Sui Zhou and Tang Fan attend all manner of gatherings with great regularity, but it is rare for them to partake in much mingling as themselves. Sui Zhou, ever-mindful of where circles overlap, refuses invitations to events wherein there lies potential to cross paths with those he prefers only to see on his own terms. The few he does accept, like tonight’s, are approached in much the same way Sui Zhou approaches any other duty of state that sits outside his scope of strengths.

Even Tang Fan, Sui Zhou has noticed, doesn’t much care for such outings as himself, despite the plattered temptations of fine wine and finer food positioned to best beguile him. Sui Zhou is privy to most of what transpires at his home, and he was raised to know how this way of the world works, so he knows of the invitations that are couriered to their gate meant only for one of them. Tang Fan has favour to curry, now, which inspires an eagerness in opportunists to form friendships. It will take time for the tides to change, and for even the most perseverant to learn only to invite Tang Fan to gatherings where the invitation must be extended for the sake of appearances. And then it will take longer still to expect that it will be rebuffed regardless. Tang Fan might sooner fall out of his own favour, if not all grace entirely, before it comes to such.

When Tang Fan is someone else, one of any number of constructed identities he’s fleshed out to further complication at his leisure, it’s a different matter. He’s intent, eager. It’s work, but the sort of work he thrives in and strives to do, the sort that busies his idle head and challenges him. This, too, tonight, is work. This is taking to the grass to rouse the snakes because Li Zilong’s body has been still long enough for the field around it to settle. His reach had been wide and his followers vast in number, within the Forbidden City and without. It will be some more cautious years yet before they’ve dealt with all the ones they even know about. This is the chance to put eyes on some now that they’ve become bloated with the pomposity of the unpunished.

And so, when the sun is set and the night forthcome, Sui Zhou dresses in the fine robes befitting a noble's second son — the ones that he most disfavours — and he pins his hair with jade and silver. Tang Fan's mouth is full of words waxing poetic about it from the moment they sit down to dinner, and because it is Tang Fan, it is almost enough to bring Sui Zhou around to being fond of it. The toe of his boot teases up the hem of Sui Zhou’s skirt all throughout the while of his talking, and then he fills his mouth with food and Sui Zhou's lap with both of his feet, and the rest of their meal is seen out in that tableau of eachother's companionable company.

Tang Fan draws down into something small and quiet, not long after, even with the cup of wine they've shared out in the courtyard to fill the betweens of waiting. He is not chatty with Sui Zhou, and is no more than primly polite to the driver. Sui Zhou spares a fleeting thought of thanks that they can at least travel together as Tang Fan climbs into the narrow carriage after him, fitting himself flush against Sui Zhou's side. His fingers toy and pluck at his robes where they crease at his knees, his hips, the basin of his lap.

Sui Zhou does not pry into the silence. He waits, instead, for Tang Fan to finish with whatever it is that he is thinking, as it must be important enough to him to warrant quiet, and he will make Sui Zhou privy to it if and when needed. Finally, Tang Fan's hand bridges their thighs to nudge against Sui Zhou’s where it is at rest on his knee, until Sui Zhou clasps his palm over his knuckles and stops him there in answer. Tang Fan's hand flexes in his grip, and Sui Zhou squeezes it tightly, in turn, pinning his roaming fingers in their place.

“Be careful,” Sui Zhou tells him, as unnecessarily as he always does, each and every time. As though Tang Fan has forgotten, between now and the last, that he is something precious, to be not risked but guarded, and so he must be reminded.

“It is a party,” Tang Fan replies. There is a jittery tease, however, to the chastisement. He leaves silent all that his comment implies: they are in the heart of the capital, and under so many eyes. What man would be so bold as to try, overt and outright, that has not already died?

“Then don’t be foolish,” Sui Zhou amends, and Tang Fan huffs his affront even as he twists his hand beneath Sui Zhou’s until he can thread their fingers together.

It is not a long journey, in itself, and its time is slimmed further by a deft driver. Sui Zhou passes what remains of it peering through the splinter in the curtains, Tang Fan’s chin nosily tucked to his shoulder, his thoughts turned over to the care of the man at his side and the night ahead of the both of them.