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The steaming jasmine tea had filled the sleeping quarters with its floral scent, masking the pungent odor of the salves and blood.
Tiezui, over their restorative cups of the jade-tinted brew, told Qishan he should treat Tiezui harshly in the public eye. Tiezui insisted this would prevent a future disaster.
Sword wounds, deep-rooted muscle pains, and rope burns paled compared to the mottled tapestry on his friend's face. Tiezui's fractured left hand barely held on to the hollow tortoise shell when he shook out the three coins. He refused to lie down on his bed until Qishan agreed. The edge of panic sharpened Tiezui's raspy voice, hoarse because the bastards thought a drying noose around the fortune teller's neck would be entertaining.
So Qishan had agreed, as well as promised he too would seek a physician for his own wounds, and carefully eased his friend to lie down on the bed. After Tiezui's eyes slid shut, Qishan quietly set down a stool to stretch out his legs and waited for Tiezui's servant boy and the physician.
It made sense to remain where he was. Qishan's healing required that he remain still. And there were other fools like Wu Teng out there under the illusion Qi Tiezui was easy prey.
Qishan stayed the night, his Qiongqi tattoo burning on his skin like a fresh brand, guarding over the first man who extended kindness and friendship to newcomer Zhang Qishan.
Later, Qishan allowed a physician to tend his wounds. After Tiezui, of course.
Tiezui reminded Qishan of the promise after his fever broke. And continued to remind Qishan in all the years that followed. There were times Qishan wished he had shaken the fool, or his own past self, for such a ridiculous agreement.
The wish revived in an abandoned Xishan temple, the dead by their feet.
"There is a crack here," Qishan murmured to the drooped head next to him. He tightened his arm around trembling shoulders. Lao Ba is a hale man, quick enough on his feet, his mind even quicker. At this moment, the fortune teller felt like a willow stripped bare by the winter wind.
A foot lifted, but not high enough to clear the broken plank on the floor. The reason for the uneven surface was inside, hung skewered on a pillar like gutted game, blood pooling under it.
Qishan felt no remorse or pity for a mercenary who dared to believe five hundred silver coins was a suitable exchange for Tiezui's life.
Tiezui mumbled, tripping as he tried to raise his foot higher. His dusty blue cheongsam tangled around his ankles.
It was a simple matter of gripping Tiezui tighter, lifting him so his feet cleared the splintered wood.
"Fo Ye," Tiezui sighed, his admonishment faint, yet his meaning perfectly understood.
"I scolded you before peers, berated you in public." Qishan could not temper his words, his skepticism sharp in his tone. "Does that not allow me this reprieve from your divination? Would your ancestors truly object to this?"
Tiezui grimaced. He said nothing. He stumbled as Qishan set Tiezui's feet back on the floor on the other side of the gap.
No, Qishan did not spare any remorse for the mercenaries, but it welled up at the thought of his old promise to Tiezui. As Qishan rose in the ranks, he reasoned it was strategic. If Fo Ye did not show favoritism, Fo Ye's enemies would not use Ba Ye to strike a death blow to his soul.
"Disaster," Qishan bit out bitterly. The previous flippancy, born from relief that he was not too late, boiled into something darker.
"Did we avoid your disaster like you said? Was this not a disaster enough?"
Qishan supported Tiezui down the steps. Corpses riddled the temple's courtyard. The air above them was heavy with a sickly, copper-like scent.
"Fo Ye." Xiaoyu's mask hid the lower half of his face, but the worry was clear; his brow furrowed deep since they spotted the temple and heard the faraway cruel laughter. The adjutant stood at the base of the stairs, shoulder to shoulder with Xiaojin. The two officers' eyes darted from Qishan to Tiezui.
Before Qishan ordered his men to clear out—haste was key, a hospital desired—Tiezui lifted his head.
"Were there survivors?" Tiezui rasped.
"None, Ba Ye," Xiaoyu replied, darkly proud and oblivious to the significant looks Xiaojin and Qishan exchanged. "Fo Ye single-handedly dealt with every one of them. Do not worry, Ba Ye. None remain."
"No," Qishan said quietly. He feigned ignorance of the dampness that traced a path down Tiezui's discolored cheek. "Whoever they were, none survived."
Xiaoyu's eyes widened, and he too looked away.
"They were innocent," Tiezui exhaled. "They accepted my money and offered companionship. In return, I lied to them and brought them misfortune."
Tiezui swallowed hard. Qishan's shades concealed Tiezui's bruised eyes, but did not muffle the guilt and grief.
"We should leave," Qishan meant to speak firmly, but his voice came out gentle and cajoling.
Tiezui turned sharply to him. Qishan's twin reflections wavered in the dark glasses. Dimly, Qishan wondered what happened to Tiezui's round spectacles. He tried to recall where Xinyue had set aside Tiezui's spares in the mansion. Noticing Tiezui's penchant to break them—she bought several pairs.
"Fo Ye," Tiezui said with rare consternation. A brief silence hung in the air before his shoulders slumped. "They—"
"No," Qishan said firmly. He tightened his hold around Tiezui, his hand curling around Tiezui's right arm. He will haul the fool over his shoulder if need be. "We are leaving."
A silent understanding passed between Xiaoyu and Xiaojin when their eyes locked.
"Ba Ye," Xiaojin jumped in. "Permit us to give them a proper burial."
"You can advise where would be best to settle them," Xiaoyu added.
Tiezui, though, hesitated.
"You could not hold a spade with two hands, do you think you can hold it now with just one?" Qishan pointed out. It was cruel to remind his friend of the pain he valiantly tried to ignore, but years of friendship taught Qishan a way to be cruel as a discrete form of kindness.
Tiezui leaned heavily against Qishan in defeat.
"Xiaoyu and Xiaojin are faster," Qishan coaxed, not caring if this upset the fragile balance of fortunes. "And I did not allow them the satisfaction before. Let them have this."
Qishan paused before reluctantly compromising with a, "You can give them the rites once they finished."
Tiezui let out a tired sound. "Make sure their heads point towards the east, their hands folded below their hearts."
At Qishan's nod, the two went to task. The pair jogged to the men as they called out for volunteers. The replies were immediate and unanimous.
"Sit here," Qishan ordered. He did not wait for the other to reply as well. His arm around Tiezui's shoulders, he steered them past the temple's weed riddled grounds, towards a distant cart only partially stacked with crates. It provided ample space for a fortune teller unsteady on his feet.
Tiezui opened his mouth as Qishan helped him up onto the cart.
"We are out of sight of my men," Qishan said brusquely. He did not want to hear whatever his friend wanted to say out of that bruised mouth. Qishan pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket with a rough yank.
Tiezui sighed. His expression was unreadable behind the shades as he considered the offering.
"I would help you," Qishan said archly, "but I am told this would lead to your disaster."
Shaky fingers accepted the cloth.
"Do not take the fortune lightly." Tiezui dabbed at his lower lip and the cut on his cheek.
"Only if you do not take it seriously," Qishan retorted. He sat down next to Tiezui and captured the left hand Tiezui tucked against himself the entire time.
Tiezui yelped, jumping a little as Qishan tugged the hand closer.
Qishan cradled Tiezui's hand with both of his. He drew in a breath, his jaw rigid, as he delicately worked to open the curled fingers.
"He died too quick," Qishan muttered. He wiped away the slick blood with his thumb. He did not think to bring a medic. Speed was the priority after Huo Xiangu's secretive message.
"The blade did not go through bone," Qishan continued.
Qishan mentally reviewed what they carried among their packs. The men traveled light in order to reach the destination before the hired killers did. They arrived hours too late. The sting of his failure burned through Qishan as he entered the temple.
"Move your hand," Qishan commanded. His eyes narrowed, watching the fingers spasm. Over Qishan's palms, Tiezui's hand continued to weep red.
"Xiaojin has clotting powder." Qishan turned the injured hand. His brow drew together as he studied the wound's puckered edges. A simple bandage would not do. "And a needle and thread."
"After the burials." Tiezui looked away from his own hand as Qishan used the cleaner side of his handkerchief to wipe away the blood. "They were to deliver goods to the nearby village. We should finish the contract for them."
Qishan scowled, but did not comment. He examined Tiezui up and down.
"Where is your scarf?" Qishan asked abruptly. "And your glasses?"
Tiezui shrugged listlessly. His head turned towards the ground outside the temple. Dust rose as Qishan's men hefted up the dead, carrying them out like limp sacks between them. Dust from the temple also clung stubbornly to Tiezui's hair. It left the fortune teller looking faded.
The constant good mood people associated with Ba Ye was absent. Qishan had slipped his dark glasses onto Tiezui's face to hide the pain in his usually twinkling eyes. At present, the shades seemed to conceal Tiezui as a whole.
Qishan thought of himself as a soldier and a strategist. Both fists and mind were his weapons. But here, he was at a loss on the best course of action. All he thought about was reaching Tiezui, mete out punishment to those who dared to touch Tiezui.
His fists saw to this. The hot pulse of his Qiongqi quelled. But now Qishan was at a loss on what to do next.
Qishan abruptly rose to his feet. Tiezui, who drifted off in a pain-hazed trance, started.
"I will send Xiaojin your way," Qishan said shortly. The dark glasses tipped up. Qishan grimaced at the miniature scowling reflections.
"Your glasses," Qishan muttered. He turned on his heel and headed back to the temple.
Xiaojin passed his shovel to another after Qishan's orders to see to Tiezui. Supplies in hand, Xiaoyu jogged to catch up with Xiaojin.
Qishan stared after his two adjutants. His mouth pressed thin. He curled and uncurled his fists. Qishan's blood still rumbled for violence, except no one remained. His officers were better suited for the delicate task. Tiezui's hand required a careful touch, and Qishan's hands quivered, looking for a target.
His boots stomped up the steps, thumping across the courtyard louder than before. He had wanted to charge through walls and men when his gaze landed on Tiezui crumpled on the shrine's floor.
His men removed the mercenaries and piled their bodies in the back. Blood and splintered wood marked where each died.
Qishan gave each spot a cursory glance, his eyes scanning the floor for the familiar frames and the long scarf with its scripture.
Past Qishan's shoulder, his men continued to toil away, burying Tiezui's fellow travelers. A growing collection of the dead's belongings filled an emptied knapsack. They found what they could, listed the contents, hoping to find the dead's relatives.
Qishan's men's thoughtfulness would touch Tiezui, but right now, Qishan felt a shot of irritation that he did not think of it himself. Perhaps his posture said this: no one approached him. Qishan was left alone to his menial task.
His dissatisfaction rose when his search only yielded a snapped horn-shelled frame and two of Tiezui's coins.
Qishan stood in the shrine, his feet shoulder length apart, his right hand clutching the two coins. He glowered at the prayer cushion in front of the ruined altar. There was blood on it. A partial crimson handprint—
The cushion exploded when Qishan's kick sent it to the wall.
Outside, the sounds of digging stopped. A moment later, they started up again.
Alone in the temple, Qishan expelled a hard sound between his clenched teeth. He glowered at the shattered pad. The surviving large pieces of the cushion mocked him.
A dull glint near one piece caught Qishan's eye. Tiezui's third coin.
Qishan smiled grimly as he retrieved the coin. He brushed the dirt away from it. He studied the three pieces in his hand. The three felt cool and strangely fragile.
The coins tumbled into Qishan's pocket. He slipped a hand over the spot. His eyes made a last sweep of the room, but there was nothing left to recover.
Qishan longed for his dark spectacles as he struggled to smooth out the scowl on his face.
When it felt like the lingering rage burrowed back into his insides, Qishan left the temple. He kept a hand over the pocket where the coins quietly tinkled with each step.
As Qishan approached the cart, Tiezui's rough rasp reached his ears.
"…fifty men, no less," Tiezui said. "Their swords were long enough to pierce the heavens themselves."
Qishan's mouth quirked up at the corner. This story again? He lingered out of sight by another cart. He shook his head. Fifty men? Why did the number of men increase with each retelling?
"Ba Ye." Xiaoyu, despite his mask, sounded both awed yet also skeptical. "Was this Wu Teng a fool? He must have known kidnapping you spelled his doom."
Tiezui's chuckle was a poor imitation of his usual. "Why would he—Aiyo, Xiaojin, must you be so rough?"
Eyebrow arched, Qishan peeked between the crates at the cart where the three men gathered. Tiezui remained seated in the cart, pressed into a corner the crates and the cart formed. His adjutants framed Tiezui on either side, Xiaoyu standing guard, Xiaojin seated and squinting myopically at Tiezui's left hand. Xiaojin held his needle and thread suspended in midair at Tiezui's yelp.
"Ba Ye," Xiaojin said impatiently. "If my stitches are not tight, you will have a scar."
"At least," Tiezui said with false cheer, "it was not over my lifeline."
"You were fortunate, Ba Ye," Xiaoyu said, louder when Tiezui turned to look with morbid fascination at Xiaojin's administrations. "If Fo Ye had not arrived, it would have meant disaster for you."
"No," Tiezui said with abrupt severity. Qishan's adjutants blinked at him.
"The real disaster," Tiezui continued, not noticing, "would have been if your Fo Ye died because of it. That would spell disaster for Changsha."
Qishan sucked in his breath. He closed his eyes briefly. Qishan's hand pressed harder over his pocket, the coins leaving indents on his long coat.
"Then it is good Fo Ye is Fo Ye," Xiaoyu said loyally.
"There was no need for us to help Fo Ye," Xiaojin added, his eyes still fixed on his task. "Ba Ye, Fo Ye took down twenty men in minutes."
"I counted twenty-five," Tiezui countered. He flashed a grin with teeth, but it looked ill-fitting with his eyes hidden.
"At the very least, thirty," Xiaoyu added.
Qishan rolled his eyes.
"Done," Xiaojin announced. He tilted his head, pushing up his wire rims higher as he scrutinized his handiwork. "This will do until Changsha."
"Not so tight," Tiezui grumbled as Xiaojin wrapped the hand. Xiaoyu alternated between staring at the proceedings and scanning the surroundings.
He still has much to learn, Qishan thought with a mild frown. Xiaoyu did not notice Qishan was nearby the entire time.
"Xiaojin," Tiezui complained. He tried to pull his hand away, but Xiaojin just arched an eyebrow at Tiezui. "Must you bind it this tightly?"
"Ba Ye—"
"How am I supposed to perform the rites properly if I cannot move my fingers?" Tiezui suddenly snapped.
Xiaojin let go of Tiezui's hand. The tail end of a bandage feebly fluttered in his other hand.
Qishan stepped away from his hiding spot.
"Fo Ye." Xiaoyu straightened to attention. "Ba Ye, he—"
"I heard," Qishan said evenly. His gaze drifted to Tiezui, but the other would not look at him. "I will finish."
Xiaojin hesitated. "The road back to Changsha is long. The terrain—"
"I traveled on foot to here," Tiezui said thinly. "I can travel the same way back."
Qishan's eyes flitted to the stiff line of Tiezui's jaw. "There is a village close by. We will return the carts and trade for boats and supplies. We will go by river."
The tension faded from Tiezui's mouth. He continued to avoid Qishan's gaze, his shielded eyes turned towards the sounds of faraway digging.
"Find out what Ba Ye needs for the rites," Qishan added, "and have them ready for him."
Qishan stayed back, his jaw flexing as Tiezui's voice grew hoarse while he listed what he required. They can salvage most from the temple. Tiezui said the rest was of little consequence, but as he watched the two walk purposefully towards the temple grounds, he sighed.
"Rest," Qishan said as he drew closer. "It will take some time to—what are you doing?"
Tiezui started unraveling a layer of cloth strip around his left hand.
"It looks like I wrapped a melon to my hand," Tiezui grumbled. He lifted his hand to show. He stiffened. He bent forward, his left hand pressed to his belly.
"If you wish to keep your hand," Qishan sat down next to Tiezui, "then leave it alone."
Qishan considered the round mound at the end of Tiezui's arm.
"Do you see?" Tiezui lifted his hand again.
"Yes, I see you being an idiot. Stop moving." Qishan caught the bound hand by the wrist. He pulled the hand into his lap. He considered the wad of cloth. Tiezui's fingertips were pink dots within the lump.
Qishan's eyebrows rose high. "This is…a lot." He carefully peeled another layer off Tiezui's hand. And another.
"Xiaojin claimed the clotting powder did not work," Tiezui muttered. "He insisted my hand needs a thick bandage, but Fo Ye…"
Tiezui gestured towards his left hand with his right in a sweeping motion reminiscent of the ceremonies Tiezui performed.
It was a bit much, but Qishan did not want to add kindling to Tiezui's ire. He kept hold of Tiezui's hand and unwrapped another layer.
Far away, the scrape of metal into dry earth rang sharp in the air. The voices, too far away to pick up conversations, faded in and out as a breeze carried them away.
The bandages rasped as if out of breath, sticking briefly to each other.
Tiezui sat slumped in his cramped corner, compliant and quiet in a way that bristled down Qishan's back.
"Say something," Qishan murmured as he unfurled a particularly long bandage strip. It was like an unbroken pear peel: pale yellow, endless and curled like an elegant brush stroke.
"What?" Tiezui said tiredly. "What would Fo Ye like to hear?"
Qishan glanced up. His miniature images gazed back. Tiezui's bloodied mouth contorted into a rueful grimace. Tiezui did not wait for a reply. Perhaps he did not expect one. Tiezui leaned his head back against the rough wood of a crate, his hand still held firmly by Qishan.
"Do not do this again," Qishan said gruffly. "Do not prove to me that your prediction is true."
Frowning faintly, Tiezui nodded. He breathed out carefully.
Qishan studied Tiezui. His jaw clenched as his survey took in the dried leaves in Tiezui's hair, the sand smeared across the dark blue silk of Tiezui's favorite traveling cheongsam.
"Do you have other injuries?" Qishan motioned Tiezui to lean forward, scowling when Tiezui remained slouched in the corner, as it was Qishan's lounger in the mansion.
"No."
Tiezui huffed when Qishan glowered, deeming the response unacceptable. "I'm just tired. Fo Ye, these weary bones require respite."
Qishan scoffed. With his free hand, he hooked the back of Tiezui's head and yanked him forward.
Tiezui, to prove his point, followed the move but simply flopped onto Qishan's shoulder. He must have expected Qishan to push him away, but Qishan shifted so Tiezui's forehead rested comfortably on the shoulder. Tiezui tensed and made to sit back when Qishan cradled the back of Tiezui's head.
"Where does it hurt?" Qishan's fingers combed through the strands to search. The offensive dried leaves fluttered away.
Tiezui said nothing, his head on Qishan's shoulder. Tiezui was quiet for so long, Qishan thought the other had fallen asleep. But after another examining sweep of Qishan's hand, Tiezui sat up. He patted Qishan's chest as if deterring one of Wu Laoguo's large dogs from bowling him over.
"I have no other pain." The smile on Tiezui's face hung false and rankled something deep within Qishan.
"Lao Ba," Qishan said, low even though they were alone. "I am here."
It was a reminder. It was a promise.
Tiezui's smile smoothed out to something gentler, more genuine. It widened when Qishan pressed the three coins into Tiezui's uninjured hand. The coins clinked within Tiezui's loose grasp. Thankfully, Tiezui did not toss them to the ground. Qishan did not have the present temper to hear what the coins said.
"I found them on the ground," Qishan explained.
"Yes, they wanted me to divine how I would die." Tiezui's pleased smile turned into a grimace. "I first refused and their leader…"
Tiezui's bandaged hand twitched in Qishan's grasp. Qishan tamped down the urge to curl his hand around the bandaged one; he might accidentally crush bone.
Qishan's blood thrummed down his limbs again, demands for violence, for satisfaction. He inhaled deeply, forced his jaw to relax.
"Another one of your predictions? What disaster did your coins foretell this time?" Qishan shook his head as he untangled another loop of fabric. Was Xiaojin weaving? The strip was as long as Tiezui's arm. He made a note to check that his adjutant did not use up all their supplies.
"Qishan," Tiezui chided.
Qishan spread his hands apart in surrender. Tiezui pulled back his hand. It looked less like a white paw. Tiezui experimentally wiggled his fingers with a wince.
"Very well," Qishan sighed. "What did your coins tell you, Lao Ba?"
The shades still concealed Tiezui's eyes, but his mouth twitched at the corners.
"They said Buddha will always be by my side."
Qishan stared at Tiezui. His eyes traced the bruises and cuts on the face. Despite this, Tiezui was smiling.
"I do not believe in magic or predictions," Qishan reminded Tiezui.
Qishan plucked a dried grass shard stuck in the high collar. He patted Tiezui's shoulder.
"But this one is acceptable."
Tiezui laughed.