Work Text:
Xiaoge's boots rest on the raised bank of the shallow basin, flaking crusted grey and brown, his hoodie abandoned in a spot of dry grass. He digs his toes in the mud as he steps though the tall stems surrounding him, bending them out of the way gently. Each step sucks him back into the silty-soft material, envelops him to the ankle. Cloudy Water lapping at the hems of his trousers, rolled up to the knee but nonetheless damp already, is leaving cool traces against his skin before the feeling is swept away by the warm, humid breeze.
It's not much, but the movement of air makes the lotus leaves rustle against each other, their green scent filling his nose. Makes clouds of small insects swirl up from their shaded hiding places, the rustling of hundreds of small wings joining the neverending drone of crickets all around.
They mostly leave him alone, one bold dragonfly settling on the ball of his wrist for a moment, before startling away when Xiaoge bends to grip the smooth base of a particularly tall lotus plant.
Droplets scatter off the leaves to patter against their neighbours, get caught in his hair. After a moment, the mud abruptly reliquishes its hold, a root the the girth and lenght of his arm emerging. Bits of dirt that still cling to the skin slough of with a swish through the water. He adds it, stem and leaves still attached, to the bundle slung over his shoulders, the wide leather strap holding fresh green instead of sharp blade.
It is too early for lotus seeds, the flowers barely opening, most of the white and pale pinks buds just peeking out of the sea of leafy umbrellas surrounding him. Xiaoge trails his hand through the water, scrubs mud off his wrist before he reaches for one, breaking off delicate stems on a second, third.
These might not go into the soup promised for tonight, pork bones already simmering in the pot when he left, piles of peanuts waiting to be deshelled by distracted hands while their owner rambles on.
But the petals are soft and smooth when he runs a finger over them, faint fragrance much lighter than swamp water rising. So Xiaoge carefully wraps them in a damp leaf, nestles them into a gap between the rest of his harvest.
Not bothering to rinse his feet as he steps out of the water, Xiaoge just hooks the knotted laces of his boots to the back of his belt, leaving them gently knocking against his thigh when he bends to pick up worn cotton, wipes his forehead on a sleeve and then just keeps the hoodie in the crook of his arm. Pads down the path of barely-compacted earth back home.
Pretends not to hear Panzi's outraged scolding about muddy footprints on the stones of the courtyard. Leans over Wu Xie napping on the kitchen steps, to tuck a blossom into the half-unbuttoned collar of his shirt.