#yohe

Rummitz - Paladin of the Green Lion, She/He

A resourceful tactician of questionable origins. Initially discovered her bond with the Green Lion on the planet Olkarion during a support drop-off by now-retired Paladin Pidge Holt.

Rummitz's connection to the Green Lion sparked a three year long expedition to find and train the next Paladins of Voltron.

Taya - Paladin of the Yellow Lion, He/They

Hailing from the peaceful planet of Puig, Taya is known for their courage and tenacity. His bond with the Yellow Lion was discovered during a short stop at Puig, where the a festival was held in Voltron's honor.

Xyzy - Paladin of the Red Lion, She/They

Calm, calculating but quick to strike, Xyzy was rescued from a Galra prison ship where she was arrested after being found to have given crucial information about one of Emperor Zarkon's experiments to the Blade of Marmora. They were later taken in by the Garrison and made their connection with Keith Kogane, and subsequently the Red Lion.

Aries - Paladin of the Blue Lion, She/Her

Less of a sharp shooter, more of a pound-into-dust sort of gal, but don't take that to mean she's dull - a sharp wit and an even sharper glare might make you want to stay on your toes.

Aries made her connection with the Blue Lion after an accident at the Garrison that injured her right leg. She spent the months healing in the aircraft hangers talking to pilots and dreaming she'd one day get to be one herself.

Yohe - Paladin of the Black Lion, It/They

Unexplained and inexplicable, this eerily quiet bundle of quintessence is certain they're the last of their kind, but it doesn't remember anything before the time it woke up from it's pod that crash landed onto Earth.

His first clue is the snap of a twig, followed by the cut-off cry of his guard. Zhao Yunlan whirls around, taking aim, and the first ambusher falls to his gun. His second guard is panicking, sword arm trembling too much to be of use, and already they're surrounded by enemies. The first guard is bleeding out at Zhao Yunlan's feet, and they're cut off from their allies, already too far in their retreat to notice the commotion.

Zhao Yunlan fires his gun, again and again, dread rising because no matter how many rebels he takes down, more take their place. His second guard falls, and Zhao Yunlan can do nothing but dodge and shoot, dodge and shoot, trying to back away into the underbrush. Too late he realizes they're herding him, that this was planned.

Something hard and heavy hits him in the head, and Zhao Yunlan knows no more.

.

***

"General Kunlun," a loud voice booms, and Zhao Yunlan winces. His head throbs. "We meet at last!"

He opens his eyes to dim darkness, squinting, and then the blindfold is ripped off, leaving Zhao Yunlan to blink bright spots of colour out of his vision.

A glance around shows they're in some sort of clearing, a cave and mountain wall at his back, rows of trees lining the camp. There's no tents, but a campfire over a large pit set up to roast game. He's surrounded by hostiles, swords and spears pointed at him despite his hands being bound with rope in front of him. Zhao Yunlan tugs experimentally, testing the knot. It holds.

Before him stands a man covered in a patchwork of furs topped by a fuzzy sort of cap, sneering down at him. Gloating.

Zhao Yunlan cocks his head.

"I'm sorry," he drawls, lounging as best as his position allows, "but who are you, again?"

Anger flashes across that face, knocking the arrogance right off. The man stares at him in disbelief, baring his teeth in a smile, huffing a laugh, then forcing another bark of laughter, slapping his knee.

“Very funny, General.” The man sneers and spreads his arms. “No need to pretend now. My men have captured you, you are at my mercy, Kunlun-jun.”

Since he’s been captured by rebels… this could only be their leader, then. Zhao Yunlan shrugs his shoulders, using the motion to check for his weapons. His holster is still in place but the weight of the pistol is missing, they’ve taken the knife from his boot and his belt, too. Not much to work with, and yet… Zhao Yunlan isn’t a man to wait around for a rescue. The least he can do is stall, maybe gather some intel.

"Looks like I'm at your disposal. What can this humble servant do for such an esteemed personage?"

"That's right, you have no choice but to cooperate." The chieftain leers at him with a creepy amount of glee. He turns to gesture a rebel up, the motion impatient. A masked man clad in white stumbles forward, carrying his dark energy pistol on a tray. He falls to his knees at the chieftain's feet, holding the tray up, head bowed. The chieftain takes his time to inspect the gun, picking it up carefully. "Let's start with this heavenly tool, the bane of Dixing. If it wasn't for this artifact, you would be little more than an insignificant bug crushed under my boot."

Zhao Yunlan arches an eyebrow. "You want me to teach you how to use it?"

The rebel chieftain hesitates, and Zhao Yunlan snorts. Much good it will do them—seeing as Zhao Yunlan is the only Haixingren in the clearing, they can only harm one another. Tilting his head, Zhao Yunlan gives the chieftain a calculating look. He can use this to his advantage, but he must be careful. Can't let on that they're holding one of the few weapons capable of hurting Heipaoshi.

“Ah. Never let it be said that General Kunlun isn’t a generous gentleman.” Zhao Yunlan lounges back insouciantly, propping his elbow on his knee, drawing everyone’s attention to his bound wrists. “Give it here and I’ll show you.”

The chieftain throws his head back and roars in laughter, his rebels following suit. The masked servant’s lips barely twitch, Zhao Yunlan notes, his brow furrowed in thought. Curious.

“Kunlun-jun, you can’t seriously think I’m that stupid.”

“Well, it’s not a difficult tool to use. If you can’t even figure it out by yourself I’m not sure what that says about your intelligence…”

Zhao Yunlan offers him a wry smile, and the chieftain glares at him. He turns the pistol around in his hand, the barrel pointing at his chest as he tries to press down the trigger. Zhao Yunlan has trouble keeping his expression blank. Sadly, the safety is still on.

Apparently, he doesn’t do a convincing enough job of it.

The masked servant bows to his leader. “Master, if you would allow this unworthy one, I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Have you, Ye-zun?” the chieftain asks mockingly, threat clear in his voice. The servant flinches, bowing his head lower. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Ye-zun? Cleverer than your master, is that it?”

“O-of course not, Master. Just—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, the chieftain’s face a thunder cloud, anger mounting with every stuttered word until he backhands his servant.

He hits Ye-zun with enough force to knock his head around, dark mask flying off to land at Zhao Yunlan's feet. It’s an ugly design—rough bars of dark metal carved on dark grey, not even properly dyed black. So unlike Shen Wei’s with its golden lines and glitter in this ancient time or the one with its delicate silver swirls in the future. Almost like this mask isn’t the bearer’s choice, but rather forced upon them. The thought hasn't even finished forming when Zhao Yunlan looks up to meet Shen Wei's stunned eyes.

His breathing hitches, heart skipping a beat.

Then reality comes crashing back in. The face is identical, the same wide, startled eyes, certainly, but the look of pure, helpless fury isn't one Zhao Yunlan has seen on either version of Shen Wei before. Hidden safely behind his curtain of hair, this one glares at the dirt, arms coming up reflexively to protect his head when the rebel leader kicks at him. Instinctive. His expression doesn't twitch as the chieftain keeps hurling insults at him. Used to the abuse.

Zhao Yunlan reels back, connecting the dots.

Twins. They're twins.

Shen Wei has spoken of the brother he’s lost, of course. Somehow, Zhao Yunlan has always assumed lost means dead. And yet, here he is, staring at that familiar face, mind reeling as he tries to connect the dots.

This changes everything.

Zhao Yunlan clears his throat, pulling the chieftain’s attention away from Shen Wei’s little brother. Stalling is no longer an option, he needs a plan that will get both of them out of here safely. It’s a gamble, but if there’s one thing Zhao Yunlan is good at, it’s betting on what a person will do in any given circumstance. And the rebel leader has proven himself both arrogant and with an easily bruised ego.

“It’s really not that difficult, once you’ve flipped the switch,” he drawls, rolling his eyes. Ye-zun throws him a narrow-eyed look, clearly picking up that this is a trap, but he doesn’t warn his master. Zhao Yunlan very pointedly doesn’t look at him as he raises an eyebrow and grins at the chieftain. Holding up his hands, he mimes cocking a gun. “If you can’t even manage that easy step, perhaps you should just give up while you’re ahead…”

Face drawn into a thunderous snarl, the rebel leader stomps up to Zhao Yunlan, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him.

“I will wipe that stupid grin of your face,” he roars, spittle flying and landing on Zhao Yunlan’s face. He closes his eyes with a grimace. Then he’s thrown onto his back with a strong shove. Zhao Yunlan takes the opportunity to wipe the saliva off his face, before blinking his eyes open to stare down the barrel of his own gun. The chieftain seems to have found the safety switch, pulling at it until he finds the right direction. The click echoes loudly through the silent clearing, no one daring to speak up with their leader so angry.

“What are you gonna do, shoot me?” Zhao Yunlan quips, and a dark grin spreads over the chieftain’s face.

“Truly, you deserve no less. The great General Kunlun, felled by his very own weapon!” He spits on the ground next to Zhao Yunlan’s feet and pulls the trigger.

The ringing shot startles several birds from the trees, crying out at the disturbance. Smoke rises from the gun, black powder covering the chieftain’s hand. With a yelp, he drops the pistol before viciously kicking it aside. Clearly he hasn’t expected the ricochet.

Zhao Yunlan throws his head back and laughs, loud and mocking.

“Fool! Did you truly think a spiritual weapon would not recognize its master?” He catches Ye-zun’s eyes for a split second, nodding towards his gun before turning a disdainful look on the chieftain. “Boom Boom Thunder bites anyone who has not mastered” —Zhao Yunlan’s glances towards Ye-zun, who has crawled forward and cautiously picked up the gun. At Zhao Yunlan’s emphasis, his gaze snaps up to meet Zhao Yunlan’s, then dart to the rebels’ leader. Zhao Yunlan inclines his head slightly, barely pausing in his speech— “or been given permission by its master.”

His little brother is just as quick on the uptake as Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan thinks fondly. Ye-zun barely hesitates before lifting the gun, pointed squarely at the chieftain’s back.

“It is not enough to simply pull the trigger,” Zhao Yunlan continues to bullshit, trying to keep the focus on him, away from Ye-zun, while simultaneously instructing Shen Wei’s brother in its use. “If you do not have hate in your heart. Only point this spiritual tool at people you intend to kill.”

Ye-zun’s face twists with determination, his aim steadying, and then there’s a second gunshot.

The chieftain lurches forward, taking one unsteady step, another, before buckling right in front of Zhao Yunlan. His eyes are wide, trembling hands lifting to his chest, blood blossoming on his robe. Coughing, the chieftain spits blood, some of it dribbling down his chin as he meets Zhao Yunlan’s smug look.

“A weapon may not betray its master,” he declares, reaching out to turn the rebel leader’s head to look at Ye-zun, to realize exactly who attacked him. “If one treats their weapon well.”

Anger flashes across the rebel leader’s face. “K-kill—”

A second shot, and the chieftain crumbles.

Silence reigns in the clearing. Zhao Yunlan watches Shen Wei’s twin, follows the flashes of emotion distorting that familiar face. Anger, guilt, hope, regret, fear, determination—swallowed by all-encompassing fury as Ye-zun raises the gun again, arms shaking, to aim at another rebel.

The third shot rips everyone out of their shock. Pandemonium ensues.

The rebels, as one, grab their weapons, shouting, trying to reach Ye-zun in an uncoordinated mob, the only thing giving Shen Wei’s brother a chance to fend them off. One rebel drops after the other, bleeding from legs, stomach, chest, their armour no match for futuristic dark energy bullets.

Zhao Yunlan wastes no time, searching the chieftain—still breathing, if shallowly, but rapidly bleeding out—for anything of use. He finds a knife strapped to his belt and starts on the task of sawing off the ropes binding his wrists. Glancing up, he sees the rebels have Ye-zun surrounded now, and the gun is clicking empty.

A shadow falls over him just as he shears through the last of the rope. Cursing, Zhao Yunlan rolls sideways to avoid the sword slash aiming straight for his chest. Instead, the sword pierces the rebel leader, who arches up, gurgling, before stilling with a final gasp.

As if on cue, all of the rebels groan, reaching for their heads. Some of them drop their weapons, others are unlucky enough to injure themselves.

Zhao Yunlan scrambles to his feet, knife still in hand and casts a quick glance around the clearing. Everyone seems affected by… whatever this is, Ye-zun included. Zhao Yunlan only hesitates for a moment before stuffing the knife into his belt, pushing through the knot of moaning rebels to reach Shen Wei’s brother. He pries his gun free from Ye-zun’s tight grip, storing it in its holster, then grabbing Ye-zun’s arm and dragging the twin away from the rebels’ base.

Ye-zun’s face is a grimace of pain, and he’s clutching his head, but he follows Zhao Yunlan with stumbling steps. Whatever is affecting him and the other rebels doesn’t seem to work on Haixingren, so Zhao Yunlan figures they can count themselves lucky. It’s as good an opportunity to escape and leave the rebels to clean up later.

All Zhao Yunlan has to do now is to get the two of them out of here, and help the twins reunite.

Easy enough. Hopefully.

.

***

"That's a powerful spiritual weapon," one of the soldiers assigned to his scouting party says, awe clear in his voice, and Zhao Yunlan preens. "What's it called?"

"Ah?" Zhao Yunlan scrambles, trying to think of a good name. Guns don’t exist, not yet, but it sort of sounds like… "Of course it's called Boom... Boom... Thunder?"

As a kid, he used to call all guns ‘boom boom’. It’s one of the few memories he has of his father laughing, his mother teasing him. Adding thunder on the end at least makes it sound a little more epic, like a real weapon.

Shen Wei’s brow knits under his mask, mouthing the name under his breath.

“Boom boom… thunder?” he asks, nose wrinkling adorably.

Zhao Yunlan laughs weakly, sweat gathering at the back of his neck.

“It’s…” A memory strikes—Shen Wei, the one he met in the future, present—telling one of his more awkward lies, saying that guns were called such in Dixing. Zhao Yunlan has always wondered why that lie sounded particularly terrible, when it could easily be a truth. “It’s what these kinds of tools are called where I came from…?”

Shen Wei doesn’t look convinced, but the soldiers with them at least nod as if they know what he’s talking about, starstruck as they are to be working with both General Kunlun and Heipaoshi.

“I’ve never heard of or seen a similar weapon before,” Shen Wei points out, and where someone else might here wonder, Zhao Yunlan hears his suspicion. “There are more in the mountains?”

Luckily, before Zhao Yunlan has to think of a suitable lie that won’t explode in his face—literally—Da Qing shows up, nothing more but a black shadow in the dark of night.

“I found where the rebels are camping,” he reports, and the conversation is rapidly forgotten.

.

***

Shen Wei’s brother remains insensible for the better part of the hour. Zhao Yunlan hopes this also means the other rebels are faring similarly and does his best to cover their tracks. He stops at a river, leaving Ye-zun propped up against a tree nearby as he fills his waterskin. He hasn’t the faintest clue where they are, although he thinks heading north-east is his best bet to run into an Allied patrol, they have been searching for the rebel’s base south of their own. Considering the base turned up at the foot of a mountain, there’s only so many possibilities remaining, and Zhao Yunlan had to join enough strategy meetings to be at least aware of the most likely options.

Zhao Yunlan drinks his fill, then returns to Ye-Zun. His pulse is steady under Zhao Yunlan’s fingers, his breathing even. The pained grimace slowly eases from his face, a sure sign that whatever hurt him slowly abated. Sure enough, Ye-zun’s eyelashes flutter, and Zhao Yunlan sits back, allowing Shen Wei’s brother to take stock of the situation in peace.

The first thing Ye-zun does upon regaining consciousness is searching for his mask. The panicked expression on his face when he can’t find it tugs at Zhao Yunlan’s heartstrings, turning to worry when Ye-zun averts his gaze and lets his hair fall in a curtain to hide behind.

“Hey,” Zhao Yunlan murmurs, reaching out to tip his face up. Ye-zun flinches, so Zhao Yunlan redirects to squeeze his shoulder instead, smoothly enough as if that has been his intention in the first place. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, xiao-Shen.”

Ye-zun’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and wild. “What did you call me?”

Getting a sense of deja vu, Zhao Yunlan arches his eyebrow. “What would you prefer I call you?”

Shen Wei’s brother squints at him, eyes narrowed and suspicious, a stark contrast to Shen Wei’s wide and open ones. Even in the future, with all those secrets he hides behind them, Shen Wei has never looked this closed off. His brother, however, has none of that innate trust in Zhao Yunlan.

“Ye-zun,” he finally says, tone clipped. Zhao Yunlan snorts a laugh.

“Very well then, little night lord,” he drawls, pulling out his recently filled waterskin and holding it out to Shen Wei’s twin. “Here. You must be thirsty.”

Ye-zun takes it warily, as if afraid the offer would be rescinded or turn out to be some form of trap. Zhao Yunlan raises a pointed eyebrow as he relinquishes his hold on the waterskin without further issue. He can guess that this twin didn’t have an easy time growing up either. A part of him wishes the chieftain died a slower, more agonizing death, but at least Ye-zun got to take the shot. Hopefully that will bring him some sense of closure.

After having stilled his thirst, Ye-zun wipes his mouth on his white sleeve, using the gesture to hide the way his eyes dart around, checking out their surroundings. Zhao Yunlan waits patiently, pulling up a knee to prop his elbow on.

“...where are we?” Ye-zun finally asks, the neck of the waterskin clutched in a tight grip. Like he’s considering its use as a potential weapon.

“North of the base.” Zhao Yunlan meets his wary gaze calmly. “We should cross the river and head further east. If we’re lucky, we’ll run into Alliance soldiers before nightfall.”

Ye-zun stiffens visibly at mentions of the Alliance. “This humble servant has nothing of value to offer General Kunlun nor the Alliance. I am but a mere slave.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” Zhao Yunlan scoffs, feeling his expression darken. “Besides, the chieftain is dead, and the Rebellion in shambles. What need do we have for your intel?”

Dark eyes narrowed into a glare. “Then why did you save me?”

Zhao Yunlan eyes him contemplatively. He can make an educated guess of what Ye-zun expects to hear, from how guarded he acts. Everything from how he's the visibly weakest of the rebels to his closeness to the former chief, the reasons flashing through Ye-zun's calculating gaze. If he didn’t have as much experience reading Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan doubts he'd have been able to decipher Ye-zun's expressions as easily.

"To reunite you with your big brother," he says mildly and watches Ye-zun freeze. Shock, anger, and denial cross his face in quick order. Arching his brow at the unexpected reaction, Zhao Yunlan adds, "He misses you a lot, you know."

“Lies,” Ye-zun hisses, his fingers digging hard enough into the waterskin to spill water all over his robes. He doesn’t even seem to notice. “Gege sold me to my master.”

“Ah?” Zhao Yunlan can feel his brow knit into a frown. That doesn’t sound like Shen Wei at all. “Why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Ye-zun returns bitterly, tossing the waterskin at Zhao Yunlan’s feet and hugging himself. “What other use could he have for someone like me? I was nothing more but dead weight for Gege to get rid of.”

"That doesn't sound like something he'd say," Zhao Yunlan points out, mind whirring, trying to make sense of this new information. No matter how he turns it, it refuses to fit.

"He didn't have to," Ye-zun snaps back, curling in on himself. "Actions speak louder than words."

"And he… left you with the chieftain?" Zhao Yunlan frowns, puzzled. Perhaps Shen Wei intended to come back for his twin, but something stopped him? Except Shen Wei told him—he fights for the brother he lost. Lost, not left.

"I woke up and Gege was gone," Ye-zun confirms, shooting him a glare from behind his curtain of hair. "He never came back. Why would he? I'm worse than useless, just dragging him down. He was happy to abandon me."

Eyebrows flying up into his hairline, Zhao Yunlan tilts his head.

“Is that what you think,” he starts, leaning forward, trying to catch Ye-zun’s gaze, “or what your master told you?”

Ye-zun’s head snaps up, and he bares his teeth in a snarl. “It’s a basic fact.”

“And it’s common knowledge amongst Allied soldiers that Heipaoshi gathered like-minded Dixingren because the rebel chieftain stole from him that which he held most dear.” A bit of an exaggeration, maybe, since it’s more of a rumour with a kernel of truth, but it gets his point across. Zhao Yunlan fetches the waterskin and pushes to his feet. “So make of that what you will.”

Zhao Yunlan turns his back on Shen Wei’s little brother as he refills the waterskin, letting him stew in his thoughts for a bit. Ye-zun remains silent for a good stretch, quietly following Zhao Yunlan across the river and further north-east without complaint or attempting to escape. Not that Zhao Yunlan is actually holding him captive in any way or form, but Ye-zun is probably just as leery of the rebels’ retaliation since he killed their leader.

And maybe, just maybe, he too wants to reunite with his brother, all bitterness aside.

While Zhao Yunlan isn’t nearly as fit as most soldiers when it comes to fighting, at least he’s spent a lot of his teen years hiking with Da Qing and thus has built up some stamina when it comes to traveling on foot. Ye-zun, however, starts lagging behind not two hours into their silent journey. He doesn’t say anything, struggling to keep up with Zhao Yunlan, but his breathing starts coming in shorter bursts, sweat pearling on his brow.

When Zhao Yunlan notices, he slows his pace and keeps an eye out for a good spot to stop.

They’re still close to the foot of the mountain, yet Zhao Yunlan isn’t sure how to tell a cave is unoccupied, and without Shen Wei at his side he really doesn’t want to chance another bear encounter. They make do with a trio of ancient trees, instead, their crowns thick enough to stop rain and keep the ground around their roots dry. The rebels didn't empty his pockets aside from taking his weapons, and Zhao Yunlan shares what little rations he has freely. Ye-zun eats like someone who's been starved, who's used to having their portion stolen if he doesn't eat fast enough.

Zhao Yunlan doesn't comment, and inch by inch, Ye-zun's shoulders come down from his ears. He keeps shooting Zhao Yunlan glances from the corner of his eyes, suspicion warring with curiosity, until finally, he breaks the silence.

“Gege…” Ye-zun starts, pauses, tries again. “Heipaoshi—what… You know who Heipaoshi is under that mask?”

“Ah? Of course! How else would I have recognized you?” Zhao Yunlan lounges against a large root, openly observing the Dixingren. "You look like his mirror image, you know."

"I know," Ye-zun agrees snappily, shoulders creeping back up. He tugs the hood of his white cloak over his head as if trying to hide. Trying to hide his face, and that makes Zhao Yunlan pause.

"Is that why you wear that ugly mask? To hide your pretty face?"

Ye-zun’s head snaps up, and he stares at Zhao Yunlan with wide eyes reminiscent of his older brother, a flush crawling up his neck and covering his ears. “What?”

“What?” Zhao Yunlan echoes, somewhat defensively. “Xiao-Wei is pretty enough to rival the four great beauties, and you have the same face, of course it’s pretty.”

Ye-zun’s wide eyes narrow rapidly in suspicion. “You’re trying to soften me up.”

Zhao Yunlan’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline. “Whatever for?”

“You want me to come back to the Alliance with you,” Ye-zun accuses, curling over the remains of his portion of the food. “You’re trying to trick me like—like you tricked my master.”

Zhao Yunlan scoffs, unable to help himself. “As if you would be so easily fooled.” Eyeing Ye-zun curiously, Zhao Yunlan leans back against the tree. “Alright. Let’s say you’re right, I’m trying to trick you to come back with me. What for? You said yourself that you have no useful intelligence for the Alliance, and I doubt the rebels would care if we took you hostage at this point.”

Ye-zun glares at him, shifting his feet under himself so he can easily spring up and run. Zhao Yunlan takes silent note, but doesn’t move to intercept him.

“For Gege,” he spits, anger and triumph flashing over his face. “You said so yourself.”

Zhao Yunlan cocks his head… and smirks.

“Ah? I thought your brother wanted nothing to do with you. Didn’t he get rid of you?”

Ye-zun blinks, his furious expression melting away in confusion, leaving behind the lost young man he truly is under all that bristling and barking. Zhao Yunlan’s chest aches, but he twists the knife in regardless, voice gentle.

“Unless he’d be happy to see you. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

“But…” Ye-zun starts and stops, ducking his head so his hair covers the look on his face. Zhao Yunlan sighs, draping an arm over his pulled up knee and rolling his head back to stare at the sky of old oak leaves.

“But if he’s happy to see you, why did he sell you?” Zhao Yunlan huffs, careful to hide how he’s watching Ye-zun from the corners of his eyes. “What reason do I have to lie to you, unless I want to trick you into returning to the Alliance with me?”

Ye-zun glances up at him, eyes wide and red-rimmed. Zhao Yunlan tilts his head, offers him a crooked smile.

“What reason did your old master have to lie to you?”

Ye-zun’s jaw clenches and he averts his gaze, glaring at the dirt instead. Nodding, Zhao Yunlan takes one more sip from his waterskin, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and recapping it before he pushes to his feet.

“Well, enough rest. I’m going.” He pauses next to where Ye-zun crouches, fingers grazing over his shoulder featherlight. “You’re welcome to follow.”

He’s not surprised when Ye-zun does, keeping several feet of distance between them and a wary eye out. It’s not long before the sun will set, which makes it easy to spot the flickering lights on the horizon another hour into their journey. Zhao Yunlan raises a hand to stop Ye-zun, crouching down behind a boulder. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Ye-zun siddles up next to him, peering over Zhao Yunlan’s shoulder.

In the distance, the lights sway in the breeze, heading in their direction.

Under his breath, Zhao Yunlan whispers, “Stay here, I’ll let you know once it’s safe to come out.”

“But—” Ye-zun starts to protest, however, Zhao Yunlan is already moving to intercept. It’s a patrol, although their allegiances are hard to tell by the clothing, and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t recognize any of them. While he is dithering on how to proceed, a twig snaps behind him. Zhao Yunlan turns his head to glare at Ye-zun, who sets his jaw stubbornly, daring Zhao Yunlan to scold him. The whole patrol tenses and shifts into a familiar formation, much to Zhao Yunlan’s relief.

“Who’s there!?” one of them shouts, and Zhao Yunlan steps out from behind the tree hiding him, hand up in the air and waving to catch their attention, beckoning Ye-zun to follow close behind him since the brat won’t sit still.

“General Kunlun?” another asks as they approach, a crow yashou judging by the black feathers braided into their hair. “It’s General Kunlun! Kunlun-jun has returned!”

The cry passes down the line, one soldier turning heel and hurrying back with the message. The rest of the patrol gathers around Zhao Yunlan, exclaiming and talking over one another, asking where he’s been, how he got out, and a thousand more things.

Zhao Yunlan laughs, throwing them a couple bones without actually answering any of their questions. He ruffles someone’s hair here, teases another there, and soon he has maneuvered Ye-zun and himself to the edge of the camp, keeping their escort distracted. Fu You is waiting for him with her own guard, a surprise considering last he heard the Alliance council was setting up further to the south.

“General Kunlun, welcome back. We’re glad that you made it out safely.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes are sharp as her gaze flickers to Ye-zun. “Who is your companion, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Zhao Yunlan grins, wide and smug, as he throws an arm around Ye-zun’s shoulders. It earns him a glare, which he blithely ignores.

“Surprise gift for Heipaoshi,” he announces, a murmur going through the crowd. “Figured since I took an unplanned vacation, I might as well come back with a souvenir.”

“You’re talking nonsense again, General,” Fu You scolds him gently, a reminder to keep his words period-appropriate. Zhao Yunlan shrugs.

“Where is hei anyway? Kinda expected him to be part of the welcoming committee,” Zhao Yunlan admits. It is strange for Shen Wei to miss an opportunity to check him over for injury after another wild escapade.

“Out looking for you.” Fu You arches a pointed eyebrow. “He should be back soon.”

As if talking about him summoned Heipaoshi—and many soldiers would argue it does—a familiar black-cloaked silhouette steps out from the treeline, the setting sun throwing him into dramatic colours. He stops, hooded head turning in their direction. A pause, then the glaive vanishes in a swirl of dark energy.

“Kunlun?” he calls out, and Ye-zun freezes under Zhao Yunlan’s arm. Zhao Yunlan, on the other hand, can feel his mouth stretch wide across his face as he turns to face Shen Wei, forcing Ye-zun to turn with him.

“There you are! I was looking for you!” he yells back cheerfully. Within a heartbeat, Shen Wei suddenly stands before him, his cloak billowing from the power he used to move fast.

“Looking for me?” Shen Wei mutters grumpily, his eyes scanning Zhao Yunlan for injuries. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Zhao Yunlan’s smile softens at the genuine worry he can hear in Shen Wei’s voice. Then it turns into a teasing smirk. “Well, you’ve found me!” He spreads his arms wide, accidentally not-so-accidentally pushing Ye-zun a step forward. “And look! I even got you something.”

Shen Wei reluctantly tears his gaze away from Zhao Yunlan, who feels familiar fondness suffuse his chest, knowing that he is—and will be—the center of Shen Wei's world. As soon as Shen Wei's eyes land on Ye-zun, they widen, a silent gasp escaping his lips. He reaches out, hand faltering before he can touch, drawing back hesitantly.

"Didi?"

Ye-zun is staring back at Shen Wei, a multitude of emotions flashing over his face. Swallowing, he whispers hoarsely, "Ge?"

“Surprise!” Zhao Yunlan exclaims cheerfully. Neither twin pays him much mind, staring at each other as their worlds turn upside down.

“I thought” —Shen Wei swallows, his eyes wet— “I thought I’d lost you forever. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Laoban… My master…” Ye-zun starts, then stops, his jaw set in determination. “The traitorous rebel chief, he told me you—you gave me to him.”

“Di,” Shen Wei whispers, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes flaring with inner fire. “I would never.”

“I—” Ye-zun trembles, reaching out. Shen Wei mirrors him, their fingers almost touching. Finally, Ye-zun bridges the gap, grasping the sleeve of Shen Wei’s black robe tightly. “I know. I think.”

Zhao Yunlan smiles softly as the brothers reunite, watching over them even as Fu You shoos everyone else away, to give them some privacy. If nothing else comes out of this trip to the past, Zhao Yunlan can at least be satisfied that he managed to fix this.

.

***

I’ll save you with my light (Moon, moon, what kind of moon? A monster who will swallow all) When the moon covers the sun I’ll fill you with a bright light I’ll be a star and shine on you

.

***

Omake

.

***

“I see you’ve brought the mighty Boom Boom Thunder,” Shen Wei drawls, like the troll he is. Zhao Yunlan shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Brought… what?” Lin Jing asks, pausing to look up from his tablet, brow furrowing.

“Boom Boom Thunder,” Shen Wei repeats with a serious expression. Zhao Yunlan narrows his eyes at him, holding up a finger threateningly. Mischief flashes over Shen Wei’s face before he turns to the rest of the SID with all of his gravitas. “A legendary, spiritual weapon, once used by the mighty General Kunlun.”

"That rings a bell," Da Qing murmurs, brow furrowing in concentration.

"It was a weapon like any other at the time," Shen Wei continues gravely. "It made quite the impact. Indeed, it was crucial in turning the tides of the war. Just as mighty as its name."

"I hate you," Zhao Yunlan groans, dropping his head on his arms, resting on the conference table.

"Boom Boom Thunder?" Zhu Hong repeats, wrinkling her nose and crossing her arms. "That sounds… no offense, but that's a rather silly name."

“Sounds like it would be right at home in a video game,” Lin Jing chimes up in agreement.

“Only the cleverest mind could come up with such a name for an important weapon,” Shen Wei fakes chiding them, and if the ground opens up and swallows Zhao Yunlan, right now would be a good time.

“W-who did name the— G-general Kunlun’s w-weapon?” Sang Zan asks, the sincere curiosity in his tone the only thing saving him from Zhao Yunlan’s wrath. Everyone else would get their bonus reduced, Professor Shen included.

“Why, no one else as your very own Chief Zhao, of course,” Shen Wei declares, blinking his wide eyes innocently at Zhao Yunlan, who peeks up from the safety of his arms to glare at him. He raises a finger to point at his boyfriend.

“Thin. Ice.” He puts his thumb and pointer finger half an inch apart, to show just how thin. Shen Wei simply huffs in amused tolerance, not threatened at all.

“And this is why I question your taste in men, Ge,” Shen Ye drawls, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in clear amusement.

“Glasshouses, little night lord,” Zhao Yunlan warns his boyfriend’s twin, wagging his finger. Shen Ye sticks out his tongue at him in a mature response.

“That’s right!” Da Qing snaps his fingers, sitting up straight suddenly. “I remember now. Didn’t you say it’s a common name for such weapons up in the mountains?”

So what if life was unfair? She could live knowing Zhao Yunlan would never return her feelings, could come to accept him as just a friend in her life. His death, however? That was unacceptable.

After everything he’d done, everything he’d sacrificed, lao-Zhao deserved a better ending.

"Hong-jie…" a timid voice spoke up. Xiao-Guo. The hand she'd shaken off earlier. He sounded like he was choking on his own words, but whether from grief or nerves, she couldn't tell. She'd never found it easy to tell what others were feeling or when to comfort them. "He says… lao-Zhao says he's sorry. And, and not to cry."

Slowly, Zhu Hong raised her head from her sleeve, pinning Guo Changcheng with red eyes.

"You can hear him."

"Kind of?" Xiao-Guo winced, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected lao-Chu to magically appear and protect him from her temper. "Uh, I can, I know people's last wishes? But… he's not really dead so it doesn't quite… work?"

"He's not?" Zhu Hong startled, hope rising in her chest. If Zhao Yunlan wasn't dead, whether he was caught somewhere in between or dying, it meant— they still had time to save him.

"His body is still breathing," xiao-Guo pointed out, nodding behind them where Zhao Yunlan's corpse—no, not corpse, he was alive—was being nudged by a Da Qing in cat form. Somehow, she had tuned out his mournful yowling, lost in the din of earth rumbling and chaos of the street, scared Dixingren crying and huddling together. They still had a lot of work to do. "He, um, he gave his body to Zhang Shi."

Torn out of her thoughts—someone needed to organise the counting of the dead and the herding of civilians away from structurally unsound buildings—Zhu Hong frowned at xiao-Guo.

"Zhang Shi?"

"He, um, he's a Dixingren who possessed Director Zhao until recently. His power appears to be jumping into bodies…?"

“And he dares jump into Zhao Yunlan’s!?” Zhu Hong hissed, feeling her anger rise and split her tongue, human canines growing sharp and long. Watching xiao-Guo’s face pale at her wrath, Zhu Hong squeezed her eyes shut and wrestled her powers back under control, her fingers clenching on the Guardian lantern.

No. No, this wasn’t happening.

Blinking her eyes open, Zhu Hong turned her glare onto the lantern. Zhao Yunlan’s soul was in there somewhere, burning himself up to give light back to Dixing, while some stranger stole his body, would walk around with his familiar face. Zhu Hong couldn’t take it, didn’t even want to imagine a world where it was true.

“Unacceptable,” she snarled, shaking the lantern in her grip. “Do you hear me, Zhao Yunlan? This outcome is. Not. Acceptable!”

The light in the lantern dimmed in response, tipping a bucket of ice water over Zhu Hong’s burning anger. If she broke the Hallow now, after everything Zhao Yunlan had sacrificed—

A flicker, and the flame flared up, growing brighter and brighter until Zhu Hong averted her gaze with a cry, free hand coming up to cover her eyes, the other one clinging to the lantern even as the metal grew hot under her palm, a feeling of flames licking up her arms. A tug behind her navel made her nauseous, and then she felt herself tumbling forward, taking a header, except she didn’t hit the ground, the ground was gone, there was nothing isolid but the lantern for her to hold onto—

Zhu Hong landed ass first on a grassy hill, and immediately started rolling down the slope. Cursing to herself, she clutched the lantern still in her grasp to her stomach, curling protectively around it as she rolled onto her knees and hands, head snapping up to take in her environment. Her tongue poked out, tasting the air, all senses on high alert.

Sunlight shone warm on her back, but that was no longer a sure sign whether she was in Haixing or Dixing, not since the lantern had been lit. But… she’d seen no grass or other plant life in her short visit to Dixing. Granted, she had been rather distracted by fighting Ye Zun and his forces, but instinct told her she had somehow ended up aboveground.

Somehow. Zhu Hong snorted. The damn lantern – Zhao Yunlan, the bastard – had transported her here. Why, though? What was he trying to tell her?

Zhu Hong carefully stood up, but she was alone in a grassy field full of hills. There was nothing for it, she needed to figure out where she was and go from there. Zhu Hong was grateful she’d decided to wear flat boots for the final confrontation, or else climbing up the soft earth of the hill would’ve been hell. Reaching the cusp, Zhu Hong stayed low to the ground. If it weren’t for the stupid Hallow, she would’ve considered transforming for easier reconnaissance.

There was no one to be seen nearby, no buildings or landmarks to orient herself with, but— there. Smoke rising from the trees at the foot of the mountain not too far off. Whoever was living out here, maybe they could point her in the right direction back to civilization.

She had barely made it to the treeline when she stumbled upon a person.

Yashou or Dixingren? Zhu Hong wasn’t sure – the clothes he wore looked closer to the old-fashioned robes she encountered amongst her tribes’ elders, but he looked too young for that and most of the younger generation was already shifting to more Haixingren fashion, if only to blend in when they snuck out. But she had seen similar fashion in Dixingren, mixed in with more modern clothes. All things considered, this man was likely a part of Ye Zun’s invasive force, not yet having heard about how their coup failed.

Deciding caution was the better part of valour, Zhu Hong stepped back, hoping to get around him and find another way to the camp. Except when she did, she accidentally broke a twig under her heel.

The snap alerted the warrior of her presence, and he whirled around, brandishing his weapon with startling reflexes. A spear at her throat had her rearing back, accidentally using her Yashouren powers to leap a good twenty feet away. The spearman stared after her with wide eyes, before shouting for back-up, and Zhu Hong cursed her luck. Somehow, this had to be lao-Zhao's fault, she was sure.

She adjusted her grip on the stupid lantern and lowered her stance, eyes flashing red as they darted from one armed warrior to another. Some wielded swords, some spears like the first. An arrow hissed past her head, Zhu Hong barely dodging the projectile. Fuck. Archers could take her out too easily in this open field. If she turned into a snake, vanished between the tall grass, she could ambush them one by one, but that would mean leaving the Hallow sitting like a shiny beacon, leaving it – Zhao Yunlan’s soul – defenseless…

Zhu Hong didn’t have a choice, a hail of arrows forcing her to transform. The Lantern clattered to the ground, and Zhu Hong shot forward, jaw snapping around the ankle of the first swordsman she reached. The warrior cried out in pain, and Zhu Hong tugged on his leg, causing him to fall over. She let go before he could hit the ground, already darting through the grass for the next, tangling around a spear-wielder’s legs to cause them to tumble, too. The next soldier was more careful, dancing out of her lunges, but a careless sword slash as he tried to counter brought his arm within striking range.

Bones crunched under the strength of her jaws. Zhu Hong wanted to throw up – she’d never actively hurt anyone like this, it had all been play fights and training – but she couldn’t afford to hesitate. She vanished in the tall grass, making sure to disturb it as little as she could as she made her way back to the lantern, curious what the remaining fighters would do. It had taken her mere seconds to take down three of them. Hopefully, they would see sense and retreat with their injured, leaving her to find some place else to ask for help—

A crow cawed, circling above the battlefield before heading into a dive straight at her, and Zhu Hong tensed, preparing to dodge the strike of claws.

Instead, the crow Yashou transformed into their human form, landing a couple feet away from Zhu Hong in a shower of feathers. Since he obviously knew where she was hiding, Zhu Hong reared up and hissed a warning at the crow, showing off her fangs.

“Why do you fight us, sister?” the boy – he couldn’t be more than fifteen, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks – asked, tilting his head in the uncanny way of corvids.

Zhu Hong switched into a half-snake form, tail undulating under her, raising her chance at dodging in case hostilities resumed, while also allowing her to use her human face to express exactly how unimpressed she was by the crow youth.

“They attacked me first.” Zhu Hong sniffed, crossing her arms. She turned so she could keep an eye on the lantern, lying innocuously where she’d dropped it. “Of course I defended myself.”

The crow frowned, his gaze darting to the glint of the lantern, and Zhu Hong cursed her luck. Of course the bird’s eyes would be drawn to its flickering light. The crow boy took a step forward, and Zhu Hong shifted to get between him and the lantern, but it was already too late.

The crow boy took a sharp breath. “Is that…?”

Tail curling loosely around the lantern, Zhu Hong glared at the crow boy. "And what if it is?"

The crow boy blinked, startled, gaze sharpening as he eyes Zhu Hong. Then he gestured for the warriors to step back.

"Naturally, Snake-jie is easily spooked and prone to lash out since she is on an important mission for Elder Fu. Please excuse the misunderstanding, these patrolmen were just doing their job."

Zhu Hong inclined her head warily, transforming her tail back into legs to crouch next to the lantern. Her thoughts raced through her head because— she knew all the crow elders, and none of them had the character ‘fu’ in their name. Nor had anyone from the flower or snake tribes, as far as she knew. There was only one Elder Fu the crow could refer to and that was the legendary Chief of Yashouren, Fu You. But, no, that couldn’t be. Fu You had a long life, but even by their standards, it had been millenia ago.

"I'll escort you to Elder Fu," the crow boy offered, glancing at the lantern and back at her. "Um. So you need help carrying…"

Before he could finish, Zhu Hong snatched the lantern and tugged it into her side, her short leather jacket doing a terrible job hiding it. Narrowing her eyes at the crow boy, lest he get any funny ideas, she commanded sharply, "Lead the way."

Wherever she was, she needed to convince their leader to aid her. It worried her that the boy hadn't even mentioned Ya Qing, but perhaps the lantern had dropped her off somewhere far away from Dragon City and this was a Yashou tribe that had split off from the three tribes long enough ago that they'd lost contact? It was as likely a reason why none of them recognized her, and why she recognized no familiar faces as they entered the encampment.

The lantern pulsed warmly against her side, as if it was amused by her predicament. Zhu Hong tightened her grip.

“Chief!” the crow boy called out excitedly, flapping his arms in the air as if he wanted to take off. Zhu Hong side-eyed him, a smart remark about birds and manners on the tip of her tongue. Except her mouth went dry as the woman turned around to smile at them.

Fu You. The chief who made the reluctant branch bloom. The one who led the Yashou through the war with Dixing and into a bright future of peace far removed from human concerns. The snake tribe kept an engraving of her, and the resemblance was stunning. Zhu Hong stood frozen as the legendary chief approached them with the winding grace of a noble lady, her eyes bright and curious.

“A-Yun. I see you’ve brought us a visitor.”

“Lady Fu!” The crow boy dropped to one knee, hand clasped over his heart. “This humble one found Snake-jie when checking the perimeter. There was a misunderstanding with the patrolling guard.”

“A snake?” Fu You murmured, her serene gaze sharpening as she took in Zhu Hong. Swallowing, Zhu Hong focussed and allowed her eyes to flash red, if only to prove herself Yashou. If this was indeed Fu You and not an illusion created by the Hallows, then…

“I see. Thank you, a-Yun, you’ve done well.” Fu You offered the crow a smile, then beckoned Zhu Hong to follow her. “Come along, child. I’m sure you’ve had a long journey – and a fascinating tale to tell.”

Zhu Hong followed her warily as the legendary elder led her into a large tent in the center of the encampment. A long, wooden table stood to one side, surrounded by crates and various knickknacks, while shelves stood further in the back filled with scrolls and books. The centerpiece, however, was a giant globe made of bronze plates, lit from the inside by an iridescent, turquoise glow that gave Zhu Hong pause in the entrance way. The lantern pulsed reassuring warmth into her side, giving her the courage to step into the tent.

A man was sitting at the table, his hair long and combed back, a distracted look on his face as he glanced up. Then he blinked owlishly, straightening.

“Ah, Fu You. Did… something happen?”

“We have an, ah, unusual visitor,” Fu You explained, gesturing for Zhu Hong to take a seat. “This young lady is by all appearances a snake Yashou, and yet, I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”

Zhu Hong sat down gingerly, balancing the lantern in her lap. Its glow seemed too bright for the inside of the dim tent, drawing attention. Zhu Hong was tempted to shrug out of her jacket and cover the artifact, hide it—and its precious content—from curious eyes.

“We haven’t,” she replied succinctly, wrapping her arms around the lantern securely. “My name is Zhu Hong, recently elected chief of the three surviving Yashou tribes. And you’re Fu You, Chief of Yashou in this time, right?”

“Correct,” Fu You agreed, a troubled frown passing over her delicate features. “Only three of the tribes survived?”

Zhu Hong shrugged one shoulder. “Crow, Flower, Snake. There’s also Da Qing, but he’s the last cat left and doesn’t really interact with the tribes much.”

Fu You exchanged a long, speaking look with the man at her side.

"And that artifact you're holding—is that how you came here?" the man asked, and Zhu Hong narrowed her eyes at him.

"Maybe. If you don't even recognize it, what do you care? Who even are you?"

"Ah, apologies, young lady. I'm the Lord Guardian of Haixing, Ma Gui."

Lord Guardian. Zhao Yunlan's title. Fu You interjected before Zhu Hong could figure out how she felt about another man carrying it.

"Judging by your reaction, you assumed we knew of this artifact you carry," she surmised, steepling her hands under her chin as she watched Zhu Hong with the unblinking gaze of a curious predator. "Why is that?"

"Even that crow boy recognized it, yet you're pretending you don't know?" Zhu Hong challenged them, an uncomfortable weight sinking in her stomach. "You call yourself Guardian, yet you don't know of the Guardian Lantern?"

Fu You reared back with a surprised hiss. "You are certain? It is the real thing?"

“I know what the Hallows look like, don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” Zhu Hong snapped, her grip on the lantern tightening. Her slitted gaze darted from Fu You to Ma Gui, trying to discern what game they were playing. The lack of Zhao Yunlan’s presence at her side ached like a phantom limb. Surely, he would already have figured it out.

“We don’t,” Fu You returned calmly, taking the wind out of Zhu Hong’s sails as she stared at the legendary elder.

“You… don’t?”

“The Rock Yashou created them in their secret home, far below a volcano,” Fu You explained, a concerned look passing over her face. “It is troubling to hear they have not survived to your time. Perhaps they have simply withdrawn after the fighting…”

As Fu You fell into a contemplative silence, Ma Gui picked up the thread. “We sent a convoy to escort the Hallows back to our base, however, they were attacked. In the chaos, Da Qing accidentally activated the Hallows, causing an unforeseen reaction. They scattered in all four cardinal directions, we have since managed to find all of them… but one.”

He inclined his head at the lantern clutched in Zhu Hong’s grasp.

Fu You stood abruptly, gliding over to the shelves and picking up a scroll.

“Our stony cousins sent a painting of each artifact with the convoy, those we’ve managed to recover.” She unrolled the scroll unceremoniously on the table in front of Zhu Hong, who recognized the Longevity Dial and Mountain-River Awl immediately. The other two, however… “The Guardian Lantern, eternally lit with a fragment of the meteorite, does not look like the one you are holding, Chief Zhu.”

Zhu Hong stared at the pictures unblinkingly, thoughts whirling.

"I've seen the Sundial change size before," she put out there, trying to think her way through this. "It doesn't seem too far-fetched for the Hallows to adapt their form to something more… modern? Suitable to the times. Or…"

Zhu Hong trailed off, the thought too painful to finish. Fu You caught her eye.

"Or?" she pushed, her voice not unkind, but in that moment Zhu Hong hated her. Still, better to share all her knowledge and find a way forward together.

"Zhao Yunlan, my boss… you're going to meet him soon, I think, the Hallows pulled him back in time before. He" —Zhu Hong swallowed, her throat clicking dryly— "sacrificed himself. It's not the meteorite feeding the flame, now."

A piece of meteorite. If she could get her hands on one, and somehow managed to bring it to the future, where they could use it as a new wick… Perhaps, she could stop Zhao Yunlan from foolishly sacrificing his own life. The hope blooming in her chest was almost a worse ache than the grief.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Fu You offered, her voice sympathetic and diplomatic. She clasped her hands in front of her, her brows furrowing lightly in contemplation. “It might explain the difference.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too,” Ma Gui added, rolling the scroll back up. “He must have been a great leader and hero, to sacrifice himself for the world. We will do our best to prepare him for the inevitable once he joins us here.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Zhu Hong pointed out sharply, sitting up straighter and setting the Lantern down on the table. The glow illuminated the Alliance leaders’ faces. “I can still save him.”

“We cannot risk changing what already happened.” Fu You frowned down at her, her tone turning reprimanding. Like an elder to a young hatchling, and Zhu Hong fought down the instinctive urge to bite. Fu You meant well, she reminded herself, no matter how itchy the suggestion alone made her scales feel.

“Time and space are fragile things, and we don’t know what the Hallows have done to twist them as such,” Ma Gui explained, glancing between the two Yashou chiefs. “Frankly, we don’t know what the Hallows are capable of, but we cannot risk it. If it already happened, trying to change it could have catastrophic consequences.”

“There is some precedent in the Yashou archives,” Fu You continued, gentling her voice. “And they all warn of meddling with fate. If your Zhao Yunlan has died, then he will have to die again, child. I’m sorry.”

"I can't accept that," Zhu Hong snapped, crossing her arms. "I'm already changing the past by being here, why should I hold back now?"

"You love him," Ma Gui said quietly, realization dawning on his face. "Don't you?"

"So what? It doesn't matter, no one deserves to burn forever instead of re-entering the wheel of reincarnation."

"It is a worthy sacrifice," Fu You opined, holding her hands up in a sign for Zhu Hong to calm her temper. She clenched her jaw and glared at Fu You, waiting for her to continue. "He has made the choice. Shouldn't you respect that?"

"Only because he saw no other way and was short on time," Zhu Hong countered, pushing to her feet. "That's something we have now—time. More than enough." She dropped her gaze to the lantern, flame flickering innocently. Her resolve firmed, and she set her jaw as she met Fu You's impenetrable stare head on. "He never gave up on me, on any of us, either. I will not fail him now."

"We don't know how your arrival here affects things," Ma Gui cautioned, looking between her and Fu You. "Considering the consequences, we should keep the changes to a minimum."

"What is destined, what is set in stone?" Zhu Hong shook her head. "If I had not come here carrying the fourth Hallow, would you ever have discovered its whereabouts? I have told you of the future, near and far, and it's changed you. Already you assume that you will win this war, and that a sacrifice is necessary so you refuse to look for other options. But what guarantee do you have?"

“But are you willing to gamble with all our lives, our future, just to revive the man you love?” Fu You questioned, her tone quiet and sharp, the sibilants coming out hissed. Zhu Hong’s attention snapped back to her. “If he would agree with that, he cannot be the great hero you speak of.”

“According to you, everything I do here has already happened,” Zhu Hong countered, settling a hand on top of the lantern. “If time is a loop, then I can only come here because I’ve come here before, right? History says the Alliance used all four Hallows to quell the rebellion, and here I am, bringing you the fourth of the Hallows.”

“And what if the only reason you managed to come here is because this Zhao Yunlan sacrificed himself for your sake?” Fu You rejoined, her gaze flashing red. Zhu Hong flashed her own eyes in response.

“Then he brought me here to fix things.” Setting her jaw stubbornly, Zhu Hong raised her head. “It is a risk he would take, how can I do any less? I understand your apprehension, Chief Fu.” Zhu Hong took a deep breath. “But maybe you’ve got it wrong. Maybe time isn’t a loop, maybe it’s a pretzel.”

“A… what?” Ma Gui interjected. Zhu Hong waved an impatient hand.

“A twisted loop. A snake coiling in and over itself before it bites its own tail. Not important.” Zhu Hong leaned forward, meeting Fu You’s gaze head-on. “I’m not asking you to support me in this. I will find a way, and if you’re right, it won’t surmount to anything. But can you scold me for trying?”

“I could,” Fu You pointed out, then shook her head, stepping down. “Yet you are not one of my snakes, but a chief in her own right. You will do as you think is best for your people.”

“Damn right I will.”

The lack of approval from someone her people looked up to as one of the greatest chiefs in their history shook her deeper than she wanted to admit, but Zhu Hong grit her teeth and pushed forward regardless. If she wanted to face herself in the mirror every morning, she had to make an attempt at the very least.

I have faith in you, Hong-jie. The thought floated through her head in Zhao Yunlan's voice, as if rising from a faint memory. Zhu Hong glanced at the lantern, watching the cheerfully dancing flame, reminding her strongly of Zhao Yunlan's teasing smile. She narrowed her eyes.

You better be grateful for this, you bastard, she thought back at the Hallow, and an impression of Zhao Yunlan's laughter echoed in her head.

Always.

Bracing herself, Zhu Hong bowed to Fu You.

“Venerated leader of the Yashouren, founder of the Alliance and general in this war we find ourselves in. I bring before you the fourth of the Hallows, the lit Guardian Lantern. In exchange, all I ask for is a piece of the meteorite it was built from.”

Zhu Hong watched from under her lashes as Fu You’s mouth pulled into a thin line at her request. Ma Gui grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it.

“This young woman is doing us a great service, handing over such a prized artifact. We still have a handful of slivers left, what harm can be done to the construct of time with a small piece?”

“A lot. Sometimes, all it takes is the flap of a butterfly’s wings.” Fu You huffed. “Very well. As a reward for your aid, we will grant you this boon and allow you to stay in our camp to recuperate, until such a time you may return to your own.”

“Thank you.” Zhu Hong bowed deeper, then stood back up. “In return, I will help until such a time may come.”

“I would rather you did as little as possible,” Fu You admitted, then shook her head. “But I cannot turn anyone away. We need all hands that are willing and able.”

Zhu Hong silently inclined her head in acknowledgement, accepting the sliver of precious metal from Ma Gui. It was about the length of her middle finger, but hopefully, she could figure out how to turn it into a proper wick for the lantern. Tonight, she would sew it into her jacket, she thought. Then she would try to find a Rock Yashou and ask them for advice on how to prepare the meteorite properly.

Maybe she should take Heipaoshi with her. Shen Wei could learn how to, so when she returned to her time, he’d know what to do.

…she should probably figure out a way to convince him not to sacrifice himself, either, or Zhao Yunlan might get himself killed in the fighting somehow regardless, rendering all her work useless. Sighing, Zhu Hong stretched out in a patch of sunlight, closing her eyes and soaking in its warmth. Ugh, men. Why were they both so stubborn?

So, new agenda. First step, teach Heipaoshi how to create a wick. Step two, figure out a way to stop Ye Zun. Easy peasy.

Ugh.

***

In the end, Zhu Hong didn’t expect that stopping Ye Zun would be the easy part. Somehow, she figured someone would have tried bitch-slapping and yelling at him before, it seemed too easy a victory. Zhu Hong wasn’t sure which part of her words resonated with him—the ‘everyone has problems, get over it’ part seemed unlikely—but the way he stared at her, baffled and offended, before his gaze darted to Heipaoshi (why did everything always come back to Shen Wei?) and he asked in an incredulous tone, “Ge? Is it true?”

Later, she would learn that she’d accidentally used her shaky hypnosis skill on Ye Zun, dislodging a buried memory that the rebel’s chieftain had hidden from him, pasting over it with lies using the same mind control ability Ye Zun then stole from him. Apparently, this entire war was Ye Zun’s version of throwing a temper tantrum because his brother didn’t love him enough.