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Dongfang Yuechu has lost all grasp of time. While they hurt him, it’s difficult to hang on to his thoughts, and each time he cups one in his hands, the next burst of pain startles it into flight and away from him.
He wishes he could think about Xu Jin, at least, but Yuechu is afraid to. They want him to talk about Xu Jin, which means Yuechu’s one and only mission is to pretend as if the most important part of his life doesn’t exist.
“Who?” Yuechu rasps once more.
“The prince of Dayu.”
“Who?”
“Your fiancé,” the angry voices insist.
They don’t like his obstinance.
Time fractures again.
It coalesces once more when the pain finally stops for longer than the length of a shouted question.
Yuechu thinks he might be dead. If he is, at least he can think about Xu Jin safely.
He blinks open his eyes, crusted with sweat and blood, and tries to focus. The room he’s been kept in for—a while—is still dark, and the details are blurry from too many blows to the head. He can see the torchlight glinting off metal, the instruments of torture sitting there waiting to be used. He hears someone cry out, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s not him, for once.
Someone in the room is fighting. Yuechu blinks, squints. There are several figures leaping around the room, all armed with swords. One man is fighting the rest, and—Yuechu’s heart leaps—he recognizes this one, even though he can’t see well enough to focus on his face. The way the man moves is effortlessly familiar, and Yuechu, although it hurts to move, struggles against the chains holding him, the spikes in his shoulders pinning him to the chair. That’s his love, fighting his captors.
Yuechu’s vision blurs even more as his eyes fill with tears. Tears of relief, of joy, of love. He isn’t afraid anymore, not for himself and certainly not for his rescuer. No one can best Xu Jin in a fight.
Yuechu sits still, knowing it won’t be long now. He isn’t surprised when it is only mere minutes (time is working again) before almost everyone in the room is dead or breathing their last on the floor. The last man standing looks around at his fallen foes and nudges one of them with his boot to be sure. Yuechu can’t quite see his expression, but he imagines Xu Jin’s beloved scowl, and it makes him smile.
Xu Jin’s gaze lands on Yuechu then, and he goes very still. “Yuechu.” With a single bound, Xu Jin leaps across the bodies in between them. He kneels in front of Yuechu but doesn’t touch him, his hands hovering over his skin.
Yuechu hastily blinks the hot tears away, needing to see Xu Jin’s face. He’s gaunter than he was when Yuechu saw him last, and there’s a cut above his eye that’s half-healed, but otherwise he looks fine. He looks beautiful, in spite of his distraught expression. “You’re here,” Yuechu says. His own voice sounds ugly, he knows. Not enough water and too much screaming.
“I’m sorry it took so long.” He’s still not touching Yuechu, which makes Yuechu forget about the spikes and lean forward. He whimpers.
“Don’t move,” Xu Jin says hastily. “Please, Yuechu, wait a moment.”
“They told me you were dead,” Yuechu chokes out. He’s almost sure that he’s not hallucinating, but this all feels too good to be true.
Xu Jin’s hands do land on him, then, framing Yuechu’s face so gently, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Yuechu closes his eyes and listens to Xu Jin’s dear voice. “I’m here, I’m alive, I promise. I’ve never lied to you and I never will.”
Yuechu sighs. If there’s one person he trusts in the whole world, human or fairy, it’s Xu Jin.
Xu Jin kisses him lightly on the forehead, then steps back. With a flick of his sword, he slices through the chains. But the hooks make him scowl.
As Xu Jin inspects them, Yuechu can’t help himself from reaching up and grasping the edge of Xu Jin’s robes. He’s unreasonably afraid that Xu Jin will leave him here. Xu Jin notices and takes Yuechu’s hand in his own, holding tight.
“Su-wang!” other voices clamor, as others join them in the dark chamber. They bring more torches and Yuechu closes his eyes against the brightness.
“We need to get him free as painlessly as possible,” Xu Jin tells the others.
There’s a babble of voices as everyone gives their opinions.
“Su-wang, give him this.” Ge-yisheng speaks more quietly than the others, and Yuechu remembers him as kind and friendly. He blinks his eyes open to see the doctor hand Xu Jin a small bottle. “It will probably make him pass out, but it will ease the pain until we can get him somewhere more comfortable.”
Xu Jin scowls blackly but nods. He turns to Yuechu. “Is this all right?”
Yuechu’s grasp on Xu Jin’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to consciousness; he would much rather be unconscious for all of this. He nods.
Xu Jin kneels in front of him again and unstoppers the bottle one-handed. He lifts it to Yuechu’s lips, steadying Yuechu’s chin at the same time, and they stare at each other as the bitter liquid drips into his mouth and down his throat.
Whatever it is, it’s potent: Yuechu loses track of time and place almost immediately. He lets himself drift, knowing that Xu Jin is there to steady him. There’s a bolt of pain through one shoulder, and then the other, and someone makes a soft noise of hurt. The ground doesn’t feel real anymore, or maybe he’s floating above it. His head doesn’t feel fully attached to the rest of him.
None of that matters, though, because he can feel Xu Jin holding him now. Yuechu’s head is resting against his familiar shoulder, his body held together by Xu Jin’s familiar hands.
“You’re safe, Yuechu,” he hears Xu Jin murmur. “No one will hurt you anymore. I’m taking you home.”
Yuechu can’t control his tongue enough to respond, but he doesn’t need to. Xu Jin never lies to him. Whatever happens next, he’s where he belongs.