many generations, yet wealthy and respected on their own merits. He decided on Qin Su before he ever truly met her. Admiring her, caring for her, loving her, these were not requirements or even considerations.
Even if all that were not true, Jin Guangyao had known since he was a child that he was a cutsleeve. He knew when he noticed that some men looked at him the same way that other men looked at his mother, and it felt exciting. Powerful. He could give these men what they wanted in return for what he needed. He had done so many times.
No, not everything they wanted. Not as much as that. Not always. But he could spark their notice, with a dimpled smile cup his hands around the delicate flame of desire, make them believe that perhaps a gift, a kind word, a favor for a-Yao could set them ablaze. It was how he had earned his first cultivation lessons after leaving the brothel, how he had cemented his position with the Nie.
How he had secured the protection of the Lan.
In all this time, he had never wanted a woman, never taken the girls offered him during his time with the Wen.
But now, as Jin Guangyao, heir to the Lanling Jin, he needed to be respectable. He needed a wife, and a child.
He was pleased, but not truly surprised, to find that Qin Su was kind, clever, and generous. He was surprised, however, to discover that, when she kissed him during a stolen moment alone, he wanted to kiss her back. And later, when he expressed his fear that his father would refuse the marriage, he was even more surprised at his eagerness to enact their plan of getting her with child. He took care to ensure that her first time was tender and sweet, and even after she told him that her monthly courses were late, they indulged in each other time and again. He was, against all expectations, happy.
But now, his happiness has turned to ashes. Qin Su is warm and soft in his arms, and instead of contentment, his stomach turns.
Jin Guangyao smooths the bitterness from his face. “Beloved, won’t you sleep better without this unworthy husband thrashing around and stealing the blankets?” Qin Su’s shoulders rise and fall in a single silent chuckle; this is a long quarrel with them.
“Don’t worry, husband. I will not trouble you. I just missed you.” Qin Su presses her hips back against his, and despite everything, he feels a pull towards her. But he cannot indulge. He shifts behind her, making room between them, placing his hands on the small of her back, digging in his thumbs where he knows she feels the strain of carrying their child. Her skin is hot beneath the thin fabric of her under-robe, her muscles tense. He rubs circles into the muscles there, and in time, he feels her relax beneath his hands.
He wonders if maybe she has fallen asleep, but then she inhales, her breath hitching softly: “I want you to touch me”.
This, too, is a long quarrel with them, and Jin Guangyao does not hesitate. He cannot, he will not. “You know we cannot. The child —“
Qin Su lets out a deep sigh, and struggles to turn over and face him.
“The child will not be hurt if you just touch me.” Her eyes are big and round, and they shine with unshed tears. “I want you to. I miss you.” Her breath is warm against his face. He has not touched her since before their wedding night. He knows his lies are growing thin. Before their wedding, he was too busy, too stressed. Their wedding night, he was too drunk. He then arranged to be desperately needed in the Cloud Recesses for several months, where he endured long days of soulful, wounded gazes from Zewu-jun. When he finally returned, he claimed fear of hurting the child, who was beginning to visibly swell her belly. When they shared a bed, he feigned sleep, tossing and turning, until Qin Su, exhausted with pregnancy and desperate for rest, moved to her own quarters.
He needs a new lie, as she will not remain pregnant forever. But every lie will hurt her, and who knows what a hurt wife could do? What lie could possibly satisfy her? He could take a mistress, or a concubine. But would she then think he was turning into his father? He could claim to be a cutsleeve, which would not even really be a lie, though he loved her truly. But would she feel hurt to think his ardor was false? Would she betray him, gossip to her ladies? He could claim physical incapacity, but already he feels his body responding to her.
She squeezes her eyes closed, and the tears fall. “I want you, husband.” It is less than a whisper.
He does not want to hurt her. He does not know how to avoid it. But he cannot tell her the truth, as it will hurt her most of all.
He is not sure what to say, and then she pulls his face to hers and kisses him.
Absurdly, he thinks of a time when he was on the run from the Wen with Zewu-jun, back when he was still only Meng Yao. Zewu-jun was nearly recovered, and they had already hatched the plan for Meng Yao to go to the Wens. He was to leave in the morning, and Zewu-jun was to continue to Qinghe on his own.
That night, after weeks of hiding together, trying to ignore the tension building between them, they lay staring up at the stars, and then Zewu-jun had said his name, and he had turned to face him, and Zewu-jun pulled his face to his and kissed him, just like this.
Qin Su kisses him, and he does not know how to stop, so he kisses her in return. His stomach turns, but only for a moment, as his body remembers those innocent months before their marriage. He feels her hand slip under his robe and he does not stop her.
Her other hand finds his, and their fingers twine together. “Touch me,” she urges, and she guides his hand down, beneath the tautness of her belly, to where she is hot and wet. He makes a fist in the way she likes, and she pulls him hard against her and begins to grind. After a moment, he is able to match her rhythm without her guiding him, and she reaches to take him in hand. It does not take them long to reach their climaxes together.
They fall asleep, curled against each other once more, his hand on her belly.
He dreams.
***
Qin Su is in labor. The baby has come early, as is so common with first pregnancies, or so the midwives say. Jin Guangyao paces outside the birthing room. His father is there, on his throne, laughing at him. Leering. His mouth is wet, and naked women are everywhere. Zewu-Jun is there too, a kind, sad smile on his face.
Screams come from the birthing room. Jin Guangyao’s heart is racing. Zewu-jun is peering through the door to the birthing room and his lips are drawn tight. He closes his eyes. What does he not want to see? Jin Guangyao hurries to the door but his feet are stuck in mud, it is like running through water. His father is laughing, clapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him.
Qin Su is there. She is covered in blood. She is crying, and her tears are blood.
“There’s something wrong with our son.”
***
He wakes.
He does not thrash. He rises slowly, carefully. He takes the knife from under the neckroll. He washes the mess from his body and gets dressed.
He meets the servant outside their quarters. “Tell my lady wife when she wakes that I received an urgent summons from Gusu. I will be back soon.”
Zewu-jun formally receives him in the hanshi. As always, he catches his arms as he bows too low. Jin Guangyao feels his long, calloused fingers against his forearms, as always, but this time he does not allow himself to be lifted. He stays bent, and the hands stay on his skin. Zewu-jun is trembling. Jin Guangyao’s heart pounds in his ears. He gazes up through his eyelashes at Zewu-jun, who is staring back at him with the same naked, hopeful mien that he turned on him when they first met, so many years ago, and when they parted the morning Jin Guangyao left for the Wens, the night after they kissed for the first and the last time.
Jin Guangyao straightens, finally, then nods at Zewu-jun, who dismisses the servants. Finally alone, he reaches for Zewu-jun, pulls his face down to him, and kisses him.
He does not leave the Cloud Recesses until after his son is born.