Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Ba-ye says, “What did you say?”

There’s dirt at Zhang Fuguan’s hairline. Blood on his cheek. “Ba-ye.”

“I don’t understand,” Ba-ye says, because the words that Zhang Rishan just said to him can't possibly be true. “What do you mean, ‘He’s—‘”

“He’s missing,” Zhang Fuguan tells him. “Fo-ye’s gone.”

It’s hell out there.

Of course it is. It’s wartime. The Japanese are invading every corner of the country they can crawl into, and it’s mostly due to Fo-ye’s efforts that they’ve even been able to keep them out of Changsha as long as they have. Unfortunately, it seems to have been for nothing, because twenty-seven hours ago, the first Japanese forces broke through the defense barriers.

Twenty-six hours and forty-nine minutes ago, Changsha’s defense general disappeared.

Ba-ye knows that it’s not just Fo-ye that has been defending their city all this time; it’s largely in part to the men that he’s had behind him, but it can’t be a coincidence that within an hour of Zhang Qishan going missing, their ranks had been scattered and broken, men falling underneath Japanese fire and being captured. Mostly falling.

It’s a miracle Zhang Rishan got away, honestly, not that he would agree. He’d been separated from Fo-ye, apparently, right as the first artillery shells began to fall, and had been cornered a quarter of a mile away, where he had taken down the enemy soldiers, climbed up onto a roof, and escaped before circling back to try and help the rest of their men, but by then, it had been too late. The battle was already over, and Fo-ye was nowhere to be found.

“He’s not dead,” Er-ye says, something grim and determined in his eyes. “He’s not.”

Zhang Fuguan had been made to deliver the news to the rest of the Jiumen, and Ba-ye will be slightly ashamed of that later, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to say anything at all. He’s never at a loss for words, but somehow, Fo-ye’s stolen his voice away too.

They’re meeting in the theatre, half of the stage destroyed by a stray bomb. Once the smoke had cleared, Er-ye had ground his fists into the ash and sobbed. Fo-ye, dizzy and unsteady on his feet, had stood behind him and let him mourn the loss of his second greatest love.

Well. Third, maybe.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s dead or not,” Jiu-ye grumbles, but Ba-ye can see the concern underneath all of his bravado. “He’s still gone. That means we’re on our own.”

“The Japanese are already in the city,” Huo Jinxi says. Her hair is tumbling down her neck and her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s trying to keep her body from falling to pieces. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

“We can’t just stop,” Zhang Fuguan says fiercely. “First, we have to protect the citizens. Second, we have to find Fo-ye.”

Jiu-ye sighs. “The former, yes. The latter…”

“He’s not dead,” Er-ye and Zhang Fuguan say at the same time.  

Jiu-ye gives them a look that could only be described as patronizing, but he drops the subject for the moment. “Fine. We’ll begin setting up relief efforts for each neighborhood within our jurisdiction. Does everyone know—”

“What about Si-ye’s streets?” Wu Laogou asks. “There’s no Fourth Master to take care of them.”

Jiu-ye’s shoulders slump, just slightly. “We’ll divide them. Everyone can take the neighborhood closest to their own. Or, better yet, just help whoever comes to you.”

“Of course we’re going to do that,” Liu-ye mutters, insulted. “We just want to make sure that things are accounted for.”

“Oh,” Zhang Rishan says suddenly, and everyone turns to look at him, but he shakes his head. Ba-ye continues to watch him as the rest turn back to their meeting, watches him fiddle with his hands.

The rest of the Nine divvy up the responsibilities, make plans for arranging bomb shelters and food and places to sleep. Ba-ye offers his shop to be the storehouse; it’s small, so the Japanese probably won’t bother raiding it. He doesn’t have much room for people, but he has enough room for food.

Once they’ve disbanded the meeting, he goes to Zhang Fuguan, who has remained very still in his corner.

“What did you think of?” he asks, somewhat hopeful that it will be a plan for finding Fo-ye, for saving him.

Zhang Fuguan swallows. “I just realized,” he says, “That if Fo-ye’s gone… I’m in charge.” He glances around the theater, but the others have mostly gone, or are standing by the entrance, talking quietly, so Zhang Rishan folds in half, burying his face into his hands as he rests his elbows on his knees. “Lao Ba… I can’t be in charge.”

Ba-ye ignores the pang the nickname sends through his chest. “Zhang Fuguan.”

Zhang Fuguan shudders, sniffles, stands up. “I’ll find him, Ba-ye,” he says, his eyes feverish and fiery. “I promise I’ll find him.”

Ba-ye doesn’t know why Zhang Fuguan is telling him this. “Okay.”

He goes through the motions.

There’s no one who needs their fortune told; everyone seems to already know how things are going to go. Ba-ye sets up shop in the hospital, since his knowledge of herbs and other plants is helpful in treating those who were injured in the fighting and the bombings and those who have become sick from the ash and dust that has fallen since.

He doesn’t see Zhang Fuguan, except for the occasional snatched glimpse of him dashing through Changsha’s streets. Sometimes, a figure follows him home at night, but Ba-ye never feels threatened by them. Of course, the worst thing has already happened, so what more does he have to lose?

That’s not a good mindset to keep up, however, so he tries not to think about it.

“You’re being very brave, dear,” an old woman tells him, her wrinkled hand settled atop his as he adjust the steaming bowl of incense and water next to her. She has asthma; the treatment will hopefully clear up her lungs.

Ba-ye frowns at her in confusion. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“No,” she says, and an itch starts behind Ba-ye’s heart. “You must want him back terribly.”

Ba-ye wonders when he became the grieving widower. How many people know. “He’s only missing.”

“Mm,” the old woman hums, and Ba-ye wonders if Fo-ye knew how many people rely on him. “I hope he comes back soon.”

Zhang Fuguan is captured.

Ba-ye doesn’t know how it happens, nor does he know what Zhang Rishan was trying to accomplish, but one day, he goes to walk to the hospital, and sees a figure slumped between two fence posts, arms chained above their head and several Japanese soldiers standing on either side. He stops, stares. There’s no mistaking the uniform. It’s a defense soldier. It’s Zhang Rishan.

Ba-ye runs.

He goes to Er-ye’s house. “They’ve captured Zhang Fuguan.”

Er-ye is in the middle of sorting belongings, probably trying to figure out which ones can be used as bribes to get the Japanese soldiers to turn away from some of their relief efforts. He stands up. “What?”

“I saw him,” Ba-ye pants. “He’s in the city center. They look like…” He swallows. They look like they’re about to execute him, is what he doesn’t manage to say.

Er-ye says, “I’ll be back,” and he leaves for three hours. Ba-ye is left to pace the house. He considers going to the hospital, but he needs to know what will happen to Zhang Rishan, and the quickest way to get information on that front is to wait for Er-ye to return.

Finally, Er-ye does, and his lips are pressed tightly together.

“What did he do?” Ba-ye whispers.

“He was caught stealing rations from the supplies the Japanese soldiers have taken from us,” Er-ye says, falling into a chair. “I think I convinced them not to execute him, but he’s going to stand in the square for five days as punishment.”

It’s better than death. “How did you—”

“That’s the thing,” Er-ye says, running his hands over his face. “I gave them the theater.”

Ba-ye’s eyes go wide. “Er-ye—”

“There’s nothing for it,” Er-ye murmurs. “They wanted a headquarters, and even though there’s a bomb through the atrium, apparently the rooming and the restaurant were enough of a bargaining chip to—” He swallows. “It saved Zhang Fuguan. Hopefully.”

Ba-ye feels like crying. “They’ll destroy it.”

Er-ye keeps his eyes to the floor, nodding. “Probably.”

“But—”

“It’s worth it,” Er-ye murmurs, and Ba-ye isn’t even sure if he’s talking to him anymore. “It’s worth it if it lets Fo-ye come back to his home. The way he left it.”

Ba-ye isn’t sure that anything is going to be the same as how he left it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Er-ye says. He nudges a pile of fabrics with his foot and watches how they topple. “So I won’t be either.”

They all have to make sacrifices, in the end.

Er-ye’s given up his theater. Zhang Fuguan’s lost his freedom. Ba-ye’s lost… he’s lost what they’ve all lost too, so that doesn’t really count.

Now, though, he’s going to give up his pride.

He leaves the city under the cover of night, and even though he isn’t particularly sneaky, he knows Changsha like the back of his hand, knows the quickest ways in and out of the city, knows where to go in order to keep from being spotted. It helps that half of the city walls are destroyed by tanks and explosions, sitting still in piles of rubble.

Ba-ye leaves the city, gets out, and then runs until there’s a stitch in his side and he can’t catch his breath. Runs until his feet ache and the borrowed military uniform he’s wearing is torn in several places. Runs until he reaches a spot under a hill that only ten people in the world know about.

Well.  Eleven, if he counts the person inside.

He finds the entrance that Fo-ye had showed him, finds the unlocking mechanism, sticks his fingers in and twists. It’s not complicated, once you know how to do it.

He slips inside. He doesn’t know who has been taking care of the place, but the torches are lit, and there’s no sign that anyone has managed to find the underground tomb who wasn’t supposed to. Ba-ye takes a torch from the wall, holding it in front of him as he makes his way down the stairs.

He arrives in front of the cell, stops, and peers into the darkness, where he can just see a form uncurl itself, sneering as the light hits its face.

“Qi Tiezui,” the man in the cell says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Chen Pi,” Ba-ye replies. “We need your help.”

Chapter Text

Zhang Qishan wakes up underneath a haze of smoke and long grass.

He blinks blearily upwards, the cloudiness of his vision filtering away in the sunlight. There’s a strange sepia tone that overlays everything, tinting the edges of his senses, all of which are a little dull and hazy.

He’s folded over underneath the sky, the grass swaying gently above him, tall enough to hide his form from anyone who might be nearby. He suspects so, anyway, considering that he’s still alive, and the last thing he remembers is—

He’s not entirely sure.

He remembers explosions, fighting, his fuguan, the rest of them. He doesn’t remember how he got outside of Changsha, where everyone has gone, if they managed to stop the Japanese from breaching the city walls. He hopes they did, but if not, then he had better get back and see what’s happened to his city.

He goes to sit up, attempting to keep his swimming vision steady, which he’s not very good at. He bends forward, head towards his legs to get some of the blood flowing again, and that’s when he sees the bandage cinched around his thigh, dirty and bloodstained, but still there.

He knows he didn’t do that.

Which means that he isn’t alone.

As quietly as he can, Zhang Qishan shoves down the headache and nausea that are beating through him and very slowly drags himself into a crouch, his injured leg spread out both to keep his balance and to avoid jostling the injury, and peers up above the grass.

At first, all he sees is an empty plain, a few shrubs dotting the landscape, and the downward slope of a hill. At the bottom is a swatch of river, and on the bank sits a figure, running their hands through the water and examining something in their hands. Zhang Qishan catches a glimpse of metal.

His gun.

He could probably just leave; the person on the riverbank is occupied enough with cleaning the weapon, and while Zhang Qishan doesn’t need it, he’s not confident in his ability to get back home without something to defend himself with. Especially while injured. He also isn’t sure if he’ll be able to get very far without being noticed, considering that he’ll be slowed down.

So. The best possible option is to surprise the person and take back his gun. He can do that.

They’re in a Japanese uniform, but no Japanese soldier would be allowed to leave their regiment, and especially not to save a Chinese soldier from a leg wound. Zhang Qishan supposes that he has no confirmation that the soldier is the one who bandaged his leg, but it’s his best guess at the moment.

He shifts up, testing the weight on his injury before determining that he can stand it long enough to get down the hill and overtake the other person. As quickly and as quietly as he can, he creeps down the hillside, and just as he’s about to grab the soldier around the chest and force him to drop the gun, he turns.

Zhang Qishan sees the soldier spot him, eyes going wide, and he lunges forward as the soldier instinctively raises the weapon to shoot at him. He knocks his arm off course, sending the barrel of the pistol towards the sky. It goes off, the noise shocking the other person enough that Zhang Qishan is able to sweep him down, knocking the weapon from his hand.

He presses his forearm across the soldier’s chest and he squirms in a very un-military-like way, his hat falling off into the dirt.

“Let me go!” he says, and that’s when Zhang Qishan realizes that he isn’t a “he” at all, but instead a young woman, her hair cropped short and jagged, the soldier’s uniform a couple sizes too big on her.

Zhang Qishan stops putting pressure on her chest, but doesn’t let her up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” the girl spits, thrashing as best she can underneath him. “Fuck you!” It turns out that she is the one who bandaged his leg, because she knows exactly where to press her fingers and send a white spiral of pain through Zhang Qishan.

He grits his teeth against it, bowing into himself so that he stays upright. “Stop.”

The girl, finally, listens to him. She stops struggling, but Zhang Qishan can feel her tense, and knows that she’s poised and ready to start fighting again as soon as she deems it necessary.

“Get off me,” she says.

“Promise you won’t run?” Zhang Qishan asks, and the girl, after a moment, nods. Zhang Qishan carefully picks himself up, balancing mostly on his good leg, and takes a few limping steps away.

The girl glares at him and stands as well, picking up the hat that she dropped and jamming it over her head.

“I knew I shouldn’t have saved you,” she said grumpily. “Soldiers.”

“You’re dressed like one,” Zhang Qishan points out.

“Because they won’t shoot me on sight if I’m in a Japanese uniform,” the girl retorts. Her eyes glance at the gun and back at Zhang Qishan, probably estimating if she’ll be able to get to it in time.

“Where are we?” Zhang Qishan asks.

“Xinqiang River,” the girl answers flippantly.

“How far from Changsha?”

“Is that where you’re from?” the girl asks. “Changsha?” She looks him up and down, seemingly dubious.

“Yes,” Zhang Qishan says. “Where are you from?”

“None of your business.”

Zhang Qishan sighs. “Then what’s your name?”

The girl frowns at him. “None of your business.”

“Why did you save me?”

“None—” The girl stops. “I didn’t.”

“You bandaged my leg, didn’t you?” Zhang Qishan asks, glancing down at his wounded thigh pointedly.

The girl opens her mouth, maybe to answer, but before she can, there are shouts from up the hillside, and her eyes grow wide.

Zhang Qishan turns on one heel, staring up the hill. He can just see the bobbing hats of three Japanese soldiers, real ones this time. They must have heard the gunshot.

He turns back to the girl, but she’s already running, straight across the plain. She’s obviously heading for a grove of trees, but she’ll be very much in sight of the soldiers if she isn’t careful.

Swearing underneath his breath, Zhang Qishan bends to scoop up his gun and shove it into its holster, then takes off after her. It takes a few steps to get used to the artillery fire in his thigh, but he manages to compartmentalize that and keep moving.

He’s almost caught up with her when the first shot whizzes past his head. To her credit, the girl doesn’t even seem to care; she just puts on another burst of speed.

“Don’t run in a straight line!” Zhang Qishan calls to her, and she glances back, scowling when she realizes that he’s following her. “You’ll be less of a target.”

She wrinkles her nose at him, but obeys, zig-zagging through the grass. Zhang Qishan does so as well, only in the opposite direction, which will hopefully confuse the soldiers enough that they won’t be able to get either one of them.

It works, and soon the sounds of pursuit are behind them. Zhang Qishan slows to a jog, then a walk, and then stumbles as his leg seems to decide that it’s had enough.

He braces himself against a tree, leaning forward and trying not to fall. If he falls, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get back up again, and he needs to be mobile in order to get home.

Home. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Ba-ye—everyone must be worried.

There are footsteps close by and he looks up to see the girl staring at him in displeasure. He had expected her to have run off by now, so the fact that she hasn’t is shocking enough.

Zhang Qishan sighs, then takes out his gun, flipping it over so that the handle is pointed in her direction. When the girl simply continues to stare at him, he gestures. “Take it.”

“Why?” she asks, obviously suspicious. The too-big uniform is falling past her hands. She’s not wearing boots, just a pair of woven shoes that have a hole at the smallest toe.

“You probably need it more than I do,” Zhang Qishan admits. He had begun his plans to get home without a weapon. He can make do. “I’ll get another one back in Changsha.”

The girl doesn’t take the gun. She stares at it, biting her lip. “Do you… know people in Changsha?”

Zhang Qishan nearly laughs. Does he know people? That’s about all he’s good for. “I know a lot of people.”

The girl eyes him for a minute more, then straightens importantly. “Li Pingjia.”

“What?”

“That’s my name,” she says. “Li Pingjia. I’ve decided that you can help us.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious.” Chen Pi laughs out loud, leaning against the bars of his cell so that his arms dangle through, as though he’s going to reach out a grab Ba-ye. “You want me to help you find Zhang Da Fo-ye? What made you think I would ever do that?”

“You’ll be out,” Ba-ye says. “Isn’t that what you want? Your freedom?”

Chen Pi stares, unimpressed. “For how long? As soon as I find your Fo-ye, his fuguan will just bring me back here, won’t he? There’s no point.”

Ba-ye sighs. “I can try and convince them—”

“Convince them?” Chen Pi rattles the bars a bit, turning away. “To do what? They’ll never let me stay in Changsha unsupervised.” He laughs again and settles back down on the floor of the cell, crooking one knee up to rest his arm on it. “You’re better off asking Hendry Cox to help you.”

“He won’t understand,” Ba-ye mutters, because the thought has crossed his mind. “You’re the only one we have left.”

“Not Zhang Fuguan?” Chen Pi asks. “I would think he’d be throwing himself into searching for Zhang Da Fo-ye.”

“He’s been captured,” Ba-ye says stiffly. “He’s being punished.”

Chen Pi lets out a low whistle. “So they did overtake the city.” He sighs dramatically, folding his hands up behind his head. “Pity. I thought you would be able to hold out a little longer. Well, with Zhang Da Fo-ye gone, I suppose it’s not much of a surprise.”

“Please,” Ba-ye begs, shoving aside all of his reservations, hoping they’ll stay back long enough for him to get the question out. “Please help me find him. You know what it’s like to lose—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Chen Pi is on his feet, rushing at the bars so quickly that Ba-ye can’t step back. Chen Pi grabs him by the collar, yanking him in dangerously, so close that he almost breaks his nose on the bars.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” he hisses. “None of you do. It’s Zhang Da Fo-ye’s fault that she’s dead, so why ever would I help him?”

“Not him,” Ba-ye chokes out. “Me.”

Chen Pi’s eyes bore into him for a moment, and then he laughs. “Funny enough, Qi Tiezui, I don’t give a shit about you.”

Ba-ye closes his eyes and prays that Fo-ye will forgive him. “I swear that if you help me, I will make sure that you get out of the city myself. Alive.”

“Swear?”

“I’m a fortune teller, Chen Pi,” Ba-ye tells him. “I don’t make a habit of breaking oaths.”

Chen Pi stares at him for a moment, a long one, but whatever he sees must be enough, because he lets Ba-ye’s collar go and steps back. “Fine.”

Ba-ye slumps, relief coursing sticky and warm through his veins. “You’ll help?”

“On one condition,” Chen Pi says. “You don’t tell Er-ye.”

“Why not?”

“If he knows I’ve been let out, he’ll come to put me back himself,” Chen Pi says. “I don’t want to have to kill him this time.”

Ba-ye highly doubts that Chen Pi can kill Er-ye, but he doesn’t argue this point. “Deal. Now, first we have to go get Zhang Fuguan—”

“Oh, no,” Chen Pi says. “No Fuguan. Not yet.”

“What?” Ba-ye asks. “Why?”

Chen Pi’s smile is dark in the torchlight, the light dancing off of his teeth as it would off of a blade. “You asked for my help, fortune teller,” he says. “And that means we’re doing it my way.”

“I don’t like your way,” Ba-ye hisses as they walk through the docks. He trips on a rogue crab trap and has to fumble to avoid knocking into Chen Pi. “Why are we even here? Fo-ye won’t be here.”

“You don’t know that,” Chen Pi says, striding forward as though he can see in the dark while Ba-ye stumbles along behind him.

“If he was here, he would have come back home already,” Ba-ye snaps.

“Unless he couldn’t,” Chen Pi tells him, then says, “Stay here.” He shoves Ba-ye unceremoniously to the side, sitting him down in between several barrels and in a puddle of… something.

Ba-ye huffs at Chen Pi’s retreating back, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on his sleeve, mostly for something to do. He watches as Chen Pi opens the door to a building that seems to just barely be standing, the light filtering out through the sizable gaps in the boards.

Ba-ye glances around, bringing his knees up to his chest nervously as he waits. He should probably have expected that Chen Pi would come here first, considering that he was once the lord of Changsha’s underworld, but he’s honestly sort of surprised it’s still in one piece, given the fact that the rest of the city is in chaos. The gangs had lost their leader weeks earlier, so maybe they had more time to prepare.

Ba-ye doesn’t like it at the docks. Everything smells like fish and there are suspiciously long shadows and besides, he had been kidnapped by one of the former gangs a long time ago. Of course, he hadn’t been nearly as worried then, even strung up from the ceiling and beaten half to death, because he had known that Fo-ye would be coming for him, even if he had to fight through the hoards of hell alone to get there.

Fo-ye’s not coming now.

Ba-ye wonders if maybe this is fate’s way of saying that it’s time for him to return the favor, and tries to do a quick calculation, but all of the results are unclear, fuzzy in a way that he doesn’t like. He can’t see anything about Fo-ye in the futures that string out before him, and he doesn’t want to think about what that might mean.

“Well,” a voice says, interrupting him from his thoughts, “What do we have here?”

Ba-ye snaps his head up, so fast that his neck cricks. Staring down at him is a large man, the sleeves ripped from his shirt to display his arms. His chin is covered in stubble, and there’s a toothpick sticking out from between his teeth, his lips curled in a sneer.

“Looks like you’re lost, little soldier,” the man says, and Ba-ye abruptly remembers that he’s wearing one of Fo-ye’s uniforms. He had put it on half as a disguise and half because it made him feel… something, but now he’s regretting that decision.

“I’m not a soldier,” he manages. “I’m just…”

“Dressed like one,” the man says. “Right.” He reaches down and yanks Ba-ye from between the barrels as though he doesn’t weigh anything. “Are you a spy?”

“N-no,” Ba-ye stammars. “I’m—”

“Away from your regiment,” the man sneers. “You think that we’re selling ammunition to the Japanese? Something like that?” He turns to the side and spits. “Bastards. Both of you.”

“I didn’t think that!” Ba-ye protests. “I’m just looking—”

“So you are a spy,” the man says, and Ba-ye winces as his fist rears back, preparing to strike, but before he can, something wraps around his wrist and yanks him backward, forcing him to drop Ba-ye, who falls on the slick cobblestones.

He looks up to see Chen Pi standing over both of them, looking unamused. He’s got a length of chain wrapped around the man’s arm, who looks as though he’s seen a ghost.

“C-Chen-ye!” he says. “You… we thought you were…”

“Dead?” Chen Pi finishes for him. “Keep telling people that.” He snaps the chain backwards, causing it to uncurl from the man’s wrist and sending him sprawling again. “Unfortunately, that one’s with me.”

The man scrambles up, bowing. “Yes, Chen-ye. Sorry.” He glances at Ba-ye, giving him a begrudging nod. “Sorry.”

Ba-ye is too stunned to speak. He had known that Chen Pi was kind of a big deal underneath his clumsy apprentice exterior, but he hadn’t known that the man had the kind of reputation that made people fear his ghost more than himself.

Chen Pi just stares down at him, not bothering to help Ba-ye up. “I told you to stay put.”

That’s… Ba-ye gets to his feet. “It wasn’t my fault that… that thug grabbed me!”

Chen Pi snorts, already turning away. “Come on,” he says, “I found us a lead.”

And against his better judgement, Ba-ye follows.

Chapter Text

Zhang Qishan has no idea where they’re going, but Li Pingjia seems to. She moves expertly through the trees as though she were born there, which for all he knows, she was.

His leg throbs, and he’s going to need to get the bullet out of there soon—he can feel it grating against the bone as his body tries to heal, which means that he’s got a limited amount of time before it’ll require an actual, proper doctor rather than a field surgery. There’s still some time, however, or at least enough time for them to get wherever they’re going.

Li Pingjia sprints ahead suddenly. Zhang Qishan tracks her movements, waiting as she disappears around the bend, stops, and then comes back. He gives her a quizzical look, which she interprets correctly, because she says, “I was just making sure it was all still there.”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t know what she’s talking about, or at least he doesn’t until they round the corner, and he is able to pick out the opening to a cave, hidden behind several shrubs and piles of brush. It’s a well-done disguise, and if he hadn’t been looking for something, he doesn’t know if he would have seen it.

Li Pingjia stops outside of the entrance. She bites her lip. “Do you promise you can help?”

Zhang Qishan doesn’t know if he can or not, but he nods anyway. It’s not a promise, not exactly, and Li Pingjia seems to recognize that, but she doesn’t insist. Instead, she pulls away the brush from the entrance and steps inside.

“A-Shang!” she whispers loudly. “I’m back.”

Zhang Qishan isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the face of a boy to pop out from the ground, dirt streaked across his face.

“Did you find anything good?” he asks, and then his eyes catch on Zhang Qishan and go very wide. “Jiejie!”

“It’s fine,” Li Pingjia says, beckoning Zhang Qishan forward. “He’s going to help us. He’s from Changsha.”

The boy looks skeptical, and Zhang Qishan doesn’t really blame him. “Are you sure?”

“We don’t have a better option,” Li Pingjia says, shrugging off her stolen uniform coat and folding it up, handing it over to A-Shang. “He says he can help, and I believe him.”

“The others aren’t going to be happy,” A-Shang points out.

“The others won’t care,” Li Pingjia replies. She glances back at Zhang Qishan, tilts her head towards A-Shang, and then leaps over his head, disappearing downwards.

A-Shang gives Zhang Qishan a distrustful side-eye, and then he too disappears.

Zhang Qishan goes to the spot, cautiously looking over. The cave slants downward, disappearing underneath an overhang, which creates a nice little hiding spot. He can spot the glow of a flashlight, or maybe a fire, too small to risk eating all the oxygen up before new air flows in.

He can hear Li Pingjia, just out of sight, addressing someone.

“I brought a friend,” she says, “A grown-up. He can help us.”

Zhang Qishan takes that as his cue and carefully slides down the rock on his good leg, landing slightly unsteadily. Once he gets his bearings back, he looks up and nearly gasps.

Sitting around the little cavern is a group of children. There are at least fifteen, maybe twenty, all in various states of dishevelment. Li Pingjia appears to be the oldest, as a lot of the others still have cheeks round with baby fat. They’re all dirty and wide-eyed, huddled together, some with clean streaks going down their faces from tears.

Zhang Qishan stares at them and suddenly, abruptly, wishes that Ba-ye were here. Ba-ye is better with children than he is. Not on purpose, because he wants one about as much as he wants one of Wu Laogou’s dogs, but he’s far more approachable, far gentler, far better at whatever this is going to turn into than Zhang Qishan will be.

“Oh,” he says finally, after glancing at Li Pingjia and seeing her nod encouragingly at him. “Um. Hello.”

A-Shang snorts. “Wow. Yeah, he’s brilliant.”

Li Pingjia glares at him. “Shh.” She turns back to the kids, giving them reassuring smiles. “See? He’s a grown-up. He’s Chinese. Don’t worry.” She crouches down, giving the others a conspiratorial smile. “He’s from Changsha.”

“Changsha?” a tiny girl asks. “Where there’s food?”

Li Pingjia nods enthusiastically. “Lots of food! We’ll be able to get food there. And we can find beds, and blankets, and shoes!” She grabs the foot of a little boy. He’s missing a shoe, and she tickles the bottom of his foot until he giggles. “It’ll be great.”

All of the children are gazing at Li Pingjia with rapt attention, except for A-Shang, who is still staring at Zhang Qishan distrustfully. Zhang Qishan avoids his eyes; he’s faced down creatures in tombs three times the size of the boy, and yet he doesn’t want to look him in the face.

“I’m going to take him back up to the door so we can make a plan,” Li Pingjia is explaining. “You all get ready to go, okay?”

Zhang Qishan looks at her in alarm, because he’s not sure how to get one child out of this cave and into the city without being seen, much less twenty of them.

The children don’t seem to care, though, because they follow Li Pingjia’s command, sitting up and dusting themselves off, talking in hushed voices. Zhang Qishan hears snatches of conversations about food, about baths, about mama and baba.

“Come on,” Li Pingjia says stiffly, appearing back at his side, and she drags Zhang Qishan back up out of the hiding spot, towards the cave entrance.

Zhang Qishan follows her, too shocked to really make a decision himself about it, but they go back to the entrance and Li Pingjia sits on a rock, digging into the pocket of her too-big pants, which are tied around her waist with a dirty length of rope. She pulls out a knife and holds it out to Zhang Qishan.

“You have to get the bullet out, right?” she asks, which is far more observant that Zhang Qishan had expected. “This is all we have.”

Zhang Qishan nods and takes the blade, sitting down against the other side of the cave and undoing the bandage around his thigh. He tears away his pant leg a little more, revealing a hole in his thigh that bubbles up blood as soon as the pressure is gone. It had been clotting a little bit, and he regrets that he’s going to have to undo that work, but there’s nothing for it.

To distract himself from the pain as he uses the knife to cut into his own leg, he asks, “How did you all get here?”

Li Pingjia is silent for a moment. She’s turned towards the cave entrance, staring out through the brush as though waiting for someone.

“We’re from Yingtian,” she finally says. “The Japanese… they took our city two days ago. We tried to flee, but all of us got separated from our families.” She sighs. “A-Shang’s my brother, but the rest… I picked them up on the way. They’re so small, they didn’t know what was happening. None of us know where… where our parents are, or if they made it out, if it’s safe to go back…” She scrubs a hand underneath her eyes, sniffling. “My mother said that Changsha would be safe. We were trying to go there.”

“Were?” Zhang Qishan grunts, half-paying attention while the other half of his focus is on finding the bullet buried in his thigh.

“That’s part of the reason I was out,” Li Pingjia mutters. “I was trying to find food or anything, but they have everything too well-guarded. But I heard…” She swallows thickly. “They’re planning on damming the river so that the water stops, and then they’ll set fire to the fields.”

Zhang Qishan nearly loses his grip on the bullet, which he has finally found. “They’re going to burn the city?”

Li Pingjia nods. “I can’t tell the kids that, though. They think we’re going to Changsha. I can’t tell them that there’s not going to be anything for us there. We can’t… we have to… I can’t let them all die out here.”

Zhang Qishan yanks the bullet out of his leg with a grunt and tosses it to the side, pressing his hand down against the fresh blood that flows out of the wood. There’s not a better option, so he takes up the old bandage, wrapping it back around his leg and securing it. He flexes his foot, and when he determines that there’s no nerve damage as far as he can tell, he relaxes back against the wall.

“You won’t,” he tells Li Pingjia. “I said I would help.”

Li Pingjia turns to look at him. “How? You can’t stop the entire Japanese army by yourself.”

“No,” Zhang Qishan agrees. “But I’m not by myself anymore, am I?”

Li Pingjia blinks at him, a frown creasing her forehead, before she seems to recognize what his words mean. Her face crumples, just a little, before she visibly steels herself and nods. Zhang Qishan thinks she would make a good general.

“Alright then,” Li Pingjia says. “What do you want me to do?”