Chapter Text
He wakes up some indeterminate amount of time later, his entire body aching and his mind fuzzy with more than mere exhaustion. The lights in the room have been snuffed, and the mid-morning sun is slipping through the oiled windowpanes, lighting up the room. His father’s doing—he always feels guilty, the morning after. Li Cu clumsily shoves aside the quilts that had been tucked up around his chin, and swings his legs over the side of the bed; stands, swaying for a moment. He hadn’t had the presence of mind to change out of his clothes the night before, and he feels vaguely dirty. He sighs, and sets about washing up.
When he emerges from the bedroom, his father is in the kitchen, apron around his waist. He doesn’t hear the pad of Li Cu’s steps over the hiss of oil in the pan as he adds meat, and for a moment, Li Cu considers turning around and retreating back to the bedroom, but—there’s no point. It would just be delaying the inevitable.
Anyway, by now, his father’s caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. “Ah, Li Cu,” he says, smiling. He always looks younger when he does—less severe. It reminds Li Cu of being a child. “We should talk about our plans—the next few months will be key, for you to be able to sit the exam again. It’s my fault for not attending to your education properly.”
Li Cu feels suddenly, immeasurably tired. He doesn’t want to talk about this, and the fight has been mostly beaten out of him for it, at least for now. What can he do? He’s not even old enough for a courtesy name yet; his father, by all rights, has more than the authority to make him sit the exams again. In the end, he says, diverting, “You shouldn’t be standing up. Your head is probably hurting; let me cook.” In the light of day, after so long in the dark, it’s easier to play dead than to try and run away.
His father’s expression is soft under the frail light. “My son,” he says, and it’s proud. Li Cu wonders if his father can fathom the number of times he’s wanted nothing more than to burn his life to the ground. “No, I’ll do it. My head’s alright. Eat, and then go and see your friends—we can talk about your schooling later, over dinner.” The sudden change is almost whiplash-inducing, but then, drunk or sober, his father has always been mercurial.
“Alright,” he says, instead, because the prospect of the open air and sunlight is one that feels almost heady, unreal. The press of the walls is still heavy against his skin, and nothing but the daylight can begin to wash it away. He busies himself with tea as his father finishes breakfast, eats mechanically, and then leaves as quickly as he’s able to without it looking like running away. The fresh air outside the house is almost addictive, sweet and sharp with winter’s edge that has yet to abate.
Picking his way to Su Wan’s home is easy; he’s long memorised its location, prime estate, sprawling courtyards—and, in the centre, a boy who is foolish and wide-smiled, and Li Cu’s best friend.
Getting to the Su family residence the usual way would take him down bustling main streets, but today he doesn’t have it in him—the prospective of the crush of people feels suffocating, a pressure on his throat that makes him swallow uneasily. So Li Cu takes the winding, back alley route, the one that takes more than time and a half but which avoids the crowds—wends, instead, between buildings and through alleys, a shrine tucked away here, a Zhang propaganda poster splashed there, a photo of a ranger with a weapon in hand that reads, in long characters, fighting to defend our safety. Li Cu almost laughs at its ridiculousness—protect them from what, exactly? There hasn’t been a new rift in years, and certainly never one here, in Beijing. Whoever’s in charge of designing the posters must be making good money, though—it’s impossible to go anywhere public and not see one, these days.
He must have stopped in the middle of the road on accident, because someone’s shoulder slams into him, and sends him tumbling to the ground with a bitten-off curse.
When he looks up, the figure has paused, and as Li Cu scrambles to get some purchase and push himself to his feet, it turns to reveal a man—or, half a man. He’s got biotech implants that cover half his face, turning one eye a glowing gold, left ear absent and replaced with a spinning mechanism that hisses and twists. His gaze on Li Cu is intense, and he takes a step forward—and, though he’s not much taller than Li Cu, standing, with Li Cu stuck halfway upright, frozen for reasons he can’t name, he looms. “…you,” he murmurs, so quiet Li cafu almost misses it. His voice crackles as if his throat is parched, and he reaches a hand out, as if to touch Li Cu’s face.
Li Cu bats his hand away, finally shooting to his feet. “Hey!” he exclaims, “hands off! Do you have some sort of nerve problem?” He takes a few steps back, almost tripping on his heels like some sort of kid.
“It’s you,” is the man’s only reply, and he sways forward as if drawn to due South, his hand reaching again. There’s a tremor in it, and his wide eyes glint in the sun.
Fuck this, Li Cu thinks, and turns on his heel and breaks into a dead sprint away from the man, and doesn’t stop until he gets to the gate of the Su residence, with its overhanging plum boughs, and the stones in the garden, and the fancy latticework on the doors. He’s panting, and he has to bend over and brace himself against the gate to steady both himself and his breaths.
When he finally calms enough to stand back up properly, it’s to see Su Wan coming towards the gate, a smile on his face. “Ya Li!” he calls out, excited, “come in, come look at what Die brought back from the South!”
Under Su Wan"s gaze, it"s easy to relax, to smile. "What, you aren"t spoiled enough?" he asks, teasing, and leans against the gate. Su Wan laughs at him, tugs the gate open, and drags him inside. Li Cu goes without a fight; Su Wan"s touch is familiar and—safe, if he"s willing to use that word. Su Wan leads him through the courtyards, towards the secondary hall—one that Li Cu has many memories of spending hours with Su Wan in, chattering and looking over the things that Su Wan"s father has in his collection that he was willing to let his son have access to. He wonders what it"ll be this time—Su Wan"s family is rich enough to afford most things, but some things are harder to get ahold of because of their status as a merchant family.
Su Wan, as per usual, has no interest in dragging it out. As soon as Li Cu steps foot over the threshold, Su Wan breaks from his side and pulls open a drawer, pulling out a couple of semi-familiar items. He thrusts one of them at Li Cu, voice excited as he says, "Here, here, listen!" and bounds to the far end of the hall, fiddling with some of the knobs on the one in his hand, and then speaks into it. From the box in Li Cu"s hand, his voice issues out. "Isn"t it amazing?"
Li Cu blinks; inspects the item in his hands once more. Now that he"s looking, he can recognise some things about it—it looks a little like the radio that"s in the government office his father works at, the one meant to deliver Zhang and imperial broadcasts both. But this one is smaller, and, unlike that one—it can communicate back. He tilts his head, turning it over in his hands, and, for the first time in a while, is filled with an almost childish wonder—that such things exist in the world. "Wow," he says, too overwhelmed to say anything more eloquent.
Su Wan grins. "Right!?" he says, and comes back over to Li Cu"s side, pointing at the various knobs and dials. "It"s a prototype, so sometimes it"ll get stuck, but it can communicate with its match at over five hundred li!" He"s practically vibrating with enthusiasm, and an answering smile curls at the corners of Li Cu"s lips. "And you can keep it by your side—this way, when your fuqin doesn"t let you come see me, we can still talk!"
At the reminder of his father, Li Cu swallows. "Right," he says. "Won"t your Die be mad if you give one away, though?"
Su Wan rolls his eyes. "Ya Li, don"t be silly," he says. "He gave them to me—he doesn"t care if I give one of them to my best friend."
"I"m surprised you didn"t give it to Shen Qiong, instead," Li Cu says, unable to contain the swelling in his chest at Su Wan"s words.
"Ya Li," Su Wan whines.
"Right, right, I forgot, you forget how to speak when you"re in her presence," Li Cu says, grinning at him wickedly. It"s easy to fall back into this sort of banter—it"s almost as if nothing has changed. But everything is about to—in some way or another. Li Cu"s just selfish enough that he"s going to pretend nothing has until the very last moment.
Su Wan lets out a cry of mock anger, and shoves him. Li Cu goes easily, stumbling back, and then they"re both laughing, hard.
They play around with the radios a bit more after that—try communicating from different parts of the residence, blocked by walls or distance, and Li Cu can"t help but admire the mechanisms; he has no idea how they work, of course, that knowledge is limited to the artificers who work with metal and qi—and, probably, the Zhang; with whatever the hell they do to the rangers, Li Cu"s pretty sure that they would know how to make these—, but they"re impressive; distance and obstacles barely do anything to interfere with their ability to communicate, though like Su Wan had said, sometimes they"ll have a hard time connecting to each other because they"re only prototypes.
Li Cu stays almost until dinner. They eat lunch together—prepared by the Su family"s servants—, and then fuck around a bit looking through some of Su Wan"s old stuff that he hasn"t touched in years, but when the sun begins to set, Li Cu bids an unhappy goodbye, trying his best not to show his reluctance to leave. All he can think of is the conversation his father wants to have with him—the conversation that Li Cu absolutely does not. It must show on his face, because Su Wan reaches out and grasps his arm. "Ya Li," he says, sounding concerned, "are you okay? You can tell me if there"s anything, you know that, right? I"ll ask Die to fix it for you."
Li Cu swallows, and pastes a smile onto his face, hoping it"s more convincing. "I know," he says, "but really, it"s not anything."
"Are you sure?" Su Wan presses.
"Yes," Li Cu says, and rolls his eyes. You can"t fix my problems for me. "I"m just hungry—and I still have to walk back."
Su Wan sighs. "If only we had a carriage," he mutters under his breath, but finally lets go of Li Cu, seemingly mollified. Li Cu offers him a smile and a wave, and then heads out the gate.
He"s not paying attention as he walks back, and that"s what he"ll curse later on; but in the moment, all he can think about is the impending argument. So he doesn"t notice when a half-familiar shadow begins to draw up by his own, not until a vise-like grip clamps onto his shoulder. "Hey!" he shouts, and tries to wriggle free, but the man"s grip is stronger.
"Hold—still," he grits out, and shoves Li Cu down an alley off to the side, slams him up against the wall. Li Cu tries to yell, but with his face against the brick, it"s hard to do so. "Knew it—was you," the man is muttering under his breath, sounding distracted, and the hand that"s not holding Li Cu still is fumbling around at his side for something. Fear surges in Li Cu when he hears the unmistakable sound of a blade pulled from its sheath.
"Let me go!" he cries, but the sound"s cut off when the man snarls and slams him against the wall again, hard enough to make him breathless and dizzy.
"The one," the man is mumbling, and he sounds even more deranged now; out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to struggle, Li Cu can see the glint of the tip of the blade, before it disappears behind him and there"s the sound of fabric tearing, and his back is suddenly freezing. "Looked—so long—fucking hard—has to be—now…" And then, without warning, the blade is coming down, and the pain is so great that Li Cu loses his vision for a moment.
He can distantly hear something echoing, and realises after a long, sluggish moment, that it was his own shout of pain, but the man pays it no mind, just pulls the blade back and then presses it down again. Li Cu, immobilised against the wall, can"t do anything but whimper and take the pain; it rises and rises and rises, mounting higher and higher and higher, until it hurts so badly that it drives every other thought out of his mind. It feels like his very blood is on fire; he can feel something crawling through his veins, running beneath his skin, as if responding to the blade. It seems to go on forever—and then, suddenly, without warning, Li Cu is on the ground, staring up at nothing, and a familiar voice is saying, "Ya Li! Ya Li! Hold on—!" before everything disappears.
When he wakes, it"s slow and muzzy. He"s laying on his stomach, and there"s heavy scent of what he identifies, after a moment, as some sort of medicine. When he tries to shift, his entire back lights up in agony, and he lets out a strangled groan. It hurts, more than anything has ever hurt before—like someone has poured molten metal onto his skin. He tries to clamber out of the bed, but a moment later, there"s the harsh sound of a voice saying, "Don"t move."
"Wh…" Li Cu manages to put together, before the pain cuts him off.
"Ya Li!" comes a second voice, and then he can see the lower half of Su Wan"s body. He sounds—worried, and upset. "You"re okay!"
"I told you he"d be fine," the harsh voice from before says, sounding annoyed.
Su Wan ignores whoever it is. "When you left, you forgot—the thing I gave you." He stumbles over the substitution, though Li Cu, in any other situation, might be impressed that he even remembered to do so. "I came after you, and I saw that—that person attacking you. I shoved him off, and then I took you to the closest diafu." He sounds proud of himself. Then he immediately turns to being worried. "Are you okay? How much does it hurt? Huo-daifu said that the wounds were pretty bad, and that there"ll be a lot of scarring."
"Hng," Li Cu manages, and then, through gritted teeth, "a lot."
The harsh voice—which must be Huo-daifu—snorts. "Of course it does," he says. "You lost a lot of blood. You"re lucky Su-gongzi found you before you bled out and died." He says it clinically, as if he"s bored by the concept. Li Cu can"t help but shiver, and then let out a moan of pain at the action.
Su Wan and Huo-daifu are saying something, but Li Cu loses track of whatever it is; he"s in too much pain to be able to focus on anything but the aching feeling of breathing and being. He"s trapped in some sort of in-between state, somewhere between waking and sleep, and there"s something curling at the edges, as if he"s not the only one there. But he"s too tired and in too much pain to so much as think about it, let alone what it might mean.
Eventually, he registers that the voices are gone; Su Wan must have left, and Huo-daifu is probably not there either. But some of the pain has retreated, and he can feel something cold on his back—probably some sort of salve, making it easier for him to think, though it"s still hard. With effort, he manages to manoeuvre himself to his feet, and looks around.
"Your parents both came to see you," Huo-daifu"s voice comes from the doorway. "Or, rather," he corrects himself, "to argue over who ought to be taking responsibility for your getting harmed. It was…boring." He sounds just as detached as he had when he"d said Li Cu might have bled out and died.
Li Cu takes a long look at him. He"s a slight man, with an angular face and hair pulled back into a neat topknot, and he"s dressed in dark clothes. His expression looks perpetually stuck in a state of being unimpressed. "You"ve been here ten days," he adds, as if an afterthought. Li Cu swallows. "Lay back down before you tear your stitches." His voice brokers no argument. Li Cu, for once, listens.
Whatever salve he"d placed on Li Cu"s wounds doesn"t last long. It feels like barely half a breath before it begins to scream with pain, though Li Cu knows, distantly and logically, that it must be longer than that. He"s left to try and hold as still as possible, panting in pain into the sheets of the bed, which smell like washing soap and the faint traces of sweat that must be his own. He can feel the radio, which Su Wan must have slipped back into his pocket, digging into his hip, but he can"t move enough to stop it without almost howling from the pain of the skin over his back stretching, as if it wants to rip and tear and begin bleeding all over him.
He"s exhausted after who knows how long of laying there; his muscles ache, alongside the pain of his back, and his head aches distantly—probably from where he"d been slammed against the wall by the man who"d attacked him, he thinks distantly. Every breath he draws feels scalding and dry, as if it"s wicking all the moisture from his lungs. He tries swallowing to make it better, but it doesn"t do anything—and he can"t get up enough to grab the cup of water he can just barely see by the side of the bed. He is, in all senses of the word, trapped in place. He"s loathe to give in, but he"s so, so tired, he doesn"t think there"s any other option.
He"s just about to close his eyes and make a genuine attempt to go to sleep when there"s the sound of something opening—a door, or window, or something. He cracks his eyes open, but the angle he"s at doesn"t give him any sort of vantage. All he sees is the moonlight that comes through the windows at an angle, and then feet clad in sturdy boots. Sluggishly, he tries to remember if Huo-daifu was wearing boots or cotton shoes—and then lets out a howl of pain as he"s pulled to his feet.
"Don"t struggle," a voice advises him. "You"ll tear your stitches, and my laoban doesn"t want you bleeding out before you get to meet him."
So bleeding out afterwards would be fine? Li Cu manages to think, but he"s panting with the harsh bolts of pain wracking his frame. "H…Huo—Huo-daifu…" he manages to croak out.
The man holding him lets out a snort. "Don"t bother," he says. "I already took care of him." He hasn"t stopped shoving Li Cu in the direction of the door, and Li Cu sees, in a brief second as they pass through it and out into the courtyard, a door half-ajar across the hall, and a figure limp in a chair—which must be Huo-daifu. He tries to struggle, but the man"s hand is vise-like on his shoulder. It draws back the hazy memories of the man who"d attacked him—and Li Cu wonders, suddenly, if this man is also like that—half man, half mechanic. But his skin feels too real—Li Cu doesn"t know of any synthskin that feels like that, except maybe a ranger"s, but he"s never touched one of those.
To his surprise, the man laughs. "I"m not a ranger," he says, and Li Cu realises he must have mumbled it aloud. They"ve come out the back of the residence, and there"s a single-horse carriage waiting there. It doesn"t look any different from the other carriages that Li Cu sees regularly—and he realises, suddenly, that that"s probably by design, because whoever this is doesn"t want to be noticed. He"s just about to try and struggle again and try and break free when the man says, "Sorry about this," and Li Cu can feel something surging through his skin before he loses all sense of awareness for the second time in what feels like only two days.
When he wakes up the second time, he"s on his stomach once more, but this time he"s on a hard surface—something cold, and faintly scented. It takes him a minute to place the scent as metal; a table of some sort, long enough to hold his frame, though his feet and his head extend slightly past its ends. He opens his eyes, and is greeted by the sight of a man with a tapered face and a slightly crooked nose watching him, sitting on a chair and leaning back carelessly. "Ah, you"re finally awake," he murmurs, and leans forward. "Wang Meng was afraid he"d overdone it."
"W…who are you?" Li Cu croaks out. "What do you want with me?" Despite his best attempts, his voice shakes with a very real fear, coursing through him and keeping him awake even as whatever the man—Wang Meng—had done makes him want to close his eyes and go back to sleep.
The man—he must be the laoban Wang Meng mentioned—sighs. "I need that map on your back, Li Cu," he says, frankly. "My agent was lucky to find someone who could bear it, and even luckier that he didn"t kill you while carving it into your skin. Don"t worry—I"m not going to kill you." He smiles, thin lips stretching bloodless and wide. Li Cu is reminded of a wolf—his eyes are the same clear black as the night. He shivers. "Kan Jian, bring me the jar."
"Yes, laoban." Another voice—not Wang Meng"s, but an unfamiliar, third one—says, and Li Cu can see someone moving about in the back. A moment later, the man sitting on the chair takes a proffered jar, and rises to his feet.
"This"ll hurt a little," he says, conversational, "but it"ll be for the best in the long run." In a motion too quick for Li Cu to track, he has a blade in his hand a moment later, something small and wickedly sharp. A moment later, he leans over Li Cu, and begins moving the blade over his back.
The pain is instantaneous; it takes Li Cu a few moments to realise the moans and cries of pain are his own, as this man takes the stitches that Huo-daifu had put in out once more. "Shh, shh," he"s murmuring, as if in an attempt to comfort Li Cu, but Li Cu has the distinct impression it"s more that he"s wanting Li Cu to shut up so he doesn"t get distracted while he"s working.
Li Cu can feel the blood that"s welling out of the half-healed wounds as they reopen. Strangely enough, rather than warm, it feels frigid, like ice crawling out of the cuts. His throat aches from the involuntary sounds of pain he"s letting out, but he"s bound to the table, and there"s nothing he can do to stop it, or try and get away. Still, he tries to struggle away nonetheless. The man seems somewhat amused by this, because he chuckles. "Almost, almost," he says, "be good and stay awake a little longer, hmm, Li Cu?"
How the hell do you know my name? Li Cu wants to demand, but a moment later, the man"s fingers are pressing against the wounds, and his entire body is lighting up with a pain the likes of which he"s never felt before—even worse than when that man had assaulted him and cut his back up, even worse than when he"d woken up in Huo-daifu"s residence. He screams for so long he screams himself hoarse and limp, his skin feverish and numb. He screams until his throat is torn up and dry and his eyes have stopped even being able to produce tears, and then screams a bit more.
Then, without warning, it"s over, and Li Cu is left panting and gasping on the table.
"I"m sorry," the man tells him. "But it was necessary."
"Necessary—your fucking mother," Li Cu spits out, the words barely a whisper from how raw his throat is, paining him to even form. But he refuses to go limp and compliant in front of this man, to show him any more weakness than he can help. "You—fucking—dogfucker."
To Li Cu"s surprise, the man doesn"t lash out at being insulted, merely smiles. His clear eyes are fixed on Li Cu"s own, and, slowly, he nods, and sits down again. "Good," he says. "It"s good that your spirit won"t be easily broken. So many times…" He trails off, seeming to fall into thought, and then shakes himself, smiles again. "Allow me to introduce myself, Li Cu. My name is Wu Xie, and the map on your back is the last piece of a puzzle I"ve been seeking for some time."
"So take a fucking impression," Li Cu snarls. "I don"t want to be involved in whatever the fuck you"re doing."
The man"s lips twitch, and his eyes flicker. "I"m afraid I can"t do that. You see, there are many people who would like that map, who are not nearly as scrupulous as I am. I cannot let you fall into their hands, so you will be coming with me."
"I"ll scream," Li Cu warns. "I"ll scream until someone notices me." But he already knows that it wouldn"t work; that whoever the hell this Wu Xie is, he knows what he"s doing, and if he doesn"t want Li Cu to get away, then he won"t be able to.
Wu Xie hums, and spears a square of something, bring it to his lips and consuming it in a single, deft bite. "You don"t believe that will work," he says, a statement of fact rather than a question. Li Cu"s heart sinks. He eats a few more pieces—doufu, Li Cu thinks, maybe, but he can"t see properly—, and then sets the skewer aside. "Let me tell you how this will go, Li Cu. In a few hours, Wang Meng and myself will complete the preparations to leave; then I will escort you to the carriage, and we will leave the capital. No one will notice you"re gone."
"My fuqin," Li Cu starts, but Wu Xie simply cocks his head, as if humouring him. Something sinks in his chest. "What did you do to him?!?"
"Nothing that will harm him if you cooperate," Wu Xie says, evenly.
Li Cu lets out a shuddering breath. The table is chilly, and it leaches the heat of his skin. He can feel the dried film of blood over his back, the skin stiff and tight where the wounds are barely held together. For a wild moment, he considers insisting that someone will notice; that someone will come looking for him. But he was never a favoured student, a favoured son, anyone of note. He"s just the son of a minor official who failed the imperial exams, and whoever Wu Xie is, he"s at least ten times as powerful as Li Cu, if he"s so sure he"ll get away with this. Is he some imperial relative? Is that why he feels so able to do as he pleases, hurt who he wants?
In the end, instead of saying any of that, Li Cu curls his hands into fists, and says, low, "Fine."
Wu Xie"s face curls into a pleased expression. Li Cu thinks he might, in any other circumstance, be a handsome man—but in this moment, all it does is make him look like a predator, and Li Cu shivers under his gaze, fighting back the instinct to cringe back and try and get out of his line of sight. "I knew you were smart, Li Cu," he says, and if it"s a compliment, it doesn"t feel like one—feels more like the man is confirming something to himself, like Li Cu is simply a single cog in whatever grand plan he has sprawled out in his mind. He rises from his seat, and pats Li Cu"s shoulder, avoiding the edges of the wounds. "Rest a bit. We"ll leave early in a few hours."
With that, he exits the room, Wang Meng and the other, Kan Jian, following behind him, leaving Li Cu alone in the room.