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Tunan can admit it to himself now, with a pang of self-deprecating fondness rather than embarrassment or shame about how everything he once believed in got twisted into malevolence:
He never thought about retirement.
He always thought he'd die for his ideals or else become important enough to stay put, near the very top, until the day he'd just not wake up anymore. Decorated. Respected. Maybe feared, in some ways.
And now...
"It's not retirement," Ruolai says, looking out at the gentle flow of the river. "It's just..."
"A new mission," Tunan says with a smile, drifting closer to take Ruolai's hand in his. "Which we just happened to choose ourselves."
Ruolai echoes his smile. "That's right."
They're both quiet for a while.
The village is remote, with few of the amenities they had gotten used to in Shanghai, and a peacefulness that still feels overwhelming after the chaos of war. Like they've escaped to an entirely different world.
The newspaper gets here when someone makes the trip to the nearest town, and the radio Tunan and Ruolai brought with them is stationed at the chief's house, where people can gather and listen to the evening program.
It'll be their first winter here, and already the cold seems to wind itself around Tunan's knee, which never fully healed, and cling as the house slowly gets warmer in the mornings. As much as he once burned for his country, as much as he kept fighting to drag it into a new era of peace and prosperity, he can admit this now: he is tired.
"A new mission," he says again, then draws Ruolai's hand to his lips. "Comrade Changfeng."
There are more fine lines around Ruolai's eyes now, and a long scar on the side of his neck that Tunan doesn't like to think about. But when he gives Tunan that bashful look of his and says, "Xiansheng..." so softly, it's like he's twenty-three again. Untouched by everything they've survived together. Entirely Tunan's.
"I know," he murmurs, and then presses his lips to the back of Ruolai's hand again.
They watch the sky go from grey to pale blue to orange, and then slowly return to their house at the edge of the village.
Their uniforms have long sunk to the bottom of the river.
*
It seemed to elate Ruolai at first, having a comrade in Tunan. The new form of address didn't come easy to him, and he still called Tunan xiansheng more often than not, but it meant that Tunan had finally come to his senses and they could work side by side again, didn't it?
Comrades.
It took Tunan such a long time to arrive at that point, and even longer to make his peace with it. To find a new way of belonging, of aligning his values with his politics and his private life.
He was more careful about it, after everything.
Still, it felt like coming home, after being lost for so long. Being part of the organization. Part of something so much bigger than himself. Being an equal among his fellow men. After all the pain and all the regrets, it was freeing to hold on to this: underneath it all, we're the same. There's potential to do good in all of us. There's potential to do better in all of us.
Even he, after everything, could still do his part to save the country.
Comrades.
For Ruolai, the novelty seemed to wear off quickly enough. He'd use their code names whenever necessary, and otherwise went back to addressing Tunan just the way he had at the bank.
He made it sound sweeter than before, when Tunan pressed him up against the wall of a safe house and kissed him until they were both dizzy with it.
Xiansheng.
How could Tunan not kiss him again?
"Ruolai, please," he says now, swatting away Ruolai's hands to stop him from draping the blanket over his lap. "I'm not an old man."
"It's not for you," Ruolai says stubbornly.
Tunan snorts, raising his hands in defeat. He watches Ruolai tug at the blanket until it covers Tunan's legs and pools on the floor, and it does feel good to have his knee cocooned in warmth, not like he'd tell Ruolai that.
"See," Ruolai mumbles, and then makes himself comfortable on the floor, leaning his head against the good knee. "All for me."
Tunan smiles helplessly, his hand coming to rest on Ruolai's hair. Stroking it softly. "Sweet boy," he murmurs. "What would I do without you."
"Mm," Ruolai hums, irritated, like the mere thought is intruding on their quiet evening.
Tunan strokes over his hair again. "Want me to read to you?"
That gets a smile from Ruolai, his eyes closed as he leans into Tunan's caresses.
Tunan picks up the book.
*
Spring comes with a smattering of sunny days and the faint scent of warmth permeating the air. Tunan's first winter as the village teacher is finally over, and going outside with the children to let them move their restless, growing bodies (mostly) and teaching them about the native flora and fauna (sometimes) is a pleasant experience again, instead of a chore.
The children, of course, don't mind the weather either way.
Ruolai doesn't mind the cold so much, but he's still coming to terms with the children.
"They're so loud," he complains to Tunan. "How can they be so small and so loud."
Tunan chuckles. "Everyone towers over them and they can't do anything without their parents' permission. Their lungs are all they've got."
Truthfully, a classroom full of children isn't that different from an extended board meeting, and he's always prided himself on being able to command attention when things got heated. You just have to distract the loudest ones with some fancy words and numbers or, in this case, the promise of more play time.
"I don't understand how you can reward them just for completing their tasks," Ruolai grouses, looking at the children chasing each other around a small clearing in the woods behind the school. "They should just do their homework without any incentives. As part of their education."
Tunan can't help the fond laugh. "Not everyone's like you, Ruolai. Some of them," he leans in closer, like he's sharing a secret, "find math really hard."
Ruolai snorts. "Their problem," he mumbles, but the corner of his mouth lifts up in a small smile.
"Well, as their teacher, it is actually my problem," Tunan reminds him. "Besides," he goes on in a lower voice. "Shouldn't you be happy to help your xiansheng out if he needs an extra pair of eyes on the children and you can afford to take a half day off at the bank?"
Ruolai bites his lips, looking straight ahead as the color rises in his cheeks.
"And yet you'll get a reward, too," Tunan tells him, his lips almost brushing the shell of Ruolai's ear before he sways away with a smile.
"Xiansheng! Xiansheng!" a voice pipes up behind them, and Ruolai winces.
"Behave," Tunan says, giving Ruolai's arm a light swat before turning around. "Is there a problem, Tong'er?"
The little girl looks up at him with big, teary eyes. "Li Ting pushed me!"
"Well, that wasn't very nice of Li Ting," Tunan says seriously, then scans the clearing to find the culprit avoiding his gaze. "Did you fall?"
Tong'er shakes her head.
"Do you want me to talk to him?"
She looks a little more conflicted about that, turning her head towards Ruolai as she bites her lip.
Oh, this is going to be good. "Would you like Wei-xiansheng to remind Li Ting of our rules?"
Tong'er nods, her lip trembling slightly.
"Right," Ruolai says after a second, "of course. I'll remind him." He smiles at Tong'er and it almost doesn't look forced at all. "Leave it to me."
"Thank you, Wei-xiansheng!"
Ruolai reaches out to pat the top of her head, and she beams back at him.
"Go ahead," Tunan tells the girl from behind his hand, trying his best not to openly burst into laughter. "Go back to your friends."
Tong'er runs off, looking back once to wave at Ruolai, who waves back with a more genuine smile turning his face soft and boyish again.
Tunan can't kiss Ruolai right now, or put his arms around him, or say the words he wants to say. So he fits his hand in the small of his back and leaves it there until he can feel Ruolai's warmth through the fabric. "You have to go talk to Li Ting now," he says quietly, wisps of happiness still caught in his throat.
"What, really?"
"You promised."
"Fine. I'll give a ten-year-old a stern talking-to about playground rules." He sighs dramatically. "I closed the bank early for this."
"The bank will be fine," Tunan tells him. "And don't be too hard on the boy. Life hasn't been easy for his family lately. Maybe he'll talk to you if you nudge him a little."
Ruolai is quiet for a moment, leaning back into Tunan's touch. "I'll do my best," he says finally.
"Good boy," Tunan murmurs, stroking his thumb over Ruolai's jacket. "Good boys get rewards."
He watches Ruolai stumble off towards the gaggle of boys playing catch and feels so incredibly content, he can't seem to stop smiling.
After everything, true peace. It smells like spring.
*
They talked a lot about the bank when Ruolai first persuaded the old man running it that maybe he could help out with the accounts and provide some suggestions on how to invest the village's combined capital in sensible ways.
Once he and Ruolai decided to stay, they couldn't risk making waves, and yet they owed it to their neighbors to make the most of their modest earnings. A fine line to walk.
Sometimes it felt like the olden days, arguing with Ruolai, who was trying to defer to Tunan's experience and seniority while practically quivering with the effort to get all his points across in the tidiest way possible, so Tunan would see he was right.
How could Tunan not kiss him, to end their arguments or agree with Ruolai or momentarily distract him? Again and again and again?
Ruolai was frequently right, anyway.
He had understood a fundamental thing, long before Tunan came to the same painful realization:
What happens when you convince yourself that you're doing everything for The People, is that you forget about... the people. Until everything you do just serves an idea, and the people become expendable.
And then where does that leave you?
"You have that look on your face again," Ruolai says softly, setting the tray with their evening tea on the table.
"What look," Tunan says automatically, shaking himself out of his thoughts.
"You were dwelling."
"I was not."
Ruolai smiles at him, his gaze softening when Tunan reaches out to beckon him closer. "Then what were you thinking about?" he says, carefully straddling Tunan on the sofa.
"How well the bank is doing, thanks to you," Tunan says, watching the praise making Ruolai glow. "Lao Wu is getting on a bit, though. Maybe once he retires, I could take over for him. Be your boss again."
Ruolai's face lights up as if someone had flipped a switch, and Tunan almost feels a little guilty for giving him this hope. He's smiling anyway as he presses a kiss against Ruolai's lips. "Careful, puppy. Your tail is wagging."
Ruolai makes sad eyes at him.
"Ruolai-ah," Tunan says softly. The children need me more, he doesn't add. Maybe it's not even true.
He wonders, not for the first time and not for the last, where he'd be without Ruolai. Long dead, probably. Reunited in the afterlife with his parents and his sister.
Sometimes he aches for the reunion; not because he's in any hurry to join them, but because he's so content here and he wishes he could share this happiness with them. Could tell them about the life he and Ruolai have built for themselves. The slowness of a day in the village. The sweetness.
"I'll think about it," he murmurs, running a hand down Ruolai's back. "I could train another teacher to help out at the school. Then I'd be free to join you at the bank once or twice a week."
"Twice," Ruolai says, as if they're already negotiating.
"You don't even need a boss," Tunan tells him. The whole idea is a bit preposterous, really.
"I don't need Lao Wu," Ruolai mumbles, then looks at Tunan again. "Xiansheng--"
"Shh." He curls his hand against Ruolai's nape and gently draws him closer. "I'll think about it," he says again. "Alright?"
Ruolai's face ends up pressed against his neck, and the tea ends up slowly getting cold on the table. Tunan watches the candles flicker and drip as he strokes Ruolai's back, and thinks about the end of the war.
You're safe here, he kisses into Ruolai's hair. I'll never let you go.
Outside, spring settles over the village.