Chapter Text
As any casual student of history can report, the course of the future is often left to a single moment.
A sole decision spinning forth upheaval. A scattering of words that nonetheless echo out to move mountains.
The faithful may deem it divine intervention; the cynics demean it as chance.
Neither are wholly mistaken.
Ultimately the near and far of it is this…
Lives change by choice.
ooooooo
Han Wenqing regards his top lieutenant with a seriousness reserved for battlefields.
“You’re sure about this.”
Zhang Xinjie hesitates just long enough to show he’s giving the comment the thought it deserves.
Outside, it’s a balmy night. The summer humidity weighs down the air even in the usually arid lands of Tyranny.
“Our spies are confident,” Zhang Xinjie says. “I’ve read their reports for weeks now. They all claim the same. Every day for the past month and a half, in late morning, there’s a five to ten minute interval where he leaves the immediate protection of the palace but before he reaches the view of the guards in the town square. If we were looking for an opportunity, I doubt we’ll have a better one.”
Han Wenqing notes that Zhang Xinjie didn’t actually say he was sure. It’s only mildly reassuring. If anyone was sure of anything about this--about him --then Han Wenqing would know without question they’re making a mistake.
He scans the papers again, not trusting what he finds. “How do they know it’s actually him?”
Zhang Xinjie adjusts his glasses. “He’s never exactly been one for decoys, not people anyway. ”
Which is probably true; but, Han Wenqing can’t help but snort. “So? He’s never been one for anything right up until the moment he decides it’s useful.”
Zhang Xinjie inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Still, it’s not exactly in line with his tactics--especially when he’s on home ground and without any reason for attack.” He turns back down to his notes. “Our spies are as sure of his identity as they can be. He keeps the lower half of his face covered, as usual, when he’s out in public. But, the mask does have the typical Excellent Era crest embroidered on it--the same type he uses in competitions. Between his mask and observing how the rest of the palace guards act around him, we’re fairly certain it’s actually him.”
“ Palace guards,” Han Wenqing seizes on the detail. “Where about his personal guards?”
“Personal guard--singular,” Zhang Xinjie corrects. “There appears to be an alternating rotation. To Tyranny’s own benefit, actually--handling one guard should definitely be within our ability. And, according to our intel, his usual guard scheduled for the beginning of the week seems to have a minor issue with punctuality.”
This time, Han Wenqing doesn’t even bother to hide his scowl.
“If there’s an issue doing his job, then how does he still have one,” he demands sharply. “Excellent Era shouldn’t tolerate incompetence. Why would he keep a bad guard?”
Zhang Xinjie doesn’t do anything as indelicate as a shrug even if the way his mouth twitches down gives the impression of one. “If I had to guess, I’d say it might be because he prefers the privacy. Even if it’s only a few moments.”
He points down to parchment, detailing the layout of Excellent Era’s capital city.
“The paths he takes are mostly back routes,” Zhang Xinjie notes, “They’re secluded, not even established enough to make it on the map.”
Typical.
Honestly of everything tonight, it’s the first thing that Han Wenqing doesn’t bother questioning at all. Of course, he’s still using back alleys and beaten down little sideways rather than taking anything as normal as an official road.
“Do we know where he keeps going?”
Zhang Xinjie shakes his head. “Our spy chose not to risk any closer movements once he made it back to the town square. It shouldn’t matter. When he makes it back into the main part of the city, we lose our opportunity to act without turning it into a fight that we can’t afford that close to their palace.” His finger follows the lines of the map. “Our best chance is along the back route, between the palace and the main square. If we plan it on the right day and have everything set up beforehand, we should have roughly fifteen minutes to secure him while he’s completely unguarded.”
Han Wenqing raises a brow.
As if someone like him was ever completely unguarded.
Zhang Xinjie clears his throat. “Yes, well, there is that. Still, it is a very rare opportunity. If we send perhaps half a dozen well-trained men and supply them all with high quality transportation stones to get them to the border, then, I calculate our odds at roughly eighty percent.”
“ Seven transportation stones with enough power to cross half a country,” Han Wenqing says bluntly. “That’s a lot to spend on an eighty percent chance.”
“Yes, if this was an ordinary mission,” Zhang Xinjie agrees. “But, this is a message .”
Han Wenqing looks up.
“Added cost will only show our resolve,” Zhang Xinjie concludes, detailed outlines crisply written and held perfectly straight in his hands. “Isn’t that why we’re considering this at all?”
Han Wenqing leans back.
Because the short answer is yes. Han Wenqing has a stack of complaints from his border fighters about increasingly daring monster steals made all along what’s technically Tyranny territory. Han Wenqing has a dried up inkwell and a line of messengers that keep coming back empty handed or with useless prevarications for meetings that never happen. Most of all, Han Wenqing has limited patience in how many times he can go and glare down Excellent Era’s so called border fighters, only to hear the problem’s started right back up the week after he leaves.
Han Wenqing is not a patient man.
Incidents that keep ending up his problem obviously need a blunt response. Since Excellent Era apparently can’t bother to respond to a message, Han Wenqing will send one they can’t ignore.
Still.
The responsibility of being captain means knowing he’s not the only one that faces the consequences.
He looks back up at Zhang Xinjie. “What do you think?”
Zhang Xinjie sighs, adjusting his notes one more time as he considers. “It’s….certainly a bold move.”
Han Wenqing gives him a look and Zhang Xinjie gives a brief smile in acknowledgement.
“Which is typically our signature, true.” The smile fades and Zhang Xinjie’s brow draws together. “Still, a political capture hasn’t been seen since before the Alliance Campaign. Let alone a capture of a captain from one of the Alliance’s major states. By another captain, no less. Even if it’s mostly a symbolic move to get Excellent Era to reign in their border forces, it’s still a large move, especially with the history of rivalry between our two states. The Alliance could get involved. Other states could get involved.”
Han Wenqing frowns. “They won’t have time to get involved. It’s Excellent Era, it’s him. He’ll be back in his own state by the time anyone else hears about it. And we’ll get Excellent Era to stop breathing down our neck and swiping our kills at the border.”
“That may be true,” Zhang Xinjie acknowledges. “But, even if his release is negotiated within a month, it will still likely end up a major political incident at least for the next season. Everyone and anyone will have their opinions. And those are the consequences if we succeed at the capture. If we don’t, it could just be an embarrassment for state Tyranny.”
Han Wenqing lets the words sit with him.
“So, you don’t think it’s worth the risk,” he says.
“I didn’t say that.”
Han Wenqing glances up.
“It is a major risk. It’s also a major chance ,” Zhang Xinjie says. “I think the better question, Captain, isn’t whether we can risk taking the chance with the capture; but, what it would mean to not do anything?”
To not act.
To not act would mean allowing Excellent Era to continue to get away with admittedly minor border skirmishes. They aren’t the type of thing anyone in the capital cities would care about, let alone other states. Borders are supposed to be under guild leaders’ control, normally so far out of a captain’s range that no one expects them to get directly involved--much less give so much effort for what could be a few misbehaving troops.
That said, it isn’t exactly the border skirmishes that annoy Han Wenqing, so much as the fact Excellent Era thinks they can neglect them, ignore Han Wenqing, without any consequence.
Han Wenqing fought for the Alliance to have the states be treated as equal.
When a Captain reaches out--be it to a guild leader or Tao Xuan, the Duke of Excellent Era himself--they answer. Excellent Era hasn’t bothered with that and Han Wenqing is far reaching the realms passed annoyed and into truly pissed off about it.
To not act.
Ridiculous.
Han Wenqing meets Zhang Xinjie’s eyes and sees that his lieutenant is on exactly the same page as him. Times like this it’s easy to see why Zhang Xinjie works well in a state where bold, near reckless, advance is their trademark.
A choice, then.
Lives change by choice.
For a second, he thinks of clever golden eyes and wonders what choice he would approve if he was in Han Wenqing’s position.
….well, it probably doesn’t do much good to wonder. Han Wenqing has made a legacy on defying that man’s expectations rather than mimicking them. If he wants to knows what the other man would think, then he can ask him soon.
In the clinging humidity of a warm summer night, Captain Han Wenqing of State Tyranny makes a choice and doesn’t allow himself to feel regret.
“Do it,” he orders.
-----12 Years Prior-----
Look, you can never be lost if you’re not entirely sure where you’re supposed to be.
That’s just basic logic. Because if you don’t know where the thing you’re looking for is, then obviously it could be anywhere. So, that just means that wherever you do end up, it could be the right place and--until then--you’re just searching.
Searching diligently.
And not lost.
Squinting up at the street sign, Han Wenqing resigns himself to the knowledge that he’s searching very diligently.
Of course, he thinks and not for the first time, he would be even less not-lost if any of these fucking roads actually went straight rather than curving in whichever way some idiotic road planner chose seemingly at random.
The northern territories aren’t like home. Even the sun feels different--not necessarily bad, just off in the way the light shines between far-off mountains rather than warm sand and the trees have green thickness rather than the tough skin to battle off droughts.
Not to mention, as some kind of shit bonus, the entire layout of their merchant cities is the stuff out of unbelievably dull nightmares.
Han Wenqing scowls and hears a laugh ring out above him.
“Well, isn’t that a serious expression?”
He looks up, glare already darkening to tell whoever the fuck it is to back off. Even at sixteen, he’s been told he has a scowl better suited for a wide berth.
Gold.
For a moment, Han Wenqing’s thrown off, distracted by a shade he didn’t know existed a moment ago. He catches dark gold eyes, lit in a way too peculiar to be called brown. The color reminds him of something he can’t place: like the last light of the day cast on warm stone, like the quick flash of a bronze sword too fast to catch. It’s familiar the same way it’s slightly out of reach.
Han Wenqing’s first impression is the strangest sensation of finding something when he isn’t entirely sure he’d started looking.
Of course, his second impression is more practical.
The figure of a boy sits on top of a crumbling wall and smirks down at him as if the boy doesn’t have a care in the world.
Han Wenqing decides to keep glaring.
The boy laughs again, holding up his hands. “Now, now, no need to give me such a death stare. Here I am, a simple goodhearted stranger that thought I’d help a poor lost tourist.”
“I’m not lost,” Han Wenqing says flatly.
The boy tilts his head. “Oh, then you know where you’re going? Where’s that then?”
Han Wenqing doesn’t answer.
The smirk grows. “Well, that sounds pretty lost to me then, doesn’t it?”
The boy hops down off the wall, landing lightly and Han Wenqing gets a better look at him.
The boy should probably be called a teen, honestly. He doesn’t look much younger than Han Wenqing. But, there’s something still there in the awkwardly boney arms, the round shape of a face, the frame that clearly hasn’t hit its last growth spurt, and the light teasing voice that hasn’t quite finished settling yet. All of it feels younger and, thus, Han Wenqing in his elder sixteen year old wisdom labels him “boy” and decides to stick to it.
More importantly, the boy’s still standing there, hands held casually behind his back as he regards Han Wenqing with the same lazy curiosity he’d started with.
“So, do you want that help or not?”
“I’m not lost,” Han Wenqing insists again, firmer. “I’m looking for something. You can’t be lost if you’re looking for something, that’s obvious. And, besides, I wouldn’t even look lost if all these stupid roads didn’t lead to Glory-abandoned nowhere!”
“You think so?” The boy shrugged, utterly ignoring Han Wenqing’s tone. “Meh, you get used to it once you’re here long enough. I actually like the set up--tons of little back roads if you know your way around them. Anyway,” the boy stared up at him, “you didn’t answer my question. Do you want those directions? Because if not, I have much beter things to entertain myself with rather than helping tourists.”
The boy’s eyes scan over him a little more thoroughly. “You are a tourist; not a new street kid, right? Because, that’s an entirely different set of directions--much longer one, too.”
“I’m not a street kid,” Han Wenqing says.
Though another glance at the boy--well-mended by threadbare clothes, slight marks of dirt even if his hands are meticulously clean--says that he might be. Or at least recently removed from homeless. It’s not that surprising, orphans often flock to merchant cities.
The boy shrugs. “Not yet. I suppose no one’s anything until they are, though.”
Ironically, it’s that cheerful observation that finally makes Han Wenqing snort, relaxing his stiffness just a little to ask: “How’d you guess I’m a tourist?”
“Wasn’t hard,” the boy says, “Not with you looking at every sign like it would turn into a phantom cat if you took your eyes off it. Besides,” he does a sweeping gesture at Han Wenqing’s appearance, “you’re the right age, yeah? Don’t a lot of the territories send guys like you off to run around the countryside or whatever for a few years. It starts at what, fifteen?”
“Sixteen. And It’s not running around,” Han Wenqing argues. “It’s testing your skills! Learning from the other territories.”
The boy hums. “Except you got lost?”
Han Wenqing’s glare is back. He’s finding it a good all-purpose response.
Or maybe not as the boy just laughs. “Relax. I’m helping you get un-lost, remember?”
The boy tilts his head.
“Sixteen, huh,” he asks. “You’re older than me, then. I’m still fifteen until May.” His smile goes mischievous. “Though, I guess you could say I got a head start on the whole exploring stage.” His eyes glint. “What’s your name, then, tourist?”
“Han Wenqing,” he mutters, purposefully stepping forward to prod the boy on.
The boy goes easily. “And what can I help you find, Old Han?”
Han Wenqing sighs, reluctantly giving in to the fact that if he was going to get anywhere in this maze of a city he probably should take the opportunity of having a local to ask.
“Heard there were equipment artisans here--ones that work with magic. Where can I find them?”
The boy stills. “You’re looking for Glory artisans?”
Han Wenqing shrugs, trying to keep his tone casual like he hasn’t crossed deserts just on a few stray whispers. “Maybe. If it’s worth it. Heard a rumor they found a way to craft stronger magic into equipment. Even create higher level spells without breaking.”
Gold eyes are watching him intently and Han Wenqing almost wants to fidget.
But, then, the boy laughs, turning away and gesturing for him to follow down a curving alley.
“Then, you’re here just chasing dreams then,” the boy tells him. “Only a few artisans have been able to work the equipment into anything usable. Even then, only a shield that can withstand a few knight-class spells and a staff that barely made it through two binding spells.” His gaze moves lazily back to Han Wenqing. “Tell me if I’m wrong; but, you don’t seem much the type who’d be interested in hiding your life away in a bunch of dusty, old theories.”
He isn’t wrong.
For all that magic is an intrinsic part of the world--like air or water--it doesn’t mean it’s respected.
Fuck, there’s many that view it as mildly interesting but mostly useless, too complicated to even bother with for what you get in return.
A farmer may know some basic spells for a brief boost of extra strength, children might fumble with it to heal a quick cut, and cooks might learn just enough to keep their fires steady. Anything more than that? Even specialists that spend years crammed in studies can’t manage more than maybe one higher-level maneuver that wasn’t worth the exhaustion that followed.
Han Wenqing couldn’t help following it anyway.
He always had. Fascinated enough to learn every kind of magic-based fighter technique he could get his hands on--no matter how supposedly low-level, no matter how supposedly useless people claimed it would be in a fight.
Followed it enough to chase down rumors to his home’s most contentious neighbors only because a few whispered about equipment that could not only withstand magic; but, make it stronger . Strong enough to withstand the backlash, strong enough to craft entirely new spells.
Rumors that could change everything.
The boy seemed to read some of it on his face. “Like I said, you came for nothing. Or, at the very least, you’re here too early. I’ve been watching, too. The artisans got a few promising results early on; but, nothing stable enough or versatile enough to hold that kind of Glory long term. And, even if they did get equipment that could last long term, all of them seem very certain it would have to be tailored for only one class of spells. Anything too dissimilar and the backlash would break it…or the guy holding it.”
For a second, the boy looks like he’s about to add something else. Then, he doesn’t.
“I want to see it anyway,” Han Wenqing decided. He wasn’t one to turn back and especially not before even trying. “I don’t care if it takes years. I want to see for myself whether they can do it or not. Where can I find them?”
The boy’s expression falters and then the laugh is back, brighter and clearer than ever. “That so? Okay, I can show you.” His eyes flash along with a hint of teeth. “That interested in Glory, are you, Old Han?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Han Wenqing says simply.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Lots of people only see value in what has use immediately.” The boy shrugs, tone casual. “Human nature, I suppose. Guess we can’t expect anyone to care when nothing’s in it for them.”
Han Wenqing grunts, though not in agreement.
The boy’s weaving into the street now not even bothering to check if Han Wenqing decided to follow. “You know most people say that kind of high-level Glory is just a fairy tale. That’s all it’ll ever be. No matter what kind of fancy equipment the artisans shape up. Glory just isn’t worth that, never will be. They say if it was possible, people would have figure out how already. What, with the centuries and centuries we’ve had it at our fingertips.”
“That’s stupid,” Han Wenqing grumbles, almost getting taken out by a passing crowd as the boy makes a particularly sharp turn. “If that was true, how could people find something new about literally anything? If everything else gets to change, why can’t it happen with magic?”
The boy looks particularly amused at that, enough to cast a dimpled grin back at Han Wenqing. “Hmm. Over in Huángjīn Dì--barely a hundred leagues away from us, actually--they call Glory a servant skill. It’s not about whether we can learn anything new about it, only that it’s not worth the effort to bother.”
Han Wenqing huffs at the mention of Huángjīn Dì, the nearest formalized country existing right outside of their borders and always looking down their nose at the constantly feuding territories.
“We’re not in Huángjīn Dì.”
“Ha, well spotted, Old Han! Nice to know you aren’t that lost!”
Han Wenqing rolls his eyes, not even bothering to reply.
“Still, they may have a point, though,” the boy muses anyway. “No one can think about everything, so we have to choose. Some things simply don’t deserve the attention--maybe Glory included. What would you say to that, Old Han?”
“I’d say it sounds like a bunch of nobles scared of getting their hands dirty,” Han Wenqing retorts flatly. “I decide what’s worth my time, not anyone else.”
The boy comes to a halt, turning so abruptly on his heel that Han Wenqing almost runs into him.
Hand Wenqing hadn’t noticed; but, sometime during their long and weaving path, the boy has led them out of the crowds that flocked the street and into a narrow back alley.
Walls of the nearby buildings tower around them and the noise of the streets suddenly seems distant. With the slight chill of winter still lingering, there’s something about the alley that seems removed from the rest of the city. Maybe from the world as a whole.
In the privacy of the shadows, those golden eyes seem to shine.
“You know, Old Han,” the boy whispers and he’s smiling up at him like they’re sharing a secret. “If you keep being such a thorough advocate for fantasies, I’ll start thinking you support the Alliance party, too.”
Han Wenqing didn’t smile back. “So, what if I do?”
The boy cocked a brow. “Really? You think that the territories-- all the territories--can ever be unified like that? Into a state system like those Alliance supporters keep talking about. The territories have been feuding with each other for generations.It’s basically a tradition.”
“Well, it’s a stupid tradition.” Han Wenqing folds his arms.
“Huh.” The boy runs his eyes along him. “For some reason, I thought you’d be a fighter.”
“I am,” Han Wenqing corrects. “There’s a difference between wanting a good fight and supporting a pointless one. I want a challenge that means something--not just a nothing excuse for more people to die.” His voice is firm. “The territories have more in common with each other than they do apart, so why shouldn’t we have a state system where we can help each other rather than just killing one another? Why can’t we form an Alliance?”
There’s silence in the alley.
The boy’s still looking up at him, barely a few inches shorter than Han Wenqing himself. The smile’s still there, too, but it seems more by habit than anything. There’s a flinitiness to the expression--evaluating--and Han Wenqing fights the urge once more to fidget.
The boy’s next words cut through his thoughts as clearly as a knife through string.
“I agree.”
Han Wenqing doesn’t have time to comment.
“I agree with you,” the boy repeats. “I think you’re right. I think the artisans will make equipment soon that will revolutionize everything --in ways we can’t even imagine yet. It will turn Glory into something wild and new. People won’t be able to look away from it. And you know what else?”
The boy grins and it’s vividly, vividly real. Han Wenqing has to fight the absurd instinct to hold his breath just to take it in fully.
“You’re right about the Alliance, too,” the boy states. “I think people are tired of fighting for no end. They know it’s time to stop. I think they’re looking for an excuse to stop. And we’ll be there to see it.” Gold eyes shine. “Wouldn’t that be something, Old Han?”
Han Wenqing feels an indescribable pressure, building in his throat and pushing down on his chest.
It doesn’t stop until the boy leans back, expression pulling back as he does until all that’s left is that same impassive smirk with only the hint of something more smudged along the edges.
The boy laughs, drifting back down the alley to lift himself up on another wall. “Well, what do you say to that, Old Han? Sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it?”
No. It didn’t.
It sounded like something incredible.
The boy tilts his head to look out on the city. “After all, it’s only children, mad men, and scholars that dream of Glory.”
It hits him then.
Glory.
The boy keeps calling it Glory--multiple times, possibly all the time like he chooses the word unconsciously out of habit.
Glory is the the word philosophers and specialists use for magic. It’s the term for looking at the force that exists around them and not deeming it common like the dirt under their feet, but something different . Something worthy of attention, of respect.
Anyone can talk about magic; but, Glory is a word with meaning .
It’s in this moment that Han Wenqing realizes that he truly doesn’t understand the boy in front of him. He’s frustrating, unable for Han Wenqing to pin down and put into definite terms. That realization is almost as annoying as the boy himself.
Han Wenqing’s next words are sharp. “You’re impossible. If you agreed with me already, then why try to brush me off! Why argue all the pointless shit when it’s something you believe in? If you care about something, just say it from the start, you idiot! There’s no reason for side stepping around it.”
The boy stares at him, cocking his head as he does.
His next breath is a laugh; but, there’s something more charged about it this time. Han Wenqing doesn’t know the boy well enough to place it.
“You may have a point in there,” the boy says, all light and conversational. He waves a hand dismissively down to the end of the alley. “There’s the artisan row. Any of them can tell you where to go. Trust me, it’s all they’ve talked about for months anyway.”
Han Wenqing glances down to the end of the path, squinting to make out merchant booths.
Well, guess he wasn’t that far off, after all.
He tilts his head back up at the wall. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Anytime, Old Han.” The boy watches him. “Who knows? Maybe one day you can return the favor. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”
Han Wenqing nods as he walks away even though, privately, he doubts they’ll ever have the chance. They may be in the same city; but, it’s still the biggest for miles.
Still, part of him kind of hopes they meet again anyway. In a different place or a different time. If only so he can try again at understanding the frustrating, impossible boy with the strange golden eyes.
It’s only once he looks back and finds the boy gone entirely that he remembers he never learned his name.
--------
“Captain.”
Han Wenqing looks up and sees Zhang Xinjie, eyes half a millimetre wider than normal and hands nearly wight knuckled around his notes.
Han Wenqing sighs.
He knew it--it felt too simple. Something had to be off.
“Alright, let’s hear it,” Han Wenqing orders.
“I received word from the mission leader,” Zhang Xinjie reports.
Han Wenqing nods, motioning for him to continue. “What went wrong and how much shit do we have to go through to fix it?”
“Nothing,” Zhang Xinjie says.
A pause.
“Nothing we have to do or nothing we can do,” Han Wenqing asks skeptically. “Even with the Alliance in place, I doubt Excellent Era’s willing to just let it go if they caught our men on a mission in the middle of their capital.”
“No, I mean--,” Zhang Xinjie shakes his head, sounding slightly dazed. “They didn’t catch them. Nothing went wrong. It worked.”
Han Wenqing draws up short. “What.”
“It worked,” Zhang Xinjie repeats. “The mission leader reported back that the plan was a complete success. A few minor injuries to our men during the capture; but, overall, they were to overwhelm quickly with surprise and force. Just like we planned. Even their injuries should be healed within a week--faster with a Cleric.”
Han Wenqing stares.
Then blinks and stares some more.
“It worked,” he says after a full minute, just to make sure he isn’t having a vivid hallucination.
“It worked,” Zhang Xinjie confirms. Then, once again, just for it to sink in. “It worked .”
Han Wenqing meets the eyes of his right hand lieutenant--a man he’s worked with for years and would trust with his life without hesitation. Then he says, very heartfelt. “Xinjie, what the fuck?”
And Zhang Xinjie must feel just as off balance as Han Wenqing himself does because the other man gives one short bark of laughter before composing himself back into his normal professional appearance. Han Wenqing tries to follow suit, directing his full attention to the next steps now that their impossible plan seems to have officially gotten through its largest hurdle.
Zhang Xinjie soots his glasses up his nose and his tone is back to perfect composure. “Congratulations on a successful mission, Captain.”
“Oh, please. As if it wasn’t your plan that caught him.” Han Wenqing moves on from the self-congratulations. “When will they get here?”
“The transportation stones were spelled to get them just inside Tyranny’s northern border.” Zhang Xinjie glances at his watch. “Judging by the time it took the message to arrive, I’d expect them within the next two hours.” He looks up. “I take it you’ll be there to greet them.”
Han Wenqing just nods because, of course, he will be.
“Is everything else ready,” he asks instead.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Zhang Xinjie promises.
The next two hours pass in a fog.
Apparently, there was a large part of Han Wenqing that, even when confirming and ordering the plan, still kept himself from believing in it too fully. Rather than disappearing on news of seeming success, the part of him has only grown more restless--refusing acceptance until the proof is directly in front of his eyes.
It doesn’t come from doubt in his men.
It definitely doesn’t come from regret in his choice, either.
It comes from over a decade long wariness from dealing with this particular man--be it battlefields or palaces, in empty alleyways or arenas, under dirt or darkness.
When it comes to him, Han Wenqing has learned never to expect anything until after he’s already seen. All of which makes the next two hours an excruciating mix of impatience and foreboding--watching once again as the afternoon finally fades back down into night.
Zhang Xinjie’s announcement of their men’s arrival is a relief as much as a challenge. Han Wenqing stands to meet both evenly.
He’s made his choice. Now, it’s time to follow it.
In the greeting hall of the manor stands half a dozen men--sporting a variety of bruises, small cuts, and a few mild burns; but, overall, not looking especially worse for the wear. They all stand at full attention, eyes alert and hands fixed on their equipment even if their gazes are directed at the sole figure waiting in the middle of the half circle.
In opposition, the man in the middle seems perfectly at ease, shoulders slouched in a way that speaks of indifference rather than defeat despite the hood over his head and hands bound behind his back.
If anything, the figure gives off the air of pointed expectation.
Han Wenqing is well familiar with the futility in expecting anything else.
He walks to the middle of the foyer and pulls off the hood, finally revealing the captive they’ve worked so hard to secure.
The first sight that greets him are dark golden eyes.
“Ah, hello, Old Han.” Ye Qiu smiles. “I thought it might be you.”