The Overwatch Council had trained him to hide his emotions, and being held in Shen Zhong’s dungeon had honed his skills under pain both physical and emotional. To his surprise, Yan Bingyun found standing over Fan Xian’s fallen body to be an equally troubling use of those hard-won skills.
Xie Bi’an prodded Fan Xian with his toe. “Excessive,” he commented, but the slight smile in the corner of his eyes betrayed his satisfaction.
“Necessary,” Yan Bingyun countered. “I’m sure you know how difficult it is to stop Fan Xian once he begins to act.”
Xie Bi’an inclined his head. “He has an admirable spirit.”
That was certainly one way of describing Fan Xian. Another way, which Yan Bingyun would never speak aloud, was a stubborn asshole. Instead, he simply said, “It is helpful, sometimes,” because that very same drive towards immediate justice had been his salvation.
Then, before Xie Bi’an could make another irrelevant remark, Yan Bingyun wiped Fan Xian’s blood off his blade and flicked the used cloth onto Fan Xian’s body. He was still bleeding out, and Yan Bingyun felt strange about it. This wasn’t the first time he’d injured (or even killed) someone off the battlefield—agents of the Overwatch Council were not trained kindly, and spies had many ways to maintain their cover—but Yan Bingyun couldn’t remember any other time he’d had to stab someone he had been thinking of calling friend.
He could not think about that right now. Yan Bingyun set it aside, met Xie Bi’an’s eyes, and smiled coldly. “I doubt you wished for his resistance to kill him. He is quite useful, when properly directed.”
Xie Bi’an nodded once, and called for one of his men. A medic of some sort, Yan Bingyun assumed. Despite how difficult it was for them to control Fan Xian, both the Emperor and Director Chen favored him; anyone who let him die would quickly perish at both their hands.
As soon as Xie Bi’an’s attention flickered away, Gao Da moved. Yan Bingyun sighed and stepped forward, blocking Gao Da’s draw with his sheathed blade. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said mildly.
Gao Da met his eyes with the broken fervor of any truly loyal follower. They both knew that Gao Da was stronger, in this moment; Yan Bingyun might have healed more rapidly than he’d expected, thanks to Fan Xian’s medical skills, but more rapidly merely meant that he could fight at all, not that he was healthy and in practice. Even if he had been, Yan Bingyun wasn’t certain how their skill would compare in a fair fight.
This was, fortunately, not a fair fight.
Gao Da looked between Yan Bingyun and Xie Bi’an’s men, then slowly sheathed his sword and threw it to the ground. Without a word, he thrust his wrists out.
Yan Bingyun narrowed his eyes at the gesture. Fan Xian inspired an impressively intense display of feelings in everyone he interacted with, but he was still taken off-guard by how dramatic Gao Da was about it.
But it was useful, so Yan Bingyun let his scabbard rest on Gao Da’s arms and called out, “Xie Bi’an, are we taking prisoners?”
“Our story was going to be that he had been wounded defending the ambassadors from an ambush.” Xie Bi’an turned back and contemplated Gao Da. “It would make sense for his most loyal bodyguard to have suffered a similar fate.”
A test. Yan Bingyun didn’t sigh. He unsheathed his sword in a clean cut across Gao Da’s chest, slicing through armor and skin without attempting to break into either his guts or his ribs. He might not feel the same fondness for Gao Da that Fan Xian and Wang Qinian did, but he still respected loyalty. There was no reason to lose out on a perfectly good tool, especially not one whose testimony would verify his allegiances.
(Or, more likely, his lack of allegiance to Fan Xian.)
As an afterthought, Yan Bingyun rammed the hilt of his sword into Gao Da’s jaw, knocking him over and ensuring that he would have difficulty speaking—and revealing things he shouldn’t—in the near future.
Gao Da would hate him after this, Yan Bingyun knew, but that was acceptable.
He watched calmly as Xie Bi’an’s men hauled Gao Da out of the way, then turned back to Xie Bi’an himself. “Your original story requires a larger fight than occurred,” he said, eyes flickering across the unharmed men still surrounding them. “Even freshly-awakened, we would have been able to kill some of your men.”
“A kidnapping, then.” Xie Bi’an shrugged, seemingly careless, but Yan Bingyun was sure he had understood the suggestion; some of his men would not be returning home. “You turning upon Fan-daren so dramatically was not what Second Prince expected.”
Unsaid, implied: Second Prince had not expected Yan Bingyun’s injuries to be as healed as they were. Or, perhaps, he had expected Yan Bingyun to have been injured more severely to begin with. Yan Bingyun calmly tilted his head. “Will you capture us, and then ride in tomorrow and tell the caravan you ‘rescued’ us?”
“Yan-gongzi knows his craft.” Xie Bi’an bowed slightly. “I defer to your experience.”
Yan Bingyun sighed minutely. “And you will explain my lack of injuries…?”
“Clearly Yan-gongzi did not struggle.” Xie Bi’an’s eyes travelled across Yan Bingyun’s body, no doubt cataloguing every injury hidden beneath his clothes. “Unless you would like to have your injuries aggravated?”
Yan Bingyun did not want that.
However, he wanted less to tell a story with such obvious flaws. “One blow,” he said. “After we are at your camp.”
Xie Bi’an smiled, and while it was not as gleeful as Shen Zhong’s smiles had been, Yan Bingyun still saw an edge of pleasure in his eyes. “Very well, Yan-gongzi.” He extended his hand towards his soldiers, masked and garbed for anonymity. “If you please?”
Yan Bingyun walked forward, face made of unchanging porcelain.
The story would hold. The capital would bring many more challenges. He had chosen his side last night, when Fan Xian had asked in the silent solitude of darkness:
“He and his faction wished for me to be captured,” Yan Bingyun had said. Fan Xian’s eyes bored into him, but his mouth had stayed blessedly shut while Yan Bingyun carefully worked through his words. “I do not hold any fondness for him.”
Then, of course, Fan Xian had had to ask: “And for me?”
Yan Bingyun had not snorted, because he had some sense of propriety. “You bring chaos wherever you go,” he had said, finally turning to meet Fan Xian’s eyes. “However, I appreciate your devotion to your people.”
Fan Xian had smiled. “Do you trust me?”
That had always been the question. Yan Bingyun had sighed, and admitted: “Yes.”
“Then listen,” Fan Xian had said. “This is what we must do…”
Then, it had almost seemed too simple.
Now, Yan Bingyun realised how long and deep his cover would need to be. It was no less a role than in Northern Qi, and more dangerous; it was his own people, perhaps even his own family, who he would be lying to.
Yan Bingyun’s eyes flickered towards Fan Xian’s body as he allowed Xie Bi’an’s people to escort him away.
He might curse Fan Xian’s ability to inspire loyalty, but it was only because he was regrettably aware that he, too, had been captured by Fan Xian’s spell.
Yan Bingyun simply hoped it would not doom them both.