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Shangguan Qian is, at last, a properly married woman. This isn't something she ever thought she would experience, in all honesty. It's never been her priority, never been something she thought to reach for with sincerity or at all. Her sect, gone; her Wufeng mentor, dead; her entire life and her revenge, placed trustingly into someone else's hands.
It's strange, to realize that she genuinely thinks of Gong Shanjue as trustworthy now. That when she looks at him and thinks I would give my life for you, she means it. But the Gong family is, for all their faults—and there are oh, so many of those—a generous family, willing to give richly to those who reach out for it, those who weep for it, those who demand it, those who submit to it.
Even if she and Yun Weishan weren't living proof of that, Hanya Si, still convalescing, is evidence of the Gong family's immense and terrifying love made manifest.
She pulls the rosewood comb through her hair, catching and caging a few loose strands into a small container made for this express purpose. Later, once she has enough, she'll weave them into a lover's knot to bind a jade ornament at Gong Shangjue's waist. It warms her to think of him carrying a small piece of her when he tends to matters in the outside world—a reminder of all that he has promised to her in these short months—just as it warms her to know she carries, hidden still, a piece of him.
She hasn't told him yet. She hasn't told anyone. But she will. Soon.
Not tonight. Tonight is for the two of them. They have finally undergone the formal steps of ceremony, now that all is well and the Sword Wielder is in his proper place. They have bowed to the ancestors, drunk of the wine, exchanged trinkets and sidelong looks. Tonight will not be like the first time, a stolen, slow moment of quiet, buoyed by warm water and little more than their own budding desire for one another. (Nor any of the brief moments that followed, quiet hands and mouths in the precious, dark moments before the manor awoke, while the world around them was too drowsy to be suspicious.)
Now, on the formal night of their wedding, they can join together freely and with abandon—just like she hopes Yun Weishan and Gong Ziyu are doing. Had better be doing. Their sad, longing expressions grew tiresome weeks ago, and if Yun Weishan isn't pregnant by the end of the month, she'll be so disappointed in them both she might scream.
Enough of that. Shangguan Qian takes a deep breath—she will not think about those two fools again tonight—and sets aside the last of her wedding jewelry, heavy rings, earrings and necklaces that weighed her down. The door at the far end of the room swings quietly open and Gong Shangjue walks in, already pulling the ruby-inlaid, gold guan from his hair and tossing the pin carelessly onto the nearby bureau.
He pauses there and looks at her through narrowed eyes. Only a short time ago, she might have mistaken his expression for disdain, but she's learning him, little by little, as he's learning her. There's amusement in his gaze that she was so quick to divest of her wedding adornment, and a little disappointment too.
"I was at least as uncomfortable as you. You only had to wear your wedding clothes and guan. I had to wear all of this." She gestures to the pile of jewelry and hair ornaments with a dramatic little sigh. "If I had waited for you, my neck might have snapped."
A tiny movement pulls at the corners of his mouth, there and gone again. A smile—contentment, now that she knows what to look for. "It took longer to withdraw from the banquet than I expected. My brother—" No need to ask which one. "—is in a celebratory mood."
He reaches for her and she rises from her dressing table to meet him. His broad hand smooths over her collars, lifts to cup her cheek warmly. She closes her eyes and indulges herself, leaning into the touch like she did that night in the bath, brushing her lips gently over the pulse in his wrist. He lets her, leans in close to touch their foreheads together.
There are things they must speak of, uncomfortable truths to lay bare before one another, confessions to make and vows to reaffirm. But not tonight. Tonight is for this.
"Qian'er," he says against her lips. "Furen."
Her laughter, when he tumbles them both into bed, is so genuine it takes her by surprise.
And then he does, again, and again, and gloriously again.
The compound returns to…not normalcy, exactly, but as close to it as the oddities that make up the Gong family can manage. Gong Ziyu appears daily to speak to the elders or to his eldest brother in turn before making himself conspiciously scarce, even more attached at the hip to his lovely wife than he was before. Shangguan Qian hasn't seen more than a glimpse of Yun Weishan in nearly a week, but during her brief appearances there is a healthy flush on her cheeks and a lightness to her steps. The two women share knowing glances with one another in their passing meetings; thus far, married life suits them both exceptionally well.
She suspects married life suits Yun Weishan even better than it does her, now that details surrounding Wufeng's recent invasion and the manor's defense have been laid bare. Gong Shangjue, in a display of impressive tact, has coaxed the full depths of Shangguan Qian's truth from her during their many hours in bed, luxurious pleasure rendering her more honest than she might otherwise be. It is a far pleasanter form of interrogation than her first experience at his mercy, and her responses are likewise easier, if also somewhat distracted at times.
She will not tell him yet, can barely admit it to herself, but there is a relief in it. A restfulness she has not known in years, since she was a child. To place her anger and her hate and her visceral need for revenge into the hands of one of the few who can leave the manor is a weight lovingly taken from her shoulders. In time, she'll chafe under it, but for now, she sleeps better than ever.
The more pressing issue in her newly formed marriage, the one that already chafes at her, is not the secrets she still carries but the youngest Gong family scion. It surprised her from the start to hear family servants and guards refer to him as strange, reticent, emotions carefully hidden. Shangguang Qian has never found him so; to her, he wears his thoughts openly, in hunched shoulders when Gong Shangjue scolds him, the twist of his mouth when pressed to do something he doesn't want to, the smug lift of his chin when he (inevitably) gets his way. Gong Yuanzhi is hidden only in the way the deeper meaning of a poem is hidden—not at all, if one bothers to actually read it. In the past it made him easy to tease and trade barbs with (the comment about the mattress was not, perhaps, her most graceful moment, but the expression of startled injury that crossed his face at the time is still a treasured memory). Now, it seems, it has led to multiple arguments between the heirs of the Zhi and Jue lineages.
"He just needs time to get used to the change," Gong Shangjue says in a low voice. His thumb strokes slowly over the curve of her breast, a motion meant to gently dowse a flame, not stoke it.
He would get used to it more quickly if he'd stop drinking vinegar like water, Shangguan Qian thinks uncharitably. "You would think I was a newly arrived bride," is what she says instead. Even to her own ears, the comment sounds petulant; Gong Yuanzhi's sulky tone is rubbing off on her.
Gong Shangjue makes a small noise—a laugh, knowing him—and lifts his eyes from the pale hollow of her throat to her face. "I think he's used to having me to himself. He's never had to share before."
She wisely refrains from calling Gong Yuanzhi spoiled. Or mentioning whose fault that is.
"Is that why his timing has been particularly awful of late?"
This time, his laugh is more obvious, face to face as they are. The corners of his mouth turn up and his eyes soften. "Unfortunately, that's just how he is," he says. His hand slides down her body, over her hip, her thigh, hooks behind her knee to pull her leg up. She follows the movement, stroking the sweat-damp hair at his nape with indulgent affection. "The infirmary can only keep him busy so long, even these days."
Tending the wounded and restocking medicine stores, to say nothing of tending precious new chuyun chonglian buds, are surely time consuming, but neither task has done anything to remove the permanent, jealous crease between Gong Yuanzhi's brows. If anything, the constant reminders of the invasion seem to have made his behavior even worse—
Shangguan Qian sucks in a sharp breath. Gong Shangjue is thick inside her, burning from a too-quick slide, his face unbearably pleased with himself.
"You're plotting again," he says. His thumb slides between her thighs, not quite where it ought to be. Infuriating. Enticing too. "Enough, Qian'er. Look at me."
For now, she gladly does.
Gong Yuanzhi is almost embarrassingly easy to manipulate. Though he makes it clear as often as possible that he does not and will "never" trust her, Shangguan Qian finds that his youthful, desperate desire to be seen, to be heard, to be loved and wanted, makes him all too weak to even the barest scraps of affection. She drives the knife of kindness into this gaping hole in his armor without a single shred of guilt.
"Yuanzhi-didi."
He glares at her through open shelves stacked full of envelopes and jars of medicines, one hand hovering over a freshly penned label.
Rather than risk a snide comment about her choice of address (she and Gong Shangjue are married now, after all, so she has the right), she dislodges the lid of the box she carries and allows the rich smell of stewed chicken, fragrant herbs, and the lingering sweetness of jujube do the talking for her. Gong Yuanzhi's reaction is a sullen grunt, but he drops his hand to his side and leaves the pharmacy for a small study near the back of the infirmary.
Study is, perhaps, a generous definition of the room Shangguan Qian follows him to. There is a desk, yes. Ink and writing brushes. Shelves filled with records and scrolls. A small bed against the far wall for those late nights when a return home is impractical. But every available surface is stacked high with medicine packets in varying states of full, medical equipment laid out haphazardly but meticulously clean. As Gong Yuanzhi clears just enough space on the desk to make room for the dinner Shangguan Qian has brought him she realizes this isn't a study so much as a laboratory. Here, then, is where Gong Yuanzhi tests and trials his decoctions.
To be allowed into what is in effect his inner sanctum is a privilege, and one she is too wise to openly acknowledge. "I heard from Jin Fu that you've been here since before dawn," she says instead. "If you came that early, you must have missed breakfast. It's so late now, but you didn't arrive at the Jue lineage for dinner either."
She lays the dishes into the cleared space and fills a bowl with the stew before offering it over. Gong Yuanzhi's face does a funny thing where he starts to scowl, twists into a pout, then forces a strained, polite smile onto his face.
"Thank you, gugu."
Rude.
"Your brother missed you at dinner today." She closes the box again neatly and rises. "Will you join us tomorrow?"
He pauses with a piece of chicken halfway to his mouth. The sulky expression is more obvious this time. "I'll think about it."
For now that's good enough. If she's honest, she hadn't expected much of an answer at all, much less a tentatively positive one. Shangguan Qian takes her first victory with grace and leaves Gong Yuanzhi to his dinner with a gentle smile. He watches her go with open suspicion, but by the time she's out the door and closing it behind her, the allure of a fresh meal has taken over, and his attention on her is long gone.
The following evening he does, in fact, join them for dinner. Gong Shangjue gives him the best pieces, as usual, and while the conversation lags from time to time, Gong Yuanzhi is civil throughout. Though he offers no thanks for the meal—which isn't a surprise, really—he does pause at the door and, after a moment, ducks his head slightly in what she recognizes is meant to be a bow. Even Gong Shangjue seems surprised by that; he raises an eyebrow at Shangguan Qian and she smiles at him. The indulgent expression of fondness that crosses his face makes her task even more worth it.
She visits the infirmary again a few days later—not for Gong Yuanzhi this time, but for Hanya Si, who is finally awake, albeit for only brief stretches of time. What a strange turn of events that she entered the manor secretly, and now here she, Yun Weishan and Hanya Si are, Wufeng assassins all, living openly among the Gong family.
Well. "Living" may be a strong word for Hanya Si, at present, but he isn't dead, at least.
After a short visit with Hanya Si (he sleeps through most of it and spends the rest nodding off), she leaves the infirmary, passing Gong Yuanzhi as she does. The expression of bewildered pique that crosses his face when she fails to greet him is charming in its own way and a sign of his growing goodwill toward her. The only other person whose greetings he pays any attention to, after all, are Gong Shangjue's.
The pattern continues. On one visit, a meal and snacks, an appreciative comment about the state of the infirmary or Gong Yuanzhi's medicinal skills (these compliments are far better recieved than ones regarding his skill as a poisoner, though she knows he's proud of his skill there too). On another, mild distraction, a missed greeting or a slight delay in her response. In this way she tames him—and quickly too—teaches him to look forward to her visits and the pleasant things they might bring. The push-pull of her affection, its withdrawl and eventual return, hooks him as easily as a complacent fish in a pond. After only a week, he invites her in for tea. Three days more and she catches sight of him peeking around a corner as she approaches the building.
He steps out from cover in what he surely believes is a nonchalant manner, falling into step beside her on their path to his study. "Jie."
Triumph.
"Didi." She lifts the small basket in her hand to show him its contents. "I brought cakes as thanks for the tea yesterday. Perhaps we could share?"
Even as she makes the offer, she knows he'll refuse; it's taken her a day too long to get here. Half a month has passed since her wedding and Gong Shangjue will need his brother's defense before the afternoon is out. It's still satisfying to see a flicker of genuine disappointment cross Gong Yuanzhi's face.
"I have…another engagement." He steps around the truth of the matter even though they're both aware of the engagement in question. At least this way, he can save face for his beloved brother.
She offers up a sweet smile and passes through his study door. "I had almost forgotten that was today. I suppose I should speak to Elder Yue about my own matters, in that case."
Now that she's formally part of the Gong family, her former crimes absolved, she's been given complete information regarding the true nature of the Fortnight Flies. Understanding the full truth left her so furious she felt sick with it at the time, the kind of rage that drew a burning line of fire up her spine and left her fingers dull and cold. It's better now, so long as she doesn't think about it too hard, doesn't think about the way the entire family and Yun Weishan outmanuvered her. That alone would be humiliating enough, but the knowledge that Gong Ziyu himself petitioned the elders to allow her a dose of the real thing, a taste of the Heart Devouring Moon, is an embarrassment she would prefer to forget entirely.
"You…" Gong Yuanzhi hestitates. It isn't in his nature to hesitate, especially not when it comes to his brother. Whatever he's gearing up to say must be important to him, then. Shangguan Qian takes a bite from a cake and waits him out.
A fingertip-sized chunk of ash falls from a nearby incense stick before he finally speaks up again. "You should wait here," he says eventually. "No one will bother you and I can come get you when ge and I— when I'm finished."
Shangguan Qian blinks twice. She doesn't have to exaggerate her wide eyes, her reaction is genuine. Gong Yuanzhi is inviting her to stay in his study, unguarded, surrounded by countless poisons they both know she could make easy use of. It is, without question, the most significant gesture of trust he has ever offered her. It might be the most significant gesture of trust he's ever offered anyone.
"Alright." She's at a genuine loss for words. This is all she can offer to him in return.
Gong Yuanzhi fidgets in place for a moment, then nods once, quickly, and darts out the door. He doesn't even close it behind him, silent permission for her to roam the clinic freely, should she so choose. Well, then. She hadn't expected her campaign to be quite so effective, but she isn't going to complain about it.
Shangguan Qian finds her patience repaid not by Gong Yuanzhi, but by her husband. It is Gong Shangjue who appears in the study doorway many hours later. She looks up from the medical text in her hand with no small surprise; he looks truly awful, which does not bode well for her own anticipated experiences with the Heart Devouring Poison.
"Goodness," she says, rising from the desk. "I'm surprised Yuanzhi-didi let you out of his sight."
Gong Shangjue's smile is wan but genuine. "He almost didn't. It's only because I agreed to come straight here that he agreed. What have you done to him?"
She purses her lips in though, turning the question over. "I don't think I've done anything. What does my lord mean by his question?"
"He left you in his study. Alone." He reaches out and takes her by the elbow, leading her gently out of the room and toward the clinic exit. "That tells me you've practically domesticated him and I'd like to know how you managed it."
Domesticated is a strong word for whatever Gong Yuanzhi is, but it is nevertheless pleasing to know that her efforts have not gone unnoticed by either of the brothers. She pauses near the door long enough to pluck a packet of herbs from the shelf that she prepared earlier, holding it up for Gong Shangjue to sniff at. He raises an eyebrow at the smell.
"Are you implying you drugged him?"
She covers her mouth with a hand and laughs brightly. As much as she considers herself clever with poisons and other drugs, she'd have to be an idiot of the highest order to attempt something like that against Gong Yuanzhi. "These are for you, a tea to help you regain your energy quickly. As for Gong Yuanzhi, I've done nothing other than offer him friendship. Ask him yourself and he will tell you."
"No need." He closes the door to the clinic and gestures for her to walk ahead of him. Anywhere else it would be a remarkable breach of etiquette for her to do so. Here it merely speaks to Gong paranoia. "I've sent him back to his own lineage for the night. Should I have need of anything tonight, I will leave myself in your capable hands."
Fortunately, Gong Shangjue needs nothing more that evening than a quiet bath and a full night of sleep. She's happy to tend to him, but slips away once she knows he's fully asleep, settling down across his bedroom at the desk and extracting some paper from a drawer. After a few minutes, she steps outside and waits patiently until Jin Fu arrives before her, materializing from the darkness. As much as she may be a formal member of the Gong family now, it still unsettles her to know how closely she—and all of them—are watched, even if it's a protective eye.
Jin Fu takes the letter when she offers it and, with a single glance and a nod of acknowledgement, turns and vanishes down the steps and into the dark shadows that lead out of the Jue lineage.
Shangguan Qian waits a little longer, watching the stars above her spark beautiful mockery at the earth below. Eventually, she returns to Gong Shangjue's side in silence.
The appointed day—though the truth of its existence is known only to her—arrives quickly. There is hardly any time to waste, after all. Gong Shangjue has recovered from his trial, but her own soon approaches, and she would rather have everything settled before it than after.
She lures her husband to bed with ease; the chill of a spring evening makes the warmth of quilts and the softness of a human body an irresistable treat. It takes little more than the delicate touch of her fingertips against his wrist for him to look at her knowingly for a moment before he sweeps her into his arms and strides past the few servants still working to his rooms. A few voices titter quietly in their wake, but Jin Fu's timing is as immaculate as ever and soon the courtyard is empty and silent behind them.
The warmth of her husband's mouth between her thighs and her own hands on her breasts is enticing but far from enough. She urges him on quickly, quickly, like one of their early stolen moments, like their wedding night, and soon Gong Shangjue is deep within her, thick and full in a way that makes her sigh.
He kisses her, hair falling in a curtain around their heads, spilling over her shoulders and breasts like so much silk. She lifts her hand to his scalp, combing his hair with her fingers until her hand is full of it and she can tug at it in a way that makes him groan and drive into her ever more deeply.
The door to the room opens.
"Jie?" comes Gong Yuanzhi's voice. He sounds puzzled. As he should; she'd invited him to dinner, after all, and there is no dinner on the table.
"Here," she calls out to him, as casually as she can manage with Gong Shangjue's startled, angry eyes landing heavy on her face.
Gong Yuanzhi turns the corner and stops mid-step. He doesn't seem to know what to do. Well, that's fair enough. He's been surprised, after all, but she's confident he'll settle quickly. She's seen his face when he thinks nobody is looking.
"Yuanzhi," she says, and lifts her hand to gesture him closer.
Gong Yuanzhi follows her urging mutely. He stops just out of reach and swallows, looking somehow eager and terrified all at once. Lost. Hopeful. Utterly uncertain.
Frozen, Gong Shangjue very deliberately does not look away from Shangguan Qian. "Qian'er," he says in a warning, questioning tone.
She disregards him for the moment, beckoning Gong Yuanzhi once more. At last he comes within her grasp; she takes hold of his wrist and pulls, using his bashful terror against him. He stumbles forward blindly, led whether he realizes it or not, until his hand comes between her body and Gong Shangjue's, warm and pleasantly calloused against the soft skin of her belly. A small, animal noise escapes his throat. Gong Shanjue shudders, but doesn't pull away from either of them.
It surprises her, given the rumors about their relationship, to realize this is a line neither of them has ever crossed. That Gong Shangjue and Gong Yuanzhi have a closer bond than their status —whether as cousins or lineage heads—is something of an open secret in the estate, and their physical closeness—far more than propriety would allow, yet ignored by those around them—led her to assume they'd fallen into bed together long before now.
But all evidence points to the contrary. Gong Yuanzhi stares down their bodies, mouth open, gaze transfixed on the space where she and Gong Shangjue are joined, the space where she has guided his hand. He's frozen in place, and even Gong Shangjue, normally so confident, seems stricken.
She shifts slightly and rests her hand atop Gong Yuanzhi's, pressing his fingers down, down against her, until their joined fingers part the curled hair there and touch delicate flesh beneath. This barrier between brothers, the back of her hand protecting each from coming into contact with the other, breaks the spell between them, and both their attention returns—as it should—to her.
Gong Shangjue's hips stutter forward; his cock feels heavy inside her, leaving a dull ache in her belly that's unpleasant in a way she wants more of. Gong Yuanzhi's fingers slide against her clit, too light until she presses against his hand and shows him directly how she prefers to be touched. He learns quickly; she arches up and they gasp, the three of them, as one.
"There," she says boldly. "Yes, that's right, just like that. Husband, you must not fail us now."
This close together, she can hear the way their breathing changes. Gong Shangjue's slows; she knows she's irritated him, perhaps even angered him, taking this particular risk, but she's pleased to see (and feel) that he stays as he is, willing to remain, to seek his pleasure alongside hers despite the sudden added variable. She may suffer for her indiscretion later, but she will not suffer for it now. Gong Yuanzhi's breathing quickens in contrast; so far as she know he's never intimately touched anyone other than himself, and perhaps not even that. His eyes are wide in the dim light, a pretty blush dusted across his cheeks that makes her want to tease him.
"Don't be shy," she urges him, despite Gong Shangjue's warning growl. "You're in no danger here. Your brother has only ever bitten me, and it really isn't so terrible when he does."
"Qian'er!"
She laughs, both at Gong Shangjue's horrified exclamation and at the way Gong Yuanzhi's blush darkens and spreads down his lovely throat. "There," she says again, pressing her hand over Gong Yuanzhi's for more pressure and bearing down on the equally lovely cock inside her. She feels it twitch inside her and Gong Shangjue groans, pressing his forehead against her shoulder as his hips shudder helplessly. Gong Yuanzhi tries to pull his hand away, but she grabs hold with both of hers and holds him where he is, grinding hard against his calloused fingers until she comes. It's no more or less intense than any other orgasm she's ever had, but she arches her back theatrically for their benefit, wrapping one leg around Gong Shangjue as the pulses roll through her, ignoring his stricken "Qian'er, Qian'er" in her ear.
Only when the sensations against her clit and inside her belly grow too intense, too overstimulating does she release the brothers. Shangguan Qian falls back against the quilts and pillows, languid with the dual satisfaction of a good orgasm and a successful scheme. She looks at the two of them with a sense of pride, trailing her fingertips idly over her own nipples just to make herself squirm.
Gong Yuanzhi backs up a few steps. He holds up his hand and stares at it like it's a foreign limb someone grafted to his body while he was asleep. His mouth is slightly open and she can see his shoulders heaving with how hard he's breathing. Poor thing didn't do nearly enough to be so close to panting; he really is a virgin, she realizes.
"Yuanzhi." Gong Shangjue pushes himself up on one elbow and sends a truly murderous look at him.
"Ge, I'm sorry, I—" Gong Yuanzhi swallows visibly. His eyes are blown wide.
Shangguan Qian puts a soothing hand on Gong Shangjue's bicep, but he shrugs her off. Not the worst sign, but not a good one either. "Shangjue…."
"No." He cuts her off, rolling off her and rising to his feet. He stalks forward—Gong Yuanzhi falls back out of what looks like pure, terrified instinct—and grabs a layer of clothing from where it's thrown over a stand, wrapping it around himself enough for the most basic modesty. "Not another word from either of you. No excuses, no pleas, no rationale."
"Ge—"
"Get out." His voice is a snarl, barely contained rage. Gong Yuanzhi flees without another word.
Shangguan Qian begins to think that oh, she's overstepped before, but this has gone terribly wrong in a way she hadn't predicted. But when he turns to face her again, there's no anger on his face, only a deep exhaustion and something that looks like…grief. He sits on the edge of the bed and gestures for her to cover herself. She pulls the quilts up, grateful for the warmth they provide, if not protection. She doesn't dare speak.
"Wife," he says, after an agonizingly long silence. "We need to talk."