Chapter Text
When Chen PingPing meets with Fan Xian a few days later, they have already survived two actual assassination attempts. One in the morning, when Fan Xian was heading to the harem quarters to see RuoRuo and their Auntie, who was determined to feed him a week’s worth of delicious treats after finding out that he hadn’t been properly eating all these days because of poisons and such.
The assassin was good, cloaking his presence with his qi, but Fan Xian reacted quickly, using a short knife and his bare hands to fight. His style was whacky – he was obviously good with weapons but mostly relied on bare strength, which was immense.
He parried a few deadly blows aimed at his head and heart, cut the assassin’s back with a knife, and swiftly hit him with a fist, bearing the strength of what seemed like a mountain, quickly followed by an open-palm slash that made the killer collapse to the ground. The whole exchange took no more than a few seconds and by the time the First Prince got to them with his sword out, the assassin was barely moving and soon drew his last breath, having cracked open a poisonous pill hidden in his mouth. Fan Xian was coughing blood, holding onto his chest, and the prince cursed under his breath for being so slow.
The next time he wasn’t, though. Two assassins came together late in the evening when Fan Xian and the prince were coming back after a lengthy and a bit tiresome family dinner that didn’t end in bloodshed only because the Emperor was in an infinitely bad mood and glared at anyone who so much as dared raise their voice or say something not entirely appropriate. Fan Xian remained silent during the whole thing, drinking his wine religiously, and ignoring the dishes as if they were all poisoned. At this point, he didn’t even pretend to be eating, and the First Prince was starting to get worried about his health aside from all the toxins, which, apparently, turned his blood into some miraculous medicine. According to the rumors, the 3rd Bureau did manage to cure their head after fooling around with Fan Xian’s blood sample for a bit. It was weird and kind of funny, but at the same time, it really wasn’t.
The First Prince made a spectacle of following Fan Xian wherever he went, fully playing the bodyguard part bestowed upon him by His Majesty. He was wearing light armor and a sword at all times, carrying a few ointments and tonics on him just in case. He knew very well the usual medicines wouldn’t help Fan Xian, but it still made him feel more at ease. Fan Xian jokingly called him ‘My brave warrior’ whenever someone could hear them and made a habit of showing up in public holding his hand, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and sometimes hugging the prince if the situation called for it.
There was always a gentleness to his touch and his smile was fond enough to melt a woman’s heart into a warm puddle. As the First Prince stared into his eyes, filled with flickering lights of affection that was a little bit too real to be just acting, he thought that a man’s heart, too, might not be able to resist his charm for long. As for himself, he simply played along as best as he could, learning on the way what it was like to be the center of everyone’s attention – sometimes curious and lighthearted, other times heavy, envious, and almost as poisonous as the food Fan Xian was avoiding like fire. His eating habits were a mess, yet his drinking habits were steady. He said something about being able to digest liquid poisons and the solid ones hitting his body harder. The prince was wondering, why would the poisoner keep on doing this when the secret was already out. People knew about it even outside the palace.
More often than not they took RuoRuo out into the many gardens of the palace, spending lazy long hours simply lounging on the grass with books and tea that she would personally brew for them, non-lethal, non-poisonous, and filled with love to the brim. And they’d be lying on the ground, all three of them, with the prince’s head propped against Fan Xian’s stomach, his fingers lazily running through the prince’s undone hair, caressing him ever so lightly. RuoRuo would be curled cozily inside the prince’s arms, with her eyes shut and her ear pressed gently against his chest as if the music she had heard there once still captivated her more than any words could ever describe. The prince would sigh from time to time, thinking that there was really no coming back from this, not that he wanted to, not really.
“We’ve done this already,” Fan Xian would say with a chuckle, “We might as well continue.” He would then give the prince a knowing look that almost made him blush, his heart would speed up, thumping hard inside his chest, and RuoRuo would smile, touching his hand with her delicate palm as if also understanding something but keeping silent about it, so none of them would ruin the magic of the moment.
Sometimes Fan Xian would tell them stories that sounded like fairy tales from faraway lands. He would tell them about magicians yielding unspeakable powers, about knights clad in heavy iron armor gathering at the round table; about maidens as pretty as the morning dewdrops, and rulers who were both ruthless and fair because that used to be the only way to keep one’s kingdom safe. He would tell about tragic love stories of young people from different clans who loved each other so much, but still ended up dead despite all their schemes and ruses. He told about ancient emperors building monuments so high and so vast that it required the work power of thousands of people across the span of many many decades. Then he would muse that it was still not likely people did this, rather some gods that came down to earth to mess with human men and women, pass down some knowledge, rule them, and enslave them. He would sometimes hum some melodies, unlike anything the prince has ever heard with words that didn’t make any sense whatsoever or languages that didn’t sound familiar at all. His voice would feel nostalgic, dreamy even, filled with knowledge and memories unknown to any man on this land.
‘He must have come from somewhere else,’ the prince would think, looking up at him, trying to grasp what this unusual, eccentric man was all about, but knowing all too well he would still fail. Still, the prince could accept him for what he was – a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma with no key to open that door. He felt the light emanating from the man, either from his brilliant mind, dream-like stories, or ideas unlike anything he had ever heard before, and this was something no one could ever fake. This light was drawing everyone to him – men, women, people from all walks of life, the posh, the poor, the beautiful, the ugly, the able, the silly, the strong, and the weak. It was a pull he himself couldn’t quite fathom, but the one he could feel working like a tide that brought the waves close to the shore and then pushed them gently away. Fan Xian explained it was the Moon’s doing, and there was no magic involved whatsoever, only pure science, not realizing that for the majority of people, his science was the magic.
RuoRuo would look up at both of them with tenderness bordering on devotion bordering on pure unconditional love, and the prince would feel his heart miss a few beats, with Fan Xian’s gentle fingers still in his hair. He was quite drunk with both of them, he would admit it to himself then, smitten in ways he couldn’t comprehend just yet. With two fairies that seemed too good for this world, too weird, too gentle, and too unusual to lead boring uneventful lives even if they were to leave the society and hide somewhere in the forest. He mused they’d never do it. Not with talent and knowledge like that. Not with the inquisitive fire burning inside both of their minds. Not with curiosity worthy of a thousand cats.
He would let out a sigh then, thinking all these thoughts, hugging RuoRuo a little tighter as if trying to catch this moment and make it last for a little more than forever. He’d stretch out his hand and touch Fan Xian’s fingers lightly, not more than a flicker of a butterfly’s wing, just to let him know about something he himself wasn’t quite able to express with words.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Fan Xian would ask him then, letting their fingers intertwine a little bit, caressing his palm with a thumb of his hand, “Just to be with someone without having to worry about the rules or what’s right and wrong, simply because you want to and you feel like it? Wouldn’t it be lovely if everyone could do it like this…”
The prince, as usual, didn’t have the answers to Fan Xian’s questions. The world could become an infinitely better place if everyone had the freedom to express themselves as they saw fit, but it could also drown in chaos.
The two assassins used poisoned darts and arrows that were quicker and more vicious than the ones fired from a usual crossbow, which led him to think that they used some newer devices. Fan Xian picked up one of the arrows with a faint ‘huh’ as if recognizing it somehow, and looked up to the rooftops where the killers vanished into thin air, like he could understand what kind of weapons they were using by the trajectory and the speed of the arrows alone.
“He must have built it then…” he murmurs to himself, hiding one arrow inside the folds of his clothing either as evidence or some kind of weird memento he wanted to keep.
“If they start attacking in groups, you might need to start following me around with a whole flock of royal guards. That would be fun,” Fan Xian jokes, but the prince doesn’t feel the humor of it at all. If the attacks do get bolder than this, staying in the palace would be akin to committing suicide. As a warrior and as a friend, he wouldn’t want to watch Fan Xian just get killed like that. If he needed to bring in some reliable men who were close to him and could disregard His Majesty’s obvious wish to harm Fan Xian, then he would absolutely do this.
When they finally meet with Chen PingPing, Fan Xian doesn’t look too well. The head of the Overwatch Council gives him a once-over, noticing each and every detail, then darts a quick glance at the First Prince, clad in armor with one hand on the sword as if ready to deflect an attack at any second. He doesn’t seem at all surprised by Fan Xian’s state, which proves that the man knows everything about everyone, or close to it. Why wouldn’t he do something to protect Fan Xian, then?
“Relax, Your Highness, we’re being protected now,” Chen PingPing says in that carefully controlled, low, and slightly raspy voice that could be almost soothing, but only if you didn't know who it belonged to. That man made everyone around him naturally tense and suspicious, comprehensive about what they were doing and saying in front of him. Unlike all of them, Fan Xian visibly relaxed, some tension leaving his back, as if he, too, was always staying alert, waiting for some kind of attack to happen.
“Is the Shadow around?” Fan Xian asks casually, looking at the man with something close to fondness, but not quite. There are layers there, indescribable, but quite palpable. If he was trusting Chen PingPing, it was far from the full all-around trust. He would rely on him, though, in some aspects. As far as allies went, Fan Xian didn’t have that many who would support him without keeping some kind of profit in mind. In fact, the prince wondered whether any of his allies did what they did out of sheer kindness of their hearts and not to gain something in return. Perhaps, there were no people like that neither in the palace nor the court, and not even in the Overwatch Council.
There is a barely audible sound of someone’s light footsteps on the rooftop, and the Shadow jumps to the ground, light as a feather, holding a small parcel in his hands.
“I’ve heard you were fasting,” he says, his voice slightly amused, eyes behind his mask sparkling with laughter like he found this whole situation somehow funny, “This should keep you alive till that relative of yours comes by, so we can spar together,” he says, and the prince has no idea what he’s talking about, but by the way Chen PingPing rolls his eyes this must be something of an almost inside joke by now.
Fan Xian takes the parcel and raises his eyebrows – it smells of freshly made baozi with some aromatic sauce packed in a separate bowl to go with it.
“Uh… Thank you? Although, I haven’t seen him in a while,” the Shadow nods to that and disappears somewhere on the rooftops once again. At least, they won’t be eavesdropped upon and, most likely, no assassins would dare to attack them when the head of the Overwatch Council was around.
“Don’t mind him. His biggest gongfu dream is to die from the sword of your uncle. It’s in everyone’s best interests if they never meet,” Chen PingPing then nods at the prince, who’s trying to keep his distance, but still stay close enough in case something happens. “You trust him?”
Fan Xian looks at the prince with badly suppressed glee and chuckles just a little.
“We’ve bonded,” he says joyfully, making Chen PingPing smirk and narrow his eyes, watching Fan Xian with the attention of a hawk carefully observing its prey.
“So I’ve heard. But do you trust him?” The question hangs in the air for a while, as if Fan Xian needs some time to come up with the answer. He simply starts pushing Chen PingPing’s wheelchair towards a more desolate part of the palace where there’s a huge pond often used by His Majesty for fishing.
“His Highness seems to be the only apple that has survived in this rotten barrel. He's better than any of them poor souls corrupted by His Majesty’s irresistible grace,” he lets out a little sigh, feeling tired of the constant cat-and-mouse games with everyone around him, “I trust him with my life,” he says finally, and the First Prince feels a sudden pang in his heart like he was holding his breath, waiting for this answer, and it finally came, and he should feel relief, but along with it there’s also worry, and responsibility, and some kind of pain that he can’t fully fathom himself. He feels happy, though. Fan Xian might not trust him with his biggest secrets, but he does trust him with his life, which is a lot already. Probably, too much for him, but the prince is ready to accept it. In fact, he has already done so, a long time ago.
“Good,” Chen PingPing nods and takes out a piece of paper carefully rolled up and sealed with a wax stamp of the Overwatch Council, “You’ll be relieved to find out about this, then,” Fan Xian takes the document, but doesn’t open it just yet.
“Is it as I suspected?” he asks carefully, as if still afraid to learn about whatever was written on the paper in his hands.
“You silly boy, you dare to fall for him without knowing the truth first?” Chen PingPing asks mockingly, but there’s a kindness to his voice, one that the prince never suspected to hear or feel coming from the head of the Overwatch Council, known for his vicious mind, ruthless actions, and vengeful nature. Who was Fan Xian to him? Who was Fan Xian at all?
They stop in front of a huge pond and the sound of water should be soothing, but the prince can’t help but feel tense, knowing deep down that they are talking about him. Unless there was someone else on Fan Xian’s mind he hadn’t heard about yet.
"Tell me,” Fan Xian asks as if hearing it was somehow easier than reading the things written on paper.
“His mother’s maid who has served along her side for most of her life was, as expected, taken care of. But her young daughter survived in a faraway village under a different name. She testified that his mother was already pregnant when His Majesty laid his eyes on her. It was a secret her mother took with her to the grave in exchange for her daughter’s safety,” Chen PingPing casually delivers the information as if talking about what he had for breakfast today.
“Where is the daughter now?” Fan Xian asks, already guessing what the answer to his question would be.
“She’s… taken care of,” Chen PingPing’s voice is as calm as ever. He’s been taking care of royal secrets for as long as he can remember himself. Throwing one more to the pile was no big deal, no matter how many lives he needed to take to make that happen.
“Alas, I’m turning into him already…” Fan Xian murmurs, shaking his head a little, but then looks at the First Prince carefully, trying not to reveal whatever is hiding behind his deep eyes sparkling with some indiscernible emotion.
“Did you know?” Fan Xian asks the prince casually like they’re talking about the weather or how many crops the farmers would harvest this season. Which, yes, was kind of important, but not nearly as important as the First Prince’s origin, at least, not in Fan Xian’s eyes.
The prince looks into the distance for some time, trying to see what’s hiding far away beyond the horizon, letting the information sink in a little. It’s not like he didn’t know, not really.
“I had my suspicions,” he says finally, “There was a portrait of a man my mother kept hidden in a secret drawer in her bedroom, locked away, with a key always hanging off her neck. I took a sneak peek once. And so, I knew that there was someone on her mind and in her heart, whom she could never speak about. And if you took a closer look, you could have noticed the resemblance. I didn’t think much of it back then. Later… it didn’t really matter. Why does it matter now?” he asks, and the three of them stay silent for a while until Fan Xian shifts a little and gives an answer that wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“I would have never laid my hands on a brother,” his words ring like bells in the deafening silence surrounding them. The First Prince feels a tingling sensation inside his chest that almost makes him laugh out loud. It is relief mixed with a whole mountain of pressure leaving his body all at once.
“And yet, you did,” he says, a little bit too gleefully, unable to suppress amusement at the perverted humor of it all.
“If only just a little bit,” he admits with a slight curl of his lips, indicating that he, too, finds the whole thing at least a tad bit funny, if not for the same reasons that make the First Prince feel all ticklish inside. He’s trying not to giggle, but the smile just creeps across his face without him knowing. Oh, this explained a lot, if not everything at once. How careful Fan Xian was not to cross some invisible lines only he himself knew were there, but still chose to walk on their edge, and make a spectacle of it for everyone to see. The First Prince felt relieved to the extent he didn’t think was possible. Would this change something, everything? He didn’t know, but the sudden lightness was pleasant. Fan Xian remained somewhat solemn, though, smiling ever so little, like he was afraid to be too happy right now. Not around Chen PingPing, not in the palace with everyone watching his every step, and maybe not ever, at all.
“So, you know,” Chen PingPing says cryptically. Is he talking about Fan Xian’s actual father?
“I know you know,” Fan Xian replies, with just a hint of a cocky smirk as if he realized he wasn’t smart enough to feel too self-assured. He really didn’t win this time. He was just peeling a few layers off the surface of the palace’s many secrets and mysteries. There was nothing to be proud of or to feel happy about. So he didn’t let his emotions run wild, keeping things mostly to himself. The First Prince thought it was probably the only way to behave in front of Chen PingPing so as not to come off as a presumptuous fool.
“I knew the moment you asked me to investigate the First Prince,” the fond smile looks a bit weird on Chen PingPing’s face, but the prince will just have to get used to it. Whatever their relationship was, it was certainly a close one.
“Does His Majesty know?” Fan Xian’s voice is equally calm, as if he’s unintentionally mimicking the man beside him, or simply doesn’t want to reveal too much.
“Well, I didn’t tell him,” Chen PingPing seems to be too cheerful about the whole situation. Perhaps, he lived for moments like that – edgy, dangerous, and a tad bit life-threatening.
“Is that why you had a fit of hysteria when you heard the news about His Highness and I?” Fan Xian is as composed as ever, but there are cracks in his facade here and there, as if he, too, just wants to lightheartedly laugh about it with his old friend and ally and, probably, his mentor and teacher as well. Alas, it wasn’t happening, not yet.
Chen PingPing raises his face to take a look at Fan Xian, amusement sparkling in his eyes like rays of sunshine on the surface of the pond.
“Among other things,” he chuckles lightly, “I knew your mother well enough to be aware of how big her heart was and about those quirky little habits she had. I gathered it was just a matter of time when you’d unknowingly pick up some of them, with you two being so alike. I just didn’t expect you’d make such a grand spectacle of it,” he finishes, watching Fan Xian lower himself in front of him, sitting down right on the floor, so the man doesn’t have to look up at him like that. There was respect between them, love, probably, as well, but of the kind that could never be spoken of out loud or made obvious to anyone around them.
“His Majesty must have been furious. I’m surprised he didn’t throw me out of the palace that very morning,” now that they’ve leveled up, Fan Xian feels slightly more at ease. Like, maybe, he doesn’t need to act just as much, showing some of his truer self to the man. Or, maybe, it was just a ruse.
“He isn’t finished with you, obviously,” Chen PingPing says lightly, watching Fan Xian attentively as if he could read the younger man’s heart through his eyes and facial expressions alone. It was possible, the prince thought, if you stared into Fan Xian’s eyes long enough, you could touch upon some of the biggest and deepest mysteries of the world, let alone his thoughts and moods.
“He is killing me, quite literally. His Highness here can confirm. And I’m not sure what this really is about, but it feels like some kind of weird training camp for young princelings, except I’m neither young nor a princeling, at least not in anyone’s eyes,” he says, tiredness showing just a little in his slumped shoulders and the way how he’s being frank right now, not really pretending. Asking, if the other man knows and if he’s willing to tell him.
“Do you not have the slightest idea?” Chen PingPing asks as if he already knows that Fan Xian has the answer, but doesn’t want to face it.
“The idea that I have is too dangerous to even think about, let alone say out loud,” he says slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Chen PingPing as if he, too, could read the other man’s mind by staring at him long enough. “I am afraid of him,” he confesses, quite sincerely, “He makes his move and I make mine. It’s all good till he’s interested in me and I serve a certain purpose in his plans. If I don’t act according to and above his expectations, he’ll get bored. That’s why I retaliate with as much drama as I can master in the heat of the moment. Because otherwise… If he truly thinks me useless… I’m afraid of what will happen to the Fans,” he says, finally, and Chen PingPing frowns just a little.
“His Majesty would never harm them…” his voice trails off as if he suddenly remembered something, and then something else, and then some more, until the phrase he uttered made no sense whatsoever even to himself.
“If they retaliate… If my father tries to actually protect me not only with words but with actions, too. If RuoRuo loses her cool in front of some official and says something that shouldn’t be said out loud. If Fan Sizhe builds a business enterprise that is a little bit too successful, giving me the means to plot my own plots, have an army of my own, do whatever I feel like, and, who knows, maybe stage a coup at some point? If I can think of all that, His Majesty most certainly has thought about it as soon as I was born. He doesn’t need another son, he needs a pawn. And if a pawn can’t be controlled, it will be discarded sooner rather than later. For preventive measures,” Fan Xian lets out a sigh and Chen PingPing looks like he wants to pat him on the shoulder and say something reassuring, but he dares not. The First Prince thinks that it is a burden only Fan Xian can carry, no one else will either understand it or would be able to help him. Most people would probably only make it worse. It was, indeed, a game, the prince just didn’t realize at what disadvantage Fan Xian had been all this time.
“I cannot help you in here,” Chen PingPing says in a quiet voice with just a hint of regret in it.
“I know. That’s why I made it impossible for His Majesty to reveal my true identity, at least for now. If people find out that two of his sons are sleeping together, well, that would be quite a scandal that could shake the kingdom to its very core, with how prude everyone is these days,” he says, a faint smile finally returning to his face.
“So you have known about it for quite some time,” Chen PingPing explores his face like a map filled with riddles and secret hidden places with both treasures and dangerous traps that could kill a man. The prince thought what Fan Xian did was almost genius. No, in fact, it was just that. And to think that none of them planned for it and he simply did that on the spur of the moment – that was quite impressive.
“Since the Northern Qi and Xiao En,” Fan Xian answers simply, lowering his gaze and looking at his hands clasped tightly together as if trying to hide some of his emotions.
“You must hate me now, then,” Chen PingPing shifted in his wheelchair just a little like he was actually worried about what Fan Xian thought about him. As if the younger man could hate him to some extent, but he shouldn’t get too disappointed, not enough to stop trusting him at least a little.
“I was quite shaken, I must admit. Then I was impressed by the wicked beauty of it. The lie you planted grew just as you expected and gave its fruits. So I found out about his biggest secret. It is such irony… the man you kept inside a cellar like an animal was just as devoted to my mother as you are, if not more, for it was her secret he was protecting all these years. Don’t you think it’s funny?” When Fan Xian looks up again, his expression is somewhat painful, but for reasons unknown to the First Prince. Chen PingPing seems to be slightly taken aback by the raw intensity of Fan Xian’s emotions, or maybe by the fact that Xiao En, whoever it was, did reveal his biggest secret to the boy he thought to be his relative. It all worked out so nicely in the end. But why didn’t Chen PingPing feel even a hint of satisfaction?
“He told you everything about the Temple?” his question is cautious, like he shouldn’t be asking it, but he simply can’t help himself. As far as curious cats were concerned, Chen PingPing was an infinitely inquisitive old cheetah. He might have lost the ability to run faster than the wind, but his mind was as sharp and curious as ever, demanding answers to the biggest mysteries of the world. It seemed that Fan Xian had a key to those. Or rather, he himself was part of those mysteries as well.
“As much as he knew, which wasn’t a lot, really. Do you want to know?” Fan Xian is luring him, the prince realized. And the temptation is more than real, judging by the expression on Chen PingPing’s face. The fire in his eyes is that of greed and thirst to know everything there is to know in the world, especially when it comes to information that can turn the whole nation upside down. In his line of work, knowledge was power, it was also a means to stay alive. And judging by how long Chen PingPing has been managing the Overwatch Council, the man knew more than just a lot. Still, he chooses to back away from this delicious bait, for reasons unknown.
“Maybe when I’m on my deathbed right before I draw my last breath… you can tell me everything,” he chuckles lightly, turning it into a joke.
“Are you so afraid of him?” they both know who Fan Xian is talking about.
“You should be, too,” and once again, they both know that Fan Xian is just putting up a show trying to seem braver than he actually is.
“Then I might just not live long enough for us to have that final talk,” the temptation is back. Fan Xian’s voice is low, his eyes intense, sparkling with a whole range of emotions that he lets out just a little bit to come off as convincing. The best acting is the one that comes right from your heart, mixed with as many raw feelings as possible.
“Did you get hurt in the Northern Qi?” Chen PingPing knowingly takes the bait, maybe out of curiosity, or, maybe, because he genuinely cares.
“Xiao En isn’t a Grandmaster, but his qi is powerful. It did something to me… reversed the flow of energy, and messed up my meridians. I’m dying,” his voice is so low it’s almost a whisper, and his gaze is dark, hot, and heavy. It looks like Chen PingPing is out of breath or that his heart stopped beating for a second, “But that cracked open something in my mind,” Fan Xian continues, slowly, almost meditatively, as if mesmerized by some visions or images in his own head, “The knowledge, the ideas came flooding in like someone opened a huge gate into an ocean of possibilities, things to create, philosophies to study, devices to build. I was born with some of it, but this, now,” he points to his head, “It’s different. I know of weapons that could wipe away whole cities and turn mountains to dust. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes and heard the crackling sound with my own ears, like the very sky was falling onto the ground, bursting with fire, turning stone into hot liquid, burning everyone and everything alive, not leaving even ashes afterward to start a new life, a new beginning. I know now how to build those weapons. I can draw schemes, diagrams, patterns, and charts. I can teach you how to cast the special iron to create them, and what chemicals to mix to make a thousand people die in a span of a single second. I’ve seen the bodies burn in graves so huge the fire was touching the sky, making the angels weep bloody tears and the gods shake their heads in disgust and despair that it has come to this, that humanity has finally, totally lost it to the greed, the power hunger, the murderous intent. That not a single soul knew better. That no one could take that back now even if they wanted to. So they wept and bled until the earth grew cold again after all the burning until the silence spread across the ice so thick that not a single living life form could spring out from underneath the earth. And it grew still until there was only death left everywhere anyone could see, yet there was no one there. No one left at all,” he’s standing on his knees looking Chen PingPing in the eyes, feverish and shaking just a little, holding the handles of the man’s wheelchair so tight that his knuckles turned white.
“Do you want that? I can give you that. All the secrets of the Temple, all those deadly traps and treacherous knowledges, the wisdoms of the world long gone, so we can do the same all over again. Repeat the history and see it with our own eyes...”
Chen PingPing does the one best thing a sane adult could probably do at this moment and brings the boy in for a hug, letting Fan Xian bury his face in the folds of the older man’s clothes, exhaling with a shudder and a sob, and then another one, crying silently as Chen PingPing gently strokes his hair in the most fatherly way possible.
“I don’t want any of that,” he says in a low husky voice, with sadness on his face and a sudden realization that he just might be in over his head with all of this. With this courageous, genius boy who is sobbing into his lap, with the secrets of the world long gone that were more dangerous than any poison could ever be. With the Emperor, who was hellbent on knowing all of them, no matter how perilous they were because he, of course, knew better, just like every person in history who caused a tragedy of unimaginable scale and depth.
“I really don’t,” he repeats as if trying to convince himself that it would be better this way, or maybe actually believing it to be true now, after Fan Xian’s dramatic outburst that left no doubt that what he saw, what he remembered, was true and just as appalling as it sounded.
“Calm down now,” he’s stroking Fan Xian’s back lightly, as if not really knowing what to do with a breakdown like this, or maybe knowing all too well that this, too, shall pass. They didn’t have any other choice but to persevere, move on, collect themselves, make other plans, and continue living no matter what. Despite everyone’s schemes, assassination attempts, and plans to change the world.
The crying stops after some time and they get surrounded by thick pleasant silence that’s like a warm welcoming blanket. Chen PingPing looks down at Fan Xian with an unreadable expression on his face. It’s like he’s proud of him, but also scared for his well-being. Torn between fatherly love and things that must be done in order to save his life. Like he wants to express more affection, but knows that he can’t be too soft with the boy, not when he needs to be strong, the strongest he’s ever been in his entire life.
“Were you testing me just now?” he asks, hand still pressed against Fan Xian’s back. The latter heaves a sigh and raises his head to face him. His eyes are red from crying and there are still traces of tears on his cheeks. Chen PingPing takes out a handkerchief with an emblem of the Overwatch Council engraved on it, and gently wipes off the tears from his face.
“Yes… and no,” Fan Xian answers in a hoarse voice, still carrying some of the emotions that made him burst out with tears a few moments earlier, “This burden is too heavy on my shoulders, I feel I might get crushed at any minute,” he stares into Chen PingPing’s eyes and the man stares back at him with whatever reassurance he can master.
“Then you should find more people that will help you stand,” he says in that mentor’s tone that was all too familiar. The prince remembered his uncle teaching him how to fight. Even after he was beaten down and could hardly move lying on the ground, not a single droplet of strength left in his body, the older man would still continue, making him stand up, hold his sword, and realize that he was much more powerful than he believed himself to be. And, surprisingly, the strength was there once again. It was a gamble with oneself, but more than often it actually worked.
“It’s not like they’re growing on a tree like apples, so I can just go and collect some,” Fan Xian chuckles ever so lightly, slowly pulling himself back together.
“Why not? You seem to be doing just that lately. All you need is to start thinking on a larger scale. Find allies, build your connections, and create a network. If it’s the Northern Qi, do it there, if it’s some other country – pick a few apples there as well, if it’s the court – don’t hesitate and do it. Because unless you do it, you will be crushed by what’s coming next. He’s growing older, but not weaker. You need to figure out how to fix yourself if that qi of yours is really acting up,” the way he talks is soothing, and his advice is sound and logical. The prince couldn’t imagine any other mentor by Fan Xian’s side right now, with so much insight into what he’s going through. And so much care to just stay near him, watch him break, and carefully pick up the pieces without being too soft about it.
The rest will fall upon other people. Like the prince, like RuoRuo, like Wan’er. The ones that could hold him, take care of his wounds, and make him feel better about himself. A mentor’s job was different. He had to be strict and teach Fan Xian to think as critically as possible.
“My qi really is messed up,” he sighs, “But I hear you. This is not the time to be weak…”
“You can be weak, alright,” Chen PingPing smirks a little, “Just choose the right time and place to do it, so it serves a purpose. And make sure there is someone strong nearby who can compensate for that and protect your back while you’re at it,” he darts a glance at the First Prince as if he’s saying this for him to hear as well, and to take notes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you at playing these games,” Fan Xian pulls back, sitting on his butt with a somewhat defeated expression on his face, but the prince knows he’s better now. Almost alright, even.
“You already are,” Chen PingPing doesn’t smile, but there’s a joyful sparkle in his eyes, “Didn’t I just buy into that little outburst of yours?”
“You think too highly of me,” Fan Xian returns the look and the prince wonders just how much of all that was an act, or was it all for real? That he would even ask himself this question already spoke volumes about Fan Xian and his ability to ‘play the game’.
“You’ll get there,” Chen PingPing puts his hands on the wheels of the armchair, “Come, send me off to His Majesty, before he thinks we’re plotting something together,” he says jokingly, but after everything said and done, it didn’t sound all that far-fetched.
The prince picks up the box of baozi and follows them, trying not to get too distracted. Although the Shadow was around, he still needed to stay alert.
“Did you ever get to console my mother like this?” Fan Xian asks matter-of-factly, but there is curiosity in his voice, like he would love to know more about her, he just didn’t know whether Chen PingPing would tell him the truth. Or anyone else for that matter.
“I didn’t have the privilege,” Chen PingPing answers after some time, “Not that she needed it. She remained somewhat carefree even in the face of grave danger. Or so I’ve heard,” he doesn’t continue with the topic and Fan Xian doesn’t ask more about her. Perhaps, it's too painful for both of them.
“She did mention… what was it? Coffee, if I’m not mistaken,” Chen PingPing continues, a nostalgic smile lighting up his face, making him seem slightly younger, “Although, she said the Kingdom of Qing wasn’t ready to give up tea, it was too ingrained in everybody’s lives to let go of it so easily. Still, she said she missed the taste.”
“Did she ever look for it?” Fan Xian is also smiling as if that ‘coffee’ thing was somehow bringing him closer to his mother.
“She didn’t have the chance, and I never pursued it. But I recognized the description of the plant Fan Sizhe found at that godforsaken place you sent him to. The whole Overwatch Council is following his adventures through those little hilarious reports he’s sending you every week,” he actually laughs at that and Fan Xian smiles a little broader, remembering all the ordeals his cute brother experienced along the way. His quirky personality made even the most mundane things seem infinitely funnier than they were in reality.
“Everyone will either love it, or hate it, or probably both. If I live long enough to introduce it to the world, of course,” he sighs and Chen PingPing lightly taps his hand.
“You will,” he says, and the confidence in his voice sounds reassuring enough for Fan Xian to give the man a fond look. The prince thinks their relationship is complicated, but there is a beauty to it, a sincerity hidden behind all the facades. Even if it was just Fan Xian’s mother connecting the two of them in the beginning, now it was much more than that. They were similar in too many ways, which made it both easier and harder for them to interact. When they part ways at the entrance to the Emperor’s quarters, Chen PingPing doesn’t as much as glance at Fan Xian. The younger man turns back and leaves, not looking at him either.
The Shadow closely watches everyone from above, secretly wishing the boy’s uncle would magically appear due to all the assassination attempts, wondering if he should send a few people of his own, too. He shakes his head at the last thought. If Chen PingPing finds out, he’ll be in trouble. If Fei Jie finds out, he might end up in a coma for a week or unable to leave the toilet for months to come. It was a gamble, yet he still pondered over it. If only the boy was a bit healthier, he could actually try it. But alas, his Battle Royal with Wu Zhu will have to wait some more.
The First Prince wakes up in the middle of the night because Fan Xian barges into his room without so much as knocking, looking slightly off, but then again, it seems to be his normal state.
“Come, sleep with me,” he declares in a voice that is a bit too loud for a sober man and the prince does notice a huge jug of wine he’s holding in his hands.
“I mean…” he seems to think something over for a little while, “Come protect me in my sleep,” he manages to finish a coherent sentence, correcting himself.
“Are you drunk?” the prince asks, feeling more amused than irritated at the interrupted sleep. It was probably only a matter of time before assassins started coming at night. It all depended on how badly those people wanted Fan Xian dead. According to him, it was His Majesty’s training paired with petty revenge, but things were going slightly overboard. Is he trying to make Fan Xian run away from the palace out of his own accord? Or to make him snap, break, and make a scene in front of everyone? To put so much pressure on him that he wouldn’t be able to tolerate it any longer and would collapse one way or another.
“I’m celebrating life!” he says, again, too loud for a man who is fully in control of himself. He throws a few minute knives on the table, followed by a handful of thin darts, followed by a few thin needles barely visible in the dim light of the room, “I’ve caught some of them, but not all of them, obviously,” he waves his hand in the air, as if trying to find the right words or to focus his mind enough to form actual sentences, “Had to use… what’s the name? A magnet to dig out the little ones from my skin. They’re so good! Those guys, they might actually succeed soon,” he’s still standing near the door as if waiting for the prince to put on some clothes and follow him somewhere into the night. The prince sighs and does exactly that, feeling the other man watching him with tense interest.
“I might… or might have not snuck into the Second Prince’s chambers to get some wine,” he continues, his eyes sparkling happily, although his body is swaying just a little, making the prince wonder about the nature of his intoxication. Was it the poison, the wine, that life he was talking about, or everything together? “I also might… or might have not seen a half-naked Xie Bi’an in the Second Prince's bed, who might… or might have not threatened me with his sword… I mean the actual one,” he chuckles lightly at his own joke, “And he might… or might have not promised to cut off my head if I tell anyone, so I’m a walking dead man no matter how you look at it,” he puts a hand against the wall to help himself stand still, and the prince wonders whether they really need to be going out when he’s in a state like this. Fan Xian did manage to come all the way to his quarters, though, so maybe it wasn’t all that bad.
“I wanna go out,” he murmurs, “If I die, at least it’ll be under the light of the moon and dark starry sky, so my soul goes straight to heaven,” he takes another huge sip of wine, “I’m not scared of anyone… or anything!” he says loudly, maybe for the Emperor to hear, or maybe for the whole world. He lazily goes out again, not waiting for the prince, and the latter swiftly puts on his sword just in case and follows the other man, afraid he might get hurt.
“What did I ever do to him? Apart from being born,” he’s standing out in the open, in the yard filled with low bushes, some flowers and other vegetation. It wasn’t the poshest part of the palace, but the prince wasn’t supposed to stay here for so long. He didn’t mind, though. Having spent so much time in the army he didn’t have a taste for lavish things, at least not as much as the other princes. A simple life would have made him happy, but alas, his status said otherwise.
“What did I ever do to you?!” Fan Xian shouts quite audibly. The prince doubts the Emperor will hear him staying far away in his own quarters, but it seems Fan Xian doesn’t really care about that. The prince wonders whether he’s actually so distraught or just putting up another show. And whether he himself could still make that distinction. If you play dead, like some small animals do facing huge predators, maybe they’ll leave you alone? It could work, probably, but none of them still understood the Emperor’s endgame. He could, in fact, just execute his right to torture anyone he saw fit. Did Fan Xian deserve to suffer like that? What did His Majesty want to turn him into, really?
Fan Xian is standing there under the moonlight, looking up into the sky, swaying just a little, but seems to be almost himself.
“They do look cute together,” he murmurs. Who is he talking about, Xie Bi’an and the Second Prince? “He said that I should try and stay alive because the Second Prince hates to love me… or loves to hate me? Something along these lines. He’ll have to pay for his sins anyway… if I… survive this,” he takes another sip of wine like it was some kind of miraculous medicine that would make everything better, but the prince seriously doubts it.
“Are you poisoned? Do you need help?” he asks, nearing him, giving Fan Xian a once-over, and trying to notice anything unusual. There are a few scratches on his hand and some barely visible spots left by the needles on his neck, almost hidden by the strands of his wavy hair, still slightly messy after sleeping or fighting, or whatever it was he’s been doing for the last few hours.
“No one can help me,” he turns to look at the prince, smiling with one of the saddest smiles he’s ever seen on the man’s face, a hint of desperation in his eyes, mixed with amusement and something else, which might have been the poison’s doing, or a streak of his very own craziness showing through the usually composed facade. He was nothing like his usual self, yet he was more of himself than most of the time.
“That’s what he’s teaching me right now. He would make a whole nation weep after my demise and then make them cry equally happy tears of joy when I came back alive, but he won’t let anyone stay by my side as he executes his punishment. So I shall suffer alone for the sins that I have yet to commit…”
He drinks some more wine from the jug, swaying ever so lightly, and makes a few steps toward the moonlight and into the empty space, declaring something, probably a poem, but which the First Prince has never heard before.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before...
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whisper: Nevermore!”
He then laughs bitterly, and proceeds laughing some more, almost joyously, like everything around him is surreal, or maybe some kind of play even he himself doesn’t quite understand. And if it’s unreal, maybe he shouldn’t get all worked up about it? All the people, all the schemes, all the relationships, all the friends and all the backstabbers, all the powerplays and chess pieces that get scattered across the board so easily, dying meaninglessly, pointlessly.
“Should I even continue like this?” he asks the dark skies gleefully, but they, of course, don’t hold the answer, “Teng Zijing is dead… Chenru, you will die, too, if you stay so close to me,” he turns to look at the prince, his lips pressed together, eyes intense, but then he laughs again, almost losing his balance, and the prince catches him by the elbow, helping him stand. Maybe the poison is playing its tricks on him, or, maybe, it’s a mix of everything. The prince thinks it will be better if he can just drag the man into the room and let him calm down, but Fan Xian seems to be intent on staying outside and even starts walking slowly, sighing heavily as he goes, presumably towards his own quarters.
“I shouldn’t stay still for now,” he murmurs, sounding more like his sober self again, “Bear with me for some time. They’ve developed something new. It wouldn’t kill me, of course, but the pain is quite tangible. I wonder who else, apart from the 3rd Bureau, is capable of this. He might have just given the order so they had to obey. Either that or someone really, really hates me.”
“Does the wine help?” the prince follows him as they slowly make their way across the yard and into some passageways filled with dark shadows, ignoring the evening curfew like it didn’t even exist. The night guards they met would only salute them, knowing all too well who both of them were, looking a tad bit more curious than they were supposed to be, but that was all. They could roam around the night palace grounds, making a scene of it, or as quietly as they wished to.
“It dulls the pain,” Fan Xian lets himself be held by the elbow and the prince feels his body shivering just a little like he was feverish, ill, or both. “I might be also seeing things and hearing things, but I’m mostly sure the episode with Xie Bi’an was real. Otherwise, I don’t know how else I procured the wine. The cut on the neck also seems quite real, so…” his voice trails off, making the prince wonder in what state Fan Xian's mind is right now and whether he should be worried. It’s not like he could do something about it himself, but he could send for a healer or at least let RuoRuo examine her brother. As if reading his mind just a little bit, Fan Xian blurts out:
“If I die, will you take care of RuoRuo? She’s the strongest girl I know, but you know how men are… and this society with its stupid rules,” he stops for a while, trying to look into the prince’s eyes, his gaze as intense as ever but somewhat unfocused, “Promise me,” he says, and the prince muses at how both of them, the brother and the sister, have asked him for the same thing in the span of the last few weeks.
“You will not die,” he says calmly, “And I promise,” their lives were growing more and more intertwined with each other and the prince had to admit to himself that somewhere along the way he started caring about the Fan siblings in ways that felt deeper and broader than just friendship. The intimacy was there, for which he didn’t have a name yet, but it was as real as the jug of wine Fan Xian was clutching in his hand. And just as solid.
“Good,” he says, visibly relieved by the prince’s answer, and starts walking once again, the starry night blinking mysteriously above his head and the moon shedding its gentle light upon his figure.
The prince just stays beside him, watching Fan Xian unfold like a natural phenomenon he has no control over.
“Maybe I should just ask His Majesty to marry you and then spend the rest of my life in some dark dungeon. I’ll say: Hey, Your Radiance, you’ve produced such a fine young man, let me just take care of him, love him, and make him smile for the rest of his life. And you won’t have to worry about our babies taking over the throne. Then he’d lock me up in a cellar and I’ll be singing some moody prison blues playing my lonely guitar forever and ever… or maybe Jailhouse Rock? God, I will need a guitar. Did anyone invent a guitar yet?”
He’s rambling, the prince realizes, his mind as unsteady as the steps he’s making under the moonlit sky. That he would say something about taking care of the prince for the rest of his life was quite telling of Fan Xian’s state right now. It did make the prince smile a little, the childish silliness of it, but if Fan Xian did want to commit suicide by His Majesty’s hands, that would probably be it.
Fan Xian suddenly stops in his steps, as if remembering something, turns to the prince, and drops the jug of wine sluggishly onto the grass. He takes the prince's face into his hands, staring at him with such intensity that the other man can almost feel Fan Xian's gaze reach into his very soul, some hidden depths of his being no one has ever laid eyes upon.
“Chenru,” he says, his palms feeling hot and dry, and his eyes as deep as the night sky above them, probably even darker and more devoid of light. It’s weird to hear Fan Xian say his name like this, forgetting all the princes with their numbers, all the titles, the nicknames, and whatever other names they called each other in front of other people, “Chenru, don’t die on me, okay?” the seriousness in his tone would be almost comical, if not for the state he was in. Fan Xian was probably delirious, burning inside out with some unknown poison that even he himself couldn’t dispel, not even with his body that’s got used to the majority of toxins this world could produce. He was a human, after all, albeit a weird and brilliant one.
“Don’t fight for me in my fights, don’t protect me with your life. If you ever have to choose, choose yourself and leave me behind. I'm really not worth it,” he gently holds the prince’s face, then lets out a shaky sigh, and kisses him on the forehead. His lips feel dry and burning against the prince’s skin. The motion takes him by surprise, but just a little. The closeness is breathtaking.
“I… cannot promise you that,” the prince mumbles, not knowing how to react to him, to this, whatever it was. Fan Xian’s grip on reality didn’t seem strong enough to talk to him like they normally would, and yet he sounded coherent, fully present, despite being a bit shaky and frantic. Their eyes meet again, and there’s a need burning in Fan Xian’s gaze, a desire to know the truth. Except, there wasn’t any one true answer the prince could give him. It was complicated. It was messy. It was devoid of logic.
“Why not?” he asks, “What’s so good about me? Even I don’t like myself these days, so I can’t imagine anyone else finding me even remotely amusing, apart from my beloved torturer. Why would you, as strong, and smart, and caring as you are, want to have anything to do with the mess that is me?”
They stare into each other’s eyes for quite some time and the prince’s mind almost goes blank. If there was an answer to all those questions, he couldn't say it out loud. At least, not yet.
“I wouldn’t know,” he says, finally, almost sincerely, “It’s just a feeling. It’s complicated,” or maybe it’s much less complicated than he thinks it is, but whatever Fan Xian wants him to say, or needs to hear right now, he might just not be ready to speak about that kind of truth. He wasn’t as daring as the other man, nor was he drunk enough to go around making confessions that he wouldn’t be able to take back afterward. Nevertheless, Fan Xian’s gaze softens quite a bit, until it’s filled with mostly care, and fondness, and affection. Finally, the corners of his mouth curl up, and his eyes start sparkling in a way that has become all too familiar by now.
“You are too good,” he smiles, looking a little helpless, “That goodness is attractive. I'm the one who cannot stay away. The one who keeps on getting closer. The feeling isn’t that complex at all. Unless it’s mutual, then… then the trouble starts.”
The kiss that follows is not uncalled for. It’s long, and gentle, and tastes like sweet flower wine that is more delicious than anything the prince has ever drank from a cup. It’s heated with the fire of Fan Xian’s poison making his lips hot, but also with the passion that seems to have been suppressed for quite a while now. The prince answers to those needy lips by parting his own and letting out a delighted ‘hmph’ sound, feeling the tongue slide into his mouth inquisitively as if exploring the depths of what’s allowed right now. He wouldn’t know himself. He makes a statement by putting his one hand on Fan Xian’s waist to draw him in a little closer, and touches the nape of his neck with another, enjoying the kiss to the fullest. It’s light, and careful, and leaves them both lightheaded and breathing a little harder.
“I should have gotten poisoned sooner…” Fan Xian whispers, their faces still so close to each other that their breaths get mixed. The prince swallows hard and finds his lips one more time, feeling a little greedy for that tingling sensation that blooms inside his heart and his whole body when their lips meet. It’s somewhat breathtaking, because of how forbidden it is and how they’re doing it standing out in the open in the middle of the night where anyone could see them, including the many guards of the sleepless night watch patrolling the palace.
“You really are… so good,” Fan Xian pulls back a little, looking flustered, not smiling, but satisfaction quite visible on his face in the way he absent-mindedly bites his lower lip.
Why would they do it, the prince wonders. Why would they cross this line? It feels too good to think too deeply into it, though. So maybe that’s just it.
“You’re quite alright yourself,” he chuckles softly, not feeling even a droplet of regret. Not now and, probably, not ever.
“I might still need to get back to my room,” Fan Xian heaves a sigh, breathing too heavily for it to be just pure excitement over what they just did, “The herbs might ease the pain. If I lose consciousness, I don’t know… just slap me on the cheek,” he laughs a little, and they get moving after that again, much more slowly and more relaxed than before, like it was just a pleasant stroll under the moonlight. There was a sudden shift, a change. Just walking side by side, hand in hand, became as natural as the kiss that happened a few moments ago. The tension was still there, of course, the things that were left unsaid and the feelings that were felt, but not registered to the fullest, and words that still lingered in the air, having nearly spilled, but not quite. It all didn’t really matter in the end. Whatever they would decide to do or not to do next was also up for question. It was a nice feeling – to just act on the spur of the moment. Feel something and then do something about it, accordingly, without thinking twice. Were they allowed to live like that, not worrying about the consequences of their actions? Probably, not. But they could try, at least for a while.
By the time they get to Fan Xian’s room, the man can barely stand. He goes through numerous boxes and small packages filled with dried herbs, roots, and what looks like small stones and glass shards with softened edges, like the ones you can find inside the sea or the ocean. The prince has been to the sea and has seen the vast sandy beaches as well as the stony ones, with cute round pebbles mixed with unusual-looking seashells left by some underwater critters. Fan Xian had a whole section of his living quarters dedicated to what looked more like a witcher’s den or a secret healer’s layer or, yes, the dwelling of a Poison Master who also happened to be a physician, a shaman, and gods knows who else. There were some roots hung up on a special stand to dry along with flowers and what looked like parts of small animal’s bodies. It was peculiar and a tad bit freaky. The prince relished every detail of it, watching Fan Xian in what seemed to be his very own element as he was going through all the little things, taking a pinch of this and a dash of that, mixing everything in a bowl, adding what seemed to be a gemstone, but was probably some kind of resin because it lost its shape once put into boiling water.
“Can you simmer this for me for a while?” he sits by the table looking as if he’s about to collapse, “Then let it cool for a while, drain it, and after that, I can have it and, hopefully, survive the night.”
“How long are you planning to keep this up?” the prince touches Fan Xian's forehead with a hand, then glides his fingers along his cheek and lifts his chin, making Fan Xian look up at him. The prince gives him a knowing look that says he doesn’t buy it. A Poison Master in a poison master’s den getting poisoned by some novice assassins. Even if they were experienced, he was much better than any of them, the prince was sure of it.
“What, you mean I’m doing this to myself deliberately?” his eyes spark with joy despite his miserable state, which only proves the prince’s point. If it wasn’t a controlled experiment, why would he be so calm about it? Or maybe he’s just happy that the prince guessed correctly.
“Not the assassins part, but the getting poisoned and suffering from it part – yes, seems to be quite intentional,” he says carefully, letting go of Fan Xian’s chin with a slight hint of regret. He was being greedy today and the man in front of him was far from feeling alright. Still, the newfound yearning was there, not planning to go away anytime soon. Now that he was finally conscious about it.
“You are too sharp,” Fan Xian says, sounding delighted. The prince glances at the small pot filled with the healing potion to make sure it’s not boiling over. “There are different ways to heal the deviation of qi, and all of them are quite extreme if you don’t have a fellow Grandmaster at hand, which I don’t. And I don’t think that the one who's hiding at the palace will ever help me, not when His Majesty is being friendly like that. So I make my own recipe. The key is to restart the body and all its vital processes. For that, one needs to come as close to dying as possible.”
His words hang in the air for some time, as heavy as the winter cloak that was meant to protect you. This one could easily kill or cripple Fan Xian, the prince could tell that much.
“It’s dangerous,” the prince frowns, not quite understanding the method he’s using, but feeling that it’s not good.
“Well, not more dangerous than walking around unable to properly defend myself. And since I’m locked inside the palace for now anyway, might as well use the time to experiment a bit. There are different ways… I can take a super icy bath, but then my heart will need to be restarted and we don’t have the necessary devices for that here.”
“Will it not need to be restarted if you do this to yourself?” once again, Fan Xian’s logic seemed a bit flawed. Like he was just making things up along the way, trying whatever crazy idea that came into his mind. It’s one thing to build a device that may or may not work but to play with your own life like that was way too risky.
“I know what I’m doing… kind of. I’ve written DuoDuo about the secret techniques her teacher is using to control the flow of qi. She might or might not answer me, but I already get the gist of it. I’ll still need someone to direct a pretty powerful blow of qi at me when I’m at my weakest. Obviously, I won’t be able to do it myself. I’m hoping it doesn’t have to be a Grandmaster for it to work because otherwise I’ll be screwed,” he calmly explains what his brilliant plan is all about, and the prince can only roll his eyes.
“This is your brilliant idea? Come to the edge of death and hope that a blow of someone else’s qi will miraculously bring you back to life?” the prince stares at him for a while in disbelief. He thought Fan Xian was smarter than that.
“Well, either this or I will have to catch a lighting,” he says gleefully and the prince doesn’t know whether he’s joking right now or being serious, “The human qi is preferable because it will be a controlled impulse… or so I hope. A lightning might just fry my insides and that’ll be it,” he exhales lightly, as if tired of speaking for too long, and the prince shakes his head, giving the healing potion a stir and making sure the fire’s not too big.
“Sometimes I don’t know if you’re a genius or a madman. And whether you yourself can tell the difference," he might be sounding a bit grumpy, but only because he’s worried.
“I’m afraid, I might be both,” Fan Xian chuckles ever so lightly, obviously not feeling too well, but his mood seems to be brighter now that the prince has seen through his not-so-brilliant scheme of getting better.
“Can’t you just write to some Grandmaster and ask for help? If it’s a matter of life and death, surely someone would help you,” the prince really isn’t so sure about it himself. Rumor has it, the Grandmasters aren’t quite human and don’t give a damn about other people’s lives, destinies, the rights and wrongs, unless it’s their kin, students, or closest relatives.
“I might not be their most favorite human being right now,” Fan Xian flinches a little bit, “I managed to cross some of them… Others are known to be quite cold and unresponsive. I’d rather take my chances with someone else. I still have time to find some sneaky powerful elders who have been flying under everyone’s radar. Or, at the very least, I have you,” the way he says the last sentence is warm and affectionate. It would have created a pleasant tingling sensation inside the prince’s heart and some other body parts any other time, but he doesn’t let himself be distracted so easily.
“I’m a 9, but that’s not nearly enough for what you’re planning to do. You need a powerhouse,” he stirs the potion once again, barely noticing the fond expression on Fan Xian’s face, who seems to be enjoying this way too much. Did he find it hot watching the prince cook him a healing potion? Or rather, he was enjoying that he cared for him so much.
“I still have some time to work out the details. RuoRuo might have to bring me back to life with her newly acquired medical skills and some tonic I have yet to make. As for the powerhouse… we’ll have to see.”
The prince removes the pot from the fire and lets it sit for a while, before pouring some of the liquid into a small bowl.
“Does Chen PingPing know about this? Or any of your powerful friends?” he asks, already knowing the answer, judging by how reckless this plan was.
“You are the only one,” Fan Xian whispers with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “And I intend to keep it that way if you don’t mind. Otherwise, things might get a little… complicated.” The prince gives him the bowl and sits beside Fan Xian, still frowning.
“Yes, you might end up in the Overwatch Council’s cellar you’ve mentioned so many times, tied up to a bed so you don’t harm yourself. And I can’t say I would disagree with this course of events,” Fan Xian takes a small sip of the healing potion and flinches just a little. It must have an unpleasant taste, but it’s better to drink this than to continue suffering through the whole night.
“I trust you to keep my secret safe,” he lowers his eyes coyly, hiding his sparkling gaze that is far from timid, “And I promise to think of some other way to do this,” he takes another sip of the drink, barely putting up with the awful taste of it.
“While continuing to poison yourself, I presume,” the prince lets out a sigh, unable to argue with him any longer. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just thought it was fruitless and would only tire Fan Xian some more.
“You know me so well,” Fan Xian chuckles, but that’s not true, not really.
“Not nearly enough,” the prince tells him. If he knew him better, he would have foreseen this turn of events. But even RuoRuo, one of his closest people in the whole world, didn’t realize what Fan Xian had been doing all this time, bringing himself closer to the edge. The prince was even more clueless. What other dangerous schemes were brewing inside that brilliant mind of his? The prince really couldn't tell, and that was part of Fan Xian’s irresistible attraction, among other things. He would consider writing Chen PingPing, though, if things become too dangerous and messy. He just hopes he won’t miss that moment when it comes.