Ship/Member: minghao/junhui Major Tags: historical setting, angst Additional Tags: poalof but make it a historical chinese drama, timeskips aplenty Permission to remix: Yes
Hopefully this fit the vibe that you had in mind!! I was v inspired by both 林宥嘉’s song 说谎 (and its mv) as well as portrait of a lady on fire by celine sciamma.
(crossposted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36331813) *** it is minghao’s wedding day and all he can think about is how heavy his sleeves are. the ceremonial robe is, frankly ostentatious and excessive, the brocaded embroidery laying heavy on his skin. it feels uncomfortable and unnatural and most of all: inescapable.
he knows it’s what his position demands of him. the first son of the xu clan. the only son his lord father has borne. it is his birth right, his blood right. his duty. he knows he needs to marry her and fulfil the legacy of his ancestors. he knows he should listen to his rational mind and the patient advice of his most trusted advisor.
so why then is he second-guessing everything that had been painstakingly orchestrated for him?
/
“hi,” minghao eyes the boy in front of him curiously. he hasn’t got any siblings or any cousins, and for better or worse he spends the majority of his days absorbing the habits of the various adults that surround him – his tutors, his attendant, his family advisors. in contrast, the gangly, wide-eyed boy huddled next to his father is a complete novelty.
“son, this is junhui.” his father pats the boy gently on the shoulder, extricating him so he stands upright on his own. it’s a tad formal, but much closer to what minghao is used to. “he’ll be joining you for your lessons. please help him adjust.”
with that, his father sweeps out of the room, his robes stirring up a little breeze in his wake. he’s got better things to attend to, minghao knows, so he simply stretches out an arm to shake junhui’s hand. “it’s good to meet you. let’s go to the classroom: the tutors will be glad to have new company, i think.”
/
“young master xu,” his attendant smiles apologetically as he peers at minghao. “would it be possible for you to keep still?”
minghao freezes, allowing him to comb and pin his hair in its deceptively simple updo. he stares at the room around him, filled with individuals fussing over the most minute details of wedding decor, his clothing, his accessories.
every single person in the room was happy today. or at the very least, they were excited to see the heir of the household finally take a step towards adulthood, and none of them were being quiet about it. but despite all of their well-wishes and efforts, minghao didn’t feel like any of them particularly cared about how he felt. about whether he wanted this at all. as if that were not a question they could fathom at all.
/
“master wen has made tremendous progress in his lessons,” tutor chen commented. “he’s a natural at diplomatic studies, and i believe he will serve our young master well in future.”
“i concur,” tutor xiang nodded, his gaze fixed on the young men standing before him. “he is a worthy swordsman as well. on some days he fights even better than young master xu.”
though his expression remained composed and neutral, minghao could feel junhui swell with pride at the compliments. he’d been presented this morning for lord xu’s assessment – they were both nearing adulthood, and lord xu was clearly considering whether he had a place in their household.
“wen junhui, will you swear fealty to our family?” his father’s voice is gravelly and serious, though minghao swears he can detect a note of satisfaction within it. “will you take up arms as a sworn brother to my son, to defend him and our family with your life?”
minghao does not turn to look at junhui. in the years since his arrival in his family’s ancestral home, junhui has become enough a part of him that he can feel the other nod and bow, can feel the shift in the atmosphere around him rippling out amongst the others present.
/
he knows it is an honour. the lan clan had offered their first daughter in their proposition of a family union, a way to unite their territories. a political union that will give minghao twice the power his father had, for no real reason other than lan ying thought he was capable of leading both their clans.
he’d seen her around before, of course. at big seasonal festivals, at the annual trips their families made to pay their respects to the king and discuss diplomatic agreements. he’d seen her paint, seen her discuss scholarly works, and there was no question that she was talented and driven in a way that most noblewomen he’d met were not. he’d felt her careful eyes, too, pinned on him during horse riding and sword-fighting demonstrations over the years.
and now here they were. him and lan ying, kneeling side by side on the satiny red pillow, offering their bows to their parents. it is perfect. it should be perfect.
/
they are eighteen and sweaty, skin flushed from practicing martial arts and sword-fighting all afternoon. he collapses onto the floor just behind the changing screen with a deep sigh, reaching out one hand to wrap itself around junhui’s ankle, tugging him down to floor-level with a burst of laughter.
their summer is full of moments like this stolen away from each of their duties. moments where minghao does not need to be by lord xu’s side listening to his discussions of the latest war moving towards their borders. moments where junhui is not sent out to assist in the imperial war effort on behalf of the clan. moments where they can abandon their titles, their lives with each plot point already written for them. moments where minghao can press open-mouthed kisses to the column of junhui’s throat and feel the other’s hands come up to twist in his hair.
but fall comes far too soon. it is unseasonably cold already, and the xu clan is not expecting any visitors until spring thaws the uneven paths, but it seems the lan clan had their own plans. they send a messenger, riding hard for three days, with an official proposal. a marriage. a joining of powerful bloodlines. a dowry lord xu could not refuse without declaring war.
junhui leaves before minghao can even tell him himself. he hears from a nosy member of the household staff and puts on his own armor, riding south to the king’s army without so much as a goodbye.
/
it is minghao’s wedding day and all he can think about is the fact that the one person he really wants to be here isn’t. he knew he and junhui wouldn’t have had a life together, not in the way they wanted. but that didn't mean they couldn’t have some sort of life together at all.
they were sworn together from the start. well, not the start, minghao acknowledges silently to himself. but that’s really when his life began, anyway. he should be here, minghao’s heart twists, and if he were here at least minghao could entertain the thought of doing something incredibly stupid like running away.
he scans the crowd: both the xu and the lan clans in their extended forms are spread across the hall at so many banquet tables, and the loyal servants of their families are tucked in the back. he can see his advisors, his tutors, even the nanny who’d left their household years ago after agreeing that minghao certainly had grown beyond needing her services. everyone is here. everyone who matters is here, and that only makes the sore void in minghao’s heart burn more.
/
junhui is tucked away at a seat placed just behind a pillar. he’d requested for a period of leave from the imperial army, and his commander had clapped him happily on the back as he’d left the compound, wishing him a safe ride back for the xu wedding.
he’s glad he sees minghao before the other can lay eyes on him. he’s glad he sees minghao smile, take his new wife’s hands in his own and make his vows. ever the dutiful son.
and isn’t he serving his duty too, in a way? he may have left the eaves of this house but his torch burns bright for minghao. his sword still cuts down those who threaten his family. his territory. his happiness.
junhui decides not to congratulate the happy couple in person. junhui decides not to stay at all. he slips out of the banquet hall before the ceremony even ends, only turning back for one moment to sear the image of minghao, gold-edged and radiant, in his mind.
in the end it is not the warrior’s choice he’d had in mind on his journey across the nation. it is not a bitter attempt to fight for minghao’s love, to challenge the cages whose bars have always chafed against their skin. it is not the lover’s choice, to insist on showing minghao his heart, bloody and raw. it is not some naive belief that true love, if that’s what it was, would trump everything else. it is the poet’s choice – junhui deciding that preserving that one immortal moment of minghao’s happiness is enough, as long as he’s the only one still hurting.
[FILL] the poet's choice
Major Tags: historical setting, angst
Additional Tags: poalof but make it a historical chinese drama, timeskips aplenty
Permission to remix: Yes
Hopefully this fit the vibe that you had in mind!! I was v inspired by both 林宥嘉’s song 说谎 (and its mv) as well as portrait of a lady on fire by celine sciamma.
(crossposted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36331813)
***
it is minghao’s wedding day and all he can think about is how heavy his sleeves are. the ceremonial robe is, frankly ostentatious and excessive, the brocaded embroidery laying heavy on his skin. it feels uncomfortable and unnatural and most of all: inescapable.
he knows it’s what his position demands of him. the first son of the xu clan. the only son his lord father has borne. it is his birth right, his blood right. his duty. he knows he needs to marry her and fulfil the legacy of his ancestors. he knows he should listen to his rational mind and the patient advice of his most trusted advisor.
so why then is he second-guessing everything that had been painstakingly orchestrated for him?
/
“hi,” minghao eyes the boy in front of him curiously. he hasn’t got any siblings or any cousins, and for better or worse he spends the majority of his days absorbing the habits of the various adults that surround him – his tutors, his attendant, his family advisors. in contrast, the gangly, wide-eyed boy huddled next to his father is a complete novelty.
“son, this is junhui.” his father pats the boy gently on the shoulder, extricating him so he stands upright on his own. it’s a tad formal, but much closer to what minghao is used to. “he’ll be joining you for your lessons. please help him adjust.”
with that, his father sweeps out of the room, his robes stirring up a little breeze in his wake. he’s got better things to attend to, minghao knows, so he simply stretches out an arm to shake junhui’s hand. “it’s good to meet you. let’s go to the classroom: the tutors will be glad to have new company, i think.”
/
“young master xu,” his attendant smiles apologetically as he peers at minghao. “would it be possible for you to keep still?”
minghao freezes, allowing him to comb and pin his hair in its deceptively simple updo. he stares at the room around him, filled with individuals fussing over the most minute details of wedding decor, his clothing, his accessories.
every single person in the room was happy today. or at the very least, they were excited to see the heir of the household finally take a step towards adulthood, and none of them were being quiet about it. but despite all of their well-wishes and efforts, minghao didn’t feel like any of them particularly cared about how he felt. about whether he wanted this at all. as if that were not a question they could fathom at all.
/
“master wen has made tremendous progress in his lessons,” tutor chen commented. “he’s a natural at diplomatic studies, and i believe he will serve our young master well in future.”
“i concur,” tutor xiang nodded, his gaze fixed on the young men standing before him. “he is a worthy swordsman as well. on some days he fights even better than young master xu.”
though his expression remained composed and neutral, minghao could feel junhui swell with pride at the compliments. he’d been presented this morning for lord xu’s assessment – they were both nearing adulthood, and lord xu was clearly considering whether he had a place in their household.
“wen junhui, will you swear fealty to our family?” his father’s voice is gravelly and serious, though minghao swears he can detect a note of satisfaction within it. “will you take up arms as a sworn brother to my son, to defend him and our family with your life?”
minghao does not turn to look at junhui. in the years since his arrival in his family’s ancestral home, junhui has become enough a part of him that he can feel the other nod and bow, can feel the shift in the atmosphere around him rippling out amongst the others present.
/
he knows it is an honour. the lan clan had offered their first daughter in their proposition of a family union, a way to unite their territories. a political union that will give minghao twice the power his father had, for no real reason other than lan ying thought he was capable of leading both their clans.
he’d seen her around before, of course. at big seasonal festivals, at the annual trips their families made to pay their respects to the king and discuss diplomatic agreements. he’d seen her paint, seen her discuss scholarly works, and there was no question that she was talented and driven in a way that most noblewomen he’d met were not. he’d felt her careful eyes, too, pinned on him during horse riding and sword-fighting demonstrations over the years.
and now here they were. him and lan ying, kneeling side by side on the satiny red pillow, offering their bows to their parents. it is perfect. it should be perfect.
/
they are eighteen and sweaty, skin flushed from practicing martial arts and sword-fighting all afternoon. he collapses onto the floor just behind the changing screen with a deep sigh, reaching out one hand to wrap itself around junhui’s ankle, tugging him down to floor-level with a burst of laughter.
their summer is full of moments like this stolen away from each of their duties. moments where minghao does not need to be by lord xu’s side listening to his discussions of the latest war moving towards their borders. moments where junhui is not sent out to assist in the imperial war effort on behalf of the clan.
moments where they can abandon their titles, their lives with each plot point already written for them. moments where minghao can press open-mouthed kisses to the column of junhui’s throat and feel the other’s hands come up to twist in his hair.
but fall comes far too soon. it is unseasonably cold already, and the xu clan is not expecting any visitors until spring thaws the uneven paths, but it seems the lan clan had their own plans. they send a messenger, riding hard for three days, with an official proposal. a marriage. a joining of powerful bloodlines. a dowry lord xu could not refuse without declaring war.
junhui leaves before minghao can even tell him himself. he hears from a nosy member of the household staff and puts on his own armor, riding south to the king’s army without so much as a goodbye.
/
it is minghao’s wedding day and all he can think about is the fact that the one person he really wants to be here isn’t. he knew he and junhui wouldn’t have had a life together, not in the way they wanted. but that didn't mean they couldn’t have some sort of life together at all.
they were sworn together from the start. well, not the start, minghao acknowledges silently to himself. but that’s really when his life began, anyway. he should be here, minghao’s heart twists, and if he were here at least minghao could entertain the thought of doing something incredibly stupid like running away.
he scans the crowd: both the xu and the lan clans in their extended forms are spread across the hall at so many banquet tables, and the loyal servants of their families are tucked in the back. he can see his advisors, his tutors, even the nanny who’d left their household years ago after agreeing that minghao certainly had grown beyond needing her services. everyone is here. everyone who matters is here, and that only makes the sore void in minghao’s heart burn more.
/
junhui is tucked away at a seat placed just behind a pillar. he’d requested for a period of leave from the imperial army, and his commander had clapped him happily on the back as he’d left the compound, wishing him a safe ride back for the xu wedding.
he’s glad he sees minghao before the other can lay eyes on him. he’s glad he sees minghao smile, take his new wife’s hands in his own and make his vows. ever the dutiful son.
and isn’t he serving his duty too, in a way? he may have left the eaves of this house but his torch burns bright for minghao. his sword still cuts down those who threaten his family. his territory. his happiness.
junhui decides not to congratulate the happy couple in person. junhui decides not to stay at all. he slips out of the banquet hall before the ceremony even ends, only turning back for one moment to sear the image of minghao, gold-edged and radiant, in his mind.
in the end it is not the warrior’s choice he’d had in mind on his journey across the nation. it is not a bitter attempt to fight for minghao’s love, to challenge the cages whose bars have always chafed against their skin. it is not the lover’s choice, to insist on showing minghao his heart, bloody and raw. it is not some naive belief that true love, if that’s what it was, would trump everything else. it is the poet’s choice – junhui deciding that preserving that one immortal moment of minghao’s happiness is enough, as long as he’s the only one still hurting.