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The general halted in his steps, something was amiss, something was tolling. He was not sure what, and even if he had asked Zhuge Liang several times whether he heard something the answer was the same ‘no’ and a puzzled look coming from the military advisor.
Zhao Yun wasn’t sure, but something was amiss that day. He could not tell what.
It felt like something was slipping through his fingers, and the memories of what once was is erased without his consent.
Loyalty is the grave where soldiers will die, a saint they willingly pray to, and a nameless god that trickles crumbs towards dogs who are famished. What are soldiers to their lord if not their obedient hounds? They are a mirror that was born from a different soil, a soul splintered by the gods themselves, meant to pave their path in their respective way. The same as everyone else, and yet there are times when Zhao Yun wished Han Xin would for once, think and listen to his cause.
His gaze met familiar scarlet eyes inside a sharp-cut frame that stood stiffer than stone, Zhao Yun opened his mouth and Han Xin’s name rang like a church bell’s toll from his lips, like they’ve known each other longer than necessary, as if they have something thicker than blood tied between their soul. “Han Xin,” Zhao Yun started, the end of his call trailed into fog, as if he’s tasting his name over his tongue, as if the name blurted faster from his tongue and throat, before he could think.
“Rethink your decision, the lord you’ve been serving is not any less sly compared to snakes. His promises are nothing but naught, the glory he’d give to you is no greater than death.”
Han Xin turned his steps, “if you’re going to speak about what my Lord will do to me, or any kind of nonsense the way you always do, I will not hesitate to cut your tongue right here right now.” The corners of his lips upturned into a sneer. “I respect you, General Zhao Yun, as a warrior.”
Never an ally, never a friend, will never be a partner, a lover if what if upon an eternity could be granted by gods above. The two of them served under two different lords, with the same heart and devotion, they’d lick their masters’ feet if asked. Yet, one will be tossed as if they were nothing and another will be praised for generations. They are the writer of their own fate, and yet an epilogue is bound to seal the eternity they have built with their own two hands.
“And I would be saddened to be the one who takes your voice as a trophy.”
Zhao Yun, on the other side, tilted his head. Stray strands of wood colored hair falling over his countenance; a gesture Han Xin knew so intimately more than necessary it felt almost too much. Mirrors were no stranger between them both, the way every port laid a path for them to cross from time to time, mirrors are the soul that could not be seen through eyes.
“I did not mean to offend you,” Zhao Yun started.
I wanted to save you, could you not see it?
The gust of loyalty is a brewing tempest that soon will dance with fire. Flames will never turn them to ashes, not yet, but flame is the embodiment of Han Xin himself. The stage set on a cottage forgotten en masse yet found by two hounds that love licking each other's wounds will become the sole testimony to everything forbidden. The great and famous general Zhao Yun, should this sin be known, will be defined as something more than heretic in the eyes of people.
The two of them have stayed long enough to hear each other’s cries that soon turn to guilt. But most of the time, it was hatred that turned into something despicable. Zhao Yun dare not to name the name, but in another world where they are not bound to another, maybe he would follow Han Xin to the edge of the world, to the middle of nowhere, to stand so close and bear the mantle of evil with and without purpose. So long as he could save him from destiny written on stone.
Someday, in another world, in another life, If Han Xin was about to stab him in the back, he’d probably apologize. Zhao Yun will have promised to destroy himself to save him over and over again even though Han Xin will trample his life like it was nothing. Then, he will come back from his grave, haunt him to his misery, and extend his hand as his one and only savior.
The way Han Xin’s figure laying on the bed with his hair splayed like waterfall, each drip of his words trickling down of sweet nothings, and the voice that has lulled Zhao Yun countless times to the dreamland, the heat of Han Xin’s body as Zhao Yun rides him whenever they spent their night together. The length of his girth, the grip of his hand on Zhao Yun’s waist as it roamed through his body and soul, how full Han Xin could make him feel. His fingers that were used to wield his spear on Zhao Yun’s lips, on his tongue, all those let’s do this every day when we’re old or let’s not care about what Liu Bang and Liu Bei will think, as long as we had fun, they’ll be happy too, right?
Each time Zhao Yun closed his eyes, there was only a recap of his eternity spent in a hut for two. Han Xin was warm, he’s summer, he’s fire. And Zhao Yun always wondered why’d the world be so cruel to engrave such a path towards a person so devoted. Towards a person who did their best and yet never seen by the world. Towards a person whose everything that shall be replied by treachery.
Zhao Yun didn’t get it why Zhuge Liang always murmured let’s run away, far from the world, where nobody can reach us without needing to destroy everything or anyone. He knew to whom it was directed to, and he didn’t expect that he’d have the same fate with someone he looks up to.
Perhaps, fate truly has a hobby towards those who served under the same banner.
A split second for a recap of his eternity is everything he could taste. There’s nothing but the bitterness of rust.
Zhao Yun opened his mouth when his eyes snapped open, it took everything for him to not speak of Han Xin’s name out of suspicion. The name was pressed upon his throat, and it felt like swallowing a needle. He didn’t get it, why’d he dream of Han Xin after that so often, after their last meeting that was full of complications. Was it because he was worried sick? Was it because he knew the war was nearing its end so everyone must be on their edge? That something could befall upon them without remedy?
Sometimes he wishes Han Xin was here, so he’d be free from the misery of anxiety. Would Han Xin be happier, though? Would he smile if he could feel Zhao Yun’s skin beneath his fingertips every day, whether he could feel his warmth underneath his digits? Because what Zhao Yun will do was, at most,
There was a knock at his door, and he heard a bell tolling. It’s been several times he’s been hearing chimes coming through his head. He must be sick. His hand brushed upon the handle of the door, and the word he heard for the first time at that moment was that General Han Xin had been executed. Cold roused goosebumps upon his skin, climbing into his spine, the tips of his finger left a ripple upon the frame, and he trembled like the water underneath his feet was trying to drag him down into the abyss. But he didn’t break down at that moment. There was still someone.
He placed a weight over his palm, pushing his emotions with tender might.
“I see,” he stepped back, turning away.
“Please give me some time.”
He didn’t want to see how the outside world didn’t change, the skies still measured summer day.
Today he wanted to lament the fact that he’d never hear the voice he always yearn the most.
Han Xin chuckled a sigh then turned to the very master he served, he once paid a high price to reach where he reigned–albeit without throne, without crown. Although his hands were tied and his body was battered, albeit his bones are broken and dent, albeit his legs were barely able to support himself to stand still, his soul undented in exchange for an everlasting in the name of pride. The sun rose beneath his blood colored hair, his voice louder than the silence trickling as death cups him by the cheek the way he desired Zhao Yun to.
When the world starts to grow bleaker, stained by his own blood that trickles down from his forehead, he hears the person he spent the night before.
“Come with me.”
“If this is by heaven’s will, I have no apology to offer towards everything I have chosen in my life. If there’s any, my only regret is not listening to you.”
And the voice that almost felt like a reverie, plucked the general out of his misery.
Unfortunately, not even the fiercest gust shall deliver the final sayings towards someone who was a distant away.