Work Text:
The months following Zhang Qiling’s exit from beyond the Bronze Gate are hazy.
His mind becomes sharper the longer he’s awake, here, in the real world, grounded by gentle hands (more hardened than he remembers) and gentler voices (scratched raw by cigarette smoke and some other thing that Zhang Qiling forgets to name love ). These things, in combination with Wushanju’s old, gold-warm smell and enough home cooked meals for an army, bring him up to the six month mark of being home.
Zhang Qiling fights the fog in his brain every day – maybe one day soon he’ll win, or at least come out unscathed. He knows he cannot do both.
But this isn’t quite about that.
It’s unseasonably rainy, lately, and Zhang Qiling sits in the overhang of the porch as he watches water collect between stones in the courtyard. There are footsteps – unhurried, lighter than they used to be– marking a winding path towards where he’s perched for the afternoon. One of the stray cats that sneak into the compound curls tightly into his leg for reasons unknown.
Maybe it’s for the warmth. Or maybe strays can get lonely, too.
“Xiaoge.”
Wu Xie leans a shoulder against the doorframe, most of his body staying in the warmth of the house. Zhang Qiling hums an acknowledgment even while he’s turning.
“Come eat,” Wu Xie says, making some vague come here motion. He even waits for Zhang Qiling to pry himself off the worn floorboards, pat the stray cat once, and stretch his shoulders high until they pop. In the last few months, he’s been quick to remember the fondness in Wu Xie’s gaze – in that most things have changed, this has done so as well, if only that it’s much more pronounced.
Zhang Qiling privately congratulates himself on picking up the expression, this time.
Wu Xie pats him once on the arm when they meet in the threshold before turning for the kitchen.”Pangzi said you had a request for dinner, so I thought we could –”
He’s cut off by a sharp ringtone, and Zhang Qiling notices right away how his shoulders straighten, snapping to attention so unlike the Wu Xie he knew ten years ago. He unearths his phone from his slacks without any of the fumbling his unease used to coincide with.
“Hello?” Wu Xie’s phone is angled just enough that Zhang Qiling can’t see who’s calling. “What’s wrong?”
That Wu Xie would start off a phone call with what’s wrong? is alarming enough for Zhang Qiling’s brain fog to make way for a sense of dread, maybe even impending doom. When the tinny voice on the other end whines a long, drawling Wuuu Xieeeee , Zhang Qiling knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that whatever is happening or about to happen might be more accurately described as complete annihilation of his very fragile status quo.
The vibes, as Pangzi has taken to saying. They’re wretched.
Wu Xie pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake – Li Cu, you never call me. Are you bleeding out somewhere? Are you safe? Is –”
A response from the other side that Zhang Qiling can’t hear. Whatever it is eases the tense line of Wu Xie’s spine and lets him breathe deep, turning back to Zhang Qiling to grace him with an eye roll and another vague head nod towards the kitchen. They continue walking, and Zhang Qiling catches enough of Wu Xie’s conversation to hear how young the person on the other side sounds.
“That is the most normal thing you’ve ever asked me for,” Wu Xie says. He sounds relieved. “I can do that. Just email me the details and I’ll have something for you by tomorrow.”
Zhang Qiling watches on in extreme confusion and maybe a little bit of fear as Wu Xie bids what is undoubtedly a child a “don’t stay up too late. Eight hours, young man.” They’ve reached the kitchen by now, the smell of lunch cooking away, and Pangzi singing to whatever is sizzling on the stove. He must catch the tail end of Wu Xie’s conversation – there’s no other reason for his face to wrinkle like that.
“Ugh,” Pangzi says. “The kid?”
Zhang Qiling concurs. In a fit of Fighting the Brain Fog, he asks Wu Xie: “Who is the kid?”
Wu Xie’s face freezes into a peculiar half-smile, the one that says a lie is imminent, but it might not be a very well thought-out lie, so would you please just change the subject afterwards. The kitchen itself seems to take a breath and hold.
“That,” Pangzi says, “was Li Cu.”
When no more details follow, Zhang Qiling raises a single eyebrow. And?
Wu Xie sighs. The half-lie-smile is gone. “Ah, Xiaoge. First of all, before anyone else says anything, he’s not my kid. He’s just a kid, who I found, and who needed some help, and who went into a tomb with me a few years back.”
Pangzi’s snort means it’s a bit more complicated. Zhang Qiling wishes he didn’t ask. Not Wu Xie’s kid? Not concerning at all, nor could it possibly inspire even more questions, all of which leave a bitter, acid green taste in the back of his mouth.
“He just needed some reference materials for one of his classes,” Wu Xie continues, finally taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Last time he called me, it was to –” He stops, looks critically at Zhang Qiling, and seems to rethink his story. “You know what, he’s just – you know, 20 year old kid, he’s – you’d have to meet him to –”
In Wu Xie’s defense, to which Zhang Qiling will always arrive, he knows as soon as the words pass his lips that they should not have been spoken.
“Ah!” Pangzi shouts. “Invite him over! Tell him to come down this weekend to collect his reference materials and we’ll make him stay for dinner. He can finally meet our Xiaoge!”
There’s a delicate way that Wu Xie says, “Pangzi, maybe we shouldn’t…” with a meaningful look to Zhang Qiling. The caution is appreciated, but he knows his thoughts, his memories, are much more cohesive now than they were in the first months out of the Gate.
He can handle a child. He says as much to the other two men.
“I would like to meet Li Cu.”
“There! It’s settled.” Pangzi crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Text him right now, Tianzhen. Tell him it’s not optional. Xiaoge wants to meet him.”
Wu Xie heaves a very put-upon sigh but spares a smile for Zhang Qiling. For some reason, he has a feeling he’s made a grave mistake.
–
That night, long after Pangzi has gone to bed, long after the stray cats have snuck away to huddle under the dry porch, Wu Xie finds him staring out towards the sky. The rain clouds have cleared just enough to let the moonlight drip down to earth.
Zhang Qiling accepts the blanket around his shoulders.
Wu Xie sas, “Li Cu is a good kid. It’s my fault that he got caught up in this business.”
And he tells Zhang Qiling about Gutongjing.
–
The next week passes by in a blur.
It’s a blur unlike the fog that’s been clouding his mind the past few months. That blur has mostly dissipated, much like mist in morning light, and the blur of the week is the whirlwind of preparation for the dinner guest they’ll have on Saturday. That, paired with the way Wu Xie has withdrawn into himself after telling Zhang Qiling his adventures with Li Cu, makes him buzz with tension. He’s been training in the courtyard more often than not.
(And if he happens to move his body with no thought, if he happens to think and think and think about the way he has no means to comfort Wu Xie after the trauma of the past ten years, well…there’s only so many times Zhang Qiling can pat a man on the shoulder and level him with a Significant Look before he runs out of ideas.)
Zhang Qiling is…nervous.
Some micro expression must pass his face while he’s cutting vegetables with Pangzi on Friday evening. Zhang Qiling can almost feel the eye roll lobbed in his direction before Pangzi turns to face him fully.
Zhang Qiling carefully does not remove his gaze from the carrot in front of him.
“So,” Pangzi intones. Zhang Qiling is a hardened tomb-going man. He does not flinch. Not even a little. “Are you and Tianzhen having a breakthrough or are you just nervous about the kid?”
This feels like a trick question. He knows it’s a trick question and he resents that any answer will give Pangzi the information he wants.
Zhang Qiling, a wise man, does not respond. He gives a noncommittal hmm.
Pangzi throws carrot slices at him until Zhang Qiling leaves the kitchen.
Pangzi says something in the tone of “love that emotionally stunted bastard,” as he goes. Zhang Qiling pretends not to hear.
–
“Your front gate needs some W-D40 or something. Hinges sound like Wu Xie when he sees a centipede.”
Zhang Qiling perches just out of sight on the roof of the porch. He’s watched the 20-something fumble out of the car that dropped him off, struggle to open the gate (he agrees, it does need a coat of grease), and stroll into the front courtyard of Wushanju as if he’s been here before. As if he’s comfortable here.
Without looking up from where he’s reading in the porch shade, Wu Xie says, “I resent that.”
Li Cu tosses his backpack onto the steps but stays where he is, just in Zhang Qiling’s line of sight. “When’d you get the gargoyle? Recent addition to your army of young adults?”
What?
“What?” Wu Xie sounds perplexed, too.
“That one,” Li Cu says, and points directly at Zhang Qiling on the roof.
He’s impressed, if just a bit, that the kid had, if not seen him entirely, then at least caught a glimpse of him. He also resents being called a gargoyle. He’s sensing a theme.
Wu Xie goes quiet – a nervous sort of quiet, one that’s new to Zhang Qiling, in the sense that ten years ago, Wu xie’s nervousness was loud and stumbling. He rolls to his feet and silently drops from the roof, landing with hands in pockets a few feet from Li Cu. When he looks to Wu Xie, he’s correct – he’s nervous, his smile a little too forced, shoulders a little too stiff.
“Li Cu, this is Xiaoge. Xiaoge, Li Cu.”
Li Cu gives him a full once-over that Zhang Qiling tries very hard not to roll his eyes at. Wu Xie doesn’t try at all to contain his laugh. This, at least, sounds genuine.
Pangzi had warned him the day before, how startlingly similar Li Cu and Wu Xie looked, and he hadn’t believed him. Seeing it now, though, the big eyes, sideways grin, last bit of baby fat melting off the line of his jaw: Zhang Qiling almost wants to laugh. If he didn’t know Wu Xie the way he did, he’d agree that this kid was blood related. A cousin or nephew, if not a son.
“Zhang Qiling,” Li Cu intones. He can’t help but raise an eyebrow. Kid is definitely pitching his voice deeper. “The one who was gone for ten years?”
“Li Cu–” Wu Xie snaps.
“Yes,” says Zhang Qiling. It’s true, isn’t it? This is an important person to Wu Xie–he can’t begrudge him questions. He can’t begrudge him the acid in his voice, either.
“So, what,” Li Cu turns to Wu Xie. “You waited ten years for him to come back to fulfill your cradle robbing dreams or something? Tombs aren’t enough for you anymore? Why’s he so young?”
“Good god, Li Cu.” Wu Xie drags a weary hand down his face. “Shut the fuck up and get in here. I have books for you and then Pangzi is going to force at least three meals-worth of food onto you.”
With one last narrowed glance from the kid, Li Cu follows Wu Xie inside and the introductions end. He fights the urge to rub at the headache forming at the base of his skull.
–
Zhang Qiling makes an executive decision and lurks on the roof and around the interior courtyard for most of the day. He’s not hiding , because that would be unbecoming of him. He’s far too old for that. He has tact. He’s…
Okay, maybe he’s hiding a little bit.
Li Cu’s implications from earlier sit like a rock in his stomach. Cradle robbing. As if Wu Xie had any intentions towards him that weren’t strictly friendship – Zhang Qiling knows better than to give himself something as fragile as hope. Wu Xie is a man he’s loved before he even knew what to call it, and he can’t afford to entertain reciprocity, can’t afford to have some innocuous child put that onto his metaphorical table.
Zhang Qiling refuses to think about it.
Instead, he follows the tried and true sounds of Pangzi slamming kitchen cabinets. He knows that dinner is about to be underway, and Pangzi will most certainly give him a task to, if not keep his mind busy, then keep his hands busy enough. He has a feeling he’ll need to fortify whatever defenses he has at the moment to make it through a meal with Li Cu.
Unfortunately, fate is a bitch, destiny has left him a hit and run victim, and as Hei Xiazi has said (on multiple occasions one wishes to forget): Lady Luck has left him blue-balled with no safe word.
Li Cu and Wu Xie are already seated in the kitchen when Zhang Qiling walks in. He was so focused on not thinking about his inexorable love for Wu Xie that he didn’t even hear them.
“Xiaoge!” It’s Pangzi that calls him and beacons him to stir a pot, but it’s Wu Xie he keeps his eyes on, the man looking up from the book between him and Li Cu to spare Zhang Qiling a smile. It’s small, but it’s for him, for Wu Xie’s Xiaoge, and it warms his chest.
He lets himself smile back, can feel the barest twitch in his lips and the way his eyes crinkle with it, and Wu Xie’s grin brightens in turn. He has to look away before he melts into the floor.
“Oh, barf,” Li Cu says.
(Zhang Qiling hears more than sees Wu Xie’s open palm hitting the back of the kid’s head. He accepts the spoon Pangzi hands him and stirs the pot as directed.)
Twenty minutes and no indecipherable snide commentary later, they set dishes onto the table and Pangzi bans research material from the kitchen for the rest of the evening. Li Cu grumbles at him and makes a rude gesture with his chopsticks when Pangzi threatens him with a ladle.
Wu Xie pokes and prods Li Cu enough to get him to talk about his classes, his friends, the weird martial arts classes Hei Xiazi keeps recommending to him. The kid, to his credit, asks about Wu Xie and Pangzi in turn: how’s Xaoi Mei? Has Warehouse 11 called lately? Can I go there yet? Please tell me you guys got rid of that haunted lantern from last year.
Zhang Qiling both drowns and basks in the information, the half-told stories, the laughter that washes over him and deepens the fine lines around Wu Xie’s (and Pangzi’s) eyes.
Maybe this kid isn’t so bad, he can’t help but think.
With uncanny timing, Li Cu finally turns to Zhang Qiling, meeting his eyes head-on for the first time since Wu Xie introduced them in the courtyard. “Zhang Qiling.”
“Here we go,” Pangzi groans, saluting the air with his beer before finishing the can.
Zhang Qiling remains silent. He blinks once to indicate he’s listening. He’s not sure Li Cu understands the gesture.
“I’ve been waiting a while to tell you this,” Li Cu starts. Zhang Qiling pretends not to see the panicked look Wu Xie sends to him – he’s actually curious now. What could this child have to say to him? Li Cu keeps his shoulders square as he says: “You fucked Wu Xie up pretty bad when you left.”
“Li Cu,” Wu Xie stands halfway out of his seat, trying to put himself between Li Cu and Zhang Qiling. “That’s enough. You have no idea what–”
“Wu Xie.”
Zhang Qiling keeps the wince from his expression, allows his jaw one moment to clench, teeth grinding, before he relaxes. He gives Wu Xie the barest shake of his head, making the man pause and sink slowly back into his seat. There is nothing that Li Cu can tell him that he has not already told himself. There is nothing that he and Wu Xie have not already spoken about. He knows the damage he’s caused.
When he looks back to Li Cu, the kid’s expression is hard, much more callous than a 20-something ought to look, but there’s concern there, too, heavy in the line of his brow and the way he sits leaning forward, his upper body tilting to sit in front of Wu Xie.
Huh.
“I know,” Zhang Qiling tells Li Cu. The kid opens his mouth as if to follow up, undoubtedly with years of creative curses saved just for this, but Zhang Qiling levels him with a cold stare. The kid snaps his mouth shut. “The pain I caused is irreparable–”
“Xiaoge –” Pangzi this time, leaning over to clasp his shoulder.
Zhang Qiling keeps his eyes on Li Cu, “– and I know you have kept Wu Xie safe for the time while I could not. Thank you.”
The kitchen is silent. Li Cu eyes are wide, making him look even younger, and his mouth opens again, but no words follow. Zhang Qiling continues. “However, I will not apologize for what has been done to protect the people dear to me.”
With a hard blink, Li Cu closes his mouth and finally lowers his eyes to the table in front of him. He is at least, Zhang Qiling thinks, smart enough to hear the note of finality in his tone. This is not a topic for Li Cu to discuss, least of all as a vehicle to scold him . A glance to Pangzi shows his complex expression, elbows resting on the table and hands folded in front of his mouth, and Wu Xie’s is just as muddled, eyes soft and sad.
“Well,” Li Cu begins. Wu Xie looks as if he’s about to clap a hand over his mouth before the kid sighs, leaning back in his chair like the wind has gone from his sails. “Don’t think that means I approve of you. Still don’t think you’re good enough for Wu Xie. Not that he’s not an old bastard –”
“Hey!”
“But he still deserves someone who won’t make him sad all the damn time.” Li Cu crosses his arms. Zhang Qiling has a vague feeling that Li Cu is not talking about the same thing that he is, that he has misconstrued the relationship between himself and Wu Xie, but he also isn’t certain enough to correct him.
His best bet is a miniscule incline of his head. An agreement, appeasement, whatever Li Cu would like to interpret it as.
Zhang Qiling is suddenly exhausted. He stands, delivers his dishware to the sink, and –
“I bet you 400 yuan I can beat your ass at pool.”
Oh.
Oh.
Zhang Qiling hasn’t even left the kitchen and Li Cu has chosen violence once again. He turns around to face the child, the infinitesimal tardigrade of a creature, and raises a single eyebrow.
“Four hundred,” Li Cu repeats, looking smug and overconfident. Wu Xie is red in the face, trying very hard not to laugh or maybe cry, and that alone makes Zhang Qiling say:
“I accept.”
-
Zhang Qiling proceeds to, as they say, “wipe the floor” with the child. He also wins 400 yuan.