Title: Survivor
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: PG for themes
Length: 1500 words
Notes: Chu Shuzhi & Chu Nianzhi, post-canon, trauma, loss, emotional h/c, twins, talking to the dead, pre-Chu Shuzhi/Guo Changcheng, references to anti-Dixing bigotry. No archive warnings. So much thanks to teaotter for excellent beta, including helping me with the h/c side of things! ♥
Summary: Chu Shuzhi wakes from a nightmare and talks to his brother.


Chu Shuzhi woke sweating, his heart pounding in the rhythm of desperate, hurried footsteps arriving too late. He gulped and, with iron-will, forced his breath to slow and steady. Stared up at the shadowy ceiling, waiting for his heart to follow suit, for the dream to dissipate, for Zhao Yunlan’s hoarse cry, Where is Shen Wei? to stop ringing in his ears. Sprawled on the palace floor, Lin Jing had never answered. His silence had been his answer.

The battle against Ye Zun was recurring so regularly in Chu Shuzhi’s dreams, the panic was almost omnipresent in his waking life too, setting his nerves on edge, guilt constantly weighing him down. But it was worse at night, alone, with no distractions. The Envoy and Zhao Yunlan were gone. The gates to Dixing were closed. Ye Zun may have died, but he’d won that much—destruction, separation.

And Chu Shuzhi’s puppet had been lost. He didn’t have Nianzhi anymore.

He was being ungrateful. The world was safe. Changcheng was safe. Those of the SID who remained were still together, carrying on their work. The ordinary citizens of Dragon City knew about Chu Shuzhi now, and most didn’t flinch away. That they saw him as an exception to a darker rule was, in the circumstances, unsurprising.

And Dixing—Dixing was presumed stable, renewed and lit by the Guardian Lantern. That was their best guess, anyway. Their hope and consolation.

He huffed an impatient breath and threw back the covers. His room was cool, sending a lightning shiver across his damp skin. He wiped his face with his hand and, going by feel, grabbed a scarf from the folded clothing on the chair at the foot of the bed. There was a dim glow from the streetlights outside, but not enough to distinguish black from black.

Changcheng had given him a routine to follow when the nightmare woke him. What was first? Oh, right. Chu Shuzhi went to his cupboard, found a towel and dried himself. (They’d argued about this: Changcheng had advocated washing away the night sweats with warm water. “Cold water will wake you up too much.” Chu Shuzhi had pointed out that the pipes in his shared bathroom were temperamental and noisy, and he’d be extremely unpopular if he woke half the building. They’d compromised.)

He poured himself a cup of water from the jug on the shelf, and drank it. That was step two. And then he paused. He’d never tried step three. Nianzhi was lost in Dixing. He wouldn’t answer if Chu Shuzhi called to him; there’d just be another painful silence, an echo of Lin Jing in the palace. Chu Shuzhi had no taste for that. Besides, if it did make him feel better to try, as Changcheng had suggested, what right did Chu Shuzhi have to shed his burden of guilt? He should just go back to bed, get some rest so he could do his job in the morning.

But the sheets were twisted and rank. He should give them a few minutes to air. He poured more water, then paced the room, stopping now and then to drink from his cup.

A truck growled down the street outside, and he realised he was avoiding the window. The corner.

Perhaps he should give it a try at least once. Then he’d know Nianzhi was really gone. He could tell Changcheng it hadn’t worked, and that would be that.

He returned the cup to its shelf and looked towards the small shrine set up in the corner by the window. It was a Haixing custom, one Chu Shuzhi had never bothered adopting. He’d had his doll. But Changcheng had arranged the shrine, said, “You should talk to him. It will be good for both of you.”

He’d seemed sure. Chu Shuzhi took a couple of mandarins from his nearly empty fruit bowl and went there now, knelt and placed the mandarins in front of the carved name tablet Changcheng had procured for him. The matches were on the corner of the shrine with the incense. Chu Shuzhi lit a stick of incense, blew out the match and, more gently, the small orange flame, leaving the tip of the incense smouldering in the dark. He dropped its stem into the narrow-necked ceramic vase and waited.

The smoke made a pale squiggly line upwards, nothing like the thick smoke braid that used to summon the Envoy. Chu Shuzhi’s breath was loud in the silence. Nothing happened.

He was doing it wrong. Or Haixing customs wouldn’t work for Dixingren—of course they wouldn’t. He closed his eyes, feeling lost. For all his inner disavowals and reluctance, he must have hoped in his heart of hearts, because now that hope, too, was falling silent. He’d carried Nianzhi with him for so long, as companion and conscience. The absence ached.

You have Guo Changcheng now, said a teasing voice in his head. What do you need me for?

That’s not the same, retorted Chu Shuzhi, automatically. Changcheng’s not a substitute. Don’t be stupid.

His eyes flew open. “Didi?”

There was no answer. He closed his eyes again. Are you there?

Where else would I be?

Chu Shuzhi bent his head. I wasn’t sure you’d answer. Nianzhi had never spoken to him through his doll. There had only been his presence and, occasionally, a sense of approval or disapproval at a course of action.

I’m here.

Chu Shuzhi let out an unsteady breath and spoke the words that had been choking him since the battle. I failed.

You did everything Hei Pao Shi asked of you. You can’t be responsible for more than that.

Are you— Chu Shuzhi swallowed. Is Lord Hei Pao Shi there with you, in the afterlife?

There was a long silence, a sense of trespass. Chu Shuzhi withdrew the question, regrouped. He shouldn’t ask about the Envoy at his brother’s shrine. But the Envoy’s absence was such a large part of why he felt adrift.

I don’t know what my purpose is now. That was the heart of his problem, once the guilt was pushed aside. He had no reason to be here in Haixing anymore, no one to follow.

Your purpose is to live well. Find a way to be happy—it’s not that hard! Nianzhi’s familiar teasing note was back. No one else ever spoke to Chu Shuzhi like that, affectionate and insightful. No one had ever known him like Nianzhi. Make Guo Changcheng happy while you’re at it. What are you waiting for?

Chu Shuzhi snorted, aware of heat rising in his cheeks. It was hardly a secret that Changcheng had a crush on him, but it was just puppy love mixed with respect for a mentor; one day he’d meet someone from his own world, someone worthy.

Nianzhi laughed, not unkindly. Dumbass.

You’re the dumbass, Chu Shuzhi shot back, but there was no heat in it. What happened to your doll?

More silence, and when the answer came, it wasn’t an answer. Of course I was glad to be at your side. Don’t ever doubt that. But you know, Shuzhi, I’m glad to be free now, too.

Horror parched the back of Chu Shuzhi’s throat, tears stung his eyes. He blinked hard and tried to focus on the shrine. What had he done? Had he kept his brother trapped all that time against his will?

A stem of ash dropped from the incense, as silent as snowfall. It was burning low now. The words repeated like an echo: I was glad to be at your side, dumbass. Don’t ever doubt it.

And then the incense burned out.

Chu Shuzhi covered his face, but somehow the guilt—at keeping his brother with him and at his failure in the battle, both—were easing, carried away with the fragrant smoke, leaving a sense of peace as faint and hopeful as the first light of dawn. His brother was still with him, still himself.

A yawn overwhelmed Chu Shuzhi, and without thinking, he left the shrine and stumbled back to bed, sure he could sleep soundly now.

And in the morning—in the morning he’d tell Changcheng he’d spoken with his brother. Perhaps he’d even tell him what Nianzhi had said. Maybe he could do that. With Nianzhi’s encouragement lingering in his mind, bolstering Chu Shuzhi’s courage, all his reasons to hold back were transparently excuses, fear of more mistakes. He would be a coward no longer. He was responsible for the losses of the uprising, he had failed, but those were burdens he had to carry just like everyone else who’d been there and survived.

Your purpose is to live well, Nianzhi had said, and he was right. It was a new mission, and confessing his feelings to Changcheng was the obvious way to start. Go to sleep, said his brother’s voice, distant and fading, and Chu Shuzhi closed his eyes and drifted off, lighter than he’d felt in weeks. He wasn’t alone anymore.



END