It's incredible that he doesn't cry. He must just be too tired, too wired, to let it out. Maybe his body is saving the liquid for something.

He doesn’t look up when Baiyi passes. Probably doesn’t even remember him. So what. You don't need a rosebush to remember you, you just enjoy catching sight of it here and there.

Ye Baiyi must really, really want to fuck him, Xie thinks. Maybe when he’s asleep Xie can drop poison in his ear. Or steal any treasures he carries. How has he lived this long if he’s actually this stupid?

“You were watching me,” the kid says, in a soft colorless voice. It could be a threat if it wanted to be, easily, but in that tone it’s just a statement of fact. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s the first time anyone’s ever looked at you,” Baiyi says. He sips his drink. “You must not get any attention in that outfit.” The corner of the kid’s red mouth quirks up. “I’m sure you get attention in those,” he says.

That night he lies in bed alone until the moon is high. When the rest of the house is deathly silent, except for the light snores coming from behind every door, he sneaks in slippered feet through the halls and over to the covered kitchens. There’s faint light coming from the smoldering hearth, where the coals are piled to keep them warm for tomorrow’s early start. Someone has curled up by it on a mat, like a scullery maid. But it’s not a maid, it’s a man. A tall long-legged man. His husband. The dubiously immortal master of Changming manor. What the fuck, Xie thinks.