Chapter Text
Zhang Shi existed in the world long before the meteor fell.
He no longer remembered the first of his hosts, and did not spend time worrying over who might be the last. He tried not to involve himself in the affairs of those around him, nor claim allegiance to any group in particular. ‘Dixingren’ provided an easy means of explaining his existence, in those rare moments he found himself pressed. More often, he merely smiled and withdrew from the hungry and intrigued eyes of those people still trying to build lives for themselves in the wake of sweeping destruction.
The meteor changed everything for most people and very little for himself. Beforehand, he lived a quiet, itinerant life, wandering between fertile occupied grounds and through the mountains. After it fell, he sought out small settlements and homesteads to ensure that he never wanted for a host. Once or twice he found himself floating, vaporous, across many li of barren land until finally finding a new body in which to root himself. All the while quailing at the thought of engaging with those unfortunate mortals with tragically short lives
At least, until the boys came into his life.
He had but recently shifted his consciousness into a new body and had been obliged to leave behind the family who mourned its former occupant. He typically avoided moving his consciousness to dead hosts; though being alone with his own thoughts had always been imminently preferable, the bodies did not last as long, obliging him to move on quickly. This one, a grandfather well into his dotage, would last him a year at most. Enough to last him until he found a superior body.
Zhang Shi heard the throaty growl of a man’s voice echoing through the air. Not unusual; the recent encroachment of a violent clan and their despicable leader had echoed off the very skies.
Unusual, however, what followed: the panicked cries of a child.
Zhang Shi dropped his pack and ran forward as fast as his host’s stubby legs could carry him. He broke the treeline in time to see the very leader in whom he held such contempt throw a young boy over a cliff’s edge, followed by that same, fragile voice screaming on its way down. It came to a sudden stop and Zhang Shi closed his eyes against his momentary, heart-rending sorrow.
A small, shaky cough followed. Zhang Shi’s eyes popped open again, drawn to a small body lying on the ground, prone and helpless as the man crouched down before him, lips already parted to spill poison from them. Zhang Shi had heard this man speak before, hidden away in any number of bodies as he searched for one compatible with his needs. There was a power in the susurrus tone of his voice, capable of swaying even the most stalwart minds. What chance did a child have?
None. Not without intercession.
“Your gege sold you to me,” the man said. He did not notice Zhang Shi’s approach, his entire focus on the child and the modulation of his tone. The child’s eyes were wide and glazed over, utterly fixated on the words and allowing the power behind them to change his entire world. “He could never love such a weak little beast—”
The blade slicing through his throat turned his words to a gurgle, and Zhang Shi pushed him aside to avoid splattering the child with his blood. Dead, forgotten. Given to the world’s rot.
The child blinked away the last vestiges of mental control. “Gege?” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Zhang Shi whispered, unable to bear the idea of looking over the side of the cliff and seeing the tiny, broken body at the bottom. He helped the child sit up, and rubbed his back through the ensuing coughing fit, wrenching sounds that broke free from his body in heaving sobs. Zhang Shi waited patiently until the tears wrung themselves completely free. “Tell me your name, child.”
“Shen Ye,” he whispered.
Shen Ye’s breaths came in hoarse and painful-sounded wheezes, each one nearly choking him as it fought its way from his mouth. Zhang Shi considered, only for a moment, slipping into the boy’s body and curling around his consciousness in place of the wizened old man he’d chosen to inhabit. The thought fled as quickly as it arrived; in his experience children were unreasonably demanding cohabitants.
(He came to appreciate the irony of the sentiment much, much later.)
“All right, Little Flame. Take some time to catch your breath.”
Shen Ye leaned into Zhang Shi’s touch, trusting in a way suggesting that, despite the threadbare quality of his clothing and layers of dirt ground into his hair, he rarely had reasons to suffer from a cruel hand. Undoubtedly due to the elder brother’s efforts. Zhang Shi would help to see him properly mourned.
It took a great deal of time for Shen Ye’s breathing to ease its way from his chest with a normal cadence. Nearly to nightfall. Long enough that Zhang Shi felt it prudent to set up his meagre tent and offerings nearby, albeit a decent distance from the corpse. They retreated back towards the trees, which served the dual purpose of cover and giving Zhang Shi something with which to anchor the cleaned skins and leather he used for cover. He set Shen Ye to small, easy tasks to help him: gathering tinder, clearing rocks from where he planned to set up. He still had a sallow cast to his skin and moved slowly, spindly arms shaking under the weight of the larger rocks dotting the small break between trees. Zhang Shi avoided child hosts, true, but he had a hand in raising no fewer than a dozen over his centuries of life.
He’d only just tied the last knot in place when he heard the weak and desperate cry of ‘didi!’
There were some Dixingren who were able to mimic the cries of others; not a single one he’d met in his long life had used the talent for noble purpose.
“Stay here,” Zhang Shi said, wrapping his hand around his knife’s hilt. Shen Ye bit his lower lip but nodded. “If you hear me scream, run.” Should trickery take Zhang Shi’s life, he feared Shen Ye would be unable to escape the same fate. But then, Zhang Shi was not so easily killed, and with a fresh body close by he might be able to revive in time to assist his young charge yet again.
He needn’t have worried. The cry came from a boy nearly identical to Shen Ye save for the twisted left leg he dragged on the ground behind him. He leaned heavily on a glaive taller than he was, panting heavily and looking at Zhang Shi with terror when he broke away from the treeline in response to the call.
“Did… did you see my brother?” the boy whispered. He took another step forward and the pommel of the glaive slipped on a protruding rock. He stumbled with a cry of pain. Zhang Shi lunged forward, barely managing to catch him before he hit the ground.
“Yes. You and your didi are safe with me,” Zhang Shi promised. The boy tried to pull himself out of Zhang Shi’s arms. “Don’t move. You’ll only make your injuries worse.”
“I’m fine,” the boy seethed out from a clenched jaw.
He lifted the child and glaive both and carried him back to their small campsite. The boy kept a tight hold on his weapon, though the glaive itself seemed ancient even by Zhang Shi’s standards, weathered by countless years and the earth from which he’d obviously pulled it.
“Gege!” Shen Ye called when they returned. The boy in his arms managed the barest smile before pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him and he toppled headlong into unconsciousness.
Zhang Shi had little experience with the healing arts, but nevertheless managed to straighten the damaged leg, using two branches he cut from one of the nearby trees and carved down to the appropriate length. He bound them tightly to either side of the leg and said a quick word of luck for the universe to allow it to heal well. He knew very well what happened to young children left to their own devices, especially crippled ones. The boys were lucky he’d found them when he did.
“It’s fate, Zhang-shushu,” Shen Ye said. He kept one hand tight on his brother’s, though his gege—Shen Wei—had yet to wake.
Shushu, Zhang Shi repeated silently. He’d been gifted with the endearment many times before. Looking at the two children before him, he supposed he did not mind shouldering the responsibilities that came with it one more time.
Shen Ye only called him shushu for a single season before ‘Baba’ crossed his lips and refused to depart. Shen Wei waited only to make sure that Zhang Shi took no offense before following his brother’s lead, an interesting contrast to their usual dynamics in which Shen Wei strode bravely forward and Shen Ye hung back to quietly observe.
It seemed, to Zhang Shi, that time moved differently the longer he lived. Days, months, years were increasingly shorter. With the boys, that changed. The years moved quickly as always. Between one moment and the next they grew from children to men. But individual moments stood out to him in ways he’d forgotten they could. He vividly recalled staying up to watch them sleep, marvelling in the rise and fall of their chests and the very idea that they trusted and loved him enough to call him ‘father.’
When the time came to release his body from its service, he quietly explained it to his sons.
“Then how old are you?” Shen Ye asked, curious instead of afraid.
“I do not know,” Zhang Shi said. “Young enough that the world still sometimes surprises me. Old enough to appreciate those moments for the rarity they are.”
Shen Ye muddled his over. “Were we a surprise, Baba?”
“The greatest of my life.”
There were a few precious years of peace.
He considered dropping the boys at some settlement, at first. Countless families were in need of extra help, but just as many refused to accept it in fear of the demands of additional mouths to feed. Neither complained over long days spent travelling, and curled against him like kittens at night, pressed into his warmth.
Zhang Shi found himself unsurprised that they were both Dixingren, though Shen Ye never manifested anything similar to the inordinately strong power Shen Wei had of learning the talents of others. Shen Wei refined his control over his dark energy across many miles as their small family followed the seasons. Whenever they stopped near other Dixingren, Shen Wei slipped away to observe them. Zhang Shi never had cause to worry over it; Shen Wei carried his glaive with him though the need to support his once-broken leg had long passed, and one of the first talents he’d learned was how to create portals which easily allowed him to move across long distances in a heartbeat’s time. They might have used the skill to their advantage more often had Shen Ye not absolutely loathed it as a means of travel.
“It’s cold, gege,” he protested one evening after they’d made camp. His voice lowered and he fixed his gaze on the fire before them. “I don’t like being cold.”
Shen Wei sighed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
Between stopovers in the small pockets of human life, Zhang Shi watched over Shen Wei as he learned to use his glaive. A fine weapon, he learned to channel his dark energy through it, shaping it to his will in the form of a yutoudao, eventually a blur of steel in young but competent hands.
While he practiced, Shen Ye consumed every bit of knowledge Zhang Shi could offer from long years of experience. There seemed to be no topic which failed to capture his interest. Zhang Shi taught him the properties of plants—for healing, for killing—and how to apply bandages and gentle salves to Shen Wei’s wounds whenever he returned to their camp with blisters and bruises.
He probably should have known that Shen Wei would never be content to only protect the lives of Zhang Shi and Shen Ye.
The skirmishes with the Dixingren rebels started over land.
Zhang Shi was unsurprised. Even with the death of their most influential leader, he had held out little hope for lasting peace. Resources were becoming increasingly scarce and the Haixingren and Yashou were afraid of the powers wielded by the Dixingren, and the advantage they provided. An advantage of which many Dixingren took shameless advantage.
They came across a burned settlement, stripped of every resource—including the children—with the adult residents left dead and rotting upon the ground. Despite his sons now well into their adulthood, Zhang Shi actively repressed the urge to cover their eyes; none of the sorry dead had been granted a quick death.
“Why would they do this?” Shen Ye whispered, dropping to his knees to stare at the scorched grass instead of the bodies littering the area. Shen Wei placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Desperation,” Zhang Shi told him. “Or fear of being driven to desperation.”
Shen Wei did not recoil from the sight of the dead. “We should help,” he said with quiet determination and hard eyes.
Zhang Shi despaired over Shen Wei’s deeply rooted sense of justice some days. Nothing would stop his boy from joining the fight now. Zhang Shi had hoped to keep out of it, but wherever Shen Wei went, Shen Ye would follow, and Zhang Shi refused to leave them to their own devices. Not now. Not after ten years of watching them grow from boys to men and becoming their father in word and action.
Zhang Shi switched hosts shortly before they reached the main encampment of the budding alliance forming against the rebels. His former body had grown too old for the sort of exhaustive demands that war would inevitably place upon it. His new body, trim and muscled, far taller than anything to which he’d been accustomed, and capable of giving birth which he found imminently fascinating though he decided early not to attempt the feat.
They chose to approach a small troupe of Yashou. Haixingren could be unpredictable, and few Dixingren had committed themselves to helping.
“We hope to join with others, but need to prove ourselves first. To that end, we need capable fighters,” Fu You stated, eyeing up the glaive in Shen Wei’s hand before turning her gaze towards Shen Ye. It became decidedly frostier. “Not so much hangers on with nothing to offer.”
“I know some healing arts,” Shen Ye offered after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
She nodded. “Very well.”
A young cat-shifting Yashou led them to an empty plot near the middle of the camp. It had been many years since Zhang Shi had met one of their kind; the ravens, the flowers, and the snakes were far more prevalent, even now. He lingered to watch as they erected their tent and prepared their fire.
“Fu-jie says that we all need to provide our own food,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. Even in the shape of a human child, his movements were intensely feline.
“We have food,” Shen Wei said.
“What’s your name, xiao-di?” Shen Ye asked, retrieving a small piece of dried meat from his sleeve and offering it for inspection.
The boy snatched it and shoved it in his mouth. “Xiao Qing,” he said, mopping drool from his chin.
“We have plenty of food, if you’re ever hungry,” Shen Wei told him.
Xiao Qing nodded decisively, reverted back to his cat form, and disappeared back into the camp.
After the first battle, Shen Wei picked up a mask. In short order, it became a part of his everyday life and he rarely took it off around anyone save Zhang Shi and Shen Ye. In the evenings, when they’d settled down with whatever creative endeavours the camp cooks had deemed a meal, he retreated to their shared tent and tucked it close to his side, always at hand.
“I do not wish for people to see me afraid,” he whispered late one night, after leading a small complement of warriors into battle and emerging triumphant.
Shen Ye had already fallen asleep, curled close to Shen Wei’s legs as though they were children once more and he needed the comfort of his brother’s warmth. Shen Wei did not turn him away. He ran gentle fingers through Shen Ye’s hair, mouth set in a pensive line. Xiao Qing had found his way back to them and curled up in Zhang Shi’s lap. His breathing hadn’t quite levelled out to true sleep; undoubtedly he’d been ordered to listen and report back to Fu You, but for the moment he was at peace.
“Fear is natural.” Zhang Shi assured him.
“And yet.” Shen Wei seemed terribly young in that moment, turning his mask over and over again in his hands. “How can I expect to lead anyone if all they see is a scared child.”
“I only see one of the bravest men I have had the privilege to know.”
Shen Wei looked up from the mask. “Thank you, Baba.”
He wore it nonetheless, his ruthless competence slowly growing in reputation until no one knew him as anything other than Heipaoshi, general of the budding coalition forming between those who wished to stand against the Dixingren’s cruel leader. Zhang Shi supposed that there would always be those who sought to benefit by destituting others. The man from whom he’d saved his sons had merely been a droplet in a far larger and malevolent lake.
Shen Ye worked closely with the healers, determined to contribute despite having little in the way of martial talent—something Zhang Shi admired and loved about him—nor powers. Shen Wei—Heipaoshi—led their people to many victories. Zhang Shi found himself frequently taking the role of advisor of the leaders, though he refused to accept a formal place among them.
They gained ground by inches.
And then General Kunlun arrived.
Ma Gui and Fu You warned Zhang Shi that word of General Kunlun’s death had been circulated to take the enemy by surprise. He spotted the General when he arrived, looking bizarrely underdressed. Zhang Shi returned his attention to the injured before him, Shen Ye close at his side, both unnoticed by Da Qing—older now, and larger, though Zhang Shi still thought of him as the kitten who preferred his lap to anyone else’s—and the General himself.
A little over an hour after his arrival at camp, when Zhang Shi had joined his counterparts to review their plans, they’d managed to help him look like the proper warrior of which Zhang Shi had heard, instead of a monkey who’d awkwardly tried to dress himself. One of the Dixingren helped him regrow the hair which Zhang Shi had presumed to have been cut off in a show of repentance or shame. Or, perhaps, he’d been captured and his hair shorn in a show of disdain.
General Kunlun grinned gormlessly, looking around as though he’d never seen the comparative luxuries afforded to the coalition leaders. He looked somewhat closer to the noble warrior Zhang Shi had expected, at least, though he appeared confused by Zhang Shi’s presence.
“This is our third,” Fu You said.
Zhang Shi bowed, an act of respect which General Kunlun only barely remembered to follow. “I am Zhang Shi.”
General Kunlun blinked quickly and gave him a once-over. “Zhang Shi,” he repeated slowly. “And you are one of the commanders? Here?” His eyes narrowed. “What Zhang? What Shi? Are you Haixingren?”
Zhang Shi did not care for the skepticism in his tone, nor the abrupt nature of his questioning. “Zhang for roebuck. Shi for lion.” This did not seem to settle any of General Kunlun’s obvious unease. “And if the Dixingren ever sought to claim an elder, it would be me.”
Kunlun stared at him, the intensity of the look slightly unnerving. “You’re a woman.”
Zhang Shi wondered if General Kunlun had been equally bold around Fu You. He presumed not, given all his limbs still appeared attached. He had no opportunity to ask before the low voice of his son echoed through the cave.
“My parent is complicated.” They all turned towards the entrance to the cave as Shen Wei swept in.
“Heipaoshi,” Fu You greeted. “You’re here.”
“Forgive my late arrival. I’ve just settled my men.”
Any hesitancy General Kunlun may have felt disappeared and he at once tried to convey a sense of familiarity between them that took Shen Wei off-guard. He strode to Shen Wei and clapped his arm, face lit up in effervescent delight. Shen Wei blinked at him; Zhang Shi felt mildly gratified that his son appeared equally sceptical regarding this new arrival, all the while wondering over this General Kunlun and his immediate and insistent joy at the sight of Zhang Shi’s son.
And while Zhang Shi felt more than ready to step in, Shen Wei shook his head when Zhang Shi caught his eye.
Shen Wei’s confusion only lasted a moment, however, before recognition lit his features. “General Kunlun saved my life,” Shen Wei said.
Zhang Shi had rarely heard his son’s voice soften in such a way.
Zhang Shi did not care for this.
The feeling only intensified.
General Kunlun met Shen Ye the following morning, over the shared meal. Zhang Shi expected him to make an equal spectacle of himself, expectations well met when the General dropped into the seat next to Shen Ye and offered him a similarly stupid, if not somewhat more staid, smile.
“Hello!” he chirped, grabbing a hunk of bread and meat from the middle of the table.
Shen Ye glanced at him, nodded, then returned his attention to his own food. Unlike his brother, Shen Ye wore no mask, nor armour. He used no weapon save his intelligence. There was also no reasonable way for General Kunlun to know that he had any relation to Heipaoshi. Shen Wei had made a point of protecting both Shen Ye and Zhang Shi with his own anonymity. As the reputation and legend of Heipaoshi grew, so did Shen Wei’s insistence on keeping his identity concealed.
General Kunlun peered at Shen Ye closely before nodding to himself.
“Ah, good bread!” General Kunlun, it seemed, did not know how to speak in anything below a shout, nor without unnecessary emphaticness. Zhang Shi, who preferred to speak softly and meaningfully, found it grating.
“General Kunlun, this is my son, Shen Ye,” Zhang Shi said.
“Good morning, xiao-didi.” Ignoring Shen Ye’s wide-eyed stare, the General cast his gaze around the table. “And where is Heipaoshi this morning?”
“Heipaoshi regularly goes on patrol,” Zhang Shi told him, eyes narrowed. “He has talents which allow him to extend his consciousness over great distances.”
“Useful.” The word came out accompanied by a chuckle. A knowing one, Zhang Shi realized.
He piled a substantial serving of stew into Shen Ye’s bowl, either without noticing he’d done so or blithely unconcerned at the presumption.
He stuck close after breakfast, trailing Shen Ye and Zhang Shi through camp, step only occasionally pausing whenever something caught his eye. To Zhang Shi’s despair, Shen Ye slowed his step to allow General Kunlun to keep up, bemusement an additional companion who kept pace alongside them.
They reached the paddock housing their limited number of horses, Zhang Shi pleased to find two already saddled and ready to go.
“You can ride with me, General,” Shen Ye said without bothering to ask Zhang Shi’s opinion on the matter. He felt oddly betrayed by his younger son’s eagerness.
“Great, thanks,” General Kunlun said. General Kunlun stared dubiously at the animal before awkwardly hauling himself up behind Shen Ye. Shang Zhi hadn’t realized there had been a dearth of horses in the mountains from which the general hailed. “Where are we going?”
For weeks, now, Zhang Shi and Shen Ye had been trying to convince the elders of the town nearest their encampment to evacuate. Nothing he’d said—not warnings nor examples of the depravity that had occurred in other places—seemed to hold any sway. This newest attempt came fast on the heels of another town nearby being purged of all adults, children seized. Zhang Shi had brought their attention to similar such matters before; he hoped that the relatively short distance between them and their neighbouring town would convince them.
He should have suspected that the rebels would strike while still mobilized. They crested the hill overlooking the town to a chorus of bloodied screams. Three of the buildings were already ablaze, choking the air with smoke and adding to the chaos.
Shen Ye urged his horse forward before Zhang Shi could say a word. Zhang Shi followed close behind, though not without sending up a signal flare. They were a fair distance from the main encampment, but hopefully close enough someone would spot it and send aid.
Considering the man looked at proper weapons in the sort of mystified awe Zhang Shi associated with particularly superstitious peasants, General Kunlun charged into battle unafraid. Zhang Shi watched firsthand as he whipped out his spiritual weapon and began firing upon the unexpected surge of Dixingren rebels from behind Shen Ye. The horse startled and reared in response to the crack of thunder which followed his weapon’s attack. While Shen Ye managed to stay mounted, the general flew off the back and hit the ground with a sharp groan.
He rose again only a second later, the crack of his weapon coming in the space of heartbeats: one after another, each heralding the fall of one of the enemy. When Shen Ye threw himself into the fray, General Kunlun shadowed his steps, a shield hovering next to him when Shen Ye paused to help the injured.
And then, with a sweep of cold air and the prickling sensation of dark energy, Heipaoshi arrived.
He swept in, cloak spinning as he knocked back two of the rebels who had set their sights on General Kunlun. Every time Zhang Shi watched his son engage in battle it filled him with warring pride and dread. His son was strong and competent, capable of subduing any number of rebels. But in the back of his mind, Zhang Shi had always feared the day Shen Wei, his incredible child, would meet his match.
His fears came true, just not in the way he'd imagined.
Heipaoshi and General Kunlun moved around one another as though they'd been fighting side by side for centuries; an effortless weave and dance of bodies and weapons. Zhang Shi kept half an eye on them through the battle, a bead of attention which cost him very little considering the plethora of potential hosts around him.
Heipaoshi yelled when General Kunlun threw himself between a rebel’s blade and his own back, his arm opened from shoulder to elbow for his trouble. With a flick of his glaive and a curl of dark energy, the Dixingren flew backwards, all but torn apart.
“I’m all right,” General Kunlun wheezed, holding his arm. Shen Ye rushed to his side to bind the wound. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll deal with the stragglers,” Heipaoshi promised, voice dark with quiet anger. Zhang Shi followed him, leaving the general in Shen Ye’s care.
There were only a handful left, the rest of the rebels dead or fled. Heipaoshi cut down two and flicked a hand in the direction of the third as he escaped towards the nearby trees. A snowflake-small knot of dark energy followed him, attaching to his back before he made the treeline.
“It will lead us to their camp,” Heipaoshi said.
Zhang Shi nodded. They were all eager to end the war.
They returned to a bevvy of grateful villagers surrounding Shen Ye and General Kunlun. Shen Ye was binding Kunlun’s arm close to his chest, a stopgap until they returned to camp and got him to one of the Dixingren healers. Heipaoshi looked both the general and his younger brother over before nodding to himself and opening a portal to leave.
“Heilao-ge,” the General called. Heipaoshi paused and turned. What little his mask left exposed remained characteristically neutral, but Zhang Shi couldn’t help but notice the surprise in his son’s eyes. “Will you be back at camp later?”
Heipaoshi blinked slowly. “Perhaps.”
He vanished without another word. General Kunlun appeared nonplussed by the disappearance and turned his attention to entertaining the village children as Zhang Shi and Shen Ye approached the elders, all finally willing to see sense, about relocating.
It probably should not have surprised Zhang Shi to discover that General Kunlun had somehow managed to locate Heipaoshi later that evening. Shen Wei did enjoy a certain prominence around camp, albeit one based on his relationship to Zhang Shi, but preferred his solitude as Heipaoshi. To that effect, he should have dismissed General Kunlun quickly as possible.
Instead, he returned to their tent late, a small stick topped with a delicate pale orb and a small square of shiny material—nothing Zhang Shi recognized—that he tucked away as soon as he noted Zhang Shi’s scrutiny.
He removed his mask once the tent flaps closed behind him. “General Kunlun is now aware that didi and I are twins.”
“What?” Zhang Shi frowned. “How?” Had the General somehow coerced him?
“He removed my mask,” Shen Wei said.
Shen Ye looked abruptly up from his mending. “He did?” Shen Ye’s eyes lit up. He searched Shen Wei’s face, smile growing with every moment, even as Shen Wei’s blush faded into pale concern. “He did.” He leaned forward. “And you let him?”
Shen Wei blushed, a slow spread of red which started at his ears and worked its way down to his neck and beneath his collar. “He is very quick.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is, gege.”
Zhang Shi could have spent his entire life without hearing that particular tone of sly insinuation in his son’s voice and died happy. Before he could say anything else, Shen Wei summoned a portal and disappeared through it, Shen Ye laughing at him right through past when it closed.
Shen Ye leaned back with a broad smile. “This is going to be very fun for me.”
Zhang Shi’s stomach lurched downwards. He did not share the same optimism.
Kunlun had the uncanny ability to tell Shen Wei and Shen Ye apart, a feat only Zhang Shi typically managed. There were subtle differences, usually overlooked by those around them. Shen Wei walked with a slightly offset gait, a holdover from the ill-healed leg from his childhood fall. And Shen Ye’s smile tilted to the left when he was truly happy. However Kunlun managed to discover these small differences, even those that Zhang Shi took for granted, he never mistook one for the other.
He continued to avoid using a proper weapon, instead relying on his fists and the remarkable spiritual item that never strayed far from his hands. He charmed the entire camp, including the previously uncharmable head healer. The Haixingren saw him as a leader, the Yashou as an ally, and the Dixingren as an appendage to Heipaoshi.
All of these, of course, would be merely minor irritations and inconveniences that Zhang Shi would gladly forebear, were it not for the way Kunlun kept looking at his son.
Shen Ye seemed to find the entire thing terribly amusing.
“Do you truly not understand it, A-Die?” he asked one evening while Shen Wei was out on patrol around their camp, General Kunlun doubtless dogging his heels.
Zhang Shi’s eyes narrowed. “I do not.”
Shen Ye chuckled and offered him another helping of stew without further comment. Da Qing joined them, drawn by the smell of food, and laid across Shen Ye’s lap, head officiously angled to accept small pieces of meat fished out from the gravy. Shen Ye shamelessly indulged him, ever the lover of small and cute things.
After dinner, after Shen Ye swept himself away to make himself useful to the others leaders, Da Qing took the opportunity to flop down on his bed for an early evening nap. Zhang Shi, at odds, went in search of distraction.
He found it in the form of his son and General Kunlun, walking far too closely together. Neither of them noticed him and Zhang Shi took the time to study them closer than he had been permitted before now. Shen Wei had forgone his mask, comfortably far outside camp to trust no one would observe Zhang Shi’s mild-mannered son dressed in the same clothes as the masked leader of the Dixingren, and lowered his hood. Heipaoshi gave Shen Wei gravitas which his gentle smile had banished into the night.
Zhang Shi immediately understood Shen Ye’s insinuation.
And he hated it.
He tried to remind himself that his sons were both grown men, now. Good, sensible men who were fully capable of making decisions on their own. That did not mean he had to care for it. Nor watch it. Especially when it involved a man such as General Kunlun.
Zhang Shi preferred to think himself rational, but in all his long existence he’d never before cared enough about anyone to claim them as kin. His sons were his first family and he admitted that it made him less than objective. In this matter, at least.
Shen Wei returned to their tent far later than his watch would have dictated.
“How was your walk, gege?” Shen Ye asked, assiduously pleasant. Shen Wei shot him an exasperated glance, albeit one tinged with his usual fondness, and offered no account of it.
He also, Zhang Shi noted with ire, began going by Shen Wēi. Little challenge in guessing who had inspired the change. He corrected Zhang Shi and Shen Ye one morning before disappearing out of the tent to scout out the rebel movements to the south, his ears bright red.
Riding on the wave of that minor irritation, Zhang Shi found himself on the very cusp of violence when word reached them that Shen Wei had been captured.
Reports came through late that evening, hours after Heipaoshi should have returned. One of their scouts had spotted a group of rebels carrying him back in the direction of their camp, too many to mount a quick rescue.
“Unconscious,” one of the scouts said. He glanced at Zhang Shi and added, nervously, “We hope.”
General Kunlun tore himself away. By the time Zhang Shi could bear to look at him, he’d hidden whatever he felt at the news behind a distant and insouciant frown.
“Well,” General Kunlun said blandly, “I’m going to bed.”
Before anyone could stop him, he headed towards the cave entrance, head low. Zhang Shi stared at his back, temper rising. Without so much as a glimpse towards the other leaders, he followed, a thunderhead crackling with his own rage. He caught up quickly, just outside the main room in an empty rough-hewn corridor. Zhang Shi grabbed Kunlun’s shoulder and spun him around to seize Kunlun by the front of his robes. He shoved the man back against the cave wall. Whip-quick he pulled his knife from his belt and brought it to hover before Kunlun’s left eye.
“How can you do nothing?” Zhan Shi demanded, “Do you not care?”
Kunlun grabbed his wrists, one hold significantly tighter than the other to keep the knife at bay. “Listen.” Any affection bled from Kunlun’s tone. “Shen Wei is going to be fine. I promise you this.”
Zhang Shi felt his lip curl back in an angry snarl. “I don’t believe you.”
Kunlun had the absolute temerity to look hurt, even though everything and all his actions pointed to indifference towards Shen Wei—Zhang Shi’s son, who seemed to love this unworthy wastrel.
“He is,” Kunlun insisted, “Because Shen Ye and I are going to go and get him back.”
Zhang Shi’s stomach swooped uncomfortably. “You leave Xiao Ye alone,” he ordered.
“No. I need him.”
“For what?” A distraction? The idea of this man using Shen Ye as bait made him want to drive the tip of the knife directly into his eye.
“I need him,” was all Kunlun managed to say, steel in his eyes. Zhang Shi shook his hands away and made a point of pushing him back against the wall again.
“Stay away from my sons,” he snapped.
Kunlun stared at him, mouth drawn into a hard line. He walked out of the cave before saying anything further.
Zhang Shi tried to keep an eye on Shen Ye. Even warned him off of going anywhere with the Haixingren general. But with Shen Wei imperilled, he supposed he should have known nothing he said would work. His wonderful, brave son—far too much like Shen Wei, to the devastated worry in his heart—disappeared into the night with Kunlun, gone while Zhang Shi kept counsel with the other leaders to find the best course of action of retrieving his boy.
Zhang Shi considered pursuit; thanks to Shen Wei, they knew where the rebel camp was. In fact, with the number of Dixingren gnashing their teeth to retrieve their leader, he had the better part of a small army ready to follow him. But something about the last interaction with General Kunlun held him back. The hurt Zhang Shi saw his eyes, perhaps, when Zhang Shi suggested he did not care. Whatever his faults, Zhang Shi knew he did care about Shen Wei. Enough to endanger himself in order to bring him back.
He stayed awake late into the night, Da Qing draped across his lap, awake but not purring. Zhang Shi’s hand occasionally twitched on his flank, an abortive start to a gentle stroke which paused when he thought of what might be happening to his sons.
General Kunlun and Shen Ye returned three days later.
With Shen Wei.
Zhang Shi did not wait for the entirety of Fu You’s report; once he heard his sons were ensconced in the healing tent, he dismissed himself without a word. He passed the small squabble of healers just past the boundaries of their quarters. They should have been tending to Shen Wei. Why did they tarry?
Shen Ye waited outside the tent, examining a long lock of brilliant silver hair clasped between his fingers.
“Little Flame,” Zhang Shi called, stride unaltered by the sight of him. Shen Ye dropped his hair immediately and submitted to Zhang Shi’s fierce embrace. For a few brief years in their early adolescence, Zhang Shi had inhabited a body shorter than they were. While his hugs had been no less fierce, he enjoyed the advantage of height in tucking his boys up under his chin. When he pulled back, it was only to quickly look Shen Ye over head to toe, checking for blood or obvious injury. Hair notwithstanding, he seemed unharmed. “Are you all right?”
Shen Ye nodded, though his eyes appeared slightly wet and haunted. “I…” He pressed his lips together. “I discovered my power,” he whispered. “It’s terrible.”
“We will manage,” Zhang Shi promised him. “Why are the healers not attending to your brother?”
“Ba—” He shifted to place himself between Zhang Shi and the tent entrance. Zhang Shi frowned at him, confused only until he realized there were very few people with the force of personality to drive the healers from their own tents, and one of them had been responsible for Shen Ye’s disappearance. “You need to give them a moment, Baba,” Shen Ye said.
“A moment? No. I need to see you brother.” Surely he’d been hurt. Kunlun was no healer and had apparently taken it upon himself to scare off every competent one in camp.
“Gege will be fine,” Shen Ye said. He wrapped his hands around Zhang Shi’s biceps. “But he and Kunlun need to talk.”
About what? What possible subject would be important enough to keep Shen Wei from being helped? Yet another clear indication that Kunlun was a terrible influence, destined to bring harm to his boys…
The tent flap opened and Kunlun stepped out. He looked at Zhang Shi and nodded silently at whatever he saw in Zhang Shi’s face. Without a word, he reached out and tugged a lock of Shen Ye’s hair and then disappeared into the encampment.
Zhang Shi spent no time going after him; he needed to see his son.
With most of the healers still banished to the sidelines and no other injured in need of care, Shen Wei had the tent to himself. Zhang Shi took a moment to look him over, noting the bruises marring his face and the shallow quality to his breaths that suggested bruised or broken ribs. His dark energy must have been entirely depleted; leaning to heal himself and others had been a priority for him once they had committed to the fight.
“My boy,” he murmured from the entrance.
Shen Wei rallied, dragging himself out of his thoughts, and offered Zhang Shi a small smile. Ignoring the fact that Shen Wei wanted to comfort him—and not caring for whatever his expression must be doing in order to encourage such a thing—Zhang Shi crossed the short distance between them. He longed to wrap Shen Wei in an embrace equal to the one in which he’d grabbed Shen Ye, Shen Wei’s pained wince as he tried to sit up stopped him. Instead, he eased himself down to the pallet next to Shen Wei’s shoulder and pressed his son gently back to the mound of furs and cloth strategically propped up to keep him comfortable. Not the work of their healers, certainly. They were all too jaded by the war to care much or listen to any complaints over small discomforts.
“I’m all right,” Shen Wei said.
“You have not once in your life told me the truth about your physical well-being,” Zhang Shi said. “Not from the very moment I found you.”
Shen Wei’s lips twitched. “I feel very seen this evening.” He shook his head when Zhang Shi lifted an eyebrow. “Nevermind. Didi and… the General—” Zhang Shi thought he detected the beginning of a different word or title on his lips, but Shen Wei caught it too quickly to be certain, “–were very careful with me on the way back to camp. I didn’t have the energy to bring us here quicker. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
Zhang Shi had always known what the war might take from him and no longer wanted to dwell and stew in the potential tragedy. Every moment with his boys needed to be held as sacred; this alone had proved it.
He supposed, with an internal sigh, that meant reconciling himself to General Kunlun.
He squeezed Shen Wei’s shoulder, dropped a kiss to the top of his head, and left to subject himself to a delicious meal of crow. He passed Shen Ye on the way out, who nodded determinedly and summoned the other healers—presumably as backup—in order to descend on his brother and take the measure of his injuries.
Later, once he’d made sure Shen Ye had settled in to watch over his brother for the night, Zhang Shi bit back his initial discomfort and went in search of General Kunlun. He supposed he should not have been surprised to find him hidden away in one of Shen Wei’s preferred meditation spots. He’d stripped away his robes to better examine a myriad of bruises and shallow cuts. Zhang Shi paused; he’d been so concerned over his boys that he had not thought to ask if the General had been injured.
“Kunlun,” he called.
The General looked up, wary. Justifiably, Zhang Shi supposed.
“You should see the healers.”
“Ah, don’t worry about me,” he said, wincing as he tried and failed to clean out a relatively short but deep laceration in his lower abdomen.
"Were you stabbed?"
The words broke free of him in a shout. General Kunlun startled, dropping the bandages he must have snuck out of the healers' tent along with a small pot of foul-smelling medicinal paste. Snuck being the operative word; had Shen Wei known of his injuries, his son would not have allowed Kunlun to leave. While he might dismiss concerns over his own well-being, Shen Wei was aggressively attentive to his loved ones when they were injured.
The General grabbed the strips of cloth off the ground. "Disappointed you didn’t have the pleasure for yourself?"
There existed now an odd bitterness to his tone Zhang Shi had not detected before. With a surge of surprising shame, Zhang Shi realized he’d done more than enough to deserve it.
"My little flame wasn't hurt like this," Zhang Shi murmured under his breath. He suspected the three puncture wounds which came perilously close to General Kunlun's lungs had been the work of one of the modified clubs he'd seen the rebels using; ones that had animal teeth embedded in the wood.
"He shouldn't have been hurt at all," General Kunlun ground out through gritted teeth. "They were all supposed to follow me out of the camp. I didn't realize they were smart enough to keep someone inside the tent with Xiao Wei."
Xiao Wei, Zhang Shi repeated silently.
Zhang Shi watched with pursed lips as Kunlun tried unsuccessfully to reach some of the wounds on his back with a small stick covered in medicine.
“Here,” he said, holding out his hand expectantly.
Kunlun obeyed immediately, then looked as though he were chastising himself for the reaction. Zhang Shi ignored the consternation and set himself to work spreading the paste across his many and varied injuries. He knew Shen Ye would have told him if he’d been as injured; it seemed that the only impact to his younger son had been the unveiling of his own power and the startling change it had on his hair.
Kunlun twitched and hissed under his ministrations. Zhang Shi wanted to scold him; such small hurts should be immaterial to a hardened warrior. Instead he shushed him with a calm, low hum. The same he had utilized many times during Shen Wei and Shen Ye and any small childhood hurts. All at once the tension bled from Kunlun's body.
“What?” Zhang Shi asked.
"Just thinking of my father," Kunlun murmured. He seemed smaller. Younger. Zhang Shi had spent so long steeped in his dislike for the warrior that he’d somehow overlooked the man. "I miss him."
Zhang Shi finished with the medicine and grabbed up the longest of the bandages. Kunlun lifted his arms without being asked, allowing Zhang Shi to wind the cloth around his torso, tight enough to keep his damaged ribs in place.
"I am not your father–" The General flinched, "–But I am sure he would not wish to see you hurt. And. I find I do not much care for it either.”
“Really?”
Zhang Shi deserved the scepticism. “You are important to my child.”
General Kunlun chuckled. “Xiao Wei isn’t a child.”
“It is hard for a father to remember such a thing.” He patted General Kunlun’s shoulder. The movement felt awkward—they had not had any such moments shared between them before—but General Kunlun seemed touched, smile softening into one of understanding. “Yours, I think, would be proud to know what you’ve sacrificed to be here.”
“Thank you,” the General said, sounding choked.
Zhang Shi nodded. He helped Kunlun ease back into his robes and sent him off to find his rest for the evening.
The next afternoon, the healers—and, more importantly, Shen Ye—pronounced Shen Wei healthy enough to leave their care.
He did not return to their tent that evening.
Zhang Shi tried not to think about it.
“I think I killed the rebel leader during the fight,” General Kunlun announced.
Fu You and Ma Gui looked immediately interested.
“I can’t be sure, but I definitely hit him with one of my…” He paused. “Spiritual attacks. I didn’t see him afterwards.”
“Then we should send word that we are willing to accept their surrender,” Ma Gui stated. “Before another takes his place.”
They set themselves to work writing missives to both their warriors in the field and the rebels, addressed to whatever ambitious Dixingren who would inevitably seek to walk in dead man’s shoes. The General seemed disinterested once they’d set plans in motion and wandered off. Likely in search of his sons; Shen Wei had not been permitted to return to his usual patrols, an edict Shen Ye enforced with sheer bullheaded determination.
Zhang Shi stayed until well after nightfall. It had been quite some time since he’d been involved in the brokerage of peace, and he found the idea appealing.
Once they broke for the evening, he sought out his family. One of them, likely Shen Ye judging from the haphazard collection of tinder and logs which comprised their fire in place of Shen Wei’s meticulously built structure, had set up a fire just outside the boundaries of camp. Da Qing slept in General Kunlun’s lap, his bells jingling softly with every rise and fall of his chest.
“—I don’t believe you!” Shen Ye finished with a laugh. Shen Wei grinned down at his knees.
“No, no, it’s true! And from then on I never left Lao Chu in charge of snacks.”
Zhang Shi settled down beside Shen Ye and waved off General Kunlun’s offer to repeat his story. Shen Ye leaned into his shoulder with a content sigh.
“Should they agree, we’ll be meeting with whatever representatives the rebels choose before the next new moon.”
The good cheer did not diminish with his announcement. General Kunlun passed over his gourd of wine, contents substantially diminished, and Zhang Shi allowed himself a small sip to silently celebrate what he hoped would be the end of the war.
“There’s something I must say,” the General said once Zhang Shi returned it. He took a long, long pull of the contents, uncaring when some of them dripped down his chin. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with alcohol and regret. “One day, probably soon, I will have to leave you.”
Zhang Shi saw the heartbreak writ plain across Shen Wei’s face and all generous thoughts Zhang Shi had begun to entertain about the man fizzled like dew on a summer morning. How dare this man win his son’s heart in such a manner and then state his intentions to abandon him.
“But I promise, we will meet again.”
Little comfort, but Zhang Shi saw Shen Wei’s fractured heart immediately heal with the promise, gaze turning from sorrow to determination. Zhang Shi had little doubt his son would wait, whether ten days or ten years. Hopefully it would not be so long.
“All of us?” Shen Ye asked quietly.
Kunlun looked from Shen Wei to Shen Ye to Da Qing to, surprisingly, Zhang Shi. It was on Zhang Shi his gaze remained. “All of us,” he said with such superb confidence in his voice that Zhang Shi found his doubts utterly banished.
“But why do you have to go?” Da Qing demanded, voice sleepy and grumpy all at once.
General Kunlun ran a hand down his back. “Ah, damn cat, don’t you worry. We’ll be together again before you know it.”
Zhang Shi wondered if the catch in Kunlun’s voice was obvious to all of them, or if he merely caught it by chance. Shen Wei, he knew from the tensing of his shoulders, had understood that ‘before you know it’ had to mean something significant. More words waited on the tip of General Kunlun’s tongue, an ambush preparing to strike at any moment. This time, Zhang Shi was the only one who noticed, his sons and Da Qing too thrown by the announcement to see it clearly.
Despite the now-limited time they had together, the night ended shortly thereafter. Da Qing, now truly awake, wandered off into the night. Shen Ye fell asleep against Zhang Shi’s shoulder. And though Shen Wei looked as though he wanted to remain awake, his powers were still depleted and eventually he replaced Da Qing in the General’s lap, drifting off as Kunlun obligingly played with his hair.
Once sure they were both asleep, General Kunlun finally continued. “Listen, Lao Zhang—” Zhang Shi noticed the affection behind the address, and chose to wonder at it in confused silence, “–There are two things you need to remember. Really remember. Are you ready?”
Surprisingly, Kunlun waited until Zhang Shi turned to look his way and nodded, at full attention.
“First, there will be an archaeological dig in the mountains to the north of Dragon City.”
He did not recognize several of the words. ‘Archaeology.’ ‘City.’ He tucked them away regardless, the weight of Kunlun’s stare fixing them in his mind.
“And the second?” Zhang Shi asked.
At this, Kunlun’s mouth twitched. A smile, or something akin to one. “Your son never cheats on his math test.”
The rebels showed up to the agreed-upon meeting place, a raggedy mishmash of the angry and bereft. Had Zhang Shi not witnessed firsthand the destruction they’d wrought, he would be moved to sympathy. Heipaoshi and General Kunlun stood alongside Fu You and Ma Gui, Kunlun and Shen Ye stood slight back behind them with some of the stronger warriors in their coalition.
At least until their leader, an impressive woman with wild hair and hard eyes, stormed forward. Behind him, he heard General Kunlun bite off a curse and the ensuant tension rippled across their collected forces.
“The Hallows,” she barked, as though Fu You or Ma Gui could be cowed by a hard voice and angry eyes. The young man who had brought them along shifted uneasily in place, drawing unnecessary attention to the chest in his arms.
“We are willing to negotiate.”
She laughed. “There will be no negotiations.”
General Kunlun tackled him, knocking the breath from Zhang Shi’s lungs. An arrow whistled overhead. The General lurched upwards and used his spiritual weapon in a quick succession of thunderous attacks, three of the rebels falling before its might. There were more than anticipated, popping out of the long grass to the north while Ma Gui frantically tried to call orders to their own people in the south.
Taking full advantage of the chaos, the rebel leader charged at the young man holding the chest in which the Hallows had been settled. Still prone on the ground, Zhang Shi saw the moment the General marked her charge forward. He levelled the fiery end of his weapon in her direction, preparing to fire.
“Da Qing!” Shen Ye screamed.
Zhang Shi leapt to his feet. One of the rebels had grabbed his kitten, a knife hovering above his heart with only Da Qing’s shaking hold keeping it at bay.
Another crack and the rebel fell to the side, dead at the General’s hand. It gave the rebel leader the time she needed to reach her target. She tackled the young man and wrenched the chest from his arms. Before she could more than twitch in retreat, Heipaoshi appeared behind her and drove his yutoudao through her back.
The chest hit the ground before her body did, and the Hallows spilled out. Zhang Shi felt the stirrings of their power leech into the air, a powerful atmospheric swell he’d felt once before when caught in a lightning storm.
And then, within a moment of time which seemed to last only a heartbeat, he lost both of his sons, General Kunlun, and all his interest in participating in the war.
The ground swallowed his children. The sky swallowed the General. Da Qing disappeared completely into a swell of warriors. And as the leaders of the coalition scrambled to try and make sense of what would inevitably come next with the rebel leader now truly dead, Zhang Shi turned his back on them and walked away.
He would admit to himself, much, much later, that he should have remained to see it through. For Da Qing and in honour of the memory of everything he'd lost, if for nothing else, but by the time he'd reached the conclusion nearly a full century later it was far too late to do anything save spare a moment for his regrets.