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The tomb was cold.
Not cool, not damp in that irritating way they had all grown accustomed to after spending so many hours underground, where the stone had never seen sunlight and the air tasted of dust, mold, and something else Qi Tiezui very firmly did not want to identify. It was cold in an almost personal way, as though the place had spent hundreds of years gathering the chill inside its walls, patiently storing it between stone slabs, in cracks in the floor, and behind the beasts carved into the walls, only to release all of it at once upon a group of people who possessed little enough common sense to venture this deep underground. Ba Ye, of course, had tried to tell them exactly that several hours earlier, when they encountered the first string of warning symbols, then the second, and finally a very explicit carving depicting a man without a head, but no one had listened to him. Or rather, they had listened. Fo Ye always listened. Zhang Xiaoyu listened too, albeit with the expression of a man who would rather be struck over the head with a rock than admit that a prophecy might have some merit. Zhang Xiaojin listened as well, except afterward he remarked that since Ba Ye had been talking about death since the entrance and they were all still alive, perhaps the superstitions could be considered successfully disproven.
Qi Tiezui had seriously considered hitting Zhang Xiaojin with his fan.
Now he did not even have the strength to lift it.
He sat with his back against the stone wall of the small side chamber they had retreated into after several more hours of walking, increasingly coming to the conclusion that death by ancient curse would at least be more elegant than freezing to death between two members of the Zhang family. His fingers had gone numb a long time ago, he had stopped feeling his feet even earlier, and every attempt at taking a deeper breath ended in an unpleasant sting inside his lungs. Qi Tiezui was wearing several layers of clothing, an extra vest, a coat, and a scarf Zhang Xiaoyu had practically thrown at him earlier with an almost aggressive motion, as though the very possibility of Ba Ye getting cold were somehow personally offensive to him, but the chill slipped through the fabric without the slightest effort anyway. It was like a ghost. It needed neither doors nor an invitation. It simply entered, slid beneath his collar, curled around his ribs, and slowly drew the warmth from inside his body, while Qi Tiezui found himself dreaming more and more desperately of his residence, of his stove, of a thick quilt, of hot tea, of a servant bringing him a bowl of soup, and above all of a world in which Zhang Qishan did not utter the words, "We're going on."
They were not going on that night, however. Even Zhang Qishan eventually had to acknowledge that human beings were not machines, although in the case of the Zhang family the distinction could sometimes be difficult to notice, and ordered several hours of rest. The soldiers settled down in the main chamber, lit a small, carefully shielded fire, and began dividing their rations. Zhang Qishan, as usual, looked like a man who required neither sleep nor food nor a temperature suitable for sustaining basic biological functions, and Qi Tiezui had long suspected that Fo Ye had been made from some entirely separate kind of material, perhaps stone, metal, or pure stubbornness. Zhang Xiaoyu and Zhang Xiaojin were hardly any better. Both looked tired, but not nearly enough for any normal human being to feel genuine solidarity with them. Qi Tiezui watched them through half-lidded eyes and thought, with mounting irritation, that perhaps children in the Zhang family were given iron to drink instead of milk from birth.
"Ba Ye."
Qi Tiezui did not even open his eyes. "No."
There was a moment of silence before Zhang Xiaoyu sighed with such profound offense that Qi Tiezui knew exactly what expression had appeared on his face without needing to look. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"But I know you." Qi Tiezui pulled the scarf higher over his nose. "In a moment, you'll tell me to eat something. Then Zhang Xiaojin will say I should drink some water. After that, the two of you will start watching me like a pair of dogs guarding a chicken, and when I try to sleep, one of you will decide I'm sitting too close to the wall, the other that I'm too far from the fire, and you'll move me without asking like a sack of rice. I don't have the energy for this conversation. Let's save ourselves some time."
Zhang Xiaojin crouched in front of him and studied him with obvious interest for several seconds before turning his head toward Zhang Xiaoyu. "Does he have a fever?"
"He doesn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I touched his forehead ten minutes ago."
Qi Tiezui opened one eye. "Excuse me?"
Zhang Xiaoyu shrugged. "You were asleep."
"I wasn't asleep."
"You weren't responding."
"I was ignoring you."
"It looked like sleep."
Qi Tiezui closed his eye again, because sometimes a man had to consciously choose peace, and sometimes he simply no longer had the strength to fight two Zhangs at once. It was a rule he had learned rather quickly. One member of the Zhang family could be argued with. Two had to be endured until they were finished. Three meant it was best to immediately start praying for patience, and if Zhang Qishan happened to be in the room as well, any sensible man should simply accept that his fate had already been sealed.
Zhang Xiaojin pressed a piece of dry food into his hand.
Qi Tiezui did not even look at it.
"Eat."
"I don't want to."
"Ba Ye."
"No."
"You'll eat."
"No."
"That wasn't a question."
Qi Tiezui slowly opened his eyes and looked at Zhang Xiaojin with the sort of exhausted disbelief he usually reserved for clients attempting to cheat their own destiny by changing their names or positioning their beds in the wrong direction. "You really spend far too much time with Fo Ye."
Zhang Xiaojin grinned broadly. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I'll take it."
Beside them, Zhang Xiaoyu gave a quiet snort, but when Qi Tiezui looked in his direction, the young officer immediately assumed the neutral expression of a man who had absolutely nothing to do with the entire situation. Ba Ye knew that particular brand of innocence. He had seen it often. Usually right before one of the Zhangs did something absolutely unbearable in the name of his own safety.
Despite everything, he ate.
Not because Zhang Xiaojin had won. Absolutely not. Qi Tiezui was simply an intelligent man who knew that the body required energy, especially in the cold. The fact that Zhang Xiaojin looked unbearably pleased afterward was entirely coincidental and most certainly did not indicate any kind of victory.
A few minutes later, the main chamber slowly began to quiet down. The soldiers lay beside one another, using their coats as blankets, the fire faded into glowing red embers, and the sounds of conversation dwindled into isolated whispers, then breathing, coughing, and the occasional scrape of fabric against stone. Qi Tiezui remained seated against the wall, trying to find a position in which his spine would not protest every movement, and that was when another wave of cold struck him. This one was stronger. It swept through his shoulders, back, and legs, leaving behind a fine trembling in his muscles that he could not suppress.
Zhang Xiaoyu noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Qi Tiezui did not even have time to invent an excuse before Zhang Xiaoyu shifted closer and sat beside him so tightly that their shoulders touched.
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting."
"I can see that."
"Then why are you asking?"
Qi Tiezui turned his head and stared at Zhang Xiaoyu for a moment, trying to decide whether an offense against the dignity of the Eighth Master was worth the energy required to continue the argument. Zhang Xiaoyu looked completely innocent, which in itself was suspicious. A moment later, the younger Zhang took off his own coat, spread it wider, and draped part of it over Qi Tiezui's shoulders as though this were the most obvious solution in the world.
"I don't need—"
"You're shivering."
"I'm not shivering."
From his other side came Zhang Xiaojin's voice.
"You are."
Qi Tiezui turned his head.
Zhang Xiaojin was already sitting down on his other side.
That was when Ba Ye understood.
"No."
Both Zhangs looked at him simultaneously.
"No."
Zhang Xiaojin frowned. "No what?"
"I know what you're doing."
"We're sitting."
"You're trapping me."
"We're protecting you from the cold."
"That is exactly the same thing, only phrased in a more military fashion."
Zhang Xiaoyu adjusted the coat around his shoulders. "Stop moving. You're letting the warmth out."
Qi Tiezui stared straight ahead in absolute disbelief. Throughout his life, he had seen things other people could not perceive. He could read signs, understood the flow of qi, could enter a room and almost immediately tell where the energy was wrong, where a bed should not be placed, which path a person should avoid after dark. He had predicted disasters, deaths, quarrels, and fortunes. What he had not predicted was that one day he would find himself in a tomb dozens of meters underground, being used as the middle layer between two members of the Zhang family.
It was humiliating.
It was also, Ba Ye was forced to admit with great reluctance, very warm.
Zhang Xiaoyu's body was still warm from the march and exertion, and Zhang Xiaojin was even worse, because apparently Zhangs truly did not obey the laws of nature and generated heat like furnaces. After a few minutes, the cold stopped biting through Qi Tiezui's clothes. Feeling slowly returned to his fingers; his feet remained unpleasantly cold, but the trembling subsided, and the muscles in his shoulders gradually relaxed. He was tired. In truth, he was far more exhausted than he wanted to admit. He had kept walking for hours simply because everyone else kept walking, supported himself on sheer stubbornness, complained loudly enough that no one would notice how hard he was breathing, and made sure Fo Ye did not look at him too closely, because Zhang Qishan had the irritating habit of noticing things Ba Ye would rather not discuss.
Now, however, it was quiet.
The warmth on either side of him worked faster than hot tea.
Qi Tiezui allowed his head to fall onto Zhang Xiaoyu's shoulder.
Just for a moment.
"Ba Ye?" Zhang Xiaoyu asked more quietly.
"Mmn."
"Comfortable?"
"No."
Zhang Xiaojin snorted with laughter.
"Extremely uncomfortable," Qi Tiezui added without lifting his head. "Worst night of my life. If I survive, I'll remember it as a traumatic experience."
"Mhm."
"Your shoulders are too hard."
"Mhm."
"You smell like a tomb."
"You smell like a tomb too."
Qi Tiezui opened his eyes just enough to give Zhang Xiaojin an offended look. "I smell of incense and precious herbs."
"You smell like dust."
"You're a brute."
"Go to sleep, Ba Ye."
Qi Tiezui wanted to say something else. He even had an answer prepared, something very intelligent and insulting that might restore the balance of power in this conversation, but then Zhang Xiaoyu shifted a little closer, his shoulder settling more comfortably beneath Ba Ye's head, while Zhang Xiaojin pulled the coat higher on the other side so that it covered all three of them. Warmth closed around Qi Tiezui between them. There was no draft anymore. No chill from the stone. There was only the steady beating of two hearts, breathing on either side of him, and the weight of exhaustion that finally stopped being something he had to fight.
He fell asleep very quickly.
Zhang Xiaoyu noticed first, because the weight against his shoulder suddenly became heavier, more limp, while Ba Ye's breathing evened out and deepened. He looked down. Qi Tiezui looked completely different in his sleep than he did while awake. The crease between his brows disappeared, his mouth was no longer poised for another complaint, and his face softened, appearing almost younger. Without his fan, without the sweeping gestures and without that entire layer of theatrical indignation he used as armor against the world, he simply looked like an exhausted man who had spent many hours trying to keep pace with people physically far stronger than himself.
Zhang Xiaojin grew serious as well.
"He was pale two chambers ago."
"I saw."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Zhang Xiaoyu shot him a look. "And you?"
Zhang Xiaojin was silent for a moment.
They both knew the answer.
Because if either of them had said anything in front of Zhang Qishan, Fo Ye would immediately have ordered a break, and Ba Ye would have spent the next half a day insisting that everyone treated him like a porcelain figurine and sulking at the entire world. Qi Tiezui was surprisingly easy to protect as long as he did not realize someone was protecting him.
"Tomorrow, we're carrying his bag," Zhang Xiaojin said.
"I'm already carrying it."
"Then I'll carry Ba Ye."
Zhang Xiaoyu slowly looked at him.
"Don't look at me like that."
"You're not carrying Ba Ye."
"Why?"
"Because I am."
Zhang Xiaojin narrowed his eyes. "Why you?"
"Because I'm stronger."
"In your dreams."
"Want to test it?"
"Now?"
They both looked down at Qi Tiezui sleeping between them.
Silence fell.
"Tomorrow," Zhang Xiaojin decided.
"Tomorrow."
Several meters away, Zhang Qishan opened his eyes.
He was not asleep.
Of course he wasn't.
For several moments, Fo Ye watched the three figures sitting against the opposite wall. Ba Ye was almost completely hidden between the two younger Zhangs; only part of his face, a glimpse of his hair, and one hand sticking out from beneath the coat were visible. Zhang Xiaoyu sat rigidly, clearly afraid to move the shoulder Qi Tiezui was sleeping on. Zhang Xiaojin, on the other side, held the coat high beneath the Eighth Master's chin, while his own head was slowly beginning to droop with exhaustion.
Zhang Qishan watched them for a moment.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
He said nothing.
Qi Tiezui was the first to wake in the morning.
For several seconds, he had no idea where he was. It was warm. Perhaps not soft—definitely not soft—but warm, and that alone was enough for his still-sleeping mind to assume that he must already be home. Then he tried to move.
He couldn't.
On his left, Zhang Xiaoyu was asleep with his head resting against Qi Tiezui's hair. On his right, Zhang Xiaojin had slid lower during the night and was now practically embracing Qi Tiezui through the coat, one arm holding him close like a pillow.
Ba Ye froze.
Slowly, he raised his eyes.
Zhang Qishan was sitting opposite him.
Watching him.
Qi Tiezui stared at Zhang Qishan.
Zhang Qishan stared at Qi Tiezui.
Several very long seconds passed.
"Fo Ye," Qi Tiezui finally said in the voice of a man whose dignity had just been brutally murdered.
"Ba Ye."
"This isn't what it looks like."
Zhang Qishan looked first at Zhang Xiaoyu, then at Zhang Xiaojin, and finally back at Qi Tiezui.
"It looks like you're warm."
Qi Tiezui opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"Don't tell anyone."
Zhang Qishan nodded calmly. "Of course."
Qi Tiezui knew that tone.
"Fo Ye."
"Mhm?"
"I'm serious."
"Ba Ye, I already said I won't tell anyone."
At that exact moment, one of the soldiers walked into the chamber, looked at the three tangled figures beneath a single coat, stopped, and very quickly looked away.
Qi Tiezui closed his eyes.
Perhaps the curse was not the worst thing that could happen to him in this tomb after all.
When they set off again half an hour later, Ba Ye walked with his head held high, fan in hand, wearing the expression of a man who had absolutely no intention of acknowledging that anything unusual had happened. Zhang Xiaoyu walked on his left. Zhang Xiaojin walked on his right. Both looked strangely pleased with themselves.
Qi Tiezui lasted exactly five minutes.
"Why are you walking so close?"
"It's cold," Zhang Xiaoyu replied.
"We're protecting Ba Ye from losing body heat," Zhang Xiaojin added.
"I don't need your protection."
"Of course."
"Stop using that tone."
"What tone?"
"That one!"
At the front of the column, Zhang Qishan continued walking without looking back.
But his shoulders shook.
Ba Ye saw it.
"FO YE!"
And somewhere deep inside the ancient tomb, in a place where no human voice had echoed for hundreds of years, laughter rang out for the first time.