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Chapter Text

~First Scar~

“Hey, Yao, what’s that little scar on your temple from?” Yao’s friend, Chen, asked curiously, wide eyes innocent and inquisitive. He always seemed to act like a child, but at this point Yao really couldn’t tell if it was because Chen actually acted like a child, or rather if Yao just saw him as such.

Even though they were both ‘the same age,’ according to every current legal document, at least, Chen always acted like Yao was older, wiser, and asked him questions like this surprisingly often. Though, sometimes Yao would actually answer with the truth, and then all he would get was a wide eyed glance, a brief thoughtful moment, followed by a flash of ‘realization,’ and topped off with an incredulous laugh and a fervent eye roll. Occasionally accompanied by a “Yao, your jokes are so creative!” or “Really, Yao, your tall tales get out of hand” sometimes even “Look, Yao, I know you study history and everything, but you’re taking things too far” and more recently “Seriously, Yao, you need to stop. This is getting old. I asked you a real question.”

At which point Yao would just lie, and that always ended up sounding like the truth, so he rolled with it. But he would be lying if he didn’t like messing with humans, especially ones he knew well.

He grinned, a mischievous glint coming to his eyes that made Chen visibly slump and sigh in what may be the universal sign for “oh no here we go.”

“ Well, Chen, I am so glad you asked, see I got this little bastard all the way back in…”

~ 212 BC ~

Under the Reign of Emperor Qin Shi Huang

The scholar was silent, awaiting his fate. He knew what was coming, had heard the whispers. He had whispered a few himself. It did not help, not one bit, when death brushed it’s rough, coarse lips across his ear and murmured to him.

The end approaches.

You cannot stop it.

Footsteps pounded outside his door. He heard a thunder in his ears, some sort of roar that would haunt his nightmares, however many he had left.

They are here.

You cannot run.

They surrounded him, the soldiers. They seized him roughly, hauling him from his seat, dragging him from his home. They left scattered papers and splattered ink in their wake, splintered wood and broken dishes.

This is the end.

See it?

You will soon.

The scholar was numb as he was hauled onto a cart, with others like him, those scholars who dared a word against their perfect emperor.

He was surrounded by those who dared to whisper.

And he would die among them.

If the scholar had not anticipated one thing, when imagining the grueling journey to the capital, to his imminent doom, it would be the loudly complaining man beside him. The loudly complaining man who, at the moment, seemed to have no grasp of how ominous there situation was, and instead was in the risky process of pestering one of the soldiers for some water, or a bite to eat.

The scholar couldn’t help but wonder if this man was insane. And, at least for a brief moment, what it meant that he was riding alongside him, obviously of the same kind, assuming this death march of theirs wasn’t taking any pit stops to drop off psychotic passengers.

Two hours and what felt like a lifetime or a second later, the scholar couldn’t tell, the Insane Scholar, as he had dubbed the man (because he was obviously a man of the same learning despite his, er, presumed mental state), turned to the scholar and decided to strike up a friendly, casual conversation.

You know, as if they weren’t going to their deaths.

“So, what’s your name, my friend?” the Insane Scholar asked, as nonchalant as if they were discussing the weather or the latest harvest.

The scholar barely even responded, he was so taken aback by the direct interaction. “Yin Chen,” he said, apprehension lacing his voice. “And yours?” Internally, Yin Chen cringed. Now he would have to keep up a conversation with this man.

“Wang Yao,” the man said happily. “And I’ll assume we both came to be riding this wonderful caravan by the same relative means, yes?” he inquired rather loudly. A soldier glared in their direction, eyes narrowing in warning.

“Sush,” Yin Chen hissed, focusing on the floor, “or you’ll earn yourself, and perhaps me,  an early death.”

“Hmm, I mean, is it not true that we will die anyway? What’s the harm?” the man, Wang Yao, asked. There may have been a grain of truth in his words, but that did not mean Yin Chen was ready for death. Not in the least.

“How so?” Chen asked, attempting to sound disinterested as he willed the soldier away.

“My friend, even if we die early, is it not true that whatever we would face here would seem to be soft cherry blossoms compared to what the emperor has awaiting us?” Wan Yao asked again, in that absurd, insane way of his. That absurd way, which, as Chen was starting to realize, held a vast amount of knowledge behind its ludicrous exterior.

If Chen were not in such a terrifying situation at the moment, he may have even called it worrying. Far too sharp, far too accurate, cutting straight to the truth. Dangerous.

“Just,” Chen struggled to keep his voice low as anger and fear surged through him, mutating into some mute form of raging panic. He took a deep breath. “Just, please, don’t provoke them. If not for your sake, for mine.” He had meant the last statement to be strong, urgent even, but it barely escaped his mouth, emerging as a strangled whisper.

Surprisingly enough, Wang Yao was silent for the remainder of the trip.

Each statement hit Yin Chen like an arrow, thudding into him with deadly accuracy, with force enough to knock him to his knees ten times over.

“The entirety of 460 scholars were found guilty of treason against the emperor.”

This is where whispers have lead you.

“In accordance with this atrocious act, all those involved shall be executed.”

This is your doom. Your oblivion. You see it, finally?

“On this day, 460 scholars will be buried alive.”

And your whispers will finally be smothered.

Die among the earth you came from.

“Wow, tough crowd,” Wang Yao muttered under his breath, leaning close to Chen’s ear. Yin Chen hurriedly jabbed his heel into Wang Yao’s toe, silencing him at the cost of a minute yelp. Wang Yao, wise, what had he been thinking earlier? It must have been exhaustion, or shock. The man before him now, making joking, not to mention highly treasonous, comments as they were being herded to their very graves , was simply and absolutely a lunatic!

The next few minutes were all of a blur, something that his mind likely filtered out due to the unreality of the moments leading up to one’s death. Was it like this, for the others? The next things Yin Chen’s mind registered were warm bodies, grating soil, and the constant scrape of hundreds of shovels.

He was being buried alive.

No matter what he may have said before then, no matter what defiance or acceptance had fleeted through his mind prior to this moment, Yin Chen was terrified. So terrified that, as he was being covered in dirt, packed in shoulder to shoulder and over top and under other scholars, that all traces of sanity left him. He began to struggle, thrashing so fruitlessly and violently that a grunt of pain, startlingly familiar, sounded from the body above him. Yin Chen stilled.

“Wang Yao…?” he asked hesitantly.

“Ow…” came the reply. “Did you really have to kick me? Your knees are bony.”

“Uh…” Yin Chen didn’t know how to respond. They were currently in the process of dying, the shovels persistently working to ensure that, but what else should Yin Chen have expected from Wang Yao?

“Hey, you!” a gruff voice barked from above, “await your death mutely, like a man.”

Clang!

Wang Yao had been closer to the surface of their soon-to-be mass grave than Yin Chen had thought.

Oh well, at least he would be spared the horror of a slow, suffocating death by that shovel that had knocked him out. Yin Chen only wished that could have been him.

As it was, Yin Chen’s head soon grew fuzzy, and his consciousness faded to whispers of shovels and earth.

Chapter Text

~First Scar~

Darkness. That was all he was aware of. Darkness, pressing around him like a leaden blanket, trapping him, pinning him, smothering him. Yin Chen couldn’t breathe, and as he slowly regained his senses, what few ones which were viable to use, at least, he became aware of another important detail.

He was alive.

And as that thought occurred to him, as that reality sank in, he felt his surroundings. Yin Chen felt the bodies under him, beside him, above him. Those bodies, that which earlier had been struggling with heat and breath and life, were still and unmoving. Yin Chen ventured to poke a finger at one beside him.

It was cold as ice.

He recoiled quickly. An atrocious smell hit his nostrils, making his eyes water, but he had enough presence of mind to keep his breathing steady and conserve what air was still trapped with him. Urine, feces, even the beginnings of decay berated his nose, and it was at that moment that a pressing question came to Yin Chen’s mind.

Why was he alive?

He had clearly been in here for some time. Enough time for every last one of the other 459 poor souls to die, and enough time for them to even begin to decay. How was there enough air for him to still be alive? Why had he not suffocated with the rest of them? Why? Why? Why?

Yin Chen’s mind raced so fast, so frantic, until he felt something move above him. He heard a rasp, the sound of cloth as it moved, felt warmth, a hand blindly touching his.

His mind froze.

“Yin Chen, is that you?” Wang Yao called out softly. Alive.

It shattered.

“Y-yes,” he whispered. “How…?” he managed to venture.

“I’m not sure, me or you?” There seemed to be a hint of amusement in Wang Yao’s voice. The amusement melted away as quickly as it had appeared, though, and his voice was steely with resolve. “I’ll tell you later- if we get out of this, that is.”

“What?” Yin Chen asked, perplexed. “ Get out? We’ll surely still die here, it’s simply a matter of time!”

“No.” Wang Yao reprimanded firmly. Yin Chen was taken aback by the certainty in his voice, that, and the sliver of hope in his mind that pierced the darkness of the mass grave like a crystalline dagger.

“We’ll survive this, my friend. Trust me. Now start digging.”

The guard, stationed at the edge of the castle wall, having overseen the mass burial the emperor had carried out nearly two days prior, was bored at the current inactivity he now faced during his watch. His armor pressed on him like a mound of rocks- he could not wait to be out of the sun. The leather he wore was beginning to chafe, and he was greatly uncomfortable.

The guard shifted a bit, rolling his neck in a pathetic attempt to prevent stiffness. It didn’t work, and he unhappily shifted his gaze to the dark wooden gate that would let him in, too long from now to be helpful, at all. The guard huffed frustratedly and turned back to the expanse of land in front of him…

And the two men who were stumbling towards him, some distance off.

They were covered in dirt and mud, with filthy ripped clothes, wild and unkempt hair, and a wealth of scuffs and cuts. One was even limping, leaning on the other with an arm around his shoulders and his long brown hair obscuring his face. The man stopped a moment and pulled his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. There was a large cut on his forehead, dripping blood into his eyes and staining his face with crimson rivulets, but the guard was focused on his eyes.

They were furious, burning with a fire of immeasurable intensity.

All of a sudden, a memory hit the guard like a raging bull. There was a fool, a scholar, that had been a nuisance at the burial, with his incessant quips and jokes. The guard had struck him in the head with a nearby shovel to shut him up and keep the job moving smoothly.

And that scholar, who had been executed by burial two days prior, was staring at the guard with a fury and a life that terrified him. He was faced with a monster.

The guard turned to the door swiftly and pounded the door with his fist.

“Summon his majesty!” he shouted.

Emperor Qin Shi Huang marched through the decadent halls of his palace, blinded to its brilliance by familiarity, urgency, and a vague sense of accomplishment. This was so preposterous, it might just be true! To think, what he was searching for had been right under his fingertips. But he couldn’t get ahead of himself. This had to be some sort of trick. For if this was such a deception,  someone would pay for the emperor’s inconvenience. With their life.

He barked an order at the guards, who then flung open the magnificent doors to the throne room. Two mud-caked men kneeled on the floor. The emperor bypassed his throne, instead choosing to stride up to the two men, standing barely feet away from them.

At that moment, the emperor came to two conclusions, and two convictions.

Emperor Qin prided himself on being able to judge others at first glance. One man before him, on the right, looked at him with narrowed eyes which masked a glint of fear, with a dirty but otherwise unharmed appearance, with an intelligence that spoke of years of experience, with the beautiful yet flawed face that anyone of brilliance was sure to have.

This man was the immortal.

The other man, on the other hand, at the immortal’s right, looked like he’d been through hell. His face had a large cut that had dripped blood all over his face, into his eyes, matting his hair. And he looked not at the emperor, but gazed dully at the wall behind him, the ceiling, the guards, all the while picking his nose.

This man, obviously, was not immortal. He did not have the intelligence, nor the unmarred appearance a being impervious to injury and death would. The emperor briefly entertained the thought that the dumb appearance of this one was simply an act. He dismissed it, though, as the subject of his observation proceeded to stick his finger in his mouth . Someone of power would have more dignity than that! The immortal must have taken a liking to him, like some sort of dumb pet dog, and decided to save him as well through some mysterious power of his.

The emperor knew exactly what he would do with these two.

“What are your names?” he asked imperiously.

“Y-Yin Chen,” the immortal said in a small voice.

“Wang Yao,” the dumb one said obtusely.

The emperor turned to Yin Chen. “You shall work for me, and provide me with the secret to life eternal.” The immortal man gaped like a fish, eyes widening in disbelief. “You shall be allowed to keep your dumb friend as well, as an assistant or whatever you would like to do with him. You are dismissed. Clean yourselves and get to work.”

Emperor Qin exited as abruptly as he entered, leaving the two men still kneeling on the floor, frozen with shock.

The doors boomed shut behind the emperor, and as he retreated to his private chambers, he began planning. Yes, he already knew that dullard was useless to keep around, and he would need to insert his own assistant to help Yin Chen and oversee his progress. That, and he couldn’t stand the sight of him.

“Summon the royal assassin!” he ordered his servant. “Tell them they have an assignment.”

“Kill Wang Yao.”

Chapter Text

~Second Scar~

“Hey Yao?” Chen peered at Yao curiously. “What is that scar on your thumb from?” He pointed to a thin, inch long scar running down the side of Yao’s thumb, pale and tiny as a needle. “And don’t give me some sort of bull this time,” he added quickly. “I actually am curious about this one.”

“ Well,” Yao began theatrically.

“Oh here we go…” Chen grumbled under his breath.

~ 212 BC ~

Under the Reign of Emperor Qin Shi Huang

Yin Chen hadn’t spoken a word since the encounter with the emperor. Neither had Wang Yao, surprisingly enough, as though he was waiting for the other to break the silence first.

As though he knew something more.

Yin Chen was lost in his swirling thoughts through their escorted march down decadent halls, past extravagant rooms and shrines, into their beautiful chambers, even if it was modest in comparison to the rest. He drowned in his own questions as they were given clothes and a place to bathe, as the hot water rushed over his sore and filthy body. It wasn’t until he sat down, in silk robes of more splendor than he’d ever known, clean and somewhat safe after he’d thought he would die, certainly this time, and watched as Wang Yao fussed with his hair, did Yin Chen reemerge from his tumultuous thoughts.

“What did he mean by immortal?” he asked. Wang Yao’s fingers stilled in his hair.

“I believe, my friend, that our new employer, His Imperial Majesty, came to a rather far fetched conclusion. Or maybe not… in his perspective, at least. To me it seems that we simply have terribly good luck on our side, for now,” Wang Yao explained, all traces of his earlier immaturity now gone. The change was almost enough to give Yin Chen vertigo, but after knowing him for only a few short days he already knew that his friend was a man of opposites and facades.

“Woah woah woah ,” Yin Chen held his hands up. “So you’re saying that the emperor thinks that I’m immortal? ”

Wang Yao nodded.

“And that you’re, what, some sort of companion of mine that I brought along just- just as a whim?!”

Wang Yao nodded again, albeit this time with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“And that was on purpose; you want him to underestimate you, for some reason,” Yin Chen surmised.

Wang Yao nodded a final time, and leaned back in his seat languidly. “No use fretting over it, Yin,” he murmured, eyes closing contentedly. “Relax. Take a nap. Do whatever you’d like. The fun won’t start until tomorrow.”

Yin Chen didn’t think he and Wang shared the same definition of “fun.”

The Next Morning

Yin Chen was awoken by the soft rustling of clothing, the sun pressing against his eyelids, and a sweet, delicate, flowery smell gracing his nostrils. Then, the sudden memory of the events of days prior sent him bolting awake, jerking out of bed. His eyes flew open, and he screamed at the sight before him.

“Hey! Don’t go around screaming like that at this hour!” Wang screeched. “And have some decency and close your eyes!”

Chen complied and clapped his hands over his eyes with a squeak, and proceeded to attempt to banish the image of Wang Yao changing from his eyes.

Damn it, Chen thought, it’s already seared in!

“Alright Yin you can open your eyes. You’re red as a lobster.”

Chen cautiously peeked through his fingers. Thankfully Wang was fully clothed, so he lowered his hands.

“What… what were all those scars from?” Chen ventured shakily. He thought back to the pale marks that crisscrossed Wang’s body (while carefully skirting around other details).

Wang’s eyes darkened, morphing from the playful, slightly crazed look they always wore into something… dark. Sad, even. It was as if heavy thunderclouds had covered a sparking sun.

Or, perhaps, Yin admitted to himself, perhaps it was indeed the sun that normally hid the clouds.

“It is not for you to know. You would not want to know.”

Chen bit back a sharp reply. It was fine for a man to harbor his own secrets, he knew that, but this man, his friend…

Yin Chen had an uncanny feeling that these secrets may come back to bite them both, like a half-dead snake which slithered back into its would-be killer’s home.

“Oh, fine…” Wang clicked his tongue. “I suppose… I might tell you one day, alright?”

“Okay,” Chen conceded. He could wait.

“Might as well go get changed, Yin,” Wang prompted. “We have a big day ahead of us!” He picked at the hem of his sleeve contemplatively. “Plus, these clothes are really nice…”

Mutely Chen got up and went into another room to change, in a bit of a daze as it slowly dawned on him that his reality was now here, in the imperial palace, where the Emperor thought he was immortal and Wang was some sort of… some sort of pet of his!

What a situation he had gotten himself into this time.

“So,” he began, sitting down in front of Wang. “What may you have planned for me?”

“What, a plan?” Wang laughed heartily and lifted his hands to begin combing at his hair. “And what would lead you to such a conclusion? I am but your dullard servant, at your beck and ca-”

“Don’t play that game with me Wang Yao!” Yin snapped. “I know you well enough to know! What’s your goal?” In all actuality, Yin Chen didn’t know Wang all that well, even after these few days of continuous contact and life-or-death situations, but still, he wasn’t stupid.

“You shall just have to see, will you not?” Wang asked in a deadly smooth tone. Yin Chen knew the man had to be fond of him, to some extent, but now he knew he had crossed a line. He remained silent.

“Just remember your role, as I will remember mine.”

In time, they were inevitably called to have a pleasant morning “chat” with the Emperor. The meek servants felt more like sinister escorts, the walk, inexplicably, felt like a death march. It didn’t help that Wang acted strangely the entire way there. At the beginning, when the servants first arrived to whisk them away to their supreme ruler, Wang simply silently complied, padding silently beside Chen with a pensieve, edged look in his eyes as he observed the servants.

Now, however, he was running circles around them, literally , all the while pulling their robes, tugging their hair, and poking their faces while obnoxiously inquiring about every single aspect of their jobs like an excited child.

Honestly, Wang’s entire personality gave Chen a headache, and he was starting to think the guy was schitzophrentic.

Upon reaching gilded doors sparkling with wealth and imposing power, Chen couldn’t restrain the knot of dread that seized his throat and solidified his insides to lead. He froze, limbs full of metal, utterly still as the grand doors swung open.

Wang shot through the doors as if he’d been launched from a catapult.

They did end up settling themselves down for what turned out to be morning tea, albeit with much difficulty, courtesy of Wang, of course, who felt the need to make everything just so much more difficult than it should have been. After only a day in the palace Chen was starting to consider wringing Wang’s neck and calling it self preservation.

“Well, it is a pleasure to be able to talk to such an esteemed guest properly at last,” the Emperor said with warmth that was so obviously fake. “I would, however, like to bypass the pleasantries and get right down to business.”

“I agree,” Yin Chen replied, his voice smooth and filled with calm authority. This too, was false, but Chen prayed on his life that the Emperor would not realize that. “I believe that last night you had a, ah, business proposal?”

“Yes, yes,” the Emperor said as he accepted tea from a servant. “I would like you to share with me how you became immortal. It would be a great asset to know such an amazing ability, and I would very much like to see the Great Wall, our greatest innovation against outside threats yet, through to fruition with my own two eyes. Any man can understand that sentiment.”

“Of course.” Chen tried desperately to think of a scenario in which he could save himself from bogus answers and a gory death. “But you have to understand, memories dull and fade in any mind, the longer lived the man, the more memories he stands to lose. I am sorry to say that I do not know the exact circumstances of the conception of my ability, but given time I know I can replicate the procedure.” Hopefully that would suffice. Given the greedy glint in the Emperor’s eyes, Chen though with relief that he must have succeeded.

Yin Chen gratefully took tea from the hand of the servant, just as Wang began chugging his, apparently oblivious to the scalding heat, because, really, what else would be protocol for an extremely tense and formal meeting with the Emperor?

“Yes, I believe that would be acceptable,” the Emperor hummed. “You would need equipment. A lab to do tests, I presume?”

“Yes, that would be-”

Chen was cut off as there was a loud sound of shattering china and Wang choked loudly, and Chen had turned his head and was half ready to issue a harsh retort when he was taken aback by the sight of Wang. Wang Yao had dropped his tea and was clutching his throat as white spittle frothed at his lips and his eyes became glossy and dim.

“Wang!” Chen yelled in panic, descending down to help his friend. “Wang!” he called again, but the man showed no comprehension of his words, the only change in his condition the quieting of his choking along with the fading of his breathing. Likely also in correspondence to the stilling of his heart, of the blood pumping through his veins, part of Yin Chen’s mind whispered to him. Chen shoved down the errant thought.

This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t, not after what they had survived, no, no, not so soon…

“My dear! It seems yet another assassin out for my life has misplaced their poison,” the Emperor said, and Yin Chen heard a bit too much mirth in that voice, just a little too much purpose- no, he had to be imagining it. The Emperor had just asked them to work for him, he wouldn’t have tried to kill them. This was just some terrible accident, right?

That was not what was at the forefront of Chen’s mind, however. His mind was focused singly on his friend, whose breath was rasping weaker and weaker, no longer possessing the strength to push and pull air through his trembling lips, no longer able to force sluggish blood through his veins, no longer with even the energy to flutter an eyelid.

His eyes were half closed, and as Yin Chen cradled him, as he held his friend of a only a few days, even though it felt like so much more, it just had to be, he watched as his friend struggled to bring in a breath, as that breath turned into his last, as his body went limp. As the life left those eyes, like a weak candle, snuffed by an errant breeze.

“No,” Chen bent over his friend’s body, cradling Wang’s limp head to his chest. “Please…”

“Don’t leave me alone.”