Title: to recognise the heart in every person that you see
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: G
Length: ~3000 words
Notes: Zhu Hong & Wang Zheng. Set during episodes 9 and 11. Friendship, canon compliant. Also for lunabee34's prompt: Zhu Hong, "I will never wear that. Ever." So very many thanks to trobadora and cyphomandra for beta!
Content notes: contains brief discussion of past canon slavery and slave-keeping.
Summary: A girls' night out.



1.

Zhu Hong sent Lin Jing and Da Qing away and dressed the blow-up doll herself, making it as respectable and modest as she could. She found a long blue scarf to add to the ensemble for extra coverage and took that, the doll and the hat into the ladies’ room.

Wang Zheng was in front of the mirror, splashing water on her face. Her eyes were red.

“Ignore those idiots.” Zhu Hong dropped everything and went to put an arm around her, but Wang Zheng pulled away sharply.

“You were laughing with them.”

Guilt formed a heavy lump in Zhu Hong’s stomach. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.”

Wang Zheng didn’t look at her and went to dry her face.

“I’ll make it up to you,” said Zhu Hong. “You don’t need a doll to go out at night, do you? When we get back from the mountains, I’ll take you out. We can get dinner or window-shop. A girls’ night out.”

“I’ve never had a girls’ night out. I’d like that. When we get back from the mountains.” Wang Zheng sounded wistful.

Did she think Zhu Hong would forget? That she was only inviting her out of guilt? Well, perhaps that was why she’d thought of it, but she regretted never suggesting it before. She didn’t really have any friends in Dragon City, either, and as the only two women at the SID, they had to stick together.

Wang Zheng picked up the doll from where it was tangled on the floor and brushed off the skirt.

“Will it work?” asked Zhu Hong. “Will you—” Wang Zheng was such a sweet girl. How could she wear a sex doll? And in public? Especially now everyone knew exactly what it was and had sniggered over it.

“I can’t go without it, so it will have to do.” Wang Zheng looked bitterly determined. “I only have to wear it in daylight.”

Zhu Hong picked up the blue scarf. “We can use this to cover you up more, if you like. And you can borrow my sunglasses. Do you need an umbrella as well?”

Wang Zheng didn’t answer, too busy rubbing the shiny fabric of the scarf between her fingers. “It’s a pretty colour.”

“And you’ll look really pretty in it.” Zhu Hong draped it over her own arm and looked from the doll to Wang Zheng and back. “How does this work? Can I help?”



2.

When they returned to Dragon City, Zhu Hong didn’t know if Wang Zheng would still want to hang out with her. Wang Zheng had a past now, a history of romance and violence, not to mention a devoted boyfriend. Surely window-shopping would pale in comparison! But when Zhu Hong brought it up on the second morning after they got back, Wang Zheng turned from her computer, surprised and pleased. “You still want to? Tomorrow night, then.”

So the next night, after dark, they left the SID, Wang Zheng skipping down the steps into the cool misty night, her bare feet hardly touching the gleaming wet pavement.

Zhu Hong’s high heels prevented her from running to catch up. “Slow down,” she called, laughing. “I can’t keep up with you.”

Wang Zheng turned back, spreading her arms as if she couldn’t feel the cold. “Sorry. I love being outside at night, under the sky.”

Zhu Hong didn’t know how Wang Zheng had spent her off-duty hours during her time at the SID. Whether she had adventures and favourite places to visit at night, or preferred to stay in the shelter of SID headquarters. Did she surf the internet all night? Did she read? Did she even need to sleep? “Do you go out often?”

“No, I don’t like it when strangers look at me.” She tilted her face to a mist-haloed streetlight as if to the sun. “I didn’t know why before, but it might be because I had a bodyguard when I was growing up.”

“Tonight I’ll be your bodyguard,” said Zhu Hong, holding up her fists. “Just let anyone try anything!”

“Oh no, don’t.” Wang Zheng pushed Zhu Hong’s hands down. “I don’t deserve it. My bodyguard was a slave—I was so careless of him. I don’t even remember his name, if I ever knew it.”

She sounded ashamed, and Zhu Hong didn’t know what to say. She’d heard Wang Zheng and Sang Zan’s story second-hand from Xiao Guo, but it had all happened so long ago it didn’t seem real. And it was impossible to reconcile kind, gentle Wang Zheng with the brutality of those times. But when she tried to say that, Wang Zheng shook her head.

“A lot of kind people own slaves. It’s not whether you’re good to the people you respect—everyone is. It’s whether you think there are people who don’t deserve that goodness. Who aren’t even really people.” She looked upset. “I never questioned keeping slaves until I met Sang Zan, and even then… And now everyone at the SID knows the truth about me, and you all treat me just the same.”

They stopped on the corner of the street. There were tears in her eyes.

“Should we shun you?” said Zhu Hong. “Would it make the world better if we did? Sang Zan and his people—those are the ones you wronged, and he forgave you.” If Sang Zan could forgive and love her anyway, who were the SID to hold a grudge?

“The rest of the tribe didn’t, and they shouldn’t.” Wang Zheng looked stubborn.

A tribe that had put her to death, blaming her for all that was wrong, and driving her lover to madness and revenge. Separating them for a hundred years. Forgiveness and redemption had to start somewhere.

“We at the SID can only judge you by who you’ve been since we’ve known you,” decided Zhu Hong, starting to walk again, drawing Wang Zheng down the street, further from the SID. It was too cold to stand around on street corners, and too important a conversation to cut short. “What about you? What was your life like, back then?”

“I wasn’t free either, really—I couldn’t choose who to marry, who to talk to; I wasn’t even allowed to run around. ‘Daughters in Hanga can’t run like a man,’ they used to say. But I was kept safe. Anyone who tried to hurt me would have died. And I was happy.” They turned left into Minzhu Road, with its street-side food stalls. “If I’d been better, perhaps I could have changed things. My father listened to me.”

As if history were full of patriarchs who’d reformed their ways and relinquished their power on the advice of their daughters.

Zhu Hong barely remembered her own father, but the elders in the Snake Tribe never took her seriously. They indulged her, though. And she was thankful there was nothing like slavery in their past to be ashamed of or feel guilty about. Nothing serious that needed reforming. And thankful that Fourth Uncle hadn’t stopped her taking a position at the SID. That proved the Tribe wasn’t as old-fashioned and determined to stay neutral as it used to be. When the world was in danger, when one group of people wanted to hurt or persecute another, you had to take a side. “Everyone deserves safety, food and shelter. And freedom.”

“Yes, and freedom.” They stopped at a food stall and bought pork baozi, then stood on a corner under a shop awning to eat them, away from the loud groups of people drinking and dining at the stalls.

“I’m glad we asked Hei Pao Shi to save Butler Wu,” said Wang Zheng when they’d eaten all their dumplings. “And I don’t think Dixingren should be sent back unless they’ve hurt someone.”

“I agree. We should tell Lao Zhao.” The SID was changing; he might even listen. Zhu Hong had never expected he would try to save a Dixingren, but when Butler Wu had been dying, he’d snatched the Longevity Dial out of Xiao Guo’s hand as if he’d do whatever it took. It was a good thing the Black-Cloaked Envoy had arrived when he did. “You know, Hei Pao Shi isn’t as scary as everyone used to say.”

Wang Zheng clapped her hand over Zhu Hong’s mouth. “Watch out—you might summon him!”

Zhu Hong pulled Wang Zheng’s hand away easily, laughing.

But Wang Zheng looked serious. “You didn’t see Hei Pao Shi in the mountains. I think he could be very scary. It’s a good thing he likes us.”



3.

Wang Zheng had never been to the cinema before, so they went to a late-night movie, arriving late so they wouldn’t have to navigate the crowd. But Zhu Hong was distracted thinking about their conversation and barely paid attention to who was falling in love with whom. They came out and wandered down the street towards her favourite clothing boutique for some quality window-shopping. Wang Zheng was still dreamy-eyed about the love story. “It was so wonderful, I could watch it over and over! I’m going to make Sang Zan come and see it with me, and next time I’m not going to miss the beginning.”

Zhu Hong smiled, but she couldn’t help asking, “Xiao Guo said Sang Zan grew up as a slave. Is that right? And now he’s working at the SID, but we’re not paying him?”

“The SID can’t officially hire new staff without approval from the Department of Supervision,” said Wang Zheng, who probably knew more about the SID’s HR practices and payroll than Lao Zhao did.

“Still, though. How is it different from being a slave again?”

Wang Zheng tilted her head. “It’s not the same,” she said, thoughtfully. “The SID doesn’t own him. Chief Zhao doesn’t treat him like a possession or threaten his life. From the day Sang Zan and I met, Chief Zhao’s the only one to ever help us stay together instead of tearing us apart. I think he offered Sang Zan the job so he’d feel like one of us. I mean, Zanzan’s still learning to read, and Chief Zhao made him a librarian.”

“That’s true.” And it wasn’t really Zhu Hong’s business. If Sang Zan was happy with the arrangement, that was up to him.

“Besides, one of the librarian’s duties is purchasing new books. I showed Sang Zan how to use the internet, and he’s already ordered a literacy study guide and a couple of dozen comics. Chief Zhao said he can get whatever he likes, as long as it doesn’t raise any red flags with the DoS.”

Zhu Hong laughed. “What kind of comics?”

“Superheroes, mostly. Some horror.” Wang Zheng wrinkled her nose. “Nothing I’d like.”

The mention of horror reminded Zhu Hong of Sang Zan’s past. “Is he—” safe? Can we trust him? But those felt like the wrong concerns. Unlike Wang Zheng, death and punishment had obviously taken a toll on Sang Zan—or was it the Mountain-River Awl that had stripped away his rage? Had it healed his maddened heart, too? Anyway, Lao Zhao and the Hei Pao Shi wouldn’t have let him stay at the SID if he was dangerous. Redemption had to start somewhere. Zhu Hong changed her question. “Does he like being at the SID?”

“He’s still getting used to everything, but I think so.” Wang Zheng smiled softly to herself. “He’s happy to be with me.”

“You’re his one true love.” Zhu Hong tamped down a pang of jealousy. It must be magical to feel wanted by the man you loved, no matter how complicated your history together. She stopped by a store and looked at the smartly dressed mannequins in the window. “What do you think?”

“Next time the DoS reviews our finances, we should include a request for a librarian’s salary—Oh, you mean the clothes? They’re, um, very dramatic.” Wang Zheng looked wide-eyed at the bold colours and structured cuts in the window, then pointed at a pale floral print further back in the shop. “I like that one with the lilacs.”

“It would suit you perfectly.” Zhu Hong grinned at Wang Zheng. “You know, this boutique has a website. You can order clothes online.”

“I already have three dresses. That’s one more than I need.” Wang Zheng tugged at the flowing sleeve of the white muslin she was wearing.

“You know some people have whole closets full of clothes, don’t you?” Zhu Hong told her. “It would be quite restrained of you to have five or six dresses, and even a pair of jeans! I could buy that dress for you as a gift. Or, you know, Sang Zan could fritter away the library budget, showering his Wang Zheng with pretty things.”

Wang Zheng laughed and shook her head as if it was a childish, frivolous suggestion. She was such a mix of innocence and wisdom, it was sometimes easy to forget how old she was and how young. She’d lived through more tragedy than Zhu Hong could imagine, but she still found pleasure in the small things. She hadn’t grown cynical or been broken by any of it. Lao Zhao and Da Qing had found her wandering alone in the mountains with no memories, no friends or family, nothing. Zhu Hong had found it hard to adjust to human clothes and expectations; how much more difficult for Wang Zheng to learn all over again how to be in the world, when she hadn’t even known her own name or had any place to call home.

“Wait,” said Zhu Hong as they strolled along to the next shop window, “I don’t even know this much: does Sang Zan call you Wang Zheng or Ge Lan?”

“Oh. Wang Zheng.” A shadow crossed her face—maybe grief for her family and her past. Then she shook her head, and it was gone. “I’m Wang Zheng now. We’ve started afresh.” As if all it took was deciding to. She looked in the next shop window, where the display included a bright yellow dress with white polka dots and a long, full skirt. “Does this place have a website too? I could buy that for you, as a gift, Hong-mei,” she teased.

It was the first time Wang Zheng had addressed her as sister and the first time she’d claimed seniority. Everything was different now she remembered her past.

Zhu Hong had never had a big sister to buy her things. She pretended to pout. “Not that one, Zheng-jie. Don’t you dare, not even as a joke! I will never wear that. Ever.”

Wang Zheng’s laughter rang out in the street.

A man and a woman passed by, and the woman glanced at Wang Zheng’s bare feet and said something to her companion.

Wang Zheng froze, and Zhu Hong moved to shield her from their view, glaring at their backs as they continued on. “Ignore them,” she told Wang Zheng. “They don’t know anything.”

Wang Zheng shook her head, and at that moment, a few fat raindrops began to fall. One landed on the back of Zhu Hong’s neck, and she squeaked and jumped under the shop awning, tugging her leather jacket tight around her.

Wang Zheng stayed where she was, self-consciousness forgotten in her delight. The rain grew heavier, splattering down on the pavement, until it was teeming and it sounded like a continuous roll of thunder, but she just held her arms wide and spun around, tipping her head back. Her hair was soon streaming with water, her dress sodden, and she didn’t seem to mind at all. In the streetlights she looked luminous.

Zhu Hong hoped energy spirits couldn’t catch a chill, and as she thought that, Wang Zheng stopped revelling and regarded her with a worried frown. “Oh no, Hong-mei, you’re cold. Come back to the SID, and I’ll make you some tea.”

It was raining so hard the drops were splashing off the ground onto Zhu Hong’s legs. She didn’t want to leave the shelter of the awning, but once a snake lost body heat it was hard to warm up again, and she was starting to shiver.

Wang Zheng must have seen that. “You can’t run in those shoes. Stay here—I’ll go and buy you an umbrella.”

“No, wait.”

Wang Zheng would have to go to a convenience store. People would stare at her in her wet, old-fashioned dress. She seemed willing, but Zhu Hong’s shoes and trousers were already soaked, and she couldn’t get much colder. There was a shower at the SID, and she kept a change of clothes there. And tea did sound good. Zhu Hong took off her shoes, stepped barefoot into the downpour and was immediately drenched, rivulets of water making their way down the neck of her jacket.

“Hong-mei!” Wang Zheng looked shocked and delighted.

Then they both saw the family coming down the pavement—father and teenage daughter huddled under one umbrella, mother and younger daughter under another, all of them wide-eyed as if they’d never seen people standing in a rainstorm before.

“Are you girls all right? Aren’t you freezing?” called the mother when they were close enough to be heard over the deluge.

“We’re fine,” snapped Zhu Hong. The woman obviously knew nothing about earth spirits, or snakes’ superior metabolism. She took Wang Zheng’s hand. It was as cold as her own.

“Enjoying the lovely weather?” asked the younger daughter, with a sly smile.

“It’s wonderful!” said Wang Zheng, grinning. “Have a good night!”

The family continued on their way, and Wang Zheng, who hadn’t been allowed to run in the past—not like a man or like a girl—squeezed Zhu Hong’s hand. “I’ll race you back to the SID!”

“All right,” said Zhu Hong. “Last one back makes the tea.”



END