Work Text:
Do you know what had a promising ending but, at present, does not seem willing to reach it?
It is the smoke that Zhan Zhao left behind in the county, still soaring skyward, threatening not to settle until it has taken him apart piece by piece.
The horse keeps trotting along the dirt road, set on no particular destination, but the gentle swaying somewhat appeases Zhan Zhao. The wounds covering his body have stopped throbbing, and what had been a stabbing pain earlier has been reduced to a recurring jolt.
The scent of smoke and the screech of war are now little more than mumbled memories in his ears, but the smell of blood is something he cannot escape simply by changing clothes or washing. He has grown accustomed to it through no choice of his own; a fate thrust upon him like a slave led to the gallows.
The farther the horse travels, the more distant the sounds become.
There are moments when the surroundings seem to change without Zhan Zhao's awareness—a telltale sign of his condition. He slips abruptly into unconsciousness and back to reality, again and again, until the ordeal finally ends when he spots Bai Yutang ahead.
He knows nothing of the commotion or why Bai Yutang is standing over two seemingly dead men, but a peculiar kind of relief suddenly washes over him. It feels almost like ice pressed against a burn.
Bai Yutang is quiet, his eyebrows knitted and his posture taut as he slowly approaches the horse making its way toward him. Zhan Zhao holds on just long enough for the man to draw near before he finally allows himself to unwind completely.
Bai Yutang's arms are there to help him down almost immediately after the detective begins to sway. He lowers him to the ground with apparent ease, as though the effort costs him nothing.
He does not ask questions. Usually, Bai Yutang is not shy about getting what he wants, and if answers are w$hat he seeks, he will stop at nothing to obtain them. Such raw arrogance is simply part of his nature. Yet now he moves in ominous silence, as though carrying out a mission he cannot afford to fail.
In return, Zhan Zhao mirrors that silence. If words might agitate the other man, then he is wise enough to know that now is not the time to speak.
He allows himself to be picked up, carried, and brought to a nearby tree where he can rest.
Bai Yutang sets him down without so much as a grunt, helping him settle into a more comfortable position before crouching in front of him, his stare piercing. He studies the state Zhan Zhao is in—the blood, the cuts, the pallor creeping across his lips.
Things are not looking good...