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Mu Hanzhang wakes to pain. That, in and of itself, is not surprising — he can’t remember the last time his body did not shake with it, without some party of his being feeling a burning sensation ripple across it, without a rattling cough echoing from deep within.
No, the pain is not surprising. It is the location of the pain… and the fact that he wakes at all.
He had been dying, he remembers. Wretchedly cold, the only warmth that of his husband whom he leaned against, and the warmth of the blood that trickled out from between his fingers…
He’s warm now, and he aches in a way that is the ache of intimacy, of a body ravaged, of a sensation he’s only felt once before he was cast aside. When Mu Hanzhang opens his eyes, he sees Jing Shao’s curtains, his ceiling. He’s in Jing Shao’s bed.
And so is Jing Shao.
His body flinches away instinctively as the man beside him moves — Mu Hanzhang knows that Jing Shao will never touch him again, but his body still reacts — and his confusion is quickly magnified as the man wakes and speaks to him. The night after their marriage… returning to this time is unbelievable, and yet it is the most believable part about this. He wants to wail and curse at the heavens for taking him back to now, when he has no power and cannot possibly divert them from their ill-fated path, but he can believe it, for there is no other explanation that makes sense. He had been dying.
And yet it is Jing Shao being kind to him that id the most unbelievable thing. How sad is that?
Jing Shao had still been angry with the whole situation before, Mu Hanzhang remembers. Not that he ever blamed him for that angry — Mu Hanzhang is still angry himself, still bitter — but taking it all out on him… Yet this time, Jing Shao is kind. His words are tender, apologetic.
It’s so unnerving that Mu Hanzhang wishes to scream.
When Jing Shao is cruel to him in front of the Emperor and Empress, it’s a relief. Maybe Mu Hanzhang had simply remembered wrong, that Jing Shao had felt bad about his actions the morning after, only to be abruptly confronted by all he had lost and turn resentful once more. He’s bitter, but it is a relief nonetheless.
And then Jing Shao apologizes after, is kind to him, and shows far more cunning than he ever did before. Mu Hanzhang has no idea what to do.
So Mu Hanzhang watches.
He rebuffs any unexpected advances Jing Shao makes far more forcibly than if it had only been the trauma of their wedding night. He can’t believe any of this, can’t trust it — but Jing Shao has never been cunning. Never been clever. Can the man even lie?
He watches as Jing Shao listens to his brother in a way that he never had before — as he listens to Mu Hanzhang in a way that he never has. So he tests that. When the concubines push back, Mu Hanzhang holds his own. He advises Jing Shao against his own father, and the man listens. He wants to open up his own business, to meet other male wives, to take rightful control over the household… and Jing Shao lets him.
Jing Shao doesn’t leave, either. He doesn’t march off with his army immediately like he did before. For the past Mu Hanzhang, it had been a relief at first but quickly shifted to a cold loneliness. It’s not that he wants Jing Shao to leave him, but…
“I don’t understand why you don’t hate me,” Mu Hanzhang says quietly one evening. Jing Shao is allowed some liberties, as odd as it feels to grant him such, and Jing Shao has shamelessly taken advantage of those liberties to bodily drag Mu Hanzhang onto his lap as they sit on the bed, nuzzling into his wife’s back.
“Why would I hate you?” Jing Shao asks, kissing his clothes shoulder, as if he had not spent most of Mu Hanzhang’s past life pretending his wife didn’t exist. “I would be a terrible Emperor, anyway. I’m happier with you.”
It’s hard to believe. Mu Hanzhang swats at the prince’s wandering hands, chewing on his lip. One of those hands comes up to untuck his lip, thumb running gently over it. “Why are you worrying so?”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Mu Hanzhang says quietly. He’s not the kind to burst, not the kind to yell, but it simmers within him, festers, burns and roils and aches within him. “You hated me before, I…” He forcibly clenches his jaw, closing his mouth to let nothing more escape, for it will make no sense.
Jing Shao is already pulling back, brow creased in confusion, tipping Mu Hanzhang’s chin up so he can peer into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice gentle. “What do you mean, ‘before’? Our wedding night?”
Mu Hanzhang jerks his head away. “It’s nothing.”
“Do you… remember?” There’s a hesitancy in Jing Shao’s voice that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard before. “The chase…?” It’s vague, but he understands instantly.
Mu Hanzhang physically recoils, scrambling away from Jing Shao and off the bed, retreating towards the door with his eyes wide. “You…” He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but there’s a yawning pit in his stomach, that festering anger turning ice cold.
Jing Shao stands up as well, keeping his distance, a mix of grief and elation written across his face. “Are you… Are you my Mu Hanzhang? You came back with me?”
He’s been his Mu Hanzhang far more in this life than ever before. It’s funny that that’s what springs to mind.
“I don’t understand,” Mu Hanzhang whispers, and Jing Shao’s face falls. “Didn’t we… die? Or… I died, and His Highness didn’t leave me behind…”
“Never,” swears Jing Shao vehemently. He gets down on the floor and kowtows before Mu Hanzhang, pressing his forehead to the ground. Mu Hanzhang freezes. He’s never seen anything like this in either life. “I wished for another chance with you,” Jing Shao says, profound sincerity dripping from him. “To treat you better than I had before.”
Mu Hanzhang doesn’t know what to say, what to do. It had been one thing — a difficult thing, but a different one — when he had thought this was not the same Jing Shao. One who had drunkenly harmed him (in a memory very long removed from this Mu Hanzhang), but had been nothing but kind since, had been utterly enamored with him. But this is the Jing Shao that had been so angry, had blamed Mu Hanzhang and left him cold and alone with no power, had dragged him into his misfortunes-
And who had refused, with every ounce of his final breath, to leave Mu Hanzhang behind to die.
“I need-“ He doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t know what he wants. Mu Hanzhang flees.
He’s not stupid. Even in this utterly overwhelming moment when everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, he refuses to do anything that will endanger them, that will cause rumors. They had suffered from rumors far too much in their first life.
(Their first life. He’s not alone.)
Mu Hanzhang goes right to the study instead of doing anything stupid, where he can pretend to bury himself in the books that Jing Shao is letting him access. It’s evening, but that’s not that atypical of him. They’re a helpful shield, a way for no one to question anything or think they’re fighting or-
He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t.
This is the Jing Shao of the past… and he had seemingly learned from every single one of his past mistakes. Mu Hanzhang wonders if maybe his affections are driven by guilt, but he dismisses that very quickly. Jing Shao wouldn’t be so forward with him if that were the case, wouldn’t act so completely enamored.
What more can Mu Hanzhang ask for at this stage? Jing Shao had no power to “free” him from this marriage. He could ask for distance, but after the solitude of his past life… Mu Hanzhang doesn’t desire that. He doesn’t want to be so achingly alone ever again.
Both of them know of the dangers ahead. Both of them can deal with this together. They can survive. Even if he’ll never be the scholar he once hoped for, this is good. This should be fine. So why can’t he convince himself of that?
Mu Hanzhang isn’t sure how long he sits there, mind chasing itself in circles, before there’s a quiet cough from the doorway. He looks up to see Jing Shao, his face open and concerned. “Jun Qing?”
It takes him a few moments to find his voice to respond. “You… you wished for another chance with me…?”
Jing Shao approaches slowly, as though Mu Hanzhang is a skittish animal, and kneels down — this time not to kowtow, but to press his head into his wife’s lap, snagging one of Mu Hanzhang’s hands and pressing it to his hair. Startled, Mu Hanzhang allows it, and begins to gently comb his fingers through Jing Shao’s silky, dark hair. It’s funny how his pushiness is actually comforting.
“I wanted to put you first in this life,” Jing Shao says quietly. “You were the only one who stood by me. You deserved better than I ever gave you.” He turns his head so he can nuzzle into Mu Hanzhang’s hand, his lips like a brand on his palm. Mu Hanzhang’s breath catches in his throat.
“Will my wife allow me to do so?” he asks, each word a puff of breath on Mu Hanzhang’s skin. “This Prince’s wife is so much smarter than him. Will he help this foolish prince survive the plots of the future? So that both of us can live together in happiness?”
Mu Hanzhang would like freedom. It would be nice. He would like to fly far from here, from this place with such poor memories… and he would like to take Jing Shao with him. If he could set both of them free…
But in this world, in their position, they must earn it. And he thinks it would not be so bad to earn it alongside this person. At least… At least…
He is going to try.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “Let us try together. This wife will give his husband a chance.”
Jing Shao beams at him, boyish and bright. “That is all this husband can ask for.” He pauses. Amends his words. “But if this husband did ask for more…”
Mu Hanzhang laughs very, very softly. He can’t remember the last time he laughed, and he reaches up to brush his own lips. “Just one,” he says, and Jing Shao surges up to kiss him.