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Chapter Text

Emperor Wang Yibo first lays eyes on him in the imperial palace. The head eunuch marches across a perfect row of ten omega candidates, dissected, scrutinized, and interrogated under the blazing sun. Every other guard, eunuch, and candidate stands rigid, either listening obediently with their heads lowered in deference or staring at the candidates with dubious interest. It’s only Yibo’s eyes that seem to move freely, the eunuch’s voice booming across the middle of the courtyard as he evaluates the only candidate under the emperor’s intent gaze.

He’s beautiful.

“Out of thousands of eligible omegas, you have all been deemed worthy of standing before huangshang,” the eunuch reads from a scroll. “Pay close attention as we deliberate for the final three spots in the imperial harem…”

The eunuch’s droning fades in Yibo’s mind, preferring to take in the candidate’s figure while he reclines on a throne just far enough under the shade of an awning to mask his interest. After all, the eunuchs could disqualify a candidate if the omega was found to be influencing the emperor with pheromones, intentionally or not. A warm feeling spreads unbidden throughout Yibo’s body, as if he’s woken from a long winter slumber.

The candidate stands last in the row, adorned in bright red robes with faded patterns of white lotuses on its collar, hems, and sash. The sash accentuates the curve of his slim waist, naturally drawing Yibo’s attention and fighting not to lose it. A single hairpin with a lilac flower carries a braided half of his hair, nothing but three pearl tassels hanging from it. On the braid, a gold hair comb.

But the most fascinating part of the ensemble is his red veil. Above it, only his phoenix eyes are visible, dusted with gold and lined with black to give him an ethereal, divine appearance. The peeking arch of his cheekbones catches the sunlight when he shifts. He looks like he's glowing.

As a formal ceremony, the emperor’s presence was strongly recommended until he deemed it necessary to return to more pressing matters after suddenly inheriting the throne not too long ago. Yibo could leave now, and nobody would bat an eye. Or he could stay and ensure that his favorite was chosen… if only he hadn’t felt so against the concept of a harem. Out of sympathy for the surviving child of the late emperor, the eunuchs had obeyed his command to select the harem themselves… too well, it seems. Watching the head eunuch linger too long on a lavishly dressed candidate, Yibo wills the eunuch to return to the last. Could their rigorous exams have jeopardized his favorite candidate’s chances?

Another eunuch steps forward, bowing as he presents a new scroll to the head eunuch, who takes it while turning to face all of the candidates. “Several lost marks for careless brushstrokes.” Opening the scroll, he reads, “Candidate Two, you rushed. Candidate Seven, your logic was not solid.”

As the head eunuch doles out harsher critiques, the candidates lower their heads further. Yibo frowns—what exactly are the eunuchs looking for? He curses his past green self. The imperial harem need not be full of geniuses, lest they wish for secret alliances and plots to unfold. At least Yibo can feel some comfort in the existing members of the harem, Consort Hu and Consort Wang, entering as part of long-standing alliances. For many generations, there has been only a total of five members for each emperor. The first to birth an alpha heir is immediately made empress, while the rest still fight for favor.

But Yibo has no intention of showing favor at all—which is why each harem member will use the same title. That being said, he’s aware that seniority may be another issue down the line.

“However!” the eunuch presses on after a detailed critique about Candidate Nine’s calligraphy. “Candidate Ten.” The rest of the candidates glance sidelong at him. “You show promise.”

Without raising his head, the candidate’s eyes widen a fraction before slowly closing. The other candidates silently bring their gazes back to the front, arms tense where they clasp their hands before themselves.

Candidate Ten, Yibo muses to himself. Fighting a victorious smile, he thinks of how his mother, the empress dowager, would approve of him suddenly showing interest in his harem. No, it wouldn’t be the entire harem.

Only Candidate Ten.

Concluding his evaluations, the eunuch finally closes his scroll, crossing his hands behind his back. “I will now announce the three final members of the imperial harem for the reign of Emperor Wang Yibo.” His voice echoes in the silence, the sun beating down heavily on each candidate.

“Candidate Six, Consort Meng.”

A woman in the middle of the row steps forward demurely. She wears a cascade of aqua green robes, her veil shimmering as she moves and bows with the grace of a dancer.

“Candidate Seven, Consort Zhang.”

Standing next to Consort Meng, a man in black robes steps forward. Like her, the line of his body sways to a silent rhythm. When he bows, his white jade earring falls forward to brush his chin.

The eunuch paces back and forth between each remaining candidate, examining them from different angles. Giving into the urge to tap his fingers impatiently, Yibo stares down the eunuch until he makes his decision. The gesture has a ripple effect: nearby guards and eunuchs shift uncomfortably, unintentionally complicit in delaying the emperor’s responsibilities.

Nobody moves an inch otherwise, the courtyard holding its breath, and finally the eunuch resumes his earlier position. “Candidate Ten, Consort Xiao.”

Yibo is the first to react, exhaling a breath he’d been holding unknowingly.

Consort Xiao hesitates, twitching just slightly the moment before he moves. Nevertheless, he commands himself with ease, his brows furrowing minutely.

A simultaneous slump of the candidates’ shoulders, and heads dipped low enough to hide their expressions of disappointment and mortification. Immediately, the head eunuch dismisses them, delegating another eunuch as an escort for their departure.

Yibo feels eyes on him as they leave, but none of them are Consort Xiao’s.

The head eunuch turns to address Yibo, bowing deeply. "Huangshang, we have selected the final additions to your harem.”

The three new members bow in greeting. Per custom, Yibo meets the eyes of each before they lower their gaze submissively. The first eye contact between an alpha and omega represents the acknowledgement of their relationship—for ordinary pairs, this usually carries an undercurrent of romance or lust, if they find each other attractive. For the emperor, it resembles the seal at the end of a contract. Omegas born into noble or wealthy families know this, as they normally comprise the imperial harem’s selection pool.

But Consort Xiao… never meets his eyes.

No matter, Yibo muses as the head eunuch escorts them into the imperial palace. He will soon enough.

Chapter Text

Xiao Zhan—that is, Consort Xiao—keeps his head bowed, inaudibly cursing his luck as he follows the head eunuch to his new residence. Why was he chosen? He has nothing to offer. He thought perhaps his height, his age, his lack of social standing, or even the essay on his exam would deter the court from selecting him for the imperial harem. Standing out too much is never a good thing—or so he thought.

The omega recruitment is standard through every emperor, but Xiao Zhan presented as one just a few months ago, much unlike the other members. He's not used to all of the new sensations just yet, and his heat usually debilitates him until he’s bedridden. His new presentation was something he could handle and learn about with his family—and then he sighs inwardly at the thought, chest heavy with homesickness. He wonders how they’ve fared over the past month since the letter for his candidacy arrived. Inside the palace, unfamiliar faces surround him. How must one behave with the imperial family?

The eunuch leads him through a bamboo path beyond the center of the main palace, a maze that eventually takes them south. The back of his neck prickles from the stares of alpha and beta passersby even though their angle doesn’t allow a good look at him. Depending on the emperor, Xiao Zhan has heard, they may be forbidden from setting eyes on the imperial harem at all. Murmurs follow his footsteps and place him on edge, even though he can’t make out their comments.

Not that he wants to. He’s had enough criticism from those month-long exams to last him an entire lifetime. A chill settles in the air as the sun sets, forcing Xiao Zhan to hug himself tighter within his sleeves, the worn and fraying fabric betraying their age. In a way, his ceremonial robes provide comfort, carrying the scent of home and his favorite flowers. But it also serves as a bittersweet reminder that he will lead a different life from now on, away from everything he has ever known.

Xiao Zhan sighs, shaking his head once. There is simply no use in wallowing.

At the end of the bamboo lies a stone gate to another palace, identical to the main one in its red outer walls and yellow-tiled roofs, but not nearly as large. Stone paths cut neat perpendicular lines across from them, leading to the main and side entrances, while a humble garden fills the fertile soil between the stone. The smell of sandalwood incense drifts into Xiao Zhan’s nose, the scent so familiar of an alpha that it nearly washes his worries away. Servants are already busy with work here—a few eunuchs and maids cleaning the residence and tending to the flowers. The head eunuch comes to a stop before the main entrance, clearing his throat loudly.

The four servants drop their things and rush to kneel before Xiao Zhan, greeting him in unison. “Welcome to the Palace of the Summer Wind.”

A beat of silence follows as they seem to await something, but the eunuch cuts in before Xiao Zhan can voice any confusion. “Rise and begin preparing for supper.” When they’ve gone, he turns to Xiao Zhan. “The four of them will serve you here, while your personal attendant will arrive tomorrow. Furthermore, the palace will hold a welcome ceremony tomorrow evening. Huangshang requests a dance from the newest members of the imperial harem. He awaits your performance.”

After bowing goodbyes, Xiao Zhan finally has a moment to breathe for the first time in weeks. With one long exhale, an alarming wave of exhaustion settles over him bone-deep, coupled with the thought of his inexperienced dancing before the entire court tomorrow. Now he must entertain everyone, unless he’d like to face scrutiny… or worse. Picking up the remnants of his strength, he pulls open the door to his new home and startles, mouth falling open.

The first room that greets him is massive. Scenic paintings line the walls, intricate handwoven rugs and detailed wallpaper, and as he continues through the rest of the palace, long sheer curtains delicately separating each room. Everything is bathed in rich shades of red and brown, almost harsh on the eye if Xiao Zhan stares at them for too long. He shifts the weight between his feet without certainty, his own muted steps his only companion. The servants should be returning soon with ingredients for supper, but he doesn’t feel very hungry.

In his bedchambers, his bloodshot eyes are the only part of himself that Xiao Zhan recognizes in the vanity mirror. His withering strength begins to escape him as he tugs on the shubi, which slips out of his grip and lands with a clatter on the table before him. The veil and makeup are next, but last is the lilac hairpin his mother gifted him before he had to leave home. The upper half of his hair falls down his shoulders gently, and he finally sees himself.

After a long day, and an even longer recruitment.

In the beginning, the harem candidates he first met gave conflicting tidbits about the emperor. Rumors shrouded him in mystery: some suggested he was cold, and others insisted he was warmhearted. They claimed that he ruled with an iron fist like his late father before him, or that he was careless and inadequate. No matter the interpretation, every candidate seemed fiercely competitive with each other, something Xiao Zhan failed to understand. They boasted endlessly about their background and aspired to serve as the emperor's most favored concubine.

Xiao Zhan pauses, a brush in his hand frozen over a thick lock of hair as he comes to a conclusion. He has no interest in winning the emperor’s favor, but there’s no use in frustration anymore. He will conduct himself with grace, but he need not speak unless spoken to.

This new concubine will learn to adjust.

The following day passes in a blur as Xiao Zhan is abruptly woken for a robe fitting, simultaneously poked and prodded by the imperial doctor, and, once dressed in brand-new attire, given a proper tour of the entire palace. Returning to the Palace of the Summer Wind, the eunuchs escort a young beta who introduces herself as Xuan Lu, Consort Xiao’s personal maid. As the sun sets outside of his palace’s wide windows and servants light lanterns while shadows recede, Xuan Lu dresses him for the ceremony.

"Niangniang, are you excited to meet huangshang?" she asks, smiling at him through the vanity mirror. The close proximity of a beta, especially one with mild garden scents like Xiao Zhan’s family, smooths the tension in his shoulders as she combs his hair back.

Her enthusiasm even tugs an amicable smile from his lips, but he hesitates before responding. Tonight, Consort Xiao will meet the imperial family and court. Is an unskilled dance enough of a good first impression? Not to mention that he will be last, thanks to his unofficial rank. A certain sense of dread inches towards him, but he tries to ignore it. His expertise doesn’t matter—his effort does.

"Yes," he replies, but even his own voice doesn’t convince him.

Xuan Lu gives a thoughtful noise. "It's fine if you're not ready. He does have quite a presence—even as a beta, I feel it." She says this with no amount of exaggeration, simply stating it as a fact. Shrugging, she continues, “Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to the emperors. His ancestors employed my family generations ago.”

Xiao Zhan nods politely. Admittedly, he hasn’t met any alphas since his presentation. Before he presented, he didn’t think much of his uncommon ability to notice everyone’s scents. Afterwards… Xiao Zhan could do nothing but stay home, weaker in constitution than he expected. It worked out conveniently in a way; the imperial palace requested that he stay indoors with only family until the recruitment. Whether it was to maintain an appearance of purity for the emperor or simply keep the scents of other alphas at bay, he kept his eyes lowered during the recruitment as a show of humility, never sure when it was appropriate to raise them in imperial presence.

But now… he’ll meet his first alpha after presenting—who also happens to be the emperor—whether he likes it or not. He won’t know the full physiological reaction of his body—and he tugs uncomfortably at his robes. Perhaps with minimal participation, Xiao Zhan may satisfy the emperor enough to be left alone.

An understanding of his temperament might even help. “What is he like?”

An eager smile spreads across Xuan Lu’s face, likely mistaking Xiao Zhan’s intentions. “He is the youngest emperor we’ve ever known, but the most dedicated to his work.”

Young… younger than himself? Xiao Zhan wonders.

“Although he hasn’t shown interest in the imperial harem yet, I’m sure that niangniang will catch his eye,” Xuan Lu concludes with a wink, stepping back so he can examine himself.

Makeup over his eyes, a new veil attached, and then Xuan Lu places a thin silver circlet on his head, single jewels adorning his half-bun. A narrow ruby hangs down its center, falling between his eyebrows and tickling his forehead whenever he turns.

“What do you think?” Xuan Lu asks, gesturing for him to stand.

His robes for this ceremony are billowing, the gradient red skirt multiple layers trimmed at different angles, resembling flower petals. The ends of the sleeves are long, hiding his hands, and he pulls them back to fidget with his veil. How will I eat with this on? he wonders. He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until he hears a quiet giggle behind him.

"It's just a formality, niangniang. You may remove it whenever you like," Xuan Lu explains. "But the imperial court would likely approve of the show of modesty." She dresses him in a dark red outer robe and beams at him, proud of her work.

Xiao Zhan smiles back tentatively, turning over her words. Modesty… If the imperial court requires nothing else, Xiao Zhan can meet the expectation. As for the emperor… a young, cold, but dedicated alpha. A strange feeling twists through his stomach; a sudden sense of loss for something he never had, but wished for once upon a time.

“Ready?” Xuan Lu asks from the archway out of his bedchambers, breaking through his thoughts.

Realizing he had been stroking the lilac hairpin at the corner of the vanity, Xiao Zhan abruptly stands to meet her, pausing when Xuan Lu only stares at him thoughtfully. In a quick moment involving Xuan Lu glancing between the hairpin and his head while Xiao Zhan’s mouth forms a question, she darts outside and rushes back with a lilac. Sliding the short stem into his bun, she stands back when satisfied.

“When we have more time, I’d like to use that hairpin. It’s lovely,” she says.

“Thank you,” Xiao Zhan replies. For some reason, this simple act of sincerity helps calm the rising nerves in his chest. He fumbles with his robes while Xuan Lu escorts him to the main banquet hall, but he strides forward regardless.

His new family awaits.

The banquet hall is divided into three seated sections with one central open space. A long table sits horizontally in the center for the emperor, with the empress dowager beside him. Five individual seats for the imperial harem to the emperor’s right, and a similar arrangement for the court to the emperor’s left. The open space takes up the most room, naturally denoted by an elevated platform with four beams reaching the ceiling at its corners. Orchids litter the two steps at each edge, while instruments lean against seats next to the beams. Alpha-scented incense burns at the edges of the room.

Servants flit in and out past Xiao Zhan and Xuan Lu as they wait off in an adjacent room, behind the seats for the imperial harem. The harem must enter in order, while the court files in. The center table remains empty, but Xiao Zhan can’t stop himself from peeking through the dividing curtain at the people gathered thus far. The third time he does so, Xuan Lu coughs lightly.

“What will you perform, niangniang?"

Here's the issue: Xiao Zhan hasn’t prepared a proper court dance. Though the exams tested performance skills, he chose to sing instead of the popular choice of dance and save face. It’s just his luck that the emperor prefers dance, but Xiao Zhan could do nothing more today than pick apart the memory of simple choreography.

"The Fan Dance of the South," he replies. Maybe by naming it, Xiao Zhan can believe that he can improve the dance. He’s danced something like it only once before.

Xuan Lu brightens at this. "I’ve never heard of that one. Though… between the passing of his father and the enthronement of huangshang, there hasn't been much occasion for festivities." She smooths her skirt out while she talks, sidestepping a servant with a large platter of food in their arms.

The other two new members of the harem enter the side room just as a eunuch loudly announces the arrival of the emperor. The announcement is hardly necessary, however, as Xiao Zhan feels a tingle down his back, his body naturally reacting to the strong alpha aura. One of the beams from the platform happens to block the figures of the imperial family, but it doesn’t stop everyone from straining their necks to look.

The court has taken their seats now, and so have the existing members of the harem. Now all that’s left is the third, fourth, and fifth members.

A eunuch comes to escort the third. In the sliver of space afforded between its sheer curtains, the best view from the side room belongs to the platform. This time, Xuan Lu squeezes next to Xiao Zhan to watch. Her apology falls on deaf ears as Xiao Zhan’s nerves threaten to consume him, but he forces himself to pay attention.

Another eunuch sits at the corner of the platform, hands poised over a guqin. He speaks:

"Consort Meng, of the Meng Family."

Floating with the lightest steps, she bows deeply, each placement of her body poised and practiced. Though the court’s expressions remain blank, she flashes a charming, confident smile toward the emperor. A brief nod from the center table—the emperor?—and she begins.

Consort Meng dances flawlessly. A few steps in, Xuan Lu informs him that she is performing a classic piece, a favorite among past emperors. The eyes of the court follow her closely, enraptured by her every smile and gesture. Some even lean in to each other to whisper something, so Consort Meng dances closer to them. The grins of satisfaction are blinding.

When she finishes, the court applauds loudest. She says a few words by way of greeting, bows, and then takes her seat.

The same eunuch returns to collect the fourth member of the harem, Consort Zhang. He follows with much of the same elegance as Consort Meng, but uses a folk song that even Xiao Zhan recognizes. The movements of his dance are passionate and powerful, even interrupting his performance to mimic plucking guqin strings. Like a meditation in motion, he follows the melody of a piece about a fisherman who falls in love with a fish. Those in the room applaud him when he takes his finishing bow, and then he joins the harem.

Finally, Xiao Zhan steps inside alongside the eunuch, stopping to take a fan from a display of props and small instruments before the stage. With a deep breath, he climbs the few steps of the raised platform, meets the center, and locks eyes with the emperor.

And freezes.

Surely, his mind is playing tricks on him. A cold sweat breaks out over his body just as he catches an unmistakably familiar scent coming from the emperor.

The same scent that belonged to the sweet boy he used to mentor, the boy who showed up one day at his sword fighting academy and carved a special place in his heart. The one who couldn’t hide his alpha aura no matter how hard he tried.

Wang Yibo.

The emperor stares back at him with interest. Has he recognized him? Does he still care about him? Did he ensure that Xiao Zhan would be chosen for the harem? Xiao Zhan almost feels a surge of naive hope. After a moment, the emperor’s head tilts forward in permission.

Concentrate. Xiao Zhan promptly recovers with a snap of his fan, discreetly adjusting the veil around his face.

Xiao Zhan doesn’t consider himself a dancer—he considers himself a sword fighter. The fluidity of his steps comes from years of practice with a weapon in his hand, his form naturally curving with the fan and slowly slicing through the air. His sword stances are familiar, easy to fall into even as he softens each edge for the dance.

When he spins, the skirt of his robes billows in a perfect circle, his long sleeves flying behind him. He covers the rising sides of his veil with the fan, shielding himself until he pauses, reaching out with an imaginary sword while the music slows. Stepping forward lightly, toes first, he reaches the center table.

On the final note of the guqin, he stops directly in front of the emperor, pointing the fan not closed like a sword, but open, like an offering.

”How was that, laoshi?” the smug boy asks, towering over him in the empty training hall. He points his sword dramatically at Xiao Zhan’s face.

Xiao Zhan is panting slightly—Yibo had finally managed to disarm him, and his own sword lies on the ground. "Not bad," he concedes.

A whoop of victory; Xiao Zhan can’t help but smile. “Let’s go again,” Yibo says with a grin, rolling his shoulders back. His gaze pins him in place, the intensity of it leaving him unwilling to refuse. “I think I’ve got you figured out.”

“Oh really? Prove it to me,” Xiao Zhan replies, winking before he takes Yibo’s offered hand.

“I will,” Yibo whispers, pulling him so close that Xiao Zhan feels his breath tickling his cheek. “Just you wait.”

They take their stances again.

The emperor—no, Wang Yibo—doesn’t move an inch. Whether or not he recognized him, Xiao Zhan could never jeopardize the secret of their late-night meetings. He stays perfectly still under his gaze, the entire room silent while waiting for the emperor to react first. The smell of lemongrass fills Xiao Zhan’s lungs with each winded breath. In his periphery, he sees something floating and tumbling down his arm, tipping off the edge of the fan.

Yibo catches it: the lilac. He smells it once, eyes sparkling with amusement as they stay locked on Xiao Zhan. “Sweet.”

The sudden applause surprises Xiao Zhan, and he stands up straight, bowing to each side of the room. When he bows to Yibo, however, he finds that the emperor is gesturing to the available space beside him.

“Consort Xiao. Come sit by my side.”

Multiple things occur in succession: the empress dowager drops her teacup with a thud onto the floor, a maid immediately retrieves it but then bumps into another maid rushing to grab a seat cushion for the emperor, an older court member has a mysterious coughing fit while her peers check her qi, and off to the side, Xuan Lu makes quick eye contact with Xiao Zhan. She gives him a signal of a closed fist with her thumb pointing up. Xiao Zhan can only surmise it’s something good.

A court member speaks up, louder than the coughing alpha behind her. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to refuse huangshang?”

Xiao Zhan doesn’t miss the glare that Yibo directs at the court member, but when he locks eyes with Xiao Zhan again, he raises a single eyebrow.

The stares of the harem dig into his back as he takes a moment to accept. He has no choice—refuse, and he’d disrespect the emperor. The criticism would be far worse than the attention he is receiving now, and yet he wonders if it’s too late to escape. He bows, quietly taking his new seat. Folding his legs underneath himself, Xiao Zhan places his hands on his lap, training his gaze on the table before him and ignoring the heady familiar smell of lemongrass.

Once the dramatics subside and the teacup is replaced, the empress dowager stands. “Imperial harem, thank you for your brilliant dances. We welcome you into our family.” She lifts her teacup in a toast. “May we flourish and prosper!”

Midway into reaching for his cup, Xiao Zhan remembers. The veil. He can’t possibly take it off now. Lifting the veil to allow just enough space, he takes a small sip of his tea.

When their food is served, he comes to the same conclusion. He slips small pieces of food underneath the veil to his mouth, eating slowly and drawing as little attention as possible, except, of course, from the emperor.

“Consort Xiao,” he begins, holding out the lilac, “may I affix this to your hair?”

A clatter of chopsticks, followed by multiple choking sounds and concerned attendants’ voices, echoes in the hall.

Xiao Zhan only nods, not trusting his own voice as he turns his head. The light pressure on his bun stays, Yibo pushing back a lock of his hair behind his shoulder. His thumb drags across the tip of his ear with the movement, scenting him.

Something inside of Xiao Zhan settles at last, inwardly pleased and calmer as he stares back at Yibo, eyebrows raised.

Yibo clears his throat. “Your dancing.” His voice is a low murmur while everyone grudgingly begins their own conversations. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

Oh. Perhaps he did recognize the sword movements he’d used. “This concubine taught himself. He does not consider himself an expert.”

“Hmm,” Yibo hums. “It just reminded me of something.”

Xiao Zhan inhales sharply, but all he can smell is Yibo. “Huangshang must be thinking of the beloved Sword Dance of the South. This concubine took inspiration from that.” Somewhat true.

“Is that what it was? That must have been it,” he replies noncommittally, still watching Xiao Zhan intently. “You know, you can remove your veil.”

“Oh, this one could never. This lowly concubine must remain modest before huangshang and his court,” Xiao Zhan insists, shifting slightly on his seat. He tilts his neck just so, in the way he’s seen other omegas, baring the skin so that Yibo’s attention moves somewhere else.

It works for a grand total of three seconds until Yibo continues. “Then may I feed you?”

Nodding helplessly, Xiao Zhan’s eyes track the hand that picks up a morsel of meat and curls under his veil. His fingers are warm, gentle, never moving the veil too much even as Xiao Zhan meets him halfway. The food is delicious, and he breathes in Yibo’s scent as he leans toward him, dropping his mouth open when he wants more. A slice of a mandarin nudges at his mouth next, but biting into it causes the juice to spill over his lips. Yibo’s thumb swipes across his lower lip to collect it, before he emits an amused “tsk” sound. The sweet taste of citrus mixed with lemongrass clings to his mouth, no matter how many times he tries to lick it away.

Through a daze, he blinks up at Yibo’s impenetrable gaze. His instincts scream at him to bury his face in Yibo’s scent gland. He can’t help but wonder, does his mouth also taste like—

“Huangshang, I’ve never seen an emperor treat their concubine so favorably. This is truly a new era!” the first concubine, Consort Hu, exclaims suddenly. His dimples are deep and his eyes are curious, smiling widely as he watches them. In fact, most of the room is watching them.

Xiao Zhan flinches back, cheeks warming as he dips his head again. What came over him just now? Yibo’s scent had never affected him this much; is it different now that he has presented? No, it must have been because he hadn’t eaten properly over the past two days—yes, that’s it. His hunger overrode any instincts telling him to be wary of an alpha.

Nonchalantly wiping his fingers clean, Yibo settles back in his seat. “We expect to see more of it now that the family is established,” the empress dowager emphasizes with a strained smile. “As you all know, the only omegas in the palace are in the imperial harem. You must take care of each other.”

Xiao Zhan glances at the rest of the harem, noticing once more the way that they carry themselves. Each wears fine silks and finer jewelry, long sleeves sweeping elegantly behind them with each movement, never a hair or gesture out of place. Their eyes are polite, careful, guarded, as they watch him.

Consort Meng leans forward. “Consort Xiao niangniang looks lovely tonight. It’s no wonder huangshang couldn’t resist him.” The pearls in her dangling earrings shift as she tilts her head, gripping tightly onto her cup.

“Consort Meng niangniang looks lovelier tonight,” Xiao Zhan immediately insists. “This one has much to learn from her beautiful dancing.”

“I owe it to my family,” she replies, rigid as she continues. “If you’d like, I can teach you. You must still be getting used to your omega presentation, after all.”

Sitting up straighter, Xiao Zhan tries not to stare back, for fear that it might seem aggressive. How did she know that about him?

“Really?” a beta court member replies, mirroring the raised eyebrows around him. “A new omega?” He strokes his beard thoughtfully, roving his eyes over Xiao Zhan. “There hasn’t been one in the harem since late Emperor Zheng. When did you present?”

“That’s enough,” Yibo interrupts, and the entire room’s thoughtful gazes toward Xiao Zhan break away, cowed by the tone of his demand. “Such conversation is boring. Lord Li, tell me about the advances in the north.”

Xiao Zhan subtly breathes out a sigh of relief. Better to have his presentation discussed than his previous work—rather, the work that found him Yibo. The imperial harems aren’t exactly known for their sword-fighting. He’s not ready to tell Yibo either, or confront him yet, for that matter.

The half-smile he gives Xiao Zhan makes him realize he was staring, and he blinks a few times before silently returning to his food. He can’t tell him yet.

Not with all of these eyes watching.

“Huangshang was very taken by you tonight, niangniang,” Xuan Lu comments as she carefully removes his accessories.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” Xiao Zhan replies, perhaps a bit too honestly. He feels weary from the evening, having managed to all but run away after the ceremony ended.

“Don’t worry. Huangshang knows he must devote time to each of his concubines,” she replies. “The others will congratulate you, as I know you will to them.”

Xuan Lu’s gentle brushstrokes remind him of his mother, causing another wave of homesickness to wash over him. The candle at his vanity flickers as he idly strokes the lilac in his palm. Xiao Zhan was foolish to think a romance was blossoming between them back then, when Yibo must have known he would become emperor someday. Did he know? Did he even want to become emperor in the first place? Or was he cornered, like Xiao Zhan now?

Yibo had never even said goodbye.

“Are you all right, niangniang? You’re pale.” Worry etches Xuan Lu’s brows as she falls to her knees, placing a steady hand on his elbow. “Would you like some tea?”

Xiao Zhan nods quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Thank you,” he replies, but when she stands up again, a eunuch arrives with news.

“Niangniang, Consort Meng is here to see you.”

Sharing a surprised look with Xuan Lu, Xiao Zhan quickly ties the veil around his head. “See her in.”

Consort Meng walks in with her servants trailing after her and carrying various wrapped bundles. Exchanging a short bow with Xiao Zhan, she smiles.

“Peace to niangniang,” she greets, hands clasped in front of her. Her nail guards gleam brilliantly against her robes. “Excuse me for the late hour. My behavior tonight was presumptuous, and I was looking to make amends.” She gestures for her servants, who deposit their bundles inside.

“What is all of this?” Xuan Lu asks. There must be at least five bundles. Consort Meng’s polite expression doesn’t alleviate Xiao Zhan’s slight sense of unease, a tightness in his chest.

Consort Meng beams. “Gifts from my hometown. Fabrics, fruits and vegetables, flower seeds… As well as my grandmother’s famous tea.” She removes a rounded porcelain box from one of the bundles, opening the lid to show them. The blend smells wonderful, and Xiao Zhan relaxes when he recognizes each herb. “It helps me sleep well at night.”

“Consort Meng is too kind,” Xiao Zhan says with another bow. Though the attention had been on him the whole night, he’s touched that she would still come all this way to apologize. He doesn’t remember speaking with her at the recruitment, but perhaps she had been different from the others. “This concubine could certainly use this tonight.” He passes the box to Xuan Lu, who hurries out to make tea.

“I’m glad,” Consort Meng replies. “It’s good that huangshang is enjoying his time with you before he moves onto someone else. That’s simply how things work around here.”

The tight feeling in Xiao Zhan’s chest returns, but he knows that she’s right. He tells himself that she’s looking out for him. “Of course.”

“Regardless, we must support one another. Let me know if there’s something I can do to help.” She bows her farewell, servants each bowing before following after her. “Goodnight.”

Xuan Lu walks back in with a hot cup of tea. “Oh, did she leave already? I was hoping to thank her again. This tea is delicious.”

Everyone’s advice from the day, about cooperation, family, and more, rings in his ears as he accepts the tea. It has a hint of ginger in it, just the way he likes it. “We should visit her another time and properly thank her with our own gifts.”

Xuan Lu smiles brightly. “We must.” Bidding each other goodnight, Xuan Lu begins extinguishing the lanterns while closing the curtains to his bedchambers. Silence drowns the palace, for what feels like the first time all day.

Xiao Zhan falls asleep instantly.

He dreams that night—of a low voice whispering in his ear, a nose running along his sweaty neck, tongue teasing his mating gland, large hands sliding lower and lower across his body, until—

Moaning involuntarily, Xiao Zhan startles himself awake and claps a hand over his mouth. Oh no. Not now! A tendril of panic blooms in his chest—his surroundings are unfamiliar, and his skin feels hot. It’s still silent outside; there’s a chance he hasn’t woken anyone.

Searching for a familiar scent of home, he grabs the lilac from earlier off of the vanity, breathing it in. It doesn’t smell like home, however. It smells like Yibo, and it grounds him for a long moment.

But another burst of heat snakes through him, and he shudders, sweat collecting along the edges of his body even as he tries to strip. He can’t endure it. Arranging a makeshift nest, Xiao Zhan burrows deep as his eyelids droop, finally succumbing to the heat and passing out.

Chapter Text

Rumbles of the imperial court mid-discussion filter in through one ear and out the other. From what Yibo has managed to process, the kingdom to the north has halted their advance just outside of their borders. According to their envoys, they’ve refused to continue trade until they come to an agreement on disputed border territories.

The demand is not unreasonable, in Yibo’s opinion, as Yibo’s father spent most of his reign guarding the north and largely vacillating on the issue. The trade, however, is of less significance. Thanks to the noble family of Consort Wang having ancestral ties to the southeast kingdom, any commodities originating from the north have been largely replaced by strengthening trade with the southeast.

Yibo has made his stance clear: ignore them. Perhaps then the kingdom might refocus their resources on their people, instead of strutting their military around in an attempt to intimidate.

But Yibo’s court insists on continuing the debate—should they ignore them? Should they appease them? What if they attack? And Yibo listens, distracted.

“If we compromise with them now, they will be vital allies to future threats. Their military power is on the rise.”

Each court member fidgets incessantly as they kneel before their seated emperor. If he could smell their feelings, the room would reek of anxiety. But looking past them into the open doorway, Yibo only longs for the smell of Consort Xiao. He’s never known a sweeter scent.

“We’ve ignored them in the past. Why is this time different?”

It was intoxicating. The more he breathed him in, the more he wanted to take him away from prying eyes. Yibo wishes he had scented him more—touched him more.

“They are at our borders. Clearly, they’ve had enough.”

And Consort Xiao had stared at him with those beautiful phoenix eyes. His gaze had lingered, on his hands, his mouth… and Yibo wanted more.

“Did they seem angry?”

What sort of expression had he been making, as Yibo fed him? Was his mouth curved into a smile? Was it twisted into a sweet pout? Yibo craves the answer, the beauty that lies underneath that veil.

“No. The envoys relayed their impatience.”

How would he behave, if Yibo paid him a visit tonight? Would he welcome him? Reject him? Would he feign innocence, or would he be as sweet as his lilac?

“Hmm… huangshang, why not meet with them?”

Or would he be cruel? If Consort Xiao poured him tea, would he draw his sleeve up to show the skin of his forearm, but never allow Yibo to touch?

“Huangshang?” General Hu asks a second time.

“No,” Yibo replies firmly, the fantasy of Consort Xiao’s coy gaze vanishing from his thoughts. The court drops their curious eyes. “If we must send someone, why not General Hu?”

“A meeting between the heads of state would fare better. With such a long list of stipulations, the Empress of the North likely expects your presence,” General Hu replies, fists pressed tightly into his seat cushion.

“The document bears the imperial seal,” Lord Wu adds, presenting it to a eunuch, who passes it to Yibo.

Scanning the scroll, Yibo notices a subtle sag of relief in his periphery belonging to General Hu as he nods solemnly. Fine. Challenging General Hu now wouldn’t do him any good in the eyes of the court, not with the years of experience in their own military. “We shouldn’t keep the Empress waiting.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the general. He knows the territory best,” Lord Li pipes up, while the other court members mumble vague agreement.

Yibo has attended court long enough to know that Lord Li’s support tends to sway the decision, but Yibo’s, or rather his father’s, most staunch supporters still send him concerned looks. They’ve known ever since he was a child that they cannot force him to do anything, but Yibo has always put the interest of his kingdom first.

“How long should I expect to be away?” Yibo asks, dreading the answer.

“A week, at most.”

Yibo hums in acknowledgement. How ironic that for all of the pressure that he’s been given to visit his harem, he must now wait until a foreign matter is resolved. His mouth forms a bitter smile. He’s never truly been able to do what his heart desired, and this time is no different.

“Huangshang, we’ve traded with them for generations.”

“Understood,” Yibo replies with finality. There’s nothing more he can do now, except leave a note for someone he trusts to be his eyes and ears. Turning to his guards, he instructs, “We leave in an hour. Get the horses ready.”

When Yibo presented as an alpha, he knew he was going to be the next emperor.

Because he’d presented earlier than expected, he was thrown into accelerated lessons as soon as possible. It wasn’t only that, however—between him and the other five alphas vying for the throne, he’d had the strongest aura. Though the youngest of them, age rarely had a say in the power struggle for the next heir.

His age only mattered to one person: himself. He’d never had a chance to leave the palace growing up, and the imperial guards kept a close eye on him. He knew where his duty lay, but how could he rule a kingdom he barely knew?

And so, a year before he took the throne, on the night of a busy banquet where every guest had far too much to drink, he asked his personal guard and cousin, Lim Jaebum, to cover for him.

“Dianxia, are you sure about this?”

“Without a doubt. I’ll cover for you if anything goes wrong. You have my word,” Yibo replied. Following closely, Jaebum only nodded once; there was no changing Yibo’s mind.

Dressed in plain robes, Yibo slipped out to the borders of the palace through a side garden, where a canal met a locked grate. Its rusty metal bars gave way under pressure, revealing a dark tunnel containing a narrow walkway that hugged the canal down to the city. Or so he’d heard. He grinned at Jaebum openly, who could only react with a bemused chuckle.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Yibo said, tucking himself into the tunnel. “I’ll even bring souvenirs for you and Jiaer.”

The corner of Jaebum’s lips turned up at the mention of his dallying romance while he placed the broken grate in its original spot. “Take care, dianxia.”

Yibo’s sprints echoed down the tunnel, louder when he splashed into small puddles of water. For once in his life, he didn’t know what lay ahead—and that excited him. He yearned to know, to discover, to master—and there was a whole world out there that was ready to challenge him.

Where the canal opened up again, the water widened into a trench dividing him from his freedom. On the other side stood a tall metal fence with minimal space for a human to stand—but he took the leap anyway. Bracing himself on the metal bars, Yibo climbed up and over the fence, careful to avoid its sharp tips, then threw himself down into an abandoned part of the city. In the distance, he could make out dimly lit alleys, so Yibo cautiously followed the single sources of light.

The street spilled out into neighborhoods upon neighborhoods leading to a large square, where festivities were also in full swing. Street performers were dancing and doing tricks for crowds large and generous with coins, while stall keepers were calling out deals for trinkets, bets, or food. Surrounding laughter boomed through the square and music greeted Yibo at every corner.

Nobody looked twice at him. He had taken suppressants for his aura, but that didn’t affect the variety of smells wafting in his direction: married omegas with the smell of their alphas on them, alphas whose scent extended to an entire family, single alphas and omegas with perfumed scents, even some betas who had been unknowingly scented—perhaps as a claim. They all tickled Yibo’s nose; he had never been fond of anyone’s scent, only tolerating Lim Jaebum and Wang Jiaer because they had grown up together.

Maneuvering around the clusters of people, Yibo stared at the balconies of each building. People cheered on the festivities from their homes, and some areas farther away were attracting their own crowds. Passing the shorter side of one building, he spotted a few children standing on crates, silently enraptured by the other side of the bright open window. Before Yibo could think twice, he was already joining them.

A floor below, two sword fighters faced off in front of an audience gathered on opposite sides, observing them carefully. The two engaged each other in the same series of patterns: dodge, parry, attack, rotating around each other like an endless dance. Neither managed to land a hit, but the taller one moved faster, one arm behind their back, and with more precision. When the shorter one used more force, their attacks began to falter, chest heaving with exhaustion. In a flash, the taller one used the hilt of their sword to knock their opponent’s sword out of their grasp, effectively ending the battle.

Just like that? Yibo barely had a chance to blink.

The children in front of Yibo shouted uproariously, chattering excitedly over each other.

“Did you see that?”

“Laoshi is amazing!”

“He has to teach us too!”

A sword fighting school? Will he teach anyone? Yibo wondered. The palace taught noble alphas the basics of fighting even if they were not part of the imperial army, but the last few emperors had not needed to lift a finger, and therefore nobody was seriously trained. It was a waste, in Yibo’s opinion, but there was no way to challenge the custom as a prince.

In the school, the audience was no less enthusiastic, clapping for both fighters. The two bowed to each other, and the one they called Laoshi addressed the room at large.

“That last move was a gamble. It doesn’t always work, but it’s worth a try if your opponent is highly skilled,” he said, nodding to his partner. Their audience snickered lightheartedly while the opponent bowed again, scratching their neck sheepishly.

“Alright, everyone. We’re finished for today,” Laoshi continued, laughing when everyone voiced their complaints. “What? You’re all young. Go enjoy yourselves!”

At once, two people hurried to clean up alongside Laoshi while the rest dispersed and the children ran off back into the festival center, leaving Yibo alone with the open window. I want to learn too, he thought, pushing the window completely open and crawling through.

Unfortunately, the ground looked higher than he thought, so he tumbled to the floor of the school, landing with an oof.

A burst of laughter followed by a throat clearing, and a beautiful face covering the light straining against his eyes came into view. It was Laoshi, and he had the most gorgeous smile as he considered his new guest.

“Nice of you to drop in,” he greeted, giggling at his own joke. “There’s a door just over there, you know.”

Yibo’s heart pounded in his ears as he listened, eyes catching on the mole under his mouth. He’s so cute, he thought in a daze, unresponsive until Laoshi offered his hand.

“Will you tell me your name?” he asked when Yibo stood up. The school looked empty now, the two helpers talking quietly as they stacked equipment.

“Wang Yibo,” he replied automatically, brushing himself off.

“Isn’t there a prince with that name?” one of the helpers asked him, drawing their attention.

Oh no, Yibo thought, blood running cold. Jaebum is going to kill me.

Laoshi made a sound of understanding, as if he had pieced it together. “You must be named after him,” he concluded, grinning. “My sister was named after a princess.”

“Really?” Yibo started, a bit too eager to change the subject. He relaxed again, coughing a little. “And you?”

He smiled sheepishly. “The kids here all call me Laoshi.”

“Are you the only teacher here?” Yibo asked. He must be the best, if he’s running this school by himself.

“No, not really. There are others… but they have different nicknames. The kids come up with all sorts of things,” Laoshi replied, shaking his head fondly. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

“Teach me to fight,” Yibo demanded, levelly meeting Laoshi’s look of surprise.

The other helper snorted loudly. “Hey, we’re closing up. Come back tomorrow.”

“Does it have to be tonight?” Laoshi asked with furrowed brows. He tilted his head slightly, considering.

“Yeah,” Yibo replied. He dropped his gaze to the floor, guilt eating away at him. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” Laoshi decided after a moment, and it was Yibo’s turn to look surprised. He told his helpers, “You two can go home. I’ll close up. Be safe!” and grabbed two wooden swords off a rack.

He threw one to Yibo, who caught it blankly, turning it around in his hands. Yibo had never practiced with one before—training at the palace had started immediately with real swords. Maybe this wouldn’t be difficult.

“We’ll start with these,” Laoshi said, tapping his sword in his palm. “As you get better, we’ll use the real thing. That, of course, may take a while—”

A smirk formed on Yibo’s mouth. “What if I’m better than you?” he asked.

With raised eyebrows, Laoshi gaped at him mid-sentence, then dissolved into laughter. His laughter sounded like bells ringing on a windy spring day, and Yibo felt like he could listen to it for the rest of his life.

“Enough talking, Laoshi. Let’s go,” Yibo said, and their dance began.

The journey to the northern border spans the course of an entire day, allowing him to read further reports on other political matters of the empire, but that isn’t quite what bothers Yibo. What could someone hope to gain by keeping him away from the palace?

When he arrives the next morning, the northern kingdom’s border guards stare at him in shock, then scramble to kneel. “Huangshang! What brings you here?”

“Rise,” Yibo immediately replies. “What do you mean? Where is your empress?”

The two guards, completely alone, stare at each other in confusion, a silent yet tense conversation that lasts until a eunuch from Yibo’s crew coughs loudly.

The eunuch pulls out the scroll listing their instructions from his sleeve. “The Kingdom of the North requests an audience.”

Horror befalls the faces of the two, who immediately touch their foreheads to the ground. “Huangshang! This is such an embarrassment. We were not clear when we sent the messenger back. Huanghou is not here!”

Yibo falls quiet, closing his eyes. It was a waste of time after all.

Jaebum crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes in confusion as he studies the scroll. “Since when does the northern kingdom trade in textiles and tea?”

A pause. Hesitantly, one guard asks, “May I see the scroll?” When Jaebum passes it, he begins to stiffen, poring over the words. The second guard carefully looks over his shoulder, both of their eyes bulging.

“This…” The second guard speaks at last. “This is a forgery.”

Silence. And the anger in Yibo’s aura slips out, forcing everyone to their knees. The guards jerk forward, fully prostrated at his feet. The scroll jumps out of their hands, rolling towards him.

“Explain. Who was the messenger?” Yibo asks, his voice level.

“It’s true that huanghou requested an audience, but she only sought huangshang’s advice. She has heard of your dedication to schools and wishes to follow in your footsteps. Our kingdom wants nothing more.”

The second guard adds, “The messenger did not share his name, but could not hide his higher social breeding even within ordinary clothes. As an alpha, I noticed an unusual scent from him, as if weakly masked with an opposite scent.”

Yibo exhales slowly, attempting to process calmly. A messenger from within the palace, likely in league with General Hu. Both of them producing a false document, perhaps counting on… what? A skirmish at the border, resulting in delays? If Yibo was anything like his father, General Hu’s hypothesis might have been correct.

But he’s severely mistaken. The court may look down on him for his inexperience, but they appreciate an opportunist far less. Unless there’s something in it for them, of course.

“You have my gratitude. Someone will be in touch with you within the next few days,” Yibo tells the guards. When he enters the carriage again, the heavy aura is lifted, replaced by gasps for breath.

The trip back gives Yibo too much time to think. How will he punish the general? Can he punish the general immediately? No, he doesn’t think so, not without clear evidence of wrongdoing—as well as the identities of everyone involved. His thoughts eventually drift back to Consort Xiao, at least hopeful to see him soon.

“Huangshang, Consort Wang is here to see you,” his head eunuch greets, kneeling in the foyer of his palace.

Yibo walks briskly past him into his office, motioning for him to rise. “Do not disturb us unless it’s an emergency.”

“Understood,” his eunuch replies, closing the doors behind him.

Sitting—more like reclining and fluttering his eyelashes at him from his desk—is unfortunately his closest friend, Wang Jiaer. He’s fanning himself too, his scent of black tea wafting over, saying, “Huangshang! Trapping me in this room all to yourself—what would the harem think?!”

Making a face that fights against his urge to laugh, Yibo takes a seat at the desk. “Cut it out.”

Jiaer pouts, pushing himself off of the desk. “You never let me have any fun. Your mother and the court would have stopped bothering you about the harem a long time ago if you had pretended to be in love with me.”

Barely looking up, Yibo sorts through the documents on his desk, flattening the forgery to the side. “You know I never could have done that to Jaebum.”

“Good point. And you have Consort Xiao now, too,” Jiaer adds with a wink, coaxing a half-grin out of Yibo. Leaning his elbows on the desk, Jiaer rests his chin on his palms, nail guards poking his cheeks as he sighs dreamily. “I’m only using you to get close to that hunky guard of yours, you know.” A snort, as if Yibo hasn’t known this since he first volunteered to be in his harem. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s taking care of a mess the court has made,” Yibo explains, leaning back in his chair to rub his temple. “Did you see the note I left for you?”

“I did,” Jiaer replies, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “General Hu visited Consort Hu—not unusual, as I know he likes to visit his son once a week. My servants heard some members of the court discussing matters of trade and investments, but most have been absent.”

Yibo’s jaw sets with frustration. “Any news from the city?”

“Haven’t had time to visit,” Jiaer says with a pout, but before he can elaborate, a series of rapid knocks on his door interrupts them.

“What is it?” Yibo calls.

Pulling open the door, his head eunuch makes way for an unfamiliar one. “Huangshang!” he cries, kneeling at the entrance. “Consort Xiao went into heat in your absence! He’s delirious!”

Anger explodes through Yibo’s aura again, pushing down Jiaer with a yelp. Both eunuchs keep their heads bowed, trembling.

“Excuse me?” Yibo replies, voice so deathly quiet that nobody utters a sound for a long moment.

“H-He hasn’t been able to sleep in days, huangshang. This is the worst heat I’ve ever seen.”

Standing and crossing the room, Yibo leaves without so much as a single instruction or farewell. Consort Xiao’s eunuch follows at a distance, guards and his personal eunuchs unable to fall into step behind him due to the force of his aura.

Of course Consort Xiao has his first heat in the palace and Yibo is conveniently away, unable to take care of him. He should have protested more during court; his instincts have never led him astray. Now the question was why. Was Consort Hu jealous?

Whenever omegas have their heats in the palace, it is expected for the emperor to take care of them. In fact, because they’re more fertile, omegas may even try to have more heats—this was a practice among past harems. Heirs to the throne were the easiest way to ensure favor upon themselves.

Until Emperor Wang Yibo.

He was never interested. At most, he sends Jaebum to leave alpha-scented candles and medicine with Consort Hu, who learned very quickly not to expect anything from him, not to mention favor. Consort Wang, on the other hand, enjoys more than just a visit from Jaebum—especially as Jaebum happens to be an alpha. Of course, this arrangement is kept tightly under wraps. From Yibo’s understanding, however, heats are bearable for those who have been omegas for a long time, but no amount of medicine or candles soothes new omegas like Consort Xiao.

Rushing inside his palace, the eunuch behind him barely has time to announce his presence. At once, Consort Xiao’s servants kneel beside the main door.

“Huangshang!” Consort Xiao’s head maid greets him at the partition between the foyer and bedchambers, kneeling. “You’ve returned!”

“How is he?” Yibo asks, just barely managing to stop before the bedchambers, though every part of him is desperate to barge through.

“He’s sleeping. Consort Zhang came by just moments ago to bring him more medicine,” she explains quietly. “He’s a little better now, but…” A stricken look flashes through her face. “It was terrible the first day. He was poisoned.”

He inhales with controlled anger, struggling as he fights the instinct to hunt down the one responsible. But—no. He can deal with whoever it is later. Right now, he wants to see his beautiful omega and hide him away from the world.

Parting the sheer curtain slowly, he finds Consort Xiao sitting up in his own bed, barely asleep and bundled in blankets, yet still wearing that damn veil. He even wears it in his own home? Fondness threatens to burst through his chest as he approaches the bed, sitting at its edge.

The shift of weight causes Consort Xiao to slowly blink in awareness, eyes focusing on the disturbance before they crinkle warmly at the edges. “Yibo, you’re here,” he croons.

Yibo smiles, endeared by the casual speech. The last of his fading heat envelops him in a subtle sweetness, stirring his interest. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Consort Xiao replies, but his yawn interrupts him. His eyes are bloodshot, bags under them.

“May I ask you something?” Sleepy nodding. “Would you allow me to hold you?”

“Mmhmm,” Consort Xiao hums warmly.

Shifting until he’s settled against the pillows, Yibo pulls Consort Xiao toward his chest, nestling him in the crook of his neck right over his scent gland. At the first inhale, Consort Xiao completely relaxes in his arms, making a small, happy sound, and a few minutes later, his breathing evens out. Yibo runs his fingers through his sweaty hair gently, pulling the blankets over them both.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the head maid leave after blowing out some of the candles, and then it’s quiet, save for their heartbeats.

The smell of fresh lilacs accompanies Yibo to sleep, the dewy taste of it brushing his lips.

The sound of twittering songbirds wakes Yibo in the morning, the solid weight of Consort Xiao against him warm and comforting. His face is turned up towards him, eyes closed in blissful peace. Yibo’s heart clenches in his chest. Could he have spent the last few days like this, simply offering his scent gland to temper Consort Xiao’s heat?

He brushes his thumb against his cheekbone, the material of his veil smoothing out underneath. He should have removed it before they fell asleep—it can’t possibly be comfortable like this.

When he touches the string at his ear, however, Consort Xiao flinches, bringing his arm up to nuzzle Yibo’s neck. “Missed you,” he slurs. With a flutter of his eyelashes, he falls back asleep.

Yibo nearly groans, adoration pouring through his chest and nearly making him forget his anger from the previous day. His free hand falls to Consort Xiao’s waist, the thin sleep robes warm from his body heat. Stroking him softly, he murmurs, “I won’t leave you alone again.”

Some time later, servants have begun preparing breakfast while the head maid steps carefully through the foyer, peeking through the curtain and quickly drawing back.

Consort Xiao shifts against Yibo’s body, rousing him from his half-sleep. When their eyes meet, Consort Xiao freezes, stuttering out a, “Huangshang!” before he sits up in Yibo’s arms.

Squeezing his waist, Yibo murmurs, “Stay,” his aura withdrawn in the request. His touch is firm, but Consort Xiao still has room to leave if he truly desires. “Is your heat gone?”

“I…” Consort Xiao says, then pauses, slowly leaning back down against Yibo’s chest. “This concubine thinks so.”

Yibo frowns, missing the sweeter version of his concubine already. “You don’t have to speak formally with me.”

Consort Xiao sighs, turning his face away from Yibo’s view. “Huangshang, this concubine is too unworthy of accepting your grace. It would be better suited to the rest of the harem.”

Yibo doesn’t press any further, starting to fit pieces together in his head. “Who caused this?”

Consort Xiao tenses, staying quiet. Out of fear? Yibo wonders, a flash of irritation at the mystery culprit.

“Did someone take care of you?”

“My maid, Xuan Lu. And Consort Zhang niangniang,” Consort Xiao replies in a small voice. “Lulu tasted the tea before this concubine did—she had no way of knowing that this concubine would have a strong reaction. Even Consort Zhang niangniang was surprised.” He fidgets with his veil. “He guessed one of the ingredients had a stronger effect on newly-presented omegas.”

Consort Zhang, one of the new concubines, who hailed from a noble family, one he had grown up meeting often. His mother, an alpha, often appeared at court quietly, choosing to observe rather than voice her thoughts. However, she never participated in court disputes, instead holding herself and her family up to a lofty degree. Because her son was an omega, she never allowed him to spend too much time unsupervised with Yibo, or any alpha in line for the throne, for that matter.

“We’ll have to examine that tea, as well as where it came from,” Yibo replies sternly, but Consort Xiao doesn’t meet his gaze. Softening his tone, Yibo continues, “Next time, I will be here. I swear it.”

Consort Xiao remains silent for a long moment. The sounds of boiling pots and sweeping brooms outside occasionally fills the space. Yibo almost drifts off to sleep again until Consort Xiao speaks.

“Huangshang, there’s something this concubine should share with you.”

Yibo tilts his head to look at him again, but Consort Xiao hasn’t moved an inch. “What is it?”

“...I—” he begins. “You—”

“Huangshang,” Xuan Lu calls from outside of the bedchambers. “Please excuse my interruption. The empress dowager is requesting your presence immediately.”

Consort Xiao recoils, sitting up and away from Yibo’s body like he’s been burned, a flush spreading across his face. “It’s about me, isn’t it? This concubine has been so shameless.”

Yibo smiles softly, taking his hand and brushing his lips over the knuckles. “No. I told you I would take care of you.”

Consort Xiao ducks his head, his hand slipping from Yibo’s grasp as he leaves the bed. He kneels, bowing deeply, not daring to meet his eyes. “Thank you, huangshang.”

Part of Yibo wants to insist on dropping the formality once again. He knows Consort Xiao isn’t born from nobility, and in a way, it’s refreshing not to be treated with delicacy—especially from someone he wants to know better. It reminds him of someone else—a love he had to give up when he took the throne. Those days were reckless, the mutual interest creating literal sparks between them, but everything about that had been reckless.

He’d never felt so free, and now, maybe—there’s a chance at that again.

The lilac from the welcome ceremony catches Yibo’s attention when he rises. It’s sitting on the bedside table, looking flattened and worn, and Yibo touches it absentmindedly, leaving his scent again.

“I will visit you again soon,” Yibo promises over his shoulder, and leaves to face his mother’s wrath.

“Your robes are wrinkled,” his mother reprimands, pursing her lips as she observes Yibo sitting across the table. “Have you been wearing these since last night?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Yibo replies, a touch frustrated.

“You should have had Consort Xiao dress you,” she continues. Her tea is steaming when she uncovers the lid, brushing off the condensation on the edge of the cup. “You know the harem serves you.”

“He was in no position. He just had his heat,” Yibo argues in an even tone. He stares blankly at the opposite wall, trying to summon patience.

His mother sets down her tea. “Do you remember what your father’s harem did when they had their heats?”

Yibo remembers. The concubines threw themselves at his father, almost gleeful in their desire to bear an heir. It was terrifying—the way they seemed to become different people and fight with each other if someone interfered. So Yibo swore to never give them a reason to fight, treating each one equally. He would ignore them all until the right person came along, the person he wanted to marry.

Perhaps that was foolish of him too.

“He was poisoned,” Yibo chooses to say instead. “And he won’t tell me who.”

In his mother’s prime, she had been a model concubine, always prim and proper and obedient to the emperor. But she had never tolerated petty quarreling.

“What?”

“And I was lured away. Seems too coincidental,” Yibo adds, fiddling with a crease in his robes. The smell of lilac lingers along the edges.

“Do you have any idea who was behind it?”

Yibo glances at the eunuchs and servants standing silently at the corners of his mother’s palace. He can’t mention too much. “Yes. I think I know where to start.”

“Good,” his mother sighs, rubbing her temple. “This was supposed to be a joyous occasion.”

Yibo hums, mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “Only for those who allow it.” Those with the right power, force, and influence—and Yibo is too inexperienced, in the eyes of the court.

His mother sips her tea quietly. “One more thing. I know you’re infatuated with Consort Xiao, but don’t forget your duty to the kingdom.”

Provide as many heirs as possible. Strengthen our family, she had once told him.

“Yes, mother,” he replies. The creases in his robes persist, even when he presses them down. He can’t fix them.

Not right now, at least.

Yibo couldn’t believe his luck. He started making a habit of visiting the school nightly, Laoshi thankfully accommodating his odd request of learning after hours, when any stray eyes were gone. Though Laoshi wasn’t always there, he still enjoyed watching the demonstrations. If he watched closely, he could pick up some new techniques.

It was funny then, seeing Laoshi’s stunned expression whenever he attempted a new move.

“Hey, I didn’t teach you that!” he once said mid-battle.

“Is it too advanced? Will I beat you this time?” Yibo taunted. He couldn’t help teasing him, especially when he showed him such cute reactions.

Laoshi bared his teeth in response, but Yibo just grinned wider at him, their swords clashing loudly. He felt Laoshi matching his quicker movements, his strength changing and forcing Yibo to step back.

“Watch your feet,” Laoshi instructed. “You’re leaning back too far.”

Yibo shifted his weight forward again, but it was too late—the delay gave Laoshi an opening, and the wooden sword fell out of Yibo’s hands. Before he could call off the match, Yibo dove and grabbed the handle before it touched the ground, rolling and pushing back against the sword that almost stopped him.

Laoshi stared at him with raised eyebrows. “You never fail to surprise me, Yibo.”

They both lowered their guard, calling it a draw. Yibo couldn’t stop preening if he tried, and Laoshi hid his fond smile behind a cough.

“Before one can be a master, they must first experience one hundred losses,” he advised wisely, stroking an imaginary beard.

Yibo rolled his eyes. “Is that supposed to be you in a few years?”

“Don’t be a brat!” Laoshi mock-punched his shoulder, laughing the entire time. “I just made it up.”

“Thank you, O’ Great Laoshi,” Yibo mocked, bowing deeply, but he burst into laughter at the adorable pout on his face.

He had no intention of losing one hundred times, but if it meant spending more time with Laoshi, maybe he would. Yibo knew he couldn’t stay forever. Maybe he couldn’t even stay very long.

But he wanted to try.

Despite Consort Xiao’s initial reluctance, Yibo begins to visit him a few times a week while the winds get colder and the leaves fall steadily. Facing him across a go board, Yibo places his piece down. If the court or passing servants comment on his frequent visits, he dismisses them, claiming that it’s his duty to check on the harem. He knows how the rest of the palace will react regardless of what he does—and he’s not interested in playing their games.

For this reason, though Yibo has tried to ask, Consort Xiao does not reveal the culprit. He seems to be afraid—so Yibo takes matters into his own hands.

To set his mind at ease, however, Yibo insists that Consort Xiao accept two of his trusted eunuchs. If he cannot directly protect him, then at least there will be additional security on days where he’s absent.

And then there’s the matter of General Hu. He had feigned ignorance when Yibo brought the forged document to court, even putting on a show of outrage and embarrassment at ostensibly having received a false document. Dismissing one of his own guards in front of the entire court, the issue was subsequently dropped—although conveniently without implicating the identity of the messenger. Lacking any leads and the court’s full support, it would be too rash of Yibo to challenge him, unless he wished to lose his little sway.

So he arranges a meeting with Jaebum and Jiaer for tomorrow, considering the possibility of moving the harem and court to the winter palace. Not only would it earn the court’s favor, but it would enable Yibo to keep a closer eye on Consort Hu. At present, Yibo’s penchant for never visiting the harem facilitates the advantage of the imperial palace’s large network of paths.

Eventually, when all is said and done, Yibo hopes that Consort Xiao will act more comfortably with him.

“Huangshang seems deep in thought,” Consort Xiao comments mildly, placing his white go piece down on the board. He captures two of Yibo’s black pieces, meeting his gaze. “He must be considering heaven’s will.”

Yibo blinks out of his daze, surprised, before placing a new piece onto the board. “I had no idea Consort Xiao was capable of such sass.”

“This concubine spoke too boldly. He keeps losing to huangshang, and he is embarrassed by his incompetence,” he replies, eyes drawing down to the board shamefully. He passes his turn.

“‘Before one can be a master, they must first experience one hundred losses.’ Something I was once taught,” Yibo recites, continuing his next move.

The go piece in Consort Xiao’s hand falls out of his grasp, but he manages to catch it mid-air. He clears his throat. “How wise, huangshang. Is it from a poem?” Consort Xiao places the new piece next to his.

“Nice reflexes,” Yibo replies with a quirk of his lips. “And no,” he sighs. Occasionally, Consort Xiao reminds him of Laoshi. Sometimes the way the light falls in his eyes even disorients him for a moment. But he’d never say that out loud, for fear of offending him. “It was from my first love.” Yibo passes.

When Consort Xiao’s face turns pink, Yibo wishes he could take his words back.

“I’m sorry. I put you in an uncomfortable spot. Emperors shouldn’t be speaking of past affairs.”

Consort Xiao shakes his head, placing another piece below his last. “Not at all. What was huangshang’s life like, before he inherited the throne?”

“Busy. Not very exciting.” Mindful of incidental eavesdroppers, Yibo chooses his words carefully. “I wasn’t given the opportunity to venture outside of the palace, and I was trained every day.”

“Was huangshang ever lonely?”

“Sometimes,” Yibo admits. I felt less lonely when I left the palace, he doesn’t say. To this day, nobody other than Jaebum and Jiaer knows of his nighttime escapades. They started as abruptly as they finished, but Yibo never gave Laoshi closure. He still regrets it. “What was your life like?”

Consort Xiao sits up a bit straighter. “I… This concubine’s family was very lively. His siblings were always picking fights and causing trouble, but he defended them fiercely. They were the best support system for this concubine’s unexpected presentation.”

“You must miss them.”

Consort Xiao shakes his head, a hint of sadness shining through his warm eyes. “This concubine has a new family now.”

Reaching across the table, Yibo rests his hand over Consort Xiao’s. He almost opens his mouth to apologize, but there would be no use. Their empire required each unmarried omega to present themself before the emperor; like a proper citizen, Consort Xiao obeyed, even though it meant leaving his family for possibly years. Before Yibo can decide on what to say, Consort Xiao suddenly speaks.

“I think it’s snowing.” He’s peering through the window outside, where the air is still and servants are rubbing their arms for warmth.

Trickles of snowflakes descend onto the bushes, trees, and edges of the roofs, steadily decorating Consort Xiao’s palace in a thin blanket. “The snow came early this year,” Yibo marvels.

“Would huangshang like to go see?” Consort Xiao asks, but Yibo is already standing and offering his hand. Shyly, Consort Xiao takes it.

The snow is falling faster outside, thicker and dotting their indoor robes. The servants rush in their direction with aborted shouts of concern before Xuan Lu ushers them away.

A beautiful lilac bush sits in the center of the Palace of the Summer Wind, beginning to collect spots of white. Most of the flowers have withered under the relentless cold, but Consort Xiao smiles, dashing forward to brush his hands tenderly over the ones that still proudly bloom.

Looking over his shoulder, the unbridled joy in his eyes nearly stops Yibo in his tracks. He’s beautiful, he thinks for maybe the hundredth time as he approaches. But there’s something missing—something Yibo has wanted to give him since the very first day they met. From his sleeves, Yibo withdraws a thin white jade hairpin with the figure of a phoenix. He slips it through Consort Xiao’s hair and—there. The picture is perfect.

Fingers trailing down the side of his face, Consort Xiao nuzzles into his hand, pressing his veiled mouth against his palm. Yibo can’t look away from the snowflakes that land on the bridge of his nose, and he steps closer to—what, brush it away?

But then Consort Xiao looks at him with such reverence, and Yibo leans forward hesitantly, lifting the veil just enough—then stopping, searching Consort Xiao’s all-too-familiar eyes—and Consort Xiao closes the gap, meeting him in the middle.

Of all the lilacs in the world, nothing can compare to him.

Chapter Text

The night following their kiss, Xiao Zhan lies awake in the darkness of his bed, fingers tracing his lips. The phantom sensation of Yibo’s mouth lingers, the sheer memory of its softness sending tingles down his spine even now. How long has it been since Xiao Zhan first felt the urge to kiss him like that? And it might have even lasted longer if not for one of Xiao Zhan’s servants slipping on the snow and falling with a crash, followed by Xuan Lu quickly chastising and pulling her inside.

Smiling, Xiao Zhan thinks about the way Yibo had turned back to him with a grin, as if they were sharing a secret. Bringing Xiao Zhan’s hand up to his mouth, he had thumbed over the knuckles, scenting him before leaving a kiss. Only then had Yibo regretfully announced his departure for court.

But… all day, in the back of his mind, Xiao Zhan hasn’t been able to stop himself from wondering…

Did Yibo finally recognize him? With a groan, Xiao Zhan buries himself in a pillow.

It’s just that—Xiao Zhan has a mole under his mouth. Surely Yibo saw it earlier, and he must have had his suspicions by now. Yet he hasn’t said a word about it.

And it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he knew; in fact, Xiao Zhan wants to tell him. He deserves to know, but… if someone like Consort Meng learned about his presentation before they had even met, how quickly could gossip spread before someone else found a way to harm him again—or even Yibo?

Xiao Zhan sighs. If he told him, it would have to be under complete secrecy—somewhere they wouldn’t be bothered. Blushing, Xiao Zhan’s mind immediately supplies something he’s heard Xuan Lu call “the first night.” According to her, the first night between an imperial alpha and omega pair is sacred—the equivalent of a wedding night. That may be the most ideal time…?

But did Xiao Zhan’s heat count for that? Will Yibo expect something different if he visits him at night instead of day? Xiao Zhan’s head spins.

One step at a time, he tells himself. Nestling further into his blankets, he catches a faint whiff of lemongrass on his hands. Inhaling them, he falls into a deep sleep.

Strolling through the main gardens with Xuan Lu, Xiao Zhan leaves small footprints in the snow. The distant sound of a pipa guides him to a thicket of bamboo, where Consort Zhang has found a stone bench to play. With mutual bows, Xiao Zhan hums along with a smile, heart feeling light with serenity, as he glides towards long lines of plum blossom trees in the center of the garden.

“See?” he asks Xuan Lu behind him, reaching out to caress a low-hanging flower. “They outlined the path to the entrance of the imperial palace with these.”

“And their pink and white shades… naturally draw the eye so that one doesn’t lose their way?” Xuan Lu pieces together, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Exactly,” Xiao Zhan confirms with a smile, “because those colors are easy to see in the snow.”

Tapping her chin, Xuan Lu ponders over this. But the moment she notices Xiao Zhan’s crinkled eyes, she gasps in mock outrage. “Are you teasing me, niangniang?!”

Xiao Zhan bursts out laughing, turning away to cover his mouth over the veil. “Of course not!”

“I’m going to tell huangshang how mean niangniang is to me. Maybe he’ll finally understand how difficult my life is, and take over himself.” Xuan Lu winks with exaggeration.

Blushing, Xiao Zhan buries his face in his hands. “Oh, Lulu,” he sighs wistfully, turning back to the beautiful blooming flowers. “Some days, I don’t know how to behave around him. He makes me feel brave, but there is still so much I don’t understand about life here.”

Xuan Lu considers him for a long moment. “Pardon my boldness for saying so, niangniang, but even those from nobility do not fully understand their roles here.” Dropping her gaze, she adds, “That you are willing to hide the name of the one who hurt you says much about your character. I know no one more worthy of your position and favor than niangniang.”

A poignant stab of sympathy shoots through Xiao Zhan’s chest. What kinds of people did Xuan Lu have to serve before? People who lacked respect for any assistance in their lives? Xiao Zhan takes her hands in his.

“I am moved by your willingness to confide in me. Please know that I treasure our friendship more every day.”

With misty eyes, Xuan Lu nods. “The feeling is mutual. It is my pleasure to serve you…” She pauses, biting back a giggle.“ —as well as watch huangshang fall in love.”

“Oh!” Xiao Zhan groans, dropping her hands with a laugh. “Now I know you made me let my guard down.”

Grinning, Xuan Lu denies, “It’s true! Have you ever seen such beautiful plum blossoms?” She spins in a circle. “Now if only I could remember who recited a poem about their beauty to huangshang recently…” Feigning deep thought, she tilts her head.

“That’s it!” Xiao Zhan laughs, taking off on a run after her, which causes shrieks of laughter and alarm as the garden is run rampant by a concubine and his maid.

Eunuchs stumble on their way to their duties, maids sidestep while grumbling, but the loudest grievance, of course, is…

“What is wrong with you?” Consort Meng shrieks from the ground, clutching her forehead.

Xuan Lu prostrates herself in the snow, bare hands trembling. “Niangniang, it was not my intention! Please excuse my failure to—”

Xiao Zhan steps in front of her. “No, it was this concubine’s fault. My maid had nothing to do with this.”

“Of course it was the both of you,” Consort Hu mocks, hurriedly helping Consort Meng to her feet. Her maids fuss over her, but Xiao Zhan only wonders: had these two been walking together? “Only two peasants such as yourselves would cause such a commotion.”

Jaw setting, Xiao Zhan forces himself to kneel. “This concubine has much to learn about the ways of the nobility, and would benefit very much from niangniang’s teachings.”

A sardonic smile crosses Consort Hu’s lips. “It must be nice to be so carefree.”

Still rubbing her forehead, Consort Meng adds, “Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Your maid ought to be punished by kneeling in the snow for one day.”

Xiao Zhan takes a deep breath, cognizant of the expectant eunuchs hovering around her, ready to ensure Xuan Lu receives that punishment. “This concubine will improve his behavior and prevent any further accidents from happening. In the meantime, this concubine will send for the imperial doctor. It looks like a terrible bruise.”

With a loud hmph! from Consort Meng, the two concubines walk away. Her eunuchs linger for a while, watching Xuan Lu on the ground. Xiao Zhan stares them down until they leave an eternity later, then immediately turns and helps Xuan Lu up into a standing position, alarmed by the bitter cold on her hands, arms, and face.

“Lulu, go back to the palace and warm up in front of the stove in my bedchambers. I know you shouldn’t be there while I’m out, but it’s the biggest one. I will return soon, but first I must find the doctor.”

Teeth beginning to chatter, Xuan Lu nods tearfully. For good measure, Xiao Zhan takes off his thick cloak and wraps it around her thinner one.

Before she can protest, Xiao Zhan shakes his head. “I will be fine. I promise.” And sends her away.

“Laoshi.”

“Hmm?” Xiao Zhan asked a little breathlessly, pouring them both some water.

Sweat was dampening the sides of Yibo’s face, cheeks red from exertion. “What made you become a teacher?”

Smiling to himself, Xiao Zhan joined him at the small table. “I wanted to connect with my community. We all know each other around here, but that doesn’t mean some of us don’t get into petty fights. Sometimes we need an outlet for our hardships, too.”

Tilting his head, Yibo asked, “Won’t that encourage them to pick more fights?”

“One might think,” Xiao Zhan giggled. “But it teaches them discipline and honor too; if the whole neighborhood had to resolve a problem with wooden swords, they’d take it seriously.”

“Wow,” Yibo admitted, staring at him with something like admiration. “No wonder they look up to you.”

Narrowing his eyes with a tiny knowing grin, Xiao Zhan declared, “Flattery will not make me go easy on you.”

“Oh?” Yibo asked with a raised eyebrow. “But ge, I’ve never won against you. Won’t you give me something to work towards?”

Laughing, Xiao Zhan relented. “Okay, how about this? Since you’ve asked me just about every day… if you win, I’ll tell you my real name.”

Eyes widening, Yibo spluttered, “R-Really?!” But before Xiao Zhan could continue, he was already standing up. “Name your conditions. Let’s go again!”

Laughing, Xiao Zhan admonished, “At least drink your water!”

Slipping out of the garden, Xiao Zhan sneaks through the maze of the main palace. If he remembers the layout correctly, he can find the training halls. What he’ll do when he arrives, however, is a different story. The imperial harem has no business there, yet Xiao Zhan searches for it while keeping an eye out for passing servants.

Taking deep breaths around secluded corners, Xiao Zhan tries to calm his racing heart. Whether it’s out of anger or out of adrenaline, he needs the feeling of a sword in his hand—something that can empty his mind and relieve his frustration like nothing else.

At the right edge of the palace, a troop of soldiers are coming and going into one hall with equipment. Alongside them are a few dilapidated halls: signs faded, metal rusted, piles of open boxes blocking their steps and doors. Xiao Zhan picks one and jumps behind the boxes.

Surprisingly, the boxes are filled with old soldier uniforms and older weapons. He takes a moment to remove his veil and hairpin, finding a loose floorboard to stash them in. Taking a uniform, Xiao Zhan steps carefully past the threshold.

“Mmm,” someone moans inside.

Freezing and quickly glancing behind him, Xiao Zhan calls, “Hello?” before venturing further. Darkness envelops the front entrance, although he can make out windows in the training floor ahead.

A giggle, followed by another moan and wet sounds. “Why are you—mmm, so good at that?”

Startled, Xiao Zhan knocks into some tables. “Ouch!”

The voice speaks up. “Who’s there!”

Rubbing his leg, Xiao Zhan clears his throat. “I… only wanted to use the training hall. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Wait a moment…” the voice replies, “I know you.” Fear grips Xiao Zhan’s heart right as the person steps into the light, and then—oh, thank goodness.

Xiao Zhan breathes a sigh of relief. “Consort Zhang niangniang’s attendant?”

“That’s me,” he replies with a bow. “Consort Xiao niangniang, right? Huang Xiao.” Gesturing to someone behind him, he’s joined by another person. “And this is Qiao Zhi, another servant for Consort Zhang niangniang.” Qiao Zhi greets him quietly with a relaxed grin.

Oh. As he takes note of their rumpled clothing, Xiao Zhan’s face turns pink, realizing what he’d intruded on. “My apologies. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Laughing, Huang Xiao stops him. “Wait! You said you wanted to use the training hall, right? And I don’t see a servant of yours nearby. In case anyone else finds us, we could say that Consort Zhang niangniang asked us to accompany you.”

Hesitating, Xiao Zhan considers this. “Why aren’t you two with Consort Zhang niangniang?”

Smiling sheepishly, Qiao Zhi replies, “He knows about our relationship and occasionally asks another servant to escort him.”

Xiao Zhan raises his eyebrows. He only has a vague memory of Consort Zhang visiting during his heat, but he remembers how tranquilly he’d approached and passed medicine over to Xuan Lu to brew. After that, he’d lighted special alpha-scented incense that had slightly dulled Xiao Zhan’s throbbing headaches. Then he had simply glided away, work finished. Xiao Zhan supposes he must be quite a relaxed person.

“I see…” Xiao Zhan rubs at his arms for lack of anything better to do. “Well then, I will ask you to do me a favor in return. Please do not tell anyone that I’ve been here. I’ll let Consort Zhang niangniang know myself.”

“Got it. We’ll be over here.” Nodding, Huang Xiao and Qiao Zhi quickly light dusty lanterns to allow at least a dimness inside. Xiao Zhan strides past them into the main hall and scans the room for a sword.

At the far wall, he sees piles of wrapped weaponry scattered across more boxes. Sorting through excess bows and lances, he finds a light sword and pulls it out of the mountain.

Tossing it between his hands, he tests the swing. The blade is dulling and the hilt is worn, but it still satisfies the urge to practice. Leaning the sword against a nearby pillar, Xiao Zhan shakes out the uniform within his robes and quickly changes his outerwear.

Taking the sword, Xiao Zhan breathes deeply. His grip is firm over the hilt, slashing leisurely to warm up. Though the blade only strikes air, Xiao Zhan’s mind unravels with stressed thoughts.

What was he thinking, trying to fit in? He keeps to himself, shows the utmost respect to everyone, even copying their mannerisms, but it’s not enough. His manner of speech is too different and so is his manner of style… He doesn’t even wear nail guards! So far, he’s learned that a mere attempt at kindness only creates enemies, especially if they have their own lofty aspirations. Realistically, the imperial harem cannot expect an emperor’s favor whenever they want. So the next best upgrade would be power. Consort Meng likely has family in the court, as most nobility do. But where does she get her information? And what is she planning to do with it? Is Xiao Zhan her only target?

If only he had a friend in the harem that he could talk to. Xiao Zhan sighs, glancing at Huang Xiao and Qiao Zhi cuddling at the entrance, and remembers the music in the garden earlier.

Would Consort Zhang mind a visit?

After persuading Consort Zhang’s attendants to escort Xiao Zhan to his palace and sneaking out of the training hall, Xiao Zhan follows them to the Palace of the Lotus Flower.

“This is a great idea, niangniang. Consort Zhang niangniang doesn’t say so, but I think he would like to have a friend too.”

“I—this concubine feels embarrassed that he hasn’t properly thanked him for the incident,” Xiao Zhan admits sheepishly.

Qiao Zhi wrinkles his nose, amused. “Niangniang doesn’t have to talk like that in front of him.”

“Are you certain?” Xiao Zhan asks while fiddling with his sleeves.

“He might even ask niangniang himself,” Huang Xiao agrees.

Sheer red curtains greet them at the entryways, small rivers at the corners of the courtyard running underneath stairs leading in and out of the palace. Bowing politely to the servants who stop to greet him, Xiao Zhan watches the fountain in the center while Huang Xiao and Qiao Zhi run ahead to find Consort Zhang.

The basin of the fountain empties into the small rivers, where Xiao Zhan notices white lotuses blooming proudly. They’re beautiful; their petals stand tall, unbothered by the cold. Xiao Zhan steps closer despite himself, almost reaching out. How do they survive the cold?

“Snow lotuses,” a voice calls behind him, and Xiao Zhan turns to find Consort Zhang standing behind him, tilting his head with amusement. A thin silver chain glitters across his cheekbones, dragon-shaped ends hanging from behind his ears. “My family had them sent from the highest mountains. Aren’t they lovely?”

“Niangniang,” Xiao Zhan greets with a kneel. “This concubine is very much in your debt.”

Consort Zhang laughs. “Please rise and come inside. Aren’t you cold? No need to act so formal.” Guiding Xiao Zhan by the shoulders into the palace, Xiao Zhan catches a sweet smell of lotus flowers trailing after Consort Zhang as warmth from the indoor stoves envelops them like an embrace.

Relaxing slightly, Xiao Zhan rubs his arms as they head towards an elevated round table in the foyer with treats laid out on a plate. Huang Xiao sets down steaming teacups and smaller plates where they sit at each end, then turns to offer Xiao Zhan a blanket.

“Oh, thank you,” Xiao Zhan mumbles, startled by the palace’s attentiveness. To Consort Zhang, he asks, “Did niangniang just arrive from the gardens?”

Consort Zhang leans forward, popping a dried fruit in his mouth. “Not exactly. I thought it might raise some eyebrows if I was out too long without my attendants.” Glancing sidelong at them, smiling like innocent children, he adds with a smirk, “But I must thank niangniang for finding them.”

“I should be the one thanking niangniang,” Xiao Zhan insists, dipping his head. “If not for your servants, I might not have had some much-needed privacy.”

“Ah,” Consort Zhang makes a sound of understanding, “after suffering through Consort Meng and Hu’s tantrums?”

Cracking a smile ruefully, Xiao Zhan asks, “Niangniang heard them?”

Now Consort Zhang really laughs. “I would be surprised if the neighboring kingdoms hadn’t heard them.”

A small smile forms on Xiao Zhan’s mouth while he contemplates his teacup absentmindedly. After a moment, he finally asks, “Have I done something to offend them?”

“You mean, other than lacking noble titles and winning huangshang’s favor in the blink of an eye?” Consort Zhang’s chin rests on his palm.

Of course. Xiao Zhan feels silly for failing to put these things together. Jealousy—and the humiliation of someone born below you, lacking any sort of formal knowledge or training for the imperial harem, climbing up the ranks, so to speak. But it’s more complicated than that. Xiao Zhan had fallen in love with Yibo a long time ago. And Yibo… He had admitted the same himself. And he’s so close to the truth. The rest of the harem is unfortunate collateral damage.

Twisting his mouth in a frown, Xiao Zhan meets Consort Zhang’s smile. “And niangniang isn’t bothered by this?”

Consort Zhang shrugs, gesturing behind him to a wall lined with mounted instruments. “I have the privilege of enjoying my hobbies, creating music as I like, and living peacefully every day. I trust my attendants, and I have nothing to gain or lose, as my family comes from a line of imperial entertainers. I don’t believe huangshang is heartless, if the way he treats niangniang is anything to go by. My heats aren’t even that bad.”

Xiao Zhan turns over his words. He agrees; Yibo wouldn’t leave his harem to fend for themselves unless they wronged him or someone he cared about. Noble families would likely receive support from their families as well, only pressuring concubines to influence the emperor when it suits them.

“Niangniang would rather make music than conflict?”

“Precisely,” Consort Zhang grins.

Xiao Zhan leans back, watching the ease in which he carries himself. His silk robes fall open at his collarbone, exposing the skin. His nail guards match the chain over his face, white lotus flowers at their tips. Meanwhile, his servants chatter aimlessly amongst themselves, hovering nearby. “I think that’s very lovely of niangniang. Could you teach me to play an instrument? I’d love to learn.”

Consort Zhang’s eyes widen. “R-Really? What would niangniang like to learn? We have all sorts of instruments: the guqin, the dizi, the erhu, and I think we just received a bangu—”

Huang Xiao clears his throat. “Restraint, niangniang.”

“Perhaps if either of you had let me teach you—!” Consort Zhang complains, pouting as Huang Xiao teases him.

Catching Xiao Zhan’s eye, Qiao Zhi rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “We may be here all night, niangniang.”

Xiao Zhan can only laugh in bewilderment as he begins receiving a more complicated instrument than the last.

Escorted home by Consort Zhang’s—no, Yixing, he’d insisted on when Xiao Zhan left—attendants, Xiao Zhan feels content, a little secure, even, in his place in the harem. Although he still hopes to visit his family and community someday soon, perhaps all it takes is one friend to feel not so isolated. Yixing had turned out to be a genuine, passionate concubine, only interested in living peacefully. Perhaps he might even create music for operas someday.

Before stepping into his bedchambers, Xiao Zhan finds Xuan Lu resting in her bed. At the sound of his approach, she sits up with a start.

“Niangniang!” Xuan Lu exclaims. “Oh dear, is it dark already? Let me help you prepare for be—”

“Shh, no, don’t worry, Lulu,” Xiao Zhan shushes with a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “How are you feeling? Are you cold?”

Squeezing his hand over her shoulder, she smiles. “I’m better. Thank you, niangniang.” Inviting him to sit, she asks, “Did Consort Meng niangniang see the doctor?”

“I’m… not sure,” Xiao Zhan replies, not meeting her eyes. “I actually stumbled upon Consort Zhang niangniang’s attendants, and then visited him.”

“Oh!” Xuan Lu brightens. “I’m glad—he seemed truly worried about you back then.”

Xiao Zhan nods. “He was very kind. I can safely say I consider him a friend—he seems far too preoccupied with his interests to cause harm and even encouraged me to reciprocate huangshang’s affections.” Plus, we unexpectedly traded a small secret, he doesn’t add.

“Now I truly wish I was there,” Xuan Lu replies with interest, sitting up straighter. Despite Xiao Zhan’s earlier words, she motions for him to spin in his seat while she leaps out of bed and grabs a brush. Removing his hairpin, she says, “Tell me everything.”

Blushing a little, Xiao Zhan does. It hadn’t been a long conversation, really, but Xiao Zhan had mentioned at some point that he wanted to speak with Yibo a bit more privately. Then Yixing had naturally jumped at the opportunity to tease him.

Why not seduce him?

What?! A scandalized shout.

What’s wrong with that? Didn’t niangniang say you kissed already?

Yes, but…!

Aw, niangniang is embarrassed. But really, you would have the most privacy then.

Xuan Lu is gaping at Xiao Zhan when he finishes. “Does niangniang mean to tell me…”

“No—!” Xiao Zhan tries before she can get carried away, but it’s useless in her excitement.

“That you need to—oh my goodness. I will have niangniang looking like the most delicious piece of meat served to huangshang on their first night together.”

“‘Meat’ is a bit…”

“Beautiful flower?”

“Acceptable,” Xiao Zhan dissolves into laughter with her, burying his face in his hands.

He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

Yibo pays him a visit midday a few days later, though none of his or Yibo’s servants announce him—Yibo likely asked them not to.

“Huangshang! This concubine did not expect you today!” Xiao Zhan scrambles from a table to kneel before him, casting his gaze low in an attempt to hide his flustered nerves. He supposes now is the time to put his plan into action. Half-expecting Yibo to take his hand, Xiao Zhan startles when Yibo tilts his chin up.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Yibo murmurs, stepping closer. “You look as lovely as ever, Xiao-meiren.”

A tingle travels down Xiao Zhan’s spine at the endearment. “Huangshang flatters this concubine too much. I’m afraid that—”

“Would you let me kiss you again?” Yibo interrupts in a whisper, pausing when Xiao Zhan doesn’t respond immediately. “I won’t move the veil, if you’re worried about that.”

Xiao Zhan’s heart clenches at the tender look on Yibo’s face, the way that he touches him so reverently. For a blinding moment, the urge to rip off his veil and lock their mouths together for hours nearly overwhelms him. But not yet. They need to talk first, and then… maybe then—

“This concubine would like nothing more,” Xiao Zhan replies softly. Warmth and the smell of lemongrass seep through the fabric kiss, the pressure soft yet decisive. The delicacy is enough to make Xiao Zhan blush and feel a bit absurd—how does Yibo’s patience stretch so far? He’s not sure he could exercise the same amount; he already wants more.

When he reaches for Yibo’s cheeks, only air greets him. “Sorry,” Yibo clears his throat, helping Xiao Zhan stand. “If we went further, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

Watching their intertwined hands, the words slip out of Xiao Zhan. “Do sunflowers suppress their yearning for the sun?”

Eyes twinkling with amusement, Yibo replies, “You raise a good point.” He kisses the back of his hand, scenting it. “Perhaps with more privacy.”

“Yes,” Xiao Zhan mumbles, missing the feeling of his mouth. Curses, this is not proceeding the way that he imagined. But it seems that Yibo wishes for the same. Now he only has to declare his intention.

The servants bring lunch to their table while they chat idly. The entire time, Xiao Zhan brainstorms ways to invite Yibo tonight, but how does one… seduce without seeming desperate or even… loose, in front of their obligatory audience? After all, who knows if assertive omegas are frowned upon in the palace? Xiao Zhan still has some dignity, thank you very much, and—and after everything he’s been through, maybe he’ll use his natural omega wiles to have Yibo say the words!

Pretending to brush hair away from his face, Xiao Zhan allows the sleeves of his robes to slip down to his elbows. By the time he takes his first bite, Yibo’s attention is on his wrists. Perfect.

“Huangshang,” Xiao Zhan calls in a honeyed voice. He might as well have fun with this. “You haven’t touched your food.”

Finally tearing his eyes away and towards his food, Yibo admits, “I fear that your beauty today is far too distracting for me.”

More compliments. Pinkness on his cheeks, Xiao Zhan sits straighter, sleeves falling down to his wrists again. A different tactic perhaps?

Making desperate eye contact with Xuan Lu standing in the doorway, who turns around and starts barking orders at all of the servants (even Yibo’s), Xiao Zhan discreetly tugs on the sleeve of his robes. The shoulder piece falls to his bicep, exposing his bare shoulder to the cold. Surely alphas can’t resist this.

Sighing softly, Xiao Zhan rolls his neck. When Yibo looks up again, he fixates on Xiao Zhan’s bared throat. Smiling nonchalantly, Xiao Zhan asks, “How is it?”

“…Could always be hungry for more,” Yibo replies a bit breathlessly, gripping his chopsticks tightly.

Progress. Yibo’s aura even stirs in interest, nothing like Xiao Zhan has ever felt from him. With a smidge of its release, goosebumps rise on the back of his neck as he feels a distant desire to climb onto Yibo’s lap. It almost feels dangerous yet thrilling wondering how he would feel under Yibo’s full aura.

“Good,” Xiao Zhan says, stretching his arms just enough to hide his shoulder again. “Lulu, would you mind bringing the other dishes?”

“Of course, niangniang,” Xuan Lu calls. A few moments later, she brings smaller, colorful side dishes to complement their meals.

Leaning over, Yibo places some of the food into Xiao Zhan’s barely-touched bowl. “I should be the one concerned over your eating.” Examining his bowl, he adds, “Have you ever eaten kuai? It’s raw fish.”

“Is it?” Xiao Zhan perks up. “I can take it raw.”

A beat passes. Realizing what he said, Xiao Zhan bites his lips to stop from grinning. He sneaks a peek up at Yibo, who has frozen mid-chopstick movement into his bowl, ears bright red. Well, now he definitely won’t take it back.

Just as he thinks he’s flustered Yibo enough, Yibo meets his eyes. They’re full of intent, curiosity, and desire. Xiao Zhan’s heartbeat quickens, and he glances at the doorway to gauge their privacy. It’s now or never.

“This concubine wishes to see you at night,” he nearly stutters, unable to hold Yibo’s gaze.

“Then it shall be so,” Yibo acknowledges in the same tone. Raising his voice, he continues. “I will visit the Palace of Summer Wind tonight.”

And Xiao Zhan breathes a sigh of relief as the servants confirm his decision. Maybe he should have just told him from the beginning. But Yibo’s reaction was extremely entertaining. It almost reminded him of how they used to joke around at the sword fighting academy.

Does Yibo look back on those trivial conservations as fondly as he does?

Having stared at his glimmering clothing in the mirror long past necessary, Xiao Zhan sighs and shuts his eyes, summoning all of his courage. At the very least, this outcome is better than he’d expected.

After Yibo had left earlier, he’d had a mortifying realization. Theoretically, in order to get down to… business without delay, it would serve the emperor for his omega concubine to lie in wait with very little or even no clothing. The heavens know how long it takes the servants to remove every piece of his ensemble; an emperor wouldn’t have the patience for that. Right? Or perhaps Yibo would take pleasure in… t-tearing the clothing…? Xiao Zhan had blushed then, immediately turning to Xuan Lu to voice his reluctant questions, but she’d spoken first.

“I can’t wait to get niangniang in his new silk robes! Huangshang sent the silk himself, did you know?”

So Xiao Zhan had shut his mouth and given a small, hopefully unalarmed, smile back.

Truth be told, the robes are beautiful, long with varying shades of a soft red and white. Some of his maids embroidered phoenixes at the sleeves, half-lilacs at the hems of the skirt and the sheer outer robe. Would they allow him to show his gratitude by cooking for them? Maybe he’ll have to sneak past them into the kitchen.

And speaking of… Xiao Zhan opens his eyes again to meet their peeking, expectant gazes in the corner of the mirror. As he turns to them, they bow.

“Huangshang has arrived, niangniang.”

Suppressing a chuckle, Xiao Zhan teases, “Keeping an eye out, were you all?”

The three of them blush, hanging their heads. Xuan Lu often speaks fondly of them, young betas who behave more like younger sisters to her. Now he’s beginning to understand, momentary nerves rolling off of him in their presence.

“Only teasing. Thank you for the warning.” He leans closer to them, conspiratorially whispering, “I can always use it.”

Their eyes sparkle—first at him, then at each other—like they’ve discovered some secret star-crossed romance unfolding before their eyes. Xiao Zhan tries not to giggle at their adorable reactions, but he’s interrupted by another amused voice.

“Giving your staff a hard time now, Xiao-meiren?”

“Ah!” Xiao Zhan gasps, managing a graceful kneel as his surrounding servants rush to follow. Just in time for Yibo to make a beeline for him, Xiao Zhan lowers his eyes demurely and clears his throat. “This concubine would only expect to receive that behavior from huangshang.”

“Oh?” Yibo pulls him up, taking in his clothing. With a small smirk, he concludes, “Your wish is my command.”

A tingle passes through Xiao Zhan’s spine while he tries to exhale softly. It would be so easy… so easy to just forget everything and let Yibo find out. But they still need time. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the three maids watching them curiously. Thankfully, Xuan Lu chooses that moment to walk inside, greet Yibo, and close the sheer curtains separating them.

“Well?” Yibo asks, seemingly unaffected by any lack of privacy they might or might not have had. He squeezes Xiao Zhan’s hands affectionately. “Won’t you invite me to sit?”

In a slight panic, Xiao Zhan wonders if he should offer him some tea before they get to his bed. It would at least buy him some time to chat before Yibo feels impatient and tries to kiss him. Not that Xiao Zhan would be opposed, of course! It’s just, well… Xiao Zhan thinks as the smell of lemongrass sinks deeper into his senses, actually, maybe they should kiss first and talk later?

“You should see the look on your face,” Yibo whispers, so close that Xiao Zhan can feel his breath on his face.

Startling, Xiao Zhan dips his head to look at their intertwined hands. “Is this concubine that easy to read?”

“A little.” Laughing, Yibo brings his arms around Xiao Zhan’s middle. “Is this okay?”

Again with the breath tickle, on his ear this time. Xiao Zhan nods, hoping the red on his clothing outshines any red on his skin. “We may… move to the bed.”

Leaning back, Yibo raises an eyebrow. “Are you granting me permission?”

Permission… Permission for what? Xiao Zhan doesn’t even know. Despite himself, he murmurs, “Huangshang didn’t ask permission last time.”

A shameless, lopsided grin is Yibo’s only response, walking them to the edge of the bed. For an instant, Xiao Zhan is transported back to their training sessions, a strong urge to playfully scold him bubbling up in his chest. What if he just dropped this hint?

Assuming his best stern gaze, Xiao Zhan retorts, “Does huangshang think this concubine can be distracted with a smile?”

“Does that mean it’s working?” Yibo asks in a low voice, tinges of his aura brushing the edges of Xiao Zhan’s mind.

Well. What if Xiao Zhan pulled him into bed and ripped off their clothes? Had he truly thought so little of Yibo’s flirting in the past that only now, after he presented and became aware of Yibo’s deep feelings, is he more affected? Curse him. Xiao Zhan could almost say he’s playing dirty.

Instead, Xiao Zhan loses his balance trying to shy away, falling flat on his back on the bed with an oof.

Diving towards him, Yibo supports his back with one hand and tilts his head towards him. “Are you okay, Xiao-meiren?”

Not if you keep calling me that, Xiao Zhan wants to say, pushing himself up with an elbow as he rubs his forehead. Concentrate, he wills himself. Clearing his throat again after a moment, he finally speaks.

“This concubine thought it was important to share—”

CRASH.

The two of them turn towards the source of the noise, which is quickly accompanied by Xuan Lu and two of the maids. Tangled between the curtains is the third maid holding a match, presumably to light a lantern that has ended up on top of her.

Kneeling in front of the maid, Xuan Lu apologizes while the other two put everything back in place and help the first maid up. “Please excuse us for our disruption.”

“It’s not a problem—” Xiao Zhan begins, but they’re gone with only a swish of the curtain by the time he blinks. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to offer help. Sharing a surprised glance with Yibo, he adds, “My apologies, huangshang.”

Chuckling, Yibo pulls them both up into a sitting position. “Don’t worry. I was hoping to share something with you anyway.” He brushes a lock of hair out of Xiao Zhan’s face. Only now does Xiao Zhan realize he’s been leaving his scent all over him, stealing all of his attention as Yibo takes his hand. “I realize you must feel pressured, presumably hearing all sorts of rumors about an emperor’s visit.” He kisses Xiao Zhan’s knuckles. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. I’m content to just learn more about you.”

Xiao Zhan practically melts, his heart clenching. Of all the things Yibo could say at this very moment; it’s a wonder he hasn’t swooned yet. “Of course I want to—!” he stops himself mid-shout. “I-I mean—” he stammers and coughs, blushing, “—this concubine has no qualms inviting huangshang to his bedchamber. However, this concubine would also like to talk.” There. They’ve established the agenda, per se.

A knowing grin breaks out on Yibo’s face. Leaning forward, he asks, “Are you sure?”

How is he content with only talking? If Xiao Zhan just tilted his head upwards, their mouths would meet between the veil. Heartbeat thrumming underneath his skin, he follows the thought, the press of Yibo’s lips warm through the fabric. When Xiao Zhan pulls away, he replies, “This concubine is sure. For now.”

Groaning, Yibo buries his face in Xiao Zhan’s neck. “Now I’m almost certain you’ve been teasing me all along.”

His nose is so close to his mating gland; Xiao Zhan fights the shiver that wracks his body. “Almost?” he whispers, while his instincts scream, Claim me.

“Almost.” Inhaling deeply, Yibo pulls himself away, searching his eyes. Xiao Zhan wonders what he sees in them: an unsolved mystery? His first love? Or a new ideal entirely? “But since we’re here already, shall we get more comfortable?” Yibo eyes the pillows behind them.

Xiao Zhan lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, nodding in a daze. Maybe Yibo had seen the apprehension in his body. It just wouldn’t feel right to withhold any truths between them—he wouldn’t forgive himself for lying to Yibo before they had completely given themselves to each other. And would Yibo forgive him?

The grip around Xiao Zhan’s waist snaps him out of his thoughts, pulled backwards into Yibo’s arms. His gasp is interrupted by his own laughter, with Yibo finding the most ticklish parts of his stomach and brutally exploiting them.

“Stop!” Xiao Zhan cries out mid-laugh, wresting Yibo’s hands away, but Yibo takes the opportunity to intertwine them again.

“Are you done thinking too much?” Yibo asks. “You hardly reacted to the removal of your rings and necklaces.”

Oh. Xiao Zhan looks down at himself to confirm this. He has a vague memory of Yibo sliding them off and even removing their outer robes, but not much else. How embarrassing.

“This concubine is sorry,” Xiao Zhan replies regretfully.

Yibo twists his mouth into a small frown. “Won’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Silence follows. Xiao Zhan can’t even meet his eyes, too caught between the potential danger of the truth and the current safety of the unknown. But nobody will bother them in this small quiet space of his bedchambers, not with all of the inherent tranquility it offers in a large palace filled with them. He should have shared it the very first day—Yibo would have been able to prevent any misfortune, right? Or is he still fostering his alliances? And now he’s placing his trust in Xiao Zhan.

Meeting his eyes, Xiao Zhan finally says, “I am—”

“Niangniang! Niangniang!” hisses a voice from the other side of the room. A head pops out between the curtains, belonging to another one of the three maids, with giggles following her.

Blinking, Xiao Zhan replies, “Yes?”

The maid kneels in greeting for a moment before she gestures to the tray at her feet, filled with objects wrapped in cloth alongside sticks of incense and fresh tea. “We have prepared… assistance for niangniang and huangshang’s special night.”

Oh. Oh no. Like… like toys? And that heat-inducing tea? But… he’d still have the same reaction, wouldn’t he? Or… or maybe it can be taken with an eager alpha present. Next to him, Yibo stifles his laughter. Covering Yibo’s mouth, Xiao Zhan asks, “Thank you. Please leave it there. Would you mind calling for Lulu?”

The maid raises her eyes, elation evident in her eager nod. She stands and runs off, leaving behind the innocuous tray, contents reflecting the candlelight.

The moment Xiao Zhan removes his hand, Yibo says, “You know, we ought to at least—”

“Absolutely not.” Xiao Zhan attempts to keep his voice steady, glaring at the offending tray as if he could burn it with his mind.

“Niangniang,” Xuan Lu calls, stepping inside. “You asked for me?”

“Yes,” Xiao Zhan replies awkwardly. “Please make sure no one disturbs us again tonight.”

With a nod, Xuan Lu casts a curious glance at the lone tray before placing it on a table closer to them. When she leaves, the figures of the guards and other servants vanish from the other side of the curtain.

Yibo, undoubtedly having concocted a plan for that assistance, opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” Xiao Zhan points a finger in his face.

Grinning, Yibo simply leans back down, pulling Xiao Zhan against his chest. “I had no idea Xiao-meiren would be so bossy when he was embarrassed.”

“This concubine is not embarrassed,” Xiao Zhan mutters, distracting himself with the large hand on his waist. He knows the maids meant well, but perhaps they should have asked him beforehand to barge in. Their enthusiasm was too powerful. “He simply wished to tell you something important.”

“What was it?”

Sighing, Xiao Zhan admits, “This concubine feels as though he is fated to be interrupted with every attempt.” Is it too soon if he gives up for the night? The morning might be better. That’s it—everyone will be asleep then. And then—and then maybe… a small, yearning part of him hopes—they can still have time to… do things.

Warmth spreads from the kiss Yibo leaves on his forehead. “Then let me start,” he suggests with a hum. “Have you met Consort Wang yet?”

The question gives Xiao Zhan pause. Beyond the welcome ceremony and its ensuing madness, the only person he’s met and befriended is Yixing, who has been kind enough to share tidbits of information about the harem. Shaking his head, Xiao Zhan asks, “Is he part of an alliance?”

Tilting his head, Yibo half-nods. “Somewhat. We grew up together, alongside my guard Lim Jaebum. The imperial family always thought we would marry, but nobody accounted for our incompatible scents or his interest in Jaebum. But as he was a single eligible omega in the eyes of his family, he would be sent off to another alpha ruler far away, separating him from Jaebum, who was trained to be my guard. So we settled on a compromise.”

“Join the harem, and stay close to huangshang’s guard?” Xiao Zhan can hardly believe it. Wouldn’t the court oppose this? And what if Consort Wang became pregnant? “That’s…”

“Unbelievable?”

“Sad,” Xiao Zhan finishes. Would he be able to submit to a life where he kept his true love secret? “This concubine couldn’t bear the thought.”

Stroking his cheek over the veil’s fabric, Yibo sighs. “I’m of the same mind. But it was their idea to begin with, and now I have more people to trust.”

Although that sounds like a good idea now, the truth is bound to be exposed someday. Still… “Since they were your longtime friends, the least huangshang could do was respect their wishes,” Xiao Zhan guesses.

“Exactly,” Yibo confirms, stretching. “As for the other consorts, I imagine they desire power, especially if their families are court members.”

Xiao Zhan grows quiet. “Why does huangshang trust this concubine?”

Now it’s Yibo’s turn to pause, staring at Xiao Zhan. Between the soft puffs of their even breath, the comfort of the silence and Yibo’s proximity settle over Xiao Zhan like a wave of fatigue. His eyes are beginning to droop when Yibo answers him.

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to hurt me these past few months. If my instincts were wrong about you, then at least I can say I pursued love.”

Xiao Zhan’s eyes widen, staring back in disbelief. Emotion wells up in his chest, reflecting on their fortune to be reunited. Torn between punching him for leaving without a goodbye and throwing his arms around his neck, Xiao Zhan chooses the latter.

Ridiculous. This boy is ridiculous.

But maybe he’s equally as ridiculous, hiding his identity while attempting to blend into the harem. Why prolong this charade?

“Yibo, I—”

“Huangshang! Huangshang!”

…Aaand just as Xiao Zhan thought. He sighs, reluctantly letting go as a eunuch barges in, Xuan Lu hot on his heels.

“What?” Yibo growls, aura releasing like a lightning strike onto the eunuch.

Kneeling before him, the eunuch touches his forehead to the floor. “The empress dowager has fallen gravely ill. She wishes to see huangshang.”

Alarmed, Xiao Zhan kneels before Yibo as well. Was this sickness planned, like his? “Please let this concubine accompany huangshang.”

Jaw set, Yibo nods tightly, taking Xiao Zhan’s hand.

What had started as a tender and lighthearted night quickly faded into nothing more than a dream.

Chapter Text

When his father grew sick with his older age, the little freedom that Yibo had carefully nurtured crumbled down around him. Tugged this way and that, he was requested at court every day rather than weekly, and even required to seal certain documents in his father’s stead. The seal bearing the emperor’s name initially appeared faded when the task fell to him, mind occupied with the lengthy topics at court back then.

With time, however, a new seal carved with Yibo’s name appeared at the emperor’s office. It felt like the culmination of his work up to that point—a de facto transfer of the throne. He began adding commentary to proposals and contracts, rejecting or accepting entire sections while the rushed strokes of his calligraphy became more practiced. Although the coronation hadn’t been scheduled yet, Yibo’s father turned paler and more frail each time he laid eyes on him. It was only a matter of time.

Yibo mourned his father in solitude well before the announcement. It was strange, a distant sort of sadness for someone who had rarely occupied a physical presence in his life. And though his mother never said so, he could see the spaces she’d left for his father to occupy too.

So he had promised himself: if he fell in love and started a family, he would never leave their side.

And there was just one person he had to see again as he ran down the bustling streets of the city’s night market, even if it meant punishment or risking his claim to the throne.

Jumping down from the high window as usual, Yibo wondered how limited his time was with Laoshi. What would he do after he became emperor? Would it be appropriate to establish better funding for the city’s schools? He had already rejected a proposal calling for higher taxes on educational institutions. Was this his last chance?

But then what could he do as emperor? By then, he’d have a harem. If anyone saw the way that he looked at Laoshi, a beta who could never be allowed within the emperor’s court… it could cause a scandal.

Maybe it was best to treasure his last few visits and say goodbye.

“You’re back!” Laoshi greeted, setting his broom aside to meet him in the center of the training hall. Eyes sparkling with mirth, he teased, “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

The heavy weight in Yibo’s heart dissipated with his words; he marveled at the effect Laoshi had on him. Standing taller, he replied, “How could I forget my one true laoshi? My inspiration, my gege, the most skilled and expert sword fighter I know—”

Laoshi laughed. “That still won’t win you my name.”

Yibo pouted childishly, counting on his puppy eyes to persuade Laoshi. “Then what can I do? I’ve already disarmed you.”

“Once!” Laoshi reminded him, immune to Yibo’s tactics, holding up a finger. “My condition was thrice.”

“All right.” Dropping his pleading expression, Yibo rolled his shoulders back. “Then I’ll get the other two tonight.”

Crossing his arms, Xiao Zhan tilted his head to the side with an indulgent grin. “You really think so?”

“Wanna bet? Let’s go,” Yibo replied smoothly, heading over to the sword rack. At the bottom lay the wooden swords they’d first practiced with, but his hands reached for the metal swords he was now used to. He’d come a long way from all of those months ago: he felt the difference in his grip, the rotations of his wrist and arm, sometimes even falling asleep miming the motions over and over.

He had advanced so quickly, in fact, that Laoshi had complained about it once. If he were a regular student, he’d said, he would have graduated too soon. They’d both fallen into a companionable silence then, leaving the next thought unsaid: it was lucky that Yibo appeared sporadically, so that they could cherish their time together.

Tossing a sword to Laoshi, Yibo took his position a few paces across from him. When Laoshi called the start of the spar, they met in the middle.

Laoshi’s eyes were beautiful when they sparred—decisive, clever, and quick. Despite his warm personality, he never second-guessed himself in a sword fight. It distracted Yibo at times, leaving him with the lingering desire to mark him in some way—to proclaim to the empire that yes, here was the next emperor’s intended: an intelligent and compassionate sword fighter who would not allow himself to be hurt.

Yibo didn’t want their time to end. Right now, he had two options: prolong tonight’s session so that he could return again, or find out Laoshi’s real name and… figure out how to meet later.

He was going to be the emperor. Surely he could ring in a new era—would it really be so preposterous to marry someone outside of nobility? Yibo exhaled softly when Laoshi blocked his attack. He couldn’t think of any past emperors who had. Maybe it was only a pipe dream.

No, the best course of action would be to learn his name. If not, at least focus on education reform. He’d promise that to himself.

An hour later, Yibo disarmed Laoshi.

“That’s twice!” Yibo cheered, running over to pick up Laoshi’s sword. “Ready to go again?”

“Nice work,” Laoshi replied breathlessly, leaning over with his hands resting on his knees. “I’d say yes if we hadn’t been going at it for a while. Let’s take a break.”

Putting down the swords, Yibo couldn’t help but ask, “Can’t handle doing it that long with me?”

With a light blush, Laoshi burst out laughing, his knees giving out underneath. Elbow as leverage, he pushed himself into a comfortable sitting position as his giggles died down. “Sometimes I wonder why I agreed to this.”

A smug grin as Yibo sat next to Laoshi, heart doing loops in his chest at the sound of his laughter. All he wanted to do was make him laugh. “Because I’m the best student Laoshi has ever had.”

Smiling fondly, Laoshi reached out and ruffled Yibo’s hair, ignoring his protests. “I’ve always admired your perseverance. Not many of our students could say that they’ve accomplished so much in so little time.” Stretching his legs, he let a few beats pass before he asked, “Is there something you’d like to do with this knowledge in the future?”

The question stilled Yibo for a moment. Although Laoshi had tried to learn more about him in the past, Yibo had answered vaguely. But this kind of question wasn’t exactly revealing, he supposed. And he owed it to Laoshi at this point—he was tired of avoiding answers.

“Honestly, I hadn’t started with a plan. But now I can say I’d like to teach others, or at least support schools,” Yibo explained.

“Oh! Really?” Laoshi brightened. “What inspired you?”

Locking their gazes, Yibo confessed, “You did.” For a brief, searing moment, he considered telling him everything, but what could the knowledge do? Hello, I’m the future emperor, and I’m in love with you. Laoshi was sure to laugh at him. So a different approach would have to suffice. “You’ve inspired me to look at my world a little differently and ask myself how I could help my community. The day I stumbled in here, you took me in as a complete stranger. But the patience you demonstrate with your students, the light in their eyes when they watch you—it could move mountains. You work tirelessly for the good of your community, and I think not enough of us do.” Especially past emperors, he almost added.

“Oh…” Laoshi’s head dipped, face tinting pink. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Yibo. But I’m just one person. Plenty of people work hard around here.”

Shaking his head, Yibo continued, “Have you ever walked down these streets? People are always talking about you. I think you underestimate your impact.” Taking a deep breath, he declared, “Even the imperial palace would be fortunate to have someone like you.”

Startling, Laoshi laughed nervously. “That’s too much!”

“It’s true,” Yibo insisted, grabbing his hand. He hadn’t meant to, but it brought Laoshi’s attention back to him. “Having you would be a blessing to anyone.”

With a curious expression, Laoshi stared back at him, pink now flushing tinges of red as he searched Yibo’s eyes. Something foreign pricked the back of his mind, as if he was seeing Laoshi for the first time, or acknowledging him as an alpha would to an omega. But Laoshi was only a beta, who wouldn’t notice anything thanks to his suppressants. Still, their charged gaze locked like an affirmation—a mutual attraction that whispered at the edges of his senses. Yibo felt like if he reached out and cradled the back of Laoshi’s head for a kiss, Laoshi would melt in his arms. The silence stretched between them, millions of unspoken words drifting into the void of secrets. How Yibo wished he could leave a piece of himself with Laoshi.

Would he even notice it if he scented him? Yibo’s thumb twitched over his knuckles.

“AHEM,” a loud voice behind them cleared their throat, causing them to scramble to their feet.

When they turned around, one of the school’s staff members walked past them, only muttering about forgetting some clothes in the backroom.

Cursing himself, Yibo returned to the abandoned swords on the ground, passing one to Laoshi, who took it with a shy thanks. “Ready to go again?” he asked, eager to change the subject now that the moment was gone.

Laoshi relaxed again, nodding. “Just one more time,” he promised.

So they worked again towards that goal, but in the end, the promise was never fulfilled. When his father passed, Yibo took over almost immediately. In the blink of an eye, a season passed and it was time to move on from Laoshi.

Making reforms in education, literacy rates climbed upwards.

In this new goal, Yibo persevered.

Deathly pale skin is the first thing Yibo notices on his mother when he arrives with Consort Xiao. Though her gaze acknowledges them at the entrance, she barely twitches as her attendants crowd around to wipe the sweat from her forehead or rearrange her pillows. To the best of his ability, meanwhile, the imperial doctor coaxes medicine into her unresponsive mouth.

Consort Xiao watches the scene with horror, falling to his knees at the empress dowager’s side. “Peace and health to our imperial mother. This concubine cannot fathom the misfortune upon you.”

When the imperial doctor turns and sees Yibo, he kneels.

“H-Huangshang,” he manages under the growing pressure of Yibo’s aura. “We are grateful for your presence.”

“Explain,” Yibo snaps.

Bowing his head, the imperial doctor begins, “Faint traces of arsenic w-were discovered in the empress dowager’s food.” Nodding to a small tray beside him, he continues, “Their presence was tested with silver needles, which turned black with contact. A-Additionally, the same faint traces were found in the servants’ food. Fortunately, one servant reported feeling sick and prevented the others from eating.”

First an attack on Consort Xiao. Now one after his own mother. If General Hu is behind this, Yibo underestimated his desire for power. “Who was responsible for the poison?”

But before the imperial doctor can reply, frantic shouts outside of the palace ring out, muffled until a rush of footsteps caused by the rest of the harem echo inside the empress dowager’s bedchambers, servants stumbling in after them.

“Huangshang!” Consort Meng sobs, all but crumbling at his feet as Consort Hu struggles to hold her upright. Consort Zhang and Jiaer bring up the rear, kneeling behind them with somber expressions. “W-We came as soon as we heard! Our imperial mother—who would dare do this to her?!”

Raising an eyebrow, Yibo sweeps his gaze across the harem without a reply. His nose itches uncomfortably with the competing omega scents, forcing him to turn back to the imperial doctor. As he does, however, he almost misses the glare directed behind him in Consort Xiao’s eyes. Interesting. Perhaps it wasn’t General Hu’s doing—but for what purpose?

“Continue.”

Clearing his throat, the imperial doctor admits, “We… that is, the attendants, do not know.”

Sniffling, one of the empress dowager’s attendants pauses where she had attempted to continue giving medicine. Unshed tears shine in the eyes of the others. “It was my fault. I offered to make jiangmi tiao. Later, the traces were discovered in the flour. Of all things!” She sobs into her hands.

“Which of you fell sick?” Yibo asks the attendants.

“Me, huangshang,” replies another attendant, kneeling. Her fists tremble on her knees. “I thought our mooncakes had spoiled, so I threw out the rest. It did not occur to me to check the supply of flour.”

“What kind of flour was it?” Consort Xiao asks.

Several pairs of eyes turn to stare at him, reactions varying between surprised and affronted that someone has interrupted Yibo’s line of questioning. But Yibo stays silent, waiting for the answer.

“Wheat,” the attendant replies.

Consort Xiao grows quiet, pondering. “This concubine has heard of naturally occurring arsenic in rice flour, but wheat produces lower levels.”

“Correct, niangniang. After misfortune befell our imperial mother, we disposed of that flour. Fortunately, we had more.”

“Convenient,” mutters Jiaer, out of earshot of the attendant as she continues.

“The imperial doctor tested our other supplies of flour afterwards. Only this one was spoiled, and it had been sealed before tonight.”

“So you mean to say…” Yibo begins, locking eyes with Consort Xiao. The supply of flour was delivered with high levels of arsenic already—nobody planted it after the fact. In other words, the empress dowager’s servants, as well as potential recent visitors, had not had a hand in this.

Consort Xiao nods. “Someone likely delivered it with malicious intent.”

Consort Hu’s attendants giggle, drawing Yibo’s attention. Under his gaze, they shrink.

“Something amusing?”

Biting his lip, one speaks up. “It’s just that—why else would Consort Xiao niangniang ask? He is practically admitting fault.”

Startled, Consort Xiao meets their gazes carefully, as if holding his breath—what would he say if he felt the freedom to do so?

The other attendant continues with a grin. “Consort Xiao niangniang disposed of many things in his palace. Perhaps the palace was not to his liking? And as a show of goodwill, he gifted some of his items to our imperial mother.”

With horror, Consort Meng demands, “You…! You wretched peasant! How dare you poison our imperial mother?!”

A long sigh comes from Consort Zhang’s direction.

“Wait a moment,” Consort Xiao replies evenly to the attendants, shoulders tense, “how could you know of this? Her attendants have not informed us of the flour’s origin.”

Consort Meng scoffs. “I doubt they remember.” When she turns to them for confirmation, they nod meekly.

Convenient, Yibo almost says, imagining Jiaer doing the same again.

“So it was you,” Consort Hu accuses Consort Xiao with disgust. “Even a chrysanthemum can harm. Of course, without our imperial mother around, nobody would stand in the way of niangniang bewitching huangshang or his court.”

Anger from Yibo’s aura forces the harem and their attendants to bow with a collective yelp until their faces almost brush the floor. He reins it back a moment later for Consort Xiao.

Choking out a laugh, Jiaer struggles to peek at Consort Hu in front of him. “I think Consort Hu niangniang could benefit from the circumstances most.”

“You—!” Consort Hu snarls, glaring in his direction.

“Please.” Clenching his fists, Consort Xiao bows before the rest of the harem. “There is no reasoning with our family. This concubine will accept this judgment.”

Consort Hu’s attendants sneer. “Admitting guilt.”

“Niangniang,” Consort Zhang says to Consort Hu brightly, “one ought to teach their attendants better manners. It’s an embarrassment to speak so callously in front of huangshang.”

Consort Hu turns his glare to him. “Misbehaving attendants? Niangniang might know a thing or two about—”

“Enough,” Yibo says with finality, his aura shutting the mouths of everyone in the room. To the doctor, he asks, “Is she stable?”

The doctor checks her pulse again. “Yes, huangshang.”

Nodding once, Yibo returns to the harem. He doesn’t doubt the schemes of the attendants or Consort Hu and Meng; Jiaer has been warning him of their collusion. But now that Consort Xiao seems to know something, he’d like to hear the whole story. Whether they are acting out of jealousy or the desire for power, it’s best to redirect their attention for now. Ideally, he’ll be able to watch them closely. “Over the next few days, the imperial harem and court will stay at the winter palace. Our imperial mother will rest in solitude until she feels well enough to join us. Gather your belongings for the journey. You may all leave.”

“Huangshang,” Consort Xiao calls the moment the aura is lifted. “Please allow this concubine to stay and care for our imperial mother. This concubine promises to be at the mercy of her attendants in order to clear his name.” Sighing softly, he adds, “This concubine permits a search for any dangerous artifacts on his person or in his palace. He does not take accusations lightly.”

Jaw tight with frustration, Yibo nods. In the corner of his eye, Consort Xiao’s critics grin smugly. Once again, they’ll be separated—likely by the same conspirators. And now, without a chance to question him about their hearsay, how can Yibo accuse their families of plotting treason? He would believe anything Consort Xiao told him, but convincing the court would be another matter entirely.

After the harem and their attendants leave, the empress dowager stirs. Taking the opportunity, the attendants and doctor resume with the medicine while Yibo pulls Consort Xiao aside.

“I’m sorry that we couldn’t have a peaceful night,” Yibo laments, disappointment curving his shoulders into a slump. He was so close to spending a proper night with Consort Xiao, and maybe, possibly, taking him. Even their conversation had been cut short; he’d wanted to hear what was on Consort Xiao’s mind.

But now they’ll have to wait. At least at the end of this illness, he can feel consoled by the thought of seeing Consort Xiao again soon.

“Don’t worry, huangshang. There will be many more to come,” he replies tenderly, a bit of sadness mixed with hope shining in his gaze.

Kissing his knuckles, Yibo agrees. “There will.” But he has to step away for now. Taking a last look at his mother and Consort Xiao, he finishes, “I trust Xiao-meiren to take good care of her, and hope that we may see you both at the banquet.”

“Thank you, huangshang,” Consort Xiao kneels as he leaves.

Situated closer to the south, the winter palace sits in the middle of a valley beside a lake. The air is calmer here, more humid with flashes of warmth, but not so much as to feel like another season. Though this winter marks his first as emperor to the winter palace, Yibo feels a sense of nostalgia in hidden corners from his childhood. He wants to share it all with Consort Xiao.

Guards stand by the roads leading up to the main entrance to oversee traffic as the imperial court and their families join Yibo and his harem on the evening of their annual winter banquet and new year celebration.

One by one, each court member is announced, followed by their omega spouses or lovers. After they greet him in the audience chamber, a eunuch escorts them to their designated guest chambers. Kneeling with their backs to the throne, the harem bows to their guests.

It takes every bit of self-control for Yibo not to openly stare at the empty space at the corner of the second row where Consort Xiao would have sat. Or maybe he would have sat on his lap if Yibo dared ask. He can almost imagine the lovely blush on his soft features. Would he have agreed, or tried to divert Yibo’s attention?

He sighs inwardly, thinking back to the letter he’d received yesterday morning.

Will he join them tonight? Consort Xiao had hinted at the possibility in writing, informing Yibo that his mother had made a full recovery. However, the imperial doctor had recommended against any travel for at least another week, especially as the daoshi warned them of inclement weather. It was up to Consort Xiao whether he wished to stay or resume his official duties, in the eyes of the court.

Yibo’s mouth twists in a frown, ignoring the puzzled looks on a bowing noble couple. Festivities and wine will loosen bold tongues as alphas posture in front of their omegas. Anyone will be considered a fair target for their jests, even the emperor. And if Consort Xiao arrives, subject to their scrutiny… Yibo may have difficulty keeping his temper in check. Then comes the matter of Consort Xiao’s safety; Yibo would altogether prefer to see him in better circumstances.

When the last guest is ushered away, guards begin to file inside as the head eunuch announces the completion of their duties.

“Imperial harem, you are dismissed until the banquet.” Yibo rises to his feet, striding past them to the entrance.

Over the past several days, he’s had time to consider the thoughts he wishes to share when he lays eyes on Consort Xiao again. His heart yearns to resonate with his, to feel the pleasure of physical contact, to worship him down to his feet.

Staring out at the dimming sky, Yibo watches dark clouds roll in.

How much longer until their reunion?

By the time the banquet begins, lethargy has already crept into Yibo’s eyes.

Stifling a yawn, his gaze strays from the musicians in the center of their seating arrangement to take note of the court members’ attentions. General Hu sits close to his left, after the imperial harem on either side of him, and he nods along to the plucked guqin strings as if in a trance. In the corner, a lord waves down a servant for more wine. Another general slowly nods off across the room, her wife subtly squeezing her elbow to wake her. With enough wine, Yibo hopes, the court will simply make fools of themselves without dragging in Yibo.

As the music comes to a close, Yibo leads the room in applause, standing as the performers leave the central platform. “Distinguished guests,” he addresses the room, “it is our honor to host you all for our winter festivities. As you may know by now, our imperial mother has recovered to full health, yet may not join us for several days. Let us toast to her continued health, and to good fortune in the new year.”

“Hear, hear!” The guests echo.

Wine and food flowing, clusters of the room chat amongst themselves. A rumble outside booms in the distance, startling some of the imperial court and harem.

“The weather is dreadful tonight. What luck we had to arrive before it worsened.”

“Yes, I even spotted some servants rushing to bring laundry under shelter. I pity any poor creature stuck outside.”

Musicians take the stage again with a lively tune to match the atmosphere. Before long, scents begin to blend, cheeks flush with color, laughter resounds up to the high ceiling of the banquet hall. A stray foreign scent tickles Yibo’s nose, and he reaches for his cup to occupy himself.

“Huangshang,” calls a feigned sickly-sweet voice to his right, matching his smell of black tea with wine. The pitch drops to a murmur in the next words: “Are you going to sulk all night?”

Peering out of the corner of his eye at Jiaer, Yibo shrugs around a gulp of his wine. “Perhaps.”

Jiaer sighs, angling his fan to cover his mouth from wandering eyes. “Think of it this way: no harm will come to him if the perpetrators are here.”

Glancing at the boisterous crowd surrounding General Hu and Consort Hu, Yibo concedes, “Possibly.” He clears his throat, eager to change the subject. “Any word about the one behind the arsenic?”

“A little,” Jiaer replies, glancing towards the doorways as the distant sound of pouring rain filters in, “I received a letter you might like to see, later at our usual place.”

“Alright.”

“What are huangshang and niangniang whispering about?” another voice cuts in, this time belonging to Consort Meng. She leans over the arm of her chair on Yibo’s left, a curious grin on her delicate features.

“Ah, Consort Meng niangniang!” Jiaer greets, leaning closer. “Well, I was only professing my undying love for huangshang. Did you know that we’ve known each other all our lives? But his tastes are so fickle, and I wished to remind him that I will always be here waiting for him.”

Laughter threatens to spill out of Yibo’s mouth at the proclamation, sure that Jaebum is within earshot, rolling his eyes fondly at Jiaer’s antics.

“Really?” Consort Meng asks, her smile freezing over. “That sounds so romantic! I do hope that huangshang spares some of that intimacy with the rest of the harem as well.”

“I’m sure that huangshang’s favor will descend upon those who deserve it,” Jiaer replies, batting his eyelashes at her.

“Yes,” she agrees, a twitch in her smile. “Those who are virtuous and loyal.”

Their comments attract the attention of a few court members, intrigued by the two concubines slowly pushing themselves into Yibo’s space to speak with each other. Suddenly, Yibo feels like a specimen on display. Closing his eyes and trying to ignore Consort Meng’s scent, he tunes them out and summons patience.

The sounds of chairs scraping and surprised shouts break through his mind a few moments later, followed by the rush of eunuchs to his side. At the first call of “Huangshang!” his eyes fly open, but anything they say is drowned out by Yibo’s focus on the newest addition to the banquet hall.

Soaking wet, shivering, yet still achingly beautiful, Consort Xiao kneels at the entrance, apologizing for his late arrival. Servants rush to cover his wet clothing, even Xuan Lu appearing seemingly out of nowhere to assist him.

Yibo stands before he knows it, crossing the room in record time to pull him up into his arms. Despite the cold seeping through his clothes, Yibo only feels warmth in their embrace, the heady smell of lilac engulfing his senses. Pulling back, he looks into his eyes. “Xiao-meiren couldn’t have waited another day?” His voice nearly cracks from disbelief.

“Did huangshang wish for this concubine to do so?” A hint of shame crosses Consort Xiao’s tender eyes, head hanging.

Yibo kisses the back of his hand, heart soaring. “No.”

A lord near them bursts out cackling, startling them out of their moment. Words slurring, he exclaims, “It’s about time the last concubine showed up! What took you so long?”

“Perhaps a lack of propriety?” Consort Hu calls sardonically from across the room. The court members beside him chuckle in agreement. “What I mean to say is, is this the latest fashion for an omega—a wet style?” He laughs at his own joke.

“That’s—” Consort Xiao starts with a flash of anger crossing his eyes, pausing when Yibo squeezes his hand.

“What a dangerous journey, Consort Xiao niangniang,” Consort Zhang interrupts before Yibo has a chance to open his mouth. “I admire your bravery in crossing the lands for huangshang after taking care of our imperial mother.”

“Well,” Consort Meng explains with a yawn. “It’s almost as though niangniang needed the attention again. After all—” she turns to Consort Hu’s group, barely covering her mouth, “—I heard his first night with huangshang was a disaster.” Consort Hu gasps while several court members erupt in laughter.

Fury from Yibo’s aura silences the laughter into chokes and coughs. “Consort Hu and Meng, jealousy does not become you. My eunuchs will task you with something to occupy your time instead of petty rumors.”

At this, Consort Meng’s eyes shine with tears. “B-But huangshang—!”

“Huangshang,” a eunuch interrupts beside Yibo, “please let us help Consort Xiao settle into the palace. We will return shortly.”

With a nod, Yibo finally lets him go with a shared longing look, watching his servants and Xuan Lu lead him out of the banquet hall. The cold assaults the sides of his robes as he turns back to the court, who is staring at him in awed silence while Consort Meng sniffles. Even the musicians had faltered at the commotion, but they had swiftly recovered.

“Well?” Yibo demands, slight frustration in his aura still slipping out as he releases its hold. At the subtle command, the court carefully continues their frivolous chatter. Attempts to brighten the atmosphere fall flat as voices remain subdued.

Thunder crashes above them then, the reverberation so strong it causes the room to tremble and a few guests to scream, including Consort Meng.

She faints just as soon as the sound leaves her mouth, court members closest to her catching her before she hits the ground.

“Oh dear,” Jiaer comments as he wipes his lips on a cloth, setting down his chopsticks. “Quite an emotional evening for niangniang.”

Still, duty pulls Yibo to Consort Meng’s side, calling for a doctor.

“There now,” General Hu proclaims as the doctor checks her pulse, “all she wanted was huangshang by her side. Isn’t a little envy to be expected?”

Yibo shakes his head. “I will not tolerate insults on someone who ensured the health of our imperial mother. Or do you disagree, General Hu?” Silence sobers the court members, some avoiding the view of the growing spectacle.

Squinting as though attempting to formulate a witty response, General Hu relents. “Bah! What does it matter, now that everyone is here? Huangshang, why don’t we liven up the festivities?”

The doctor quietly confirms Consort Meng’s safety, only overwhelmed by the last few moments mixed with alcohol. A cup of water is placed before her, attendants fanning her while she stirs awake.

“What do you suggest?” Yibo asks General Hu with his arms crossed, staring at him suspiciously.

“I suggest…” he pauses with a mischievous grin. “A friendly duel!”

The court hoots its approval, jeers and cheers timidly spreading throughout the room like carefree laughter on a summer day. Well. Not what Yibo had expected, but certainly better than dealing with trivial, presumptuous questioning. He makes a show of scoffing goodnaturedly. “General Hu, I fear that your coordination may be lacking at the moment.”

A harsh slam of his fist on the table sends his peers jumping out of their seats. “Nonsense!” General Hu booms, standing… and keeping his balance, to the growing delight of the court. “Some matters in court used to be settled through daily sword fights! It’s practically tradition!”

Yibo wonders if that method now would be effective or simply foolish.

“Now, now,” Lord Li hushes, rising as well. “Why don’t we allow huangshang a break for tonight? Would the imperial mother of this great empire enjoy watching its leaders duel for sport?”

Lady Xi clears her throat. “As a fellow alpha, I believe it would serve as harmless entertainment.” When her intoxicated wife leans into her, Lady Xi’s hand cradles her nape possessively, never breaking eye contact with Yibo. “Especially for our omega spouses and lovers.” The omegas of the imperial court blush yet stay silent at the remark, hiding eager gazes.

What would that look like on Consort Xiao’s face?

Interest swoops through Yibo’s body unbidden, mind conjuring the image of Consort Xiao staring at him with lust in his eyes as Yibo fights, desiring the dominance and virility of the alpha—his alpha—on top of him, inside of him… filling him with ecstasy. Two alphas displaying their strength—one would be a fool not to notice the effects on observing omegas. Yibo nearly snorts, knowing how the night will end for his court. Perhaps he should be thanking General Hu instead.

“Yes, yes!” General Hu chimes in, cheeks red as peppers. “Our omegas rarely have the opportunity to step inside the palaces. Why don’t we give them a show?”

Consort Xiao, on the other hand… is still nowhere to be seen. But Yibo can’t stall forever.

“Fine,” Yibo agrees, accepting the swords that his eunuch presents and tossing one to General Hu. An overambitious alpha full of liquid courage, underestimating Yibo’s skills in an attempt to humiliate him. Yibo knows exactly what to do. “Remember that I warned you.”

“Enough chat,” General Hu growls, a touch of concentration on his sobering expression. “First one to draw blood wins.”

Smirking, Yibo waits.

The first strike is strong, measured just a touch too heavy against Yibo’s sword. It gives Yibo the momentum to swing out of the way after he counters, letting General Hu lose his balance. The court snickers, dividing their attention for Yibo’s next move.

Turning on his heel, General Hu glares at him. “That was an accident.”

Yibo gestures before him like an invitation.

Stepping firmly towards him, General Hu strikes again with a heavy hand, which Yibo counters again. How did duels in court end, anyhow—with death, or an injury? Yibo surmises the former would be convenient for General Hu and his supporters at this moment.

Then General Hu’s pace picks up.

One, two, three—Yibo blocks his strikes as he steps backwards, circling around the banquet hall. Eyes follow him with renewed interest.

“Huangshang’s skill,” General Hu heaves with effort, “exceeds most alphas your age. Who taught you?”

“I practiced alone,” Yibo replies without missing a beat, pushing back against the sword on his next strike. The metal screeches between them, and their audience gasps. “I preferred to hone my skills rather than parade around my status.”

A shift in the air distracts Yibo’s force against the sword, like an insect attempting to land on him. Though he shakes it off, it gives General Hu an extra step forward as he breaks into a sweat. In the corner of Yibo’s eye, he sees the omegas take a sharp uncomfortable breath, and it dawns on him: General Hu released his aura.

Surely he can’t expect Yibo to be influenced. Is this coward’s play? To make it this noticeable, he must be draining his strength. Yibo shoves their swords in another direction to test the theory, and General Hu’s grip loosens easily.

And it makes an opening, just as Consort Xiao quietly enters the banquet hall.

In a split second, Yibo jams the pommel into General Hu’s flank, causing him to shout in pain and fall on his side. Kicking away his sword, Yibo stalks up to him and points his sword at his face. “I will not wound you. Do you yield?”

Growling, General Hu dives for his sword and rolls back up into a standing position. Metal clangs together before Yibo can grab his sword, but this time they trade strikes and blocks, equally matched in a tense deadlock. Try as he might otherwise, General Hu’s aura slows his movements bit by bit, until something like an eternity passes and Yibo finally disarms him, nearly breaking the skin over General Hu’s fingers.

“Kneel,” Yibo whispers, sweat gathering at his temples.

General Hu feigns an exaggerated smile. “You haven’t won yet.”

“Have it your way.” Picking up General Hu’s sword, he throws it at the hem of his robes, slicing through them and into the floor, effectively pinning General Hu in place. Gripping the pommel in one hand, Yibo points his own sword at him as well. One as a trap, the other as a threat.

General Hu merely gapes at him, aura dissipating.

“Well?”

Grudgingly, General Hu lowers himself onto his knees, glaring at his traitorous sword. Only when he admits, “I yield,” does Yibo remove the sword, stepping back as their duel comes to an end.

A beat of stunned silence, and then thunderous applause. The alphas cheer, “Bravo, huangshang!” and unleash the highest praises known to heaven. A newfound appreciation for their emperor permeates the banquet, as omega spouses comment on the new age of leaders with admirable qualities. An emperor that protects is an emperor worth supporting.

As the eunuchs take the swords and servants offer cloths for their faces, Yibo looks around the room. Consort Zhang is locked in conversation with his attendants, Consort Meng and Hu are locked in conversation with each other, stealing glances at Yibo. Jiaer has left, likely waiting to meet him and share new information. And Consort Xiao…

He’s gone.

Yibo could fool himself into thinking that he dreamed him this evening, but he would never mistake the warmth and utter happiness he felt between them when they embraced. His thoughts race.

Abandoning the banquet hall, Yibo stalks down the corridors of the palace, aura slipping out with a single-minded focus to find his concubine, his omega, and—and what, exactly? Reason escapes him steadily, thoughts of touching his omega, burying his face in his neck, mating with him taking over. He barely notices the servants who freeze in shock and through the strength of his aura, relying on his heightened senses to catch a fleeting smell of lilac.

When he rounds a corner, he finds it. The trail leads him to a small office outside of his bedchambers—where he had planned to meet with Jiaer, yet his nose is filled with lilac and nothing else.

“Oh, I—!” a gentle voice startles when Yibo steps inside. Turning away from a bookshelf with his hands behind his back, Consort Xiao’s mouth falls open. Those beautiful phoenix eyes follow the line of his body, his scent somehow turning sweeter. “H-Huangshang. You smell… different.”

Yibo swallows thickly as he steps into Consort Xiao’s space, the back of his mind putting the pieces together. Jiaer likely found him here and asked him to wait for Yibo. “A good different?” His voice comes out hoarse.

Consort Xiao inhales deeply, a small whimper escaping him. His neck bares itself almost involuntarily, Yibo’s lips attaching themselves to it like a drowning man searching for air. “Yes,” Consort Xiao whispers as his body is pinned to the bookshelf, Yibo’s leg pressing between his. “M-More… Please.”

The plea shatters his remaining sense. Yibo bites down on his neck, relishing in the gasp Consort Xiao lets out. His scent explodes around them, resembling the way Consort Xiao smelled during his heat. “Mine,” Yibo growls, before he leaves a trail of bite marks up his neck. And just as he reaches for that infernal veil, Consort Xiao pushes him away.

“I—I’m sorry,” Consort Xiao stammers. His hands come up between them to reveal a piece of paper that he nudges onto Yibo’s chest. “This is for you. Consort Wang asked me to deliver it.”

Breathing heavily, Yibo stares back at him. He doesn’t understand. They were only just getting started. “Stay.”

A low whine escapes Consort Xiao’s throat, his dilated pupils betraying his arousal. “I-I can’t.” And with that, he runs out.

Leaving Yibo cold, alone, and confused.

Chapter Text

By morning, it’s the talk of the palace.

Emperor Wang Yibo has gone into rut.

As such, he misses festivities with the court for the next day, which allows the harem a respite from public appearances.

In these circumstances, Xuan Lu tells Xiao Zhan, the emperor typically seeks out one or more of their concubines. Each concubine would prepare for their arrival—an entire tradition that involved a certain type of dress, incense, and even heat-like aphrodisiacs or medicine if the concubine required it. It was the ultimate honor, concubines would say, to be chosen each night of the emperor’s rut.

“But huangshang…” Xuan Lu explains as she sets a bowl of steaming soup on a small table beside his bed, “has announced that he only wishes to see niangniang.”

Xiao Zhan stares at her silently, heart squeezing in his chest as his gaze flicks down to the colorful side dishes surrounding the soup. “Thank you,” he whispers, and returns to the hiding spot beneath his blankets.

When the sound of her footsteps fades, he breathes out a shaky sigh.

What is he thinking? How can he abandon Yibo when he needs him most? If it hadn’t been for that horrible tea and Yibo’s sudden departure, Yibo would have taken care of him when he had his heat. And maybe all Xiao Zhan had needed was to be scented, or at least needed to smell Yibo’s scent gland until it was over. It wasn’t as though Yibo had wanted to take advantage of the situation.

It’s the same now, too. Warmth climbs up his skin when he remembers the restraint Yibo had demonstrated, releasing him so easily last night despite his aura looming over them. One more wanton plea and it would have ended with Yibo ravishing him until Xiao Zhan was a shaking, blissful mess. The bitemarks still tingle on his neck—there was only so much he could do with the collar of his robes to hide them in his rush here. Yibo had smelled so heavenly, too, the lemongrass smell still clinging for dear life on his skin. A small part of him wishes Yibo had prevented him from leaving, but he blames it on the pheromones for distracting him. As well as the sword fight.

Heavens, the sword fight.

Until Xiao Zhan had left the banquet hall, curls of pleasure and admiration had bloomed in his body simply by watching him, like an omega approving of a potential alpha suitor, a mate to claim and breed him. As if Xiao Zhan needed more reminders about their compatibility.

But it reminded him of the way they had sparred just before Yibo had disappeared from his life—the conviction in his eyes, his endless stamina, the way his aura flared with powerful strikes that made Xiao Zhan lose his balance… Yibo had fought tirelessly that last night.

And it was all for the knowledge of his name. Xiao Zhan chuckles bitterly. Now he has it, yet he doesn’t even know.

Sitting up carefully, Xiao Zhan forces himself to eat his lukewarm soup.

Until now, everything and everyone has been interfering with them. Now that they’re finally in the same vicinity, without any urgent matters, the fault lies with Xiao Zhan for not seeing him. He feels fortunate to have found a friend in both Consort Zhang and Consort Wang, but after witnessing the ease with which the rest of the harem and the imperial court can blame and publicly humiliate him… Xiao Zhan’s confidence has slipped once more.

As soon as they find out the truth, Yibo’s legitimacy will be questioned, perhaps even so far as to why Xiao Zhan was allowed into the harem in the first place. Corruption, injustice, solicitation… They could claim that the emperor had vested interests in non-nobility, in tainting the bloodline of the emperor. In a charity case, in granting financial or political power to an unknown family.

Scenarios gather at the forefront of his mind, each one worse than the last. His stomach twists painfully.

No. He just can’t.

But… at the very least, Xiao Zhan can help him through his rut.

He just can’t… tell him the truth. Not until it’s safe.

Leaving his bowl on the table, Xiao Zhan pushes himself off of the bed and marches to the sheer curtain dividing his bedchambers. Hands twitching over the fabric, he finally pulls it apart.

Xuan Lu looks up from her sweeping. “Niangniang?”

“I… I will visit huangshang.”

Staring at his reflection while his rapt audience anticipates his reaction, Xiao Zhan feels… absurd.

“Somehow I doubt that all of you simply happened to hear about my decision,” Xiao Zhan mutters.

Jiaer’s attendant, Yang Mi, smiles sheepishly. “Apologies, niangniang. I could not contain my excitement after learning that Consort Wang niangniang had befriended you. And I thought we might benefit from Consort Zhang’s tips for style as well.” She sends the smile to Consort Zhang and his attendants, who nod in gratitude.

At least she knew whom else to call, but anyone with common sense could notice the stark divide in opinion over Consort Xiao. Still, he feels rather self-conscious in the short, revealing clothing chosen for him by this… committee. Can it even be counted as clothing? His navel is exposed!

“I just have one more thing to add,” Jiaer announces, grinning from ear to ear. From his sleeves, a thin chain similar to the one Yixing wears slides onto his hand. Yixing’s attendants gasp in delight.

Xiao Zhan winces, subconsciously touching his veil. “I-I don’t feel comfortable without—”

“It goes around your hips,” Yixing explains next to the mirror. Is that a smile on his face too?

“It what?” Xiao Zhan asks, but then yelps the second the cold metal touches his skin. In a flash, Jiaer finishes locking it around his hips and then steps back.

“Oh niangniang,” Xuan Lu marvels, voice tight with emotion, “you look beautiful.”

Xiao Zhan almost questions his choices in life up to this point. Was all of this really necessary? He had thought he could have just… breezed in and gotten the rut over with. In fact, isn’t this a worse wait for Yibo? Now he pities him even more.

“What do you think?” Jiaer asks, placing his hands on his hips triumphantly.

“I think… I still don’t understand this tradition,” Xiao Zhan says slowly.

Then chaos descends as everyone begins talking over each other.

“I mean,” clarifies Xiao Zhan, switching his weight between his feet to gesture towards his skirt and jostling the anklets against his shoes. The front of the skirt reaches mid-thigh, while the tail drags across the floor behind him like a train. “What is the purpose of this half-open skirt? It feels too short, and my legs will freeze as soon as I step outside.”

Jiaer shares a knowing look with his attendant, Yang Mi. “Just trust us.”

Anxiety rises in Xiao Zhan’s chest again, pink coloring his cheeks with understanding. “What about the top piece?” He tugs at the fabric barely covering his torso. Revealing his shoulders, it connects with shorter sleeves on his arms than he’s grown used to. All in all, Xiao Zhan thinks his veil is the only article of clothing protecting his modesty. As well as saving face.

“Are you delaying the inevitable?” Yixing asks.

“No,” Xiao Zhan replies too quickly. He inspects himself in the mirror again: two thin pieces of clothing, dark red as if they had been made for him and not clothing Xuan Lu had found in storage, a short yet flowing skirt embroidered with phoenixes paired with another off-the-shoulder top with long sleeves. A darker red veil to match, gold anklets, a gold waist chain, shoes to match, a glowing red shadow on his eyelids, and of course… the jade phoenix hairpin. “Yes. I’m nervous.”

The commotion begins again with everyone shouting words of encouragement, huddling close and shooing Xiao Zhan towards the door. His instinct to flee fights against his desire to see Yibo, butterflies in his stomach over the thought of who exactly awaits him. Xuan Lu picks up a large winter cloak and begins tying it around Xiao Zhan. That, at least, manages to block most of the chilly air from seeping into his skin.

When they reach the palace corridors that will take them to Yibo, Jiaer and Yixing send him off. “Ignore anyone in your path. Remember that niangniang is serving huangshang, and nobody will be spared if they prevent niangniang from seeing him.”

“Does everyone know this is happening?” Xiao Zhan asks, panic rising at the same rate as his voice.

Xuan Lu shakes her head, gently pulling him along. “Don’t worry about that, niangniang. We should hurry.”

The moonlight shines high in the sky, illuminating his path as Xuan Lu guides him to the one who has his heart.

And when he arrives, all of his panic dissipates. His mouth goes dry at the sight of a half-naked Yibo.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Yibo turns at the announcement of an arrival and fixes his eyes on the one person he never believed would return—even with the eunuchs informing him earlier. Leaving Jaebum mid-spar, he meets Consort Xiao in the middle of his courtyard.

Only his head peeks out from the large cloak Consort Xiao is bundled up in, crimson-lined eyes staring back at him in awe. Every fiber of Yibo’s being aches to bury his face in his neck, but after spending the whole day sparring and exhausting his excess energy, his rut has become more manageable, settling into a hum underneath his skin. The clarity helps with coherency, but now Consort Xiao may momentarily undo all of that.

“Xiao-meiren,” Yibo whispers softly, allowing himself to scent a stray lock of Consort Xiao’s hair that he tucks behind his ear. Consort Xiao shivers—likely not from the cold.

Then his eyes trail down to his bare chest. “And y—um, huangshang is…”

Yibo grins, the hum turning into sparks of arousal. “Enjoying the view?”

A soft hand hesitantly reaches out for him, but Yibo grabs his wrist to stop him. They can’t dance around this anymore. Pulling him closer until Consort Xiao gasps quietly, he murmurs, “If you touch me in this state as I yearn for you, I may never be able to let you go again.”

Consort Xiao lets out a shaky breath before he replies with conviction, “This concubine wishes to mate with huangshang.”

The string tethering Yibo to a clear mind snaps. His aura bursts out full-force, nearly toppling Consort Xiao before Yibo sweeps him up in his arms, throwing him over his shoulder as Consort Xiao yelps in fright. Yibo carries him all the way to his bedchamber inside the main palace, where the smell of incense in their likeness hits their noses. Behind him, curtains and doors close, followed by complete silence.

Helping him down in the middle of his bedchamber, Yibo sits on the edge of the bed while pulling Consort Xiao towards the space between his legs. As he reaches up for the knots holding together Consort Xiao’s cloak, soft hands stop him this time.

“A-Allow me,” Consort Xiao insists, slowly yet steadily undoing the threads. “Huangshang, would you mind if this concubine asked…”

“Anything,” Yibo replies, concentrating on the flashes of skin underneath the cloak. Is he wearing nothing? His blood boils enviously for any alpha or beta that happened to cross paths with him on the way here.

“How did huangshang settle his ruts before this?” Accidentally pulling too hard on one of the threads, Consort Xiao causes a tighter knot instead. “This concubine has never…”

Helped an alpha with their rut. Yibo’s gaze flickers to his face, but he’s too focused on the troublesome knots to spare him too long of a glance. “I would touch myself.” He squeezes Consort Xiao’s legs over the cloak. A lack of friction moves against the fabric outside, surprising him. His bare, long legs underneath… All for him. “That was usually enough.”

Consort Xiao’s breath catches, as if he already knows the answer to his next question. “And this time?”

“What do you think?” Yibo smirks, taking one of his hands and placing it over his thick arousal. Consort Xiao’s pulse quickens under his fingers. “My body still craves yours, even after touching myself to the thought of you.”

Consort Xiao’s face turns a gorgeous shade of pink. Illuminated by the candles, his eyes darken into something like longing lust. Is this the way that Yibo looks at him? With renewed decisiveness, Consort Xiao tears apart the rest of his cloak, dropping it in one motion.

And then Yibo finally sees him. He’s not completely bare, but very little clothing covers him; his attention gets pulled in multiple directions. He settles for grabbing him by the waist chain and pulling him onto his lap, relishing in the breathless laugh Consort Xiao awards him.

“One night won’t be enough for me,” he whispers, pressing their lower bodies together. The flap of his skirt flattens against Yibo’s abdomen, thin layers of fabric barely brushing. “You look like you walked out of my dreams.”

Consort Xiao slips his arms up around his neck, his mating gland practically taunting Yibo. His voice carries a touch of nerves when he asks, “What happens in huangshang’s dreams?”

The only warning Yibo gives is a mischievous grin, rolling them around so that Consort Xiao is below him. Gripping his hips, Yibo breathes in the fresh smell of lilac on his stomach, leaving kisses down his navel and pushing up the short edge of his skirt.

Consort Xiao pushes himself up on his elbows, kicking off his shoes with some difficulty as he trembles under the touch. When Yibo mouths over the tight piece of cloth covering his most sensitive parts, he groans, spreading his legs wider.

Consort Xiao’s scent turns sweeter under his mouth, and when Yibo finally rips through the fabric and throws it behind him, Yibo rasps, “I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then have me,” Consort Xiao gasps, burying his hands in Yibo’s hair.

Yibo needs to hear no other words. Dipping his head, he licks at Consort Xiao’s arousal before sucking at the slick dribbling out of him.

“Oh, huangshang…!” Consort Xiao moans, vibrating around Yibo’s tongue.

It’s music to Yibo’s ears. He pushes his legs farther apart, using his thumbs to tug at the edges of his pink, delicate hole. More slick slips out, hole clenching when Yibo blows on it. He’s gorgeous, he thinks, salivating like a vulgar, unworthy alpha. Chasing the trails of slick down his cheeks, Yibo licks and kisses the tiny hole, savoring his addicting taste. Every moan makes his arousal throb with need, but Yibo feels like he could come solely with his face pressed into Consort Xiao’s cheeks.

Time to try it out.

Flipping him over onto his stomach, Yibo shifts the longer side of his skirt away to give him a clear view of his round curves. The dip of his lower back coupled with the way Consort Xiao tries to look over his shoulder urges him closer, and Yibo squeezes his cheeks before pushing his tongue inside.

“Y-Yi—Huangshang!” Consort Xiao calls out, gripping the sheets underneath.

Call me Yibo, he wills through his aura, but he doesn’t know if it has any effect beyond a wave of pleasure lancing through Consort Xiao’s body. Slick gushes out against Yibo’s tongue, dripping down his chin as he half-heartedly wipes it.

“Is this what you were like during your heat?” Yibo demands, nudging a finger inside of him. “Wet and begging for your alpha?”

Consort Xiao whimpers, seeking friction against the bed.

A second and third finger join the first before Yibo’s mouth takes over again, tongue stretching the walls of his hole. Consort Xiao writhes underneath him, pleading nonsensically. Squeezing his thighs, Yibo pins him down in place, which only makes Consort Xiao’s gasps climb higher and higher until his muscles contract around Yibo and he comes.

Yibo groans with effort when his body reacts with a climax, the taste of Consort Xiao’s slick like the sweetest nectar at his peak. He laps at the remaining droplets until Consort Xiao whimpers, “Don’t tease me…” and Yibo has to take a deep breath before he can wrench himself away. Leaning back on his knees, he shoves off his pants and underwear clinging to his still-erect arousal.

In the second he looks away to throw the clothing behind him, Yibo turns to find Consort Xiao lying on his side like a wet dream: rumpled shirt sliding up and revealing more of his arms and chest, a trail of slick and his release coating his legs and skirt, the skirt barely hiding his shameless arousal. His veil remains, half-lidded eyes staring up at him as his chest rises and falls with breath. Yibo feels as though he’s stepped into another plane of existence, fire dancing behind his eyes like he’s found his favorite prey.

Consort Xiao’s attention narrows to the knot on Yibo’s arousal. At the same time that he reaches out for him, Yibo scoops him up onto his lap, back to chest, holding him steady at his bare hips.

“W-Why this way?” Consort Xiao asks, squirming against him to get comfortable.

“Look at that mirror,” Yibo replies, grabbing his chin to show him the full-length mirror across the room, giving Yibo a perfect view of Consort Xiao perched on his lap, his hands pulling the skirt over his thighs as if to protect some modesty. It doesn’t matter—Yibo wants to wreck him. “I want you to watch while my cock thrusts inside of you.”

Consort Xiao’s face turns a darker shade of pink, but a flash of mischievous rebellion crosses his eyes. “And if I close my eyes?”

The hand on his jaw drops down to his throat. “Would you like to test that?”

Consort Xiao swallows thickly, maintaining eye contact with him through the mirror as he mildly tilts his neck in submission.

“Good boy.”

Even as his pulse races against Yibo’s hand, fresh trickles of slick dirty the skirt. Yibo can practically smell the arousal on him—fascinating, considering Consort Xiao’s rare displays of sass. He wants to elicit more of it—play with him more.

His knot shrinks down enough to lift Consort Xiao onto his arousal, which proves to be a steady yet dizzying process. Consort Xiao obediently stares at their reflection in the mirror, swallowing down his flicks of pleasure. Yibo wants to know how his mouth opens in pleasure, wants to kiss those soft lips again, as he buries himself inside the most intimate part of Consort Xiao’s body.

But when he reaches for the veil, Consort Xiao turns away, driving himself down the rest of the way with leverage from his legs. Yibo chokes on a groan echoed by Consort Xiao, burying his nose into his back as he catches his breath.

“You feel—fuck—” Yibo breathes, gripping his waist. Fingers dance underneath the chain, tugging at it this way and that. He decides on placing his hand between the metal and his belly, so that he can feel a slight protrusion. With a hand under his thigh, he lifts Consort Xiao slowly, then slams him back down.

“Oh!” Consort Xiao twists on his arousal, bending backwards over his shoulder as he attempts to hold himself steady. “Oh, Yibo…” he stammers.

Triumph at the sound of his name encourages him to move faster. The slide turns smoother as slick continues to drip down onto Yibo’s thighs. Peeking around his shoulder, Yibo stares at Consort Xiao’s gorgeous reflection: the dark red shirt slipping down to reveal his hard nipples, his anklets flying with every thrust, the wet spots of his skirt. He could spend his rut in this position, watching Consort Xiao lose himself to pleasure all day.

“More,” Consort Xiao turns to whisper in his ear. “Give me your—nngh—knot already.”

His skin burns with desire. “Watch the mirror,” Yibo commands, gritting his teeth in concentration. He never knew it was possible to be so deep inside of someone.

Lifting himself on shaky arms, Consort Xiao meets his eyes in the mirror. His moans pitch higher when he catches sight of the furious motion pushing in and out of him.

Yibo can’t wait any longer. Pulling both of his legs apart, he fully lifts and seats Consort Xiao over his arousal, the new angle causing him to whine deliriously.

“Yibo, please—” Even his eyes plead with him in the mirror, shiny with unshed tears. He wraps an arm around Yibo’s neck for dear life, begging and pleading nonstop. “I’ve never felt so—ah!—please, I need your knot!”

“It’s coming,” Yibo manages to say hoarsely. On a downward thrust, his knot pops out just as Consort Xiao screams with his climax. The knot settles snugly inside of Consort Xiao, who clenches down so tightly that Yibo sees stars, climaxing instantly with ‘Xiao-meiren’ on his lips.

It’s too much—his mind gets overloaded with pheromones and adrenaline, yet an overwhelming satisfaction weighs over his body at the completion of his duty, the breeding of his omega. Yet his rut still knocks at the door of his senses, far from over.

With a vague sense of falling back on the bed, Yibo’s consciousness drifts in and out for a long time, feeling light and ethereal like a dream. When his arousal awakens again without a tight heat around it, he reaches out for the warm body beside him. On his elbow, Yibo sits up to lean over his partner.

Hair splayed out across the bed, soft breath matching his relaxed heartbeat—those phoenix eyes blinking open slowly with the alluring mole under his perfect mouth; of course, he had been making love to Laoshi. Just like all of his other dreams. Something felt different this time, though, as if he was forgetting something.

But then Laoshi stirred, stretching languidly and smiling up at Yibo. A piece of fabric was slipping off of his nose, the same color as his clothing. It was beautiful, Yibo thought distantly. “Had enough?” Laoshi asked, in his playful, raspy voice.

Yibo shook his head. “Never.”

“Come here, then,” Laoshi whispered, patting the empty space at his back.

In all of his dreams, Laoshi presented as an omega. That way, he could march right up to his father and tell him that he had chosen someone to marry when he became the emperor. The imperial family wouldn’t agree, but their opinion didn’t matter once Yibo came to power.

He was in love, and inheriting the throne wouldn’t change that.

Yibo snaked his arms around Laoshi’s waist. Ever since that first day… His mind conjured flashes of lilac mixed with a beautiful smile. No, that wasn’t right—Laoshi’s scent changed every time. He shook his head, ridding himself of these conflicting thoughts. Ever since he met Laoshi, he knew. His heart would never choose another. He felt naïve at times with the thought, but he could indulge the fantasy in his dreams at least.

Lifting Laoshi’s leg, Yibo entered him in one smooth motion, relishing in the soft groan he let out. The familiarity of his body tickled his memories, pleased with how well his imagination could recreate Laoshi from only sparring and brief touches.

“Yibo,” Laoshi sighed out blissfully. Slick trickled out between them, so real that Yibo’s hips stuttered in disbelief before he set a steady pace.

“Laoshi,” Yibo mumbled against his skin, almost regretting the open affection in his voice when he felt a subtle rigidity to Laoshi’s body. Maybe he felt uncomfortable or nervous; after all, Yibo had never properly confessed to him. So it was Yibo’s duty to spoil him in this dream. Red spots bloomed across Laoshi’s back where Yibo bit and kissed him. “I missed you.”

Laoshi relaxed in his arms, intertwining their hands as he pushed back against his thrusts. “I missed you too,” Laoshi whispered. “More than you will ever know.”

When Yibo wakes up again, he’s alone.

The intensity of his rut has dropped to a simmer under his skin, somewhat satisfied for the moment yet likely to flare up again. The steady sound of rain filters in through the doorways, dark clouds obscuring the moonlight in his bedchamber. The candles have been extinguished, but Consort Xiao’s scent lingers in the air.

At least he knows he didn’t dream up their mating. With a pang of melancholy, he wonders if Consort Xiao regretted it all.

When he sits up, he finds a note beside him. It’s small, the edges rough as if someone had torn it out of a larger piece of paper. Could it be from Consort Xiao? His feet take him to the window, angling the note for any sliver of light.

His eyes make out the words, “Training hall.”

Is Consort Xiao waiting for him there? Did something happen to him? Hundreds of questions race through his mind, distressed aura rearing its ugly head.

He has to calm himself before he can find him. He doesn’t need to wake the entire palace—what if Consort Xiao wants to speak to him privately? But if that were so, why didn’t he just stay with him?

Taking a few deep breaths, Yibo dresses himself quickly and heads out the door. The rain masks his footsteps as he rushes to the training grounds, occasionally guiding himself by the pillars at each dark corner.

When he arrives, a single feeble candle marks the entryway for a training hall at the back of the grounds. None of the guards are standing by, leaving the area uncharacteristically silent. Fear grips Yibo’s chest, forcing him to sprint towards the one lit entryway.

Stepping through, however, melts his fear away.

In the middle of the open space, carrying a sword and wearing a borrowed uniform with a veil covering his face, is Consort Xiao. Candlelight lining the perimeter casts a gentle glow on his body. His face is tilted upwards toward the rain, allowing it to wash over him as if… as if he had done something unforgivable. As if he wanted to wash away his mistakes. As if he wanted to be reborn?

“Xiao-meiren?” Yibo calls, cautiously walking up to him. Something feels wrong, and yet familiar. Does Consort Xiao know how to sword fight?

Consort Xiao turns to him, light dancing in his affectionate eyes. “You once made a promise to someone long ago.” He lifts the sword up to examine it. “Do you remember?”

What? That gives Yibo pause. “What do you mean?”

Consort Xiao shakes his head. “Let’s spar. Pick up the sword by your feet.”

“Not until you explain the meaning of this,” Yibo demands.

“I want you to disarm me,” Consort Xiao says, pointing his sword at him. “And then you’ll understand.”

A twinge of nostalgia pulls at his heartstrings, conflicting desires battling within him. Why does he… sound like Laoshi? Did he learn about him somehow? Could Jiaer have told him? Why can’t he just tell him what’s going on? A flash of irritation springs out of his aura, but Consort Xiao doesn’t even wince.

Yibo picks up the sword, and they begin circling each other.

“Do you remember my dance on the first day?” Consort Xiao asks, swinging his first strike.

“How could I forget?” Yibo blocks him easily, leaning into his space where their blades clash. He may as well enjoy himself. “I’ve wanted to breed you since then.”

A soft breath escapes Consort Xiao like disbelief, and he pulls off to the side to swing at him again. Yibo parries, then aims for him again.

“I lied,” Consort Xiao explains, dodging easily. “I created it myself.”

“And?” Yibo asks, with a subtle growl. Does his knowledge of a dance change things between them? Even the way that Consort Xiao speaks is different. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was someone else entirely. The rain loosens his grip on the sword, and he wipes the water off of his brows.

Consort Xiao sighs.

And though Yibo sees it coming, he can’t grip his sword tight enough. It flies out of his hands, landing a few paces away.

“A long time ago,” Consort Xiao continues, picking up the fallen sword himself and tossing it back to Yibo, “someone told you that they’d share their name if you disarmed them three times.”

“How—” Yibo falters. He stares back at those loving eyes, a sense of loss, confusion, but most importantly… hope, twisting in the recesses of his heart. No… It can’t be.

He swings again, watching the ways Consort Xiao dodges him with ease. Empty whooshes of the sword fill the space beside the rain drizzling down, Consort Xiao barely lifting his own sword to counter. He moved like someone who had practiced for years, someone who knew how to read their opponent, someone who made it impossible to ever win against.

Someone like…

Laoshi.

The feelings Yibo has tried to bury race back to the surface, overwhelming him. The familiar back and forth of their conversations, the butterflies in his stomach when Yibo made him laugh, the kindness and wisdom he displayed in the face of adversity, his beautiful phoenix eyes… it was too good to be true.

But he remembers something—from last night.

He remembers… he remembers seeing Laoshi. But it wasn’t Laoshi—the veil had slipped off, hadn’t it? He curses his memory, the haze of the rut clouding his judgment then. He had confused him for Laoshi, but…

It wasn’t really confusion. They were—

He twists his wrist too softly, and Consort Xiao takes the opportunity to strike back. Instead, they clash again. Yibo won’t lose that easily; he has to see this through for himself.

He spins around, but instead of aiming for his sword, he aims higher up. To the veil.

Consort Xiao blocks the sword higher up to protect his face, a questioning look in his shining eyes. But as Yibo distracts him there, sidestepping and barely brushing the fabric against his mouth, Consort Xiao forgets to protect his sides.

So Yibo swings to his left.

And Consort Xiao does exactly what he expects: blocks him there without rotating, allowing Yibo to step behind him and yank off the veil. Consort Xiao’s free hand flies to his mouth.

Yibo’s sword falls to the ground with a thud, its wielder turning Consort Xiao around in his arms. Raindrops cling to Consort Xiao’s eyelashes, regret and longing buried deep within his eyes. So much had been buried there. So much that Yibo hadn’t noticed. Only because it had been too outlandish of a theory. But now.

The only thing that Yibo feels… is happiness.

Laoshi. It had been Laoshi all along. He’d kept his promise, here to finish what they’d started. His eyes sting with emotion.

“I disarmed you a long time ago, didn’t I?” Yibo takes the hand gripping his sword and rubs his thumb across his knuckles. Consort Xiao drops the sword immediately, trembling in his hand. “The first time we met, you looked at me with such joy in your eyes. I wanted to be the reason for your joy every day, the one who protected your smile.” Yibo’s other hand reaches up for the hand covering Consort Xiao’s mouth. “You had no obligation to me, but you took care of me. And I fell in love with you recklessly, breaking my own heart when I couldn’t see you anymore. But it’s you, isn’t it? My Laoshi.”

Consort Xiao’s hand slips down, at long last revealing the beautiful mouth with the mole under his soft lips.

“Xiao Zhan. My name is Xiao Zhan.”

Yibo surges into him with a kiss, walking them under the shelter of the awning as he cups Xiao Zhan’s cheeks. He feels tears streaming down their cheeks, and he’s not sure if it’s from Xiao Zhan or himself. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, heart bursting out of his chest. “I was a fool.”

Xiao Zhan’s body shivers under the urgent kisses, barely able to match his rhythm. “No,” he chokes out, half of his words swallowed by kisses, “I should have told you from the beginning. I was—mmph—afraid, but I couldn’t carry on lying to you.”

Shaking his head, Yibo bites his lower lip, tongue plunging into his warm mouth. Xiao Zhan’s scent turns sweet again, groaning in pleasure as he tugs at Yibo’s hair. The burning need to bury himself inside of Xiao Zhan sets his whole being aflame, as if kissing and breeding him weren’t enough. He wants to… He wants to—

“Marry me.” Yibo pulls back, searching Xiao Zhan’s face.

“W-What?” Xiao Zhan asks in a daze.

“Marry me. Be my mate. I don’t want anyone else,” Yibo repeats breathlessly, pressing their foreheads together. “Be my huanghou.”

“Yes.” A fresh set of tears spill out of Xiao Zhan’s eyes. He stares back at him, chest heaving with exertion. Nothing guards his eyes anymore, the beauty of his love shining proudly back at him. “You stole my heart long ago. I would be a fool to lose you again.”

The bite takes moments later, connecting them as a mated pair. Instantly, Yibo senses shades of Xiao Zhan’s emotions: desire, relief, and pure unabashed happiness. His own heart matches it in full-force, and they come together to connect their bodies again.

They drown in each other’s bodies, pressed against the wall. Xiao Zhan hoists himself around Yibo’s waist as Yibo takes his time with deep thrusts. The kisses they share make Xiao Zhan tremble uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around Yibo. Their sounds of pleasure are muffled by the rain behind them, but nothing else matters in this moment. Only the threads of fate returning them to each other.

Later in his bedchamber, when Yibo falls asleep connected to Xiao Zhan in every possible way, his mind drifts to the first time they locked eyes at the welcome banquet.

He hadn’t felt the traditional acknowledgement of a gaze between an alpha and an omega. Instead, it had given him a warm, pleasant feeling.

Like coming home.