Chapter Text
The order to make camp was issued just as the last traces of daylight disappeared behind the mountains.
By then, his soldiers were exhausted enough that they only spoke what was necessary while tents and temporary shelters were raised in practiced silence beneath the quickly darkening sky. Horses snorted wisps of white into the chilly evening air as they were watered and checked over. Fires slowly began to bloom across the camp one by one, bringing the smell of roasting meat, their warm orange light flickering against armor, blankets, and weary faces alike.
The journey toward the Beigu Mountain Camp would continue at dawn. Until then, rest was in order.
Xie Zheng sat near one of the larger fires with his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, one arm resting against the knee he had drawn up while absentmindedly roasting a skewered piece of meat over the flames. The wound at his side still throbbed unpleasantly beneath the fresh bandages wrapped there earlier – though, compared to everything else weighing on him tonight, the pain barely registered anymore.
Across the fire from him, Changning sat wrapped tightly in a blanket entirely too large for her small frame.
She had barely spoken the whole day – and none since they stopped riding.
At first, Xie Zheng thought it was simply from exhaustion – that she was still because she was minutes away from falling asleep while seated. But the longer he watched, the more he realized she wasn’t sleepy – only unusually quiet, gaze lowered toward the bowl resting untouched in her lap while the firelight flickered softly across her flushed – and noticeably slimmer – cheeks.
Xie Zheng was worried.
Normally, she would have been full of questions by now – her curiosity and boldness knowing no bounds.
She would absolutely ask about the horses – animals always excited her, Xie Zheng recalled. She would likely be interested in the mountains, too. And the soldiers and the fact that everyone listened to him so quickly whenever he spoke? Definitely.
But tonight there was no chirping chatter accompanying the crackling of the flames.
There was only silence.
Xie Zheng’s worried gaze lingered on her and the barely touched roasted pheasant meat in her little bowl.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
Changning looked up slowly at the sound of his voice – but still not making any eye contact.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled listlessly.
Xie Zheng frowned faintly.
Earlier, before they started the journey after the battle, Gongsun Yin had already warned him that the fright and exhaustion might bring on a fever. At the time, when he handed her the last of Changyu’s tangerine peel candy, she seemed alright – even if her face seemed pale and tired from everything she had endured.
But now she looked worse. Not dramatically so – if someone hadn’t known her, they might have thought that she was just a quiet, well-behaved, shy child, and praised her for her manners.
But to Xie Zheng’s eyes – who spent so much time in the company of his little sister-in-law in more peaceful times in Lin’an – the difference was glaringly obvious.
She was not okay.
And thinking about the reason she wasn’t her usual self, made guilt settle unpleasantly beneath his ribs again.
Sui Yuanqing kidnapped her because of him – and that was a fact that couldn’t be disputed.
(He could still remember how she was one careless mistake away from being speared through the middle. Xie Zheng didn’t think he was breathing at all at that moment.)
He felt fury at first – one that nearly consumed him and made him almost quarter that damned Prince on the spot for daring to hurt her – but later that anger turned towards a different recipient when his brain decided to confront him with the truth.
A little girl had been dragged into danger simply because it was believed she belonged to the Marquis of Wu’an. To him.
The weight of that sentence was heavier than his battle armor, and Xie Zheng was too weak to carry it. Or scared to even try.
Because of that realization – that what put her in danger was her proximity to him – something in Xie Zheng had instinctively begun stepping backward from Changning; keeping an emotional – and sometimes physical – distance.
Not cruelly or even consciously – he didn’t treat her like a stranger, or cut off all contact, or anything.
But distant just enough.
Enough that he found himself unconsciously relying more on Gongsun Yin and Xie Wu to take care of her whenever possible instead of remaining beside her himself.
Enough that he let his attention be kept by military matters since the moment He Jingyuan’s request for aid arrived – allowing strategy and logistics to occupy him before he could think too deeply about the way Changning kept following him with her eyes every time he moved.
As if waiting like a lost puppy for its owner; to show an ounce of care.
(As if she was afraid he might disappear again if she looked away too long.)
And the thing was – a part of Xie Zheng wanted nothing more to hug her to himself in relief, to console her, to protect her, to take care of her as her brother-in-law should.
But was it wise to do so?
Was it wise to show just how much he cared when that same care was the reason she was held hostage for months and used as a bargaining chip in a petty war? Was it wise – and was it worth it?
It all weighed heavily on his chest and mind.
“Try to eat a little,” he said softly, because he couldn’t not care about her either.
Changning obediently lowered her gaze toward the bowl again. She managed two small bites before going back to staring into the flames, shoulders hunched and eyes kept low.
Xie Zheng’s chest hurt – much worse than the injury on his side.
He was about to do something – he didn’t know what exactly, just that this situation was unbearable and he had to remedy it somehow – but unfortunately, just like always, his other responsibilities didn’t know the concept of timing.
“Houye.”
A soldier had approached, waiting several respectful steps away, saluting, until Xie Zheng acknowledged him. As he listened to the report, it was clear that he and his generals would be needed for making a decision.
Xie Zheng stood automatically.
“I’ll return shortly,” he told Changning without thinking much of it, glancing at Gongsun Yin meaningfully.
His best friend, fortunately, understood him without words as usual, and with a sigh, he gestured for him to go – and Xie Zheng marched away flanked by Xie Wu and Xie Qi.
By the time he finally finished dealing with military matters, the camp had grown significantly quieter.
Most fires had burned lower, conversations reduced to scattered murmurs beneath the mountain cold and the stars. Men already slept under blankets and cloaks wherever they found space, exhaustion overtaking caution after days of constant movement.
Xie Zheng exhaled slowly as he was finally free from the last discussion, walking out of the tent and towards his own. Looking up and around, only then did he realize how much time had passed while he was occupied – how much he left Changning almost alone, once again.
His gaze swept automatically toward the small fire where he left his friend and his sister-in-law, but he didn’t find what he expected.
The bowl Changning had barely touched sat abandoned near the fire – but Changning herself was gone. Gongsun Yin, as well.
For one brief moment, panic raced through him before he spotted Gongsun Yin near one of the smaller tents further back in camp.
The strategist looked up immediately when Xie Zheng approached with hurried steps.
“She is alright,” he said quietly before Xie Zheng could ask, his hand patting his arm reassuringly. Xie Zheng only noticed how tense he had been when his body started easing at the touch, and his breath left him in a relieved sigh. “She fell asleep, so I thought it would be better to put her down.”
Xie Zheng’s gaze shifted toward the tent next to them and the soldier guarding the entrance, before sliding back to Gongsun Yin, who nodded. The location was well-thought-out and strategic, as it could be expected from his military advisor – far enough, that whoever attempted to assassinate the Marquis of Wu’an wouldn’t find a defenseless child nearby, but close enough that anything were to happen, Xie Zheng would be able to get to her in under a minute.
“Thank you,” he said, grateful for his friend’s preemptive and smart mind.
“Don’t mention it,” Gongsun Yin said, smiling mildly, before glancing at the tent in seriousness. “The fever hasn’t risen yet, but –”
Yet. But.
The words lingered unpleasantly, not needing continuation. Xie Zheng exhaled slowly through his nose before finally nodding once, rubbing his hand over his face.
Suddenly, he felt so tired.
The last several days blurred together into blood, riding, floodwater, battle, planning, searching, and fear, all without proper sleep or rest between any of it. Even now, with the camp finally quiet around them, his body still carried the restless tension of someone expecting another disaster before dawn.
Gongsun Yin noticed his exhaustion immediately.
“You should sleep too,” he said quietly, before he smirked faintly. “Preferably before you faint somewhere and find yourself another beautiful girl to marry.”
He would never let me live it down, wouldn’t he?
Xie Zheng rolled his eyes and ignored his friend’s teasing entirely.
After doing his usual nightly patrol around the areas, he eventually ducked into the tent prepared for him nearby, removing his armor before lying down atop the rough bedding with his halberd resting within arm’s reach beside him.
Sleep claimed him quickly despite how his thoughts seemed to not want to settle – but it could not have been more than a few hours later when a quiet voice pulled him sharply back awake.
When he opened his bleary eyes and made eye contact with the person in his tent, his nightly visitor saluted.
“Houye,” Xie Wu said quietly beside him, careful not to disturb the others sleeping nearby, “the little miss seems distressed.”
The remnants of sleep vanished from Xie Zheng almost immediately.
The camp outside was silent still, with most fires burned down to dim embers, casting small shadows on the fabric of his tent, while cold mountain breeze moved through the trees around them with a soft, endless rustling sound.
It all suggested it was still deep into the night.
Xie Zheng pushed himself upright in confusion.
“What happened?”
“She began crying in her sleep,” Xie Wu answered in a lower voice, after a brief hesitation. “And she feels warm.”
Before he even finished talking, Xie Zheng was already moving.
The tent arranged for Changning was a simple, small one; meant to block wind more than provide comfort, but for her size and compared to sleeping fully beneath the open sky, it was enough.
As Xie Zheng stepped inside the dim place, he immediately realized something was wrong.
Changning was tangled in the bedding, small body twisting restlessly beneath layers of blankets while soft, broken sounds escaped her throat between uneven breaths. Her face was flushed too brightly from fever, damp strands of hair sticking against her temples while one trembling hand clutched weakly at the sheets beside her.
Like she was reaching out for someone even asleep. Something tightened painfully in his chest at the miserable sight.
Xie Zheng crouched beside her without hesitation.
“NingNiang?”
She didn’t wake up. Her brows remained tightly furrowed, lashes wet against her overheated cheeks while another distressed little sound escaped her.
Xie Zheng rested the back of his fingers against her forehead.
It was way too warm.
He exhaled quietly through his nose.
After everything that had happened – the battle, the fear, the relentless travel afterward and all the new things – perhaps this should not have surprised him. Even adults bore prolonged stress poorly enough and Changning was only a child. Gongsun Yin warned him this would likely happen, too.
Still, he hoped –
Behind him, the canvas shifted softly as another figure ducked inside.
As if summoned, Gongsun Yin took in the situation at a glance, expression unusually serious beneath the dim firelight leaking through the canvas walls.
“Fever?” he asked quietly, his tone already knowing.
“Mhm,” Xie Zheng answered, not looking away from her. “NingNiang? NingNiang!”
Changning shifted beneath the blankets, breathing unevenly before finally forcing her eyes halfway open at hearing her name.
For a heartbeat, her eyes were so glazed and she looked so disoriented it was clear she didn’t recognize where she was, or who the people were leaning over her. Confusion and fear crossed over her face before she tried to get away on the bed in uncoordinated desperation.
Xie Zheng reached out for her – and his heart shattered when she flinched.
“Ning. Ning! It’s okay – it’s me –” he tried calming her with his voice instead – and it seemed to work, thank the Heavens.
She stopped struggling away and when she finally realized who was next to her, her panic eased all at once – though her expression remained fragile, glazed, and feverish.
“Jiefu?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, it’s me,” Xie Zheng answered just as quietly, concerned.
Her eyes fluttered close and her little body fell back into the bedding, as if simply hearing that exhausted what little strength she still had left.
Xie Zheng adjusted the blanket more securely around her shoulders before reaching out to her forehead to get her sweaty strands out of her little face. His fingertips, when touching her, seemed outright cold against her feverish skin.
“She’s burning up,” he muttered, looking up at his friend with barely disguised worry.
Gongsun Yin crouched nearby then, resting one hand lightly against Changning’s forehead before humming softly to himself.
“The fever itself is not severe,” he assured Xie Zheng after a moment. “Her body and mind is simply exhausted.” His gaze lifted meaningfully toward Xie Zheng afterward. “And frightened.”
Xie Zheng’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Sui Yuanqing should have been glad that he cared more about Changning at the moment rather than acting on his rage because if she wasn’t so sick right now?
Yeah. He would absolutely murder him.
Changning stirred again, eyes still closed as if she was too tired to keep them open anymore. Her little hand weakly reached across the bedding again, searching, trying to hold onto something in the midst of her fever.
Without thinking, Xie Zheng placed his much larger hand into hers.
The tension left her almost immediately.
Gongsun Yin watched the exchange quietly for a moment before his hand lightly touched Xie Zheng’s shoulder.
“She shouldn’t be alone,” he said quietly, after a beat of hesitation.
The words landed harshly, no matter how gently he meant to say them, making Xie Zheng’s guilt rise with new vengeance.
Because he understood immediately the different layers of what Gongsun Yin meant.
A sick child simply shouldn’t be left without supervision, of course – that was an obvious one.
There was also the fact that she shouldn’t be by herself after surviving such trauma. Because they both knew that she suffered greatly, that things must have happened – she flinched away from Xie Zheng, that was a dead giveaway for one. Without help, she might withdraw further into herself – irreparably.
And last, but not least – it was a firm message for Xie Zheng to stop abandoning her.
He had already left once.
Necessary or not, strategic or not, he had still disappeared from her world one day without an explanation or a goodbye. Children did not comprehend political enemies, hidden identities, or unavoidable departures – they only understood absence.
And this time, Xie Zheng was starting to leave her, once again – not physically, but the impact was the same, if not worse.
Changning’s chubby fingers – as if hearing his thoughts – tightened weakly around his hand, holding on for dear life. Xie Zheng’s shoulders slumped, and his head hung in defeat, tears pooling in his eyes as he simply nodded.
Seeing he got the message, Gongsun Yin patted his back and stood slowly.
“I’ll have someone prepare medicine,” he said quietly. Then, he added after the briefest pause, “Though I suspect your presence would help her more than any herbs will tonight.”
Xie Zheng did not answer.
By the time Gongsun Yin left the tent again, Changning had begun trembling faintly beneath the blankets despite the fever warming her skin.
Xie Zheng frowned.
He removed his outer cloak without hesitation and spread it carefully over the blankets already covering her, trapping more warmth around her small body before adjusting the pillow beneath her head.
The movement disturbed her enough that her eyes opened again halfway – and this time, tears were threatening to fall from them.
Exhausted, feverish tears – slipping silently down flushed cheeks while she looked at him with visible confusion and lingering fear.
Xie Zheng felt something twist painfully in his chest.
“NingNiang,” he said quietly, and her lower lip trembled immediately.
Then, all at once, she pushed herself weakly toward him with a small broken sound, fingers clutching desperately at the front of his robes. The movement was so sudden and helpless that it was only thanks to instinct that he caught her little body before she could half-collapse into him from dizziness.
Changning buried her face against his chest almost immediately, loud sobs escaping her in earnest now, muffled into layers of fabric while her small body trembled weakly beneath the blankets.
Xie Zheng froze for a heartbeat.
Then one arm settled around her naturally, steadying her against him while his other hand rested carefully against the back of her head.
“Shh, it is alright,” he murmured quietly into her hair – yet the words felt inadequate.
Changning only cried harder against him – exhausted, child-like sobs born from hardships, residual terror and longing for something familiar.
Very carefully, Xie Zheng shifted onto the bedding and adjusted the blankets and cloak around her so she remained warm while curled against him, one hand still clutching tightly at his robes as though afraid he might vanish if she loosened her grip.
Eventually the crying softened into small sniffs and uneven breaths. Xie Zheng’s patting hand on her back didn’t stop, though.
Seeing her becoming calmer, he wanted to change positions to something more comfortable, but at the slightest shift, her fingers tightened on him again immediately.
“Stay,” she whispered weakly, voice rough and small from tears and fever alike, and something in Xie Zheng softened before he could stop it.
“I am here,” he answered quietly, resting his hand more securely against her hair. “I am not going anywhere.”
The tension slowly drained from her little by little afterward – and it wasn’t long before she started blinking slower.
Now that she had stopped fighting it, the exhaustion reached her fully, her crying fading into deep breaths against his chest as sleep gradually reclaimed her once more.
In a matter of minutes, Changning slept curled tightly against him beneath the cloak and blankets, one small hand stubbornly twisted in the front of his robes while her fever slowly began to ease with the passing hours of night.
Xie Zheng remained awake for a long time.
Now and then he checked her forehead again, quietly relieved each time the heat seemed slightly less severe than before. Outside the tent, guards rotated watch, boots crunching softly against the undergrowth while distant campfires crackled in the dark.
But thankfully, none of it disturbed the child sleeping against him.
Sometime later into the night, when Xie Zheng slipped lower on the bedding, nodding off from pure exhaustion with a peacefully sleeping Changning still in his arms, Gongsun Yin quietly returned to the tent with a fresh bowl of medicine balanced in one hand.
The moment he stepped inside, however, he stopped – and looked at the scene in front of him in the dim light.
Carefully setting the untouched medicine aside on the table, he crouched beside the bedding and rested the back of his fingers lightly against Changning’s forehead, checking for lingering fever out of habit now more than expectation.
Then, with no hesitation, Gongsun Yin reached toward Xie Zheng as well.
His friend was a terrible patient as usual: he ignored proper treatment instructions, rode through mountain roads while injured, and had reopened his wounds twice today already. Now, he finally fell asleep after spending hours upright, keeping a frightened child calm instead of resting properly.
A fever would not have surprised Gongsun Yin in the slightest.
His fingers touched Xie Zheng’s forehead lightly, but found his temperature completely normal. Gongsun Yin exhaled softly through his nose, tension easing from him at last.
For a long moment, he simply remained crouched there in the dim glow, looking at the unlikely picture before him – his tall, hardened best friend clutching a tiny little girl in his arms as if he was afraid someone would take her away.
(His fingers were itching for a brush to paint it, but he ignored the impulse.)
Very carefully, he reached for the blankets that had begun slipping lower around their bodies during the night and pulled them properly back into place, tucking the edges more securely around both of their sleeping figures to keep the cold from creeping in.
During all his ministrations, Xie Zheng did not stir. Neither did Changning.
Gongsun Yin watched them one last moment with a warm smile before blowing out the candle flames in the tent, slipping back out into the night with the same silence he entered.