Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

—

—

There should be something distinctly humiliating about being thrown into jail, especially for the first time. There should also be something distinctly humiliating about being thrown into jail for a first time offence that is over something as mundane as trying to steal baozi, yet all Zhongli Quan feels is nothing as he lets hands manhandle him non-too-gently into Yongle’s village prison for exactly that. 

“Goddamn thieves,” he hears the village constable muttering to himself and says nothing. He watches, quietly, as the man pulls on the wooded gate at the front, and watches as he latches the door securely from the outside, “I swear they just show up to make my job more difficult for me. Why’re they cropping up like flies recently, anyway? I’ve had to arrest more people this past month than the previous few years combined, I swear…”

He hears the muttering of the constable gradually fade off into the distance as he walks away, and still feels nothing. The rough wood of the prison walls is scratchy and damp, yet he leans his head against it anyway — it’s far more comfortable than anything that he’d been leaning against these last few months, and he feels inexplicably drained, both physically, and emotionally. There is a sort of emptiness within his mind that he has never felt before, an emptiness that makes him feel hollow, like he doesn’t even exist within his own body. It should’ve perhaps made him feel somewhat…worried, maybe, but after everything that’s happened, he finds himself welcoming the numbness that has settled over him like a second skin. His body hurts less, this way. The aches, the injuries, the phantom memory of rain cutting into his skin, they all hurt less this way. 

He closes his eyes, feeling himself breath in the mildewed, stale air of the prison. The baozi that he had stolen a few shichen ago sits in his stomach almost uncomfortably after it had been denied food for far too long, but the feeling of that, too, is dulled to a point of being insignificant. Nothing truly seems significant these days, he thinks, somewhat distantly, to himself, not anymore. Not since he’d stopped resisting what cannot be resisted. His mind is heavy, foggy, but quiet for the first time in a long while, as if it had finally been satiated now that he’s stopped fighting against it. It’s almost…nice, this hollow lull that has settled into his bones. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t given up sooner. Perhaps it would’ve gotten him to stop starving much, much earlier. 

And so, he sits in the prison. He doesn’t know what else he can do, anyway. Sitting here gives him that wall next to him to focus on, and staring at a wall is the simplest thing he’d had to do in months — perhaps he can simply sit here for the rest of his life, however long that’s going to end up lasting. 

The door clattering open noisily an indefinite amount of time later is what rouses Zhongli Quan from his efforts of staring at the wooden wall next to him. He blinks slightly at the screeching that fills the air, feels some of the heaviness that had settled over his head dissipate at the rude interruption, and turns his gaze slightly towards the left in order to see what has caused the sudden noise 

“ –an’ I’m tellin’ ya I ain’t even the one stealin’ it this time!” The voice that fills the air is loud. It’s far louder than anything else in the prison right now, and Zhongli Quan sees who the voice belongs to not even a second later. It’s a man — a short man, one who spots unusual, bright red hair, along with the largest moustache that he had ever seen on a person before, and one who’s currently kicking up a storm as he struggles against the two guards currently trying to haul him in. “Ya got th’ wrong man, fellas! It ain’t even me! Don’t get me wrong, I’d love’ta have it be me, but it ain’t! Ya fella still walks free, I’m tellin’ ya!!” 

“Sir, please, just cooperate with us.” One of the guards is saying, looking somewhat annoyed at the man’s antics. “You know as well as I do that this is standard procedure for suspects. Please stop.” 

“Aiyah, s’ always procedure this and procedure that with ya’ lot!” The man somehow manages to struggle more, despite two rather-towering guards holding onto each of his arms. “Why not ya actually do ya homework before arrestin’ innocent people off th’streets so ya don’ hafta procedure at all!” 

“You? Innocent?” The second guard snorts. So they know each other. “Lao Li, c’mon, let’s not kid ourselves, yeah?” 

“...Maybe not.” The strange, red-haired man, apparently called Lao Li, grumbles. “But in this specific case, I am!” 

“Well, too bad.” The second guard replies, sounding nonplussed at the man’s protests, and shoves him into the prison room. “If you’re actually innocent, you’ll be out of here in, like, three days, anyway. So, there.” 

With that, the door clangs shut once more, plunging the room back into its previous lull of silence. Except it is not silent, not anymore, because the strange man immediately takes it upon himself to start smoothening out his own robes and pat himself down, all the while muttering to himself non-too-quietly for him to overhear without even meaning to.

“Three days, hah.” He watches as the man reaches into his pockets, and pulls out a strange…metal thing. “Who’s waitin’ three days t’get outta this dump, anyway?” 

The man fiddles with the metal thing, and Zhongli Quan watches with little interest it split into three segments. Some sort of instrument to help him break out of there, probably. “Dumbass Xiaotong di’nt even try this time, hohoho, an’ really, who’s this old thing gonna hold, anyway? Pigs? Hahahaha!” A stream of high-pitched giggling erupts from the man that’s slightly louder than the rest of his muttered words, seemingly at his own joke, as he turns the metal thing this way and that. “There ain’t even anyone else he–”

The strange man suddenly swivels around without warning, and they lock eyes unceremoniously, Zhongli Quan from his bench, and the man from the centre of the prison room.

In an instant, Zhongli Quan finds himself staring at a gleaming, green gaze that seems to light up instantly as they fixate upon him, and sees the way a slow smile immediately begins to creep onto the man’s features as the gaze bores into him with barely-veiled interest. It’s uncomfortable, being scrutinised this closely by a stranger that he has never seen before, yet all he can feel is a slight tinge of discomfort that prickles lightly down his back as he stares back into the red-headed man’s searching gaze. 

“Oho?” Zhongli Quan watches as the man slowly puts the strange, metal thing back into his coat. He watches with a little more apprehension as the man saunters up to him, having seemingly forgotten his previous ramblings and plans as he comes right up and flings himself onto the bench that lines the wall right next to him without a care for anybody’s personal space, and immediately plasters himself all over his side as if they have known each other forever. 

“Now this is interesting!” The man’s voice is loud, bright, and somewhat grating in the stillness of the prison’s atmosphere. Zhongli Quan tenses up, despite himself, at the sudden intrusion of his space. “Ya don’t see new faces around ‘ere everyday! What’s yer name, son?” 

“...It’s not important.” He replies, hoping the answer will make the man leave him alone, and tries to put some space between himself and the stranger. It doesn’t quite work. 

The red-headed man doesn’t seem to be deterred by his somewhat-curt answer. “Ayo?” He grins. “Not important, eh? Strange choice a’ name, boy-o, but who am I t’judge what ya mama and daddy call ya? What’chu in jail for anyway, eh? Stealin’ pigs? Stealin’ sheep? Stealin’ chicken? There ain’t much to steal ‘round these parts ‘sides livestock, but ‘s pretty profitable business, ay?” 

Zhongli Quan says nothing. He turns his head away again, and tries to tune the man’s words out in order to go back to staring at the wall in peace. Unfortunately, it seems like the man isn’t going to be giving up his attempts at communicating with him anytime soon, for not even two seconds later he feels a flick of sharp fingernails against his upper arm, and it startles him despite his best efforts because it’d actually hurt. It’s perhaps the clearest feeling he’s felt in days, and the clarity of it makes him swivel back to glare at the man. Zhongli Quan sees him preparing to flick him again, and only barely manages to pull his arm out of range just in time. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, perhaps a little more intensely than he’d actually felt. 

“Ay, so the lad does speak.” The man grins again, and holds out a bony hand with painted nails that look way too long and way too sharp. “Pleased’ta make yer acquaintance, Not Important. The name’s Tieguai Li, though everyone jus’ calls me Old Li.” 

“Why’re you talking to me, anyway?” Zhongli Quan mutters, more to himself than anyone else, and turns his head back against the wall, pressing his forehead against the scratchy wood and closing his eyes. “Go away. Leave me alone.” 

Another sharp flick against his arm causes him to jerk back not even a second later. Zhongli Quan doesn’t bother reacting verbally this time, but he does throw the man— Tieguai Li — a glare that hopefully conveys just how much he doesn’t appreciate the constant disturbance, before pointedly pulling his arm back towards himself one more time and scooting closer to the corner where the two walls intersect. 

“Ya gotta tell me why yer here first.” The man — Tieguai Li — replies with a grin that can only be described as smug. “I come t’these walls often, kid, I know the people ‘ere! But I–” He lifts a hand again, this time to poke Zhongli Quan in his shoulder, and, alright, his nails are sharp, “ –don’t know you, an’ that’s interesting! Most interesting thing ta’ happen ’ere all week, actually! D’ya know how boring this fuckass prison is? S’ so unlike th’ prisons in th’ capital or Daming or in Suzhou. Ya get me, yeah?” 

“Will you leave me alone if I tell you?” Zhongli Quan asks him flatly. He thinks he feels a headache building in his temples at the unexpected interaction. This is the most anybody’s spoken to him and the most he has spoken to anybody since he had left Chang’an, he thinks. The feeling of being spoken to without it being a rejection or an insult, of being roped into a conversation that isn’t a prelude to a beating is a strange one, especially after drifting through almost three villages of that exact same cycle, and it makes Zhongli Quan’s skin crawl slightly in unease. The man’s — Tieguai Li’s, why does he keep forgetting it? — loud voice isn’t exactly doing him any favours at the moment, either, and all he wants to do right now is to go back to staring blankly at his walls and sink back into the numb oblivion that he’d been drifting through for the past few days since…since. “Weren’t you going to escape, anyway? With your…thing? Why’re you here talking to me when you could be on your way out?” 

“That thing’s my trusty metal bar plier o’ two decades, son, put some respect on its name.” Tieguai Li replies, but he sounds more thoughtful than anything else, despite the easiness of his words. He seems to be looking Zhongli Quan up and down, and he decides that he doesn’t like the feeling of being stared at by this man at all. “ ‘S helped me outta two hundred an’ thirty six prison cells. Soon t’be two hundred an’ thirty seven.” 

Despite his best efforts at trying to remain distant, Zhongli Quan feels his eyes widen slightly at Tieguai Li’s words. “Two…hundred and thirty six?” 

“Ya bet’cher ass.” Tieguai Li smirks in turn. “It can get outta anythin’. I used it to escape th’ Imperial prisons, actually, three years ago.” 

“The Imperial priso– ahem.” Zhongli Quan cuts himself off with a cough before he can give the man the satisfaction of his own surprise. “I mean, why are you still here, then?” He hopes that the man will take this cue to leave. Maybe he’d actually forgotten that he’d been breaking out of this place, and had hopefully been sufficiently reminded enough to leave him alone now. “Aren’t you wasting escape time if the guards are going to come back?” 

“...Yer so interestin’, lad,” the m— Tieguai Li — muses, instead of answering his question. “Ya want me t’ leave ya alone? In here? And escape on my own?? Ya wanna jus’...sit here an’ stare at nothin? Lad, there’s somethin’ mighty wrong wit’ ya if ya genuinely think that.” 

Zhongli Quan feels his lips curl into a mirthless smile at the words. Wouldn’t he like to know about that. If it weren’t for the dangers of his arm being flicked again, he would’ve turned his head towards the walls again. Instead, he simply shrugs a single shoulder, and says, “I know.” 

“Other people might’ve already been clamourin’ ta make plans an’ escape with a fellow inmate.”

“I know.”

“An’ not you?” Tieguai Li fixes him with an unreadable expression. “None at all?”

“There’s no point.” Zhongli Quan replies simply, humourlessly. He thinks of rain, of a shattered jar, of a valley filled with death, and resists the urge to shiver at the wave of disgust that floods him at the thought. “Not for me, at least. It’s okay here, I don’t mind it.” 

The ma– Tieguai Li — stares at him again. Some of his earlier, easy-going humour seems to have dissipated from his face as the red-headed man continues to peer at him. Zhongli Quan averts his own gaze to avoid the sharp scrutiny that roams over his frame once again, and tries not to tense further at how it feels like the man is inspecting him. The — Tieguai Li’s— gaze feels more piercing now, more studying than simply looking compared to just now, as if he is trying to pick him apart with just a look and nothing more, and he feels it prickling sharply at his skin. Zhongli Quan tries not to squirm at the sensation of being watched, and feels a much stronger surge of discomfort through his body as he valiantly tries to ignore Tieguai Li’s gaze that feels like it’s boring straight into his curse-ridden soul. 

“...I’m in here because I stole baozi.” He tries to offer in an attempt to get the man to stop fixing him with his piercing gaze which doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. “There, I told you the reason. Can you leave me alone now?”

“Oh, yer a damn interestin’ one, alright.” Tieguai Li mutters, seemingly more to himself, after a few more beats of silence tick by. There’s something in his gaze that Zhongli Quan doesn’t like, something that seems to imply that the man is thinking of something right now that is probably about him that he probably will not care to share with him. He feels his skin crawl at the idea of being psychoanalysed by a stranger that he had met only five minutes ago. 

“An’ tha’s not happenin’, by the way, kiddo.” The redheaded man continues after a beat, louder than before. “Yer comin’ wit’ me.” 

“What?!” Zhongli Quan feels something like a slow panic trickle into his veins at Tieguai Li’s words, at the idea of leaving this place and being thrown back out into a world he doesn’t know what to do with. “No, seriously, there’s no need for that, I–” 

“Ah, hup, hup, zip it, Not Important,” Tieguai Li clicks his tongue, “look, Not Important, ya wanna rot away in an actual, respectable prison, for an actual, respectable crime next time? Be m’ guest. But bein’ locked up here? In this sad, pathetic excuse of a locker because ya stole baozi? Forget about you, kid, I feel insulted on yer behalf.” An almost-pitying laugh from the man. “See, now we got a problem, right, because I’m insulted by yer strange decisions. An’ because yer strange decisions affect me, ‘s now my problem, an’ ya bet Old Li always solves ‘is own problems, which means,” he smirks at him and shoots him a finger gun, “I’m tellin ya that we’re leavin’, kid. ‘S not a request.” 

“Hey, stealing baozi is plenty respectable.” Zhongli Quan cannot help the note of slight offence that creeps into his tone at Tieguai Li’s words. “But also, really, no. I don’t…” 

He trails off, wondering how he should even begin phrasing his words in a way that Tieguai Li can understand. The thought of going right back out there — with no goal and no idea on what he should be doing, is a daunting one, and one that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with right now. He knows now that he can only resort to unscrupulous methods of acquiring his next meal, but…then what? He gets caught again? Thrown back in here again? What’s the point of leaving, in that case, if he’s only getting thrown back in here again? 

This really is his life now, he realises suddenly, not for the first time since he’d let go of his stubborn desires, and feels the now-familiar disgust that roils through his stomach at the thought. A never-ending cycle of stealing and being caught, just like a rat. Just as Donghua had said he would always be. 

It has always been your life, he thinks he hears the curse whisper, and bites down hard on his lips at how it just sounds like him, it only took you seven years to realise it. 

“Yeah, no.” Tieguai Li says. It’s loud enough to cut through the spiel of his thoughts and the voice that sneers within his mind. “That ain’t happenin’, kid. My dignity can’t take this, so it ain’t ‘bout ya anymore. We get outta here, an’ maybe next time ya can get yer ass hauled t’ an actual prison in th’ city fer stealin’ somethin’ like a rich noble’s jade pendant if ya really like sittin’ yer ass in jail. ‘Kay?”

“It’s not really about that.” Zhongli Quan protests in the face of Tieguai Li’s words, because it sounds…a little ridiculous when it’s laid out like this for him. He tries to find the right words to get across just why he doesn’t— can’t leave. “It’s just that I don’t—”

“ – Wanna get outta this prison fer some reason? Yeah, I got that. Tell me somethin’ else, kid.”

“No, it’s because I’ve no viable option out there and I don’t–”

“Hell d’ya mean by no viable option? All ya gotta do is swipe wallets if ya got no qualifications or nothin’–”

“Will you please just listen to me, old man, I’m saying I don’t–”

“Ey, who the fuck’re you callin’ old man?!”

“ –I don’t know how to steal, okay?” Zhongli Quan says loudly, over the sound of Tieguai Li’s indignant spluttering. The admission of it would’ve burned another hole of shame through his chest had it been before, but now, all he can do is glare at the redheaded man. He thinks it should’ve been somewhat humiliating to admit something of this calibre to a person he’s not even met before, but it is a truth that he can’t run from any longer. The reality of his statement that hits him chases away any potential humiliation he could’ve felt, anyway. 

Tieguai Li stops speaking. He fixes Zhongli Quan with that look again, the one that makes him feel strangely exposed under its sharpness, and he forces himself to continue.

“There’s no point in me escaping because I’ll probably just come right back.” He says bitterly. The words feel slightly sour on his tongue, and he shrugs humourlessly. “I didn’t…use to have to do this. Stealing. I can’t avoid it now, and I know that now, but…I don’t know. My first attempt was the baozi, and that didn’t…go quite well.” He winces slightly, and thinks about the angered yelling directed at him, his almost-pathetic attempt at escape, the subsequent hands that shove him roughly to the ground. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, or what to do.” He admits, and feels a wave of self-depreciating laughter threaten to escape his lips. “At least when I'm here, I don’t have to worry about it.” 

“…Yer try’na avoid it.” Tieguai Li says, something like understanding colouring his tone, and he prays that his words are enough to finally get the man to leave him alone. Unfortunately, Zhongli Quan is not a lucky man, and all the redheaded man does is narrow his eyes at him. He thinks he is being scrutinised again. “Huh. That answers a lotta my questions, kid.” 

Zhongli Quan frowns at him. “What?” 

“Ya wanna know what I think about’ya, lad?” Tieguai Li continues, and leans forward from the bench to squint at him. The calculating gleam is back in his eye, and Zhongli Quan shifts, somewhat uneasily, away from the look of interest that’s reflected plainly on his face. “I think I got ya down. Ya from a rich, goody two shoes family an’ ran away from it, didn’t ya? From…I dunno, family disputes? Not important. Thought ya had the world in yer hands, thought ya’d be fine without daddy and mommy’s support, then reality came through, and’ya fell on hard times. Am I gettin’ this right?”

“I—” Zhongli Quan swallows. It…is a pretty accurate description, all things considered. He wonders how Tieguai Li has gotten all that from just their ten minutes together. “Kind of. How did you—”

“Mannerisms, boy-o.” Tieguai Li waves him off dismissively. “Ya look rough, son, an’ pretty banged up, but man, I haven’ seen anyone who don’t cuss up a storm in a solid second. Ya speech patterns an’ the way you sittin’ right now practically screams uptight education, by the way, I dunno if ya realise this. Everythin’ else is self-explanatory. Yer terribly easy to read, s’ like readin’ an open scroll. ‘S refreshin’.” 

“I…” Zhongli Quan stares at him, then stares down at himself. “Oh.”

“Anyway.” Tieguai Li flicks his nails. It’s an action that is surprisingly prim for someone of his rough appearance. “So now ya hafta resort t’stealin’ because ya fancy education fell through after ya parents cut ya off. But ya know nothin’ about th’world outside of ya book smarts, an’ so, here y’are. Sittin’ yer sad, sad ass in a sad, sad excuse of a prison dump for stealin’ baozi, with no plan an’ no nothin’ in regards ta’ what’s t’ come next. Boom. Story of’ya life. Am I right, or am I right?” He grins, and clicks his tongue. “Trick question, kiddo. I know I’m right.”

It’s…accurate. It’s an accurate-enough description of his life, if one is to ignore Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy, the curse that quite literally prevents him from being able to do anything law-abiding, and his fruitless struggle against it for more than half a decade that’d all cumulated into a harsh reality-check days ago. It scares him, somewhat, how much this man is able to glean from him within such a short period of time, and Zhongli Quan cannot quite help the defensiveness in his tone when he asks, “so what? So you’ve read my situation. I still don’t have to escape with you.” 

“Ah, see, but ya want to.” Tieguai Li grins at him toothily. “Because I’m about t’propose ya a deal so good ya won’’t be able ta say no. An’ I’ll bet on that.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Zhongli Quan narrows his eyes at the man’s certainty. “Like what?” 

“I get us outta here.” Tieguai Li says slowly. “I show ya all th’best tactics of this profession. Ah— don’t give me that look.” The man wags a finger when he opens his mouth to speak. “Thievin’s a profession, son. Get yer head outta ya righteous scrolls an’ books. There’s tricks, cons, methodologies, trade secrets, all that shebang. Ya want it, I’ll teach it.” 

The waggling finger lands on Zhongli Quan’s chest. Tieguai Li continues his spiel, emphasising each of his points with another poke to his chest. “Ya stop failin’ baozi stealin’. Even better yet, ya steal all the baozi ya want, and get away with it, then ya don’t hafta sit yer ass in terrible prisons that insult my dignity all day. You’re happy, I’m happy. We all win.” The gleam in his eyes gets brighter and his grin stretches just a little wider. “What say ya ta that, Not Important? D’ we have a deal?” 

“What do you get out of all this?” Zhongli Quan replies with narrowed eyes. He doubts that this man is simply offering to help him because they’d shared an insightful conversation about what his life has come to in this prison cell, after all, and he is definitely not desperate about stealing enough to agree to a deal with the first stranger who waltzes into his life offering to help him. He’d still rather stay in the prison cell. “Somehow, I doubt you’re offering this from the goodness of your heart.” 

“Why,” Tieguai Li’s eyes seem to get impossibly brighter, if that is even possible, “I’m so glad you asked, my pupil! See–” 

“I’m not your pupil.” Zhongli Quan says. 

“ –my pupil, who’s so aptly named Not Important after his opinions,” Tieguai Li continues loudly over his words, “the catch is that when ya eventually blossom into a right thievin’ thief of the jianghu, however far into th’future that is, I always get a cut o’ ya profits, or a cut o’ whatever benefits ya manage t’ rack up, or a first call when there’s a good job around. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.” He flicks Zhongli Quan’s arm again, but somehow, it doesn’t hurt this time. “Sounds reasonable, ay? My knowledge, for yer payments of gratitude in th’future. Quid pro quo. Yer the scholarly one, ya should’ve heard the term before, yeah?”

Zhongli Quan says nothing. He studies the gleaming eyes of the strange, redheaded man that has managed to dissect his life within a short ten minutes of meeting him, and actually, against all odds, finds himself weighing the pros and cons of agreeing to his deal. 

Because on one hand, he’s…sceptical, to say the least. This is the most amount of words he’s exchanged with a stranger since he’d left Chang’an, after all, and the first time a conversation this long hasn’t devolved into some sort of verbal or physical assault, which is…a strange feeling, to say the least, especially after he has already gotten used to being constantly beaten an inch into his life. To then have this stranger immediately propose a deal, especially a deal that benefits him, after they’d talked for no more than twenty minutes, is even stranger, and it puts him on the edge.

Zhongli Quan isn’t good at reading people. It’s something he’s come to terms with after…after everything, but even he can feel the enigmatic charisma that practically oozes from Tieguai Li. Everything about the man screams danger, and someone to avoid, and logically, he knows this.

However, if he really, really thinks about it, wouldn’t that, then, be the exact kind of person that he should be taking notes from? 

‘Yer not gonna help anyone wallowin’ yer days away in ‘ere, kid.” Tieguai Li says again, and something twists in Zhongli Quan’s chest at the words. “World’s harsh. I think ya know that much, an’ tha’s why ya gotta adapt, son, ta its wily ways. Ya wanna run from it? Hide from it?” He scoffs. “Tough luck, it’ll just play the long game, hunt ya down, then yer out fer good. Maybe ya want that, but I see a potential swindler in ya yet, kid, which means ‘s my business now. An’ when it becomes my business, that means ya ain’t get ta get out that easy.” 

“Just so we’re clear, it’s because you see me as a future moneymaker.” Zhongli Quan clarifies flatly. 

“See! Yer smarter than ya look already, Not Important!” Tieguai Li grins wickedly, and holds out a single, bony hand again. “So, what say ya t’ that, son? Do we have a deal?” 

It still hurts, somewhat, to think about it, the idea that this really is the only path that’s left for Zhongli Quan, this path of thievery and deceit that he had tried his whole life to avoid. His heart twists again at the reminder of his fruitless struggles and fruitless suffering, all in the name of avoiding the curse and avoiding his fate. He knows of its futility now, and he knows that he cannot escape what the curse has set out for him to do. He knows of the cruelty of this world now, how easily it forgets kindness and how easily it can turn its back on anyone, even those who help it. He’d despaired because he’d been wrong about the world, and then because he’d been directionless after his revelation. He’d wanted to put off thinking about it for as long as he possibly can, because he’d known that there would be no solution waiting for him even if he had given it more thought. 

But now…he does have a potential solution, doesn’t he? One that had walked right through the prison door, one that is currently waving a hand in front of his face as it waits for his reply. 

Tieguai Li seems like the exact kind of person who knows…well, everything. If the old man really is offering to show him the ropes, to help him establish himself into this road that he’s forced to take…does Zhongli Quan really have any grounds to refuse him, then? He can keep running from his fate, as he’d tried to do for seven years, and only delay the inevitable as the man had said, or…he can finally accept the truth that he’d been trying to hide from for years — that he is a thief, that he is a liar. Has always been, and will always be, just as how the curse had dictated it to be. And if he is a thief, and he is a liar…then who else better to learn the ropes from than from another thief and another liar? 

It may not be the path that he wants, but it is still a path, right? And a path means direction, and, oh, does Zhongli Quan want to have any sort of direction back in his life again after drifting along for so long without one. If this is the direction that he’s always been destined for, this direction of…thievery and lying and cheating that the world has branded him with, then so be it. 

He will be a thief, he will be a liar, and he will be a darn good one while he’s at it. 

“...We have a deal.” Zhongli Quan breathes out, and finally holds out his own hand in turn. He sees the way Tieguai Li’s eyes light up again in ways that he definitely cannot read, and deigns to ignore it in favour of shaking the man’s hand firmly, burying any remaining hesitation and uncertainty at his decision under the firmness of their handshake. “You teach me your ways, and I’ll do as you say.” 

“Well, well, well, now we’re talkin’ business.” Tieguai Li smirks, releasing his hand after one final shake and slaps his shoulder in turn. “Welcome t’ the club, Not Important.” 

“Also, my name is Zhongli Quan.” He continues, because if he’s going to be admitting to hard truths today, then he can also admit that he’s gotten really sick of hearing this man calling him Not Important, and that it has to stop. “You can stop calling me…that. Please.” 

“Lesson number one o’ the trade, boy-o!” Tieguai Li smacks his head with something — it’s the same metal prong thing that he’d held in his hands only a short while ago that he’d stowed away in his coat during their talk. When had the man taken it out again? “Never say please unless ‘s to save yer hide from somethin’ big, ya hear? Ya gotta lose all yer righteous study shit, kid, if ya wanna do things right.”

Zhongli Quan winces at the impact of metal against his head. “...Right.” 

“An’ now, fer lesson number two.” Tieguai Li continues, with a sharp grin as he hoists up a suddenly-vibrating three-point metal prong which he seems to have just activated. “This old beggar’s gonna teach ya the secrets of prisonbreakin’. Watch an’ learn, Not Important, at how we professionals get shit done.” 

–

In the end, it doesn’t end up being as straightforward as simply breaking out of prison. 

As it turns out, breaking out of prison had been the simple part, largely thanks to the three-point metal prong that’d broken Tieguai Li out of two hundred and thirty six prison cells before. Prying the lone, barred window in the prison cell had taken them no more than five minutes, and then all they’d have to do would be to shimmy down the side of the building and then be on their merry way. That should’ve been the end of it. 

Instead, what had happened is that the two guards from before — the ones who’d hauled Tieguai Li into the cell, had decided to come back and check on them, meaning that the two guards had gotten a first-row view of the two of them clambering out of the window, with Zhongli Quan having a much harder time than Tieguai Li given his overtaxed body and having literally never done something like this before. What had happened after that is the two guards had hollered for backup, that there’d been a prison break, and then what happened after that had been a chase after two more guards had come running, which had been Zhongli Quan and Tieguai Li’s cue to start running. 

Running had been difficult, exhaustingly so, mainly because Zhongli Quan’s body cannot and has not been subjected to proper physical exertion in far too long, and is also currently running on a severe deficit of food and sleep. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d almost just given up and let himself be caught because of the way his lungs burned and the way his throat had tightened so much he almost couldn’t breathe, or the way his legs shook with every additional step that he’d tried to take, or the way he’d felt so lightheaded he’d almost passed out multiple times right there and then. 

The only reason he’d managed to outrun the guards at all is because of Tieguai Li, who, with methods unknown to him, had managed to procure a long stick from somewhere that he had kept using as an instrument to keep him running, and it had gone a little something like —

“Oy! No stoppin’!” A poke. “Jump!”

“Keep goin’! Up that ladder now, hup, hup, son!” A prod. 

“Yer makin’ a wrong turn! Left! No, other left!” A whack. 

It had…helped. If anything, the only reason that they’d eventually managed to shake off their pursuers is when Tieguai Li had eventually yelled, “incomin’, kiddo!” and simply whacked his stick into Zhongli Quan side, sending the two of them careening off the path that they’d been running on and straight into a series of interlocking alleyways. They’d kept running after that, making one turn after the next as they tore through the narrow streets, until the shouts and footsteps from the guards had finally faded, and until the only sounds breaking the quiet of the night is the sound of their breathing — or, rather, Zhongli Quan’s ragged wheezes as he tries desperately to introduce oxygen into his lungs before he actually passes out. 

“That was,” he gasps, after they’d made sure the coast is clear, “a lot more running than I’d anticipated."

“Lesson number three, kiddo.” In comparison, Tieguai Li doesn’t even sound winded, which feels a little unfair. He looks Zhongli Quan over with a critical eye. “In this life, ya’ need good nutrition an’ good stamina if ya wanna outrun yer problems like jus’ now. Ya got none, son, an’ we gotta fix that.” 

“In my defence,” Zhongli Quan tries to take in another lungful of air again, and his whole body rattles like it will collapse into itself any second, “that baozi had been my first meal in three days. It wasn’t even a big baozi.”

Tieguai Li snorts at his statement. A moment later, the stick is thrust into his face again, and Zhongli Quan grabs onto it as the other man hauls him to his feet. “Won’t be happenin’ fer much longer, kid.” He says, and makes a gesture which indicates that he wants Zhongli Quan to follow him. He complies, stumbling after the man, and does his best to keep pace with Tieguai Li’s ridiculously fast footsteps that’s entirely unbefitting of someone of his height. 

“So.” Zhongli Quan says, because he doesn’t quite know what they’re doing now that they’re out of the prison. “What happens now, exactly? Where’re we going?” 

“Now, we go back t’ my place first an’ get ya settled in an’ maybe somethin’ bigger than a baozi into yer belly,” Tieguai Li replies without breaking pace, “then we begin makin’ a thief outta ya tomorrow mornin’. Follow along, boy-o, ‘s not too far from ‘ere.” 

They continue walking, and Zhongli Quan continues to try to catch his breath as he follows Tieguai Li down the darkened alleys. The chase had been rough, and his lungs still feel too tight when he struggles to inhale. His head still spins slightly if he turns a little too fast, and every part of his body aches from the exertion that he is woefully unprepared for. His knees shake with each step that he takes as he struggles to maintain pace with Tieguai Li’s brisk walking.

But yet, despite everything that he’s currently feeling right now, Zhongli Quan thinks that he feels…clearer. His mind, though tired, feels lighter than it had in days, and it feels as if the heavy fog of numbness that had made itself at home in his bones since before he’d arrived in Yongle sees to have lessened somewhat. His heart slams against his chest from only exhaustion and nothing more, as if their escape from the guards had managed to shake off some of the heaviness that clings to it, however temporary that may end up being. 

In other words, it’s a liberating feeling, this newfound lightness that settles over Zhongli Quan and breaks through the confines of his own mind. Perhaps this had been just what he’d needed, this prison break and then the subsequent mad dash away from the prison guards. Perhaps accepting Tieguai Li’s deal had really been the first good choice that he’s made since he’d been saddled with the curse. He finds that he’s looking forward to some, indefinite thing of the future in this strange turn of events that had somehow managed to find him, instead of simply sinking back into the shroud of despair he’d found himself entangled in, for the first time in a long while. It’s not perfect, and he can still feel the perpetual heaviness that sits just out of reach in the corners of his mind, but…at least for the time being, Zhongli Quan doesn’t feel like he’s drifting on endlessly in the world with no direction. 

Tieguai Li is a strange man, he decides, as he continues to follow the man down the alleyways. This man is unlike anyone else Zhongli Quan has ever encountered before in his life, from his mannerisms to his enigmatic personality to his strange choice of engaging with a stranger that he’d never seen before. Despite his earlier words said at the prison, Zhongli Quan still wonders what exactly it is that had possessed him to take on such an interest in him, a literal stranger whom he’d never met before. Against all odds, he finds himself feeling a slight flutter of anticipation at just what is in store for the future now that he’s agreed to be taught by the enigmatic, redheaded man. 

Still, it takes conscious effort for him to ignore the gnawing in his stomach at the thought of becoming a thief — a feeling that he seems to be rapidly getting used to. Zhongli Quan makes himself swallow back the instinctual pit of revulsion that rushes through his whole body whenever he thinks too hard about the current state of his life, and refocuses his efforts into maintaining pace with Tieguai Li. 

They make a sharp turn at the end of the current street that they’d been walking on into a darkened, shadier-looking lane that’s narrow enough to only walk a single person at a time. It’s cold enough to send chills down Zhongli Quan’s spine, and the surrounding building walls that tower over him crowd against him uncomfortably. If he blinks a little too fast, he thinks that he can see bodies strewn across the vicinity and blood-painted valley walls, and Zhongli Quan has to make himself to ignore the way his throat constricts at unwanted memories as he shoulders through the length of it. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long to clear the narrow alleyway, and as they finally leave the oppressive constraints of the tight walls behind them, he cannot help the soft sigh of relief that escapes him. Tieguai Li glances at him, and breaks the silence that had settled over them as they’d walked. “Ya claustrophobic, son?” 

“Wha– me?” Zhongli Quan tries to laugh. It comes out hoarser than he’d liked. “Not…not particularly.” 

“Huh.” Tieguai Li shrugs. “Coulda fooled me wit’ th’ way ya looked in there. Lesson number four, kiddo. Ya really gotta act better if ya wanna keep yer cards close t’ yer chest an’ not be instantly clocked by someone.” 

Zhongli Quan winces at the truth in those words. He knows that he isn’t the best at concealing what’s on his mind through his body language, but to be blatantly called out for it still stings a little, especially when it’s also been done twice before by the exact same person. “Am I really that easy to read?” 

“Like I said.” Tieguai Li replies with a smirk. “Yer an open scroll, ‘s a lil’ sad. Ya gotta learn some serious actin’ skills t’ override yer fancy uptight nature, son, or yer gonna get inta’ real trouble sooner or later if yer face keeps given’ away everythin’ an’ if ya keep fidgetin’ like ya got ants stuck up yer pants.”

“Okay,” Zhongli Quan frowns, and consciously tries to wrestle his hands that are unconsciously wringing themselves into fists under control, “but how do I do that?” 

“I can’t tell ya that, son.” The redheaded man replies with a lopsided shrug, as they make another sharp turn down another lane. “Ya gotta find that one out on yer own. Figure out yer own style, an’ all’at. S’ different for different people, after all.” 

“Gee, thanks.” He mutters at the open-ended answer. He’s never liked open-ended answers — they remind him too much of Donghua and his annoying, convoluted ways of speech. “That was so helpful, old man. I could’ve never figured that out on my– ow!” 

That earns him another wack on the head by a walking stick. Zhongli Quan rubs the sore spot on his head — he swears the man is somehow hitting his head in the same spot every time, and scowls at Tieguai Li, who scowls right back at him and wags the stick in his face. “Lesson number five, boy-o. Save the snark, ay? Only I get unlimited snark ‘round here. You jus’ follow along an’ listen. An’ lesson number six, ya don’t call the one teachin’ ya shit old man, because I’m not old.” 

“But you called yourself ‘old beggar’ just now.” Zhongli Quan points out with a frown. “Back at the prison.” 

Tieguai Li waves him away with another scoff. “Lesson number seven, I get ta’ call m’self whatever I want. You can call me anythin’ but old man.” 

“Wow, that’s considered a lesson too?” 

“Aiyah, everythin’ can be a lesson if it has ta’ be taught!” The redheaded man waves his stick at his face threateningly again. “Who’s th’ teacher an’ who’s the learner ‘ere, anyway, kid? An’ when did’ya finally grow a mouth on ya? Almost miss it when the only things ya said were two syllable words from jus’ now.” 

“I–” The wave of self-consciousness that floods through Zhongli Quan at the words is instantaneous, and he shuts his mouth with a click. When had he started talking so much more to Tieguai Li, anyway? Something had happened during that chase just now, something that’d loosened his spirits and his tongue to the point of overstepping boundaries, clearly. What exactly is he doing, trying to upset the one person who’s talking to him and offering to teach him the skills that he sorely lacks right now? Is he really out here trying to anger people before they can even begin interacting? The shame burns in his lungs, and Zhongli Quan tries not to quail under the other man’s eyes as he turns his own gaze back onto the road in front of them and stares resolutely ahead. 

“ –Sorry.” He says, quietly. “That won’t happen again.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as they walk where Zhongli Quan tries to ignore the slight prickling at the base of his eyes and tries to wrestle his fidgeting hands under control. He feels…stupid, he thinks, when he replays the short conversation in his head and holds himself back from cringing at the way he’d spoken without thinking. The wave of shame that crashes into him feels almost overwhelming, because what had he been thinking? What is he doing? How can he just think that he can speak like that to someone who’s technically his senior, and expect the other man not to get angry? Has he really gone too long without holding a proper conversation with anyone that he’d simply forgotten–

Something hits his arm. It’s a blunt force that makes the impact feel more surprising than actually painful, and it cuts through the thick of his thoughts, making Zhongli Quan involuntarily jump at the contact. He turns around sharply to find what had hit him, before his eyes land on Tieguai Li, who’s currently staring at him with a scowl and an undecipherable look in his eyes. 

“Who’s askin’ ya ta’ apologize, ya dumb kid?” The older man snaps at him, though he doesn’t sound angry in the way he’d expected him to be, and whacks him in the arm again. “‘M not tellin’ ya t’ stop yappin’. S’ much better for ya’ t’ yap than fer ya t’ keep quiet. Don’t go all wishy-washy silence-y on me now, ya hear me? I’d been jokin’, but…” Tieguai Li narrows his eyes at him. The undecipherable look in his eyes gets more pronounced. “Don’t overthink shit, yeah? ‘S supposed ta’ be a fun, collaborative effort. Lesson number eight.” 

Something within Zhongli Quan twists at Tieguai Li’s words again, something that almost causes him to stumble on his feet as he stares at the shorter man walking slightly in front of him. It’s not a bad feeling, he thinks. It feels more like a rush of surprise at the unexpected clarification than anything. “I–” He says, haltingly, “you’re not…angry about it?” 

The look that Tieguai Li shoots him again can only be called incredulous. “Why’d I be angry ‘bout that?” 

“I just…” Zhongli Quan shrugs. “I dunno. It was a little disrespectful, and–” 

“Aiyah, kid.” Tieguai Li cuts him off. “Lesson number nine. Yer free ta’ speak yer mind. I’m free to snark right back at’ya. ‘S not a one-sided thing where I’m gonna make ya keep all yer thoughts t’yerself no matter how I joke ‘bout it otherwise, ‘kay? Speak yer mind. Ain’t no one soft enough ‘ere t’ be angered by it, so don’t worry.” 

“I…” The feeling in Zhongli Quan’s chest lightens up more, somewhat, at the older man’s words. He feels the surprised feeling in his chest loosen up into something akin to relief when he looks at Tieguai Li and doesn’t see the expected contempt or anger that should have been on his face. “You’re sure?” 

“‘M sure.” Tieguai Li knocks his stick into Zhongli Quan’s shoulder one more time for whatever reason, before suddenly coming to a stop in front of a pair of wooden, double doors that looks like it has seen better days, and turns to look at him with a sharp grin plastered on his face with an elaborate flourish of his hands. “An’ anyway, chin up, son. We're here. Welcome, m’ esteemed student, t’ yer future accommodation fer th’ next few months!” 

Zhongli Quan stares at the wooden doors, and then looks up to stare at the golden words engraved into the wooden plaque that sits above the doors. He reads it, does a double take, then reads it again for good measure, because surely he’s reading the sign wrong, and surely Tieguai Li hadn’t led him through all that network of alleyways just to bring him straight to a–

“...Anyu Bathhouse.” Zhongli Quan slowly reads the words carved into wood aloud, more than a little confused, and turns to stare at Tieguai Li. “You brought me to a bathhouse.”

“That I did.” Tieguai Li knocks his arm with the stick again. He’s starting to lose track of the number of times he’d been hit by this stick tonight. “Very apt observational skills ya have there, son. Tha’s good, means one less thing we gotta work on.” 

“No, yes, but.” Zhongli Quan gestures at the pair of double doors, hoping that it is sufficient enough to convey just how confused he is at the choice of location that Tieguai Le had brought him to. He’d been expecting a …he doesn’t even know, actually, an actual shack, maybe, or something along the lines of that, when Tieguai Li had mentioned taking him to ‘a place’. But a public bathhouse? To say that it’s unexpected may be a little bit of an understatement. “What exactly are we doing at a bathhouse?”

“T’ sleep, obviously.” Tieguai Li replies, sounding completely serious. “Oh, and fer ya t’ take a proper shower an’ get all that grime offa’ ya. Ya desperately need one, kid, I’m not jokin’.” 

“You…own a bathhouse?” Zhongli Quan still feels lost as the older man knocks open the weathered, double doors with his stick and drags him through the low-ceiling’ed gateway and into the establishment’s confines. “I thought you said you’re a…y’know. Not a business owner.” 

Tieguai Li hits him with the stick again. He’s back to aiming at that one specific spot on his head, and Zhongli Quan yelps in surprise at the impact. 

“Of course I don’t own a bathhouse, boy-o! Use yer common sense!” The older man’s grip does not let up as he leads Zhongli Quan through the backyard littered with white stone and sand grains. “Listen up! Lesson number ten! Take advantage o’ everythin’ ya can. Everythin’s meant ta’ be used in this world, an’ everythin’ is meant ta’ be used t’the maximum no matter what others yabber about. Take th’ bathhouse here.” He gestures towards the whole expanse of the backyard. “Been stayin’ ‘ere close ta’ a year, son, on th’ price o’ only a one entry fee. Ya wanna lead a good enough life ‘ere without the privileges o’ coin, ya gotta learn how ta’ exploit th’benefits whenever ya can.” 

“I…oh.” Zhongli Quan supposes that the logistics of it makes sense, somewhat, before something else occurs to him. “Okay, but how do they not notice you living in their walls for a whole year, though?” 

“Aiyah, kiddo, what’re ya, a log?!” Tieguai Li smacks his head with his stick again. “When ya see people comin’ ta’ one corner where yer hidin’, d’you jus’ stand there an’ do nothin’?” Another smack of the stick, this time on his arm. Again. It’s almost like clockwork, at this point — head, then arm, and sometimes on the shoulder, repeat. Zhongli Quan’s almost got the stick’s pattern memorised by now. “Ya obviously get yer ass over t’ another corner and hide! Yer a livin’, breathin’ thing, no? Do what livin’, breathin’ things do, son. Adapt ta’ change.” 

“Adapt to change. Right. Got it.” He says to himself, and tries to commit it to memory. “So, how’re we doing this, exactly? Do I just…move in with you, to wherever you’re taking up accommodation here? I mean, I’m assuming it’s not a room that you’re staying in. So is it like a living-in-the-walls kind of situation, or–” 

“Patience, boy-o.” Tieguai Li cuts him off with a wave of his hand. They approach the inner courtyard building, and he knocks the door open with his stick again to reveal a darkened corridor that looks like it hasn’t been maintained in years. “Lesson number eleven. Everythin’ will be revealed in due time, ya hear? S’ a bit like investment, ya see. Take things one at a time and come to yer own conclusions. Like you wit’ stickin’ around to find out how we’re gonna set up yer station ‘round ‘ere. Like me wit’ waitin’ for ya ta’ become a right thief who’d bring me all my retirement fees in th’ future. S’ all about patience.” 

“Do you really have to keep bringing that moneymaking thing up?” Zhongli Quan mutters. The corridor smells like damp wood, which isn’t entirely different to how the prison had smelled like. It’s a slight comfort that he didn’t even know he’d wanted. “And I fail to see the correlation.”

“Gotta bring it up every chance I get, boy-o.” Tieguai Li replies cheerfully and pats his arm. “ ‘S a reminder o’ how I lucked out on findin’ a potential retirement fund when I’d least expected it! An’ in Yongle, no less! Seriously, this place ‘s borin’!” 

Zhongli Quan tries not to think about how the mention of Yongle still makes him feel like throwing up. It’s easy enough to forget that he’s actually still in Yongle right now, when he’s being kept on his toes as he follows Tieguai Li along without knowing what comes next, but the reminder that he is currently here right now, in Yongle, makes him feel…unsavoury, he supposes. The same village that’d once been one of his biggest reasons for resisting the effects of the curse has ended up being the reason he’s now following a thief around in order to learn his ways, and in some really petty way that’s he’s not really felt before, Zhongli Quan thinks that it’s only befitting that he’s learning the ropes of filching and pilfering in this village. It’s an unpleasant thought, but he finds that he doesn’t want to care about that, not right now. He thinks he deserves to wallow in his pettiness, even if it’s for a little while.

“So what do we do?” He finds himself asking Tieguai Li, instead of thinking too deeply about the tide of dogmatic thoughts that suddenly crash through his mind. “Where do you stay? This corridor looks…pretty old, after all.” 

Tieguai Li comes to a stop before a plain, unassuming looking wooden wall that also looks like it has seen better days. Zhongli Quan eyes it with suspicion, before turning to look at the older man who’s started knocking against the surface of it with a look of intense concentration in his eyes as though he’s trying to look for worms in the walls. “...What’re you doing?” 

“Feelin’ this thing.” Tieguai Li mutters, before his face lights up. “A-ha! Finally, I keep forgettin’ where I put th’ hatch, I swear. Anyway, kiddo, welcome to my humble abode o’ th’ past few months.” 

He jerks his arm, and Zhongli Quan watches in surprise as a piece of the wall quite literally swings open to reveal a hidden alcove behind it swamped in shadows. If he squints, he can make out the silhouette of a roll of bedding, a bag of what looks to be supplies, and…is that a gigantic gourd? resting against a corner of the room. He also catches sight of another stick in the room, one that’s much fancier than the stick Tieguai Li had picked up from wherever he’d found it from, which he assumes to be the older man’s actual walking stick. Beyond that, there doesn’t seem to be much space in the room for anything else at all. 

“Oh, wow.” Zhongli Quan blinks at the sight before him. He thinks that this is probably the most intriguing thing thathe’s seen in his life. “It is a living-in-the-wall situation.”

“That it is. Anyhow, I hadn’t accounted to bring home a stray t’day, or any day, really,” Tieguai Li continues, as he bends down and retrieves a…knife? from his boots before handing it over to Zhongli Quan, handle-first, “so ‘s a bit messy, an’ small. Definitely not big enough fer two people. Not like this, at least. That’s where ya come in, kid.” 

Zhongli Quan stares at the knife in his hands, and then looks towards the alcove tucked behind the wall opening, before looking at the untouched expanse of wall around the alcove’s flap. He thinks he’s slowly starting to pick up what the old man is implying for him to do when he looks back at the knife that’s in his hands. “Wait, do you want me to–” 

“Lesson number twelve.” Tieguai Li grins at him smugly, and elbows him sharply in his waist. “Wall-cuttin’. Useful fer hidin’, even more useful for arrangin’ accommodation on th’fly like this. Oh, an’ whether ya get a good place t’ sleep tonight depends on how fast ya get the hang of this cuttin’ thing, so ya better open yer ears and pay attention, ay?” 

The stick hits him again, on the shoulder this time. Not enough to hurt, as always, but enough to make Zhongli Quan scramble into action as Tieguai Li almost-immediately begins his late-night wall cutting instructions, and enough for him to firmly push away any excessive thoughts that lurk within his mind in order to focus on his current task at hand. It’s a distraction more than anything, and he knows this, but it’s enough for now, and it will hopefully be enough for a long while more to come.

—

—

After a while, they slowly establish a routine. 

Wake up, have breakfast, then it’s to the streets they go as Zhongli Quan learns all there is to learn about the art of ‘stealin’, pickpocketin’, an’ everythin’ else in-between’ — Tieguai Li’s words, not his. After that they’d exchange whatever yields that they’d gotten that day for dinner, and then it’s back to Anyu Bathhouse to secretly use their hot springs before retiring for the night. 

He had ended up taking to wall cutting quite easily, which means that the space that Zhongli Quan had cut for himself ends up being bigger than the space Tieguai Li had cut for himself, which also means that their conjoined alcove size is almost decently big enough to fit two people without his skin crawling at the feeling of walls closing in around himself. Disregarding the smell of damp wood and the occasional termites that crawl by, it’s definitely the nicest place that Zhongli Quan had stayed in since his time spent in that bedroom in Lingyao’s residence, and it doesn’t take him long to set up his corner of the conjoined alcove with his meagre possessions of his lone rattan fan and the bundle of his old journal tied up by a thin, straw rope that he hasn’t used in…a while. He just can’t bring himself to write in it, not when it feels like he will be contaminating what little of his past that hasn’t been sullied by the curse by doing so. The papers simply…sit there in the corner, on a square of cloth, out of his immediate sight and out of his mind now that he’s no longer carrying it around on himself, which is probably for the best. 

He doesn’t want to think too much about it anymore. He thinks about how he finally has the guarantee of a roof over his head again, and about how he has the guarantee of a semi-consistent schedule of three meals back into his life, and tries to think about how thankful he is for that instead. That, in addition to the unexpected luxury of secretly perusing the hot springs at the bathhouse and a shower on top of it all, means that it doesn’t take long for Zhongli Quan to slowly grow used to life living in the walls of a bathhouse, and for him to start learning tricks of the trade from the surprising treasure trove of knowledge that is Tieguai Li’s expertise. 

Days pass like this, then months. Zhongli Quan doesn’t quite bother keeping track anymore, not after leaving Chang’an, when days feel like months and months pass by in days. All he knows is that his corner of the alcove slowly starts looking more and more lived in, and the things that he swipes from practices and trial runs with Tieguai Li start piling up in a little corner next to his bedroll. 

He learns the basic pickpocketing tactics — Swap and Match, Tacit Removal, Sleeve to Sleeve transfer, Swap and Unclasp, and Qiankun Slasher — all names courtesy of Tieguai Li, who insists on naming every single one of his moves, and all ‘foundational basics’, as the redheaded man calls them. Today, they’re practising the first of the more advanced tactics that he’d been taught, and unfortunately, it’s one that Zhongli Quan hasn’t quite been able to master yet. 

“Ya see that woman’s hairstick, yeah?” Tieguai Li mutters to him. They’re in the village market, and there seems to be some sort of event going on, judging by the sheer number of people in the area, making it the perfect place to blend in. “That one, there. Blue robes, flower in th’ hair.” 

“Yeah.” Zhongli Quan whispers back. “That looks like a pretty expensive hairstick. Is that white jade?” 

“Ay, yer gettin’ better at recognisin’ yer materials.” Tieguai Li grins at him approvingly. “An’ what’s th’best way t’ remove somethin’ so finicky like a hairstick?” 

“Aim and replace.” Zhongli Quan recites with a sigh. He’s really not particularly good at this tactic, which is why they have been targeting hairpins specifically for the past week. In his defence, he has never claimed to be a good marksman — even back in his youth, when he’d been forced to choose between sword and bow cultivation, he’d picked sword cultivation in a heartbeat despite disliking that as well. He simply doesn’t like aiming. He can never estimate his distances and angles, so he’d never really tried to understand how to use a bow back then. 

Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury of not bothering now, which means that he’s forced to practise this aim and replace tactic until he actually masters it, under the critical eye of Tieguai Li. It’s even worse than shooting an arrow, in his opinion, because his projectile isn't an arrow but a thin chopstick which he will then have to aim at an equally-thin hairstick from a certain distance away. There is also the additional burden of having to remain inconspicuous to everybody else around him while he pulls this move off, which means that there is a certain amount of acting that he needs to do on top of aiming the chopsticks as well, making it the hardest tactic that Tieguai Li’s taught him thus far. 

“Steady yer hand, kid.” Tieguai Li says quietly as they approach their target from the left. “Yer problem s’ that ya think too much an’ ya can’t keep a steady stance. Don’t think too much ‘bout it, ya got pretty close last round.” 

“My problem’s that I can’t aim.” Zhongli Quan hisses back. They’re about a hundred paces back right now, with about thirty more paces until he gets into the aiming range, and he’s trying to do as Tieguai Li says. All he feels is the sweat on his hands. “And I think our angle’s too off. Maybe we need a new target.” 

“Th’ angle’s fine an’ yer not gettin’ outta this one, boy-o.” Tieguai Li whispers cheerfully, and pats his shoulder with the hand not currently holding onto his walking stick. “Eighty paces, try t’prepare yerself. Aim right for th’tip, an’ release. Remember t’ follow through from elbow to wrist. Jiayou, son.” 

It’s so easy when the older man puts it like that, which is extremely unfair because it’s not easy at all. Zhongli Quan takes a deep breath as they close the distance to about seventy-five paces now, and tries not to fidget with the hand that’s not holding on to the chopstick. He angles his body slightly to the right just as the woman turns away from the stall that she’d been perusing, and he sees the tip of her white jade hairpin sticking out from the bun of her hair. Seventy-two paces. 

He subtly lifts his hand, lines up the chopstick to the tip of the hairstick, and prepares himself. What’s it that Tieguai Li had said? Relaxed form, empty head, elbow instead of wrist. He can do that. All he has to do is continue forward just a little more, and then he’ll–

Just before Zhongli Quan can get into the aiming range, the woman suddenly turns towards another stall that’s about five paces away, and angles her body more towards her right. Almost immediately, the tip of the hairstick moves out from hitting range, and he resists the urge to curse at the sudden turn of events, because now he has to move back into range without somehow drawing suspicion to himself, which is more than a little difficult when he is wearing a ratty, dark coloured robe that does him no favours for blending in at all.

Then the woman moves again, and the hairstick’s angle tilts even more until its tip is almost fully out of hitting range. He resists the urge to curse again, and tries his best to follow in a less-than-stellar angle relative to the hairstick until he somewhat sees its tip again. Without thinking much about it, Zhongli Quan releases the chopstick in his hands, and lets it fly towards the hairstick about fifty paces away. He doesn’t need to think much about it, because he already knows that it’s not going to make the hit, anyway. The angle’s off. The way he’d released the chopstick is wrong, and he’d overestimated his paces again. And, to make matters worse, the woman had turned again, which had only made the hairstick’s angle even more off. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d delayed his throw any longer, anyway. 

As expected, the chopstick hits the long side of the hairstick, and clatters to the ground, its noise blending seamlessly into the backdrop of the liveliness of the market. Zhongli Quan sighs at the sight, and takes a step back into the crowd just as the woman registers the impact of the chopstick that’d flown towards her. He watches from a safe distance away as she looks at the lone chopstick with apparent confusion, before she shrugs, and turns back to her shopping, unaware of the dangers that her hairstick had just been in and how it could have been gone by now. 

Another failure, just like before. Zhongli Quan resists the urge to groan at the outcome. He glances down at Tieguai Li, who simply shakes his head with a sigh. 

“Aiyah, I told ya’ yer mind’s always too occupied.” The older man says, but he doesn’t push it. He never does after his apparent failures, and Zhongli Quan can’t decide if he’s grateful, confused, or annoyed about it. “S’ okay, kiddo. We’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe we can practice yer swap an’ unclasp tactics today, instead.” 

“She moved out of range.” Zhongli Quan crosses his arms and tries to explain himself, even if he logically knows that he doesn’t need to. “I couldn’t get a clear shot in without it looking too obvious.” 

“Ya hesitated too much when ya had th’ shot.” Tieguai Li replies. “As I’d said, kiddo — ya mind’s too occupied. Ya think too much an’ always end up missin’ yer shot.”

“I don’t know why I just can’t get it.” Zhongli Quan grumbles, and glares at his hand, which is now very chopstick-less and also very hairpin-less. “It shouldn’t even be that hard, should it? I don’t get it.” 

“‘S the downside of’ya uptighty education, it dulls yer instinct wit’ too much overthinkin.” Tieguai Li pats him once on the shoulder. “It takes time ta’ hone a sharp instinct and ta’ trust yer own brain ‘stead of splittin’ hairs overanalysin’ everythin’. Don’t worry ‘bout it, son. You’ll get the hang of it one day.” 

“It’s been a whole week.” Zhongli Quan groans, and lets himself scowl at the ground at his own lack of progress. “It’s ridiculous, I should be at least making some progress, no?” 

He’d thought the curse in him will at least be somewhat helpful now that he’s actively following its wishes. It’s not, annoyingly enough, and has taken to falling silent now that he’s not actively fighting it anymore, which both confuses and annoys him to no end. It doesn’t even do anything to make the actual process of stealing easier, it just prevents him from doing anything but stealing. Zhongli Quan feels his insides twist when he realises just how eager he is to master a thieving tactic, of all things, and does his best to push aside the wave of self depreciating vitriol that rolls through him at the reminder that once again, he is actually a thief now. A thief in the making, but one nonetheless. 

He chuckles humourlessly at the thought, before firmly pushing it out of focus, locking the unpleasant sensation within the recesses of his mind and then simply ignoring it. He’s getting pretty good at doing that — refusing to pay attention to his mind in favour of focusing on everything else that he needs to be focusing on instead. In this case, it’s the aim and replace tactic that he just cannot get right. Zhongli Quan focuses on the frustration from that, and lets himself pretend that the only reason he scowls at the ground is from his inability to master what should’ve been a relatively straightforward thieving tactic. 

“Ya jus’ need more time an’ practice, son.” Tieguai Li tells him once again, as he had been doing every day for the past few weeks, and knocks his walking stick into his shoulder to indicate for him to move. “Now c’mon, kid. Show me yer swap an’ unclasp tactics. Th’ day’s still young.” 

–

“Th’ art o’ negotiation.” Tieguai Li says grandly. It’s nighttime currently, and the two of them are seated in their alcove hidden behind the walls of Anyu Bathhouse. Between the two of them lies a heap of scrolls, of which one is currently unrolled. Zhongli Quan squints at the words, reading them over and over again in his mind and wondering if the older man had perhaps opened the wrong scroll, because the words written on it don’t quite make sense to him. “Means that ya gotta use yer opponents’ weaknesses ‘gainst ‘em. Ya gotta be quick on yer thinkin’, an’ ya gotta get good at readin’ people if ya wanna get ‘em t’ do yer biddin’.” 

The scroll in front of him only has five lines of words written on it — bait, mislead, divert, drag under, drown. As far as Tieguai Li’s tactics go, these ones…sound relatively simple, but they also sound like they’ve come from a fishing manual or a murder manual instead of a manual of negotiation tactics. Zhongli Quan wisely keeps that opinion to himself, however, as he watches Tieguai Li slap the open scroll with visible pride in his eyes. 

“I compiled ‘em onto paper ‘ere fer yer easy perusal, boy-o. Listen an’ learn well to th’ five principles o’ good negotiatin’.” The older man continues, flicking the scroll over to Zhongli Quan with the end of his stick. “Number one, bait yer target with yer endgoal. Some sort’a deal that only benefits ya. Some sort’a task ya want ‘em t’do that’ll also directly benefit ya. Could jus’ be as simple as somethin’ o’ theirs that ya really want, but ya can’t take it directly away from ‘em for whatever reason. Whatever it is, ya gotta frame it in a way tha’ sounds appealin’...but only t’ them. Bait ‘em wit’ all th’ good parts o’ yer offer an’ hook their attention. Ya hafta frame it in a way that don’t make ‘em ask too many questions. Best is if they don’t ask anythin’ at all.” 

“What happens if they do, though?” Zhongli Quan frowns, before the answer dawns on him. “Oh, wait. I’m assuming that you’ll just have to make more things up on the fly?” 

“Ay, yer learnin’ well, kid.” Tieguai Li grins at him. “Ya must train yer mind t’be quick thinkin’. ‘S like I said a few days ago — it takes time ta’ hone a sharp instinct and ta’ trust yer own brain ‘stead of splittin’ hairs overanalysin’ everythin’. Once ya get this down, everythin’ else that I teach ya becomes much easier t’ understand. Adapt n’ improvise. Tha’s key in this life, ya hear?” 

“I hear.” Zhongli Quan replies. His hands itch to take down notes, but that had been a venture that’d been banned by Tieguai Li since the first of their nightly lessons. Ya gotta rely on yer head, boy-o, not a piece ‘o paper! Had been the exact words that the man had said to me. Writin’ it down makes ya think before ya memorise! Use yer head an’ commit it straight! It’s something that he’s not really used to, as somebody who’d always been told to take notes during class and whenever possible, but Zhongli Quan tries, anyway, to simply commit the words to memory. 

“Let’s hear ya apply it, then.” Tieguai Li gestures to him with his stick. “Gimme a scenario, son. We’ll use that for th’rest of th’tactics. Imagine yer walkin’ up t’ a target, an’ ya see somethin’ on ‘im that ya want really, really badly. What would that be?” 

Zhongli Quan tries to imagine it in his head. He sees himself walking towards someone in his mind, somebody holding something arbitrary that he really wants, and he wonders what could be so enticing that he’d want to ask them for it. 

“...Fruit, maybe?” He says with a frown. It’s food, isn’t it? Something practical, yet more akin to a treat that he may crave, probably. It’ll make sense for it to be fruit. “Maybe something like…peaches? Or-”

“Fruit?!” Tieguai Li yells, and whacks him with the stick — head, this time. “Peaches?! Aiyah, ya dumb kid, of all th’things ya can come up wit’ fer yer hypothetical scenario, ya think o’ peaches?! What are ya, Sun Wukong?! Try again!” 

Zhongli Quan rubs his head with a wince at the impact — he really doesn’t know why he keeps doing that, because the stick doesn’t even hurt — as he tries to reimagine the scenario. Clearly, tonight isn’t fully about Tieguai Li teaching him the art of negotiation, it’s also one of the old man’s many attempts at making him train up his improvisation skills, probably in hopes that he’d eventually get the aim and replace tactic right. Unfortunately for all parties involved, Zhongli Quan still has a long way to go before he stops trying to think through all his actions and scenarios, so despite his best efforts, he still finds himself thinking about what the next most logical thing would be on this hypothetical person in this hypothetical scenario. 

“...Money?” He tries again. This time, the stick whacks his arm.

“Too obvious.” Tieguai Li shakes his head. “Also, ain’t no one gonna jus’ straight up use money as a negotiation deal, unless they’re jus’ really stupid, want ya dead, have too much cash ta’ spare, or all three of ‘em. More often ‘an not ‘s just that they’re stupid, though.” 

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am.” The older man replies with a grin. “There’re plenty o’ stupid people out there, kid. Consider yerself lucky if ya ever bump into one, ‘s just makes life much easier fer ya. But no, not money in yer hypothetical scenario. We’re goin’ in wit’ the assumption that the person ain’t meatball fer brains an’ is simply a regular fellow.” 

Not something as obvious and straightforward as money, but also not something as frivolous as fruit. Zhongli Quan tries to recontextualise the whole scenario, but finds that he really doesn’t know if he’s just thinking about this from his angle. Maybe he needs to think like Tieguai Li, instead, and see what it is that could be of value to him. It’ll have to be something that’s not too significant yet not too insignificant, and something that can probably be worth a significant value somewhere that can then be exchanged for a good sum of money. Or just be used as money, maybe, if he wants to take his own…situation into consideration. It can’t be too big, for convenience’s sake, but it also can't be small enough to look worthless, which means–

“Oy,” the whack of the stick against his shoulder shakes Zhongli Quan out from his thoughts, and he startles out of his reverie to see Tieguai Li glaring at him accusingly, “yer overanalysin’ again. I can see it from ya face, boy-o. C’mon, out with it. What would it be?” 

“A…pendant.” Zhongli Quan replies slowly. It makes sense, he thinks, for it to be a pendant. “Maybe a jade pendant that’s valuable enough to be used in place of actual currency? ‘S just the right size, and jade is plenty valuable everywhere around. Right?” 

“…Tha’s a good answer, I give ya that.” Tieguai Li says, after a beat of silence passes between the two of them, somewhat begrudgingly, and Zhongli Quan feels a surge of satisfaction at having gotten it right. It doesn’t last long, however, before the redheaded man wags a finger at him, and continues. “But ya still took too long ta’ get to th’ answer, kid. Ya gotta be faster. Maybe the thinkin’ works best for ya instead o’ simply usin’ yer instincts because of ya background, but then you’ll hafta find a way ta’ think whatever’s in yer mind much, much faster.” 

“How am I supposed to think faster?” Zhongli Quan laments. “It’s a process, isn’t it?”

“Tha’s on ya to figure out how t’ speed up th’ process.” Tieguai Li replies with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. “I ain’t ya, kid, I improvise an’ act on what I know is right. Ya gotta work this out yerself, though practise’ll definitely help ya figure it out faster.” 

“Right.” Zhongli Quan mutters, and sighs, because it feels like all their conversations eventually circles back to this specific topic. He supposes that it makes sense, unfortunately. He needs to get quicker with his actions and his thoughts when he’s out on the streets, and he doesn’t quite see another way about doing this besides finding a method that suits him best. Listing off his fingers halfheartedly, he recites to himself, “work on instincts, thinking faster, adapting to change and improvising. Got it.” 

“An’yer terrible actin’, too, don’t forget that one.” Tieguai Li adds on cheerfully, before patting him once on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll have plenty o’ chances ta’ practice this later on. Fer now, look back at m’ scroll, yeah? Second step in the art o’ negotiatin’, we got misleadin’ the target, which in this case would be yer guy with th’ jade pendant…”

–

“See, that’s why you should trust us with your stock of apples.” Zhongli Quan tells the shopkeeper as earnestly as he can. “Think of it this way, da shu. You give me your apples for safekeeping, and then I give you back your apples eventually by having your apples be shipped back to your place, and I can’t not promise you that your apples won’t arrive on time because none of them will not not be in the cart, and all of them will eventually not not not arrive at your place after…let’s say three days? Does that sound good to you?” 

“D’yu take me for an idiot, kid?!” The shopkeeper cries out indignantly. “Three days is way too long! Make it one and a half!”

“But what about the road conditions and cart conditions, or if something last minute happens and we fail to not get the apples unpunctually to your place?” Zhongli Quan places a hand to his chest and tries to colour his tone with the appropriate amount of worry and indignation. “We’re a delivery service, sir, not your personal shipping line!” 

“...Two days, then.” The shopkeeper eventually grouses, and narrows his eyes at him. “No more, no less!” 

“Of course, sir.” Zhongli Quan decides to end off his performance by tearing a page straight out of Tieguai Li’s scroll of Convincing Performance Tips And How To Master Them by dipping himself into an elaborate bow. It feels ridiculous, but it gets the job done, if the way the shopkeeper loosens up from his previously-rigid stance is of any indication. “We’ll not only not not fail to have your apples at your doorstep in two days, but I’ll also personally not not fail to thank you for trusting us with your apples!”

“Sounds good, sounds good.” The shopkeeper says, and he sounds grateful enough that Zhongli Quan knows that he’s passed his test. “Young man, thank you for offering your services.” 

“Of course, of course,” Zhongli Quan grins, and pats the shopkeeper on the back. Behind his own back, he gestures to Tieguai Li who’d been hiding in the corner, and the older man comes bustling in, dressed rather convincingly as a deliveryman, and comes right up to take the whole crate of apples away, where they will definitely not not fail to show up on the shopkeeper’s doorstep in two days because they’ll have been sold to another ten vendors for a pretty good sum of coin. He turns to leave with Tieguai Li and the apples, and throws out a final, "thanks for your time!” behind his shoulder at the shopkeeper before the two of them exit the building. 

They keep walking until they’ve put a safe distance between themselves and the shop, before Tieguai Li tears off his disguise, and grins wickedly at Zhongli Quan.

“Good job, kiddo.” He says, and punches him in the shoulder. “Impressive performance, great way t’ confuse him an’ let down his defences, an’ takin’ a page straight outta Convincing Performance Tips And How To Master Them by finishin’ off wit’ a bow! S’ so much better than yer previous performances. Yer gettin’ the hang offit.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” Zhongli Quan replies graciously, and looks over the, frankly, huge crate of apples that they’d gotten. Harvest season is almost ending, which is why there’s been a surge in prices for crop and fruit, which is also why Tieguai Li had thought it’d be a good idea to centre their art of negotiation trial runs around fruit delivery, and so far, it’s been turning out great. This is the first time Zhongli Quan’s the one actually taking centre stage to put everything that he’d learned into practice, and he can’t deny that he’s pretty happy that he’d managed to pull it off relatively well. “Soo…how long do we have until the first of the other vendors want their apples?” 

“A whole day.” Tieguai Li smirks at him, and pats the crate of apples next to them. “Ya know what that means, kiddo?” 

“A round of false-flag-for-higher-profits with all the buyers?”

“Ay, son. Yer really startin’ ta learn th’ ropes!” 

–

“No, no, boy-o, yer gettin’ it all wrong!” Tieguai Li hisses at him, and smacks his walking stick into Zhongli Quan before he can begin creeping towards the backdoor. “First rule o’ breakin’ into houses! Never enter through th’ back door! We literally went over this this mornin’!” 

“Didn’t you say that the safest way to do things is to do it in the most unsafe ways so that people end up not suspecting a thing?” Zhongli Quan hisses back with a wince. “What happened to that?” 

“That’s fer hidin’, ya dumb kid!” Tieguai Li whisper-yells back at him. “Not fer things like breakin’ an’ enterin’! Ya got somethin’ wrong wit’ yer logic, or somethin’?!”

“It’s not my logic! Write that in your manual next time!”

“Ya gotta read between th’ lines, dumbass!” 

“Well, maybe I will if you actually wrote lines instead of just the titles– oh, look, I think that window’s open.” 

The two of them peer out from the bushes that they’d been hiding in. Sure enough, the candlelight in the house has gone out, suggesting that the houseowners seem to have headed for bed. More importantly, they seem to have decided to open the windows, likely for ventilation, which means that they now have the perfect opening for sneaking into the house. 

“Well, that it has.” Tieguai Li hums as he squints at the open window. “Now remind me, boy-o. What are the six rules fer sneakin’ into people’s houses?” 

“Er…” Zhongli Quan tries to think back to the manual on House Breaking. It’s the newest manual that Tieguai Li had added to his recently-growing collection of self-written Thievin’ Manuals Fer the Dumbasses – his words, not Zhongli Quan’s. So far, that collection consists of The Art of Negotiation (Thievin’ Edition), Convincing Performance Tips And How To Master Them (Fer those who can’t act for shit), and also Stealin’, Pickpocketin’, An’ Everythin’ Else In-Between (SPECIFICALLY FER THE DUMBASS). He really doesn’t know where the man is getting the time to write all these in between his time spent teaching him new tactics and their time spent on the streets — usually from sun up till sun down, but he has long since come to the conclusion that Tieguai Li simply operates on wavelengths that he does not fully understand. 

“Always be quiet,” He recites, from the top of his head, “never take the most valuable things, always hide in the most obvious places for maximum safety, never hide behind doors, never leave the second floor via windows, and…never be too ambitious?” 

A scoff. “An’ ya say m’ manuals don’t work.” Tieguai Li smacks him in the arm again. “Le’s go, kiddo, now’s our chance. Remember, we’re lookin’ fer a giant pearl in a jade box, yeah? Feel free t’ take other things from th’ place after ya find that as long as ya can hold it in yer pockets. Remember th’ manual.” 

“Yes, yes.” Zhongli Quan whispers back, and actually finds himself reciting the darn manual again in his head despite his best efforts. “Let’s go.” 

They end up with a decently large haul that evening in addition to the giant pearl in the jade box. Zhongli Quan tries to be mad at the fact that remembering the manual had actually helped, but finds that he just can’t quite be.

–

It’s raining when Zhongli Quan wakes up that morning. 

He hears it without needing to see it. The rush of it is loud, and the thinness of Anyu Bathhouse’s main walls and inner walls aren’t sufficient enough to block out the drone of rain pellets that drum against the buildings rhythmically. The sound of it sends shivers down Zhongli Quan’s spine, and he already knows, from the moment he’d heard the rain, that today isn’t going to be a good day. 

It always ends up like this — he’d think he’s doing fine, adjusting relatively well to his new life as a thief in the making, and then the heavens will pour, and everything that he always tries not to think about, everything that he always manages to lock into the corners of his mind on the good days, comes rushing back out, bursting through any lock that might’ve held it back on a good day. The rain doesn’t get any less painful with time, he thinks, as he hears the steady tap, tap, tapping from outside. It always manages to get worse every time he hears it, the accursed pitter-pattering of raindrops that had been an ever-constant throughout the worst moments of his life. It’s a small mercy that the alcove has no windows, so he’s not forced to look at the rain that reminds him of everything that he’d been wrong about in his life. 

The sound of every drop sends a knife clean through his heart. The staccato of the rain reminds him of that early dawn on his first day in Yongle, where fists and kicks had rained upon him then, as well. He remembers every phantom impact of it in tandem to the rain — kick, shove, punch, repeat. The rush of the rain reminds him of Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy, that afternoon when the curse had forever altered his life irreparably, while the cold dampness that seeps into the alcove every time without fail when it rains simply haunts him with the reminder of every mistake that he’d made since the beginning when he’d stepped foot into Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy. 

Kitty. That beggar. The Yujing Jar. Ignoring the curse, wasting his life, spreading devastation to the people who didn’t deserve it, Liang Ji, Donghua. 

Over and over again, they replay themselves in his mind. Over and over again, he sees them flash before his eyes in tandem to the rush of falling rain. Helping Liang Ji, only for him to be the reason he’d gotten expelled from the sect. Helping the people of Yongle, only for it to cause him a lifetime of suffering. Accepting the help of Lingyao and Ouyang Ziqing, only for them to pay dearly for the mistake of helping him. Spending his whole life trying to stand up to the curse, to Donghua, only to circle right back to proving them both right. They’re right. 

They’ve always been right. They’ve always been right, he’s just the one who refuses to accept reality. 

“...Hey, kid.” 

That is Tieguai Li. The older man’s voice is quiet, and is always quiet whenever it rains. Zhongli Quan doesn’t say anything — he doesn’t think that he can bring himself to say anything, not when the drone of the rain robs him of his voice and his ability to do anything. He feels useless like this, but that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what he is. The rain serves to remind him of that, no matter how much he may be able to forget that fact on the other days. 

“‘M gonna be goin’ t’ the market, kid.” Tieguai Li says. “Ya want anythin’?” 

He glances briefly at the redheaded man. He’s not looking in his direction, and neither is he saying anything else — he’s simply in the corner, seemingly doing something to his walking stick. Zhongli Quan turns away from the sight, closing his eyes as he feels the telltale signs of an encroaching headache slowly creeping up upon him, as they always tend to do whenever it rains. There’s no point in trying to prevent it, nor is there any point in giving a reply that he feels physically incapable of giving to the older man. They just happen, after all, and he’s only a lone boat trying its best to withstand the torrential currents that aim to sweep him away. A lone boat barely holding on, that is somehow able to fool itself into thinking that it’s perfectly new, and perfectly capable of sailing. Such is the story of his life. 

When Zhongli Quan opens his eyes again, Tieguai Li is gone, as is his walking stick and his gourd. 

It’s only a prelude to what’ll eventually happen, and you know it, the curse whispers in his ears. It’s voice only ever comes out on rainy days now, when every inch of his body aches from memories of everything he’d been through and the way he feels more like stone than anything living. It still sounds like him, but sometimes, it sounds like Donghua, too. Sometimes, he hears Liang Ji, and sometimes, it sounds like Ouyang Ziqing. They’re all there, murmuring through his mind and remaining him of all the ugly truths that he dares not confront by himself otherwise. The old man will leave, and you know that. Everyone in your life will walk away, Zhongli Quan, and it’s about time you accepted that. 

But he…won’t, will he? Tieguai Li had said so himself, he’s not going to let him go that easy, right? Surely not now, and surely not without any good reasoning? He’s just gone to the market right now, as he’d said he would, and he will be back later, as he’d said he will be. 

But everyone eventually leaves, the curse whispers again, and he is powerless to the tendrils of doubt that curls into his lungs at the thought, Shifu did. Liang Ji did. Lingyao and Ouyang Ziqing did, and you have been powerless to stop it all. You’re powerless to stop all of it, and you know that. You’ll eventually mess up, like you always do. You’ll eventually piss him off enough that he won’t care about your deal. 

Outside, the rain continues to hammer against the wooden eaves of Anyu Bathhouse. Zhongli Quan shuts his eyes again, against the pounding headache against his temples, against the prickling sensation in his eyes, against the voice that continues to whisper harshly in his ear. He hears it clearly, nonetheless, as he always does whenever it rains nowadays. 

There’s only one way to protect yourself from that sort of grief, Zhongli Quan. You know it as well as I do. 

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to because he’s only just starting to like it here and he’s only just starting to settle into this life. He doesn’t want to because he doesn’t have a choice right now, and more importantly…he likes this alcove. He likes the feeling of having a roof over his head, and he’s grown to like spending time with Tieguai Li. The man is resourceful, snarky, and a surprisingly patient teacher to him. The thought of eventually having to leave this behind — this alcove with its thin walls and its slightly scratchy bedroll and its slight dampness and how it’s slowly come to feel dangerously close to something like what Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy had used to be— makes Zhongli Quan sick, but who’s to say that this will be his life forever, after all? 

Who’s to say that things can’t suddenly change whenever it wants to? Being expelled from Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy in the span of a single afternoon already proves that anything can happen when he least expects it. What’s to say that Tieguai Li isn’t going to wake up one day and do exactly that? Who’s to say that Zhongli Quan wouldn’t wake up one day and accidentally do just that?

You need to do it first before the old man eventually, inevitably does it, Zhongli Quan. The curse sings in his ears, one more time, and he shuts his eyes against the voice. He tries to resist listening to it, but he knows that it gets harder to ignore every time it rains and every time he hears it in his head. 

You need to do it, Zhongli Quan. It says again, and again, and again. You need to leave. 

–

“Here’s today’s yield, old man.” Zhongli Quan can’t quite keep the smugness out of his tone when he ducks under the wooden flap in the wall and into the alcove and shakes out all the beaded bracelets that he’d managed to snag that day. The market had been crowded again, and Tieguai Li had told him to practice what he’d learned by doing some sort of self-assessment that morning, and so Zhongli Quan had set out to do just that. “Thirty- five bracelets, by the way. Half of them are jade, some are gold, some are silver, and I’m pretty sure that one’s real pearl, and that one. It’ll all fetch a pretty good price, maybe.” 

Tieguai Li whistles as he looks over the pile of bracelets on the ground. He prods at them with his walking stick, specifically at the two pearl bracelets. “Not bad, kiddo. Those ‘re real pearl — that’ll fetch a mighty good price ‘ere, considerin’ how far from sea this village is.”

“I know.” Zhongli Quan replies with a grin. “I think the owners aren’t from around here. There’s some sort of official visit today, or something. I’m not too sure.”

“These’ll last a good while, indeed.” Tieguai Li says approvingly. “And the other thing? What of yer aim and replace practice, son? Ya got that down? I don’t see any hairpins in ‘ere.” 

“I almost got spotted three times trying to practice it.” Zhongli Quan mutters, and his prior good mood evaporates at the reminder. He makes his way over to his bedroll, and drops bonelessly into it to better wallow in his own failure. “I came close on one of ‘em, but someone knocked into me and I only managed to get half the pin loose instead. That was my closest attempt, I think.”

He’s actually still annoyed about it, because he’d thought he had everything down — the range, the aim, the speed, and the way he released his chopstick. But all his targets had kept moving that day, and the window of opportunity for aiming had all been impossibly small, and to make matters worse, one of them had actually spotted him, which meant that he’d had to spin up something to play it off. He doesn’t quite know if she’d actually believed him, in the end, but his excuse seemed to have worked anyway, so that had thankfully just been that. “Lao Li, I’m starting to think that I’m just never gonna get this one, I think. Can we move on to a new thing first? Maybe I’ll get it after I come back to it after some time.” 

“Patience, kid, remember what I’d said.” Tieguai Li replies. Zhongli Quan watches as he picks up one of the silver bracelets from the pile to idly turn it around in his hand. “Continue workin’ on yer mind an’ yer adaptin’ skills. Tha’s th’ key ta’ masterin’ the aim and replace tactic, an’ th’ key t’ findin’ yer footsteps in this life.” 

“But what if I can’t?” He can’t help but to ask. “It’s been almost three weeks now and I’m still stuck on this. What if I’m just…not meant to throw chopsticks at hairpins? Have you ever considered that before?” 

“Nonsense, boy-o.” Tieguai Li waves him off. “Keep practisin’ every day. You’ll get it eventually.” 

“Or we can just move on to something else.” Zhongli Quan points out. “Like the…other thing you’d mentioned before you taught me aim and replace. The one about the distraction?”

“What, so yer gonna just choose t’ give up, then?” Tieguai Li asks him sharply, putting down the bracelet in his hands. “Instead o’ continuing t’ try? I didn’t take ya fer a quitter, son, not like this.” 

Despite himself, Zhongli Quan flinches at the words. His mind flashes back to kneeling in the rain, to letting go, to giving in, and he laughs humourlessly at the older man’s words. If only Tieguai Li knows just how much of a quitter he is. Will his opinion of him be different in that case? Will he have still found him interesting back in the prison? 

“‘S won’t be the first time I quit and give up on something, old man.” He mutters with a shrug, and turns on his side in the bedroll. He tries to wrap his arms around himself, tries to stave off memories of piercing rain and crushing despair that always lurk right under his skin and around the corner and ready to sink their teeth into his mind the moment he slips up in his carefully-controlled thoughts. “I just…I dunno. It just seems like I can’t get it. I tried relying on instinct, I tried analysing my surroundings faster, heavens— I tried to do both at the same time, but it still didn’t work! I don’t know what else I’m supposed to try!” 

“Ya gotta try believin’ in yerself, son.” The words are spoken quietly into the ensuing silence that descends upon the room. “Half o’ what I said hinges on that too, an’ ya know it.”

Zhongli Quan knows that Tieguai Li means well with his words. He knows, objectively, that there’s objective truth in them, but despite that, he cannot help but to tense up at the words. Believe? In himself? After…after everything? There’s perhaps more chance of him ridding himself of the curse branded into his soul than him ever believing in himself again, he thinks, half venomously and half in despairing amusement. Believing in himself got him into this whole…mess that’s now his life, and Tieguai Li wants him to believe in himself and expect his incompetence to just go away? 

“It’s so easy to just say that.” Zhongli Quan says, quietly, and feels the familiar surge of loathing that floods through his body at his own memories. “But I can’t, Lao Li, I…” he shuts his eyes, against the weight of his thoughts that he tries to keep locked in the recesses of his mind, “I can’t. Even if there is a way for me to get this tactic right, it’s not gonna be…that.” 

“…Yer already makin’ progress, from what ya told me, ain’t ya?” Tieguai Li says, after another, heavier bout of silence settles over them like a shroud. The older man’s voice is loud, loud enough to cut through the rapid spiralling of his thoughts. “Ya mentioned ya got half her pin loose, yeah? That’s progress. Keep up what ya did wit’ that attempt, an’ we can work it out from there. What d’ya think o’ that?” 

It’s another attempt at distraction. It always is, whenever Tieguai Li uses that voice and that tactic of diverting his attention. Loathe as Zhongli Quan is to admit it, it always manages to work on him. He finds himself mulling over his words, and tries to let himself think back to the events of the afternoon instead of events from before. He thinks of his pacing instead of the rain, his methodology instead of his regrets, the way his chopstick had been released perfectly before he’d been inadvertently knocked into by a passer by and had flailed too much, which had resulted in the pin only becoming half loose instead. 

“…Maybe I need to do it somewhere less crowded.” Zhongli Quan says, slowly. “Or divert them away to somewhere less crowded? So that there’s just enough room for me to aim and replace without anything sudden happening?” 

“Possible idea.” Tieguai Li twirls his moustache. “Very possible.” 

“And…there can be some kind of distraction, maybe. Something that’ll draw their attention away until after I get the pin that can be set up beforehand. Maybe it can be what leads them over to the better location, too.” 

“We’re gettin’ somewhere. An’ then what?” 

“I’d done everything you told me to do this afternoon with that attempt.” Zhongli Quan frowns, replaying the events of the afternoon over in his head. “But there was also one additional problem, I think. Even if her hairpin had dropped out, even if that person hadn’t knocked into me…oh.”

Zhongli Quan’s eyes widens as something dawns upon him. He scrambles up from the bedroll, and stares at Tieguai Li with wide eyes and a wave of realisation crashing into him. He thinks he sees it, the problem. He thinks he knows what’d gone wrong, and what had kept going wrong throughout every attempt that he had made in the last few weeks. It’s something that’s been there all along, he thinks, and it may very well just be the reason he hasn’t been able to succeed. 

“I’m too slow.” He breathes out. “I need to be faster! At everything! My walking, my throwing, my catching…it’s like a chain, right? If any part of the chain is off, it’s not gonna work! That’s why every attempt keeps going wrong, because I— especially my pacing, I think? Am not going fast enough! I’m holding back the chain.” 

It makes sense, doesn’t it? “If I stop seeing each part of what I need to do as its own individual action, and I start seeing it all as one, continuous movement starting from when I find my target, then there won’t be friction between each part of the chain, too.” Zhongli Quan cannot believe that he hasn’t caught on much earlier, because it adds up. It all adds up, he thinks. “That’s my problem. That’s it. I’m not seeing it all as one, big picture.” 

“Very good, boy-o.” Tieguai Li grins at him, when Zhongli Quan finishes his words and glances at him. ‘Ya figured out a potential solution t’ yer problems, an’ a potential root o’ all yer problems. Very good.” 

“Should we test the hypothesis tomorrow, Lao Li?” Zhongli Quan feels a renewed surge of determination flow through him at maybe, finally cracking the formula. “We can go to the fringe of the markets this time where there may be less people, maybe? Where there’s less chances of people knocking into me, too.” 

“Eager now, aren’t we?” Tieguai Li says. “We can test it out, son, after ya learn about m’ patented Distract n’ Circle. How does that sound?” 

Zhongli Quan frowns at the older man’s words. “I…thought you wanted me to finish mastering this tactic first before we moved on?” He asked, more than a little confused. “Why are you suddenly-” 

“I realised I’m approachin’ this wrongly wit’ ya, kid.” Tieguai Li replies. He shrugs, and turns to lean against the corner of the wall where his bedroll is situated without looking at him. “S’...not the best to keep havin’ ya do somethin’ over an’ over if it’s not makin’ sense fer ya after a long while because it’ll only make ya more frustrated, which then makes ya less likely to get things right. ‘S not givin’ up if it’s just a break, an’ s’ wrong to call it as such. Now that ya got a solid hypothesis down, ya can take break from this, an’ we try again…say, next week, maybe, after ya refresh yer mind. What say ya t’ that, boy-o?” 

“I– oh.” Zhongli Quan replies, and he feels a twisting sensation in his chest again — the same one he’d felt, a few weeks ago, when Tieguai Li had told him that he didn’t want him to apologise to him for not talking with propriety to him. He thinks he’s definitely not used to this…open admittance of being wrong, he supposes. It’s definitely a strange feeling, having Tieguai Li tell him that he’d been wrong. It should be the other way, usually, no matter the circumstances. But this? This is…new. It’s a surprisingly pleasant feeling, but it’s new. 

“…Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” He settles for saying, instead of something stupid like thank you or I can’t believe you admitted you’re wrong to something! “So, um.” He clears his throat, and thanks the heavens when his voice comes out relatively steady. “What’s this…Distract and Circle thing, anyway?” 

Tieguai Li shoots him a grin, one that looks truly wicked and scheming, and Zhongli Quan is instantly set onto the edge. 

“Distract an’ circle, ay,” Tieguai Li snickers, “is as th’ the name suggests, son. Ya distract, an’ I encircle…”

–

“Um.” Zhongli Quan says, and eyes the bundle of persimmon and white coloured cloth in Tieguai Li’s hands very sceptically. He discreetly tries to take two steps backwards and finds that he can’t, because he’s already leaning against the wall of the alcove and there’s nowhere else to scoot to. “Is all of that really…necessary?” 

From his position by the wall flap, Tieguai Li scoffs under his breath. “Is all of that really necessary?” The older man parrots him mockingly, and unceremoniously throws the bundle of cloth towards him. “Whaddya think, son? Ya wanna wear yer ratty old robes forever, or ya wanna finally change yer wardrobe ta somethin’ that actually looks presentable? I swear I get a headache jus’ from lookin’ at ya greasy ass robes every day.” 

“Excuse me?!” Zhongli Quan splutters indignantly, and throws the bundle of clothing right back at Tieguai Li. He hopes that the throw conveys just how offended he is at the statement that the old man had just said. “My clothes aren’t greasy! They’re perfectly presentable and they’re fine!” 

Tieguai Li rolls his eyes at his words, and seamlessly intercepts the bundle with his walking stick before sending it flying back to Zhongli Quan. “Stop bein’ such a drama queen, kiddo. Ya know as well as me that they ain’t. Anyway, I got ‘em wit’ th’ profits from the apple thing we pulled off a while back. S’ th’ best I coulda found fer th’ price.”

The bundle lands back in Zhongli Quan’s hands. He sighs, and takes a few moments to actually get a feel of the new robes that Tieguai Li had gotten for him. The old man had been talking about how atrocious his clothing is recently — and unfortunately, he does get where Tieguai Li is coming from. These are the same clothes that he’d worn since Zhongnan East village, which would’ve meant that they are…at least a few months’ old by now. Too many things had happened since Zhongnan East village, and Zhongli Quan definitely had not had the time or the luxury of thinking about changing up his clothes in the past few months. He’d thought the old man had been joking about going out that morning to ‘finally switch up his wardrobe now that the money from their apple business had come in’, but apparently, he’d thought wrong. 

The bundle in his hands feels soft compared to the coarse roughness of the robes that had been given to him by the woman back in Zhongnan East village. Zhongli Quan turns the bundle over in his hands, and wonders why the material feels so familiar to him. If he closes his eyes and casts his mind back, it feels almost similar to his old sect uniform, which is strange, because he could’ve sworn that his sect uniform had been made out of–

“What the.” Zhongli Quan yelps. His eyes fly open and they turn to stare at the bundle in his hands disbelievingly, before turning his disbelieving gaze over to Tieguai Li, who’s still leaning against the wall flap of the alcove and had taken to filing his nails. “That’s silk. Lao Li, you got fucking silk robes from the market? And– what the hell. I can feel embroidery. I can feel the threads of the embroidery? How much did our apple heist even make for you to be able to get this?!”

“Tha’s fer me t’ know, kid,” Tieguai Li shoots back, “an’ fer ya t’ keep guessin’. Now go try em’ on, I gotta know if the size is alright fer ya. Th’ shop has a one day exchange policy, so hurry up.” 

“...Right.” Zhongli Quan says, eyeing the bundle in his hands again with disbelief still coursing through his veins. This is probably the nicest thing he’s going to wear since he’d been kicked out from Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy. “Oh my god, old man, I can’t believe you’d–”

“Oh, an’ there’s these things too.” 

Two strings of beads fly through the air next, landing solidly on Zhongli Quan’s head. He jumps at the contact, and swivels his gaze back to scowl at Tieguai Li as he swipes the stringed beads from his head. They’re rather simple, but he sees the quality of craftsmanship reflected in the strings and the few beads that are studded into those strings. The beads gleam slightly, even under the dimness of the alcove, and Zhongli Quan blinks at them in silent awe. He doesn’t quite know what to say, but still finds himself saying, almost involuntarily, “...Seriously, how much did the apple heist pay?” 

“Enough t’ cover costs. An’ anyway, I think those beads came wit’ th’ package.” Tieguai Li waves him off, sounding very impatient. “Now stop stallin’ an’ start wearin’, son! I didn’t pay fer these fer ya t’ hold em’ in yer hands! Chop chop!” 

“I’m going, I’m going!” Zhongli Quan squeaks, and barely manages to dodge the nail file that Tieguai Li throws at him before scurrying over to leave the alcove where he knows the bathrooms are at. 

The feeling of silk over his body after what’s probably eight years of wearing coarse linen is…very strange. The material feels foreign, yet familiar, on his skin, and shimmers slightly under the sunlight that peeks in through the blinds of the bathroom. The robes themselves fit almost perfectly over him, with the sole exception of the inner robe that he can’t quite seem to pull over his chest all the way no matter what he does. He makes a mental note to bring that up with the old man later. The only other thing that he doesn’t quite get about the outfit is the bundle of what he can only assume to be leaves that acts as the robe’s outer sash, instead of an actual outer sash. 

“Oh, I got that custom made.” Tieguai Li waves him off when he brings it up later once he’d come back into the alcove. “Thought th’ leaves suited the vibe better than a traditional sash, y’know? An’ I was right, by th’ way. It does.” 

“It looks stupid.” Zhongli Quan stresses. He pokes at the leaves again, and still cannot tell if they’re real or just very convincing fabric cutouts. “I mean– seriously, leaves?” 

“Well, yeah.” Tieguai Li grins. “Tha’s the point, ya see. Ya suit stupid. An’ besides, s’ a good look on ya. Th’ leaves work well wit’ th’ whole outfit, an’ th’ persimmon of th’ robes complements yer skin. Damn, I knew m’ eye is good, but this is on a whole new level o’ good.” 

“I don’t know if I feel more grateful or offended right now.” Zhongli Quan grumbles. “Oh, and another thing. The neckline for the inner robe, it’s–” 

“ –Exactly how I asked fer it t’ be.” Tieguai Li cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. “‘S exactly meant t’ be worn like that, son. It’s been a hunch on my part, an’ once again, Lao Li is always right. Wit’ the beads over yer chest, it jus’ creates th’ perfect direction lines fer the eyes t’ follow. We’re goin’ fer that fer this look. Oh, an’ here.”

Tieguai Li throws something towards Zhongli Quan. He catches it on instinct, before he realises that the older man had thrown him his own old rattan fan. “Why’d you throw me this?” 

“T’ complete th’ look, obviously.” Tieguai Li replies, and he sounds completely serious. The older man pushes himself off the wall and walks closer, casting him a squinted look as his gaze flicks over him critically. Zhongli Quan tries to not cross his arms over himself under the watchful eye. “Hmm. Yes, th’ fan definitely brings everythin’ together. Now ya got th’ colours, ya got the stylin’, ya got th’ accessories, an’ th’ fan ties it all up into a perfect silhouette indeed.”

“Perfect silhouette?!” Zhongli Quan squawks. “For what?!” 

“Why, fer the new tactic I’m about’ta teach ya, of course.” Tieguai Li’s eyes glint with wicked amusement. “Tell me, boy-o, d’yu remember th’ story o’ they defeated Dong Zhuo and Lü Bu, back in th’ days before th’ Three Kingdoms came about?” 

Zhongli Quan has a very bad feeling that he knows where this is going. He knows, because he’d read about it before. “…Yes?” 

Tieguai Li’s grin only widens at his words, and the older man clicks his fingers together approvingly. “Tha’s good. Saves me th’ trouble o’ explaining what we’re learnin’ fer the next week, then. Now follow me, son, we got a lotta ground t’cover.”

–

“Remember what we discussed two weeks ago.” Tieguai Li murmurs to him. They’re in the market square again today for one specific reason, and they’ve already picked out his target for the day. “Don’t hesitate, kid, an’ jus’ let yerself carry through the momentum.”

Zhongli Quan takes a deep breath as they maintain a steady pace behind the target. “Right.” 

“Ya still remember what ya gotta do?” 

“Distract the target.” Zhongli Quan recites to himself. In his hand, he twirls the single chopstick between his fingers — something he’d figured out how to do a while back thanks to his own boredom. It’s a good outlet for the nervousness that buzzes under his skin, and it means that he doesn’t fidget as much when he’s watching his targets.  “Lead them towards the village plaza because it’ll be less crowded, then use the distraction to knock the hairstick loose, then get the hell away before the other guy can notice that anything is off.” 

“Very good.” Tieguai Li pats him once encouragingly from where he walks next to him. “Ya got this, son. Meet me at tha’ pagoda tree when yer done.” The older man pats him one more time on the shoulder – with his walking stick this time, before turning around and walking off, leaving Zhongli Quan to continue tracking the target — a visiting nobleman that they’d been keeping track of for the past few days with an exquisitely carved mahogany hairstick that pins his hairdo into place. It’s not too thin, and fairly noticeable, making it the perfect choice for Zhongli Quan to once again try his aim and replace tactic on. His own words from two weeks ago echo in his ear as he walks, and he tries to repeat them in his head as he slowly keeps pace with the nobleman who’s currently walking about a hundred and fifty paces away. 

The whole operation is a chain, he tells himself, trying to feel the movements out in his head, a chain of three parts. Don’t think of it as three individual actions, think of it as one, continuous flow of movement. It has to be continuous. 

He imagines himself walking past the nobleman, quickly playing out the scenario in his head. He imagines lifting a hand as he brushes past his back, flicking his arm from elbow to wrist to release the chopstick in his hands so that it lands perfectly on the centre of the hairstick’s thinner end. He imagines walking past after that, intercepting the prize smoothly as the chopstick slips neatly into place to replace the hairstick while leaving the target non-the-wiser. Between his fingers, he continues to twirl the chopsticks, flicking it about this way and that as he mentally prepares himself to finally pull off the aim and replace. It’s really a good way to relieve the pent-up energy within him, for he can now channel his focus into twirling the chopstick instead of thinking about the ten different ways his attempt can probably go wrong again. 

He follows the nobleman for a few seconds longer before he deems himself ready, and then it is time to go. 

Zhongli Quan takes one more deep breath to psyche himself up before he reaches into the small pouch fixed onto his new sash that wraps around the ridiculous leaf outer sash. It’s a sack of rock that he’d collected that morning, of which he now takes one out with his free hand. The goal is to lure the man from the current direction that he’s going in, meaning that he has to figure out the best way to aim the stones in a way that’ll get him to walk in the direction Zhongli Quan wants him to walk in, which means…

Zhongli Quan flicks a stone towards the nobleman. The small pebble hits him square on the shoulder. He ducks out of view behind another person just as the man stumbles, likely from the surprise of the impact, and looks up. 

He watches as the man shrugs and resumes his walking when he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, then angles his body towards the right and starts walking in a new direction. Zhongli Quan counts to fifty under his breath, before releasing another small pebble, this time hitting the man on the other shoulder, who once more stumbles from the impact and looks up again. He quickly slows down his pace to walk behind another person yet again, but he sees the confusion wafting off of the man as he tries to find out what had hit him. He doesn’t, obviously, because Zhongli Quan is still safely hidden from view thanks to the bustling crowd that’s currently going about their day. 

The man shakes his head again, seemingly more agitated this time, before stalking off. Now that his attention has been sufficiently roused, Zhongli Quan hurries to follow along, once more counting to fifty before he throws out the decisive, third pebble. This is the one meant for bait, and it’s much riskier than the previous two — he keeps to the man’s right, and watches as the pebble hit the man’s shoulder from that same side instead of the back, leaving him with a very small window of time to duck out of view before the man catches sight of him, and he slips through the cover of the crowd until he’s once again to facing the man’s back.

The bait seems to have been successful, however, as he watches the way the nobleman stalks down the direction he’d thrown the stone in — in the direction of a pair of looming pillars that Zhongli Quan had just been at, which separates the market square from the village plaza, and the exact place where he wants him in. 

Zhongli Quan spares himself a single moment to marvel at how he’d succeeded in baiting the person before he carefully slips out from the cover of the crowd to follow the man, and the moment the man breaks free from the heaviest of the crowd, Zhongli Quan sees his chance. Pivoting on his feet, he quickly estimates another hundred paces between himself and the man before he starts walking towards him. The bait had done its work, for the nobleman seems to be oblivious to everything else right now except his desire to find out who had been throwing stones at him. This leaves Zhongli Quan with ample time and space to get into his seventy paces range, and for him to smoothly release the chopstick that he’d been twirling in his hand this entire while, elbow-to-wrist, just as Tieguai Li had said. 

The lone stick soars through the air without much obstacle, thanks to how much fewer people there are at this intersection compared to the market. Zhongli Quan picks up his pace, his eyes never leaving the stick’s trajectory as he prepares himself for the interception. He watches as the chopstick hits its mark on the thinner end of the hairstick. He watches as the hairstick slides out from the nobleman’s hair smoothly, then as the chopstick settles seamlessly into the place the hairstick has once been. After that, it’s just a matter of keeping up his pace as he brushes past the back of the still-oblivious nobleman, lifting his hand quickly…

…and catching the flying hairstick perfectly between two fingers. 

His heart skips a few beats in shock when he feels the smooth wood in his hands, but he’s not in the clear yet — not in the middle of the open with all eyes around him. Zhongli Quan quickly tucks the mahogany stick quickly into the folds of his new outer robe, and hurriedly walks away, rejoining the thick of the crowd before the man can have a chance to figure out what's happened to him. Only when he’s back to safely weaving between through the throng of people does Zhongli Quan let himself widen his eyes. He stares at his sleeve, the one that currently holds the mahogany hairstick, and lets himself bask in the shock of it all for a few moments. 

“Oh, my god.” He whispers to himself, half in disbelief, and half in awe. He feels a wave of slowly-mounting excitement creep into his body that leaves him somewhat giddy as he continues to stare wide-eyed at his sleeve. “I…did it. I did it? I did it.” 

Zhongli Quan whips the prize out from within his sleeve — the mahogany hairstick with intricately carved cloud patterns etched into it, and stares at it in disbelief. This up close, the hairstick looks even finer than when he’d been looking at it from afar. He lets himself admire the way every grain of wood on the stick seemingly glimmers in the morning sun of the market square. He admires the feel of it, the way it’s smooth to the touch, and very, very light. It’s no doubt an exquisite hairstick, but more importantly, it’s an exquisite hairstick that he’d finally managed to get his hands on using the aim and replace tactic. 

The excitement comes in faster now at the sudden realisation that dawns on him, and Zhongli Quan tries not to feel too giddy as he wastes no time to hurry towards the meeting spot that Tieguai Li had mentioned earlier. He sees the man from a distance away leaning under the shade of Yongle’s pagoda tree, picks up his pace almost involuntarily, and quickly covers the rest of the way with footsteps that barely conceal the euphoric accomplishment that courses through him. As he approaches the older a, he can’t quite help the large grin that breaks out onto his face. 

“Guess what I got, old man!” Zhongli Quan declares, and tosses the mahogany hairstick clutched within his hands straight towards Tieguai Li triumphantly. “I did it! I followed what we discussed two weeks ago, and I got it! He didn’t even suspect a thing! Well, he did, but he suspected the stones that I threw. And then I got it!” 

Tieguai Li intercepts the hairstick with his walking stick, twirling the item around with it for a few moments before he drops it into his hand. The older man looks from the hairstick to Zhongli Quan, and he watches as a wide grin breaks onto his face as he throws the stick back towards him with a flourish. 

“Nice goin’, son!” The redheaded man grins at him, and comes up to clap him heartily on the shoulder. “What’d I tell ya? Practice, an’ ya’d get it eventually. An’ ya’ did get it eventually, didn’t ya? Tell me, whad’d ya do t’ get it?” 

“I used the stones we picked up this morning.” Zhongli Quan explains as they begin walking away. “Got his attention with two of them, then used the third one to get him to where I wanted him to be, and then everything else just…kinda fell into place and then all I had to do was to just— throw, and then everything else worked out as it should’ve! Lao Li, oh my god, I did it.” 

“That ya did, son.” Tieguai Li grins at him, and there’s a look in his eyes that Zhongli Quan cannot quite decipher as he reaches out to pat him on the shoulder one more time, one that brightens up the older man’s whole face that makes him look just a little less rough than he usually does. “That ya did.” 

—

—

It only seems to get easier after that.

Pickpocketing, stealing, breaking and entering, all the knowledge regarding them slowly, but surely, gains a permanent foothold within Zhongli Quan’s mind. It’s almost a little surprising how quickly he takes to the rest of the tactics that Tieguai Li teaches after the aim and replace tactic, like a fish t’ th’ water, as the older man had then jokingly called it. In addition to aim and replace, Zhongli Quan learns a few more tricks from Tieguai Li — Triple Switcheroo, Fan Distraction, and Double Deceivement. Perhaps still soaring from the high of finally grasping Aim and Replace, he’d mastered all three of them within the next two weeks, to the surprise of even Tieguai Li himself. 

Zhongli Quan’s also been dabbling in the art of disguises recently, and it’s a little something on the side that he’s been experimenting on his own in addition to their daily routine. It’s a slow going process, and he’s more than a little confused about the different forms of disguises that he can work with, but his efforts had been so worth it when he’d slipped back into the alcove one night and had given Tieguai Li the fright of his life disguised in his first ever trial version of Zhong Hanli. 

“Tha’s what ya have been workin’ on fer th’ past two weeks?!” Tieguai Li had yelled, amidst Zhongli Quan’s triumphant laughing at having finally managed to catch the man off-guard after close to six months of knowing him. “Boy, ya look like ya crawled out from th’ diyu an’ got an allergic reaction wit’ th’ dirt on yer way out!” 

“That’s a very exaggerated way to insult my new friend.” Zhongli Quan had frowned in offence. “Zhong Hanli does not look that bad.” 

“An’ of all th’ names ya come up with fer an alias, ya choose th’ most uninspired way t’ go about doin’ it.” Tieguai Li sighs and shakes his head. “Seriously, kid, Zhong Hanli?” 

“I mean,” Zhongli Quan shrugs, “I’d debated between Zhong Hanli, Han Zhongli, Han Liquan and Quan Zhonghan. I think Zhong Hanli sounds the nicest.” 

“They’re all terrible.” Tieguai Li deadpans. “An’ ya better never show yer face like this around this place again unless ya get better at yer art of disguise. I’m beggin’ ya, son, reduce th’ swellin’ on yer Zhong Hanli’s face before I whack it off.” 

“Zhong Hanli’s face isn’t that bad!”

Life largely remains the same after that. They make their rounds every day, through the market, through the streets, and sometimes even through the restaurants or the shops if they’re feeling particularly adventurous on the day. They still use the items to pawn for food, and they continue to live within the walls of Anyu Bathhouse. Sometimes, Zhongli Quan takes Zhong Hanli out for test runs to see if his new disguise research yields the results that he wants. Those are the days Tieguai Li refuses to go out with him, citing secondhand embarrassment and feelin’ insulted jus’ by lookin’ at him. Rude. 

All things considered, it’s…surprisingly nice. It’s routine, and it’s simplicity, something that Zhongli Quan hasn’t had since his earlier years at Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy. It’s an unscrupulous way of living, and it’s everything that Zhongli Quan has never wanted to become, but slowly, he grows used to it. Some days, after a particularly excellent haul that lets them take it easy for the next few days afterwards, he finds that he likes it, this path of thieving and cheating and lying. He’s getting good at the trade, after all, thanks to everything that he’s been learning from Tieguai Li, and save for a few slip-ups here and there, he hasn’t been caught at all during this period of time. The memory of getting thrown into prison for stealing baozi, something that seemed to have happened only a short while ago, is a very distant one in his mind by now, and Zhongli Quan thinks to himself that he is proud about that fact. 

It’s easy to convince himself of this on most days, and especially on good days, that he’s happy with the progress he’d made under Tieguai Li, that he’s pretty proud of how far he’d come since his days of starvation and aimlessness, because he is. He likes having a roof over his head. He likes having goals to work towards, even if goals in this case means the next thieving tactic or job they have to handle. Most of all, he likes the little alcove behind the walls of Anyu Bathhouse that he returns to every night, and he likes to rest with the feeling that he’s not alone, not with Tieguai Li’s loud snores at night and penchance of throwing random things at him when he least expects it. 

Sure, he needs to actively remind himself to think these good thoughts, but that’s fine. It’s tiring, but the results pay off. It puts him in a bubble of carefully-curated good mood that prevents him from thinking too hard about the life that he leads or the reminder of the kind of person that he’s become, after all, which grounds him to the current moment and gets him through every day. Sure, it means that he cannot afford to slip up maintaining these good thoughts, but it isn’t a problem on most days, anyway. Most days are good days, and good days maintain the good thoughts within his mind. 

But unfortunately, most days are not all days. 

Just as there are the good days, so too are there the bad days. And, as Zhongli Quan has come to find out, the longer he spends hiding within this bubble of carefully-curated good mood, the more brittle it becomes. The more brittle this bubble becomes, the more susceptible it is to bursting. And when that bubble eventually, inevitably pops, every ugly thing that it shields him from, every bad day and dark thought that it staves off will hit him, and that torrent will always hit him hard. 

It’s raining again today when he wakes up. He hears it before he even opens his eyes. He registers the heavy chill permeating the alcove through his blankets before anything else, and he already knows that today will not be a good day. 

He lets himself blink awake blearily, and somehow manages to summon enough energy to tilt his head slightly towards the other side of the room. It’s hard to tell what the time is in the dimness of the alcove, but it doesn’t really matter to him, not with the tide of lethargy and dull ache that always engulfs his body whenever it rains. In the alcove, buried under his blanket, he’s trapped in the confines of a single moment by the muted roar of the rain, after all. Time doesn’t matter. All he knows is the never-ending cycle of waking up for an indistinct amount of time before falling asleep. It seems to be happening a lot recently, but it also seems to be raining a lot, too, recently. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t think that he can bring himself to care, because it doesn’t matter. 

What does matter is the distinct lack of snoring that should be filling the air and the conspicuous lack of rustling fabric in the alcove that indicates that he’s not alone, and he gets his answer a second later when he sees that the other bedroll on the opposite side of the room has already been rolled up. There’s a distinct lack of a walking stick leaning against the wall, and the silhouette of the giant gourd that usually sits against the corner of the alcove is missing as well. Despite the numbness that drapes around him, he feels his heart twist at the realisation of the sight. 

Tieguai Li is gone. 

He always seems to be gone recently from the moment Zhongli Quan blinks awake, and only seems to come back right before he drifts off. The only reason he knows that the older man comes back at all is from the sound of the familiar knock, knock, knocking of a walking stick against wood and the shuffle of Tieguai Li’s hobbling gait that will reach his ears just as he’s being dragged by his own mind back into uneasy slumber. Sometimes he doesn’t hear it at all. 

You know why it happens. 

The curse within him comes to life. It always does when the rain comes, arousing from its perpetual slumber and whispering words of vitriol against his ear to the tandem of the percussion of the rain. It takes on the voice of Donghua today, and he has to shut his eyes against the instinctual surge of memories of wind pulling him in, heavenly fury that splits the sky explosion of pain wretched rat that will be scorned and despised by all at the voice that haunts his every moment. 

He has nowhere to hide from them — he’s never been able to hide from them, not back then when the rain had robbed his life away, and not right now even as he’s buried under blankets and curled tightly into the darkest corner of the alcove that he can find. His eyes burn, but he doesn’t have the capacity to cry, not since the rain had stolen away his ability to shed tears. 

You know why Tieguai Li is gone, Zhongli Quan, it hisses at him again, ice-cold and hard like the way shifu’s voice had been that afternoon. You know as well as I do that what you have wouldn’t last. 

Go away, he tries to think, but he knows that it’s for naught. Not when his bubble is broken, and not when the only other thing he can register in his mind is the relentless, mocking staccato of rain. He tries to shut his eyes tighter, tries his best to bury himself under the blanket wrapped around him, but it does nothing to shield him from the ceaseless barrage of words being thrown towards him within his own mind. 

You think that he’s actually going to stick around for you? You think he’s actually serious about your so-called ‘deal’? Donghua’s voice is mocking. Look around you, Zhongli Quan. Do you see him here? Do you see him anywhere around? 

The empty corner of the alcove feels like an open wound against his back. Donghua right, after all. There’s no movement in the alcove at all, no indication at all that the other man is in, because he’s not. He’s gone, as he always is recently, and his breath stutters painfully in his chest at the reminder. He doesn’t know why Tieguai Li had taken to disappearing so much recently. He doesn’t know why the older man suddenly doesn’t want to be around him any longer. He doesn’t know—

You know! Donghua roars in his ear, and he flinches from the volume of it. You know why, Zhongli Quan! You know it, just like you know why I cast you out! It’s inevitable for him to leave, and you know it. But just like the curse I set on you, you simply refuse to see it. 

“But it’s not,” he chokes out weakly, against a painfully constricted throat, and tries to shut his eyes even tighter, “it’s not. It’s not.” 

It is. Donghua sneers. Just as it’s inevitable for you to be cast out of my school. You’re too much, Zhongli Quan. You screw up too much because of what you think is right. Look around you — who have you not screwed over because of your own actions?

He heaves out a dry sob at the reminder. Donghua and his cold fury. Lingyao’s kindness and the way he’d only repaid him with grief. Ouyang Ziqing’s and so many others’ deaths because he’d refused to take his curse seriously. Bridges burnt or dead, it doesn’t matter, because it’s his fault. It’s always his fault, in the end, isn’t it? His whole life is a lesson on how he’s only ever been wrong. He chooses wrong. He believes in the wrong things, and screwed himself over because he believed in the wrong things.  

It will always be your fault. Donghua continues, relentlessly. You want to know why the old man isn’t here, Zhongli Quan? It’s because of you. Your actions or something you said, it doesn’t matter. Maybe he finally sees you for who you are, for the wretched, hypocritical being that you are.  

Outside, the rain falls harder, as if voicing its agreement to Donghua. His own body flares up in pain in tandem with the cacophonous sound. 

It hurts, doesn’t it? Donghua says, sounding almost sympathetic. To be confronted with the truth? To know that you’re always the reason you drive people away? What makes you think you hadn’t already done something that’s already driven the old man away? 

He feels another dry sob tear from his throat. There’s no respite from the voice that shakes him to his core because he knows that it’s right. He will always choose the wrong path, after all. He always chooses wrong. He doesn’t trust himself — can’t trust himself, not after everything that’s happened. He can’t trust that he hasn’t already done something to inevitably piss off Tieguai Li, nor can he trust that he wouldn’t eventually do something to mess up the fragile simplicity that he’s found for himself in this alcove. He’s already done it once when he chose to use the Yujing jar and destroyed his stability at Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy, after all. What’s to say that he wouldn’t do it again here even if it’s accidental instead of intentional this time? 

There’s no reason for him to stay on now, after all, not after he’s already shown you everything there is to show. Donghua murmurs, There’s no obligation anymore, nothing to keep him from simply leaving should he wish to. 

It’s a terrifying thought, being left behind again. What will happen to him if Tieguai Li doesn’t come back from his bout of absence this time? What’ll happen to him if he’s thrown out from the alcove eventually, for whatever reason, the same way he’d been expelled from Zhongnan Summit Sect Academy that fateful afternoon? If he’s told to leave and never come back, if Tieguai Li casts him the same, scornful look as shifu had and told him he’s no longer welcome? If he’s once again left to drift alone endlessly, lost in the harsh sea of the world? Can he handle being thrown out a second time from a place he’s grown to feel safe in? Will he be able to survive it, that inevitable grief of losing his direction for a second time? 

There is only one way for you to avoid that sort of grief, Zhongli Quan, as I’ve told you before. Donghua sighs at him. The only way is for you to leave. Leave it all behind, and you will never need to know this pain, as you should’ve done all those years ago if you hated it so much at my sect and hated learning under my hypocrisy. 

“But I didn’t hate it,” he whispers, fruitlessly, numbly, and thinks of his righteous, misplaced anger that hadn’t been worth it, that had damned him for life, “I didn’t hate Zhongnan Summit. I don’t hate it.” 

And that’s why being cast out hurt you, even if you deny it. Donghua replies coldly. As it will no doubt hurt you when you’re eventually, inevitably cast out from these walls for your inevitable mistakes. You won’t be able to withstand that feeling a second time, Zhongli Quan, and that’s why I keep telling you, that’s why we keep telling you.

Donghua’s voice, or the curse, or his own mind echoes in his ears, again, and again, and again. Neither the chill in the alcove nor the roar of rain outside provides him any respite from the harsh, scornful voice that rings out all around him.

You need to do it, Zhongli Quan. It repeats with a pitying whisper, over and over. You need to leave. 

–

The market square is unusually abuzz with activity when Zhongli Quan finishes his round of practice pickpocketing for the day. 

He’s alone today, because Tieguai Li had mentioned that he’s meeting a contact for…something, and will be gone for the whole day. He hadn’t caught the details, because those words had stung him for reasons unbeknownst to even himself, and he’d brusquely brushed off the older man before he could finish speaking and then stormed out from the alcove. It’s…not his proudest moment, and he’s not even sure why he’d been so upset about it. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t seen Tieguai Li for more than ten minutes at a time these past few weeks, or maybe it’s because he still remembers the words that the curse had whispered to him a while back. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. He doesn’t know. 

What he knows is that he doesn’t like it, this newfound tension that seems to have settled between the two of them after the monsoon in Yongle had finally blown over. It’s heavy, wrought with unacknowledged grievances, and more often than not is the reason Zhongli Quan finds himself reacting less-than-spectacularly to anything that Tieguai Li says recently, especially if it’s in regards to having him make his rounds on the streets alone, or if it’s just anything related to him doing things alone. 

They hadn’t spoken much at all recently because of it either, and the silence sits uncomfortably heavy on Zhongli Quan’s chest. He can probably count the number of sentences they’d exchanged within the past week on one hand, and while he isn’t proud of himself for his behaviour, he can’t bring himself to talk about what’s going on regarding his thoughts on the whole…issue, despite Tieguai Li’s prodding, which only serves as yet another point of contention between the two of them. 

Needless to say, Zhongli Quan hasn’t exactly been in the best of moods recently. It really doesn’t help that this sudden conflict that has risen up between them only seemed to strengthen the voice that had been getting louder and louder within his mind since the rainy days had ended, the same voice that he’d successfully managed to ignore up until the accursed monsoon, telling him that he needs to leave, because it’s so clear that the goodwill that Tieguai Li had been extending to him for what must be over eight months by now is slowly but surely depleting. He tries ignoring it as he always does, but he finds that he can’t, not after the monsoon, and with the tension bleeding between them, he’s all the more powerless against the voice telling him to leave before things end up inevitably escalating even more between them. 

He doesn’t want to burn bridges with Tieguai Li — he’s grateful for all that he’s taught him, after all, and for all that he’s done to help him find some modicum of direction in his life again, even if that hadn’t been the older man’s plan when he’d offered to teach him in the first place. It is also precisely because he doesn’t want things between them to fall beyond the realm of repair that Zhongli Quan knows that he has to leave, before their current conflict can devolve into something worse, and before he ends up suffering for it again. Things already seem to be headed that way, he thinks, so he knows that he doesn't have much time.

There’s only one pretty glaring problem to this newfound resolve of his  — namely that Zhongli Quan doesn’t know where he can even go if he leaves. He’d ideally want to avoid Tieguai Li, but that man has connections, and is quite well-travelled. He’d been regaled enough travelling tales by Tieguai Li to know this, and that’s a problem if he wants to keep out of his way for at least a good few…months? Years? He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t want to potentially run into the man’s contacts, either, especially because he knows that they know who he is. Tieguai Li takes great pleasure in telling them about how they met, after all, and his contacts are scattered all across the jianghu. It’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, but Zhongli Quan really doesn’t want to take the chance of running into either them or him, especially since he’s the one taking off. For a good reason on his part, yes, but he doesn’t quite want to know how pissed Tieguai Li is going to be when he does eventually find out that his retirement fund — the sole reason he’d taken him under his wing in the first place — had simply ended up running off after eight months. 

If he leaves, he’ll likely need to find somewhere that few people have ever heard of, and even that isn’t a guarantee that he won’t still eventually cross paths with Tieguai Li. He’d need to find somewhere distant, somewhere remote, somewhere…not easily accessible? But save for the Heavenly Realm and Penglai, he doesn’t quite know if such a place even exists within the Three Realms. Penglai is a good option, given how difficult it is to get in, but the only way to get into Penglai is to wait for its annual Gate Opening, and he doesn’t know when that’ll happen.

And so, here he is now — circling around the market square as he wonders what he should do. 

Zhongli Quan tucks his old rattan fan into his coat with a sigh, and simply decides to let his legs drag him wherever they want as he lets his mind wander. The streets of Yongle are bustling at this hour, as it always is thanks to its steady prosperity, and he soon finds himself walking along a road lined with eateries and small restaurants. He thinks that he sees the restaurant where he’d once stolen his first baozi from, the one that had gotten him thrown into prison eight months ago where he’d subsequently made Tieguai Li’s acquaintance. It’s still there now, with its welcoming strings of lanterns and wooden, carved boards hanging all around displaying its menus and promotions. 

He vaguely entertains the idea of trying again. Would the outcome be different this time if he were to steal another baozi from the establishment using his newly-learned skills? Maybe he can be more ambitious about it this time — maybe he’ll take a whole basket instead, maybe leave a cheeky letter for the establishment’s owner like what that new thief who’s been circulating the news recently allegedly does on their targets. What’s their name, again? Wuchang…something something? He hasn’t really been keeping up with the comings and goings of the jianghu. 

…Zhongli Quan really isn’t in the mood to do it today, though. That short argument that he’d had with Lao Li this morning had done wonders to sour his mood today. 

To think that he’d be back here again eight months later a completely different person than the one who’d once stumbled through this street, contemplating the schematics of how to leave the very person who’d helped him become his current self. How ironic. His life truly is a joke, isn’t it? 

He chases the thought away as quickly as it’d come. It’s not like that, he reasons internally. He’s leaving for the good of everyone involved. This is the best way to preserve whatever goodwill that Tieguai Li still has of him and vice versa, so is it really that bad of a thing for him to leave? He wouldn’t have contemplated it without good reason, after all, and as much as he doesn’t like to think about it, it probably wouldn’t even be that big of a deal to Tieguai Li in the long run. Sure, the old man’ll be angry he left, but he’ll come around after a few years, right? 

Zhongli Quan continues down the street. It’s a good evening today, which means that the restaurants have opened up all their outdoor seating for their patrons. Snippets of their conversations from all around float into the lively atmosphere of the street, and he finds himself unconsciously listening in to his surroundings to see if he can pick up anything interesting and of note for himself. 

“Did you hear? The Gate Opening ceremony started two days ago! Yingtian sent out the news two days ago!” 

Zhongli Quan pauses in his footsteps. That had come from the table a few paces back — belonging to a a group of what looked to be friends who’re currently hunched over one of the tables. The person who’d spoken looked young, and her voice is brimming with excitement. “I hear they’re accepting more applications this year.” 

“What, seriously?” Another person at the table scoffs. That one’s a slightly scruffled man who looks…Zhongli Quan isn’t sure. He’s never quite gotten very good at reading people. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to apply for Penglai citizenship again. How many years in a row have you failed already?” 

“W-well!” The woman splutters. “There’s never any harm to try again, is there? Who knows, maybe I’ll get it this time! You’ll see!” 

“You know what they say,” a third woman pipes up, sounding bored, “under all that glitz and glamour, Penglai’s a really difficult society to find a foothold in. Trust me, I’d know. You’re seriously better off trying to start your business here in the mortal realm, Xiangjie. I’m serious.” 

Curiosity sufficiently piqued, Zhongli Quan backtracks, coming to a stop right next to the table where the interesting conversation is taking place. He plucks his fan out from his coat again and uses it to wave to the group as he approaches them. 

“Sorry, apologies, fellow friends.” He says, moulding his voice into one of slight embarrassment and intrigue. “I really don’t mean to interrupt, but I can’t help but to overhear that the…Gate Opening ceremony started two days ago?” Turning back to the first woman — Xiangjie — who had spoken, he continues. “That was what you said, right?”

“Oh, yes!” Xiangjie perks up visibly, despite the twin scowls from her friends, likely from his intrusion on their dinner table. “Good sir, are you applying for Penglai citizenship too?” 

“Something like that.” Zhongli Quan replies vaguely with a wave of his hands. “Do you…perhaps know what it entails? I’ve only heard of it before in passing, see, so I’m not too sure what the whole…ceremony thing is about.” 

“Oh, it’s a whole process.” Xiangjie sighs. “You need to have your papers ready even before Yingtian spreads the news, because the queues fill up so fast! There’s also, like, three thousand paperwork forms that you need to fill in before you’re even accepted into the waitlist, and after that it’s just…a waiting game, I guess, unless you luck out and get a reply. I submitted mine two days ago, but if you haven’t already submitted your forms, you’re probably not likely to make it in.” 

“Well, alright.” That truly sounds like a hassle, and Zhongli Quan probably wouldn’t have done all that, anyway. “Er, would you happen to know anything about how one gets there, though?” 

“There’re two ports that connect to Penglai, Fuzhou and Quanzhou, that set off eight days after the Gate Ceremony begins.” The other woman says, much to his surprise. “There’re these really fancy boats there that’ll ferry you there. You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em, they’re the only ones who can pass through the realmly wards separating Penglai from the other realms.” 

“You sound like you’ve seen them.” Zhongli Quan can’t quite help but to point out thoughtfully. 

“I’m a Penglai citizen.” The woman deadpans, before gesturing to the table around her. “I came back to visit my friends. And as I was telling my friend here before you showed up, don’t bother. It’s almost impossible to get accepted into Penglai. Just enjoy life here, man. You’ll have lesser things to worry about.” 

If only things were that simple, Zhongli Quan thinks to himself ruefully, but still smiles at her nonetheless. He’s gotten all the information that he needs, after all, and he knows what he needs to do next now. Yongle is about three days away from Quanzhou, after all. With a bit of luck and if he leaves before the next day, he’ll be able to get there early, and then figure out how to get aboard one of those ships going into Penglai without being noticed by anyone. He’ll probably need to disguise himself and do a little bit of homework…but it’s possible. As long as Penglai’s gates are open, he’ll be able to enter them. He doesn’t know how he feels about this sudden bit of luck that’s struck him, but he’s not going to complain about it. 

“Well, thank you for your concern, ma’am.” He grins at the woman, before nodding at Xiangjie and giving everyone at the table a courtesy bow. “Good luck with your citizenship applications! May we meet again on the jianghu, fellow friends.” 

“Who’s that guy, anyway?” He hears the man mutter as he’s sauntering off. “You think someone like him can make it into Penglai? Please.” 

It’s a little surreal, he thinks to himself, as he retraces his steps down the now-familiar pathways and makes his way back to Anyu Bathhouse, how the information of what he’d needed had simply just…appeared when he’d needed it. He has a plan now, or the beginnings of one, and he knows what he needs to do. 

Something still stirs within him, something that feels like hesitation and reluctance at actually following through with this newfound resolve of his. Is he being a little hasty, maybe? Is he being a little impulsive to leave everything that he’s become familiar with in the past eight months, just like that? The hesitation gnaws at him as he walks, and it forces him to slow down. He doesn’t really want to leave, after all, not really. A part of him shudders at the thought, at needing to take off once again to face the world on his own, again, like those long months when he’d drifted from village to village with no direction, no plan, and barely any hope. 

But it’ll be different this time, won't it? There’s nothing holding him back from doing….what needs to be done now. He’s not useless, not anymore, and even though leaving the alcove and everything else behind means that he will once again be back to having no direction and no plan, perhaps he’ll be able to think of something this time. Improvise and adapt to change, right? He can do that, can’t he? Besides, he’ll be in Penglai. It’s a completely new place, after all, and a completely new realm for him to figure things out. It can’t be worse than the mortal realm. 

Whatever that’s bad with Penglai, it can’t be worse than what he’s already gone through, can it? Nobody has turned their backs on him in Penglai like Yongle had, yet he’d managed to stay here for eight months. Nobody in Penglai had stripped him down to the bone with their callous disregard and tore away the fundamental anchor of belief in his life like the mortal realm had, yet he’d lived here for all his life. He doesn’t know anybody in Penglai, and nobody there knows him either. It’s a blank state, as far as places go, and the chances of him accidentally running into Tieguai Li there will be much closer to zero compared to anywhere else.. He’ll…figure the rest out himself. Somehow, most likely. Hopefully. 

He just needs to leave, on his own terms, before things devolve even further between him and Lao Li and fall beyond repair like his relationship with his shifu had, after all. He had been too young to notice it back then, too blinded by his own foolish ideals and, hah, righteous endeavours, but the years leading up to the Yujing jar had, too, been rife with conflict and arguments between the two of them, not unlike what’s happening now between him and Lao Li. 

The difference this time, is that he’s noticed it, and he knows now that leaving will ultimately hurt less than any of the other alternatives that he can think of — being kicked out, or having something happen that’ll destroy whatever goodwill that Tieguai Li will have for him. The mere idea of eventually being thrown out from the small alcove that he’d grown to like over the past eight years makes his stomach churn. The idea of going back today, of seeing Tieguai Li, of arguing with the older man who’s no doubt getting more and more pissed at their whole conflict, of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong things and then seeing Tieguai Li standing just like Master Donghua had, eyes alight with that same cold fury as he booms out never come back here and turns his back on him makes him feel sick, with something like cold dread gripping his lungs at the mental imagery. 

Zhongli Quan shakes his head, somewhat desperately, and tries to clear his head and steel his resolve. That cannot happen. That will not happen now, because he’ll leave before it can happen. He knows it’s something that’ll eventually happen — because it will, because it’s Zhongli Quan with a cursed soul who will always do everything wrong — and he knows that what he’s doing are merely precautionary steps to prevent something like his fears from coming to pass for a second time. He’ll be salvaging a relationship, as well as his own sanity. It hurts, but for someone like Zhongli Quan who’s always been wrong, who’s held on to the wrong beliefs for his whole life and who hadn’t even been able to realise he is wrong until it’s quite literally blown up in his face, it is the only way if he wants to preserve everything that he likes from these eight months as much as possible. 

So yes, it hurts, but it can be worse. He has been through worse, and he is terrified of going through it again, of irreversibly screwing up his life for a second time. If he can prevent everything from repeating itself this time by simply taking the first step and ripping the bandages off, then he will gladly do so.

Zhongli Quan finds that it will have to be enough. 

—

Lao Li —

Hi. Uh, if you’re reading this, then I’ll already be well on my way to Jizhou by now. Don’t try to look for me (because I know you will) and also because that’s not my final stop. I’m not telling you where I’m going. Sorry. 

Look, I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly and for leaving without a warning, but it’s necessary. For you, for me, it’s for the best. I won’t apologise for my behaviour for the past few weeks because you’ll probably never accept them, but I’ll apologise for this instead and for how sudden it is. 

Sorry your retirement fund’s ran away, and I really hope you’ll find another one soon. Maybe we’ll see each other on the jianghu again, maybe we won’t, but either way, thank you for the last eight months, old man, and for teaching me your ways. Thanks for writing those manuals for me — I didn’t take them with me mainly because I have no more luggage space, not because I don’t like them, I promise. And thanks for letting me crash in your cosy alcove for eight months, it was nice. I also never really got around to saying this, too, but thank you for convincing me to leave that prison with you that day. I know you probably only saw it as a way to make money off of me which was why you even offered in the first place, but…it’d helped me. A lot. And I know you’ll probably not believe me, but it’s also because of this gratefulness that I need to leave. 

Anyway, yeah. We…probably will see each other again, unfortunately, because you go to places that I never expect you to go to. And I know you’re gonna be pissed, I’d be pissed too, really, but…try not to be too mad? Please. I know you like to fuck with people who you don’t like, but once again, I swear I’m not leaving for the reasons that you think I am. Thank you.

Please don’t pull your scare tactics on me,

Zhongli Quan

–

A bony hand picks the scrap of paper up from the floor that night — the floor is empty, save for all the handwritten manuals scattered upon it and the innocuous-looking letter that sits on the top of the pile. 

The larger half of the alcove has been completely cleared out. The bedroll is gone, as is the bundle of papers that the kid keeps next to his bed and the rattan fan that he’s told him to always carry on him because it adds to his flair. The pile of loot that the kid keeps is also gone, presumably part of the luggage that he’d mentioned in the letter, too.

”Fuckin’ dumbass,” he mutters to himself, and laughs somewhat humourlessly, “ya have space fer yer bracelets an’ not th’ manuals? Thought I taught ya t’ lie better than that.” 

The alcove is big. It’s only too big now, because he’d only carved out a small space for himself back when he’d first started to camp it out in this bathhouse. The space after the kid had expanded it is meant for two people, so in the presence of only one, the draft that fills the room is almost too much, and he feels the bite of the cold even through the layers of fabric that he wears. He glances around the darkened alcove, glances at the letter in his hands, and leans against the walls, suddenly feeling much more tired than he’d ever had in a long while. 

He’d anticipated this outcome, fortunately or unfortunately. He’d started to suspect that the kid is beginning to realise that he’s better off out there instead of being cooped up in the alcove with an old beggar when he’d first acted out all those weeks ago, after all. It’d only gotten worse in the past few weeks, and the kid had refused to say anything no matter how hard he tries to pry, so really, it’s pretty self-explanatory. He’d expected this outcome, and he knows why the dumbass had run off, no matter how much he tries to claim otherwise and cover it with apologies and half explanations in his shoddily written letter. 

Always know when t’cut yer losses an’ jus’ leave, kid. He’d taught that to the dumbass almost a month ago, right before the weeks of monsoon had hit, with the anticipation that he’d end up following through with it after a while. He thinks he just didn’t anticipate that it’ll be this soon, or for it to be this sudden. 

It’s fine, honestly. He hadn’t even been serious about the retirement fund shit, and he’s somewhat surprised the dumbass still believes it after eight months. He is pissed about the kid’s sudden decision to just up and leave, especially without any sort of warning, but more than that, he just feels…tired. It’s been a while since he’d actually felt his age, but he feels it now as it weighs heavily upon his frame in ways that the gourd he carries never manages to. 

The draft in the alcove seems to be getting worse the longer he sits there, and the alcove is quiet. Too quiet, in a way that he’d used to appreciate, but in a way that just feels unnatural now in the absence of the bumbling of another person. He can’t shrink it back to the size that it’d once been, which means that his time in this bathhouse has drawn to a close. He’ll leave tomorrow, maybe head over to Jizhou to see what’s so interesting there that the dumbass chose it as his first stop, and then…he’ll see. Maybe he’ll visit the tavern again — the first time in eight months, who would've thought — get the strongest drink he can get his hands on, and figure it out from there like he always does. 

”Yer’ a real piece of work, aren’t ya, kid.” He says, into the emptiness of the too-big alcove that is too quiet and too still. He glances at the letter again, and huffs out another dry laugh. “Runnin’ off an’ leavin’ without any prior warnin’? Such a far cry from th’ dumbass who refused t’ even set foot outta that dumb prison months ago.”

He tucks the letter carefully into his coat pocket and listens to the way it breaks the stillness of the alcove with its slight crinkling. It sounds similar to the rustling of the bundle of papers that the kid will peruse sometimes at night when he’s worked himself into a right mood and gets too-still and too-quiet. It sounds similar to the rustling of the manuals when he’d made the kid read through them after he failed to apply his lessons properly. It’s an echo of all those moments, one that just sounds hollow against his own ears now, and a ghost of something that’s already gone. 

“I guess it all lines up wit’ what I showed ya, though.” He murmurs, quietly. He closes his eyes against the empty alcove, and feels a tired smirk creep onto his face. “Breakin’ out, adaptin’ t’ change, improvisin’. S’ jus’ like the prisonbreakin’, ain’t it? Guess I taught ya well pretty well after all, Quan’er. I wish ya all th’ best out there.”

Around him, the alcove remains silent. 

—

—

~