#doing it again

Xiao Heng stares at the dead body of General Dai, and feels nothing. He feels no sense of triumph or vindication, just a gaping sense of emptiness, of loss.

He had only been able to soldier on, push through the last few days of war because he had Wen Ji and Lu Ji at his side, had been able to confidently raze through the battlefield because he knew that they would be watching his back.

Now, he was alone.

Alone, just as he was a decade ago.

Perhaps even more so than back then.

He picks up the jade token from A'Li– with its rope broken, he had no way else to reattach it– he holds it with his teeth instead, and lets the cold fury consume him as he charges to meet the next wave of Dai soldiers.

Xiao Heng would survive this war. He had to survive this war, in order to bring Wen Ji and Lu Ji back home.

—

Xiao Heng guards their bodies all the way home.

He carries out their funeral rites himself– as their employer, their friend, their brother– they had no other family members. It had always been the three of them, building the reputation of Duke Su from the ground up, all while avoiding the corrupt officials together.

“I'm sorry,” Zhao Ye mutters, rounding his desk to stand in front of Xiao Heng, who had arrived to present his report to the Emperor, “I never expected…”

“Don't get emotionally involved,” Xiao Heng laughs bitterly, “isn't that what you said?”

“They weren't pawns!” Zhao Ye snaps, his eyes flashing angrily as he whirls on Xiao Heng. And if this were anywhere but the Emperor’s private office, if they hadn’t grown up together, if Zhao Ye didn’t know how much they had meant to him, he would likely have gotten sentenced for talking back to the Emperor. Instead, he just stares blankly at his friend, numb to the rage written all over his face.

“They were. What else would you call risking their lives to carry out our dirty work? They knew it too, but they didn't care.”

Zhao Ye deflates with a shaky exhale, his anger gone as quickly as it came, and he places a comforting hand on Xiao Heng’s shoulder.

It felt anything but comforting. It felt like the hand of someone who sent them to their deaths– 

“At least they went together,” Xiao Heng forces out, and it takes all of his self-control not to shake the hand off, “Wen Ji always said that if they died in battle, at least he would have a companion in hell.”

(He doesn’t know why he said that, or why he had bothered to share anything with Zhao Ye, who he had taught to view others as chess pieces and the world as their playing board).

Zhao Ye wisely says nothing, silently bearing the brunt of Xiao Heng’s grief.

—

“They’re gone?” A'Li asks, her voice trembling, “what do you mean they're gone?”

Xiao Heng simply takes her into his arms, because he does not want to say it either, does not want to say those words that would cement their deaths in reality.

(He doesn't think he could bear the expression on his furen’s face right now– his A'Li had always felt death more acutely than others, had always grieved for people openly, and he doesn’t think he is ready to feel his heart shatter again).

“Oh, Xiao Heng,” she mutters, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she breaks down, hands fisted in the back of his robes.

And that was all he really needed to let go, apparently.