Fic: Jade [Zhou Yu & Zhuge Liang]
Title: Jade
Summary: Zhou Yu presents Zhuge Liang with a gift from Sun Quan.
Pairing: References to Zhou Yu/Sun Ce; Sun Quan/Zhuge Liang
Rating: PG
Word count: 2573
Notes: Confucius compared jade with the best of men. Sun Quan shares his sentiments. Continues from Decision.
Jade
The borderlands have a savage, unmade beauty. As they leave Wu behind them, fading into memory in the dust raised by their horses’ hooves, Zhou Yu looks forward. There’s nothing to fear in either direction, and it’s been many years since he last had the chance to gallop freely, to ride without thought.
The men of Wu go into an unknown, an alliance with Lord Mayor Liu Bei. Cheng Pu is dismissive of what Shu can offer them; Lu Su is enthusiastic. It falls to Zhou Yu to mediate and draw the best from their opinions, as he always does. He balances them, listens to their opinions, and spends most of his time in watchful silence.
If he’d brought his qin with him, perhaps he’d play it in the evenings, assembling his thoughts with each plucked string, modulating them into a harmony that made sense. Instead he keeps to himself, and remembers the additional, delicate task with which Sun Quan charged him.
Lu Su’s optimistic character enables him to make friends easily. While Cheng Pu holds back, content to ride amongst their escort, Lu Su slips into an easy friendship with Zhuge Liang. The two men ride beside one another, passing the miles in agreeable discourse on the nature of things.
Zhou Yu listens occasionally, never certain whether to be amused or impressed by Zhuge Liang’s quiet, fierce rhetoric. His belief, both in himself and in his master, is almost tangible. Lu Su is swayed by it, dazzled by the possibilities Zhuge Liang holds out. Zhou Yu finds himself smiling, part amusement, part cynicism: a strategist is a deadly weapon; rhetoric is a dangerous ally.
A hawk follows them. Black against the sky, its wings curved, it stalks their movements for miles. Zhou Yu is not superstitious but his soldiers are, and the presence of the bird, a quiet shadow, unnerves them.
“Is it a spy?” One of the men rides close to Zhou Yu to ask, his eyes betraying his nervousness. “Some say Cao Cao has magicians in his retinue, Taoist masters who can talk to animals and birds and makes spies of them. See how it follows us! Viceroy, can we shoot at it to scare it off?””
Zhou Yu tips back his head to scan the heavens. The hawk hangs high above him, as distant as a star. “It’s not a spy. Cao Cao doesn’t have that kind of magic.”
Another horseman joins them and glances up, his hand shading his eyes. “Then why does it follow us?”
“It’s looking for something,” Zhou Yu says.
“What?” Both men stare at him, awaiting an explanation.
Zhou Yu smiles and shakes his head. He doesn’t have all the answers, and has no wish to seek for them. He’s certain all will be revealed in time.
He nudges his horse enough to push the stallion forward. The men drop back, allowing him some space. Zhou Yu hears their muted conversation behind him. They’re still fearful, still talking of sorcerers and spells.
There’s nothing he can do to put their worries to rest. He rides ahead, casting a sidelong glance towards Zhuge Liang. Lu Su is beside him, chattering away like a sparrow, while the strategist is twisted about in the saddle, one hand on his horse’s back to steady himself as he peers up at the sky.
He’s spotted the hawk. A smile of delight creases Zhuge Liang’s face and he whistles to the bird, a strange, fluting sound; a calling-on song.
The hawk drops lower as if in response.
Intrigued, Zhou Yu watches as Zhuge Liang feels through his saddle-bags and brings out a piece of dried meat. He lifts it, a lure for the bird, and whistles again. This time the note changes. Zhou Yu recognises it as a command.
The hawk comes to him, swooping down with its talons outstretched. Lu Su yelps and ducks, covering his face, afraid of the sharp slash of claws. Zhuge Liang is unafraid, sitting rigid-backed astride his horse, his hand held aloft with the offering clasped lightly between thumb and forefinger.
The hawk strikes. It’s a blur of buff and black, a flash of gold and white. In a moment, a heartbeat, it’s gone.
Zhuge Liang’s sleeve is torn, the silk raked through. A long, thin scratch slices across his knuckles, the skin pink and raised. When Zhou Yu urges his horse closer, Zhuge Liang meets his gaze and smiles. “Magnificent,” he says, and laughs. “What a magnificent bird.”
Zhou Yu reaches out and clasps Zhuge Liang’s wrist. Without comment, he holds it a fraction too long as he inspects the scratch and the ripped sleeve. The hawk was greedy, seizing the meat with one talon, clamping down on it with its beak. The other talon scrabbled for purchase, tearing at cloth and skin, its tail and wings spreading wide in the shape of a fan as it fought for balance.
He lets go of Zhuge Liang’s wrist. “Magnificent,” he agrees, his tone mild. He does not refer to the hawk.
It takes Zhuge Liang a moment to catch his meaning. Realisation makes him blush. Zhou Yu is amused that the strategist can be so easily flustered by such elliptic compliments.
Lu Su utters a cry, pointing at the hawk. It’s landed a short distance away on the branch of a leafless tree, and it rips at the dried meat with shakes of its head. As they approach, it hunches its wings and creels.
Zhuge Liang inclines his head towards the bird and touches his hand to his heart before he rides away.
The men draw together and whisper, eyeing Zhuge Liang with caution mixed with wonder and respect. Zhou Yu imagines there’ll no more talk of Cao Cao’s magicians. Not now they have one of their own.
* * * *
Dusk wraps them in shadow, and the men make camp. The horses stand together and crop at the grass. The soldiers light a fire and cook a potage flavoured with dried meat. It’s simple food, campaign food. Zhuge Liang eats his fill and passes the remainder to Cheng Pu, who accepts the offering with a grunt of thanks.
Conversation waxes and wanes. Zhou Yu waits until the meal is finished and the mood relaxed before he stands and stretches. A few of the men glance at him, but settle again when he smiles. Zhuge Liang looks up, the angles of his face burnished by the firelight. He nods slightly at the signal Zhou Yu gives him, excuses himself, and leaves the hearth.
They walk a short distance past the horses. Zhou Yu can feel Zhuge Liang’s unspoken curiosity. They stop beneath a parasol tree, waiting, listening to the rustle of the leaves in the night breeze. There’s a half moon, but the sky is clear.
Zhuge Liang crosses his arms in a defensive gesture. His fingers worry at the torn silk of his sleeve. He left his hawk’s wing fan by the fire and seems vulnerable without it. “What is it you cannot say in front of the others?”
Zhou Yu unties the small cloth bag from his waist-sash. He’s carried it out of Wu, awaiting the most opportune moment to discharge his duty to his lord. Now he holds it out, a lure, a gift, and says, “He wanted you to have this.”
He receives a sharp glance in response. “He?” It’s not really a question. It’s more of a sigh. Zhuge Liang takes the bag and weighs it in his hand. A paltry weight; a solid shape inside it. Sudden fear blossoms in his expression; his body tenses and he looks away, closing his fingers around the bag and its contents.
Zhou Yu affects not to notice, but he watches, surreptitious and patient as a hawk, as Zhuge Liang slips the bag inside his sleeve.
“Thank you, Viceroy.” He can’t meet Zhou Yu’s gaze.
They stand in a silence that grows heavier by the moment. Finally Zhuge Liang looks at him with slow comprehension. “You need an answer.”
“Not so much an answer as a reaction.”
Zhuge Liang almost smiles. “I would hate to disappoint you.” He steps back, swinging away to conceal his expression as he draws the bag from the deep width of his sleeve. For all his calm patience in front of the soldiers and the courtiers, he betrays himself now: his fingers tremble as he unfastens the cord holding the bag shut.
He tilts the bag and the object inside slides out into his outstretched palm. There’s a moment of stillness and silence, as if Zhuge Liang is holding his breath. Then it leaves him; his shoulders slump and his body seems to bow inwards. He stays like this, head bent over the object, until Zhou Yu makes a soft noise, clears his throat to remind Zhuge Liang of his presence.
Zhuge Liang turns. In his hand is a jade pendant, a hole pierced at the top and a knotted silken cord running through it. Zhou Yu only glances at it. His attention is on Zhuge Liang’s face, on the look of torn bewilderment. It seems that for once in his life, he’s lost for words, adrift.
He hesitates, then opens his palm. The jade lies flat upon it. Zhou Yu moves closer, tilting Zhuge Liang’s hand so he can admire the workmanship in the carving and the translucency of the stone.
It’s beautiful. In the moonlight it looks grey, but Zhou Yu is certain it’s the palest, most perfect green, a green almost white. The moon shines into the stone, making visible the few flaws at its heart. When he taps a fingernail against its smooth surface, he’s pleased with the sound: it rings true.
In shape, it has the form of a dragon. The beast doesn’t fly or snarl; instead it curls upon itself. Almost it could be sleeping, but its eyes gaze outward and hold the attention of the viewer. At first glance dangerous, a second look shows that the dragon is calm, patient, enduring.
“Heaven and earth combined,” Zhou Yu says. “He chose well.”
Zhuge Liang studies him as if hoping he has the answers to questions he cannot ask. When silence spins a close web around them, he whispers, “Did you know?”
“I suspected.” Zhou Yu straightens and glances at the skies. He looks back at Zhuge Liang and smiles to soften his next words. “His Highness is young and much given to grand gestures.”
“Empty gestures?” Zhuge Liang’s tone is sharp, bitter.
“No.” This time, Zhou Yu feels his smile turn sad. “He means it.”
Zhuge Liang stares at the jade. “You are sure this is for me. Not for Liu Bei. Not a gesture of friendship and regard.”
None of those were questions, but Zhou Yu replies anyway. “He told me to give it to you.”
“And then?”
“To tell him how you responded to his gift.”
A half laugh, half sigh escapes Zhuge Liang. “What will you tell him, Viceroy?”
Zhou Yu lifts a shoulder. “That you displayed an odd uncertainty for a man so sure of himself.”
“With him, I am not sure of anything.”
It’s an honest answer, refreshing in its candour. Zhou Yu gives a short laugh. “That’s as it should be. A duke cannot be taken for granted.”
Zhuge Liang flashes him a challenging look. “And the affections of a strategist?”
“They must be won over time.” Zhou Yu folds Zhuge Liang’s hand around the jade and feels the resistance in his fingers. “Accept his gift.”
“I cannot.” Zhuge Liang still holds his hand outstretched. “I’m not worthy of his regard.” His expression flickers; there’s distress in his eyes, a touch of anguish, before he pulls on a resolute face. “I don’t deserve it.”
“It’s just a token.” Zhou Yu tastes the lie on his tongue, vinegar and gall. The men of the Sun family set no store in tokens. Their actions are everything. While others shower frippery gifts upon their followers and intimates that only mean something when given in quantity, the Sun family give jades only to those who occupy a place closest to their hearts and minds. It’s more than a mere token. It means more than he can ever explain to Zhuge Liang. In its shape, in its weight, the jade is more than a carved stone; it’s the soul of a Duke, a spell made real to ensnare the heart of his beloved.
Sun Ce gave him a jade, once. It had the shape of a qilin, the stone a shade of pale orange with darker striations running through it. Zhou Yu remembered how he’d turned it in his hands, confusion bringing a smile from him while Sun Ce sat naked and cross-legged on the spread of their clothes over the grass.
“A qilin?” He’d held the jade in his palm the way Zhuge Liang does now, uncertain of how to react.
“A peaceful creature that can be roused to ferocity.” Sun Ce stroked his shoulder, combing his fingers through Zhou Yu’s unbound and sweat-dampened hair. The gleam in his eyes told Zhou Yu that his lord and lover intended his gift to have more than one meaning.
“The qilin is only at peace when a wise and benevolent king rules the land.”
Sun Ce smiled. “Then may you always be at peace.”
The memory still has the power to hurt him. Their peace did not last, and Sun Ce is dead. Long after the funeral, when he could bear to touch it again, Zhou Yu gave the jade to Xiao Qiao. It’s easier to ignore the past when his wife wears it as part of the present.
Zhou Yu shakes off the thoughts and returns his attention to the man standing so uncertain in front of him. “Take it,” he says, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Is that what you think?” Zhuge Liang lifts his head and meets Zhou Yu’s gaze. “Viceroy, this means everything. And I don’t know if...” He breaks off, his confusion evident. The strategist who plays on the emotions of others to impose his will seems unable to cope with his own feelings.
“You will. You can.” Zhou Yu goes close to him again and grips Zhuge Liang’s shoulders, trying to make him understand. “Kong Ming, you must.”
Zhuge Liang shrugs free. The moonlight splits his face; his eyes glitter. He holds the jade dragon to his heart. “Yes,” he whispers. “I must.”
Still cradling the jade, he turns and walks into the darkness.
Zhou Yu watches him go. He sighs and leans against the trunk of the parasol tree, and hopes he was right to give such advice. To be the beloved of the Duke of Wu brings with it certain responsibilities. He wonders if Zhuge Liang is aware yet of how much he has taken upon himself.
Then he remembers Sun Quan has chosen a dragon. Mightier than the qilin, it too is a peaceful creature capable of great ferocity. Zhou Yu snorts. Perhaps, for all Sun Quan’s fears to the contrary, he is much more like his elder brother than he thinks.
Zhou Yu pushes himself from the tree. He casts a final glance into the night after Zhuge Liang then returns to the campfire. He has no worries, no concerns. If the dragon accepts Sun Quan’s gift, all will be well. He knows it.
end
Summary: Zhou Yu presents Zhuge Liang with a gift from Sun Quan.
Pairing: References to Zhou Yu/Sun Ce; Sun Quan/Zhuge Liang
Rating: PG
Word count: 2573
Notes: Confucius compared jade with the best of men. Sun Quan shares his sentiments. Continues from Decision.
Jade
The borderlands have a savage, unmade beauty. As they leave Wu behind them, fading into memory in the dust raised by their horses’ hooves, Zhou Yu looks forward. There’s nothing to fear in either direction, and it’s been many years since he last had the chance to gallop freely, to ride without thought.
The men of Wu go into an unknown, an alliance with Lord Mayor Liu Bei. Cheng Pu is dismissive of what Shu can offer them; Lu Su is enthusiastic. It falls to Zhou Yu to mediate and draw the best from their opinions, as he always does. He balances them, listens to their opinions, and spends most of his time in watchful silence.
If he’d brought his qin with him, perhaps he’d play it in the evenings, assembling his thoughts with each plucked string, modulating them into a harmony that made sense. Instead he keeps to himself, and remembers the additional, delicate task with which Sun Quan charged him.
Lu Su’s optimistic character enables him to make friends easily. While Cheng Pu holds back, content to ride amongst their escort, Lu Su slips into an easy friendship with Zhuge Liang. The two men ride beside one another, passing the miles in agreeable discourse on the nature of things.
Zhou Yu listens occasionally, never certain whether to be amused or impressed by Zhuge Liang’s quiet, fierce rhetoric. His belief, both in himself and in his master, is almost tangible. Lu Su is swayed by it, dazzled by the possibilities Zhuge Liang holds out. Zhou Yu finds himself smiling, part amusement, part cynicism: a strategist is a deadly weapon; rhetoric is a dangerous ally.
A hawk follows them. Black against the sky, its wings curved, it stalks their movements for miles. Zhou Yu is not superstitious but his soldiers are, and the presence of the bird, a quiet shadow, unnerves them.
“Is it a spy?” One of the men rides close to Zhou Yu to ask, his eyes betraying his nervousness. “Some say Cao Cao has magicians in his retinue, Taoist masters who can talk to animals and birds and makes spies of them. See how it follows us! Viceroy, can we shoot at it to scare it off?””
Zhou Yu tips back his head to scan the heavens. The hawk hangs high above him, as distant as a star. “It’s not a spy. Cao Cao doesn’t have that kind of magic.”
Another horseman joins them and glances up, his hand shading his eyes. “Then why does it follow us?”
“It’s looking for something,” Zhou Yu says.
“What?” Both men stare at him, awaiting an explanation.
Zhou Yu smiles and shakes his head. He doesn’t have all the answers, and has no wish to seek for them. He’s certain all will be revealed in time.
He nudges his horse enough to push the stallion forward. The men drop back, allowing him some space. Zhou Yu hears their muted conversation behind him. They’re still fearful, still talking of sorcerers and spells.
There’s nothing he can do to put their worries to rest. He rides ahead, casting a sidelong glance towards Zhuge Liang. Lu Su is beside him, chattering away like a sparrow, while the strategist is twisted about in the saddle, one hand on his horse’s back to steady himself as he peers up at the sky.
He’s spotted the hawk. A smile of delight creases Zhuge Liang’s face and he whistles to the bird, a strange, fluting sound; a calling-on song.
The hawk drops lower as if in response.
Intrigued, Zhou Yu watches as Zhuge Liang feels through his saddle-bags and brings out a piece of dried meat. He lifts it, a lure for the bird, and whistles again. This time the note changes. Zhou Yu recognises it as a command.
The hawk comes to him, swooping down with its talons outstretched. Lu Su yelps and ducks, covering his face, afraid of the sharp slash of claws. Zhuge Liang is unafraid, sitting rigid-backed astride his horse, his hand held aloft with the offering clasped lightly between thumb and forefinger.
The hawk strikes. It’s a blur of buff and black, a flash of gold and white. In a moment, a heartbeat, it’s gone.
Zhuge Liang’s sleeve is torn, the silk raked through. A long, thin scratch slices across his knuckles, the skin pink and raised. When Zhou Yu urges his horse closer, Zhuge Liang meets his gaze and smiles. “Magnificent,” he says, and laughs. “What a magnificent bird.”
Zhou Yu reaches out and clasps Zhuge Liang’s wrist. Without comment, he holds it a fraction too long as he inspects the scratch and the ripped sleeve. The hawk was greedy, seizing the meat with one talon, clamping down on it with its beak. The other talon scrabbled for purchase, tearing at cloth and skin, its tail and wings spreading wide in the shape of a fan as it fought for balance.
He lets go of Zhuge Liang’s wrist. “Magnificent,” he agrees, his tone mild. He does not refer to the hawk.
It takes Zhuge Liang a moment to catch his meaning. Realisation makes him blush. Zhou Yu is amused that the strategist can be so easily flustered by such elliptic compliments.
Lu Su utters a cry, pointing at the hawk. It’s landed a short distance away on the branch of a leafless tree, and it rips at the dried meat with shakes of its head. As they approach, it hunches its wings and creels.
Zhuge Liang inclines his head towards the bird and touches his hand to his heart before he rides away.
The men draw together and whisper, eyeing Zhuge Liang with caution mixed with wonder and respect. Zhou Yu imagines there’ll no more talk of Cao Cao’s magicians. Not now they have one of their own.
* * * *
Dusk wraps them in shadow, and the men make camp. The horses stand together and crop at the grass. The soldiers light a fire and cook a potage flavoured with dried meat. It’s simple food, campaign food. Zhuge Liang eats his fill and passes the remainder to Cheng Pu, who accepts the offering with a grunt of thanks.
Conversation waxes and wanes. Zhou Yu waits until the meal is finished and the mood relaxed before he stands and stretches. A few of the men glance at him, but settle again when he smiles. Zhuge Liang looks up, the angles of his face burnished by the firelight. He nods slightly at the signal Zhou Yu gives him, excuses himself, and leaves the hearth.
They walk a short distance past the horses. Zhou Yu can feel Zhuge Liang’s unspoken curiosity. They stop beneath a parasol tree, waiting, listening to the rustle of the leaves in the night breeze. There’s a half moon, but the sky is clear.
Zhuge Liang crosses his arms in a defensive gesture. His fingers worry at the torn silk of his sleeve. He left his hawk’s wing fan by the fire and seems vulnerable without it. “What is it you cannot say in front of the others?”
Zhou Yu unties the small cloth bag from his waist-sash. He’s carried it out of Wu, awaiting the most opportune moment to discharge his duty to his lord. Now he holds it out, a lure, a gift, and says, “He wanted you to have this.”
He receives a sharp glance in response. “He?” It’s not really a question. It’s more of a sigh. Zhuge Liang takes the bag and weighs it in his hand. A paltry weight; a solid shape inside it. Sudden fear blossoms in his expression; his body tenses and he looks away, closing his fingers around the bag and its contents.
Zhou Yu affects not to notice, but he watches, surreptitious and patient as a hawk, as Zhuge Liang slips the bag inside his sleeve.
“Thank you, Viceroy.” He can’t meet Zhou Yu’s gaze.
They stand in a silence that grows heavier by the moment. Finally Zhuge Liang looks at him with slow comprehension. “You need an answer.”
“Not so much an answer as a reaction.”
Zhuge Liang almost smiles. “I would hate to disappoint you.” He steps back, swinging away to conceal his expression as he draws the bag from the deep width of his sleeve. For all his calm patience in front of the soldiers and the courtiers, he betrays himself now: his fingers tremble as he unfastens the cord holding the bag shut.
He tilts the bag and the object inside slides out into his outstretched palm. There’s a moment of stillness and silence, as if Zhuge Liang is holding his breath. Then it leaves him; his shoulders slump and his body seems to bow inwards. He stays like this, head bent over the object, until Zhou Yu makes a soft noise, clears his throat to remind Zhuge Liang of his presence.
Zhuge Liang turns. In his hand is a jade pendant, a hole pierced at the top and a knotted silken cord running through it. Zhou Yu only glances at it. His attention is on Zhuge Liang’s face, on the look of torn bewilderment. It seems that for once in his life, he’s lost for words, adrift.
He hesitates, then opens his palm. The jade lies flat upon it. Zhou Yu moves closer, tilting Zhuge Liang’s hand so he can admire the workmanship in the carving and the translucency of the stone.
It’s beautiful. In the moonlight it looks grey, but Zhou Yu is certain it’s the palest, most perfect green, a green almost white. The moon shines into the stone, making visible the few flaws at its heart. When he taps a fingernail against its smooth surface, he’s pleased with the sound: it rings true.
In shape, it has the form of a dragon. The beast doesn’t fly or snarl; instead it curls upon itself. Almost it could be sleeping, but its eyes gaze outward and hold the attention of the viewer. At first glance dangerous, a second look shows that the dragon is calm, patient, enduring.
“Heaven and earth combined,” Zhou Yu says. “He chose well.”
Zhuge Liang studies him as if hoping he has the answers to questions he cannot ask. When silence spins a close web around them, he whispers, “Did you know?”
“I suspected.” Zhou Yu straightens and glances at the skies. He looks back at Zhuge Liang and smiles to soften his next words. “His Highness is young and much given to grand gestures.”
“Empty gestures?” Zhuge Liang’s tone is sharp, bitter.
“No.” This time, Zhou Yu feels his smile turn sad. “He means it.”
Zhuge Liang stares at the jade. “You are sure this is for me. Not for Liu Bei. Not a gesture of friendship and regard.”
None of those were questions, but Zhou Yu replies anyway. “He told me to give it to you.”
“And then?”
“To tell him how you responded to his gift.”
A half laugh, half sigh escapes Zhuge Liang. “What will you tell him, Viceroy?”
Zhou Yu lifts a shoulder. “That you displayed an odd uncertainty for a man so sure of himself.”
“With him, I am not sure of anything.”
It’s an honest answer, refreshing in its candour. Zhou Yu gives a short laugh. “That’s as it should be. A duke cannot be taken for granted.”
Zhuge Liang flashes him a challenging look. “And the affections of a strategist?”
“They must be won over time.” Zhou Yu folds Zhuge Liang’s hand around the jade and feels the resistance in his fingers. “Accept his gift.”
“I cannot.” Zhuge Liang still holds his hand outstretched. “I’m not worthy of his regard.” His expression flickers; there’s distress in his eyes, a touch of anguish, before he pulls on a resolute face. “I don’t deserve it.”
“It’s just a token.” Zhou Yu tastes the lie on his tongue, vinegar and gall. The men of the Sun family set no store in tokens. Their actions are everything. While others shower frippery gifts upon their followers and intimates that only mean something when given in quantity, the Sun family give jades only to those who occupy a place closest to their hearts and minds. It’s more than a mere token. It means more than he can ever explain to Zhuge Liang. In its shape, in its weight, the jade is more than a carved stone; it’s the soul of a Duke, a spell made real to ensnare the heart of his beloved.
Sun Ce gave him a jade, once. It had the shape of a qilin, the stone a shade of pale orange with darker striations running through it. Zhou Yu remembered how he’d turned it in his hands, confusion bringing a smile from him while Sun Ce sat naked and cross-legged on the spread of their clothes over the grass.
“A qilin?” He’d held the jade in his palm the way Zhuge Liang does now, uncertain of how to react.
“A peaceful creature that can be roused to ferocity.” Sun Ce stroked his shoulder, combing his fingers through Zhou Yu’s unbound and sweat-dampened hair. The gleam in his eyes told Zhou Yu that his lord and lover intended his gift to have more than one meaning.
“The qilin is only at peace when a wise and benevolent king rules the land.”
Sun Ce smiled. “Then may you always be at peace.”
The memory still has the power to hurt him. Their peace did not last, and Sun Ce is dead. Long after the funeral, when he could bear to touch it again, Zhou Yu gave the jade to Xiao Qiao. It’s easier to ignore the past when his wife wears it as part of the present.
Zhou Yu shakes off the thoughts and returns his attention to the man standing so uncertain in front of him. “Take it,” he says, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Is that what you think?” Zhuge Liang lifts his head and meets Zhou Yu’s gaze. “Viceroy, this means everything. And I don’t know if...” He breaks off, his confusion evident. The strategist who plays on the emotions of others to impose his will seems unable to cope with his own feelings.
“You will. You can.” Zhou Yu goes close to him again and grips Zhuge Liang’s shoulders, trying to make him understand. “Kong Ming, you must.”
Zhuge Liang shrugs free. The moonlight splits his face; his eyes glitter. He holds the jade dragon to his heart. “Yes,” he whispers. “I must.”
Still cradling the jade, he turns and walks into the darkness.
Zhou Yu watches him go. He sighs and leans against the trunk of the parasol tree, and hopes he was right to give such advice. To be the beloved of the Duke of Wu brings with it certain responsibilities. He wonders if Zhuge Liang is aware yet of how much he has taken upon himself.
Then he remembers Sun Quan has chosen a dragon. Mightier than the qilin, it too is a peaceful creature capable of great ferocity. Zhou Yu snorts. Perhaps, for all Sun Quan’s fears to the contrary, he is much more like his elder brother than he thinks.
Zhou Yu pushes himself from the tree. He casts a final glance into the night after Zhuge Liang then returns to the campfire. He has no worries, no concerns. If the dragon accepts Sun Quan’s gift, all will be well. He knows it.
end