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It began with the tiniest of paper.
Chu Wanning woke up to the rich smell of recently-cooked breakfast, blinking several times upon the clear vision of sunlight peeking through the window. He realized he was curled up holding his bedsheets, no signs of another body’s heat — familiar, comforting, radiating alive heat — present. But Chu Wanning did not hear any sound coming from the outside of their bedroom. Their home had a muted calmness, and only the sounds of birds flying made Chu Wanning acknowledge he was not stopped in time, his reality a painted stillness hanging on the wall. But worry started to slither into Chu Wanning’s mind. Where was Mo Ran?
He grabbed his outer robe and quickly began to fasten it as he stepped out of their bedroom. Mo Ran was not there. There was not a single trace of Mo Ran’s presence in the cottage but a forgotten portion of rice placed in a bowl, still visibly warm due to the light vapor.
Chu Wanning glanced at the window to see if Mo Ran was visible anywhere, but only the customary sight of trees came into view. His pulse agitated. Ever since Mo Ran’s return, Chu Wanning’s mind has been trying over time not to worry and act upon the smallest of things but— Old habits die hard, and Chu Wanning is a man who needs time to amend, past occurrences still scratching a raw wound on his skin.
With a frown between his eyebrows, he walked towards the table to find any signs of Mo Ran’s last movements with a swift sight looking over the place and... there, lying on the table, he saw it. A single, wrinkled piece of paper was secured by the heavy bowl above it. Chu Wanning carefully pulled the tip of the paper from under the bowl to not spill its contents, and took the long breath his lungs seemed to be needing.
Shizun,
A charming uncle came all the way up here to ask for help. Something about roof-building. Didn’t want to wake you. I’ve gone to the village. Sorry! I was making breakfast. I love you very much
Mo Ran
Chu Wanning found on the paper rushed handwriting and smudged ink like someone rushed to write the words down, put too much ink on the brush and made it stain. Chu Wanning knew that if he wanted to touch the writing his finger would taint black. And yet Chu Wanning, an erratic impulse passing from his heart and continuing through his veins to reach the very sensitivity of his fingers, actually did. He touched the ink Mo Ran used to write to him as if his words would stay on his skin for unrestricted time.
This foolish man.
This foolish, enchanting man who wanted to wake Chu Wanning with breakfast and ended up giving him an accidental scare. Helpful, kind Mo Ran who went out to lend a hand even in the easiest of tasks to unknown villagers. Chu Wanning couldn’t help the small smile sliding up his lips, staring at the paper for a longer time than he would admit. His face all of a sudden began to feel heat. He didn’t want to admit the reason, the simple I love you very much, written so carelessly on paper, was making him flustered (And Chu Wanning won’t also admit the abrupt fear his heart ran into spawned in less than five minutes). Chu Wanning couldn’t describe how in love it made him feel to think Mo Ran took the time to write the note and declare his love.
“Baobei! Are you awake?”
Chu Wanning fought the urge to jump on the spot. He hadn’t noticed Mo Ran had announced his return by opening the door. He took off his eyes from the paper and saw a blinding smile that made the cottage feel like a home once more. Chu Wanning breathed normally again. He didn’t want Mo Ran to know he had been worried, so he smoothed his eyebrows and looked at the man getting closer to where he stood.
“Mo Ran. Good morning.”
Mo Ran closed the remaining space between his body and Chu Wanning’s with light steps, and brushed a feathery kiss on Chu Wanning’s forehead. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
Chu Wanning, still ashamed of his involuntary actions, tried to make himself look calm. “I just woke up. I was… reading your note.”
Mo Ran examined every detail of Chu Wanning’s features upon a closer view. He realized Chu Wanning had been reddened from the moment he walked in. A delicate, rosy flush on his cheeks bloomed on his skin, the familiar display of emotion that made Mo Ran blaze with hunger, feel the desire to mark his own property on Chu Wanning and turn all of his skin red.
Chu Wanning was embarrassed, but not from his welcoming kiss. Mo Ran took a quick look at Chu Wanning again and saw his hands tightly gripping the note, a single pad of his finger blackened by ink. Oh. The note. Mo Ran might not understand many things, even after all this time alive, but if there’s one thing his mind will understand until he no longer breathes, it’s Chu Wanning’s body.
Mo Ran had found gold melted into words, discovering his Wanning had blushed over a plain note. He still feels abashed by Mo Ran’s open displays of affection. His silly I love you very much.
Mo Ran had a new goal in his life. He stared at Chu Wanning, a plan silently running in his head.
“You… What are you looking at?“
“Wanning deserves to know he is loved. In every way. Every single day, if Shizun would permit this disciple.”
Scratch everything Chu Wanning thought. This man is a brat. How the hell did he realize? “What are you talking about? Don’t you dar—”
“I’ll rewarm breakfast! Sit here, please.”
Mo Ran took his bowl and began to heat the food once again, while Chu Wanning, a stick, was still placed in the same spot, immovable. Where did the effort to hide his feelings he so carefully secured for years go to?
Thus, Mo Ran starts to leave little notes around the cottage.
Chu Wanning finds them everywhere. He doesn’t understand when Mo Ran has the time to write them. He is always doing something near enough to Chu Wanning that he knows what Mo Ran is up to. Or sometimes doing things to Chu Wanning.
Sometimes Chu Wanning thinks he’s paying people to leave the notes for him, but that’s also out of the question. He recognizes Mo Ran’s handwriting perfectly.
He finds a note in the book he’s reading. Chu Wanning, I hope to spend every single day and night with you. Mo Ran.
He finds a folded square paper in his outer robe. Wanning, I don’t want to share your beauty with nobody else. Sometimes I want only my eyes to see the magnificence you are. Mo Ran.
He even finds a paper under an apple he picks up to eat. I don’t remember the kind of person I used to be before meeting you. How lucky I feel to wrap my arms around you every night. Mo Ran.
He discovers them in hidden corners of their home and next to plates full of food, small deliberate shredded pieces of paper with single words. I love you. Good morning, husband. Wanning, you are my life. How lovely you are, Shizun.
Chu Wanning can’t stop blushing every time he finds one of these papers. It’s a hasty reaction for him to blush every time, but he knows, oh he knows, that this is Mo Ran’s idea to tease him. The tiny written I love you’s he finds on the wall. It’s the I’ll be back! I miss you already. Mo Ran. he finds hurriedly written above Mo Ran’s pillow.
It’s working. Of course it’s working. Chu Wanning hides his face between his hands. Chu Wanning wants to strangle him.
While Mo Ran is busily wandering around the closest village to restock their kitchen supplies, he feels something slightly laying on his shoulder, almost like a breeze of air following his steps and caressing his cheek.
It’s one of Chu Wanning’s haitang blossoms.
The first signs of worry creep into Mo Ran’s head. It’s strange for Chu Wanning to send his haitangs when Mo Ran is out, let alone to send one after being apart for such a short amount of time. It hasn’t even been 20 minutes since Mo Ran left the mountain. So Mo Ran quickly walks between the busy people around him, murmuring apologies for the sudden detour of his steps, finds an empty alley to stop in, and lowers his head so his ear reaches to listen to what the tiny flower has to say.
Chu Wanning’s voice is heard crystal clear like a caressed whisper, as if Chu Wanning wanted no one else to hear what he had to say, even if he was alone inside his home, ashamed by his utterly bold words.
Mo Ran imagines Chu Wanning nestled in a corner of their home, hesitating for minutes to see if he had the face to send Mo Ran one of his haitang blossoms, his words the indicators of his own defiant shame . Chu Wanning, deciding at the last second and rapidly creating the little flower, stopping for a minute to tenderly cup the it between his hands, whispering words like a chaste kiss to his lips.
Mo Ran.
From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.
You are loved every single day of our lives.
They are such simple words. Chu Wanning is thanking him. Chu Wanning is telling him he is loved in return. Mo Ran knows this stuff. And yet.
This is payback.
He can’t help throwing his bags to the floor and hide his face in his hands, dimples shining through the biggest smile.
Their little competition soon begins.
It’s exciting to see a new little haitang blossom every time.
They also come and go whenever Chu Wanning chooses. One appears on Mo Ran’s shoulder when he’s preparing the dough for his sticky rice cake with red bean paste, and Chu Wanning’s voice tells him he’s excited for what he’s baking. When Mo Ran is walking down Nanping Mountain the flower cozies up on the top of his head, ready to be heard about Chu Wanning’s specific tool he needs to retrieve for his blueprints, please Mo Ran do not forget. But mostly, Mo Ran finds them throughout the night, looking like small lanterns shining through their cottage to illuminate his sight, as the simple proof of Chu Wanning’s energy. The flowers packed with whispery sweet nothings linger in Mo Ran’s memory until he can express his gratitude in feverish kisses and roaming hands exploring Chu Wanning’s body.
Still, Mo Ran always feels fulfilled between the two, writing note after note when the inspiration hits his lovesick brain. And truly, he doesn’t expect Chu Wanning to vocalize his feelings every time. Mo Ran just wants Chu Wanning to be reassured of his love, besides his unending prove in kisses, in desperate touches.
Mo Ran tells him so, while they lay on their bed, still sticky from their previous activities. “Shizun, you know you don’t have to do the same thing, right?”
Chu Wanning, with his tired half-lidded eyes blinking and his head on Mo Ran’s shoulder, presses his body even closer to him; sleep wins against his energy, but understands what Mo Ran is talking about. “I know. I want Mo Ran to know he’s loved as well.”
Mo Ran closes his eyes with a smile and exhales a long breath. He won’t be able to sleep much tonight, his head a stirring storm of sentiments. He feels every waking bone of his body content by the mere voice of his beloved.
Mo Ran feels consumed by the living flame of Chu Wanning’s love. The only flame he’ll ever need.
Chu Wanning overcomes his embarrassment, for a little while. He cherishes everything Mo Ran gives him; he likes this childish play between them, if he’s honest with himself. He also tries his very best to show how much love he feels for Mo Ran. It leaves him breathless, sometimes, the sudden strike of realization that Mo Ran is alive — a thriving, happy, living core next to his fiery heart, just Mo Ran — and loves him. Some days, Chu Wanning is aware of their love in mundane tasks, like waking up next to him, moving Mo Ran’s fringe out of his face and focusing on the light fire in his eyes, hearing his heart beat fast. Some other days, the realization hits so sudden and unpredictable, his breath stops for a second and his mind goes numb with the purpose of seeking Mo Ran and seeing him alive. Days like those, Chu Wanning can’t believe his life.
Consequently, even if Chu Wanning is still abashed by Mo Ran’s and Taxian Jun’s actions, he wants to tell him what he feels. Step by step.
Sometimes Chu Wanning sends his haitang blossoms with no intricate sayings, just a simple Mo Ran coming from his lips. He makes his flowers follow Mo Ran’s steps to keep him company, to remind him of home. This shizun is proud of you. Others have simple matters of fact, things Mo Ran already knows, but surely won’t hurt him to hear them again. I will wait for you to come back home. Mo Ran, breakfast was lovely, thank you.
The haitangs work for communication purposes, but now Chu Wanning has found a much worthy use: the manifest of adoration. Chu Wanning will continue — with his haitangs, with his body, his life — to be the wood to ignite and worship Mo Ran’s fire until both of them turn into ashes, together, as it was always meant to be.
And when Mo Ran comes back to their home in Nanping Mountain, or when Mo Ran relocates to whatever room Chu Wanning is in, he will thank his husband with all kinds of affections.
Now, on one of those random days, he chooses simplicity. Mo Ran moves Chu Wanning’s hair out of place and nuzzles his neck from behind, slowly swinging their bodies. The smell of blooming flowers welcomes him in return. He doesn’t dare to defy the present calmness. Chu Wanning hums.
“Thank you for making me the happiest I’ve ever been, shizun.”
They find bliss in each other’s arms.
Of course, Taxian Jun would find out about their little competition in a short period of time.
He recalls from his counterpart’s memories, grasping some perception of what Mo Zongshi has been doing these past days. How hard could it be to write to Chu Wanning a few words and make him blush?
At first, Taxian Jun thinks it’s stupid. He knows how to make Chu Wanning turn pink. He’s known since the day he laid his hands on him, big awaiting palms spreading on fair skin. Taxian Jun has had every opportunity to make his skin go pink with his corrupted touch, bodies enveloped by the red of the bedsheets and the dark of the night sky.
But. He feels a little a lot left out of the fun.
So he writes. Wanning, this venerable one will spread your legs every da—. And writes. Chu Wanning, what this venerable one feels for you is—. And writes some more. Chu Wanning I—. And hates every single thing he jots down. Taxian Jun angrily crumples his tiny mountain of papers and throws them out the window. He reconsiders his actions. He goes outside and, with a swift movement of his hand, sets them on fire.
This is stupid. This venerable one has plenty of occasions to show Chu Wanning how deep his feeling can run. Taxian Jun followed his steps for two lifetimes. He goes back inside their home, sits once again next to his pitiful defeat against ink and paper, and stays deathly quiet with the passing of time. Definitely does not pout.
When Taxian Jun gets tired of the silent surrounding mockery he’s feeling, and he’s beginning to miss Wanning, he glances one final time at the remaining blank paper he didn’t destroy. The thump of his heart requests him to give writing a last chance.
For Taxian Jun, who’s been loudly pronouncing his presence in every corner of the cultivation world like a triumphant emperor since the first day, he feels oddly hushed by this mundane objective. So he picks up the brush again, and pours revelation into ink. His words move onto the paper as if they’ve been waiting to be written, tucked in the deep closed door of his heart.
Wanning. I hope you stay with me.
“Now you’re worrying me” Chu Wanning says the moment after he finds the note, alone and wrinkled next to his bottle of Pear Blossom White. He sneaks behind Mo Ran and wraps his arms around his waist, leaning his head over his back to listen to his breathing. “I… I will always stay with you, dummy.”
Mo Ran lifts an eyebrow, content to feel Chu Wanning’s touch yet inquiring about the sudden display of affection. “Shizun, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“You wrote “Wanning. I hope you stay with me” in one of your notes.”
Ah. That’s it. Mo Ran turns around, not breaking from Chu Wanning’s embrace, and holds him in return. A grin painted on his lips with amusement. “I think someone else that lives here wrote that one for you, Shizun.”
Chu Wanning feels a bit foolish for not realizing sooner. The different handwriting. The mistreated paper. He owes Taxian Jun something in return, as an apology. As a reiterate confession of his love, because both Mo Rans should always know.
It’s settled, then. Chu Wanning has more haitang blossoms to send, adding one more competitor.
The next time Taxian Jun wakes up in Mo Zongshi’s body, everything seems normal. He announces his presence by waking Wanning up with a kiss. They stay in bed for longer than they should, until Chu Wanning’s stomach grumbles. They eat, they talk. Taxian Jun flirts a little. Chu Wanning rolls his eyes. Everything feels the same.
Until the evening comes.
Before Taxian Jun can grasp Chu Wanning’s hand and kiss his dainty fingers after their pleasant Taxian Jun specialty-cooked dinner, and make an eager request to get ready for bed, Chu Wanning swiftly makes his way to their bedroom alone. Taxian Jun smirks while getting up, ready to follow him. Is his Wanning getting bolder? Not even telling Taxian Jun to take him to bed, readily leaving for indulging activities.
But Taxian Jun promptly falls back onto his chair at the sight upon him. Chu Wanning comes back with a handful of haitang blossoms, emanating a golden light that makes Chu Wanning’s face glow next to the faint beginning of sunset. He is Taxian Jun’s remaining light.
Chu Wanning stops in front of him, passing the delicate flowers to Taxian Jun like a shared secret only he can hear from him. Maybe it is. “These are for you.” He mumbles.
But Taxian Jun can’t concentrate. He can’t stop staring slightly open-mouthed at the softness of Chu Wanning’s face, delicate features bathed in gold by his own creations. He’s hypnotized. Taxian Jun feels like an insect batting his wings towards the incandescent light, ready to surrender. “Wanning?”
Chu Wanning diverts his gaze, overwhelmed by the intense sight. His face feels hot. “You also deserve them. I don’t want you to think you’re not worthy of the same.”
Taxian Jun doesn’t get it. “What can this venerable one do with these?”
“Just listen to them. With me present or not, whatever you want.” Chu Wanning answers with his lips forming a tight line. Taxian Jun finally focuses and accepts the flowers into his own palms, not without missing his chance to tenderly brush his fingers with Chu Wanning’s.
Time seems to slow, their presence the only thing that seems alive in the entire world. The night arises. The golden glow illuminates both their faces now. He cups the flowers next to his ear, and without breaking eye contact with Chu Wanning, he listens.
Nothing’s changed. Nothing will change. I don’t want you to ever worry again.
I will be here, with you, until my last breath falls from my chest.
All of me belongs to you.
I love you, Mo Ran.
“...”
Without thinking, Taxian Jun throws the haitang blossoms as cautiously as he can, the tiny flowers falling swiftly over the table next to him. Like a man begging for his life, he falls to his knees in front of Chu Wanning and finds salvation embracing his immortal god, his companion, his soulmate. Chu Wanning widens his eyes in surprise, lays his hands on Taxian Jun’s hair.
Chu Wanning hears Taxian Jun’s voice, muffled by his robes. “Wanning…”
They stay in this position for a few minutes, with Chu Wanning petting his hair, a serene silence waiting between them to say something. Taxian Jun suddenly continues his erratic decisions, standing up and looking deeply into Chu Wanning’s eyes, a small redness in the corner of his own.
“Wanning.” Taxian Jun has always been an illiterate man, a foul-mouthed emperor. Now his lips can only recognize two words only, maybe the only words he needs to live through. “Chu Wanning.”
Chu Wanning can’t help himself, a tiny smile arising. “You can keep all of them. I speak nothing but the truth.”
Taxian Jun places his hands on Chu Wanning’s cheeks. He feels like Chu Wanning opened his heart with caring hands, made a home for himself in there forever to spread his warmth from head to toe, in the blood running through his veins. In his spared soul, mended by his lover’s embrace. Now, Taxian Jun’s remaining ability is loving the man in his arms only.
But why does he feel like this? It is a known fact Chu Wanning loves him. Why hearing him say it makes the gods and the heavens feel weak next to this man?
Oh, right. It’s still new to him. This open display of adoration. These sudden, crushing waves of affection.
“This venerable one loves you, Wanning.”
“I love you, too. Do you know any other words besides my n—hmph!”
Taxian Jun chases Chu Wanning’s lips in his awakened passion. His tamed control has reached a final point; he kisses with the strength of a soldier whose goal is returning home. He holds Chu Wanning tight in his arms, wishing to bond their bodies as one.
They don’t make it to the bed.
Once the dilemma with Taxian Jun is resolved, their game adds a new competitor. Chu Wanning finds himself with not only one insisting Mo Ran writing him enchanting little notes, but two Mo Rans. Taxian Jun now dedicates entire sheets of paper to love poetry, trying to prove Chu Wanning all he feels for him, yet Chu Wanning feels like he wants to prove he’s better than his other self. Two different handwritings take the shape of love declarations every day. Every so often, the notes get bolder than Chu Wanning wants to read, and he has to clear his throat at the persistent requests from Taxian Jun to read his exemplary love writing.
Chu Wanning’s book keeps getting bigger and bigger with every paper he guards. He will never complain about it.
And if his smiles start to become wider grins everytime he finds a note, well, there’s only one person to blame.
Goutou becomes a messenger.
He excitedly makes his way through the grass into Chu Wanning’s sight, who’s currently sitting underneath the strong built tree to cover part of his face from the scorching rays of sun. Chu Wanning raises his eyes from the book he was reading, and finds a waiting Goutou sitting in front of him, tail waving in expectation. Goutou has a thin red ribbon wrapped around his neck, a folded piece of paper hanging from its ends.
Since when do Mo Ran and the dog have a relationship of alliance between them?
Chu Wanning pats Goutou’s head in gratitude and releases him from the ribbon, accepting the loosely folded paper, ready to read. He watches Goutou run around the field in excitement for a few minutes, and unfolds the awaiting note.
Shizun,
This dog may not be that bad after all. Now he can be my note-carrier to you.
I just wanted to tell you — this disciple of yours is being brazen — you look beautiful beneath the sun.
You were born to be surrounded by warm light, Wanning.
Mo Ran.
Chu Wanning lifts his head up after finishing and focuses his sight on the cottage’s window, as if prying eyes were fixated on him. From a distance, Mo Ran has his head half covered by the window, with only his eyes seen above the frame, looking intently at Chu Wanning. Chu Wanning realizes Mo Ran was expecting his reaction from the moment he sent Goutou to him. Already being noticed with nowhere to hide, he suddenly stands up and waves at Chu Wanning, a wolfish grin spreading on his lips.
“Shizun! Food is ready!”
Chu Wanning can’t decide between summoning Tianwen, or peppering the ridiculous man with kisses.
Mo Ran keeps his haitang blossoms in a white qiankun pouch (with hand-sewn golden haitang blossoms he first asked Chu Wanning to do for him, puppy eyes working to convince) that he bought especially to preserve his flowers.
Chu Wanning keeps his notes on the bookcase. He threads all the papers together to have a new book, the latest addition to his collection, beside Mo Ran’s letters from years ago.
Maybe they will forget about this after a while, the game no longer fun nor needed between them. Maybe it will continue forever. Maybe, once grey paints every little hair on their heads and their wrinkled hands itch to remind themselves of the past during a cold winter day, they will go back to this qiankun pouch and book and cherish their past devotion, same as it was before that time, same is it will continue to be.
For now, Mo Ran is already planning what to send Chu Wanning next. He thinks he’s getting better with words.