Hanzhou + "everyone i’ve cared about has either died or left me. except for you."
Going off with the angst, love that! Hope you like it <3
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Han Ying enters his lord's receiving rooms early at night, summoned for a personal briefing before a mission not so complicated as to require it, not truly.
It has been two days since Bi Changfeng's death.
There is no visible change in Zhou Zishu, not like there was after Jiuxiao, but the image of a bright drop of blood on the snow lingers in Han Ying's mind, and he's glad for the opportunity to see Zhou Zishu, regardless of the true reason behind it.
“Zhou-zhuangzhu,” he greets, meeting his lord's gaze as he falls into a bow.
Despite the order issued two days ago, Zhou Zishu doesn't correct him. He looks back, expression stony and unreadable, a long moment trickling by before he waves Han Ying up and invites him to sit. Han Ying observes him as openly as he dares, as they go over the mission's details, but his lord remains impassive throughout. He is a master of disguise and deceipt, but this is unlike any face Han Ying has seen him put on for their work: it isn't the pretense of anything, but an overpowering blankness with no cracks in it. Han Ying can't get a read on him like this, and he doubts that he'd be welcome to try.
You'd rather become a cripple than continue to work for me? When Zhou Zishu had asked Bi Changfeng, Han Ying couldn't help but think it sounded a lot like is it worth it?
Red in the snow.
A year ago, a nightmarish night, a Zhou Zishu he had never seen before and never saw again.
A-Xiao, A-Xiao, you were right. Shixiong has been too stingy in paying for his crimes. He'll definitely make it up to you now.
Han Ying suspects. He hopes desperately that he's wrong. For a long time in his life, he used to think that no way out meant no way out: but people are so good at inventing them. It isn't one of his skills, but he knows everyone who's still loyal to Zhou Zishu, and they would all stop at nothing to help their lord leave the capital behind, if only he said the word. Han Ying bites back the suggestion. Surely Zhou Zishu knows, and there is no place in the capital where it's safe to utter such things.
Not even Zhou Zishu's private residence.
Eventually, there is nothing else to be said between them, and they fall silent. There is only so much that can be planned and accounted for in advance. Han Ying has a mission to complete, and he must go, even though he still doesn't know what Zhou Zishu really summoned him for, and not knowing leaves him uneasy.
He rises, and makes to exit; Zhou Zishu halts him with a gesture of his hand.
“Han Ying,” he says. And then, more quietly, “Ying'er.”
Han Ying waits, but Zhou Zishu adds nothing more.
“Does Zhou-zhuangzhu have further orders?” he asks.
Zhou Zishu regards him for long seconds, the same impenetrable emptiness in his eyes, then sighs. His posture changes as he slumps back against his seat, a small movement that screams of exhaustion. “Yes. Come back alive.”
Han Ying opens his mouth to respond and comes up short. That is not an order he can swear to follow; no matter how skilled one is, no matter how meticulously planned out a mission, the nature of their work is such that it allows for no guarantees. He doesn't want to give a disingenuous answer, but still he realizes his lord needs something from him, perhaps a reassurance, and he scrambles for a way to offer it.
“I'll try my best,” he promises. “With zhuangzhu's insight, I think that everything will go as expected.”
“No.” It isn’t the right answer; Zhou Zishu shakes his head and stands in a fluid motion, stalking towards Han Ying. “No, Ying'er. I don't care how it goes – fail the mission if that's what it takes, just come back to me.”
His tone grows sharp and urgent, hands grasping Han Ying's shoulders and squeezing, emphasizing his words. Han Ying goes still with shock. For a Tian Chuang member to even consider doing such a thing would constitute treason, but for their leader himself to suggest it…
“Zhou-zhuangzhu,” he says in alarm as he falls to his knees and bows deeply, ducking his head to guard against the sudden intensity in Zhou Zishu's eyes. “Zhou-zhuangzhu, please don't talk like that. This one is unworthy of your concern, I would—”
“Unworthy?” Zhou Zishu says icily.
Han Ying doesn't dare to look at him, but he hears the soft rustle of robes as Zhou Zishu lowers himself to the floor, mirroring Han Ying's position. He takes Han Ying's hands in his own.
“Do you not understand?” Zhou Zishu demands. “I need you alive, Ying'er. Everyone I've cared about has either died or left me. Except for you.”
Han Ying's heart thuds painfully in his chest. As long as it is in his power he will do everything he can to stay by Zhou Zishu's side, and yet if his suspicions are correct—
“I'm not going anywhere,” he says, and it's the truth.
With his lord asking like that, there is no force in the world that can prevent Han Ying from returning to him. He would follow Zhou Zishu to the ends of the earth and beyond that, if only he were asked. But he knows that if Zhou Zishu leaves, he will be leaving alone.
It's dangerous for Zhou Zishu to be saying these things, and dangerous for Han Ying to let himself believe them. But perhaps no more dangerous than every other aspect of their lives, Han Ying thinks. He's not afraid for his own sake, and though he should protest it for Zhou Zishu's, the quiet desolation in his lord's admittance makes it impossible to do so.
He wonders, if anyone could see this scene, what they would make of it: two figures kneeling with their hands clasped, heads bowed together in grief and a shared moment of respite.
