Chapter Text
There is a brief rumble as a tremor runs through the ground beneath their feet, then the first piece of ceiling falls, rapidly followed by a second and third. The whole corridor shakes, dust and smaller stones falling, before an even larger section comes crashing down.
Why was it that nothing ever ended up being unexpectedly simple for them? Li Lianhua wonders, as a jagged chuck of broken masonry narrowly misses his head. A simple little bit of prospective grave robbing and they get caught up in an earthquake.
“Move!” Di Feisheng shouts, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, as another larger stone falls.
Ahead, Fang Duobing looks back at them through the dust and falling debris. “Get into the chamber, there another-” There is a rumble that drowns out what he was saying. By the time it stops all Li Lianhua can catch is the very last part. “...find the mechanism.”
There’s grating, creaking sound overlaying the rumbling and any hope of hearing more is impossible as whole corridor ceiling rapidly begins to cave in.
“I said move!” Di Feisheng shouts at him. Then, without giving him any time to do anything, he throws Li Lianhua back out of danger.
There is no possibility of dodging the large stone sarcophagus that dominates the space behind them. Li Lianhua’s hip collides painfully with the corner of it, as it stops him from being flung even further back into the chamber.
Laying on the ground, winded, his hip aching fiercely, he watches as Di Feisheng shouts at Fang Duobing to stay safe, before leaping back. The dust and small stones that catch him are a minor annoyance, rather than a danger.
As uncomfortable as he currently is, Li Lianhua allows himself a small sigh of relief and slowly sits up. No one else is hurt and really a bruise, however painful, isn’t all that bad considering there’s been a minor earthquake and tons of rock have blocked the corridor. Being trapped under that would have been far worse.
All the same he would have preferred not to have been thrown so hard. His hip and thigh throb, signalling the development of a big ugly, purpled bruise that’s going to annoy him for days. And, unless he wants to bother either Di Feisheng or Fang Duobing into speeding up the healing, there’s nothing much he can do about it. It’s not like he’s got the internal energy left to do it himself.
Li Lianhua rubs his hip again, wondering if he can manage to not look like he’s limping and then sighs. Given how weak and useless he is now, he’ll be lucky if he can walk on it at all once it’s had time to develop.
He’s not complaining about having been cured of the Bicha poison or will refer to himself in such disparaging terms out loud. Really though, calling what the Styx flower did a cure was overselling it. It had prevented him from dying from the poison and it helped with some of the damage it had done to him.
Some, but certainly not all.
It had also caused its own damage as it has scoured the poison from his meridians. Damage serious enough that his ability to use Yangzhouman was virtually ruined, down to barely two percent of what it once was. Whether that would improve over time, back to the ten percent or so that he’d had in what he’d thought were his last few weeks to live, he doesn’t know.
No one knows. Although admittedly the no one else part was because he refused to tell anyone.
The fact of the matter is that it’s been three months already and improvements have, as he sees it, been minimal. It feels hugely unfair that after everything Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng went through to find the Styx flower, to get him to use it and to keep him alive while it worked, that he’s been left like this.
He can’t bring himself to acknowledge his own disappointment, because that feels too much like accepting this is what his life is now. That his body is one doomed to ache for no good reason, one where his joints seize up when it’s too cold, but if it’s too hot he gets dizzy and faint. One where there are days when he can’t seem to shake the leaden feeling in his limbs, when tiredness clouds everything even if he’s slept for hours. Where everything feels hopeless and pointless.
It’s not every day, not if he’s careful, but it is often enough that it's hard to endure. Hard, and getting harder. How can he really be cured when he’s like this? He wonders as he slowly and carefully gets to his feet.
What a wreck you are, he thinks, as he keeps one hand on the stone for support.
Ruined. Broken. Useless.
He hasn’t spoken such things aloud. Won’t. Because he knows Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng will refute it. A-Fei will tell him that he’ll recover, repeating that it took him ten years to from the East Sea battle, that he just needs to keep fighting and pushing himself. While Xiaobao will alternate between telling him that he’ll recover in time and telling him that it doesn’t matter even if it takes a long time, even if it never happens, that he’s loved as he is.
As he is.
It sticks as bitter as any medicine in his throat. There is no Li Xiangyi in the world and Li Lianhua should have been allowed to disappear from it too. He’s a ghost, a spirit haunting the living, all because they refuse to let him go.
The bruising throbs, the ache spreading down his leg, the misery at being unable to do anything about it suddenly feels insurmountable, far out of scale for what the injury is. Too often now things feel like this. Helpless and hopeless. His eyes sting and he sits back down. He’ll have to wait for rescue like the useless person he now is.
Closing his eyes, he leans back against the stone sarcophagus. Even the fact that he needs to be rescued today feels like his own fault. If he’d been recovering properly or at least hiding the fact he wasn’t better, then Fang Duobing wouldn’t have looked for a way to help. He wouldn’t have found out about the tomb of a legendary physician who’d had supposedly found a technique for people who’d suffered a catastrophic disruption in their internal energy to heal from it.
“What are you still sitting there for?” Di Feisheng says, walking over to him, brushing bits of rock dust off himself. “Help me move the rocks.”
There is a downside from having concealed as much of his continued weakness from them as he can. So when he’s faced with situations such as this, where it’s can’t rather than won’t, his pride, useless thing that it is now, still won’t let him admit to it. It’s almost a comfort to fall back on the lies he used to tell when the Bicha poison made living hard.
“Lao Di, there are tons of rock there and nowhere to move it to.” Li Lianhua keeps his eyes closed, trying to look relaxed rather than defeated. “Xiaobao told us he’d find the mechanism. He’ll come back for us.”
Di Feisheng glances at the carved panel that Fang Duobing had earlier identified as a secret door. The mechanism for opening it wasn’t anywhere to be found in the chamber itself, so it stood to reason it had to lay elsewhere within the tomb. “So you’re going to sit there and do nothing?”
“Not nothing. I’m waiting sensibly and calmly, and not triggering any more landslides.” Li Lianhua closes his eyes. The low light level in the tomb is far from ideal. While his vision has improved it’s still poor in low light. Not that he’s admitted it to anyone. Not that he’s going to. This at least might still improve. It's possible and he doesn’t want them to pity him.
So what he is going to do is sit down and close his eyes so he’s not straining them too much and giving himself a headache. Xiaobao will come for them, so he might as well rest and hope his leg doesn’t seize up, until he does.
“Fine.” There is a definite tetchy edge to Di Feisheng’s voice. “I’ll do it myself.”
Not that Li Lianhua has any objection to Di Feisheng showing off his strength. Whether it’s here, carrying things from the market or assisting with things around the Lotus Tower, knowing that there are very nice, very well-developed muscles that cause his clothes to pull tight across his shoulders or biceps does very funny things to his insides.
Thirty is much too old for getting butterflies at the sight of such things. Yet it is one of the few things that still feels good. Almost everything else seems to have dimmed lately, a creeping sense of dullness slowly consuming everything that once gave him a sense of joy or purpose.
Maybe this will be consumed too, but right now it’s a good distraction from the bruising, so he opens his eyes from time to time to watch Di Feisheng work. It might be pointless, given the sheer volume of rubble that needs to be moved, but it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the view while he still can.
Time passes and somehow Di Feisheng doesn’t seem to grasp the futility of it. His efforts to move the rocks have become more frantic. While Li Lianhua knows that Di Feisheng doesn’t like to be passive, he also knows that he doesn’t take action pointlessly. Something is wrong. So he is going to have to give up his pleasant view and almost comfortable sitting position and do something about it. “Lao Di, it’s not working all you’re doing is hurting your hands.”
He grunts and moves another huge chunk of rock aside. “They’ll heal.”
Which means they are already hurting enough for him to be aware of it. Not something that Li Lianhua wanted to hear. “There is as much rock there are before you started.”
Another rock is pried loose, grabbed and thrown. “I can’t sit doing nothing.”
“You can sit with me and keep me company.” A plan forming, Li Lianhua makes a show of rubbing his hip. The best kind of persuasion and lies always had a little bit of truth in them. “You should take some responsibility for throwing me so carelessly. I bruise easily, you know. You could at least come and keep me warm.”
Di Feisheng turns away, scratched and bleeding hands balled in tight fists at his sides. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”
There’s a tautness in Di Feisheng’s voice that makes Li Lianhua pause. “Lao Di?”
There’s no response. Stiff and sore, he gets to his feet and limps over to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Other than being trapped?” He doesn’t turn around. He puts a hand against the wall and leans, trying to steady himself.
“A-Fei?” Li Lianhua puts a hand on his shoulder, feeling a very fine trembling in the taut muscles. Di Feisheng has never given any sign of being bothered by enclosed spaces before, but then they’ve never been anywhere like this where he couldn’t easily get out of it. “We’re going to get out. You just need to wait.”
He nods, then sways barely able to keep his balance, despite keeping his hand against the wall.
Which really isn’t a good sign at all. There had been rock dust on his hair. Could something have struck his head and not given any indication at first? A feeling of utter helplessness washes over Li Lianhua. Once, even when the Bicha was killing him, he’d have pushed energy into him, made certain that he’d be alright, no matter the cost to himself. Now what can he do? He can’t even heal his own bruise, never mind save a life.
All he can do is not panic; he can keep him calm and quiet until Fang Duobing comes back to rescue them. “I think you should sit down.”
“Why? I’m not tired, I’ve been drugged,” Di Feisheng says, stumbling from the wall to lean against Li Lianhua, putting his arm around his shoulders. “I feel... I don’t know. I can’t think. I can’t get rid of it. It’s...it’s...I don’t know.” He trails off as he clumsily grabs his hand, placing it on his wrist. “Feel it.”
Di Feisheng is warm, almost fever hot from where he’s been exerting himself. Beneath Li Lianhua’s fingertips there is something off in his pulse. Not weakened exactly, but disrupted in a way that would make it difficult for him to have proper control. Drugged with something, just as he’d said. Which isn’t good, although hopefully more easily dealt with than a head injury slowly bleeding into his brain. Yet if it were easy to combat or neutralise Di Feisheng would have done so already. It wasn’t like he was lacking in strength or ability. Although concentration might currently be an issue with directing his energy.
“Sitting down is still a good idea, you should-”
“No!” Di Feisheng tries to pull away. “We need to get out. It must have been her. If she’s drugged me, she’ll find us. Find you, she...she...” He stops and presses a hand to his head, too disorientated to continue.
Even without her name being spoken aloud, Li Lianhua knows who he means. Jiao Liqiao. What other woman would Di Feisheng so readily associate with poison?
“A-Fei! A-Fei, look at me.” Hand against Di Feisheng’s cheek, Li Lianhua turns him back to face him. “She's gone. She can’t do anything to us. It’s just us. No one else, only us.”
Dazed, Di Feisheng blinks at him, eyes hazy, pupils blown wide, beneath the long dark lashes. He leans into his touch, needing the contact and reassurance it seems to bring. “Safe?”
“I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you here. I won’t let it.” Li Lianhua strokes his cheek, feeling him slowly start to relax. It’s wrong to hear him sound so uncertain, almost afraid of anything. It feels horribly wrong. Di Feisheng is decisive, often aggressively so, and so very sure of himself. It's a constant, something as sure and certain as the sunrise or the passage of the seasons.
He watches as his eyes close, the dark fan of eye lashes exaggerated even further by the shadows cast in the dim lamp light in the tomb. His lips part slightly.
“Xiangyi.” It’s soft and breathy, much calmer than before. “You’re here.”
Usually he’d correct him, tell him there is no Li Xiangyi in this world anymore, only Li Lianhua remains. Right now, however, if it calms him down, he’ll let him call him whatever he likes. “Of course I am, where else could I go? We’re waiting for Xiaobao to open the door. It won’t open from this side, remember. He’ll be back soon.”
Di Feisheng nods, eyes still closed, then presses his face back against Li Lianhua’s hand.
Just like Hulijing when she's not ready for you to stop petting her. It’s ridiculous and somehow utterly endearing to have Di Feisheng, one of the most feared figures in the Jianghu, wanting to be petted. He can’t stop the fondness he so often feels for him creeping into his voice. “Do you like that?”
“It’s good.” There is a faint look of confusion on his face, as if he’s not certain if he’s not sure why he’s doing this, then he gently pushes his head against Li Lianhua’s hand again. “Feels good.”
How long has it been since anyone touched him like this? Who would he allow to get this close? Li Lianhua wonders, all but certain that the answers are a very long time and no one he can think of. It’s sad to think of him being so very alone – after all he knows how that felt. The first few times that Fang Duobing had hugged him had been almost overwhelming – both too much and something he didn’t want to end all at the same time.
It’s awkward to sit down without breaking contact, but they manage it.
Once they’re on the ground Di Feisheng decides to curl up against him, so that he’s half laying on the floor and half on his lap. It’s not exactly comfortable having someone so tall and well-muscled laying on him, but he is wonderfully warm compared to the cold, damp air of the tomb. Hoping that it helps chase away the chill that has been trying to settle into his bones, he lets him remain there.
Di Feisheng seems more than half asleep as Li Lianhua strokes his hair. Not fully asleep, despite his closed eyes, as he does make appreciative sounds, soft sighs and hums of enjoyment at being touched, as well as small huffs of annoyance if it stops.
In the absence of anything else to do, other than keeping calm by petting him, Li Lianhua starts thinking over their current situation. It’s clear that Di Feisheng has been drugged with something and it’s affecting him quite substantially. Yet as they hadn’t encountered any obvious traps or mechanisms for administering it, it’s also likely to have been accidental.
So it isn’t so much a question of who did it, but rather what is it and how did it happen?
It’s possible that it's something that’s slow acting and that he’d encountered it before they’d entered the tomb. Yet the rapid progression from him being aware enough to throw him out of danger, to being unable to remember that Jiao Liqiao has been dead for months suggest something that is far quicker acting.
Was it something within the chamber? Or something in the rock fall? Could the ceiling collapse have been a trap? There hadn’t been a gas or mist released as a result, just the dust. Poisoning or drugging that volume of dust seems unlikely, as does a contact poison on the rocks themselves. Why would anyone conceal a drug in the ceiling on the off-chance people might be present when it collapses?
Which would suggest that it hadn’t been done on purpose. Yet accidentally making a mortar or paint that was capable of drugging people centuries later is also extremely unlikely. Making one that crumbled fine enough to be breathed in doesn’t seem plausible either. Although ingested is a possibility, especially if the dust had got into his mouth. Or maybe it had got into his blood, via the scratches on his hands.
While Li Lianhua is thinking, Di Feisheng has curled up tighter against him, wrapping an arm about him. Cold, confused or just needing reassurance that he’s not alone and defenceless while he tries to fight off the effects of the drug are possibilities. All that’s certain is that in his current disorientated state Di Feisheng likes their closeness and finds it soothing.
Which is fortunate, as if he were in a combative mood, Li Lianhua is all but certain he wouldn’t be able to prevent him from doing something stupid to try to clear the corridor.
Unfortunately, without knowing what it is that’s affecting him, it is impossible to know things might progress.
Most drugs that might have such an effect can be quickly ruled out, based on the accidental nature of it. While Li Lianhua knows he’s not exactly an authority on such things, he does have a fairly broad knowledge of things people might use to drug another for a variety of different purposes.
Which phrasing it in such a way sounds incredibly suspect as to his own motives in learning such things. A lot of the research into such things had been done during the first year or so after his own poisoning, when the hope of cure had faded to nothing and something to take the edge of the pain and even reality while he lived out his last few years had become his focus.
Not that any of it had worked.
No, Bicha poison had been uniquely cruel like that, making him proof against poison and medicine alike, denying him almost any kind of relief.
It’s not a place he wants his mind going right now, not with his mood and hope for the future being so low. He’s just glad that Fang Duobing hadn’t, for once, dug too deeply into why he’d got multiple things that would drug him into insensibility just lying around his home.
What such knowledge does do however is allow him to narrow down the possibilities of what it might be to just a handful of things. With that knowledge he might be able to help him or at least assure him that it really was going to be alright.
Something glints faintly on Di Feisheng’s wrist, catching the flickering torch light, as Li Lianhua looks down at him. Yet there shouldn’t be anything that might catch the light, the wrist guards he is wearing today black leather, finely tooled and embossed to look like a fish's scales.
It might only be a fragment of mineral from the crumbled stonework, but curious now Li Lianhua takes a closer look. Perhaps it is a shard from a shattered glass vial, or the broken point of a needle, too thin and fine to be felt as it delivered its drug.
It is neither.
Caught between the guard and the ties that hold it in place is a small, dried-up piece of mushroom. An otherwise unremarkable grey-brown colour, what remains of the gills beneath its nondescript cap have a metallic sheen, which sparkles in the light.
While they are too fragmentary for him to be completely certain, they do suggest one thing: Silver Dream fungus.
Which is.... okay, he decides, as it’s a lot better than some of the alternatives. No one, as far as he knows, has ever died from it or had any ill effects once it had worn off.
The problem was waiting for it to do so. Because how much it would affect someone drugged with it varied widely. For some it would be very mild and last just a few minutes, while others would be under its influence for many hours. They might be disorientated, making them scared or angry. They might become quiet and sleepy, their mind filled with pleasant dreams, or they might tell you their deepest secrets with very little provocation. They might talk nothing but nonsense, while they run a fever as they tried to fight off the drug. Or even all these things as it slowly dissipated in their blood.
This unpredictability had led Silver Dream fungus to be seen as useless as either a recreational drug or one to aid interrogations. So it would be accidental, just as he’d originally thought. Not that it made the situation any better for Di Feisheng. He’d just have to bear it while it ran its course.
What he would like to see is a larger piece, just to be absolutely sure he is correct. Although if it wasn’t, it would leave him at a bit of a loss at what it could be. It did have a very distinctive look. For there to be crushed fungus on his wrist guards it was most likely somewhere in the rubble. From there the spores would have entered he cuts on his hands, causing him to become drugged with it.
“Sit there.” Li Lianhua tries to untangle himself from him, torn between wanting to be correct due to its non lethality, and concerned that Di Feisheng might be one of the few who might have a truly bad reaction to it. “I just need to check something.”
“No, stay here.” Uncoordinated, but still far too strong to resist, Di Feisheng pulls him back down, so that he’s now sitting on his lap. “I have to keep you safe.”
“I am safe. You can still see me.” Li Lianhua pushes at his arm. He might have well tried pushing at the wall for all the success he has at making it move. “Really, Lao Di, I’ll just be over there. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”
“No. You’ll run away.” Wrapping his arms around him to keep him in place, he rests his chin on Li Lianhua’s shoulder. “I won’t let you. Not again.”
Gesturing at the blocked passageway, still trying to get out of the embrace, Lianhua says, “We’re waiting for Xiaobao to let us out, remember. I can’t run off anywhere.” Not that running anywhere was likely right now. His hip hurts too much for more than a slow, pathetic limp. Not that he’s about to share that particular piece of information with anyone if he can help it.
“No. Stay here.” Pressing his face into his hair, Di Feisheng breathes in deeply, then gives a contented sigh. “You smell nice.”
Surprised, Li Lianhua halts his attempts to get out of his arms. “What?”
“You smell good. It’s nice.” He begins nuzzling against Li Lianhua’s neck, before pressing hot, uncoordinated kisses to it as he continues to talk. “Your cooking isn’t nice. It’s so bad. Awful. I’ll eat it. I don’t mind. I’ve eaten worse. I can eat anything. You’re nice. I like you. I don’t like people.”
The soft, moist lips and breath against his skin brings the earlier feeling of butterflies in his stomach back with far more intensity. He’s not let anyone touch him like this in years. Not since before...
It feels so good, but he can’t allow it to happen. Not like this when Di Feisheng isn’t in control of himself. He can’t let him continue, less it goes to places that will only make things difficult between them. Even if it didn’t make things awkward between them, he can’t bear to add his own name to the list of people that have hurt, used or abused him. “A-Fei, stop. You need to stop. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re going to be so embarrassed if you remember any of this.”
“Why?” Di Feisheng stops and looks at him, eyes hazy and unfocused, soft, bright smile lighting up his face, as he starts to stroke Li Lianhua’s cheek instead. “It’s you.” He sighs and rubs his finger over Li Lianhua’s lips. “It’s always you.”
Ducking out of the way of what is a surprisingly nice feeling, Li Lianhua asks, “It’s always me what?”
“The one. The other one.” He smiles again, softer and far shyer than anyone would believe he could be capable of. He leans in conspiratorially. “The other duck.”
Sappy and overly affectionate is bad enough, but this is just utter nonsense. Sighing, Li Lianhua avoids another finger being prodded towards his mouth. “A duck, really? A-Fei your brain is so scrambled right now. Sleep it off.”
“Jinyuan.” Stopped from stroking Li Lianhua’s lips, he starts running his fingers through his hair instead. “Yuan. A mandarin duck. Ducks. Two of them. Pairs. They’re meant to be together.” He wraps his arms around him again, holding him tight. “I lost you. Twice. I thought... Never again. Never.”
Hugs are alright, anyone can hug, it doesn’t have to mean anything. You can’t let it mean anything, Li Lianhua tells himself even as he feels himself relax, sinking into the warmth and strength of the arms about him. “You were the one who wanted to fight me. Kill me.”
“Not kill, win. I wanted to win.” He sounds genuinely upset at the idea that this is how his desire to fight has been perceived. “We would fight. I'd win and then you could win. We could do it all again. So many....” His head drops onto Li Lianhua’s shoulder, so he can start mouthing at his neck again. “I wanted to win. Win you. You. It’s you. It’s always been you. No one else. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
“Oh.” It’s massively inadequate, but his mind feels empty of anything but the absolute certainty in his voice.
“Mine. My Xiangyi....Lianhua.” Di Feisheng sighs contentedly, “My Huahua. Xiaohua. Xiao Lianhua.”
“Lao Di, please.” It’s too embarrassing. For all the tomb is cold, Li Lianhua can feel his face grow uncomfortably hot.
There is a small huff, then he says, “You call me names.”
Teasing is more familiar ground, a safe place they can retreat to. Maybe he can annoy him enough that he’ll stop being like this. “You don’t like it? Shall I call you Di Mengzhu then? Di Mojun? Or are you Di Xiansheng these days?”
“No.” He looks up through lowered lashes, eyes dark and shining, reaching out to take his hand. “Lao gong.”
“Husband!” There is a swooping feeling in Li Lianhua’s stomach, rather like he’s been dropped from a very high cliff. His voice isn’t entirely steady as he replies, “A-Fei, please.”
“Husband. You wore the dress. We drank the wine. Slept in the same bed.”
While it’s all technically true, it also absolutely did not happen like that at all. It didn’t all happen on the same day, he tells himself, so it shouldn’t count. It shouldn’t, but the feelings it gives him aren’t things he can control. It's a warmth in his chest he doesn’t know what to do with. Except that’s a lie. He does. He wants...
He clamps down on that thought, ruthless as sword strike. He can’t allow himself to want. He can’t.
It would be convenient to put all this down to Di Feisheng being drugged, but he knows Silver Dream fungus really doesn’t work that way. No, it will make someone too trusting and unguarded, completely open with their feelings, but those feelings would have to have been there in the first place.
It’s a relief that the drug has no effect on himself. Li Lianhua really doesn’t want to face or share all the things he’s been keeping bottled up inside. No, it would not only be a confession of love that spills out of him.
Yet wouldn’t it be a relief to speak? To have everything out in the open, no more secrets between them. To have all the lies stripped away, so that he can be honest both with himself and others?
“I like your fingers,” Di Feisheng says, stroking Li Lianhua’s hand. “When you hold a sword. A brush. A spoon.” He lifts it up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles, soft and so very warm. “When you do things, anything. You can do things to me. Use them. They’d feel good. You could put them-”
“We’re in a tomb,” Li Lianhua says, quite able to guess the rest. He pulls his hand away, mind filled with the kind of images he’s not indulged in for years. His face heating up once more. How is he ever going to be able to forget such things? “Don’t you think such things should wait for the bedroom? What if a ghost hears you and gets the wrong idea?” It’s a truly stupid argument against it, all he can hope is that Di Feisheng will in his current state believe it.
“I’d fight them.”
Li Lianhua can’t stop the fond little laugh that escapes him. Of course, Di Feisheng would even try to fight a ghost.
It would be taking advantage of him to do more than let him press kisses to his hands and neck, and he can’t do that to him. He’s not going to refuse to sit on his lap, however. Di Feisheng is warm and surprisingly comfortable. Which is a contrast to the cold stone of the floor, which was making his joints, even the ones without a massive bruise on them, ache.
Fortunately, Di Feisheng doesn’t seem to want to do more than hug him, stroke his hair, play with his fingers and generally be embarrassingly sweet and soft. Whether he will remember any of it once the drug has worn off Li Lianhua doesn’t know. Part of him thinks that he should hope that he doesn’t. That way they can go back to what they were before.
Only how can they when he will know what feelings lurk in Di Feisheng’s heart? What have done for a very long time.
It would be a lie to say that he doesn’t find him attractive, that he hasn’t always been drawn to him. He’s handsome, driven. It would also be a lie to say he’s not seen how he looks at him or that there hasn’t been something between them since they first saw each other. It’s a lie too that he doesn’t want to know how those lips would feel against his own. How they’d feel in other places as well.
So many lies. Really though, wasn’t that what his life had been for the last ten years? Lies to those around him. Lies to himself as well. So very many of those. Isn’t it what his life still is? Lies that he’s getting better. Lies that he’s doing fine. Lies that he’ll start training again soon and lies that living doesn’t still feel harder than dying.
His eyes sting, and he blinks, feeling them water. It’s just the dust and poor lighting, he tells himself. He almost believes it.
Sighing, Li Lianhua feels Di Feisheng tighten his arm around him, holding him close even though he is now asleep. It’s been years since he’s been with anyone. Since he’d dared to allow himself to feel anything like this. He’d been a dead man. A dying one at least. One with no future. It was hard to find any reason for desire back then.
Yet what future does he have now? Di Feisheng wants a rival, an equal in all things, one half of a matched pair.
Not this shell.
What if he does remember? What if he still wants him? There is a part of him that wants Di Feisheng to refute every word he’s just said, to pull away, to say that it was only the drug, that he doesn’t feel anything for him.
He looks at the rubble choked passageway. He is trapped in more ways than one and he hates it. He wants to run off and hide. To be more successful at it than last time. To fade from the world like the ghost he is. He wants them to let him go. He wants... Li Lianhua swallows wetly, feeling dampness slide down his cheeks. He doesn’t want it. Not really, but it feels easier than the truth.
What he wants his stupid body not to hurt, he wants to be able to help them, he wants the peace that he’d carved out even amidst the suffering caused by the poison back. He wants... He leans his head back against his shoulder, the warm solid muscle of it. It’s good. Yes, he wants. He wants Di Feisheng. He wants him like this, wants his arms about him, wants to see him smile and laugh, to watch how it makes his eyes get so bright and sparkling, he wants to sit with him, lay down with him, to talk and share silence, to just be there with him.
How has he been lying to himself for so many years? How had he not known? How long had Di Feisheng felt this way? How long had he desired him, as he so clearly does? “A-Fei, what am I going to do?”
He doesn’t expect a reply. He’d not even thought he was awake or coherent enough to hear. Yet Di Feisheng holds him little tighter, “Sleep.”
It’s a practical solution to not thinking about things. Yet he shouldn’t sleep too. What if the rest of the tomb started to collapse? One of them needs to stay alert. Or if Xiaobao needs them to help him with the mechanism from their side? Or if...His thoughts grind to a halt as he has to yawn.
Perhaps sleep is the best idea, he really is so very tired, and his thoughts are always bleaker when exhaustion hits hard. He’s done far too much walking today already and it must be afternoon by now, he thinks. If he were back in the Lotus Tower he’d be taking a nap right now, sleeping away the hottest part of the afternoon rather than exhausting himself by working through it. He’d rest, then he’d get up and cook.
There’s no point breaking the habit, he’ll only feel worse for not resting. Not that he’ll feel great if he does, rather it’s needed to avoid feeling worse. He’s going to be stiff and sore whether he’s awake or not, but he can do something about the tiredness. He can make that less. He can try to keep his mind clear. He’ll still be useful that way. It’s one of the few things that he still has to give.
Closing his eyes, Li Lianhua listens to Di Feisheng’s steady breathing, feels the warmth of him where he’s holding him close. It’s nice, soothing in a way he’d forgotten sleeping beside someone could be. He wants to stay awake longer, to commit this feeling to memory, because it might never happen again between them. He wants to, but within moments he’s asleep as well.
Li Lianhua is woken by Di Feisheng startling awake and nearly tipping him from his lap onto the floor. No longer calm and sleepy, he is shivering, breathing going rapid and shallow, as his eyes dart fearfully, looking from shadow to shadow for danger.
Given how the drug has messed with his emotional state Li Lianhua finds it unsurprising that a nightmare would trouble his dreams. They do so often enough even normally. It doesn’t make it any the less horrible for him, and depending on how much of the drug he has left in him, so much harder to deal with.
Making sure that Di Feisheng has seen his hand first, so that he won’t be startled by it; Li Lianhua has no wish to get thrown across the room again, he places a hand on his forehead. He’s hot to the touch. He makes a soft, pained sound and leans into the touch, seeking comfort.
“A-Fei?” He strokes his cheek very gently. “Do you know where you are?”
Di Feisheng nods.
“Do you know what happened?”
He nods again, a small tight movement. Then he grimaces, closing his eyes, his jaw clenched against the pain.
With him living with them for the past few months it's a look that Li Lianhua has come to recognise. “Headache?”
He makes a small, unhappy sound and he hides his face against Li Lianhua, trying to avoid the dim torch light.
With the effects of the Silver Dream fungus gradually wearing off, he doesn’t find it at all surprising that Di Feisheng isn’t feeling well. A headache and fever were to be expected given how strongly it had affected him. Few more hours however and he should be back to his usual self.
Stroking his hair, Li Lianhua progresses to gently massaging his temples to provide him with what relief he can in the absence of being able to do anything else to help. It’s almost meditative, and he finds his mind drifting, imagining quiet mornings and late evenings, lying in bed, Di Feisheng at his side.
It’s nice in a way that’s startling. Not because of who it is, not because what it is or what it means for them. No, it’s because it’s about the future. Because it’s about one that is full of hope and life.
He stopped thinking of such things, of hoping for anything, apart from fading from the world with a minimum of inconvenience to those around him. Even being cured, the doubled edged sword that it is, hadn’t managed to change that. The future was something to be feared. A place of being a continued burden, of disappointing and hurting those closest to him.
He wants it to be real. He wants soft domestic moments, as much as those other distant dreams of laying in the sun fishing and letting the world pass him by. Which is another startling thought. To want or desire anything has become an alien idea to him. What use did a dying man have for such things?
Mind drifting in a soft haze of hope, Li Lianhua is almost asleep again when Di Feisheng startles awake for a second time. This time he finds himself dumped onto the floor, as Di Feisheng leaps to his feet.
Breathing ragged and distressed, he takes a few stumbling steps away from Li Lianhua. Looking wildly around, confusion growing, he presses his hands to his head, trying to ward off dizziness or pain, before he loses his balance and falls heavily to his knees.
There’s no time to catch him, and by the time Li Lianhua has managed to get his stiff and aching legs moving, Di Feisheng has curled up on the ground. Laying on his side, arms brought up protectively to prevent any strikes to his head or neck, he seems to be trying to make himself as small as possible.
“A-Fei?” Li Lianhua tentatively touches his shoulder, trying not to startle him. Waking him from a nightmare was a far from safe action, unless you were alert and strong enough to catch what blows came your way. He doubts he could do either right now, but he can’t bear to leave him like this.
Still careful, he shakes Di Feisheng’s shoulder. The heat seeping through his clothes and into Li Lianhua’s hand is much more noticeable now, his fever having continued to rise to a point where it must be making him feel unwell.
“Can you hear me? Come on, say something.”
There's still no response, nor any move to uncurl and look at him, only very faint sounds that might be distress or could just be muffled breathing. More worried by this than he wants to admit, Li Lianhua carefully draws back one of the arms he is using to shield his face from view.
Eyes tightly closed, tears are coursing down his cheeks, his teeth bitten into his lip to prevent any sound from escaping, Di Feisheng is crying in almost complete silence. Only audible sound of his distress is the unsteady breaths through his nose.
Li Lianhua absolutely doesn’t want to think about how or why he is able to break down like this without making a sound. He doesn’t want to think about it, but he now knows some of the horrors of the Di Fortress and how much he must have suffered as a child, how much he still suffers because of it.
Even if he had access to all the inner energy that he’d had in his youth, he would still be just as powerless to ease what’s in Di Feisheng’s mind. At least he’s old enough to be able to admit such things – the young Li Xiangyi would never have done so.
There is nothing that he can do apart from try to comfort him. It's not something he’s used to providing, nor will it be something that Di Feisheng is used to receiving, but not trying feels unforgivably cruel.
Di Feisheng clings to his hand like he’s never letting go, although he gives no other indication that he’s listening to what Li Lianhua is saying or if he understands it. He continues to cry silently, tears soaking through Li Lianhua’s sleeve, only stopping when he finally falls into a fever-wracked sleep.
Despite his intentions to stay awake this time, lest Di Feisheng has another nightmare, Li Lianhua is exhausted. Still holding him close, he joins him in sleep.