here's a post-series extra. I will not be adding it to the pdf because I don't feel like it.

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“In your books—“

“Stop, stop, stop,” Xiāo Jié interrupts, because Liú Yù—her wife, her hero, fellow traitor to the empire (technically speaking), the woman with the most peerless face in existence—happens to be many things, but a literary critic she is not. And thank goodness for that; Bǐngbing has enough passion and vitriol to wield the concentrated force of ten critics combined.

However.

Liú Yù is not exactly the epitome of a reader, not when it comes to novels—official documents were a significant part of her life as head of imperial deliveries, but beyond that? Apparently, it’s only after meeting Xiāo Jié that she’s made time to read novels. So what she brings up about Xiāo Jié’s extensive library (of a single genre) can be a bit… ah… unpredictable. Bǐngbing’s always on about plots and themes and narratives; Yuè Péng can’t shut up about characters and motivations and relationships; Liú Yù… brings up what an experienced reader or writer wouldn’t think twice about! So these conversations can go anywhere from an impromptu lecture on basic plot progression, to a crash-course on common tropes that normally need no explanation, to somewhere more. Personal. And while Xiāo Jié has most certainly gotten more and more shameless since marriage—indulging herself in attention from the woman of her dreams—there are certain topics that require more fortitude.

Xiāo Jié dumps her cup of tea out the window of their modest hut, tops the now-empty cup to the brim with the strongest wine they have, and downs it in one go.

“Alright, hit me.”

“In your books,” Liú Yù starts again, “there are many direct confessions of love. Yet I’ve never heard one from you.”

…

…

…

Xiāo Jié pours herself more wine.

“Ah, Yù-xiá, that can’t be right.” She smiles brightly. She downs the wine. “Haven’t I said I’d follow you for the rest of my life? Aren’t we married, for heaven’s sake? Haven’t we made it obvious that we love each other? And, I say that all the time, don’t I? I’ll say it again: we are absolutely nauseatingly in love, the most obnoxious couple there is. Of course what we say and do ends up being different from some ridiculous stories written purely for the sake of pandering to an audience—you see, no one with sense goes into a romantic fantasy expecting it to be in any way realistic, aside from fools with juvenile ideas of love. After all, we’re adults, not starry-eyed children, how embarrassing would it be to say something like—“

“I love you.”

Xiāo Jié does not drop her teacup. She flings it across the room with enough force it shatters against the wall.

“Uh,” she says. “Oops?”

Liú Yù doesn’t say anything, just stares at Xiāo Jié with a perfect eyebrow raised. Ah, how unlucky is for Xiāo Jié to have a wife that’s so striking and composed, so breathtaking even when Xiāo Jié is in the middle of enacting truly an intolerable degree of nonsense. But it’s fine! 

Xiāo Jié stands, only slightly unsteady on her feet. “I should clean that up!” she exclaims. Before she can take a single step, there’s a hand on her sleeve—one as light as a falling petal, but it’s more than enough to keep her in place. She turns, helpless against the whims of her wife. Shit. She could—she could still try loosening her robes, shrugging off a shoulder and batting her eyelashes, but that won’t be a distraction for someone whose heart isn’t moved by such temptations, and Xiāo Jié isn’t drunk or desperate enough to convince herself otherwise.

“I won’t ask you to say it. But, tell me…” Liú Yù leans just a bit closer, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of Xiāo Jié’s hair behind her pointed ear, letting the touch linger. “Is there anything I could do to make it easier?”

And, staring at that peerless face, those eyes as dark and vast as a moonless night, feeling that warm hand against her own burning cheek—only in part due to the wine—Xiāo Jié can’t help but say, “Absolutely not.” 

…

“Ah, wait, that came out wrong—it’s not as if I don’t love you. I do. I mean, obviously. You know that, right? I do, I—“

“Don’t only say it when you’re drunk.”

Caught! Fucking caught! With a groan, Xiāo Jié leans forward to rest her forehead against Liú Yù’s chest, thankfully having enough coordination to avoid whacking her face with an antler.

“Wife… you’re too strict…”

“I am,” Liú Yù agrees. She holds Xiāo Jié close, an easy gesture that still gets Xiāo Jié’s heart beating wildly out of her chest. 

“Ah… it’s hard to be direct,” Xiāo Jié says, mostly to herself. “Much easier to say things like: you’re the one I admire, the one I long for, by your side the world seems so much brighter, I want to spend the rest of my life with you—but to voice all that in such simple terms is…” 

It’s terrifying. Why is it terrifying? Maybe because the less words there are, the less there is to hide behind. Not that there’s any need to hide—not anymore—but old habits tend to linger for quite some time.

“I see,” Liú Yù says. It’s still difficult to get a read on her, especially when her (minute) expressions aren’t in sight. But she does stuff like—like pressing a kiss to the top of Xiāo Jié’s head, and there’s that saying about actions and words and all that. 

“Ok, alright, you see.” Xiāo Jié pulls away a little, nodding to herself, then glances at Liú Yù. “What exactly do you see?”

“You married a selfish woman,” Liú Yù says, in the same conversational tone she’d use to comment on the weather. “I want to be loved by you as much as I can. I’ll be direct with you as long as you promise to be indirect with me.”

Xiāo Jié blinks. “What?”

“I love you.”

“Wh—!?”

“Your response,” Liú Yù—well, demands might be too strong a word, but there is undeniable expectation in her gaze.

“W-well, uh, you’re… you’re the woman of my dreams, no one else could possibly compare.”

Liú Yù lets out a hum, something that sounds entirely too satisfied. “I love you,” she repeats.

“Um… it’s like, y’know, I’m devoted to following you for the rest of my life, only you, in all realms there’s nothing that could pull me from your side.”

“I love you,” she repeats, her lips curving up into the slightest hint of a smile and Xiāo Jié! Can’t! Take! This! Anymore!

“Unfair! Too unfair!” Xiāo Jié wails, overcome by the injustice of it all. “Where did my wife learn such underhanded tactics!”

“Your books.”

“I’m going to burn them all, I swear—“

“You won’t,” Liú Yù says, because she knows her wife too well. She presses another kiss to Xiāo Jié’s cheek, to her lips, and Xiāo Jié—

Ah, she’ll always be weak to this woman.