a guide to brewing millet wine in five easy steps | 小米酒的容易做法

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/33613255.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 山河令 | Word of Honor (TV 2021)
Relationship: Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu
Character: Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu
Additional Tags: Post-Episode 36, They talk, bath scene, Intercrural Sex, mention of oral
sex, Post-Canon, Alcohol, zhou zishu brews wine, Emotional
Hurt/Comfort
Stats: Published: 2021-09-01 Words: 4463

a guide to brewing millet wine in five easy steps | 小米酒的容

易做法
by littlebasketbun

Summary

Trapped in the armory together, Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing finally talk.

Notes

The NSFW is only in section 4 so skip straight to 5 if you don't want to read that.

Major thanks to my beta and zhiji notsoquietly for helping me with a fic for a fandom she
isn't even in.

Huge thanks to lianzi for helping me beta this fic and for inspiring it!

See the end of the work for more notes

1. Immerse millet in cold water and leave to rest overnight.

It takes a considerable amount of time for either of them to pry their fingers open — long after their
five senses have returned.

For Zhou Zishu, it feels like his senses come back as gradually as he first lost them. In the hollow
darkness, a pressure in his ears pops, and the quiet of the vacuum gives way to a soft, high-pitched
buzz of cavernous silence.
The musty smell of the long-abandoned armory reminds him of where he is, and the stale taste of
spit clinging to his tongue tells him just how long he’s been sitting there.

He feels Wen Kexing’s hands in his, skin soft where it hasn’t been marked by calluses or scars.

And then Wen Kexing is before him, sitting in the same cross-legged position, eyes roaming over
Zhou Zishu as carefully as Zhou Zishu is watching him.

He wonders if he is dead and this strange, white-haired Wen Kexing is about to lead him across
Naihe Bridge and offer him Meng Po’s soup.

Zhou Zishu knows it’s a silly thought because he can feel the sweet thrum of qi coursing through
healthy meridians, but that knowledge doesn’t dispense his fear. A small, irrational part of him
whispers that the moment he lets go of Wen Kexing’s hands, his last-ditch attempt to save them
both will prove a failure and he’ll have to watch Wen Kexing die in front of him for the fourth
time.

How many times can he watch that happen before the shattered pieces of him stop fitting back
together?

He’d rather think about himself dying. At least that’s a familiar thought, comfortable like his most
worn set of robes, his constant and most reliable companion for the past three years.

His eyes trace over Wen Kexing’s features as he tries to take stock to see if anything has been
irreparably changed or damaged about him. The only noticeable difference is that Wen Kexing’s
glossy hair is white as the snow trapping them inside, but since the man himself still looks hale and
healthy, it’s easy enough to accept. If a different hair color is the only scar Wen Kexing carries
away from this incident then Zhou Zishu can only be grateful.

Wen Kexing blinks at him then shakes his head, like he’s trying to dispel an illusion.

“How am I…? How did you-” He stops mid-question, as if unsure how to continue.

Zhou Zishu considers leaving him wondering.

“There were different levels, you said,'' he finally answers. “In between the levels, I regained some
of my senses and noticed what you were doing. What was there to lose?” His fingers clutch tighter,
Wen Kexing’s hands the only anchor keeping him from getting swept under the onslaught of
emotion battering at him. “I cycled the energy through my system as you gave it to me then
returned it to you.”

“And it kept me alive,” Wen Kexing finishes. “But for that to work, the timing needed to be- and
you would have had to give the exact amount you were receiving- it’s impossible.”

“And yet here we are,” Zhou Zishu says simply.

Wen Kexing stares at him in disbelief as a tremulous smile slowly grows on his face.

“A-Xu!” he cries as he throws himself forward into Zhou Zishu’s arms and almost topples him
over in the process.

Zhou Zishu’s arms tighten — just so Wen Kexing doesn’t fall and hit the ground, of course — and
he indulges Wen Kexing by ignoring the hand resting a little too low on his back. Wen Kexing is
wonderfully warm in his arms and smells the same as always, like peach blossoms and blood.
It’s easy to bury his nose in Wen Kexing’s hair and push away all that led up to this moment. Zhou
Zishu’s joy is genuine. He’s alive and, more importantly, Wen Kexing is alive with him.

Everything is perfect.

It’s perfect as they explore the armory and find all the books, grain and tools tucked into every
nook and cranny. It’s perfect as they hold each other and fall asleep every night.

It’s perfect, he tells himself, until they’re looking through a section of the armory and Wen Kexing
calls out, “A-Xiang, take a look at-” before cutting himself off and staring blankly into the
distance.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu starts.

But Wen Kexing just turns and smiles at him, brighter than the snow outside and as empty as his
expressions had been when he was still denying being Zhen Yan. Zhou Zishu feels a small crack in
his marble heart as he wonders if their relationship has regressed to the point where Wen Kexing is
hiding from him again or if he has just been deluding himself about how far they have come
together in their journey.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Wen Kexing says. He turns back to the shelves of tools in front of him.
“Oh? Is this for carving wo-”

At first, Zhou Zishu tells himself that there’s no point forcing Wen Kexing to talk if he doesn’t
want to; he can be patient.

But a thought intrudes like a fish hook, stabbing so deep that he can’t pull away from it without
leaving a bloody mess: being patient and letting Wen Kexing keep his secrets has only ever ended
badly, with Zhou Zishu taking his nails out early and Wen Kexing nearly sacrificing his life to keep
Zhou Zishu alive.

Ye Baiyi’s combined six cultivation power ritual worked for the two of them because it was
reciprocal, because they gave only as much qi as they got. To Zhou Zishu, it was the ultimate proof
that they trusted each other.

In the face of that belief, Wen Kexing’s brushoff stings like a slap to the cheek.

Zhou Zishu unwaveringly trusts Wen Kexing, but where is Wen Kexing’s trust? Where was it
when he was planning to fake his death and expose Zhao Jing’s crimes? Even Chengling, Zhou
Zishu’s own disciple, knew of his plans before Zhou Zishu humiliatingly found them out at the
same time as Zhao Jing. Where was the trust as he lied to Zhou Zishu about the ritual, selfishly
sentencing him to a miserable life alone?

“If we don’t talk about it now, are you just going to tell me later when you think I can’t hear you?”
he says then, bitterness threading through his words.

Wen Kexing’s brows furrow at that and the smile fades from his face. “A-Xu?”

“I can’t seem to wrap my head around this,” Zhou Zishu says, a humorless twist to his mouth.
“You would abandon your plans for revenge against the entire jianghu and die for me, but at the
same time you don’t even trust me enough to admit you might be sad.”

“That’s not it,” Wen Kexing protests, shaking his head as he steps toward Zhou Zishu, who pulls
away from him.
“Isn’t it?”

“You left me behind and told Chengling to lie to me.”

“Ah, so you did it to get back at me?”

“Of course not,” Wen Kexing says, the words desperately tumbling out. “I just wanted to protect
you.”

“I didn’t need your protection.” If Zhou Zishu didn’t feel so unhappy, he’d laugh at the thought.

“You took your nails out,” Wen Kexing defends, his mouth set in a stubborn line.

“Because you let me think you were dead!” The words come bursting out of Zhou Zishu, and Wen
Kexing’s eyes go wide like he hadn’t realized what they were arguing about.

“A-Xu, I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what? Think I would care? Didn’t think I could keep your secrets?”

Wen Kexing is silent under Zhou Zishu’s barrage of questions.

“Didn’t what?” Zhou Zishu asks again, softly.

Wen Kexing stays quiet.

In the wake of that, Zhou Zishu has nothing left to say. He turns away from Wen Kexing’s huge
eyes and leaves, walking aimlessly until he finds a dead end among the bookshelves.

He waits for a moment but Wen Kexing doesn’t follow him. Zhou Zishu can’t even say if that’s
what he really wanted.

Faced with the choice of either finding something else to do or continuing to wander pointlessly
through the armory, he starts pulling books off the shelves, skimming through the pages to see if
there’s anything interesting.

He’s reading the words without processing any of it — pickle recipe, how to make vinegar,
preserving cabbage, millet wine, herb directo-

Wait. Wine. Flipping through the book and reading it more thoroughly, he learns that he’s landed
upon a concise step-by-step guide to brewing millet wine.

The guide can barely be considered a book, really more of a booklet listing five steps with brief
descriptions and crude diagrams.

Zhou Zishu is about to slip the book back onto the shelf when the smooth heat of alcohol coats the
back of his throat for a blink of a moment before the sense memory fades away, leaving him
nothing but a deep thirst and a dry tongue.

He opens the book back up, smoothing his hand over the first page and the words: Immerse millet
in cold water and leave to rest overnight.

Tucking the book into his robes, he heads toward the stacks of grains and other dried goods to see
if he has what he needs in the armory.

He goes through fourteen sacks until he finally finds some millet and smiles for the first time that
day.

2. In the morning, wash millet, taking care not to squeeze the grains in the process.

Making wine isn’t quite as easy as Zhou Zishu had hoped. He pores over each step in the
instructional booklet, then spends the next shichen exploring the armory while he looks for the
pots and ingredients he needs, or close enough substitutes.

He hits his first hurdle when he discovers that he needs a fermentation starter, but the book doesn’t
explain how to make or obtain one.

Zhou Zishu has to go digging through the section of the library in which he found the brewing
guide until he finds another book that tells him how to make a fermentation starter.

It’s a good distraction, the quest and the process of it, so he doesn’t have to think about Wen
Kexing.

He finds dried peas, barley and more millet among the sacks of grains and seeds. He melts some
ice in a bucket and places it on the table next to the mortar and pestle he scavenged. He begins
crushing the grains before slowly adding water in small amounts, grinding all the ingredients
together until it makes a paste.

The process is simple, but involved enough that he can lose himself in the motions of it. He grinds
all of his frustration into the paste, not sparing a single thought to the look in Wen Kexing’s eyes
when he walked away the night before.

Not. Grind.

A. Grind.

Single. Grind.

Thought. Grind.

He grinds harder, pushing some loose strands of hair away from his face with the base of his palm.

Finally, when he can’t take it any longer, he asks sharply, “What is it?”

He directs his words back to where Wen Kexing has been hovering, watching him work the grain
into a paste, without turning his face toward him once.

Wen Kexing doesn’t say anything but takes that as implicit permission to approach, coming up
behind Zhou Zishu. Zhou Zishu is about to demand an answer when he feels Wen Kexing’s fingers
touch his temples. The fingers gather his hair out of the way, twisting it and pinning it back so it
doesn’t fall into his eyes anymore.

His fingers are warm, the lingering touch branding his skin before Wen Kexing pulls away.

The swell of frustration in his chest deflates just like that.

Even so, Zhou Zishu still doesn’t turn around, and Wen Kexing doesn’t make a single sound before
he leaves Zhou Zishu to continue making his paste.

Once Zhou Zishu has formed the paste into a brick and left it to ferment, he cleans himself up with
the leftover water in the bucket.

Unable to help the curiosity, he removes the pin from his hair with clean hands so he can take a
closer look, only to see that it’s freshly carved, simple but elegant with clean lines.

Zhou Zishu skims his thumb over the smooth wood, affection welling up inside of him, and goes
looking for Wen Kexing.

3. Steam the washed millet then mix with the fermentation starter, herbs and cold water.

One of the best times to catch Wen Kexing for a conversation is when he’s bathing. Even trapped
in the armory, that holds true. Zhou Zishu is not going to torture himself wondering who decided to
keep a bathtub in the armory, considering the rest of what they’ve found here. But there’s plenty of
ice to melt and Wen Kexing loves to sit in water while he sulks.

When he looks over as Zhou Zishu makes his entrance into the room with the tub, Zhou Zishu can
see the hesitation and longing in his eyes, genuine for once. He’s like a beaten puppy, still
desperate for affection but too hurt not to lash out when someone comes close.

He hates it. Wen Kexing should only ever look sly and flirty and playful.

Zhou Zishu considers standing nearby and turning his back to make it easier for them to talk, but
ultimately decides that will just compound their problems. With the sort of conversation he wants
to have, they need to be on even ground.

So under Wen Kexing’s wary gaze, Zhou Zishu strips off his robes and climbs into the tub. He’s
expecting a flirty line — Oh, A-Xu, how forward of you. I knew you couldn’t resist my charms. —
but the careful silence tells him enough about Wen Kexing’s state of mind.

He settles in, giving him space while still remaining within reach. All Wen Kexing has to do is
stretch an arm out if he wants to touch Zhou Zishu.

He lays out his opening salvo without bothering to soften anything: “You haven’t told me anything
important about you that I didn’t already know unless forced by circumstances.”

Wen Kexing flinches. Zhou Zishu waits patiently until the tension uncoils itself from Wen
Kexing’s body and lets him find his own words.

“Each time I wonder if you’ll finally leave me behind for good,” Wen Kexing whispers.

“When have I left you behind?” Zhou Zishu says without thinking. Wen Kexing shoots him a
disbelieving stare and Zhou Zishu’s lips thin as he concedes the point.

Instead of pressing, Wen Kexing asks in return, “When have you asked me to stay?”

Zhou Zishu thinks about patience and waiting, and how for him it’s meant to be a show of love.
Then he thinks about how it can look like a lack of interest or care to someone who hasn’t had
anyone fighting for him since he was a child.

And this time, instead of waiting for Wen Kexing to come crawling to him, he reaches out.

“You’re my zhiji,” he says, finally looking over and making sure to catch Wen Kexing’s eyes with
his own. “I want to know your darkest corners and most painful secrets. I’m not staying in spite of
what you’ve done but because of who you are and the choices you’ve made.”

Zhou Zishu cups a hand around Wen Kexing’s cheek, watching as his eyes flutter shut and tears
slide down his cheeks, blending in with the bathwater.

“I just want to be enough for you,” he murmurs into Zhou Zishu’s hand.

“Why are you so silly?” Zhou Zishu lightly pinches his cheek, jolting Wen Kexing into opening
his eyes. “You are enough.”

4. Put the mixture into a container. Seal and leave to ferment in a cool place.

There’s only so much that can be covered in one conversation while sitting in a bath. Both of them
have too many raw, open wounds to clean out all at once.

Zhou Zishu lets the conversation rest, and they finish up the bath, too exposed to make jokes or get
up to anything salacious.

That doesn’t last for long.

That night, instead of dozing in some cold neglected corner of the armory, Zhou Zishu rejoins Wen
Kexing in their makeshift bed: a pile of sheets and fabric they cobbled together and laid over a few
grain sacks.

Zhou Zishu still feels like an unraveled thread and, judging from the glint in his eyes, Wen Kexing
feels similarly. So when Wen Kexing pushes him onto his back, climbing on top of him and
covering Zhou Zishu’s body with his own, he clings tight, hoping they can hold each other
together.

He lets Wen Kexing control the pace, opening up his robes and pressing his mouth reverently to
Zhou Zishu’s collarbone. Wen Kexing presses sucking kisses all down Zhou Zishu’s torso,
undoubtedly leaving a rainbow of marks for Zhou Zishu to discover in the morning.

Wen Kexing hands hold his waist, thumbs pressing in just below his ribs, and he uses his grip as
leverage to pin Zhou Zishu in place when he tries to arch away from the sharp pain-pleasure of a
bite to the curve of his right pec.

“Beautiful,” he says as he leaves a matching bite on the other side.

Once Zhou Zishu is shivering and crying out his name, Wen Kexing unwraps him the rest of the
way and then takes off his own robes before positioning Zhou Zishu on his side and curling up
behind him.

“A-Xu,” he murmurs into Zhou Zishu’s neck, grasping his wrists with one hand.

“A-Xu,” he breathes as he rolls his hips to grind his cock between Zhou Zishu’s cheeks.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing repeats again, stroking his own cock with his other hand until it's dripping
wet with precome.

“Are you just going to call my name, or are you actually going to do something?” Zhou Zishu
snaps impatiently.

Wen Kexing just laughs and apologizes.

He nudges his cock between Zhou Zishu’s thighs, slotting in so perfectly that Zhou Zishu feels like
a solved puzzle box. Like the liu lijia with all its pieces in place.

Wen Kexing breathes open-mouthed against Zhou Zishu’s neck, kissing when he remembers to and
biting when Zhou Zishu deigns to squeeze his thighs tighter together.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu moans as he tugs his wrists, half-heartedly trying to get out of Wen
Kexing’s grip. “Faster.”

He’s getting close to cresting over the edge, Wen Kexing’s hand leaving his wrists to touch his
cock, when suddenly Wen Kexing stops moving.

Before Zhou Zishu can slap at him, he groans out, “We shouldn’t ruin the bed.” Zhou Zishu
ignores him and pushes his hips back, and Wen Kexing starts thrusting again. “We don’t have any
other clean sheets right no-”

“I don’t want to move,” Zhou Zishu says plainly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Wen
Kexing.

He gets a soft chuckle before his world turns upside down as Wen Kexing rolls them off the bed
and onto the floor. Zhou Zishu grunts at the impact, catching himself with his hands on Wen
Kexing’s chest.

“Lao Wen!” he complains, before Wen Kexing adjusts them so he can press their cocks together.
Wen Kexing curls one large, warm hand around them, and Zhou Zishu loses himself to the waves
of heat coursing through his body with each stroke.

After, Zhou Zishu lies with his head on Wen Kexing’s chest. The cool air feels good against his
sweaty back.

“Hey, A-Xu,” Wen Kexing says and Zhou Zishu gives a lazy hum in acknowledgement. “What
were you making?”

“Millet wine.” Zhou Zishu can feel the vibrations of Wen Kexing’s laughter under him. “I found a
recipe book.”

“Why are you making wine when you can’t drink it? Isn’t that just torture?”

Zhou Zishu lifts his head so he can answer properly.

“Ah, but see, I was thinking that wine is cooling and maybe that’s actually what the ritual meant by
only eating cold things like ice and snow. Only things that nourish yin energy?”

Zhou Zishu is nearly dislodged by Wen Kexing’s laughter that time.

“That’s definitely not how it works,” he says through his chuckles, “but nice try.”

“Don’t you miss eating food?” Zhou Zishu asks, wandering from the previous subject. “You’re so
good at cooking, surely you enjoyed eating it after too.”

Wen Kexing makes a contemplative sound before groping at Zhou Zishu’s ass.

“What’s there to miss when I have access to all the fresh peach I could ever want to eat,” he teases,
voice going low.

Zhou Zishu just rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he says.

Instead of shutting up, Wen Kexing ponders, “I wonder what other recipes they have here.”

Zhou Zishu settles back down against him.

“I’ll show you the shelf I found after we’ve rested.”

The next weeks pass in a haze: they lounge in bed, they fuck in bed and against shelves and on
tables, they read scrolls and books, they fuck again in every position that they can imagine. They
practice martial arts together.

They talk about Gu Xiang, finally. Wen Kexing has to tuck his face into the crook of Zhou Zishu’s
shoulder to do so and Zhou Zishu’s skin feels uncomfortably damp and sticky with Wen Kexing’s
tears after, but it’s worth it the next time they find something weird in a corner of the armory and
Wen Kexing tells him without flinching that A-Xiang would have loved it.

Zhou Zishu periodically checks on his fermentation starter, then his sealed wine once he’s reached
that stage.

“How will you know when it’s ready?” Wen Kexing asks curiously. By this point, they’ve
somewhat lost track of time.

Zhou Zishu prevaricates. “I have a connection with alcohol unlike any other. I’ll just know.”

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing whines, “surely this connection isn’t as strong as our connection!”

Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes.

“What connection?”

“A-Xu! You’re so cruel!”

Zhou Zishu hums, amusement toying at the corners of his lips.

“However will I make it up to you?” he asks in a toneless voice.

A glint of interest sparks in Wen Kexing’s eyes.

Days, weeks, months later, Zhou Zishu is lying back panting on their rumpled sheets after Wen
Kexing’s beautiful, skillful mouth brings him to yet another mind-blowing orgasm.

“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing asks, panting, as he takes Zhou Zishu’s hand and wraps it around his own
still-hard cock, stroking himself with it. “What do you want to do after this?”

Zhou Zishu thinks, I want to sit outside with you and feel the sun on my skin.

What he actually says is, “Oh.”

Wen Kexing groans as Zhou Zishu’s hand tightens around his cock and he comes all over Zhou
Zishu’s belly.

5. After a month, the seal can be cracked. The liquor is ready to drink.
There’s no day and night within the armory. After enough time has gone by, they eventually lose
track of the seasons.

But Zhou Zishu knows it has to have been a few months, at least judging from the progress of the
wine he’s been brewing.

He’s lying on his stomach in the bed they set up, Wen Kexing next to him, head propped up on one
hand while the other idly traces shapes along Zhou Zishu’s back.

He’s close to falling asleep as a result of their strenuous activities and the soothing motions on his
back, so much so that he’s barely aware of it when the words leave his mouth. But once they do, he
doesn’t want to take them back.

“The snow has surely settled enough for us to safely dig our way out,” he murmurs, words clear
enough in the sleepy silence.

The movement of Wen Kexing’s fingers pauses.

Tone careful, Wen Kexing asks, “Why would we want to dig out? We’re safe here. And
immortal.”

“What’s so great about being immortal?” Zhou Zishu grumbles. “I miss napping under the sun and
touching swords with you in a blooming orchard.”

“A-Xu, we just spent half a shichen touching swords and you already miss it?” Wen Kexing asks,
laying the flirtation on thick.

Zhou Zishu scoffs an ugly sigh. “Lao Wen!”

The fingers resting on his back pull away, and Zhou Zishu wiggles around so he’s facing Wen
Kexing, who’s looking down at the sheets.

“We’re together,” Wen Kexing says softly. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I want to be with you,” Zhou Zishu confirms, and a tension in Wen Kexing’s shoulders seems to
loosen before he stiffens again as Zhou Zishu continues, “outside, wandering, seeing beautiful
things and eating good food.”

Zhou Zishu grabs Wen Kexing’s hand when he doesn’t respond.

“Do you really want to spend an eternity locked in a dusty cave? Do you think I want that? You
know I’d rather live a full mortal life than a stagnant long one.”

Wen Kexing’s next words come out soft and painful like a tender wound, “What if all the damage
to your meridians comes back when you give up your immortality?”

“Then we die together,” Zhou Zishu says simply, “since you nearly ruined your own meridians in
the process. I’ll find you again in the next life.”

“Besides,” he adds, coaxing, “if we’re in here we’ll never get to see how my silly disciple is
faring.”

Zhou Zishu swallows before adding softly, “Or find Gu Xiang when she reincarnates.”

Wen Kexing shuts his eyes tight, but not before Zhou Zishu glimpses the reddened and wet
corners.
 With his eyes still shut, his hands come up and cradle Zhou Zishu’s face. The gentle hold guides
him into a kiss, long and slow and deep, like the emotions inside of Wen Kexing are spilling over
and the only thing he can do to keep from being overwhelmed is pour it into Zhou Zishu.

Zhou Zishu parts his lips and takes it all, opening his body to everything Wen Kexing wants to
share with him.

When the kiss slows to the point that it’s just the two of them with their lips pressed together,
mouths unmoving, sharing breaths, Wen Kexing murmurs, “I just want to be by your side.”

And Zhou Zishu knows it’s an agreement.

He smiles into the kiss, ruining it a little, and pulls away.

Wen Kexing pouts at that, gently pawing at the sheets in Zhou Zishu’s direction as he leaves the
bed.

“A-Xu, where are you going?” he asks.

Zhou Zishu hums, not even bothering to throw on one of their robes. “I’ll be back.”

He returns holding his jar of millet wine.

“Lao Wen,” he calls out softly, affection dripping from every word. Wen Kexing’s face turns to
him, like a parched flower drinking in the rain. “Have a drink with me.”

End Notes

If you don't understand the cooling joke, it's from a concept grounded in TCM in which
heaty foods generate heat and nourish yang energy in the body while cooling foods cool
the body down and nourish yin energy. I think wine is supposed to be cooling, but this is
based off informal nagging passed down from my mother and grandmother, so take it with
a grain of salt.

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