Chapter Text
The very first time Xiao Jingyan met Lin Shu, the seventh prince had just turned two and the young master of the Lin family was barely a month old. “This is xiao-Shu,” said Auntie Jinyang, holding a small bundle. “You can hold him if you like.”
“Just don’t touch his head or face,” reminded Jingyan’s mother, who had repeated this at least five times yesterday in preparation for Uncle Lin and Auntie Jinyang coming to visit with their new baby. She’d painstakingly answered every single plaintive “why?” that Jingyan had uttered: we don’t touch people on the face or the head; if you’re fated to be friends, that would leave your colours all over them, and it’s not done.
“Why?” repeated Jingyan. He thought it would be fun to press his hands against his favourite people and leave his glowing red on their arms and cheeks.
“Your hands’ first touch on someone meaningful will never fade,” said Mama. He loved her so much; she always gave him a proper reply to his question, no matter how silly a matter it was. So few people did. “Though sometimes you can leave new ones. So it should be very considered.”
Jingyan looked at his palms, which were pale. “Your hands don't get their colours,” Mama continued, following his gaze. “Unless you touch their hands with yours, of course.”
“Where's mine?” he asked, glancing up at her. He knew where her colour on him was, but she had never shown him where he'd left his.
Mama smiled, gentle like a spring shower. “Other people’s colours are their own business,” she murmured to him, as she revealed a small red handprint just under her collarbone. “So don't go asking just anyone, all right?”
And so here they were, Jingyan nestled in Mama’s lap, hands reaching out for this tiny new friend named xiao-Shu. He'd always been the smallest when visiting Great-Grandmother; finally there was someone smaller than him.
After Jingyan gave his aunt a satisfactory answer, Mama nodded at Auntie Jinyang, who then placed the bundle of baby Lin into his waiting arms. He gazed down at the baby - at xiao-Shu - and felt an overwhelming happiness envelop him. “So fat,” he whispered, joy choking him from speaking any louder. “Touch his face?”
His mother gave him a look. “You could touch his arm,” said Auntie Jinyang cheerfully. “Here, I'll take him back first.” She scooped xiao-Shu out of Jingyan’s arms, then tugged the blankets down to reveal pale, pudgy arms tucked into embroidered silk sleeves.
“Is that really such a good idea?” Mama asked quietly.
“No harm,” replied Auntie Jinyang. “If they're destined to be friends, they'd most likely leave their colours on each other's arms anyway.” She beamed at Jingyan. “Here, go ahead.”
Reverently, Jingyan reached out a finger and pressed it gently to the back of xiao-Shu’s hand. It was soft and warm, and when he drew his hand back, a single point of dark red was left behind. Before he could think about where he wanted xiao-Shu’s colours to be on him, the baby reached up and grabbed at his hand.
“Oh!” said Mama. “Look at your finger, Jingyan.”
He looked. It was as if he’d dipped it in gold, gleaming and glittering like the summer sun reflecting off a lake. He glanced back at xiao-Shu, who was blinking sweetly and sleepily at Jingyan.
“Looks like you two are fated to be together,” Auntie Jinyang told him happily. “All right, since you've left your colours, now you may squish his little face.”
-
As Jingyan grew older, he began to better understand the colours on his skin. His mother’s love lay like a fog-grey cloak across the breadth of his shoulders, and his Imperial Father’s regard spanned his upper back like armour the colour of a sunset. Circling his upper arms were the deep, calm blue of Jingyu-gege’s steady touch, and his mother, Auntie Yueyao, had left a cool jade green band tucked just beneath, on his left. And of course there was his gilded fingertip, reminding him of xiao-Shu every time he lifted his chopsticks or a cup to his lips.
Xiao-Shu, on the other hand, was covered in colours. He didn't seem to care about decisive marks; instead, he threw himself into friendships, letting people leave stripes of green and yellow and blue all over his arms, like he'd fallen into a painting and never did wash himself off after.
“Your colours are so boring,” he told Jingyan once, as they sprawled in front of Lin Manor, watching the clouds. “Everything’s so planned and well-drawn.”
“That's how it's meant to be,” protested Jingyan. “How many times has Uncle Lin yelled at you about letting people just drag their colours all over you? It makes you look sloppy.”
Xiao-Shu scoffed. “Excuse you, I have the mind of an eagle,” he said with the self-confidence of someone who did, unfortunately, have one of the sharpest minds in Jinling. “I just really like carrying all my friends and family with me, you know?”
Jingyan shrugged. He still preferred how deliberate his colours were.
“I wish we could do ours again for the first time,” xiao-Shu continued, peering at the back of his hand and the careful spot of crimson, its edges perfectly crisp like a freshly stamped seal. “I'd paint you all over in gold.”