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“Are you sure this is the right place?” Zhou Zishu barks into his comm, short tempered. It’s been an absolutely terrible day. Nothing has gone right. He is hung over, hungry, exhausted, and people keep trying to kill him.
“Why wouldn’t it be the right place?” Jing Beiyuan sounds vaguely affronted.
“I dunno. Something feels… off.”
Jing Beiyuan has guided him into this alley to lure their target away from a heavily populated area, to reduce collateral damage. Now Zhou Zishu is pulling on doors of one decrepit building after another, until, finally, one opens. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he ducks inside.
But once he gets in, he realizes his sixth sense was tingling for a reason. He rounds the first corner and finds himself face to face with a kid in his late teens, dressed in worn-out cargo pants that used to be black, a patched up bomber jacket, and a blue mohawk.
“I thought there was no one here,” Zhou Zishu growls at Jing Beiyuan, “wasn’t this place supposed to be deserted?”
The kid thrusts out his chin and narrows his eyes.
“Of course it’s deserted,” Jing Beiyuan insists despite the clear evidence to the contrary currently staring Zhou Zishu in the face, “the whole building is condemned — I can’t pick up any signs of life at all.”
At the exact same moment Blue Mohawk crosses his arms and demands, “Get the hell out of my house,” in an ice-cold tone.
“Zishu? Did I just hear someone talking? But that shouldn’t—” As Jing Beiyuan is speaking, the comm goes dark. No signal. Nothing but static.
That… is troubling. The Ministry’s communication systems are unparalleled. It’s often a matter of life or death for the agents on the ground to be able to relay information to their strategists, and that goes double for the Tian Chuang division. Considerable funds and effort have been allocated to make their systems foolproof, with multiple points of failover. It’s the only way to be sure they really can ‘know everything and be everywhere,’ as the rumors about them claim. Zhou Zishu can’t remember the last time he lost contact with Jing Beiyuan over a connectivity issue.
But there’s no time to worry about that because while he’s resetting the signal on the comm he hears the outside door slam open — meaning the lure worked — and now the target has followed him in here with a fucking submachine gun and a serious attitude problem.
Well, I guess we did kill his entire squad. I’d probably have an attitude problem, too.
“What the fuck?” The blue-haired kid’s eyes go wide as a rain of gunfire goes off down the hall, getting closer.
Zhou Zishu grimaces. “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in here,” he offers apologetically.
Heavy footfalls stop outside the door. As the target kicks it open and bursts into the room, gun blazing, Zhou Zishu lurches forward and pulls the boy behind him. He’s not letting more innocents die on his watch, today. Too much paperwork.
He succeeds at shielding the kid, but takes a bullet to the shoulder in the process. He touches the wet patch spreading across his black shirt, and his hand comes back smeared in cherry red.
Ah shit, that’s gonna bleed.
Zhou Zishu’s lip curls as he raises his gun and puts a bullet between the guy’s eyes, then shakes his head as his vision starts to blur.
The day’s events seem to catch up with him all at once: hunger, fatigue, pain, and blood loss overwhelming the adrenaline he’s been running on for the past hour. He tries to warn the kid to get the hell out of there before anyone else shows up, but before he can gather his words, he passes out cold on the floor.
*********
Zhou Zishu wakes up in a room he doesn’t recognize, on a too-springy, slightly lumpy twin mattress. He freezes and tries to take stock of the situation before he opens his eyes. It’s unfamiliar, but it doesn't feel unsafe. He’s warm, tucked into bed with his shirt and shoes off and covered by an old, patched quilt. His shoulder has been bandaged while he was unconscious.
He opens his eyes to find the blue mohawk kid sitting in an old, rusty lawn chair that he’s pulled up on the side of the bed. He seems to be dozing, lightly. Zhou Zishu can’t remember the last time someone was by his bedside when he woke. He considers that it was probably Jiuxiao, actually, and shoves away a pang of sadness.
Pulling down the covers Zhou Zishu sees that someone, probably this kid, has dressed his wound and stopped the bleeding. The work looks shockingly good, neater and more effective than he’d have expected from someone without medical training. He wonders what kind of life a boy that age has to have, to get the experience he needs to do something like this. There are quite a few possibilities, and not many of them are good.
He turns back to consider his unwitting host. The boy looks younger when he’s sleeping, with full lips and smooth, amber skin. An industrial piercing bisects his right ear, and an eyebrow ring glints on the edge of his eyebrow. The shaved sides of his head have grown out a little, and Zhou Zishu’s fingers suddenly itch to reach up and feel the fuzzy texture.
Ha. How much blood did you lose today, buddy? he asks himself, amused at the over-familiar impulse.
The kid rouses, perhaps sensing that he’s being watched. His dark eyes are wary as he blinks away sleep and comes to focus his gaze on Zhou Zishu.
Cautiously, he leans forward and offers a shot of what smells like bad vodka and a small handful of capsules that look like over-the-counter pain relievers.
Better than nothing, Zhou Zishu considers, wincing in pain as he moves enough to accept first the pills, then the vodka, eyes watering at the burn.
“Thanks, kid.”
The kid looks for a long minute, reserved, but curious. “You took a bullet for me,” he says, finally.
Zhou Zishu shrugs and then winces. “The guy was only here because of me. You’re okay?”
The kid nods. Something about him, the defiant jut of his chin, reminds Zhou Zishu of—
He swallows hard against a pang of fresh grief.
“I’m Zhou Xu,” he says, suddenly anxious to fill the silence.
“Han Ying,” the kid replies easily.
Zhou Zishu gestures at his bandages and asks, “Why? I mean. You didn’t have to—”
Han Ying gives him a roguish half smile. “If I brought you to a hospital they’d call the cops. Not sure how a guy like you feels about cops.”
Smart kid.
“Thanks for that,” he says, sidestepping the implied question.
“Hey, that dude tried to shoot me in my own house,” Han Ying points out, throwing his hands up in the air. “Any enemy of his is a friend of mine.”
Zhou Zishu chuckles, then gingerly pulls himself to sit up, unable to contain a small, punched-out grunt of pain as he moves. Han Ying reaches out as though to stop him, but aborts the movement at the last minute. “You should rest. You’re injured.”
“I’ve had worse. Besides, I need to get back. I don’t even know what time it is.”
“You’ve been here for about three hours. Someone came to pick up the body, but I didn’t know if they were with you or him, so I hid us. I’m good at not being found if I don’t want to be.”
Zhou Zishu nods. It’s sound reasoning — exactly what he would have done, had their positions been reversed, actually.
The kid is good under pressure, he observes. But they’re going to be freaking out at HQ when they realize they’ve got a puddle of my blood and they still can’t find me.
He switches on his comm again to try and contact Jing Beiyuan, but it’s still dead. There’s power, but no signal whatsoever.
“That radio won’t work here,” Han Ying observes, sounding half apologetic and half proud. He goes on to explain that he’s set up a device of his own making to interfere with any surveillance equipment within a hundred meters.
“That’s seriously impressive,” Zhou Zishu tells him, and he’s being entirely sincere. The Ministry’s surveillance equipment is no joke, and Jing Beiyuan is a tech genius. “I know a couple of extremely accomplished hackers who would be dying to pick your brain about this rig after I debrief.”
Han Ying blushes and ducks his head as he rubs at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “Nah, it’s not that cool. I just. Didn’t want to be found.”
“Are you hiding from child services?” Zhou Zishu asks frankly. He’s known a few kids who weren’t able to thrive in the system over the years, and Han Ying definitely has that flavor to him.
Han Ying laughs, and Zhou Zishu smiles back. He’s a good-looking kid when he isn’t on the defensive.
“Nah,” he’s saying. “Well. Not anymore. I’m turning nineteen in a few months.”
Interesting. Very interesting…
*********
Han Ying is wary, but agrees to take Zhou Zishu out where he can use his comm to contact his team, on the condition that Zhou Zishu first drink a glass of water and eat a bit so he can take more painkillers. To eat, he offers some dumplings from a nearby street vendor. They’re really good, and Zhou Zishu finds himself wondering when the last time was that he sat and enjoyed a simple meal with someone who wasn’t related to work.
As they eat, Han Ying gently grills him about what, exactly, he was doing in that alley anyway.
“Trying to prevent an international incident,” Zhou Zishu replies flippantly. Han Ying raises his eyebrows and gives him an excited look.
“Are you a spy?”
“Only when I’m abroad. At home we just call it the secret service.”
“That’s so fuckin’ cool. Though, you’re doing a pretty bad job at the secret part.”
Zhou Zishu chuckles. “Shut up, smartass, I’m telling you on purpose. I can’t be secretive and recruit you at the same time.”
“Recruit me… for what?”
“Do you want a job?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Han Ying looks down and gestures broadly at the mohawk, then his clothes and facial piercings. “Does it look like I want a job? I don’t do well with authority.”
Zhou Zishu gestures at himself, mirroring Han Ying’s actions from a moment before. “Do I look like I do well with authority?” he teases.
Han Ying gives him an entirely unimpressed side eye. “Yep.”
Zhou Zishu cringes at the teenage judgement. “Ouch. Okay, well… You still want to drive fast cars and blow up bad guys, though, yeah?”
Han Ying’s expression turns considering. “I’m listening.”
“What if the authority was me?” Zhou Zishu offers.
Han Ying’s eyebrows go up. “I’m still listening.”
Zhou Zishu narrows his eyes. Han Ying laughs and ducks his head rubbing at the fuzzy hair on the back of his head with one hand. Zhou Zishu couldn’t stop his answering smile if he tried. How long has it been since he’d smiled this much? And with a bullet wound, no less? He’s definitely not leaving without this kid. There has to be a way to convince him.
He doesn’t want to live in a condemned building forever, Zhou Zishu points out, and the agency will pay for university. If he wants access to more tech, he’d be permitted a staggering amount of liberty to tinker in the labs. Doesn’t he want to learn how to fight properly, in a few different styles?
In the end Han Ying agrees to come back to participate in the debrief, officially just to give a statement, though it’s clear his curiosity has been piqued. Zhou Zishu apologizes in advance that the nerds in Strategy are going to be on him like pack animals trying to learn how he blocked their tech.
“That’s fine,” Han Ying laughs, “as long as everyone understands this isn’t a job interview.”
Smiling, Zhou Zishu nods.
*********
When they pull into the hangar back at HQ Han Ying is already gawking at the cars, bikes, planes, and helicopters parked there, doing his best to seem disaffected and failing utterly. Zhou Zishu is amused, and wants to tease him about it, but he knows how fragile the ego of an eighteen year old boy can be and opts to hold his tongue.
As they walk through the building Zhou Zishu keeps him close, not entirely sure the kid won’t bolt for the door at the first opportunity and not entirely confident in the Ministry’s ability to keep him contained without any embarrassing incidents. He tells himself that he’s only sticking by Han Ying to save face in case he tries to run, but the reality is the kid is just the most interesting thing in the room.
Zhou Zishu suspects that more than one agent notices him hovering. He has his suspicions confirmed in short order when Jing Beiyuan comes waltzing into Han Ying’s interview room less than two minutes after they’ve gotten settled, smiling like trouble with his eyes sparkling.
“Zishu,” he accuses, “you got a puppy!”
Zhou Zishu sighs heavily, bracing for impact, while Han Ying turns to face his latest challenge with a look of wariness and trepidation. Jing Beiyuan, naturally, continues speaking, heedless of either man’s reaction.
“I couldn’t believe the gossip I overheard when He Yunxi came to drop off those files with Ping’an, but I see even that doesn’t do the boy justice. Yunxi didn’t mention he’s gorgeous. Can we keep him, pretty please?”
Jing Beiyuan extends a hand as though to touch Han Ying’s mohawk, but Han Ying is too fast for him, moving his head and smacking the offending hand away with a glare.
“Oh, he bites,” Jing Beiyuan teases with a grin. “I’m afraid he’ll need to be properly trained and housebroken if you intend to keep him, Zishu.”
Zhou Zishu opens his mouth to reply but Han Ying beats him to it, saying, “Now look, pretty boy, I don’t intend to be ‘kept,’ by anyone, and if that’s your game I’ll take my leave right now.”
Jing Beiyuan's smile falters briefly, replaced for a split second by that creepy, far-away look he gets when he’s being too perceptive for his own good. But then he blinks and the idiot grin is back.
Oh no.
Before Jing Beiyuan can unleash his next salvo of absolute bullshit, Zhou Zishu puts up a hand to silence him.
“Jing Beiyuan,” he says coolly, “meet Han Ying, the young man who got his house shot up because of our bad intel and was kind enough to save my life anyway, instead of tossing me out on the curb with the rest of the trash. Han Ying, this is Jing Beiyuan, who is the head of Strategy here at the Ministry, and leads R&D for the Tian Chuang division, which is the special ops unit I started. He’s a lot smarter than he acts, and is, because I enjoy suffering, my friend as well as a valued colleague.”
The two of them start speaking over each other almost before Zhou Zishu finishes introducing them.
“Zhou-ge, what the hell is this? I told you I’m just here to check it out, you better not be interrogating me for—”
“Zishu, honestly, it’s unlike you to run your mouth this way. You can’t go telling Tian Chuang business to—”
“I’m telling Han Ying,” Zhou Zishu interrupts them both, “because I want you to stop talking for once in your damn life, Beiyuan, and listen. He’s the one who built that rig that took out all our mics and cameras.”
“Is that so?” Jing Beiyuan’s insufferable mask drops completely, replaced in a blink by the cold, clinically assessing face he wears in his lab when he’s really working.
Han Ying, who seems to have an appealingly accurate bullshit detector, relaxes visibly at Jing Beiyuan’s change in demeanor.
So, ‘creepy’ doesn’t bother him, but ‘fake’ does. That’s good to know.
Han Ying turns to Zhou Zishu with his eyes narrowed. “You said this wasn’t a job interview.”
Zhou Zishu shrugs and admits, “I lied.”
Han Ying looks petulant.
“Do you want me to take you home now?” Zhou Zishu offers mildly. “I’m happy to, if you want.”
Han Ying gives him an exasperated look, and Zhou Zishu knows he’s got him hooked. The kid is too naturally inquisitive to walk away now.
“I guess since I’m already here,” he grumbles, “I might as well hear you out.”
Zhou Zishu flashes a smile that widens when Han Ying scowls, realizing this was his plan all along.
“Oh, you two…” Jing Beiyuan purrs, glancing between them with a knowing smile, “I think this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”