The day Xin Jing finally tamed his pony, he ended up covered in dust and grime from his falls on the grasslands. Jibai Yue and Meng Chen had watched with wincing eyes; seeing him tumble from the saddle made their own bones ache in sympathy. Only that little rascal Wu Yu had clung to the fence, laughing uproariously, wishing the entire camp could come and witness the young master’s embarrassment.
When Xin Jing finally began to ride in circles on the horse’s back, he couldn't help but straighten his spine. Even with a bruised, greenish lump on his forehead, and though his pressed lips looked calm, his heart was soaring. He desperately wanted his father to see.
Unfortunately, his father wasn't there that day, and his heroic posture atop the horse was no match for Wu Yu’s unrestrained mockery.
Xin Jing felt aggrieved, but he had to maintain his "grown-up" persona. He waited until no one was looking to beat Wu Yu until he was just as black and blue.
When he returned home, his mother’s personal attendant, Aunt Ying, was already waiting for him by the manor gates. Seeing him trudging back from a distance, she ran toward him with a smile. "Young Master is late today. Come quickly with me; the Prince and the Princess Consort have been waiting a long time."
Confused, Xin Jing followed her inside. A screen had been set up within the room. He could hear his father’s low, tender murmurs from behind it, though his mother didn't seem to respond much.
As he moved to go inside, Aunt Ying hurried to stop him, calling out, "The Young Master is back!"
It took a good while before the Prince of Yan emerged. Xin Jing was sitting on a chair outside, eating snacks to settle his stomach. Hearing his father approach, he immediately swallowed his food and blurted out, "Dad, today I—" The boy’s voice suddenly jumped an octave in surprise. "What is that?"
There was more than a hint of alarm in his voice.
This was because his father was cradling a wrinkled little "monkey" in the crook of his arm. It looked nothing like him; it didn't look like anyone in their family at all.
"Your younger brother." The Prince of Yan leaned down to show him. The man spoke with a mix of pride and boastfulness. "Good-looking, isn't he? Your brother!"
Despite him saying "your brother" twice, Xin Jing selectively failed to hear it. His shocked expression formed a sharp contrast with his father’s smug, arched brows.
"Is he handsome or not?" The Prince of Yan reached out to give the back of Xin Jing's head a light pat, then ruffled his hair. "He’s your brother, after all." He added to himself, "He looks just like you did when you were little."
*Like a monkey.*
*I looked like a monkey when I was little?*
Xin Jing refused to accept this reality. Perhaps because his emotions were so clearly written on his face, his father saw right through him. Xin Jing felt his scalp tingle under the scrutiny. He hesitantly reached out his hands and gave a few dry laughs. "Then I... this, alright. Can I... can I hold him?"
The little monkey felt light as a feather in his arms. Xin Jing’s arms were used to following his father in lifting sabers and spears; he had never held anything so light. It felt as though if he used even a bit of strength, the babe would crumble into a cloud. The little monkey hadn't opened his eyes yet, but the swaddling clothes carried the woody fragrance of his mother.
Xin Jing couldn't help but lean closer. He saw the tiny hands—they were truly tiny.
*Such a small brother.*
Xin Jing unconsciously lowered his voice, whispering to his father, "Can he grow up? Will he be as tall as me?"
"Of course." The Prince of Yan leaned in from the other side, father and son staring at the little monkey head-to-head. The Prince’s eyes were very gentle as he said, "But he might not grow taller than you." He squeezed his eldest son’s shoulder. "After all, you are the elder brother. You will be his pillar of support."
Xin Jing nodded with feigned composure, but a sense of joy blossomed in his heart. He was perhaps born to be an elder brother; the thought of being his brother’s pillar filled him with delight and a sudden surge of strength. It made him feel both capable of charging forward and filled with tenderness.
Their mother named the little monkey "Jing," meaning solemnity and reverence. She hoped the child would be cautious from beginning to end and conduct himself with upright dignity. Xin Jing’s name, also pronounced "Jing," had been chosen by both the Prince and Princess Consort. Its first meaning was to pacify—his father hoped he would settle unrest and serve the country with courage. Its second meaning was peace and remembrance—his mother hoped he would have a life of tranquility and be remembered even when he was far away.
The two children’s names shared the same pronunciation. It was the parents' prayer that in the future, when they themselves had passed on, the siblings would be of one heart and mind, supporting each other from start to finish.
From then on, the Prince of Yan’s manor had an "A-Jing" and a "Xiao Jing."
But before Xin Jing could hold the little monkey much more, the creature suddenly transformed into a soft, pink-and-white bundle. He learned to read and write, and grew to a point where he wouldn't let Xin Jing hold him anymore.
However, Xin Jing felt that the definition of "Jing as solemnity" wasn't quite right. By the time their Xiao Jing reached seven or eight, he had already begun to manifest "solemnity" in the form of being extremely serious; a smile was a rare sight. It wasn't that he was unhappy, but rather that he was consciously dignified, refusing to laugh boisterously like ordinary children, as it would contradict his scholarly refinement.
Indeed, at such a young age, Xin Jing already considered himself a man of letters. He had to maintain his poise and be stingy with his smiles. Consequently, every time he saw that little rascal Wu Yu, his brow would furrow so deeply it left a mark.
By this time, the third son, Xin Li, had reached the age where even dogs found him annoying. Before he was born, the Princess Consort had worried he might be another "stone-face" like his second brother. To her surprise, within a few years of his birth, he had become a troublemaker that everyone in the manor tried to avoid.
The Prince of Yan privately told Xin Jing, "Though your second brother’s name went a bit off-track in its manifestation, at least it has some effect. Look at your third brother—we even gave him the name 'Li,' hoping he would be restrained and use his cleverness for self-control, rather than making a hobby out of pranking people."
As his father spoke, the two of them watched Xin Li climb out of a window under the corridor. Seeing them, the boy turned and slipped back inside as if his feet were greased.
The Prince roared, "...I saw you! Come out through the front door!"
Xin Jing now had the build of a youth. He was growing at a frantic pace, unable to put on weight no matter how much he ate. Thus, when he stood there in his black martial robes, he carried a hint of the Prince of Yan’s imposing majesty.
He watched his father go to deal with Xin Li. Feeling that he shouldn't interfere with that brat, he turned to walk down the steps, only to see his second brother crouching motionless by the pond in the courtyard.
"What is Xiao Jing doing?" Xin Jing leaned over from behind him to look. He saw the boy holding a flower, dipping it into the pond to tease the fish. Noticing Xin Jing’s reflection, the second brother slowly fumbled in his robes for a moment before pulling out a crumpled flower and holding it up over his head.
"Mother gave it to me." Xiao Jing looked up at him, his face expressionless. "It’s fragrant."
Xin Jing smiled tenderly at his brother. Instead of taking the flower, he pinched the boy’s cheek. "You keep it. Big brother will give all of his to you."
Xiao Jing’s speech became muffled from the pinching. "Mine... also for A-Jing."
Following their parents' example, Xiao Jing only called him A-Jing, never "Big Brother" or "Gege."
Xin Jing looked down into his eyes, both pairs reflecting the other. Xin Jing laughed heartily, scooped the boy up, and swung him onto his back.
"Come on, Big Brother will take you riding."
"Not riding horses." Xiao Jing clung to his shoulders. He got nervous at the mention of horses and hurried to suggest, "Ride A-Jing."
Xin Jing bounced him a few times and carried him toward the gate. "Fine, then you’ll ride A-Jing. Shall we go catch rabbits while riding A-Jing? We’ll catch a little rabbit from the eastern grasslands for Xiao Jing to raise."
"Not raising." Fearing he wouldn't be heard, Xiao Jing leaned close to his ear. "Not raising."
The voice was soft and light, making Xin Jing’s heart melt. How could that little brat A-Li compare to this? Xiao Jing was as well-behaved as a rabbit he had raised himself—fragrant, soft, and adorable even when he was being dead serious.
However, within a few years, the adorable Xiao Jing began to reveal another side of his talent: a razor-sharp tongue. He usually didn't like to talk much, leaning against a wall in his handsome, refined shell—straight and upright like a true gentleman. But the moment he opened his mouth, three sentences were enough to send the little troublemaker Xin Li scurrying away, and a single glance could make his elder brother Xin Jing, who was usually so composed, stiffen his spine. His literary talent was also fully displayed; whether in philosophical debate or writing, he could sweep away an army of thousands. Xin Jing hadn't believed in the concept of "defeating a crowd of scholars in debate" before, but after Xiao Jing, he held the person who coined the phrase in absolute awe.
By this time, the Prince of Yan had begun delegating military affairs of all sizes to Xin Jing. He was often away from home for days, sometimes going to Rouhui for ten days or half a month. He followed the army, and at the very beginning, he couldn't even snatch a meal because he had no military merit to his name—he was just a green recruit. The Beiyang Army only recognized the Prince of Yan; since the Prince threw him in and didn't treat him like a son, no one else treated him like the Eldest Young Master. When he was starving, he would make himself face a wall and contemplate battles and generals throughout history, using the idea of "Heaven entrusting a great mission" to convince himself to endure.
As the year passed, he grew tall but also became quite thin. Having shed his youthful arrogance, he displayed a sharper, more piercing tranquility.
But no matter when he returned home, there was always someone waiting for him under the silk tree in front of the manor.
That person had grown to the height of his shoulder and then stopped. He liked to keep his hair tied loosely with a ribbon and wore robes of pale cyan or white. He would reveal his long, clean, white hands as he paced in circles under the tree, picking up a few fallen leaves or shattered blossoms. Circle after circle—perhaps in the early morning, perhaps in the dead of night—round and round he went.
Waiting for him.
The first few times, Xin Jing didn't pay it much mind. Later, as long as he was near Lijin, no matter how exhausted he was, he would crawl back home if he had to. Wu Yu hadn't known about this at first and had mocked him for being "unweaned" and loving to cling to his mother. It wasn't until one return trip at the third watch—when Xin Jing hadn't slept for a day and a night and was swaying in his saddle with exhaustion yet still insisted on rushing home—that Wu Yu finally shut his mouth and never joked about it again.
That silk tree grew tall and vast; when it bloomed, it was like a cloud of pink mist. He felt that when Xiao Jing stood beneath it, it was the most beautiful painting in the world. Once, he had fallen off his horse because he was staring at that "painting." He didn't get up for a long time, giving Jibai Yue and the others a fright, only for them to find he had fallen asleep the moment he hit the ground. They wanted to stop and set up a tent to carry him in, but he suddenly snapped awake, slumped over his horse, and continued the journey back.
That was just how he was. He felt for his brother waiting for him, yet he was unwilling to say "don't wait anymore."
Because he liked it.
As long as he remembered the sight of Xiao Jing waiting for him under the tree, he could drink muddy water and run thousands of miles with joy. But he never looked too deeply into it; he treated it as brotherly affection. He simply liked his Xiao Jing that much, ever since Xiao Jing was a little monkey.
He never considered that if the person waiting were Xin Li, he would probably have given him a thrashing and thrown him back inside.
Xin Jing was not yet twenty. He was young, and though he displayed a facade of steady restraint, he also possessed an unconscious arrogance and wildness. At this time, he began to distinguish himself within the Beiyang Army, rising with fierce momentum, leading his circle of confidants as they ambitiously began their own era on the battlefield.
Dayuan would occasionally clash with the Beiyang border. The cavalry of the Thirty-Two Tribes would triumphantly blow their whistles as they broke through the Rouhui checkpoints, arrogantly galloping in front of the lines despite the curses thrown at them. Xin Jing dealt with such bastards, training himself to look like a refined gentleman on the outside while becoming an even bigger bastard on the inside.
One winter, he returned home for the New Year.
After the feast, Xin Li clamored to take their youngest brother, Xin Yi—who still couldn't speak clearly—to stay up for the New Year vigil. The Princess Consort’s health was already failing, and since the Prince of Yan was rarely home, he naturally wanted to accompany his wife. He kicked the four brothers out of the room, telling them to go enjoy themselves.
Before the family feast, Xin Jing had attended the Beiyang Army’s New Year banquet. He was a bit tipsy, though he didn't feel drunk. In the world of ice and snow, beautiful lanterns hung from the eaves of their manor. He led his brothers to his own courtyard and brought out the fireworks he had prepared to let them play. Xin Li loved to play; he dragged the tiny bundle that was Xin Yi through the light to have a snow fight. Xin Jing stood with his hands tucked in his sleeves, leaning against a pillar on the veranda to watch.
As he watched, his gaze fell upon a patch of fair skin on a nape not far away.
Xin Jing didn't know why, but he watched with a fascination that even he recognized as obsessive. Leaning there, he called out, "Xiao Jing."
Xiao Jing turned at the sound. Amidst the explosions of light, his features flickered between shadow and brilliance, a sight Xin Jing couldn't get enough of, sparking a deep yearning.
Xin Jing raised a hand and beckoned.
Xiao Jing glanced back at the fireworks once more before tucking his sleeves and slowly walking over. Standing below the steps, he had to look up at Xin Jing; he only reached the level of his chest. He said, "Speak."
Xin Jing smiled slightly. "You haven't said any auspicious words to me yet this year."
Xiao Jing didn't even think. "Auspicious New Year."
Xin Jing swallowed. He reached out and haphazardly ruffled the boy’s hair. "Too perfunctory." The texture was wonderful—so good that his hand inadvertently slid to the back, his cold fingertips brushing against Xiao Jing’s nape.
Both of them shuddered.
Xiao Jing was startled by the cold, while Xin Jing felt a tremor in his chest that gave even himself a fright.
"Cold."
Xiao Jing tilted his head away, and Xin Jing’s hand was left empty. His lips twitched, but no words came out. However, in the next moment, Xiao Jing took his hand, tucked it into his own sleeve, and pressed it against the back of his own hand. He said, "Warm it up."
His elder brother, for some reason, stood there in a daze, staring at him as if he’d lost his soul. Xiao Jing didn't ask; he simply stared back even more blankly. The two of them looked at each other like a pair of fools.
A snowball flew over. Xin Jing used his other hand to block it for Xiao Jing, then finally looked away, glaring at the peeping Xin Li. "Watch A-Yi properly, don't let him get burned. If he gets burned, I’ll leave you soaking in the pond all night."
Xin Li stuck out his tongue. Though he was a youth now, his smile was still like that of a young boy—bright and innocent. He said, "Xin Yi is a little coward; he won't get burned. Brother, what are you two doing? Staring at each other like you’re in love, standing there like wooden stakes?"
"That’s right." The sharp-tongued Xiao Jing suddenly snapped out of it. He turned to look at his third brother. "We were staring at each other, just like how you look at Xiao Yan—you’re practically drooling."
Xin Li didn't even blush; his smile became even more adorable and sincere. "Well, we are friends with the Marquis of Huiyang, so naturally I have to look after his daughter. When seeing a beauty, one must not only praise her; showing a look of stunned admiration is the finishing touch."
"Then you’re quite impressive." Xiao Jing remained expressionless. "Your 'finishing touch' makes you look like a pug."
Xin Li the Pug: "...Woof woof!" He turned around in shame and indignation to vent his tragic frustration on his youngest brother. However, even Xin Yi, who couldn't speak clearly, learned quickly this time. Seeing Xin Li walk toward him, he immediately and obediently shouted at the top of his lungs, "Woof woof!"
Xin Li: "..." *What are brothers for? I’m going to find Mother.*
"Like a pug," Xin Jing laughed softly to Xiao Jing. The hand tucked inside the sleeve suddenly closed, enveloping Xiao Jing’s hand completely. "Peace in the coming year, Xiao Jing."
Xiao Jing only needed to nod, but this time, after he nodded, his earlobes began to burn. He looked down at the snow beneath his feet, feeling the hand holding his was scalding hot—so hot that he knew something was improper, yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
After this year, Xiao Jing’s writings became increasingly famous. In Shanyin, there was a Mount Nansui, and on that mountain lived a great master known as the Old Man of Nansui. The Old Man of Nansui came to Beiyang three times, all to seek Xiao Jing as his disciple. But that year, the Princess Consort’s health was poor, the Prince of Yan and Xin Jing were busy with the tense situation outside, and there were two younger brothers below him, so Xiao Jing refused.
Xin Jing didn't know about this until he returned from an "outer hunt" in Rouhui. A so-called "outer hunt" meant hunting outside the borders, where the prey was the scout cavalry of Dayuan. He was brushing the dirt off himself when he heard Jibai Yue, who was practicing with his bow, say, "The Second Young Master is truly impressive."
"Hmm?" Xin Jing wiped his neck. Remembering the slide of his fingers against that other neck that night, he couldn't help but smile first. "Isn't that a given? When the Marquis of Huiyang came to the manor earlier, he said he’d taken the young master of the He family as a student in the capital, saying he was handsome and learned well." He tossed the cloth into the basin and put on his outer robe. "Who can beat my Xin Jing in those two categories?"
Jibai Yue’s finger slipped on the bowstring. He endured it for a moment but still looked like he couldn't bear to hear it. Helplessly, he said, "Young Master, can we be a bit humble? My goodness, the Second Young Master is number one under heaven."
Xin Jing reached out to take his bow, weighed it in his hand, plucked an arrow from the side, and drew the bow toward a distant target. "The weight of this one is appropriate. You have extraordinary arm strength; this one won't break." As he spoke, he released his fingers. The arrow hissed through the air and thudded straight into the bullseye, making the target rock back and forth. "That’s exactly what I mean. In my heart, your Second Young Master really is number one under heaven." Xin Jing smiled as he returned the bow to Jibai Yue. "I’ll give this bow a name, otherwise it’ll be beneath General Jibai’s status. 'Man seeks to climb to the bright moon but cannot reach it'—let’s call it the 'Moon-Climbing Bow' and the 'Wind-Breaking Arrow'."
"Good." Jibai Yue stroked the bow lovingly. "I heard people out front saying that the Old Man of Nansui went to the manor to invite the Second Young Master, and even after being refused, he went again." He held up his fingers. "Three whole times. The Second Young Master’s fame is growing even more."
"Nansui?" Xin Jing paused. "From Shanyin?"
"Mount Nansui in Shanyin," Jibai Yue said. "A great sage that even the Emperor couldn't invite."
Xin Jing smiled and went back to his business. He organized the military documents on his desk, but his mood wasn't as good as before. Xin Jing couldn't describe the feeling. He leaned back in his chair, realizing he had never considered that Xiao Jing might leave him to go somewhere else.
Even if it was for his studies, he had never thought of it.
...Or perhaps, he didn't dare to think of it.
***
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