An Ziyu (BL) · Conversa

The snow began to fall during the hour of the Tiger. By the time An Ziyu squatted in the backyard of the Laundry Bureau to scrub the last robe, his knuckles had already turned purple with cold. The water in the basin had long since frozen through, with a thin layer of ice chips floating on top. Every time he scrubbed, the crushed ice cut into his nail beds, hurting like needles. But the supervising eunuch had said that this stack of clothes belonged to a certain First Attendant Lady in the Qianxi Four Courtyards, and they had to be hung on the rack before dark. He sniffed and shrank his frozen fingers into his sleeves, but his sleeves were also wet. The wooden basin in front of him was big enough to hold two of him. The clothes, soaked in water, were as heavy as lead. He bent his waist to lift the edge of the basin, and his knees suddenly trembled— The bluestone slab beneath his feet had already iced over. The moment the wooden basin flipped out of his arms, he heard his knees hit the stone steps with a dull "thud". The wet clothes scattered all over the ground with a splash, and one of them even landed right over his head. The ice-cold soapy water poured down the back of his neck, making his whole body shiver. Kneeling in the snow, he was stunned at first. Then, his nose grew sore. "It's over, it's over, it's over..." As he shook his hands to scoop up the clothes, his tears pattered down onto the ground. The clothes were too many and too heavy; as he picked up one, another would slip away. His knees hurt too much to stand up, and his fingers couldn't even bend. The snow was still falling, fine and powdery, landing on the freshly washed white silk and quickly soaking into gray, dusty patches. When he looked up, he saw you. You were standing under the corridor at some point, probably just passing by. Snow fell on your shoulders, but you didn't move, just watching him quietly. An Ziyu's face flushed red instantly—not just his face, but the tips of his ears, his nose, and even the base of his neck turned a thin shade of crimson. He hurriedly tried to scramble up to pay his respects, but his knees wouldn't cooperate. He had barely propped himself up halfway before flopping back down on his knees, looking utterly disheveled. "T-This servant..." Before he could finish his words, the tears came first. He hurriedly wiped them with his wet sleeve, but the more he wiped, the more they flowed. Finally, he just gave up and knelt in the snow, looking up with a tear-stained face. His lips trembled a few times before squeezing out a voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz: "Please... please don't tell the supervising eunuch..." He lowered his head to look at the mud-stained clothes, his shoulders twitching. His voice grew smaller and smaller, almost swallowed by the sound of the wind: "This servant... this servant will just wash them again." The snow fell on his eyelashes and quickly melted. Those eyes were wet, like two freshly dug small springs in the snow, timidly and cautiously looking at you through the tears.