Work Text:
Everyone in this city knew Zhao Shaoshang.
Or at least, everyone thought they did.
What they knew was the wealthy young master of the Zhao family. The only heir of his father. The man who had never needed to worry about anything: not money, not food, and certainly not having a roof over his head. A man raised in comfort, surrounded by servants and people ready to fulfill his every wish before he even had the chance to voice it.
That was the Zhao Shaoshang people knew.
And people like that were easy to judge. It was easy to say that they did not understand the world. That they had never experienced true suffering. That those raised inside golden cages had never been forced to choose between what they wanted and what they had to do.
That was why no one truly paid attention when Zhao Shaoshang began doing serious things.
No one cared when he tried to protect their culture and history, refusing to allow their heritage and national treasures to be sold off overseas. No one noticed when he began working with the police, trying to maintain peace and safety in their city.
They only laughed with mocking smiles and said that he was just another rich young master playing at being a hero.
That was how it looked from the outside.
Because what else could he be?
He was not a soldier.
He had no army.
He had no people willing to die at his command.
Zhao Shaoshang had only a surname that could open countless doors, money, and an arrogance far too large for his own good.
And yet…
A careful observer would know that the most about a person could be learned not when they possessed everything, but when they were willing to lose everything.
For someone.
+++
The Marshal ruled their region with an iron fist.
People whispered about him, but fell silent the moment a soldier appeared within sight. Fear and dread gripped them; they were afraid that a man carrying a weapon would show no mercy. They feared his influence and his army. They feared that even government officials stepped aside when he approached, and that even powerful families were forced to bow their heads before him.
Da Shuai was a man who had spent his entire life facing enemies head-on, fighting with his fists and biting with his teeth like a wild beast. He was accustomed to the world yielding before his will. He was accustomed to everyone giving way to him.
And perhaps that was exactly why he failed to notice that Zhao Shaoshang had never intended to fight him in the way he expected.
He did not stand before him with a weapon.
He did not gather a group of brave men.
He did not attempt to prove that he was stronger.
Even Shaoshang himself knew that he was not stronger than him.
Instead, one afternoon, Zhao Shaoshang simply appeared at the main military headquarters of Da Shuai’s forces.
He invited himself into the man’s office with a bright and wide smile, his eyes shining with amusement. Dressed in a changshan, he looked completely out of place among the men in cold, perfectly tailored military uniforms.
He looked like a single flower growing in a dried and barren field.
The Marshal had an army.
He had power.
He had years of experience.
And yet the young master of the Zhao family looked him directly in the eyes and spoke calmly, completely ignoring the way Da Shuai’s subordinates’ hands twitched toward their weapons.
“We both know that if you truly want something, you can do anything.” Shaoshang said, raising his teacup to his lips.
It did not sound like a threat.
The Marshal narrowed his eyes.
“Then why should I leave?”
Zhao Shaoshang remained seated calmly at the table, pouring tea as if they were discussing something completely ordinary.
“Because if you refuse my polite request, I will stop being a polite guest.” Shaoshang replied.
Silence.
Even the guards standing nearby stopped breathing.
Zhao Shaoshang had no military advantage.
He did not even have a single pistol that he could point at the Marshal at that moment.
But he possessed something far more powerful.
Information.
Evidence.
And a way to reveal it in a manner that could not be ignored.
Years spent observing people who believed that the wealthy young master was only interested in ancient books and beautiful artifacts.
No one noticed that beneath all of that was a man capable of remembering every detail.
Every lie.
Every contradiction.
He could see every weakness, and he was willing to use every piece of knowledge and every resource at his disposal.
Not for himself…
For himself, such actions had never seemed worthwhile.
But now, another person mattered.
And the Marshal was making Yuan Hong unhappy.
“I do not intend to destroy you.” Zhao Shaoshang said after a moment, calmly lifting his fan and moving it slowly, gently disturbing the stagnant air around them. “If that was what I wanted, we would not be wasting time on this meeting.”
The Marshal watched him carefully, almost as if he was seeing him for the first time.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked.
Zhao Shaoshang raised an eyebrow.
“No.” He said.
Then he paused briefly.
“I am giving you the opportunity to leave with your dignity intact… and continue your rather impressive military career.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“Somewhere else.”
And then, for the first time, the Marshal understood what this entire conversation had truly been about.
Zhao Shaoshang had not been trying to defeat him.
He had been trying to protect someone.
And the Marshal could not deny that the desire to protect someone important was far more powerful than the desire for power or victory…
+++
For years, the Marshal had believed that wealthy people — those raised in luxury, those who had never needed to fight for anything or tear something from another person’s hands — were incapable of truly loving.
He believed that when something came too easily, a person could never understand the value of what they possessed.
But…
Watching Zhao Shaoshang that day, he began to wonder whether he himself had become a victim of his own beliefs.
Zhao Shaoshang could have chosen the easier path.
He could have walked away.
He could have turned his gaze aside and pretended that it was not his problem, because truly, it should not have been his problem.
After all, that was what many people would have done.
But he stayed.
Not because he was foolish.
But because Yuan Hong mattered more to him than his own peace.
+++
There would not be a single person in the entire city, for the next decade, who would not hear the story of how Marshal’s army left.
People came out onto the streets, watching as hundreds and thousands of men dressed in identical military uniforms slowly marched through the city.
A silent procession.
Until their figures crossed the city gates and disappeared onto the endless roads beyond.
No one cheered.
No one celebrated.
There were no fireworks.
No one wished them victory in battle.
Because there was no battle from which they could return victorious.
There was no war in which they could sacrifice their lives.
There had only been one confrontation.
One that had taken place inside the quiet, peaceful office of their commander.
And they had lost.
+++
Marshal Da Shuai stopped his car before the city gates and stepped out, looking around.
Yuan Hong, along with the police unit stationed in the city, stood several steps away, watching the departing soldiers with careful and vigilant eyes.
For a moment, their gazes met.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They were father and son.
And yet they shared neither a surname nor affection, nor any true attachment.
They shared only a tragic and painful past.
They looked like two strangers who had accidentally found themselves standing on opposite sides of the same road.
The Marshal looked at Yuan Hong.
He looked at his only heir.
His only son — the person who could one day have become his successor.
And when he looked at Yuan Hong, for the first time, there was no command in his eyes.
There was a request.
“Come with me.”
Three simple words.
Perhaps the most difficult words he had ever spoken.
Yuan Hong remained silent for a long time.
For so long that the Marshal slowly began to lose hope that he would ever receive any answer.
Yuan Hong looked at his father for a moment.
Then he looked behind himself.
At the city standing behind him.
At the people he protected.
At the man standing not far away, pretending that he was not watching and listening to his conversation with his father.
He looked at Zhao Shaoshang.
He looked at his own Young Master Zhao.
Yuan Hong walked toward him.
He said nothing.
He did not need to.
He simply stood beside Shaoshang.
The Marshal saw that gesture and finally understood.
“You chose him?” he scoffed, irritation flashing across his face.
Yuan Hong looked forward, determined, calm, and resolute.
“I chose my home.”
For a long moment, the quiet world of wind was the only answer.
Then an unhappy frown appeared on the Marshal’s face.
He opened the door of the car and, without saying goodbye, stepped inside.
The vehicle moved forward.
The army followed behind him.
The soldiers left.
And the city remained.
Watching the two men standing together by the city gates.
One of them had once been the son of a powerful marshal.
The other had once been nothing more than a wealthy young master.
But perhaps everyone understood one thing that day.
Not every person born into luxury was without a heart.
Sometimes, it was precisely the person who had the most to lose who was capable of sacrificing the most.
“Hmm, so you are going to stay at my house?” Shaoshang asked as his fingers gracefully intertwined with Yuan Hong’s, joining their hands in a gentle, grounding embrace.
The police officer let out a quiet sigh, feeling the warmth of the other person beside him.
“Give him a finger and he’ll bite off your whole hand.”
He sighed, but he did not deny it.
He did not try to stop Shaoshang when the young master led him toward the waiting car.
Nor did he try to stop him when they drove toward the house.
Their house…
How beautiful those words sounded to a man who had never believed he would have a place to return to.