Dinner
By the time Wenchang and Dewang find each other and Zhang Fei, the officer has already had quite a bit to drink. Fortunately, the victory has put him in an excellent mood, and he congratulates them cheerily before turning to the serious business of the evening: wine. Not even Dewang can match his pace, and neither of them try to, but content themselves with sipping and the least awkward conversation they have had in weeks.
“Here’s to us!” Wenchang slurs, and trying to clink glasses with a barely awake Zhang Fei, breaks it. “Whoops. Another one!”
Dewang laughs and fumbles around. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Wenchang smiles. “Ah, you’re grreat. Heard you cap-captured a magician. Nice one.”
“Barely captured,” says Dewang. “He didn’t put up any fight, not after yesterday.”
“And how would he! They will all bow down in defeat before us!” mutters Wenchang. “Assholes.” They'll all pay for causing unrest in his town, yes! Maybe another drink-
“He did bow down,” says Dewang. “I really didn’t know how to react.” He squirms. “It was...weird.”
“So modest,” laughs Wenchang. “Ahh you will get used to it.” He downs his cup. “You've never really been on the field before all this, have you?”
Dewang shakes his head.
Wenchang looks down. “One gets used to it. Either that or...” he breaks off and looking up, smiles. “Ah… listen to me going on. Anyway, the sooner these brothers are dealt with, the better... necromancers, pah! Heretics, all of them.” He refills their cups.
Dewang looks up sharply, his face noticeably paler.
Wenchang hands him his cup. “Somethin’ the matter?”
“No, nothing,” stutters Dewang. “The magician… he said the Zhang brothers can raise illusory soldiers that fight like real ones. He said they were… ghosts, not illusions.” He finishes the glass quickly. “I don’t know if he was telling the truth or no.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. They just can’t let things be the way they are! Disturbing the dead…” Wenchang grumbles under his breath. He looks over at Dewang, and sees that his friend is now as white as a sheet. He blinks, and straightens up a bit. “What is it, Dewang?”
Dewang does not answer.
Wenchang frowns. “What is it? Don’t you agree? Ahh, but of course, you’re a sorcerer as well. Perhaps you hold a different opinion.”
Dewang tries to find his voice. “No- no- I -” he breaks off. “It wasn’t like that-”
“What? What are you talking about?” rumbles Wenchang.
Dewang puts his face in his hands, knocking over his wine in the process. He doesn’t notice. “I didn’t want to disturb anything…”
Wenchang stares for a moment, and then through the drunken haze it clicks. “That ghost. You said you saw a ghost. Where did you see it? How did you come across it?”
“I was a fool,” says Dewang quietly.
“You-did you call upon it?”
Dewang’s silence is more than enough as an answer.
Wenchang looks away a minute, and then looks back at De Wang. “You raised - why would you do such a thing?!” he yells suddenly.
“I couldn’t think of anything else…” Dewang says. His voice is choked.
“What does that mean?” Wenchang shouts. “Dewang, what right do you have to go disturbing those who are no longer here? Why can’t you just let them be?” He leans in and grabs the front of Dewang’s robes.
“Wenchang - please, listen-” Dewang begins to tremble. There are tears in his eyes.
“You must have thought Xiadu the perfect place - haunted as it is.” Wenchang’s voice is bitter. “Who would notice if you slipped out and tormented a spirit or two?”
“No, no, I didn’t torment anyone!” Dewang sobs. “I only wanted advice. For the school.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “There was no one else I could go to,” he whispers.
“...Advice?”
Dewang nods. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought the dead might know something - and they did, they gave me the books -” Wenchang’s grip on him has slackened, and he takes the opportunity to pull away. He leans back against the bench, crying in earnest now.
Wenchang sits back as well, taking De Wang’s words in. So he wasn’t raising a spirit army or anything like that. He wanted help for-for the children. He looks up to see Dewang has crumbled. Swearing at himself mentally, he lowers his voice. “I see. I just feared the worst. I thought you may have similar designs to that of the Zhangs.” Hastily, he looks around to see Zhang Fei snoring away. He sighs and turns back. “I am sorry. Forgive me.”
Dewang flinches, as if Wenchang has physically struck him.
Wenchang raises his hands. “I mean it. I'm not going to do anything.” He nears cautiously, and places a hand on Dewang’s back. Dewang looks up, searching Wenchang’s face for any sign of his previous anger. He sees nothing but concern. Slowly, cautiously, he rests his head against Wenchang’s arm.
Wenchang spreads his arm around Dewang, and holds him.
Dewang clutches at his friend, burying his face in Wenchang’s big shoulder. “Couldn’t do anything,” he mumbles, and shakes his head. “Didn’t want to hurt - just live -”
“I know. I understand,” Wenchang says softly. “The battle, then the wine - I have no excuse. Will you forgive me?”
Dewang nods dumbly, somehow pulling even closer.
“Who was the ghost?” Wenchang tentatively begins.
“Please don’t…” whispers De Wang. He’s shaking now, but not with sobs.
“Okay okay, sorry.” Wenchang falls silent. Slowly, Dewang relaxes. Wenchang’s grip is shockingly gentle, and for a moment he wishes that this will never end.
Wenchang holds his friend for however long he needs, and soon they fall asleep in the same position.
Friendship: stitched up!
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