These words haunt Shen Haiyuan every second of every day. He wakes, and they come to mind; he blinks, yet can never escape them. They echo every time he stares at his lover’s eye.

 Every breath shakes as he cries, his body aching in the morning light. Each night, he dreams of his lover’s beautiful skin, his face. He still paints him, though he can no longer tell mistakes from truth. Even his name becomes less and less memorable, so he writes it thirty times every day.

 Zhāoyáng. Zhāoyáng. Zhāoyáng.

 Shen Haiyuan carves his name into his chest, never allowing the scar to heal—and when it does, he reopens the wound.

 The pain is unimaginable, but he knows Zhāoyáng went through worse. A sword was twisted in his heart, then driven up through his throat. His limbs were torn from him. His eyes were ripped out… and that was when Shen Haiyuan ran in, snatched one, and fled.

 Shen Haiyuan grabs the eye from its case, holding it close as he pushes away the thoughts.

 “Xin Gan, I miss you. All these rebirths… they are never you.”

 Shen Haiyuan always whispered these words to the eye, imagining that Zhāoyáng could hear his desperate plea.

 Shen Haiyuan rose from his dreadful position and put on his hanfu—the one Zhāoyáng had designed especially for him. It was a soft blue with tan accents, and golden bells hung at his hips. It fit him more tightly now than before, but he always managed to squeeze into it.

 He put on his black hanfu boots, making sure to clip on the handmade jewelry Zhāoyáng had spent all his precious time on. He smiled.

 And finally… a ring. Their marriage was never official, but it had always been their dream. So Shen Haiyuan paid the best blacksmith to make them beautiful rings. He was left a little poor after, but it was all worth it when Zhāoyáng’s face lit up brighter than the stars he adored. The ring was made of pure gold and silver, each half a different metal.

 Shen Haiyuan walked out of his siheyuan. The sunrise was a bold pink blending into a soft orange, clouds surrounding the dominant sun. He remembered the nights he and Zhāoyáng lingered too long in their secret place, looking up at the sunrise together. He always compared Zhāoyáng to the sun—he would shine brighter, always.

 Ginkgo trees surrounded his quiet mountain peak. He knew that soon his students would come, but he didn’t care. He took in a breath of fresh air and sighed. Quiet days like these were his favorite; he could think without voices drowning out his memories.

 He remembers the day he first met the first rebirth—he almost died from shock as he ran toward him. His heart was on his sleeve… only for Zhāoyáng to pull away, with no sign of recognition in his features. Shen Haiyuan then spent all the time they had together trying to make him remember.

 The rebirth ended up falling in love with Shen Haiyuan, but on December 18th, Shen Haiyuan rushed to their meeting spot… only to find Zhāoyáng beneath their favorite ginkgo tree, a poisoned sword lodged in his chest.

 Shen Haiyuan felt his chest go hollow… he wept. Eventually, he collected Zhāoyáng’s left eye. By now, he must have over ten fakes. The original is the only one he tends to daily, making sure it is safe and kept far from any harm.

 “The latest rebirth must be around twenty-one now,” Shen Haiyuan muttered to himself. “Maybe I should head to the cūn and see if he’s there.”

 Shen Haiyuan grumbles as he hears his students coming to learn. They aren’t the brightest of children, but Zhāoyáng had loved when he taught—that’s the only reason Shen Haiyuan still teaches to this day.

 He hears the children’s footsteps climbing the mountain path, each accompanied by an older sibling. He knows he has a new student today, so he watches for an unfamiliar face. Finally, the last student reaches the peak. Shen Haiyuan freezes, his body going stiff. A little boy… and his older brother. It isn’t the sight itself that makes him freeze. The brother is his precious Zhāoyáng.

 Shen Haiyuan quickly composes himself and looks at the new student. “Come here, little one,” he says calmly. The new student comes over, looking a little shy. Zhāoyáng follows and stands next to him. Shen Haiyuan tries to steady his heartbeat and keep the heat from rising to his face. The little boy bows.

 “You don’t have to bow to me—I’m just mortal, same as you,” Shen Haiyuan says, using the words Zhāoyáng once said to him when they first met. The little boy quickly stiffens and nods. Zhāoyáng ruffles his hair. “Tell him your name, Xiǎo xiōngdì,” Zhāoyáng whispers to the boy.

 The boy nods again and begins to speak. “Mùyáng… my name is Mùyáng.”

 “That’s a nice name, Mùyáng. Now… who is your guardian?” Shen Haiyuan asks, though he already knows his name very well.

 “I am Zhāoyáng. Nice to meet you, Shen Haiyuan,” Zhāoyáng whispers.

 Shen Haiyuan nearly falls to his knees as his nose starts to bleed; he quickly covers his mouth. “Nice to make your acquaintance,” Shen Haiyuan manages to choke out.

 One of the older students rushes over, but Shen Haiyuan waves them off. “I am okay, it’s just a little warm out,” he whispers.

 Zhāoyáng leaves for a moment and returns with a wet cloth. “Are you sure you are okay? You are still pale. Let us get you inside,” Zhāoyáng says, carefully helping Shen Haiyuan stand straight and supporting him until he reaches his doorway. 

Shen Haiyuan looks at one of the older students and mouths for them to end class early.

 “Okay, everyone, Shizun is not feeling too well, so classes will end here today. The new student and his brother may stay so Shizun can at least brief them on how classes will work in the future. Have a nice spring day.”

 Everyone slowly disperses. Zhāoyáng and Mùyáng stay and enter Shen Haiyuan’s siheyuan.

 “I am sorry about the disturbance. I am not usually like this—I can assure you of that. I am always a little tired in the spring and winter. Spring was my lover’s favorite season, and he died in the winter, so I am more tired from the nightmares and stress,” Shen Haiyuan tells the pair, mainly speaking to Zhāoyáng.

“It is all okay. At least you’re kind enough to teach even when you do not feel your best. Do you want to relax? I can quickly cook up some food—you look like you have not eaten in a while,” Zhāoyáng says, his soft voice making Shen Haiyuan’s face flush, though luckily this time he can blame it on the illness.

 “T-That would be nice,” Shen Haiyuan stammers, trying to keep his heart from exploding. 

 “Then stay here, I will take care of everything. You need rest,” Zhāoyáng says, his voice a little stern but still soft.

Shen Haiyuan watches as Zhāoyáng walks to the small kitchen setup that he has. Shen Haiyuan’s face gets even more red as he watches all the curves that Zhāoyáng has in all the right places. His hips sway with each step.

Shen Haiyuan buries his face into his pillow as another nose bleed starts. Mùyáng stares, curious about what is happening to his shizun.

Shen Haiyuan eventually calms his racing heart and sits up, he starts to set the table, even though Zhāoyáng told him to sit still. He begins to set the plates, only to drop one. Shen Haiyuan flinches at the noise and looks over to see Zhāoyáng rushing over. Shen Haiyuan quickly moves to hide the shattered pieces, only to cut himself.

“I told you to stay still!” Zhāoyáng exclaims, worry evident in his expression and tone. He immediately grabs Shen Haiyuan’s hands and puts the cut finger in his mouth to try and help it heal with his saliva. Shen Haiyuan’s ears turned bright red, and he pulled away gently.

“Sorry,” Shen Haiyuan murmurs. “It’s just that you are a guest in my home. I should be making a meal and setting the table while you guys relax. It doesn’t feel right to me,” Shen Haiyuan admits quietly. Shen Haiyuan walks to the kitchen and gets a piece of cloth and puts it on the wound.

 “I honestly don’t mind cooking for you, after all you are teaching my little brother cultivation for free,” Zhāoyáng smiles softly, and Shen Haiyuan immediately wishes he hadn’t. His smile brought back too many memories, his eyes started to glisten with unshed tears, but he willed himself to not let them fall. He didn’t want a river of tears to show in front of his love, even if they aren’t the real Zhāoyáng.