“General Wu, Strategist Lu Han has returned from his visit to Lord Jin Junmian and wishes to see you.”
Wu Fan turns towards the foot soldier who is standing just outside the door, slightly bowed and arms stiff as his side, not even daring to set one foot into the room, as he awaits instructions.1
He returns his attention to the maps he has spread out across the table and says shortly, “Show him in.”
Wu Fan hears Lu Han step into the room, the soft rustle of his shoes across the carpet, hears him shake out his sleeves and dust himself off from his long journey. Without turning, Wu Fan says, “Stop getting dirt all over my things, Strategist Lu.”
He can hear the smile in Lu Han’s voice too. “Why, General Wu. I do apologise. I must admit, I had expected better hospitality from the great Wu family after I have returned from such a long ambassadorial mission.”
At this, Wu Fan does turn around. He draws his formidable eyebrows together and gives Lu Han a look that has sent dozens of his bravest soldiers scurrying to do whatever it is he’s just commanded, but Lu Han is still standing there grinning like an idiot, and--
“Are you seriously taking off your shoes and wiping your dirty toes on my fur rug? You do realise that that is new and I only just got it from Lord Chen a few days ago, right?”
Lu Han frowns back at him in mock disapproval. “And you also realise that I don’t approve of hunting or skinning poor defenseless animals and any moment I am going to call an attendant to remove this tasteless thing from your room, right? Anyway, I’m not wiping my feet. I’m trying to determine if it’s faux or not. I need to have a word with Lord Chen about his tastes.”
Honestly, Wu Fan has nothing to say about this because he knows that this is probably going to happen, and he knows Lu Han knows he knows so he just stands there, lips pressed into a straight line as Lu Han pokes his head around the door and calls for someone.
Only after the offending article has been removed, and Lu Han has used the warm water brought to him to rinse his face and arms, and finally his feet, and then settled himself into a comfortable chair, does Lu Han finally deign to speak.
Wu Fan sits across him, steeples his fingers, and says, “So, what news do you bring from Lord Jin?”
Lu Han considers him gravely. “He told me to ask you to unsteeple your fingers first before I said anything else.”
To Wu Fan’s credit, he doesn’t throw anything hard and heavy at Lu Han’s perfect face. Instead, he unclasps his hands and leaves them on his lap in two clenched fists, repeating himself very, very, slowly, “What news. Do you bring. From Lord Jin?”
Lu Han gives him a grin but sobers quickly.
“It’s good news. Lord Jin is happy to allow our troops to pass through his state to escort His Majesty on his visit to Manchu. However, he’s not willing for us to pass through the city, which is understandable. Given the large entourage His Majesty requires, along with Zitao leading the Royal Guard and a portion of your army, we will be a considerable disturbance to the people of Jin.”
Wu Fan looks at Lu Han, exasperated. “It’s not only that. He doesn’t trust me, right? For goodness’ sake, I’m going to be escorting our king, where will I find the time to take over another city altogether?”
“Well, you did threaten to toss him out the window and take over his state once. Anyway, I like Lord Jin. He is very capable.”
Wu Fan hates it when Lu Han is being reasonable. “I was nineteen. He’d just married the woman I was pledged to marry, of course I had to threaten to knock him around a little bit or he’d get too big-headed. I don’t know why you keep insisting on bringing this up.”
“You started it first. To get back to the point, Lord Jin has requested for us to take a short detour around the city through the Nan forest. Captain Wu Shixun has graciously offered to act as guide until you reach the edge of the forest, by which time you will be back along the original route you had planned.”
Wu Fan stands and moves several clay pieces across the table, marking out the route Lu Han has described on the map. His face is arranged in the closest semblance of a pout that you will ever see on Chief General Wu Fan’s face.
Lu Han watches him carefully and says, “Wu Fan, I swear, if you screw this up over a woman you didn’t even love, I will never speak to you again. I just spent three months of my life eating food I don’t even like, wracking my brains to make sure I don’t say anything wrong to offend Lord Jin or his ministers.”
He gets up and jabs Wu Fan in the chest. “I slaved away playing endlessly boring games of weiqi2 I had to strategically lose to earn Lord Jin’s trust, and eventually his acquiescence, all the while having to manipulate him into thinking that offering the Nan forest route was his idea. If not for me, you’d be walking the entire perimeter of the Jin state and your journey would take a good two months longer, not to mention a dozen times more perilous, so you’d better be grateful.”
Wu Fan isn’t paying attention. Instead he says, “What did you offer little Captain Wu for him to volunteer to guide us? This is the same one who is completely infatuated with you, right?”
Lu Han coolly ignores Wu Fan's insinuation and continues. “In return for his benevolent kindness, Lord Jin has requested for two thousand taels of gold as well as the piece of land near the Bei border.”
Wu Fan nods. None of these are outside of what he’d expected.
“And that I join his court as Strategist for a period of one year.”
This last bit is said in a rush of words that Wu Fan almost doesn’t catch but when his mind parses the meaning behind it, his whole body stills.
Wu Fan knew well that Lord Jin would drive a hard bargain. He had been anticipating a request for some land to be ceded, and of course payment in gold. However, he hadn’t expected the request to include one of his state’s hugest assets, nor for it to be in human form.
He worries now that he has let his close relationship with Lu Han become too widely known. Lord Jin knows he cannot turn down the offer.
When Wu Fan doesn’t answer, Lu Han moves to stand beside him. “Look, we don’t need to give him an answer immediately. You must think of what is best for the king, and for our state, but this isn’t too unreasonable a request.”
It’s the first time that night Lu Han shows the side of him that makes him Head Strategist Lu on top of the flippant man Wu Fan is used to seeing. Wu Fan likes him like that: quiet, assertive, wise. But sometimes he wishes Lu Han wouldn’t make so much damned sense.
Lu Han urges again. “Why don’t you have some time to think it over? Discuss it with Yixing and the rest of the lords. Have dinner first, I’m starved!” Then he places familiar hands on Wu Fan’s shoulders and steers him towards the dining room.

Wu Fan misses this - having dinner with Lu Han without any agenda. There is the issue of the agreement with Lord Jin looming over them, but they have tacitly agreed to put it aside while they eat and Wu Fan allows himself to relax as they catch up with each other. He asks after Lu Han’s family, then updates him about his father’s illness, which while not life-threatening, is not getting better either.
Wu Fan deliberately puts on a cool front - he’s always had a somewhat difficult relationship with his father - but he can tell Lu Han knows this is something that affects him more than he lets on. He sees it in the slight shift of expression; the change is almost unnoticeable, but there is a tensing of his eyebrows, and a softening of Lu Han’s eyes as he shifts closer.
Wu Fan is surprised he notices it, to be honest. They used to be closer than brothers, but it’s almost been five years since circumstances had sent them on parallel, but very much separated, paths. He thinks maybe Lu Han’s nuances of expression will be forever ingrained in his mind.
He first met Lu Han when he was seven. Wu Fan had accompanied his father to Lu Han’s home. While their fathers convened in a confidential meeting, he had been sent out to keep himself occupied in the courtyard. A small boy playing with a kite in the garden had attracted his attention and he’d watched from afar with longing for a while. When the boy noticed him and beckoned him over, however, Wu Fan’s instinct had been to abruptly turn away and walk off. Seven was way too old to be caught playing with toys.
He didn’t see or find out who Lu Han was until several years later, when his tutor introduced them. “This is the Imperial Left Minister of Strategy’s only son, Lu Han. It will do you good to be with like minds. You will get no learning cooped up in this estate.”
It worked because having someone to discuss the classics and texts he was assigned helped and he started to take a keener interest in his studies. Lu Han was clever, but also wholly unorthodox, and very likely Wu Fan's tutor hadn’t intended for the expansion of his education to also include learning to pinch mandarins from the town governor’s orchards, or dressing up as ghosts from the seventh hell to scare the neighbouring estate’s Young Master Huang, and later on, visiting teahouses to peruse the beauties within. Most definitely it did not include fumbling with Lu Han's trousers in darkened rooms, discovering the body of another man.
Being called ‘ge’ is something of a running joke. Wu Fan still recalls the exact look of barely-concealed amusement quickly schooled into deference when he had, at the ripe old age of twelve, demanded that Lu Han call him 'ge'.

Dinner continues to pass in easy conversation and snatches of comfortable silence. Wu Fan sneaks looks at Lu Han when he’s not looking and wonders if Lu Han misses this as much as he does.
When the qin3 is placed in front of him after the last course, Wu Fan looks up in surprise. There is already one in front of Lu Han, and he is inspecting the strings, tuning the instrument as he tests each note. Wu Fan doesn’t even remember the last time he's had the time to play his qin, he has been so busy.
“Damn it, Lu Han,” Wu Fan says without any bite. “Is this my home or yours?”
Lu Han smiles. “What’s yours is mine,” he sing-songs.
Wu Fan doesn’t reply because dwelling on that memory, sworn brothers forever, what’s yours will be mine, and what’s mine will be yours, is not going to do anyone any favours.
Lu Han accurately interprets his silence as reluctance. “Aww, c’mon. You know it’ll relieve some tension. Have you forgotten? 'A gentleman does not part with his qin without good reason.3' ' Let’s play and reminisce, ge.”
The last word is said softly, so soft Wu Fan almost misses it, Lu Han bending nearer to whisper it, almost a breath on his lips. Wu Fan relents. It’s been a long time since he’s heard Lu Han call him that. They haven’t had much time alone together with their respective statuses as chief general and head strategist, and Lu Han never calls him that in public anymore. Not since they’d passed the civil service examinations and Wu Fan had been isolated again, learning everything he had to know from his father to become the best soldier there was possible. His father had little time for his son to laze around being a gentleman, or associating with any for that matter. He always said it like it was a swear word. Wu Fan recalls how he used to stay up late into the night with Lu Han, talking, drinking, idly plucking the strings of a qin, reciting poetry to the peonies growing outside the window. They were young, idealistic; it was the best time of their lives, it was how every young scholar wanted to live.
Wu Fan becomes so lost in thought that he only stirs from his reverie when he hears the first notes of Lu Han’s qin. It’s soft but confident; Lu Han always knows what he’s doing. Lu Han plays a few more patterns of notes, before Wu Fan breaks in at a suitable pause, and responds with a series of notes himself. His fingers feel stiff and uncomfortable, but muscle memory doesn’t fail him.
It gets easier the more he plays, and Wu Fan begins to enjoy himself. He watches Lu Han play, his eyes closed, slim fingers - a gentleman’s fingers - plucking and lifting strings, his hand sliding up and down the lengths of taut silk. Wu Fan tilts his head back, surrounded in a haze of chromatic notes, remembering nights from many years ago; he can almost taste the pu-erh4 they used to drink on his lips.
They carry on playing for a long time, a melodious call and answer that he loses track of when Wu Fan feels the melody picking up and responds in kind. It’s faster, more furious, urgent. Wu Fan doesn’t want to give in, but Lu Han’s pace is pushing him. He plays harder and louder, long fingers blurring over the wooden board, matching Lu Han stroke for stroke when suddenly, a string breaks. It springs backward and cuts a gash across his arm. His hands still and he looks down with slight surprise.
The pain hasn’t set in yet, but there is an angry red line beginning to ooze blood on his left forearm. Wu Fan doesn’t even realise the room has emptied of all attendants, and Lu Han is now at his side, holding his handkerchief to the wound, dampened with now-cold bai mudan4 tea. Wu Fan stopped drinking pu-erh when he realised the taste lingered on his lips like Lu Han, dredging up memories he preferred to keep locked away.
“What do you do with yourself in the months that I’m away?” Lu Han asks, as he presses his hands to the shallow wound, then folds the cloth in half to wipe away any stray blood.
Wu Fan doesn’t answer, doesn’t trust himself to, so he just looks away. He can feel the soft puffs of Lu Han’s breath on his cheek as he leans closer to tend to his wound. It’s so quiet, he’s terrified Lu Han can hear the agitated skitter of his heartbeat and he wants to move away, but he doesn’t know how without making it awkward.
The silence stretches out between them. Only the muted sound of cloth rustling can be heard from Lu Han’s sleeves dragging back and forth across the floor as his hands continue to move, busy cleaning the wound which has now stopped bleeding, then binding it with another strip of cloth he produces from his other sleeve.
Wu Fan finally deems it safe enough to turn towards Lu Han when he feels him tie a knot around his arm.
It isn’t.
Lu Han’s lips are a mere centimetre from his face when he turns. He can feel his warmth against his skin. All he has to do is lean up, and they would be touching, touching, their lips sliding across each other’s, noses bumping, eyelashes brushing against cheeks.
But Wu Fan does not, of course. Instead he jerks away, feels his face flush and hopes the red doesn’t show, looks down instead at his bandage to inspect Lu Han’s handiwork.
“Thanks,” Wu Fan says, by way of covering up his embarrassment. “You didn’t really need to bind it though. Pretty sure a tough general like me is supposed to be able to withstand more than mere scratches.”
He hears Lu Han give a big sigh. Then he’s suddenly faced with an armful of warm, sandalwood-scented man because Lu Han has thrown himself onto his lap and is currently making Wu Fan very, very uncomfortable as he squirms for a better position.
Wu Fan gives a gurgle of shock and looks around desperately, feeling relief only when he’s made sure they really are alone. Only then does he allow himself to rest a hand on Lu Han’s right hip, and lift another to trace Lu Han’s jaw. He thinks it’s force of habit that made him resist at first as he trails his fingers up Lu Han’s jaw, curls a finger around an ear, before shifting to cup the back of Lu Han’s neck and closes the breath of space between them to brush his lips across Lu Han’s.
They kiss gently, all the tension from the earlier exchange of music gone as their lips slide along each other, sweet and open-mouthed. Lu Han presses up against Wu Fan, dipping a tongue into his mouth, then quickly retreats, repeating it a few times before Wu Fan loses patience and sucks hard on Lu Han’s tongue, arm moving up to grip Lu Han’s shoulder and pull him towards his body. The kiss intensifies then, mirroring their qin-playing earlier, tongues tangling together. Wu Fan feels like he can’t get enough and he dimly hears the sound of their harsh breathing as he breathes in Lu Han, feels him heat up beneath his hands, soft and pliant and beautiful.
Lu Han is the first to withdraw, he sits back to search Wu Fan’s eyes. What he sees must reassure him, because he’s leaning into Wu Fan’s touch again, hooking his chin over Wu Fan’s shoulder.
“Isn’t it hard always pretending you don’t want this when we already don’t have much time together as it is?” Lu Han whispers into Wu Fan’s ear, as he sneaks a hand down Wu Fan’s front, sliding it between the panels of his shenyi5. He finds a soft nipple and teasingly rubs against it, flicking a finger back and forth until it peaks and hardens