Work Text:
That first night, Zhao Xinci’s wife lowers her book to greet them. Her dress is faded in the lamplight, her gaze as deliberate as a calligrapher’s brush. “You’re home.”
Zhang Shi feels Xinci flinch—no surprise given his new secret. A tremor through his own self, though, is unexpected.
It’s not guilt. He’s long since accepted that any covert liberties he takes are necessary to live; he compensates by tipping life’s scales in his hosts’ favour. What then?
Her eyes linger. Her forehead creases. Her mouth quirks, humorous and fond.
Zhang Shi wants to befriend her.
Zhao Xinci stiffens. No!