He smiled, his bright features impossible to look at directly. "Do you understand? Heaven arranged for you to meet my mother and fall in love with her, but not for her to love you in return. This was how it was meant to be."
He put away his sword and stood among the blossoms, upright as a lone pine or a sheer bamboo stalk. Now and then, a flower petal fell on the wind, trembling as it settled on his frost-white temples. The warmth of spring softened the sword that had been as cold as snow.
The spring light was gentle, and beneath the calm waters ran a deep current.
Twenty years ago, he was a promising young swordsman, carrying a famous sword on his back. The other was merely a frail baby in swaddling clothes, whose faint breaths suggested he might die at any moment.
Twenty years later, he was in his prime, the most beautiful man in the world, renowned far and wide.
The other was still a wandering swordsman, but now his temples had turned white.
An aloof swordsman uke x the most beautiful man in the world seme.
Younger seme, raising him, pastoral story. After the storms, mountains emerge and disappear in the mist.
Not a story where the first person to cry is a sniveling mess
