(This is a BL)
To save his father's life and prove his worth Fa Ping takes his father's place and joins the army. This was a choice that would bring many difficulties and perhaps, even death.
Fa Ping expected that, but what he didn't expect was to...
Ping's only saving grace was the supplies the Huns had packed in their horse's saddlebags. Jerky, dried fruit and bread wrapped in sheepskin—along with some strange thin crisp that might've been a pastry were it not so bitter—were all that sustained him as he made the lonely trek back to Rin Village.
Until he felt an eerie gust of wind and something scrapping at the back of his neck.
"Miss me, Ping-pong?"
"Mushu?" Ping's dry throat cracked with the effort. The lizard settled back in his usual place, around his neck and shoulders like a live necklace. Mushu felt unnaturally warm, ever for an ancient guardian. The lizard yawned and shook. "Are you oaky?"
"I've been better. Humans always upset my stomach." Ping's breath hitched and his neck prickled against the dragon's scales. Mushu let out a raspy laugh. "I'm kidding, Ping. It would take me week to finish one of you off." It occurred to Ping that he had never seen Mushu eat. "Seen anyone since we parted?"
"No," croaked Ping. "I haven't seen another soul, and Rin can't be more than a few miles more. If there were survivors, wouldn't I have seen smoke?"
"Most likely. In fact…isn't that smoke now?" It was true. Just now visible to his eye were several wisps of smoke trailing into the sky like black snakes. A chill of apprehension crept over him.
"Those…aren't cookfires, are they?"
Mushu snarled. "Does that smell like goat to you, kid?"
The lump was back in his throat, this time filled with bile as the stench hit. The stench of burnt flesh, foul, lingering and unforgettable. Ping gasped and the horse below him faltered and whinnied. Ping soothed the steed and resisted the urge to turn back. He pressed on, but he was at a crossroads. There were at least a hundred bodies within a dozen yards. Ping could turn over every body and never find Shang. If he's here. Which he can't be. But what if he is? I can't leave him burnt and cut and…and…The tears came, hot and overflowing down his face. The cries of carrion birds echoed in his head as he came to a stop.
"Your infantry isn't here," Mushu's voice sounded muffled and distant. Ping blinked and shook his head. "Your captain isn't here either."
Ping sniffed and wiped his eyes dry. "Wha—how do you know?"
"His smell." Ping could hear the disdain in his voice. "You spent so much time around him it's as familiar as your own." Ping was so relieved he didn't even flinch at the vague insult. His eyes stung from the crying and the stench as he swept his gaze over the scene of war. Anyone he might've know before the battle was nothing but a blackened, mangled corpse on the ground. His horse refused to go through the litter of bodies and so he skirted around the scene as best he could. He missed Kahn and felt another pang in his chest; was his horse dead too?
Shang isn't dead! He mentally screamed. Neither is Kahn. If he accepted that, he might as well just lay down and die. If his captain and his horse were dead, if he had lost his father's sword and armor, he was better off dead anyway. In the back of his head, he remembered the farming family that had taken them in and cared for Kahn. He wondered if they were still alive.
Ping took a deep, rattled breath. "Heizhu Valley. That's where Shang said they would meet the rest of his father's forces." He slumped in the saddle, his strength waning.
"You need to rest," Mushu quipped. "You haven't eaten a full meal or gotten sleep in over a day. Your arm is still bleeding, by the way."
"I can't—"
"You will move faster than an entire unit. There's an outcrop a few leagues west of here. There's a sleeping skin in your saddlebag."
Ping caved, painfully driving his horse due west. "What about food?" Ping croaked. "I barely have any jerky left."
Mushu growled and Ping felt his scales ripple. The lizard suddenly flew off his neck and disappeared, in his giant form again. Ping was barely conscious unrolling his sleeping skin. He was out the second his head hit the skin.
Shang popped his knuckles for the third time, visibly irritating Captain Fuu next to him. The trek was going well, as well as any unit who just lost one-third of their numbers could be. A full two days since the attack on Rin Village had passed and his forces were understandably low on supplies and morale.
Not that it mattered. The valley was less than a day away, and Shang knew the men he saw around him were not going to be alive tomorrow. They were small and undersupplied. Travel-weary. Their only move was to intercept the Hun force and stagger them until reinforcements from the Imperial City arrived.
They had camped for the night, discussing tactics. Shang knew it was essential and a part of his duty, but all the same he enjoyed the distraction. Sleep did not come easy, if at all. His mind felt disconnected from the rest of his body, his mouth passing along words his books and his father had taught him. This war had cost him. His father was his only family since his mother had passed bringing his youngest brother into the world. He was gone, all he had were his men and the task ahead of him: to defend his home.
Home. Stir fry with bean sprouts over the fire. His father stroking his beard as he read over reports and conversed with Shang over court politics. Warm black tea with ginger aftertaste, lingering on his tongue. The shrine to his mother in the corner, candles illuminating her portrait.
Falling asleep with Ping's hair in his face, smelling like bonfire and leather.
He excused the hitch in his breath to a cough. Fuu looked skeptical. Shang still found himself uneasy around the Jin Zai captain with his curly hair and piercing green eyes. There was a new look in his eyes, one of anger and haunting. Shang wondered how he looked after his sleepless nights and constant planning.
"There's some yellowdock root tea in my cook's jar. A cup of that will stave off any cold."
Shang didn't spare him a glance from the map in front of him. "My thanks."
Fuu sighed, removing his helm to run his hands through his hair. "The men are worried, Captain Shang. You're not focusing. You're going to get them killed."
A flash of anger made Shang's teeth clench. "The Huns are going to get them killed, Captain. All I can do is figure out a way to stop these bastards before they get to the city."
Fuu's face tightened. "I'm going to ignore that. I know what it's like to lose someone." Shang scoffed. "I have lost people, Shang. I have lost friends and family and men." His face softened. "I have lost Ping."
Shang saw red and he couldn't stop himself from lunging, grabbing the other man's collar and pushing him to the floor, breathing like a feral animal. Fuu didn't cry out; indeed he braced himself and propped himself up on his elbows as the larger captain loomed over him.
"You. Have not. Lost Ping. He was never yours, you pompous, half-baked, son of a bastard captain." Tears stung at his eyes. His voice remained low, growling, sharp as a blade. "I had him. He was mine. The gods granted me him for a single night and ripped him away."
The tent seemed suffocating to the two men. Shang's breathing morphed into quiet sobbing. His hands unfurled and he slumped off of Fuu, up against the table. The green-eyed captain sat up and stared at him, gaze even. He waited until Shang's chest stilled and throat cleared.
"Grieving will let you move on, Shang. It's all you can do." Fuu stood up and made his way to the tent's entrance, grabbing his helm on the way out. "And you don't have long to grieve. We move out a dawn."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
