When China says he's not been one for romance, in the modern sense of the word, he doesn't of course mean he hates it. It's something he cherishes, in fact–he's had a long enough history of all sorts of stories that explore the various turbulent and passionate relationships of figures both fictional and factual, translated from the poems and novels of old onto the modern screens of the TV dramas he is not-so-secretly so fond of. The beauty of the grand romance is woven into his landscapes, his music, in his written language, and in that context he embraces it fully.
In a modern sense however, when it comes to relationships between individuals, things do get a lot harder to define in any language even for humans, let alone nations.
"So what's the scoop on you and Rome?" asks America out of the blue while they're both heading down a particularly barren patch of highway.
"What about me and Rome?"
"Weren't you two a thing, back in ye olde ancient times?" says America.
"Oh god, not this conversation again," It's not that it was particularly surprising, but it's always annoying when the subject of past relationships are brought up. Especially relationships more than two thousand years in the past.
"What's wrong with it?" says America. "If we want this to work out aren't we supposed to be more transparent about our past flings and stuff?"
Scoop, fling, thing–no one ever likes to use the word relationship in casual actual conversation. It's just too heavy, and heaviness brings awkwardness.
"It's all old news," said China. "Silk road, trade–nothing you can't read about in one of your world history textbooks. "
"Oh, come on now! You know what I mean." America makes an exaggerated pout. "We're talking Ancient Rome here! You're like probably like the only person alive besides the pasta bros that got to meet him in person, which I think is pretty cool!" He takes his eyes off the road (America, always the daredevil) to give a hopeful glance over. "So? What was he like?"
"Hm." It's strange trying to drag up specific memories about Rome–Da Qin, that's what he called him then–in the presence of America, as youthful, vibrant, and very much living in the present as he is. "Basically what you'd expect from an empire in those days. Strong, proud, overly enthusiastic and ready to pick a fight with anything that moves." He'd also been rather grossed out by the silkworms in the mulberry trees, and China had laughed to himself, thinking if only he knew that the strange little worms were the source of the delicate and decadent cloth that his people were so obsessed with.
"We met only a few times. Travel was harder back then, so it was a big deal. And everything was different, for us–languages, customs, manners–so that was something difficult to overcome. Trade and commerce are very helpful for getting to know each other, but in person it's always a new experience." Rome tended to forget at times that he was supposed to be stoic and virtuous, a model of military dignity, and lose himself to passion. Everything was new and exciting for him in the Middle Kingdom–the elaborate decoration of the buildings, the colorful clothing of both the nobles and even the common ones of the peasants, the food, and of course, China himself.
"I'll bet you made a pretty good impression on him." says America.
"I'd like to think so." Even Rome himself had to stand in awe of Chang'an and the glory of the Endless Palace, larger and obviously much more impressive than whatever piddling monuments built by the minor kings back in his own land. They were far enough away from each other to coexist, each dominating their own sphere of influence and trading their goods along the thin treacherous passage that passed through Central Asia.
"You wrote each other letters?" America laughs when he mentions it. "Oh my gosh! That's so cute."
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No! No I'm not! It's just, I mean, I just think that's really romantic–that you would keep up with each other like that, I mean."
"It's not as intense as you're making it sound," says China. "We wrote a bit, but the language barrier was annoying as hell and it took forever for anything to be delivered, so our correspondence is not exactly extensive." Understanding each other through speech seemed to be easiest, but writing needed to be painstakingly translated. Still, despite the many errors and inconveniences, China had managed to obtain a few letters from The Great Qin, who wrote lengthy rambles about trade, and the various battles he had won, the nations he had subdued in his quest for expansion and women he'd seduced over the years. China wrote back about his own conquests, the changes in power in government, the progress of silk production, as well as an occasional poem describing some omens he'd observed (both good and bad; the two empires may have differed in many things but they both took their omens very seriously). The poems would probably be lost ruined by the translators, he knew, but he was too proud of them to not at least try to share them with the counter-empire across the sea.
Rome's last letter is confusing to read–there were too many untranslatable Latin phrases, or maybe his handwriting was just illegible at some points. But overall, despite its difficulty, it is plagued by a sense of uncertainty mixed with a vague but unfounded hope for the future.
I know you probably won't see this for a while, he writes. But I do wish you could visit and see my grandchildren. They have such precious faces!
"I'm sure it must have been weird just due to how far away you guys were. Long distance relationships are hard enough to maintain even today."
"Distance can be annoying, but in this case I think it was a good thing. It's what kept us together. If we'd been any closer to each other geographically, I'm sure we would have ended up fighting or invading each other, but instead we just kept our distance and traded goods peacefully."
He was reminded of the classic love story of the cowherd and the weaver-girl, who could only meet each other on one day of the year, walking on a bridge of magpies. It was supposedly a tragedy, that they had to be separated from each other for so long, but somehow the idea of only being able to see someone once a year didn't seem that bad. Especially, if like the two stars that inspired the tale, you were immortal–in that case, a year is a fairly short unit of time. In fact, he thought, it would probably be better that way–you wouldn't get tired of each others' company, and there would be no tension at the borders, no spontaneous invasions, no grudges to sour the relationship. One could the spend the rest of the year tending to responsibilities but also in a state of drawn out longing–and wasn't half the excitement, the whole definition of what made romance romantic in the first place built out of anticipation in the first place?
"What did you even like about him?"
"Hm, me? Well…" Rome was a complicated person, evading easy description. Handsome and ever-flamboyant, despite the reminders from his superiors to have more virtus and gravitas, he delighted in violence and fighting and China (Sinis or Serica, as Rome called him) was delighted to find that they were more-or less equally matched in ability while sparring–although, of course, their weapons styles of fighting were quite different.
Let's hope we never have to go to war with each other, he'd joked after a session.
We'd better not, because I would win, China had responded. And if we went to war, all my silks would burn and all your glass would break, and then what would be left of the world? They had laughed over the absurdity of the idea, and went straight back to sparring.
"I guess he reminded me of myself," says China. "We were different but…He was kind of like a reflection of me, in a way. Another empire from all the way from the other side of the world." He was kind of like you, he wants to say to America, but it doesn't quite seem right to say, not now at least. "It seemed so far at the time…." The many days of arduous travel, with multiple stops in Persia and the Levant, meeting many new and strange people and listening to the stories they'd tell about their homelands citing the names of the cities that they were born in, some that were still standing in the present day, under different names.
"Well, the world was wider then." America says, staring ahead at the looming horizon. China looks out his window, watching the rows of crops and fields flit by so quickly their colors blend into each other.
"It certainly was."