Work Text:
Ping!
Twenty-eight.
Ping!
Twenty-nine.
At the thirtieth ping, Zhang Jiale forced his eyes open. The stone ceiling greeted him, just as it had the last four times he'd opened his eyes. In the corner, a thirty-first water droplet was gathering. Zhang Jiale watched as it converged, lower, lower, and fell into the bucket in the corner of his cell.
He sat up and pressed his hands out in front of his body, fingers splayed. The Spark was still missing from the motion, the lack of power like a phantom itch in his palms. But you always said stretching was important, no matter your Spark, he thought, and rotated his wrists slowly. What would you think of —
Ping!
Zhang Jiale shook his head and dropped his arms. Okay, he thought, Power dampeners are still operational . He’d expect nothing less from Tyranny, even at a far-flung outpost. It’s been thirty hours and - Ping! - twelve-ish minutes . The current guard is - he leaned to the side, peeking down the hall to the guard’s chair - gone. Huh.
Zhang Jiale made to stand up, but as if waiting for his cue, the door opened as soon as his feet touched the floor. A guard entered--and of course it would be Tall, Mean, and Greasy, Zhang Jiale was sure he should've been done with his shift by now--but then, two more dark-haired heads followed him. He leaned closer to the bars of his cell. Something about the middle head--
Tall, Mean, and Greasy shifted, approaching the cell opposite Zhang Jiale’s and revealing the man behind him. The sight was like being possessed; one second, Zhang Jiale was sitting on a hard cot, and the next, he was on his feet, blurting, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
The guard closest to him jolted at Zhang Jiale’s sudden motion. But the man in front of him just turned his head calmly. A lazy grin spread across his face, and he dipped his head in a bow. “Your Majesty,” he said.
He didn’t break eye contact as he bowed, and the grin stayed right where it was—achingly familiar, and yet so annoying. Zhang Jiale grit his teeth. “Don’t you fucking ‘Your Majesty’ me, you asshole. What are you doing here?”
The other prisoner - Ye Qiu, fucking Ye Qiu - tutted, then leaned over to Tall, Mean, and Greasy conspiratorially. “Such language unbefitting royalty. Is he always like this?” The guard shoved him into the cell opposite Zhang Jiale’s, rolling his eyes. Ye Qiu stumbled back with a laugh, and Zhang Jiale jolted forward. What was the Battle God doing here of all places? Why was he letting random backwater lawmen push him around?
Zhang Jiale reached forward to grab the bars of his cell, but was forced to pull his hands back when Tall, Mean, and Greasy slammed his nightstick against the bars with a clang and a shower of sparks from the power dampener’s barrier. “Hands off the bars, prince,” he sneered, and set off down the hallway. The other guard stood frozen for a second, eyes darting between the two prisoners, then hurried after his partner. Zhang Jiale watched them go, then turned to meet Ye Qiu’s considering gaze.
“Senior Bean, shouldn’t we...be more respectful?” The guard said in a hushed tone that nonetheless carried back down the hard stone hallway. “He is a prince.”
Tall, Mean, and Greasy--Senior Bean? Zhang Jiale considered, then discarded the name. No. Tall, Mean, and Greasy--scoffed. “Traitor Prince. Deserters and cowards deserve no respect from Tyranny.”
Ye Qiu was still looking at him, but he cocked an eyebrow at the guards’ words. Zhang Jiale drew himself up, setting his shoulders against the prickle of shame in his spine. I did what I had to do. He lifted his chin to meet Ye Qiu’s eyes. Who are you to judge? You’re a deserter, too.
“Of course, of course.” At the end of the hallway, the guard continued, “Do you think the prince actually knows—”
“Some wannabe knight from the middle of nowhere? Doubtful.”
Ye Qiu tilted his head. Like Zhang Jiale, he was clearly still listening, but all the while, he was looking at him, like - like he knew something. Like he was expecting something. Zhang Jiale clenched his fists, hackles raising further. But then Ye Qiu glanced down the hallway at the guards and then back at Zhang Jiale, and - oh. Oh. He weighed his options a moment, then nodded.
At the end of the hallway, the guard was saying, “You didn’t see him fighting, though. He was good. ”
Tall, Mean, and Greasy sat down in the chair and crossed his arms. “Couldn’t be that good if he ended up here.”
“But--”
“Are you going to stand here asking questions all day, or are you going to do your job?”
“Of course, Senior Bean. Sorry, Senior Bean.” The guard bowed and ducked through the door at the end of the hallway. It scraped closed behind him.
As the door shut, Ye Qiu leaned his head against the bars with an enormous sigh. “Finally,” he said. “I thought he’d never leave.”
“Oh, shut up,” Zhang Jiale spat.
Ye Qiu tilted his head against the bars, his lazy smile turning sharp and considering. “Are you going to come over here and make me? Or do I need to make myself more—” he dragged his fingers against the bars, causing blue sparks to dance up the barrier from the power dampeners— “available to you?”
“Hey!” yelled Tall, Mean, and Greasy from the end of the hallway. “Hands off the bars!”
Ye Qiu, you shameless ass, Zhang Jiale cursed inwardly. “Fuck you,” he cursed outwardly. “I don’t need my Spark to destroy you.”
Ye Qiu’s eyes flicked to Zhang Jiale’s hands. “Interesting. So Blossoming Chaos did teach you a few things before he,” Ye Qiu grimaced, “well, you know.”
Zhang Jiale surged forward, grabbing the bars. Tall, Dark, and Greasy cursed and stood, but Zhang Jiale kept his eyes on Ye Qiu. “Keep. That name. Out of your mouth.”
At the sound of the guard’s footsteps stomping down the hall, Ye Qiu withdrew, holding his hands up in a show of innocence. Zhang Jiale, on the other hand, shoved at the bars. Sparks jumped from the barrier and hissed as they hit the floor and ceiling.
Tall, Mean, and Greasy brandished his nightstick at Ye Qiu. “You, shut up,” he growled, then swung across to Zhang Jiale. “And you,” he smacked his stick against the bars again, “Hands off the bars!” Sparks landed on Zhang Jiale’s head and arms, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he pulled himself up to his full height and boomed, “I demand new accommodations.”
Tall, Mean, and Greasy laughed. “Fat chance, prince.”
Zhang Jiale glanced over the guard’s shoulder at Ye Qiu - work fast, he pleaded - and shoved at the bars again with a loud clang. “I am a prince!” he yelled. “I’ve put up with your outpost games. Let me out! Han Wenqing won’t be impressed when he hears how I’ve been disrespected!”
“Our leader will applaud me for giving you all the respect you’ve earned! Han Wenqing would never--” Suddenly, a loud scrape sounded behind him, but Tall, Mean, and Greasy barely had a chance to look over his shoulder before he dropped, unconscious.
Ye Qiu looked at the guard collapsed at his feet and tossed aside the glowing, rune-covered brick in his hand. “Old Han would thank me for cutting that one off,” he said, and pulled the keys from the guard’s belt.
Zhang Jiale dropped his hands from the sparking bars, shaking feeling back into his fingers. “You took out the power dampener?”
Ye Qiu nodded absently, scanning the keys. “An old partner worked that out years ago. Most of the jails near the center of Tyranny have been updated since then, but the ones on the outskirts—ha!” He held up a key.
Ye Qiu opened the door and Zhang Jiale stepped out into the hallway. He splayed his fingers and grinned as his Spark burst to life in his palms. “Much better.”
The two men grabbed the guard and pulled him into Zhang Jiale’s cell. As they locked the door, Zhang Jiale glanced at Ye Qiu. “Really, though,” he said. “How did you end up here? You could easily beat twenty of these men.”
Ye Qiu shot him a puzzled look. “So could you.”
Zhang Jiale huffed a bitter laugh. “Mm-hm,” he said, and started walking down the hallway. Ye Qiu matched him, step for step.
“I’m recruiting a cleric.”
“From Tyranny?” Zhang Jiale laughed. “I’m guessing it went well."
“It did, actually.”
“You ended up in jail.”
“I had a plan. Didn’t you?”
Zhang Jiale shrugged, looking down at his feet. He could feel Ye Qiu’s eyes on the side of his head. “I—” started a fight and then basically turned myself in “—was going to see what work Han Wenqing had to offer a Traitor Prince.”
Ye Qiu hummed. “Old Han’s a good man.”
“Mm-hm,” Zhang Jiale agreed.
“He’d offer you a fair deal.”
“Mm-hm.”
They reached a corner, and halted in unison. As the tap of footsteps echoed from the other hallway, growing louder, Zhang Jiale gathered his Spark, letting it pulse around his fist. Three, two - his fist shot forward, and red energy collided with the unlucky guard’s temple. Zhang Jiale and Ye Qiu stepped over his body and continued around the corner.
“You could still go,” Ye Qiu said. “Seek an audience with Old Han.”
Zhang Jiale nodded. Ye Qiu was right. And going to talk to Han Wenqing myself is a better plan than sitting in a jail cell and waiting to be delivered to the capital, he thought with a wince.
“What about you?” he asked as they turned another corner (and dispatched another guard). “Why’s the great Ye Qiu stealing clerics from Tyranny?”
“Ye Xiu,” Ye Qiu said.
“What?”
“My real name is Ye Xiu.”
Zhang Jiale stuttered to a halt. “What?”
“There’s the armory,” continued Ye Qiu--no, Ye Xiu. He looked over his shoulder nonchalantly. “Ready?”
Zhang Jiale shook himself. “Y-yeah.”
Ye Xiu grinned, pushed the door open, and rushed in, Spark flying. Zhang Jiale stepped into the doorway in his wake. He gathered his Spark in his hands and let go, dancing lights and pulses of energy sending guards soaring into walls and shielding Ye Xiu’s progress around the room.
It was over in seconds.
When they finished, Zhang Jiale beelined to the wall where his gun was hanging. He was lovingly running his fingers down the barrel, searching for damage, when Ye Xiu made a triumphant noise across the room.
Zhang Jiale turned to see Ye Xiu holding an umbrella, of all things. He opened and closed it, then nodded in satisfaction.
“What is that?” Zhang Jiale said.
Ye Xiu smiled. “A gift.” He tapped it against his hand and started toward the door, stepping gingerly around the guards on the floor. “I’m off. I'm meeting my cleric in three hours, so I’ve got some ground to make up.”
“Wait.” Zhang Jiale said, confused. “You had a meeting with this cleric the whole time? You got yourself arrested for nothing?”
Ye Xiu put a hand to his chest. “Little Zhang, it hurts me that you think so little of yourself.”
...Huh. Zhang Jiale blinked, stunned, as Ye Xiu continued toward the door, again nonchalantly ignoring the way he’d just tilted Zhang Jiale’s world.
At the door, Ye Xiu paused to look back. He smiled once more, sharp and grim and familiar. “Take care of yourself,” he said, and then he was gone.
Zhang Jiale stood in the middle of the room. His gun felt cold, suddenly, in his hands. In the hallway, Ye Xiu’s footsteps tapped against the floor. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.
Zhang Jiale darted into the hallway. “Wait!” he called. Ye Xiu stopped. Zhang Jiale stepped forward to meet him. “Tell me about this cleric we’re meeting.”