No sign as yet,

november 1, 1922

20 days

"Feel how cold my hands are!" chirps Ling, pressing his hands onto the exposed skin of Lan Fan's neck.

They're sitting alone above the palace, far above the Emperor's audience chamber where Ling is supposed to be. She couldn't very well not follow him, even though she's very skeptical about why he's doing this- he's never been one to shirk his responsibilities. He's a good Emperor, and he likes the work; today, though, he beckoned her to follow him out. They walked in silence(more specifically, Ling walked- Lan Fan bounded above him, leaping from one rooftop to another) to the wall that separates the Imperial Palace from the outside world. With some effort, Ling scuffled onto the top of the wall and perched himself on top of an empty guard tower, high above the ground.

She followed suit because she had to, standing by his side with her feet splayed for balance. Ling scoffed and made her sit down, and now they are in a position that is entirely too informal for Lan Fan's taste- squeezed together on the thin wall of the tower, and now his freezing hands on her neck.

She winces- both at the impropriety of it, and at the feeling of his hands, which are like blocks of ice. "My lord, please-"

With a chuckle, Ling retracts his hands and folds them inside his sleeves. He looks like he'd like to sit cross-legged, but there isn't enough room for him to pull his legs up onto the ledge. "Sorry," he says absently. "You're sensitive to cold?"

She finds herself taking offense to the question, even though he doesn't mean anything by it. "No, my lord, your hands are just freezing."

He grins at her in his smug little way, which Lan Fan knows well. Usually, he doesn't have the courage to direct such an expression toward her. "I think your tolerance for extreme temperatures has decreased," he declares, placing a hand on her well-layered right arm, "it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not-" Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes she's being made fun of. "It's not funny, my lord."

"It's a little funny."

"No, it's not."

Ling snorts, resting his forehead on her shoulder- it's only for a moment, but she stiffens all the same. Her eyes stick, very suddenly, on a flock of birds in the distance. "My lord-"

"I've missed you," he interrupts.

"You see me every day," she responds, grateful for the cover of her mask. Her face feels uncomfortably warm beneath it.

"Not the way I'd like to. It's-" He takes a moment to gather his thoughts- something she's noticed him doing much more recently, like there's something he doesn't want to let slip. "It's different, from the way it used to be. Before."

She can't disagree with that. "Hm," she assents.

"Sometimes I just... need a moment." Something sits uncomfortably in the silence between them, and Lan Fan does not prod at it. "I'm grateful for everything my people have done for me, the love they've offered, but it's- I guess it's too much," he says with a laugh. "How ironic is that?"

She remains silent.

"The man who wanted everything," Ling continues, "who took a demon into his flesh for it. Suddenly having more than he needs." Sadness tinges the edges of his words, even as he tries to sound amused at his fate.

"You lost more than you needed to," she says to allay his sadness, tilting her face up to the sky so she won't have to look at him. "That day... your vassal, your friend. Your childhood, my lord. It's only fair that things start to go right for a change."

"I suppose you're right, Lan Fan," he says, but it's clear he doesn't believe it.

Ling looks at his hands and does not speak, and they sit that way for a long while.

"That cloud is shaped like an owl."

"I see a sparrow," she responds absently.