Chapter Text
The following day, Changning’s fever was better.
It didn’t disappear fully – there was still lingering warmth in her cheeks when Xie Zheng checked her that morning, and her energy remained dull in a way that reminded him of how fragile children actually were beneath all their noise and movement – but the frightening heat from the night before had faded enough that even Gongsun Yin was finally losing the worry-lines around his eyes.
“You can stop hovering now, papa bear,” the strategist remarked dryly sometime near midday after catching Xie Zheng glancing toward Changning from his horse for perhaps the twentieth time during a discussion regarding the mountain routes ahead.
Xie Zheng did not dignify the statement with a response.
Unfortunately – as usual – his silence still entertained Gongsun Yin just enough.
By evening, however, even Xie Zheng had to admit Changning looked considerably better.
Not that much – she was still a far cry away from her bubbly personality that he got to know back in Lin’an – but still, she seemed as close to normal as it could be expected.
The knowledge alone eased something in him that remained tightly wound since the previous day.
The camp that night had been raised near a narrow river, its waters dark and fast-moving beneath the evening light; the soldiers settling nearby wherever the ground was flattest. Compared to the previous night, the atmosphere felt calmer somehow – not safer exactly, but less strained. Men spoke more freely around the fires, drying their armor properly after days of damp travel, and somewhere near the outer rows of tents someone had even started laughing loudly enough that several others felt the need to immediately shush him.
Xie Zheng sat near one of the campfires with a cup of tea balanced loosely in one hand – dinner was going to be a while away as the soldiers he dispatched were still hunting – while Gongsun Yin was giving instructions to two soldiers a few feet away.
Across from him, Changning sat wrapped in his cloak again, slowly poking the edge of the fire with a stick, with noticeably more energy than the previous evening.
Every so often, her eyes drifted toward him automatically, then away once she realized he noticed.
(Xie Zheng pretended not to.)
Eventually, after a long pause, Changning spoke for the first time since sitting down.
“Jiefu?”
“What is it, NingNiang?”
“I’m hungry.”
The admission was so small and tentative that it took him a moment to process it fully – then something in his chest loosened unexpectedly as sheer relief filled him. Gongsun Yin looked outright delighted, turning away from his conversation to focus on Changning.
“Oh? So the little miss has an appetite again?”
“Mhm,” Changning answered him, nodding, but her gaze remained fixed instead on Xie Zheng.
There was something almost cautious in the way she watched him now whenever she asked for things, as if she was still uncertain whether he would leave again if she demanded too much of his attention.
The realization unsettled Xie Zheng more than he liked.
“Dinner will take a while,” he said apologetically. “Maybe you should drink some more tea until then.”
He didn’t have to ask – Xie Qi immediately offered him a clean cup so he could pour some for her. Changning – abandoning her stick – accepted it with both hands, nodding her head when Xie Zheng gently reminded her to blow on it before drinking since it was hot.
“The food is terrible anyway,” Gongsun Yin said cheerfully as he walked back, his conversation finished, winking at her as he sat down beside his friend. At Xie Zheng’s raised eyebrow, his friend’s expression told him to just go along with it. “It’s not worth waiting for it.”
“That is because you insulted the cook yesterday,” Xie Zheng said flatly, mock-offended, pointing to himself.
“And I stand by it. Your roasted pheasant is always so gamey; you only know how to grill fish,” Gongsun Yin sighed, shaking his head dramatically before patting Xie Zheng on the shoulder. “Thank the Heavens you married well.”
One of the nearby Blood Robe Cavalry soldiers snorted into his tea before quickly pretending otherwise when Xie Zheng looked over.
“As if you’re any better,” Xie Zheng countered. “You burn everything you touch. At least my food can actually be consumed.”
At their playful argument, Changning’s mouth twitched faintly, for the first time since they saved her, over the rim of her cup.
The sight caught Xie Zheng off guard enough that he found himself watching her a moment longer than intended. Then his gaze shifted briefly toward the river nearby, thinking.
Grilled fish, hm?
Without another word, he stood up.
“Jiefu?” Changning blinked up at him immediately.
“Drink your tea, Ning,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”
The moment he said the words, he noticed how Changning’s fingers tightened subtly around the cup in her hands – like she was trying not to react.
That unpleasant heaviness settled in his chest again.
But Xie Zheng turned away before he could dwell on it further.
The area beyond the edge of the camp was quieter than the fires behind him – the sounds of soldiers and horses fading gradually beneath the sound of steadily rushing dark water. Daylight had nearly disappeared by now, leaving only the last traces of sunshine caught between the mountains, while the air was getting chillier by the minute as the evening approached.
Xie Zheng stood near the upper edge of the narrow river for a moment, watching the water rush swiftly between the dark rocks below. The actual riverbank sat several feet lower than the path beside the camp – a rough strip of uneven stones and slick shale carved out gradually by the years and the elements – and after briefly considering the safest way, he jumped down carefully onto the lower bank.
The movement pulled sharply at the wound on his side when he landed.
He ignored it.
Once properly beside the water, Xie Zheng rolled his sleeves back without hesitation before crouching near the edge of the river to search among the scattered driftwood and branches left behind between the rocks. He picked out a long, narrow stick sturdy enough for fishing and tested its weight briefly in his hand before using his dagger to sharpen one end with several efficient strokes.
Fishing with proper equipment would have been easier but unfortunately, military travel was rarely ever about convenience.
The river was cold; the current rushed quickly through the narrower parts of the mountain pass. Xie Zheng stepped carefully across the wet stones until he found a steadier position near the shallow parts, then lowered the improvised fishing stick slightly while watching the darker shadows moving beneath the water.
He was just about to make his first strike when soft footsteps crunched against stone somewhere behind him.
Xie Zheng did not turn around as he knew who it was almost immediately.
“You followed me,” he sighed, resigned, making the footsteps stop at once.
A moment later – as he expected – Changning’s small, slightly guilty voice answered him from the path.
“You were taking too long.”
Xie Zheng glanced back.
She stood several steps away from the edge – wrapped awkwardly in the cloak still far too large for her small body, its hem dragging across the ground while loose strands of hair escaped around her still-flushed cheeks, the braids Gongsun Yin attempted earlier that morning ruined by now.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Changning started fidgeting under his stare, lowering her head slightly.
“I thought…” she started quietly – and Xie Zheng waited for her to finish the thought, but after a moment she only shook her head instead.
The unfinished sentence lingered between them anyway.
I thought you left again.
Something flinched and twisted in his chest.
The child had been saved barely a day ago.
She should not have been wandering through the edges of camp alone unnoticed long enough to find him all the way down by the river.
A faint thread of irritation flickered through him immediately at the thought – not toward Changning, but toward the men above who should have been paying closer attention to her.
To a child.
Xie Wu and Gongsun Yin were occupied, yes, and most of the soldiers likely assumed she remained with one of the others, but assumptions were dangerous things – especially now.
Especially after Sui Yuanqing.
Then, almost as quickly, the irritation turned unpleasantly inward.
Because ultimately, she had not been their responsibility – she had been his.
Xie Zheng exhaled quietly through his nose before glancing toward the narrow rise leading back up toward camp.
“Did anyone come with you?” he asked. “Or knew you left camp?”
Changning shook her head immediately.
“No.”
Of course not.
Xie Zheng closed his eyes briefly for the span of a single breath before raising his hand towards his mouth, folding all fingers except for two.
Changning watched curiously.
The sharp note that cut through the mountain air was high and brief, swallowed quickly by the sound of the river. Silence followed for a few moments – then, somewhere farther uphill near the camp paths, another whistle answered.
Xie Zheng and the mysterious other whistler held a short conversation consisting of nothing but sounds – most almost birdlike rather than human. When finished, Xie Zheng’s shoulders eased. At least now someone knew she wasn’t lost – that she was with him, not to worry.
Changning blinked down at him, head tilted.
“What was that?”
“A signal,” he answered.
“For who?”
Xie Zheng hesitated for a second before saying, “My men.”
He provided no explanation – something which he almost feared his little sister-in-law would challenge – but Changning seemed to accept that surprisingly easily, though her eyes were unsettlingly unreadable.
For a moment, he simply looked at her standing up there: sleeves slightly too long beneath the oversized cloak wrapped around her shoulders while cold mountain wind tugged faintly on loose strands of her hair.
Suddenly, she looked very small.
Much too small for mountain roads, military camps, kidnappings, going through forests, and nights spent trembling with fever against someone’s chest.
Perhaps it would have been better to send her back straight to Lin’an instead, the thought surfaced.
Then just as quickly the memory of her crying against him last night, clutching at him with desperation, while asking him to stay, flashed inside his mind.
Xie Zheng ended up pushing the thought away before it could take proper root.
Instead, after a brief pause, he asked quietly, “Do you want to come closer?”
Changning’s face brightened almost immediately and nodded hard enough that the cloak nearly slipped from one of her shoulders.
Without comment, Xie Zheng stepped back toward the riverbank, walking back towards her, and then reached up, grabbing Changning under the armpits to get her down to his level.
His wound was screaming, but he gritted his teeth.
Once he had her on her feet, he let her go and extended one hand toward her instead.
“Careful,” Xie Zheng said quietly. “The stones are slippery.”
Changning stared at his hand briefly, almost surprised by the gesture, before hurrying to take it immediately.
(Her fingers were colder than they should have been. Xie Zheng frowned faintly but said nothing.)
He walked her carefully over the uneven rocks, settling her down beside the river at a spot that wasn’t damp, and where she wasn’t in danger from falling into the freezing water.
Changning watched him closely as he moved back into the shallows again.
“You know how to catch fish?” she asked after a while, when he assumed his previous position, raising his stick and waiting to strike.
Xie Zheng glanced at her briefly.
“I know many things.”
That earned him a small pout.
“You sound like Sun gongzi now.”
Something dangerously close to amusement flickered in Xie Zheng’s chest.
The river water surged cold around his boots while he waited slowly in the shallows with the patience of someone long accustomed to surviving outdoors beneath far harsher conditions than this.
Changning watched with complete concentration from the riverbank, following every movement like it was the most important thing in the world. Still – when Xie Zheng struck with his stick seemingly out of the blue, she gasped in surprise.
The first fish had barely stopped thrashing on the end of the wood before she scooted closer across the stones, eyes bright despite the lingering traces of exhaustion still present on her face.
“How did you do that?” she asked immediately.
Xie Zheng glanced down briefly at the fish, and removing it with a practiced move, he stepped back toward the bank again to throw it far from the water. “Years of practice.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
The corner of Xie Zheng’s mouth curved up faintly in amusement as he shrugged.
The river rushed back cold around his boots as he took his previous position. Xie Zheng studied the darker water in front of him for a moment, deep in thought, then looked toward her hesitantly.
“Do you want to try?”
Changning blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the offer.
“By myself?”
Dear Heavens, as if.
Xie Zheng shook his head. “With my help.”
Lots of children would have considered an adult helping an unnecessary restriction – but not Changning. Judging by how her eyes brightened and she nodded, Xie Zheng allowing her closer and offering his help seemed to satisfy her considerably.
Meanwhile, Xie Zheng felt the same kind of nervousness he did back in Lin’an whenever he attempted to teach her something.
(He very carefully did not think about parental figures and his own place in Changning’s life.)
He led her by the hand into the shallow waters, painstakingly making sure that the rock she ended up standing on was steady and out of the water as much as possible, and thought briefly about how this whole thing was supposed to continue.
Xie Zheng glanced down at the simple fishing stick in his hand – the same one he had been using moments earlier. The end remained damp from the current, the sharpened tip darkened slightly from the blood of the captured fish.
After only a brief pause, he carefully offered it toward Changning. She blinked up at him much too innocently.
“Mine?”
Xie Zheng nodded. “For now.”
Changning accepted it immediately with both hands, nearly tipping sideways from the awkward length of it before hastily correcting herself. The branch was clearly too long and heavy for her to wield comfortably, especially one-handed, and the seriousness with which she attempted to hold it properly only made the sight more adorable.
“It’s heavy,” she complained softly.
“You are small,” Xie Zheng explained.
“That’s not true!” Changing protested, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re huge!”
Xie Zheng couldn’t help the amused breath he let out, patting her head.
“Both of those truths can coexist, you know.”
Changning pouted faintly but did not argue further, concentrating instead on keeping the stick upright while Xie Zheng stepped closer behind her, crouching down to her level.
Very carefully, he adjusted her grip.
“Not like that,” he instructed quietly, one hand briefly steadying the branch while the other guided her smaller fingers lower along the wood. “You can’t do it like I did. Because you are small, you need to hold it lower, proportionate to your height rather than mine. If it’s not steady, you won’t be able to use enough force to pierce through the fish.”
Xie Zheng held her hand and demonstrated a quick strike to show her what he meant.
Changning nodded seriously as though she was receiving military instruction.
Then, while crouching beside her, Xie Zheng shifted the wrong way – and immediately felt the unpleasant pull of his wound beneath his robes. The pain flared sharply across his side for an agonizing second before fading into a manageable, dull ache.
Xie Zheng barely made a face – still, Changning noticed: her worried gaze dropped immediately toward his side.
“Does it hurt?”
Xie Zheng followed her gaze briefly before schooling his expression and standing up again.
“It is nothing,” he dismissed the matter, and before she could worry, Xie Zheng turned her attention back toward the river, lowering the branch carefully until its tip hovered just above the moving water.
“Now, we stay still and watch carefully,” he murmured. “Do not look at the surface but the shadows underneath.”
Changning, forgetting his injury, leaned forward slightly, concentration overtaking everything else.
For a while, neither of them moved.
There were only the sounds of the steady rush of the river and the cold evening wind slipping quietly through the area. Changning remained astonishingly focused for someone her age, staring into the water with fierce determination while Xie Zheng watched both the current and the small figure beside him from the corner of his eye.
Then suddenly, Changning excitedly whispered.
“There!”
Indeed, a pale, silvery shape flashed beneath the water. Xie Zheng’s hand closed briefly over hers on the branch.
“Wait for it,” he instructed quietly, his phoenix eyes tracking the fish’s movement until the right moment. “Now!”
The stick plunged downward in their hands together with a sharp splash. Changning gasped outright when the branch jerked hard in her hands and looked up at him in shock.
“I feel it moving!”
“That means you hit it,” Xie Zheng smiled, proud.
Before the fish could wrench itself free, Xie Zheng plunged the stick deeper into the fish to secure it properly, then lifted it from the river while water scattered in silver-burgundy droplets around them.
Changning stared with wide eyes.
“We caught it?” she whispered.
“You caught it,” Xie Zheng corrected, which made her grin proudly.
She watched with complete fascination as he took it off the stick and threw it next to the first one, the fish flopping indignantly against the ground before abruptly looking back toward the river again.
“We should catch more.”
Her tone meant business. Xie Zheng raised one brow faintly.
“You have become ambitious very quickly.”
Changning nodded seriously.
“We need one for you too! And Sun gongzi and Wu gege should eat too!”
The words caught him slightly off guard with their sincerity – Xie Zheng felt something soften in his chest.
“And they are both very big, like you,” Changning added after a moment of consideration. “Big people need lots of fish.”
A quiet breath of amusement escaped through his nose at the simplicity of her explanation.
“That logic is difficult to refute,” he relented, fighting his smile. “Fine, let’s catch some more.”
Changning looked very pleased by her victory.
So, they stayed by the river a little longer, Changning insisting on catching more while Xie Zheng guided her patiently through the motions again and again. More than once the current tugged hard enough at her footing that his hand moved automatically to steady her shoulder or elbow before she could slip against the rocks, and every time she accepted the help as naturally as breathing before turning her attention immediately back toward the river again.
By the time they finally finished, Changning’s pants and sleeves had become damp nearly to the elbows and knees despite all efforts otherwise, and her cheeks were pink from cold and excitement alike.
Xie Zheng reached out to wring some of the river water from her clothes before the mountain air chilled it further.
“You are wetter than the fish at this point,” he remarked quietly after glancing at her soaked cuffs and sleeves, sighing. “Another few moments and there would have been no difference from you just falling into the river.”
Changning looked entirely unconcerned.
“But if I fell, you would have saved me.”
The simple certainty in her voice struck him strangely silent for a moment.
Then, before he could think too carefully about why that hit him so hard, Changning proudly held up the fishing stick as if a general announcing great victory.
Before they returned properly to shore, Xie Zheng slowed near a patch of plants growing between the rocks farther up the riverbank. Changning nearly walked past him before noticing he had crouched down.
“What are you doing?” she asked curiously, still clutching the fishing stick with both hands like a treasured weapon, most of it hanging over her shoulder. The fishes – the ones not thrown onto the shore as Changning wanted to play with them; carried by Xie Zheng – were bound together by the gills by a string of strong bamboo earlier for easier handling.
Instead of answering immediately, Xie Zheng reached toward a cluster of narrow green leaves growing stubbornly and pinched a few free between his fingers. The moment he crushed them lightly, a sharp, fragrant scent rose into the mountain air.
Changning’s nose wrinkled.
“It smells weird.”
“It will taste good with the fish,” Xie Zheng said reassuringly.
That answer alone was enough to recapture her full attention. Changning leaned closer at once, peering suspiciously at the narrow leaves still resting in his palm before lifting her gaze back toward him in disbelief.
“You can eat grass?”
She sounded genuinely suspicious of the entire concept.
“These are herbs,” Xie Zheng corrected. “They give flavor.”
“They still look like grass,” she mumbled. She stared at the plant thoughtfully for another moment before asking, “So soldiers eat grass while traveling?”
A quiet chuckle escaped Xie Zheng at her logic before he could stop it.
“If soldiers survived campaigns by eating grass, most wars would end very quickly,” he said dryly. Then, he gently poked her in the stomach, making Changning squirm, “Not to mention, the pheasants we roasted yesterday would probably feel quite offended hearing their sacrifice was so quickly forgotten.”
A soft giggle escaped her before she crouched beside him without further complaint, all traces of skepticism replaced by fascination as she watched him continue gathering herbs from between the stones and brush nearby.
The entire process seemed deeply interesting to her now.
Every few moments she would lean in to inspect something he picked, studying the leaves with intense concentration as though trying to memorize each shape properly.
“What about this one?” she asked eventually, already reaching confidently toward another plant growing stubbornly beside the rocks.
Xie Zheng caught her wrist lightly before her fingers could brush the leaves.
“Not that.”
Changning blinked up at him, startled more by the interruption than the warning itself.
“Why?”
Xie Zheng released her slowly before nudging the plant aside slightly with the back of his fingers.
“It will make your tongue numb.”
Instead of looking alarmed, Changning immediately looked fascinated.
“You ate it before?”
There was just enough eagerness in her voice to make Xie Zheng suspect she thought this sounded exciting rather than unfortunate.
“Once,” he said, amusement and nostalgia blending in his tone. If he remembered correctly, he was in his early teens, on one of his first campaigns.
“And?”
“I could not taste anything for nearly two days.”
Changning stared at the offending plant afterward with newfound awe, as though it had transformed from ordinary mountain weeds into something almost mystical.
After that, she followed him with great concentration while he pointed out which herbs were useful and which to avoid, occasionally adding small sour mountain berries or fragrant leaves to the growing bundle tucked into the wide leaf he was using as a make-shift bowl.
“How do you know all this?” she finally asked while trying very hard to memorize which leaves were safe.
Xie Zheng straightened slowly from another crouch, one hand briefly pressing against his side until the pain passed.
“If you spend enough years outdoors,” he answered, “you eventually learn what tastes good and what makes you sick.”
Changning absorbed that thoughtfully while walking beside him back toward where the rest of their fish lay on the ground. She grabbed onto his free hand as naturally as back in Lin’an as she looked up at him, craning her neck.
“So we are going to eat fancy fish tonight?”
Xie Zheng – his heart warmer and lighter than its been in months– let out the faintest breath of amusement.
“Fancy fish, indeed.”
They built the small cooking fire together slightly closer to the woods, though “together” mostly consisted of Changning handing him sticks far too small to be useful while trying very hard to look helpful.
Xie Zheng, of course, accepted every single one without comment.
The fish eventually roasted slowly over the flames afterward, fat crackling softly into the fire while the scent gradually filled the cold evening air around them. Changning sat unusually close beside him while they waited – still and not speaking much compared to their fishing adventure, but stealing quiet glances at him whenever she thought he wouldn’t notice.
Something in her gaze unsettled Xie Zheng more than before.
The fire crackled softly between them, smoke drifting upward into the cold evening air while the river rushed steadily somewhere beyond the darkness. Around them, the distant sounds of the main camp had softened into a dull murmur barely reaching this far down the bank.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, very quietly, Changning asked, “Jiefu, why did you leave?”
The question was so soft that, had the world around them been any louder, he might have pretended not to hear it. But here, beside the river and the firelight, there was nowhere for the words to disappear.
Xie Zheng’s hand paused briefly where he had been turning one of the fish over the flames.
Beside him, Changning kept her eyes lowered toward the fire instead of looking at him, fingers picking absently at the edge of the oversized cloak wrapped around her shoulders.
“You left without saying goodbye,” she continued after a moment, voice growing smaller. “A’jie said you had things to do and that you won’t come back. But I still waited for you every day.”
For a brief moment, the only sound between them was the crackling fire.
He had faced court officials sharper than blades and enemies capable of turning entire battlefields into slaughterhouses without feeling half as cornered as he did now beneath her question.
There was no strategy here, nor careful maneuvering – only hurt, and the uncomfortable realization that he was the one that had caused it.
Xie Zheng lowered his gaze guiltily to the flames, picking at his fingers nervously as he tried to figure out what to even say.
“When I left Lin’an,” he started slowly, “there were matters I needed to resolve that could not wait any longer.”
The explanation sounded hollow and painfully insufficient even to himself.
Changning was silent for a moment, then she said quietly, “But you didn’t say goodbye. And didn’t come back.”
The words struck harder than the first time she said them somehow.
She was right to be upset. Even if he didn’t provide an explanation to the adults, a child absolutely didn’t deserve to be left in the dark like he did with Changning.
At the time, a part of him fully intended to return after settling matters involving the war, his enemies, and the Jinzhou case – that he would come back and come clean to them and bear the consequences.
But there were just… so many obstacles, so many lies and so much fear in him that upon hearing the truth, he would be rejected – it was much easier to hide behind them; to leave silently like a coward and try to tell himself that nothing changed and he could continue his life as if nothing had happened.
He intended, sure – but intentions meant little to a child waiting in a small house for someone who simply vanished one night.
Xie Zheng stared at the ground under a mountain of guilt.
“I know,” he said at last, voice quieter now, his head hanging. “I’m sorry.”
Changning finally looked at him then.
The firelight reflected softly in her dark eyes, and though the fever was gone, there was still lingering fragility in the way she watched him now – like she wanted very badly to believe him while bracing herself for disappointment anyway.
“When Sun gongzi left, you said you would stay,” she whispered, her tone full of betrayal.
The memory surfaced immediately.
That morning, when Changyu went out after breakfast, his friend’s carriage arrived and Gongsun Yin asked – perhaps too loudly – whether Xie Zheng really thought it through, whether he wanted to come with him despite what they previously discussed. Neither of them expected Changning to be right behind the corner, in ear-shot, or expect her to run to hug Xie Zheng’s legs tightly in desperation.
You will stay, right? she asked, and Xie Zheng smoothed his hand over her crown fondly.
Of course.
At the time, he had meant only that instance – that he wouldn’t leave with his friend right away. Clearly, Changning thought his promise was covering something much larger.
Xie Zheng closed his eyes and winced.
Children remembered promises differently from adults – to them, words spoken gently in moments of fear rooted themselves deeply and permanently.
“That wasn’t what I – “ he started but bit off the sentence just as quickly. It didn’t matter what he meant, or that she took it as something else – in the grand scheme of things, the details were insignificant.
He had hurt her – that’s it.
Xie Zheng swallowed.
“I should have explained before I left,” he admitted after a long silence. “That was my mistake.”
Changning blinked, perhaps surprised by an adult so easily admitting to a fault.
The fire crackled softly between them.
“I didn’t leave because I wanted to abandon you,” he continued quietly, choosing each word with unusual care. “Or your sister. Or your family.”
The final word caught strangely in his throat. Even now, part of him still did not know what to do with the warmth and grief tangled together inside that single word.
Changning listened without interrupting while he struggled.
“I can’t – I can’t give you a proper explanation right now about why I did what I did,” Xie Zheng stammered, looking into her dark eyes apologetically, hoping she wouldn’t hate him because of it.
“There are lots of things you wouldn’t understand, and lots of things that would put you in danger if you knew them.”
She was already made to be a pawn on people’s chessboard – Xie Zheng would slit his own wrists first before he put her back into the game again by being careless.
“What you need to know right now is that… I’m not just Yan Zheng,” he confessed, the words leaving him in a rush after being held in for so long. “And I’m not just your jiefu. I’m… responsible for a lot of things. There are people outside Lin’an who rely on me, waiting for me to do things only I can do.”
Hold the northwest. Win the war. Support the emperor. Be the head of the Xie clan and the Marquis of Wu’an soldiers could serve under proudly.
And these weren’t even half of the responsibilities he shouldered constantly.
“I didn’t expect to end up in your home and get so… attached,” he blurted out eventually, gaze remaining fixed on the fire instead of her. “I delayed my departure until I no longer could. I thought – I thought if I finished what I had to do quickly, perhaps I could return afterward but –”
But things didn’t seem to happen in ways he planned.
(Ironic, wasn’t it, that he was such a successful strategist and won countless wars because of his great plans – yet his skills seemed to abandon him the very second it came to himself and Lin’an?)
Beside him, Changning was quiet for so long that he thought perhaps the explanation had not satisfied her at all.
But then, she asked softly, “Were you sad?”
The question caught him completely off guard. Xie Zheng looked at her immediately.
Changning had curled her knees slightly closer beneath the cloak while watching him intently.
“When you left,” she explained in a small voice, “were you sad too?”
Something in his chest tightened so sharply it physically hurt.
Because the answer was yes. Painfully yes.
To look down from the top of that cliff into the valley that surrounded little Lin’an and ride away on his horse, followed by his Blood Clad Cavalry, was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life.
It didn’t matter that his cheek, the corner of his lips and his heart was still smarting from the damage Changyu had done to it – back then, he wanted nothing more to go back.
The weeks after leaving Xigu Alley had felt wrong in ways he never expected. Despite reclaiming everything he was once content with, and believed were all life had to offer to him – his name, his position, his soldiers, his responsibilities – none of it were able to erase the memory of the Fan household.
Or Mr. Zhao’s gentle, affectionate pats on his shoulder.
Or Changning climbing clumsily onto his bed to chatter while he recovered.
Or Mrs. Zhao’s voice somewhere in the courtyard beyond an open window, telling him that lunch was ready.
Or Changyu’s… well, her everything.
For the first time in many years, he had briefly known what warmth felt like. And leaving it behind had hollowed something out inside him more than he cared to admit.
But none of those feelings and thoughts belonged in front of a child. So, after a long pause, he answered honestly, teary eyed, “Yes. Very.”
Changning absorbed that quietly, searching his eyes.
Then, after another moment, she shifted closer until her short little arms circled around his torso as much as they could, squeezing strongly and enveloping his side in warmth.
She was hugging him.
Xie Zheng froze at the contact.
“Then it’s okay. I forgive you, jiefu,” she murmured kindly. “But you shouldn’t do it next time.”
Despite everything, despite the guilt and exhaustion and the complicated ache sitting in his chest, something dangerously close to laughter escaped him then – along with a relieved tear that finally rolled down his cheek.
He hugged her to himself properly and adjusted the cloak more securely around her shoulders where cold air had slipped through the gap.
“I promise,” he said quietly, pressing his cheek into her hair.
After that, as if the conversation and the justified hurt before that never even happened, Changning relaxed fully beside him again, attention drifting back toward the fish crackling softly over the fire while Xie Zheng was trying really hard to compose himself.
Once one of the fishes finished cooking, Xie Zheng carefully removed it from the fire onto the large leaf that he prepared for it, before handing it toward Changning first with the instruction to let it cool a little bit.
She accepted it happily with both hands, the warmth of the roasted fish immediately warming her fingers and fogging faintly against the cold evening air between them. Five minutes later, Xie Zheng allowed her to dig in.
For the first few bites, everything seemed fine, but then Xie Zheng noticed Changning growing progressively slower beside him. At first, he thought perhaps the fish was still too hot after coming off the fire, but after another glance, he realized the issue almost immediately.
Changning had paused halfway through picking apart a piece of fish with deeply furrowed concentration, carefully nudging the meat apart with her fingers while trying to inspect it for tiny bones before eating.
A difficult task in firelight – especially for a child, and one more used to pork than other meat.
Xie Zheng watched her struggle silently for another moment, then, without thinking, he reached over and held out one hand toward her.
“Give it to me.”
Changning looked up immediately.
“Huh?”
“The fish. Come on.”
Though visibly confused, she surrendered it without protest, shifting slightly closer while Xie Zheng settled the fish across his knees.
Very carefully, he began separating the meat from the bones piece by piece, his fingers moving with slow efficiency beneath the flickering firelight and the scent of fragrant herbs and roasting meat that wafted over them.
Changning watched the process with a tiny frown.
“You have too many little bones, Mr. Fish,” she informed – or more like scolded – the fish very seriously after a moment.
“He will surely reflect on his mistakes,” Xie Zheng nodded in amusement.
Changning giggled softly at that.
Once he finished checking one section properly, Xie Zheng held out the cleaned piece toward her automatically and Changning accepted it at once.
Then another followed shortly afterward.
And another.
At some point, without either of them truly acknowledging when it began, the arrangement shifted naturally into Xie Zheng feeding her directly while Changning sat tucked warmly against his side beneath the oversized cloak, accepting each bite obediently between soft commentary about whether river fish tasted different from sea fish, whether Gongsun Yin really would have burned them until they were inedible, and how Xie Wu was so strong he probably wouldn’t notice the bones anyway.
Xie Zheng answered occasionally but mostly, he listened.
It was all strangely domestic – and strangely easy.
The fire crackled softly between them while cold mountain air drifted down from the dark slopes overhead, carrying with it the distant sounds of soldiers somewhere back in camp settling for the night.
Changning leaned lightly against his arm while chewing thoughtfully on another bite before suddenly pausing, looking down at the untouched fish resting beside Xie Zheng on the wooden log they occupied.
Her brows furrowed faintly.
“You’re not eating.”
Xie Zheng glanced briefly toward the untouched fish before offering another carefully checked piece toward Changning. Like a little hungry bird, she automatically opened her mouth and accepted the food.
“I am,” he lied.
“No,” Changning said after swallowing properly, with surprising seriousness, stubbornly continuing the argument despite Xie Zheng’s hopes. “You’re only feeding me.”
The accusation carried enough indignation that it made Xie Zheng pause.
Before he could answer, Changning abruptly leaned forward, grabbed a piece of fish off the bones, and held it determinedly toward him across the space between them.
“Aaah,” she commanded.
Xie Zheng stared at her.
The firelight flickered warmly across Changning’s face as she stared right back at him without the slightest trace of embarrassment, her tiny hand still stubbornly offering the fish with complete expectation that he would obey immediately.
For several long seconds, neither of them moved.
Then, slowly, something dangerously close to helpless amusement spread in Xie Zheng’s chest.
“This isn’t how things should go.”
“You feed me too,” Changning argued, stubbornly holding the fish in front of his mouth.
“That is different.”
“It’s not.”
Xie Zheng sighed quietly through his nose in resignation.
Then – because apparently the Marquis of Wu’an had truly fallen low enough in life to let a half-feverish five-year-old win an argument against him beside a river in the middle of nowhere – he leaned forward slightly and accepted the offered bite from her fingers.
Changning beamed immediately afterward like she had won a great battle.
“There,” she chirped happily. “Now we both ate.”
Ridiculous.
It was absolutely ridiculous.
And yet unbelievable warmth settled in his chest anyway.
The rest of the fish and another disappeared gradually between them after that, Changning insisting very seriously on feeding him every few bites despite the fact half the pieces were unevenly torn apart by her tiny fingers before reaching him.
Xie Zheng accepted every single one without complaint.
By the time they finished eating and all the fishes finished roasting, the weather turned considerably colder while the fire burned softer between them.
Changning had grown noticeably quieter again, but unlike before, she wasn’t distressed this time – just sleepy.
It was late, her stomach was full and the earlier exhaustion still lingered enough that she had no chance against her body’s wants no matter how stubbornly she resisted it.
At some point during her increasingly delayed responses, her head tipped sideways against his arm entirely without warning. Xie Zheng glanced down, watching her in amusement. A few seconds later, Changning blinked up at him slowly, clearly trying very hard to remain awake.
“I’m not sleepy,” she mumbled.
“Mhm.”
“I’m really not.”
“Of course.”
The utter lack of conviction in his voice earned him a weak pout. Xie Zheng patted her head affectionately before standing up to put out the fire and get their things ready. By the time he was done, she was almost falling asleep sitting.
When Xie Zheng helped her up, Changning attempted to straighten again out of sheer stubbornness, but instead, she swayed visibly from exhaustion. Before she could fully lose balance, Xie Zheng crouched automatically in front of her and lifted her onto his back, steadying her against him.
(His side was screaming, but he didn’t care.)
She didn’t protest – Changning immediately relaxed into it like it was the most natural thing in the world, to be piggy-backed by the Marquis of Wu’an.
The path back toward camp stretched dimly ahead beneath the pale light of the moon, while distant campfires flickered faintly between the trees farther uphill.
She rested heavily against him beneath the cloak wrapped around both of them – arms draped sleepily around his neck while her cheek pressed against his neck and shoulder. Every now and then he could feel her getting heavier as she drifted closer to sleep, only to rouse slightly whenever she inevitably shifted from Xie Zheng walking on rougher terrain along the mountain trail.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, very quietly, Changning murmured against his shoulder, “You smell like smoke now.”
Xie Zheng glanced back at her.
Her eyes remained mostly closed, her voice soft and drowsy as she spoke into the fabric near his collar like she was merely voicing a passing observation.
“We were next to a fire,” he pointed out.
“Hm.”
The sleepy sound was more agreement than argument.
Changning shifted slightly on his back, wrinkling her nose faintly, frowning as if she was thoughtfully examining the matter further.
“Before that you smelled like horses.”
Xie Zheng’s brows lifted faintly.
“Is that better?”
Changning considered it very seriously for someone already half asleep.
“A little,” she admitted softly. “Before… you smelled different.”
Confused – and a touch curious – Xie Zheng adjusted his hold on her slightly, careful not to jostle her too much, or aggravate the aching wound in his side.
“How so?” he heard himself ask before he could stop.
Changning hummed softly, clearly struggling to gather thoughts that were already slipping away from her.
“Like medicine,” she murmured eventually. “And us.” Her voice grew quieter still. “Like A’jie. And home.”
Her fingers tightened faintly where they rested against his robes.
“...Sometimes like Diē.”
What she said nearly undid him. Xie Zheng didn’t know what to do with the knowledge and what it entailed that he sometimes smelled the same as Fan Erniu.
The implications were there – and he very carefully did not think about them.
(Nor did he ask what made their scents similar. He didn’t want to know.)
Changning shifted slightly beneath the cloak until she settled more comfortably against his back, warm and heavy now that food and safety were finally pulling her towards sleep.
“Jiefu,” she mumbled after another long pause.
“Hm?”
“I missed you.”
The words were so quiet he almost thought he imagined them, his heart tightening painfully beneath his ribs. Before he could answer, Changning continued softly, words slurring.
“I love you.”
Then she fell asleep completely.
Xie Zheng felt the exact moment it happened, as the last lingering tension gradually disappeared from her small body against him, her arms loosening slightly where they rested around his neck while her breathing settled into the slow, even rhythm of deep sleep, tickling the hairs on the nape of his neck.
For a while, he could not move.
The night around them had grown quieter in the meantime, the sounds of the river and the camp equally distant. The remains of their abandoned fire behind him were little more than glowing embers in the darkness.
Eventually, Xie Zheng adjusted the cloak more securely around Changning before continuing on with her still asleep on his back. Changning stirred only faintly at the shift, pressing instinctively closer against his back before settling again almost immediately, her cheek warm through the fabric of his robes.
Xie Zheng, absurdly fond, glanced back toward her for a brief moment.
“Likewise,” he answered quietly at last, though she could no longer hear him.
The mountain paths were darker now than before as they were deep in the forest, but Xie Zheng moved through them steadily despite the exhaustion gradually settling into his own bones. Both arms remained securely beneath Changning’s legs while holding the fishes and the cloak wrapped closely around her against the cold night air creeping down from the mountains.
By the time they arrived, even Xie Zheng longed for a bed to sleep in.
The footsoldiers nearest to the outer fires noticed them almost immediately.
Or rather – noticed him.
The Marquis of Wu’an returning from the river carrying a sleeping child in a piggy-back ride, wrapped securely in his cloak, was apparently not a sight any of them quite knew how to react to.
Several conversations quieted mid-sentence as he passed.
One younger soldier outright stared before hurriedly lowering his eyes the second his commander whacked him on the back of his head with a warning hiss.
Xie Zheng ignored all of them.
Near one of the larger fires in front of his tent, Xie Wu looked up from where he had been crouched beside Gongsun Yin speaking quietly over a map.
His eyes flickered once toward the sleeping child, then toward Xie Zheng himself and understanding crossed his face almost immediately.
Without a word, Xie Wu simply reached over and lifted the edge of the tent flap next to him open before stepping aside quietly to let them pass. Xie Zheng dropped the leaf-wrapped fishes into Xie Wu’s free hand amidst his and Gongsun Yin’s confusion.
“She insisted on catching some for you two,” he shared tiredly, making both grown men’s faces soften considerably looking at the sleeping passenger on his back.
Then, Xie Zheng ducked into his tent with her.
He didn’t come back out the whole night.