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It's Renjun that first spots the ship, from way up on the main mast. They all need to be nimble, strong enough to haul themselves up the rigging, but none move like him, a striking combination of grace and power. When he calls out, everyone listens, the calm before the storm.
“Sails spotted to the east!”
The Qing supply ship is immediately recognisable from its battened sails. Jeno’s been tailing her for days, the crew losing faith in him steadily. He’ll be damned if he lets this chance go.
“More speed!” he commands. “Stay on course.”
The men obey, rallied by the promise of a prize. The wind is on their side as the ship grows larger in the distance. The hair on the back of Jeno’s neck stands in anticipation. Once they’re close enough to open the gun ports, he calls out.
“Raise the colours!”
Their red-on-black skeleton flag rises. Jeno waits, feeling the crew hoping for a fight with no quarter. But a long minute later, she hoists her colours, a disappointing sign of surrender.
But Jeno accepts it. He shares a look with Renjun, who nods.
“Prepare to board!” he yells, and the men ready their ropes, eager to follow. Jeno feels the opposing crew’s anxiety. They’re gathered around the main deck, being disarmed by his men, pistols and knives clattering to the ground.
“Get down and clear the hold,” he hears Renjun say.
“Who is your captain?” Jeno asks them. The men stare, a mix of wary, sea-worn faces from around the world. No one answers. Jeno paces the deck, fingers lingering on the hilt of his sword.
“Since you won’t introduce yourselves, I’ll begin. My name is Lee Jeno, captain of The Fortune. I’m here for Zhong Guozhi. Show me to him, and you will live. Conceal him, however, and I will be decidedly less merciful.”
The prisoners share looks, but nothing more. Jeno unsheathes his sword, approaching the closest. The man sucks in a breath as he tucks the blade under his chin.
“Tell me,” he whispers, “now.”
His gaze darts towards the hold. Jeno draws blood, and is tempted to keep going before Renjun approaches, expression clouded.
“They have a prisoner.”
The words propel Jeno toward the brig. His men have captured the captain and his first mate, but Jeno could care less. His eyes are on the third man, held back by his shipwright. On closer inspection, a boy still. He wears leather and silks too fine to belong to any self-respecting sailor, and commands attention even while detained by Donghyuck.
His eyes catch Jeno’s. Sharp, calculating, looking at him and reading too much from a glance.
“Is this how you treat everyone who surrenders?” the boy asks, his tone merry despite being around pirates. “Perhaps we should have fought back.”
Jeno tilts his head. “Perhaps we’ll keep you alive long enough to try,” he retorts.
The boy grins, and the polished look lessens.
“Strip the ship of anything valuable,” Jeno instructs Renjun. He jerks his head at the boy, whose gaze is piercing. “Take him too.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be of much use to you, Captain,” he says, even as Donghyuck pulls him away.
Jeno’s glare cuts. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Your little merchant is too loud.”
Jeno’s writing smudges. He looks up from his journals to where Renjun leans against the doorway, his arms crossed. He’s one of the only people Jeno trusts in his quarters, yet it's unnerving how quiet he is.
“Oh?”
“Are you going to tell me why he’s here?” Renjun demands.
“He’s no merchant,” Jeno responds.
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“You don’t trust my judgment?”
Renjun scoffs. “I’m not the rest of your men, but I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark.”
Jeno stares him down. The ship creaks, the rush of the waves as heavy as the tension between them. He breaks it by taking to his feet, pushing past Renjun, beckoning for him to follow.
The brig is dark even in daytime. It smells like salt, brine and something fouler, but their prisoner acts as if the refuse of his cell is comfortable lodging. He gets to his feet when they approach, smile gleaming.
“Welcome,” he says, with a sweep of his arms. “I was just getting lonely down here.”
Jeno doesn’t waste time. “Have you thought about what I said?”
His smile dims. “I think you’ve got the wrong—,”
His words die when Jeno reaches through the bars, grabbing him by the collar. He stifles a gasp when his cheeks connect with the metal, smudged with dirt and debris.
“I am not playing games,” Jeno growls. “You’re Zhong Chenle, son of Zhong Guozhi, and you are going to lead me to your father.”
Behind him, Renjun swears.
Chenle drops his pretences, his smile taking on a feral edge. “And what do you think that’ll accomplish? You’re a pirate. A feared one, but a pirate nonetheless. My father is Zǒngdū. A viceroy. You won’t be able to touch him on land.”
Jeno lets him go, smiling faintly. Chenle stumbles with the momentum. “Not with you around.”
“Do you think you can hold me for ransom?” Jeno isn’t easily surprised, but he does frown when Chenle starts laughing. It’s equal parts scorn and genuine mirth, and its familiarity rattles him. “This is rich.”
“You think that my father, the man who put me on a ship alongside men with orders to kill me, is going to fall for a trap that uses me for leverage?”
Jeno’s eyes widen, but he composes himself. He can’t say he’s entirely surprised.
“Why go to those lengths?”
Chenle shrugs, dusting himself off. “For my association with your kind, I presume.”
“Association?” Jeno digs, but knows what the answer will be.
Renjun says it in Chinese first. “Xiǎo lǐngzhǔ. You’re him. The Little Lord.”
Chenle bows mockingly. “I’ve always thought that a horrible moniker.”
Jeno’s heard rumours of a man turning piracy into commerce, doing business with crews for profit from bootlegged cargo. He thumbs the key at his waist, and unlocks Chenle’s cell, then his shackles. He eyes him warily, on guard even when Jeno makes no move to strike.
There’s a split second of foreboding in his eyes when Jeno smiles.
“You were wrong, Little Lord. You may be useful to me yet.”
Jeno thought he was proficient with maps, but it seems to run in Chenle’s blood. An hour’s time spent in the navigation room, and he has their route to the port of Fuzhou plotted. Doing it under the threat of Jeno’s sword makes it more impressive.
At their current speed, it’ll take them a week to reach. Jeno spends it determined to shape Chenle to his will, but that also means answering his questions.
“What did he do to you?” he asks. They’re on the main deck, looking over the endless expanse of blue around them.
“Who?”
Chenle looks unimpressed. “My father, who else?”
The waters are calm, like Jeno’s answer.
“Nothing I can’t make him pay for.”
He doesn’t like thinking about what he’s lost. It rots deep inside of him, the drive that made him known across oceans in a few short and bloody months, known only to himself.
Chenle digests that answer, and Jeno watches him pick his words.
“That’s what he does. He takes. If you know what’s good for you, you’d steer this ship away into safer waters.”
Jeno stays silent.
“It’s not going to work, Captain,” Chenle insists. "His forces surround the city. The cannons will fire the moment they notice your false colours.”
“Your contact at the port can get us in, can’t they?”
“If we’re lucky. But then what? You can’t just waltz into my home and run your sword through him.”
The blasé way he speaks about his own father’s death is troubling, but Jeno doesn’t press.
“No, but that’s why I have you.”
Chenle turns to face him fully, and the wind disturbs his hair, worn long and full at the crown despite Qing mandates.
“Whatever sentiment you think my father has for me, it doesn’t exist,” he states softly.
Jeno doesn’t offer him comfort. Instead, his smile is a hard promise. “I’m counting on it.”
They reach Fuzhou under cover of night, the fires from the city watch reflected in the water. Jeno ordersThe Fortune anchored where it’s concealed from sight. They send a dinghy to reach Chenle's contact while night begins to fade.
It returns come dawn, with identification papers for a dozen of Jeno’s crew, and a man whose watch over Chenle is that of an older brother. Dong Sicheng, the harbour master, and their way into Fuzhou.
“You’re younger than I thought you would be,” he remarks. It’s all the reception Jeno gets.
Despite the papers, they take a path that bypasses the watch at the main gate. The familiar sights and smells of Fuzhou in the morning take Jeno back. He finds Chenle equally distracted, his gaze troubled beneath his hat. Again, Jeno’s forced to think back to nearly a year ago, and why neither of them have brought it up.
Sicheng leaves them at a teahouse, where Chenle is recognised, but not seen. They sit straight-backed over their tea, and Chenle’s anxiety is palpable.
“You remember what to write?” Jeno asks.
Chenle nods, and it’s strange to see him uncomfortable. He tries to say something, but they are met by the yiji who would take Chenle’s message to his father. She watches calmly as it’s written, and tucks the message into the folds of her robes.
“In return?” she murmurs, in the voice of one used to such transactions.
Jeno hands her a bag of coins, and she exits noiselessly. He takes a sip of his wūlóngchá, reminding Chenle to do the same.
“Now, we wait.”
The plan is simple. Chenle’s note contains a false lead to rouse his father, and The Fortune’s crew will follow him. Under the ruse of giving Jeno up in exchange for a full pardon, they will strike. Jeno gets three of his best to tail Guozhi, while the rest of his men are to distract the forces around his manor.
This doesn’t ease Chenle’s apprehension.
“I do love a fight,” he tells him, “but I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on a losing one.”
“Are you that sure we’ll lose?” Jeno asks.
“No, but I don’t think we’ll win either. Before he was viceroy, father was a general. He'll see us coming, and send men in advance.”
Jeno considers that. He knows exactly how seasoned of a tactician Guozhi is. At this point, his retaliation is more an act of defiance than a battle he can win.
“I’ll take that chance,” he says.
“But it’s not just your life on the line.”
Jeno knows, thinks of Renjun and Donghyuck infiltrating the manor. “Let’s make it even then,” he says. “Hit me.”
Chenle falters. “What?”
“Hit me,” Jeno repeats. “You’ve just captured the scourge Lee Jeno. You’ll have to make it look convincing.”
Chenle’s wide eyes make him look like more of a boy. They turn resolute when he gets to his feet. Jeno braces his arms behind his back, waiting. Chenle’s rings clatter to the ground, and his lips quirk at the soft gesture.
His fists hit harder. The second makes Jeno cough blood, and Chenle swears.
“Are you—,”
“Again,” Jeno orders, wiping the corner of his mouth. Chenle hesitates, but his next hit sends Jeno stumbling back.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
Chenle shakes his head, amazed. “You do have a death wish.”
Jeno grins, spitting out blood. Maybe he does.
“Again,” he calls out, until the sun sets in a pool of blood orange, signalling the hour of their departure.
Jeno has his hands tied, flanked by mercenaries they hired. Chenle marches ahead, and he knows Renjun and Donghyuck are scaling the rooftops, but every step he takes feels like another term on his sentence.
Nothing has gone wrong yet, but seeing Guozhi is still a surprise. He shares the same eyes as Chenle, but the similarities end there. Where Chenle is soft and broad, he is narrow, sharp down to the cut of his cloth.
“So it is you,” he observes. “And you have the pirate.”
His voice commands Chenle to a halt. On cue, one of the men pushes Jeno forward. He spits hair out of his mouth, and glares.
“I propose an exchange.” He hears the bravado in Chenle’s voice, and a long-numb part of Jeno feels guilty for putting him in this position.
Guozhi is not built like a man who inspires fear, but his silence is damning.
“Lee Jeno, in return for a full pardon,” Chenle continues. “The credit for his capture is yours.”
Guozhi approaches Jeno, expression guarded. He counts his steps, his fingers flexing against the loosely tied rope. He has no escorts. It’s the best chance he’ll get.
“So young,” Guozhi murmurs. “A shame, really.”
Then comes Renjun's warning, a high whistle that rings through the glade. Jeno reaches for the blades hidden in his hwa , but the closest mercenary is faster. They knew he was coming. The first kick makes him grunt, and the second drives him to his knees.
They surround Chenle in an instant. A double-cross.
“I have eyes and ears in every corner of this city,” Guozhi states. Jeno tries to grab at his attacker’s leg, but he aims a kick to his stomach that makes his eyes water. “Did you think you could get by?”
His vision is blurry, but he sees more men, hauling a figure who looks worse than him. Sicheng. They’d been intercepted.
Chenle hurls two knives, and they both meet their targets, but barely slow them down. He follows quickly, with the grace of someone who fights as an art, not for his life. Even now, it’s mesmerising, and his movements remind Jeno of another fighter, another time.
“I see you’re back associating with lowlifes,” Guozhi tuts, not sparing Jeno a glance. He doesn’t remember him, and that makes Jeno angrier. He lies still, letting the guard believe he’s victorious.
“Better them than you,” Chenle snarls, but he’s cornered. Jeno shuts his eyes, hoping he’d hedged his bets right.
It happens quickly. One man collapses to his knees, clutching his neck. The other his thigh. They drop, disoriented movements turning into spasms in the seconds it takes Guozhi to realise he let his guard down.
Jeno springs to his feet, blades out, but the remaining men form a shield around Guozhi, ushering him into safety. He wonders by what strange miracle they don’t have guns.
“We need to go!” Chenle yells.
Jeno smells it then, the smoke curling around them, heating up the air. Donghuck has succeeded. It gives him a mad sense of victory despite the circumstances.
He takes Chenle’s outstretched hand, but not before a blade catches him in the leg, the pain white hot and searing. Still, he runs, arm around Chenle's shoulder, and into the cover of the smoke.
Jeno wakes up sore, and to the scent of chamomile. A figure hovers over him in dim lighting, and the name slips out, his drowsiness betraying him.
“Jaemin?”
A pause. “Were you hit so hard you’ve forgotten my name, Captain?”
His vision refocuses. Chenle kneels over him, fingers tightening the knot on a cloth around his thigh. He recognises the ornate walls and marble floors of the tea house.
“The others?” he asks, rising to a sitting position.
“Scattered,” Chenle responds. “Father’s sent men after us, but most are busy with the fire.”
Out of the window slats, Jeno spots red marking the dusky skies in the horizon.
“You could have mentioned you ordered the granaries burned,” Chenle’s complains without malice.
“It was a failsafe,” Jeno explains. They’d likely be dead if Donghyuck had failed.
“And the poison darts?”
A ghost of a smile passes Jeno’s face. “Renjun’s idea.” He hopes they’re safe, and lying low.
“Interesting associates you keep.” The moonlight colours Chenle’s hair tawny. And then, “Who’s Jaemin?”
Jeno winces, but he can’t lie to him after what happened. “A brother,” he says, putting all the weight he can into the word.
Realisation dawns on Chenle. “My father had him killed, didn’t he?”
The words are bitter in Jeno’s throat. “We were naval officers back home. He accused us of aiding Ming loyalists. Jaemin was executed, and I was stripped of rank and title. Seems a better bargain, no?”
“Jeno…” Chenle starts, hand resting on his shoulder.
The dam he’s kept shut for a year breaks. “That was the catalyst. He took my family from me, Chenle, and that’s why I have to take yours.”
That spark of recognition again, lingering longer than before.
“That’s the night we first met,” Chenle murmurs, finally acknowledging their connection.
“You helped me then,” Jeno remembers. The only man who’d given him some comfort while his heart caved. “I’m sorry I have to do this.”
Chenle shakes his head, and offers him solace again, now in a different form.
His lips are soft on Jeno’s forehead, the gesture so foreign he doesn’t know how to react. Vaguely, he thinks of how they would feel against his own.
“What was that for?” he murmurs, dazed.
“An apology,” Chenle responds, “and a pledge, of sorts.”
“Of what?”
Chenle smiles, and it’s different from before.
“That you won’t have to do it alone.”
They slip back onto The Fortune amidst the chaos of the fire, and Jeno feels in one piece again when he sees Renjun and Donghyuck. The four of them stand at the railing, watching Fuzhou under dawn’s first light, smoke still curling to the sky like clouds.
Jeno watches till the city recedes in his eye, left behind for now, but with the promise of return, and retribution.
fin