Title: For a more concerted victory
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: G
Length: 3,700 words
Notes: Chu Shuzhi, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, canon divergent AU, fixit, outsider POV. Spoilers for everything! (mergatrude, don't read this one either!) Many, many thanks to trobadora for beta. <3
Summary: He had to believe a more concerted victory was possible, or why would the Hallows have brought him back at all, but there were too many factors to consider, and Chu Shuzhi was a fighter, not a philosopher or a scientist. Better to keep things on a need-to-know basis, for now, and go directly to the Envoy.


The Dixing darkness seemed deeper and more oppressive than ever before. Lord Black-Cloaked Envoy had been swallowed by the enemy, had given his life to destroy him in return, and the members of the SID were worn ragged from the fight, shaken by the cost. Even Changcheng’s bright optimism was burning low. Chu Shuzhi didn’t need to be told it was up to him to take the Envoy’s place as protector of the SID, to see its people safely back to the surface.

But they’d been scattered; he had to find Lin Jing and Zhao Yunlan before he could take them through the portal. They couldn’t have gone far. He herded Changcheng, Zhu Hong and Da Qing away from the palace. “Come on.”

“Where’s Lao Zhao?” Da Qing looked around.

“We’ll find him.” Chu Shuzhi didn’t know how, but they would.

As if in answer to his promise, a few seconds later Lin Jing appeared around a corner and waved them over. “There you are! This way!”

Chu Shuzhi hid his relief, and they set off after Lin Jing through the maze of alleyways that twisted downward into the lower city. They passed stores and bars, their doors bolted shut. From an open second-storey window, a baby wailed and was shushed. There was almost no one in the streets.

As they ran, a deep seismic rumble filled the silence, coming from the earth itself, drowning out their footsteps. The ground heaved violently. Changcheng stumbled over some empty baskets that spilled across the way, and Chu Shuzhi grabbed his arm to stop him falling and hauled him onward.

“Over there!” said Lin Jing.

But the figure he pointed out was bloodstained and slumped on the ground. Chu Shuzhi dropped Changcheng’s arm to surge forward, then faltered, his stomach hollowing in shock. The others halted at his side.

Zhao Yunlan wasn’t just unconscious; he was completely motionless. Unbreathing. On the ground beside him, the Guardian Lantern burned golden, its light seeming to fill the sky.

No, it was filling the sky, rapidly turning the gloom to dawn, then day. Cries of alarm and amazement rang out from the houses, and a few doors and windows cracked open, wary faces peering out.

Chu Shuzhi clenched his jaw against his own helplessness. If he’d been here, Lord Envoy would have tried something, moved heaven and earth to find a way— But he wasn’t here, and neither, now, was Zhao Yunlan. They had both died heroes, and there was nothing to be done but accept their sacrifices and treat their memories and remains with dignity.

Da Qing let out a choked sob. The others were too stunned and battle-weary to move. Chu Shuzhi stepped forward alone, determined to claim the body and return it home. There was no one else to do it.

A sudden gust of wind caught him off-guard. The Guardian Lantern rocked on the ground and rose radiant into the air, to be joined as if from nowhere by the other Hallows—the Longevity Dial, the Mountain-River Awl, that damned Merit Brush—all of them swirling faster and faster, creating a tempest that tore at Chu Shuzhi’s clothes. Behind him, someone shouted a warning, and Chu Shuzhi started to turn back, meaning to shield the others, but—

A portal opened in the sky, blinding white. Its power reached inside Chu Shuzhi and wrapped around his heart, dragging him irresistibly closer. He considered fighting it, anchoring himself with his magic cords—he had responsibilities here to fulfil—but Lord Black-Cloaked Envoy had done everything he could to bring the Hallows together. If this was the result, then so be it.

Perhaps if he surrendered to it, he could lend his essence as fuel to the Lamp, perhaps rescue Zhao Yunlan from the Hallows’ hold and take his place. It was what Lord Envoy would have wanted.

He called to the others to take care of Changcheng—the Yashou were capable, even if they weren’t Dixingren—then raised his eyes to the portal and let himself be pulled up and into.


*


The portal dumped him unceremoniously and from a height of several metres onto the streets of Dragon City. He landed on his side, on bruises that were already making themselves felt, and instinctively used the momentum to roll to his feet, avoiding further injury.

It was night. He was in Guangming Road, just outside the SID. There were no sentries from the Department of Supervision, no police tape, no sign of unrest. The city appeared to be sleeping.

He checked the time on his phone: five minutes to midnight… on 31 August? How was that possible? The settings menu let him query the mobile network to re-set the date. He turned his phone on and off again. Still August.

Either the network was playing up, or the Hallows had sent him back in time. Back to before the Reunion Festival, before the worst had happened. And the Hallows had chosen him for this mission. Him, the one guaranteed to report to Lord Black-Cloaked Envoy. He must act quickly. Who knew how long it would be before they whisked him away again.

A pang of hope for a better outcome, mixed with fatigue, made it difficult to think: would he find the Envoy at the university or his apartment? What had been happening in late August? Should he track down his past self to find out? Was this even the same past he’d lived through—could it be, given he was here?

Perhaps both versions of him had been here all along, and the Black-Cloaked Envoy had chosen not to relay that information to the former Chu Shuzhi; if so, they could be trapped in an endless cycle of inevitability, where nothing Chu Shuzhi did could alter the outcome. Or alternatively, the timeline might be so delicately balanced that a casual word or deed would change the sequence of events. He had to believe a more concerted victory was possible, or why would the Hallows have brought him back at all, but there were too many factors to consider, and Chu Shuzhi was a fighter, not a philosopher or a scientist. Better to keep things on a need-to-know basis, for now, and go directly to the Envoy.

He went to Professor Shen’s apartment but hesitated at the door, conscious of his dishevelment, feeling every one of his bruises and cuts. Suddenly unsure of his chosen course. The conclusion of the battle could barely be called a win, but they had prevailed against Ye Zun. What if something he said here undid that?

But in his experience Fate was a stubborn bastard. Someone as lowly as him had very little sway, in the greater scheme of things. He would deliver a message and offer himself as a piece in the chess game, trusting in the Black-Cloaked Envoy to make the right play.

He knocked.

No answer. He knocked again, tempering his impatience out of respect. Perhaps he’d have to try the university. He rapped on the door a third time, sharper, and this time, the door behind him opened, and Zhao Yunlan stuck his head out, squinting. “Is something on fire? Something had better be on— Lao Chu? What are you doing here? It’s past midnight.”

The sight of him, whole, breathing, supremely unaware of his own death, set emotions unravelling in Chu Shuzhi’s chest which he didn’t have time for. He suppressed them ruthlessly. “I’m looking for Hei Pao Shi.”

Zhao Yunlan’s eyes widened in a charade of confusion. “Then why knock on Professor Shen’s door? If you want to talk to Hei Lao Ge, you’ll have to summon him with incense like we always do. But I’m your chief. Whatever you have to say, say it to me. And can’t it wait till morning?”

Behind his words was the sound of light footsteps; someone was moving around in his apartment, out of view. Then the Envoy appeared at his shoulder, in civilian clothes and glasses.

For a stricken heartbeat, Chu Shuzhi simply stared. Since the moment Ye Zun had ingested the Envoy, the world had been a lesser place, desolate, without order or mercy. It was disorienting to have it be whole again, to feel this comfort, knowing it was only a dream that could be snatched away without warning. He bowed deeply. “Hei Pao Shi Daren, I’m here to report.”

“You know me?”

“Yes.”

The Envoy regarded him gravely, the distinctive tilt to his head speaking of authority beyond that of any university professor—in retrospect, it was hard to believe Chu Shuzhi hadn’t discerned his identity from the start—but for a second it seemed he might try to deny it. Then he opened the door wider, bodily nudging Zhao Yunlan aside. “You’d better come in. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“What, you’re just admitting it?” Zhao Yunlan looked incredulous. “You stonewalled me for weeks!”

The Envoy spared him a wry smile, and Chu Shuzhi belatedly registered certain details: the Envoy’s mouth was reddened, his hair mussed, his shirt collar and sweater vest both unbuttoned, and there were creases in his sleeves where the garters normally sat. And Zhao Yunlan was in a similar state of disarray—it was just less noticeable because of his casual attire and the fact that any redness of his lips would normally be attributed to his habit of sucking on brightly coloured candies. There was no sugar on his breath tonight.

Evidently Chu Shuzhi was interrupting. He would have wished himself a million miles away, but his mission was too important for niceties or tact.

“Okay, tell us how you found out.” Zhao Yunlan closed the door after him, then held up a hand before Chu Shuzhi could answer. “He didn’t hear it from me. I’ve been the soul of discretion.”

Lord Envoy’s attention was still on Chu Shuzhi, his gaze piercing, his eyebrows drawing together. “There’s something wrong. What is it?”

“Hei Pao Shi Daren.” The ground swam beneath his feet. He held himself upright by sheer willpower. “I’ve come—I’m here—”

“You’re in shock,” Lord Envoy said. “Sit down.” He ushered Chu Shuzhi to the couch. “Do you need a drink?”

“Beer? Something stronger?” Zhao Yunlan indicated the shelves full of liquor.

Chu Shuzhi couldn’t remember when he’d last drank anything, nor eaten, and he needed to keep a clear head. “Water.”

Lord Envoy went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then ran a glass of water and brought it back. “Start at the beginning.”

Chu Shuzhi drank the water in three swallows; it eased his parched throat and helped him focus. “Hei Pao Shi Daren, I come from the future. The Hallows sent me with a message—”

Zhao Yunlan was retreating to a tall stool by the breakfast bar, but he turned back at that. “Eh? From the future? Are you sure?”

Chu Shuzhi opened his mouth to answer, but the Envoy had paled. “Stop,” he ordered. “Before you say another word, think carefully—have I ever given you reason to believe we’ve spoken of this before?”

Chu Shuzhi looked at him, uncomprehending, then realised what he meant. The Envoy didn’t know if their actions were preordained either. And when Chu Shuzhi had first lived through this time, there’d been no proof, not even a hint that this conversation had happened. No one had mentioned time travel until the last few future days; if they had, he’d have scoffed.

Lord Envoy rightly took his silence as a no. “Have you spoken to anyone else since you arrived?”

“I came straight here.”

“Time travel,” mused Zhao Yunlan. He was stretched out on the stool now, feet propped on a footstool, head back as if he were talking to the ceiling. “Hei Lao Ge, did you know the Hallows could do that?”

A muscle moved in Lord Envoy’s jaw. “Last time I was in Dixing, I looked through the archives. There are recorded instances of the Mountain-River Awl causing a kind of temporal dysfunction, unmooring a person’s perception from the timeline, but no one has written of time travel.” He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “There’s a lot we don’t know about the Hallows, and it’s not outside the bounds of possibility, in theory, but the risk would be very great. If we create a paradox, the whole timeline could unravel.”

He cast Zhao Yunlan a glance, apparently judging the effect of this statement.

Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow back at him, deceptively casual. “Going by the state Lao Chu is in, the risks are high either way. And if the Hallows sent him, that means we must have gathered them together somehow. Lao Chu, do you know where the last two are right now?”

The Envoy held up a hand to block Chu Shuzhi’s reply. “Zhao Yunlan, we owe this timeline and everyone in it a duty of care. It’s not only the future that can be undone. The repercussions—”

“Hey, now, I’m not asking him to tell me where they are,” interrupted Zhao Yunlan. “Not yet. I’m just establishing our options—information is power.”

“Yes, and too much power can be extremely destructive.” Lord Envoy’s mouth formed a tense line. He, who carried the world on his shoulders with the implacable wisdom of ages. Who had saved Chu Shuzhi’s life, brought him to Haixing and given him purpose. Chu Shuzhi had never once questioned him, never presumed to know better, even when his instructions seemed counterintuitive or tiresome.

His wishes now were plain—that Chu Shuzhi say nothing—but he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Chu Shuzhi had seen a future where the Envoy tried to stop Ye Zun alone. And the Hallows must have brought him back here for a reason.

Zhao Yunlan was waiting. “Well, Lao Chu?”

Chu Shuzhi took a deep breath, wrestling with himself. “Yes,” he said, finally, avoiding looking at the Envoy, afraid of disappointment or reproach. The single word sounded grudging. He closed his eyes and saw the battle again in jumbled flashes: death and victory intertwined. He was no stranger to loss, but he went cold nonetheless. The Envoy, Zhao Yunlan both gone. And he’d left Changcheng and the others in a politically charged Dixing without a guide. “I know where the Hallows are.”

“There we are, then.” Zhao Yunlan gestured expansively. “Hei Lao Ge, you’ve been scouring Haixing for the wretched things for years, and now here’s someone who knows their whereabouts. Who’s dying to tell you. What could be better?”

“Chu Shuzhi.” The Envoy sat on the coffee table, facing him. The incongruity of his status and his choice of seat were jarring enough, but the distress visible in his eyes was worse. “Tell me—did we prevail in your future? Is peace secured? Just ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

It was far too simplistic a question. The Envoy must know that. But Chu Shuzhi answered honestly. “Yes.”

Zhao Yunlan had produced a lollipop from somewhere, but he wasn’t unwrapping it, instead rolling the stick between his fingers. “And yet somehow I don’t get the impression everything was fluffy bunnies and jubilation.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the Envoy. “The more we deviate into the unknown, the greater the chance of failure.” He looked at Chu Shuzhi, and there was no doubting his intention this time.

Chu Shuzhi nodded reluctantly, and the Envoy’s tension eased, turning him from a fearsome figure into Professor Shen. “You’re exhausted. I’ll make tea.”

He went into the kitchen, clearly used to making himself at home in Zhao Yunlan’s apartment.

Chu Shuzhi stayed on the couch, gripping his hands together, expecting Zhao Yunlan to take this opportunity to press for more detail. Half hoping he would. Everything he’d seen, everything he knew was burning a hole in his chest, in his throat, on his tongue. But to his surprise, Zhao Yunlan slipped his lollipop back into his pocket and followed the Envoy into the kitchen. “Shen Wei, I know you wouldn’t pass up valuable information without reason. What’s really at stake?”

The Envoy turned to him, tea canister in hand, deadly earnest. “Everything’s at stake. Me, Da Qing—everyone you care about. Ten thousand years of peace and progress. The continued existence of every single person alive.”

Zhao Yunlan flinched, then laughed, shaking his head. “That makes no sense. How could our actions now affect the ancient past? That’s all history books and museum exhibits. It’s archaeology.”

They were talking quietly, their words not meant for Chu Shuzhi’s ears, but it was a small apartment, and the only other sound was the hum of the refrigerator. He could almost hear the Envoy’s inhalation. “Causality is more complex—more circular than you think. And there’s no way to gauge the resilience of events in advance.”

Zhao Yunlan stared at him, eyes narrowed, then gripped the Envoy’s shoulder, his fingers making divots in the sweater vest. “Okay,” he said. “I hear what you’re saying, I really do. But we have to focus on what’s in front of us. You’ve said all along we need to find the Hallows before Zhu Jiu. We can deal with the consequences when we come to them.”

“By then it would be too late. This timeline might not be perfect, but it could be the only one that leads to victory twice over.” The Envoy—Shen Wei looked down at the canister in his hand. He sounded bleak, almost bitter. “If we change the future, I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety.”

“No one’s asking for guarantees, Hei Lao Ge. And we’re always changing the future. Who knows what we’re doing just by having this conversation. At least if we hear what Lao Chu has to say, forewarned is forearmed.” The corner of Zhao Yunlan’s mouth turned down. “Besides, victory or no victory, Lao Chu’s timeline obviously sucks. It’s written all over his face. If you send him away, he’ll try to fix it on his own and most likely get himself killed in the process.”

Shen Wei glanced at Chu Shuzhi, saw he was listening, and Chu Shuzhi shrugged apologetically. Zhao Yunlan was an adequate chief, and Chu Shuzhi respected him a good deal more than he had a year ago; even so, he’d never thought there’d come a day when he’d side with Zhao Yunlan against the Envoy. But there was no denying it: Chu Shuzhi had already considered his options on his way here, what it would take. Had meant to ask the Envoy outright to use him in his place, but would work it out himself if he had to. How could he not? The world didn’t need Chu Shuzhi—with a few exceptions, would barely notice his absence—but the loss of Lord Black-Cloaked Envoy would be the end of hope for Dixing. It would be the end of History.

Besides, no end could be more satisfying than being the cause of that bastard Ye Zun’s indigestion.

The Envoy was studying him as if he could read his mind. Then he sighed, and when he spoke again, it was louder, to both of them, and he was obviously thinking aloud. “It’s possible— With the information Chu Shuzhi has, I may be able to design a contained experiment to measure the effects of our actions. We’d have to start very small and be extremely careful. And no one but the three of us could know.”

Chu Shuzhi swallowed hard, the strain and horror of the last hours finally receding a little. There was a way forward; there was hope. He hadn’t abandoned Changcheng and the others for nothing.

Zhao Yunlan was laughing, warm and fond. “Ah, Professor, only you could turn this dramatic development into a science experiment. I knew you’d think of something.” He sobered and pointed at the Envoy. “And while you’re figuring it out, Lao Chu can keep watch over the other Hallows. We can’t have Zhu Jiu jumping in and grabbing them before us.”

“All right.” Shen Wei took Zhao Yunlan’s raised hand in his own, the gesture as intimate as a kiss; Chu Shuzhi looked away. “It’s a deal. Zhao Yunlan, I’ll say now there will be things I can’t tell you.”

“So what else is new?” said Zhao Yunlan, without rancour. For a moment there was no sound but the refrigerator cycling on, then Zhao Yunlan cleared his throat and came back into the living room, carrying two cups of tea. He set them on the coffee table, one in front of Chu Shuzhi, and took out his phone. “We’re going to need snacks,” he said in the direction of the kitchen. “Shall I order in?”

“There’s no need,” called back Shen Wei. “I can cook.”

Zhao Yunlan acknowledged the offer with a casual wave, as if having Lord Envoy of Dixing prepare an impromptu meal in the middle of the night were something to take for granted.

Chu Shuzhi shook his head. Perhaps he had strayed into a different timeline, one where the Envoy’s power wasn’t the most ancient and impressive thing in the universe, where he hadn’t swung the tide in an unwinnable war and brokered peace for ten thousand years. Or perhaps Zhao Yunlan really was that shameless. Either way, it was oddly reassuring: the Envoy was awe-inspiring, and Zhao Yunlan’s ability to challenge him on occasion would give them more options.

With everything Chu Shuzhi knew about the location of the Hallows and the machinations of the enemy, they should easily be able to avert disaster, and if they couldn’t—if the experiment went wrong, or the timeline proved even more unyielding than the Envoy was—they had a last-ditch backup plan they knew would work. Until then, they could at least strive for a better ending, a better world.

In the kitchen, the Envoy had buttoned his sweater vest and was rolling up his sleeves in preparation for cooking. Chu Shuzhi should offer to help, since Zhao Yunlan clearly had no intention of doing so, but he didn’t quite trust his legs to support him yet. He reached for his teacup and brought it to his lips, inhaling the fragrant brew. There was time. He’d rest just a few minutes more.



END