Whoa. Two chapters in the same weekend? You guys are lucky I'm so bored. That, and I'm really excited about this Fanfic. XD Enjoy
Shang took a deep breath to calm his nerves. His master had always said; Breathing, Shang. Keep your chi flowing. In, out, always. He robed himself in his plain tunic and tied up his hair, ready to start the first official day of training; he regarded yesterday's rice incident a warm-up for what was to come. Shang grimaced over the complete and utter lack of discipline these men showed; they were nothing but small-town animals with limited knowledge of the art of war.
But if anyone can train them, Shang thought as he stepped out into the morning sunrise, I can. His father believed he could, and if a great man like that thought so, it must be true.
He heard the chatter from numerous men rise as he turned a corner and saw another brawl already on the way. Gods, couldn't they behave like men instead of children?
Again, it was centered around that boy; Fa Ping, he had said his name was. Yesterday Shang had examined him for a moment before informing him they were not taking any children into the army. At this his face reddened.
"I'm eighteen," he mumbled, scratching his head, his left eyebrow twitching with irritation.
Shang found it hard to believe that the great Fa Zhou could produce only this child, who looked more like a flat-chested girl than a man.
Today the short one, Yao, was about to punch hm in his face, most likely payback for the rice last night. Here we go.
"Soldiers!"
He rang out in a confident voice. The men instantly stood tall and formed in a straight line. "You will assemble swiftly and silently for my command each morning."
Ping felt a mixture of gratitude and miniscule fear when the captain address them. Sure, it got Yao and Ling off his ass, but he had a feeling his little rice-incident was grounds for punishment.
"You will assemble swiftly and silently for my command each morning."
Why couldn't he have a voice like that? Deep, strong, masculine. Peeking over the protruding gut of the man next to him, Ping snuck a glance at Shang and found him taking off the thin robe that covered his torso, leaving him with only pants on. He was impressively muscled, with taut skin and broad shoulders.
He made Ping feel like an insect.
"Anyone who acts otherwise," Shang continued, walking down the line with a bow and quiver of arrows, "will answer to me."
"Ooh," everyone heard Yao mutter, "tough guy."
Shang raised an eyebrow—Ping had seen that look before—and knocked an arrow.
"Yao." He pulled back the string and took aim at Yao's head; everyone else stood back with a surprised grunt. Ping felt panic rise in him.
He's not actually going to—
Shang tilted the bow up and let the arrow fly, impaling it into the wood at the top of a pole, more than twenty men tall.
"Thank you for volunteering," Shang mockingly conveyed, setting down the weapon. "Retrieve the arrow."
Yao looked up at the arrow and frowned, cracking his knuckles. "I'll get that arrow, pretty boy," he muttered, stepping foreward, "and I'll do it with my shirt on." Ping stopped the small chuckle that rose in his throat and asked himself why he found that funny.
"One moment," Shang said, beckoning the same condescending man Ping had seen yesterday—Chi-Fu?-carrying a small box that had him sweating beads and struggling to walk upright. Shang opened the box and took out two huge yen-shaped stones with bands strung on each. He tied them easily to Yao's wrists.
"This," he said, holding up the right one, "represents discipline. And this," holding up the left, "Represents strength." He let go of each; they dragged Yao down to the earth like lead. Ling and Chien-Po snickered. "You need both to reach the arrow."
Yao looked up again at the arrow despairingly, gaining a sudden rush of energy at the challenge and jumping up onto the pole. He climbed a few feet, then came crashing down, the weights too much to handle.
Shang frowned and took the weights off him; Yao returned to his place in line without another word. Shang raised his eyes.
"Who wants to go next?"
He wants us all to try it? Ping thought. He glanced over at the much more muscled Yao. If he can't do it, there's no way I can...
As though he heard his thoughts, Shang's gaze stopped on him.
"Ping. Come up here."
Trying to swallow his fear, Ping stepped forward and let Shang tie the weights to each wrist. He felt uncomfortable with the captain so close to him. And bare-chested.
Ping looked up at the arrow sitting so innocently at the top and sighed, starting to climb. He got about two yards up before his arms started to quake and burn. Those weights were heavy. He glanced down and saw the captain staring up at him with an expectant expression that seemed...amused? He was getting humor from this?
Ping felt the embarrassment reach his limit and let his fingers slip, almost glad when his rear hit the ground. He was able to slip his thin wrists out of the bands and return to the line, out of the captain's piercing gaze.
The only upside was that no one was able to get the arrow. The downside was that the men all seemed to take out there anger on Ping.
Training was hell for him. Every time he tried to shoot a cannon, Ling would trip it; during every staff-training Yao would slap him; and at every mealtime Ping sat alone. He tried to think of a way to impress them—and it came to him like a bolt of lightning. He got up and searched for the weights.
0*o*0
Shang washed his face in the basin tiredly. Another day of disappointment. It'd been a week since the troops had started his training course. There was no doubt they were more orderly, less like bickering children and more like soldiers—but they were poor soldiers at that. They couldn't aim a bow to save their lives. Hand to hand combat was nothing more than a warm-up for him; and he took each soldier on one-on-one. The cannon training had improved, however; more dummies blown up, less tents destroyed.
Although, he hadn't really minded when Chi-Fu's tent had been annihilated. But Chi-Fu sure did; he marched down to the training grounds and demanded to know who had done it. Shang wasn't surprised when Fa Ping grimaced into a sheepish smile and raised his hand.
Fa Ping...
He was the worst of them all. Slower, weaker, poor fighting skills. Shang had to explain things out to him, and even then he seemed to have a millions questions about everything that had nothing to do with their battle. What wood is the bow made of? What country do Huns come from? Is there a limit to how high birds can fly?
Shang groaned and ran his hands over his face. He wasn't sure where exactly that last one had come from, but it had been asked, all the same.
The boy—for Shang could not bring himself to call Ping a man—would be killed. Shang gave him two minutes to live on the battlefield, three tops. The army didn't need weaklings like him; he'd only slow them down. He'd have to send him home. In fact, it was already dawn; another sleepless night for the captain.
He got up and dressed, his intent to send off Ping resolute when he heard cheering coming from outside. What is going on?
He exited the tent and looked at the men crowding around the pole. Wha— A whistling headed right for him and an arrow stuck in the ground a foot from where he was standing. Shang blinked and looked up, his eyes widening at what he saw.
Fa Ping was on top of the pole, both weights slung over his shoulders and a self-satisfied smile on his face. Shang's mouth dropped as he saluted his captain. The men cheered again and waved their fists around as he slowly made his way down the pole.
Shang let a disbelieving smile cross his face and walked over to Ping, trying to wipe it off into the usual stoic mask he wore as an officer. He felt a strange sense of pride swell in him and forced it down.
"Fa Ping."
Ping's night-black eyes met his nervously. "Captain?"
Shang gestured to the pole. "You retrieved the arrow?"
"Aye, captain."
"With the weights?"
Ping nodded. Shang couldn't hold back his smile. The other troops had been trying everyday for a week to get it. He clasped Ping on the shoulder, (Gods he has scrawny shoulders), and felt the boy start at his touch and look up. Shang offered up only two words.
"Well done."
Ping's face turned red and he murmured something unintelligible—perhaps a thank you—before bowing his head. The troops swarmed around him, clasping arms, rough pats on the back, lewd jokes.
After that, Shang never complained about Ping's strangeness again.
He seemed to inspire the troops; when they shot arrows and Ping actually managed to pin one fruit to the tree, they all aimed better. When Ping landed one punch, they tried to KO their opponent. And when Ping took down the first dummy on the first try of the canon, their accuracy skyrocketed. It was probably because Ping was so scrawny; if he could do it, they could do it.
And a few days later, Shang found Ping's strong point.
It happened during a rainy day. The lightning and wind were so fierce that Shang had them all retire to the tents early. Many sat in the eating hall and held arm-wrestling contests and ate the food the cooks whipped up. A few held up books that Shang was sure were paintings of women.
Ling and Yao were sitting in the corner, watched intently by Ping as they stared at a weiqi board. The two player's brows were furrowed in concentration when Yao exploded, tipping over a barrel full of rainwater.
"Screw this game!" He steamed, stalking off. Ling scratched his head and shrugged to Ping, who took Yao's place.
Interested, Shang watched.
He had played weiqi many times; it was the most strategic and complex game in China, despite its simple rules. The objective was to occupy more space on the board with your stone pieces then your opponent. You can also capture your opponent's pieces to win the game. Shang was very good at.
After ten minutes of playing, Ping had dominated Ling.
Ling sat blank-faced at the board with his mouth hanging open. He said something and Ping threw back his head and laughed.
Shang found himself entranced. Ping closed his eyes when he laughed, he noted. He also noticed how hard his heart was beating and how strange his face felt. He touched it; he was smiling. The thought made him frown.
Ling tapped Ping on the shoulder and pointed over at Shang. Ping looked and met Shang's gaze.
Shang blinked in confusion as he felt his ears turn warm and stood up suddenly, stalking away and out of the tent. He narrowed his eyes against the pellets of rain that the wind threw at him.
He felt like a little boy getting caught red-handed; but getting caught red-handed at WHAT? He was Ping's captain, he could look at or watch whoever the hell he wanted. He had just been interested in the game; that was all. He didn't care if Ping was playing or laughing.
Shang shook himself and stumbled into his tent, shaken in more ways then one.
0*o*0
As the troops did their morning forms while balancing buckets of water on their heads, Shang walked around them and examined them, straightened backs, adjusted arms. He noticed Ping was not in his usual spot; in fact, Ping wasn't anywhere.
Shang raised an eyebrow and approached Ling and Yao.
"Ling, Yao," he greeted formally, "Where is Ping?"
They shrugged their shoulders. "He must have overslept," Ling offered.
Yet something didn't settle right in Shang's gut and he decided to just go check in on him. He turned to his men and yelled, "Twelve laps around the pond, get a drink and then start on archery. I have matters to attend to."
The men groaned but obeyed and started their laps while the captain started jogging out to the tents. It was easy to find Ping's now correctly made tent with his horse tied to a stake in the ground. The black horse was fidgeting, walking to and fro agitatedly, flicking its ears and letting out soft whinnies.
Shang pulled back the flap of the tent and peered inside, finding everything tidy and clean. Even his own tent wasn't like this.
There wasn't a body in there.
The horse reared back and let out an enraged neighing, pawing the air with its hooves . It kept tugging on its ties to the west, near a thicket of trees that nestled over a creek.
Shang walked over to the horse and met its intelligent eyes."Do you know where Ping is?" The horse let out a loud exhale and flicked its ears westward. Shang cut its ties and climbed on its back.
The horse lurched off so fast Shang was sure he was about to fall off, but regained his handling and held on. The horse galloped over the plain to the trees and slowed down, ears pricked and eyes wide with fright.
Shang led it almost silently through the foliage until they arrived at a gap in the trunks and leaves, giving Shang a good look at the creek and the men.
There were four men, all dirty, scarred specimens with haunted looks in their eyes as they sat around the fire they made. One was going over a map, another with a ratty beard sharpened his sword, and a third with numerous tattoos stood over three people, all bound by ropes around their hands and feet. The first two were pretty young women who looked pale and frightened, most likely two farmer's daughters judging by their clothes.
The third was Ping.
Shang watched the tattooed man run his hands over one woman's trembling face and felt disgust rising in him, urging him to quietly unsheathe his sword.
"Get you filthy hands off her!"
Shang's breath caught when he heard Ping snarl at the man with such venom he had never heard in that quiet voice before. The man stood up and glared at him, then walked over to him lazily, grinning a near-toothless smile.
"Whaddu say, boy?" He asked in a sickly sweet voice. He grabbed Ping by the front of his tunic and pulled him close enough to smell his rotting breath. Shang felt a growl rip through clenched teeth and tightened his grip on his sword, ready to jump out and slice the man's head off for touching Ping.
But before he could blink the tattooed man abruptly let go of Ping, eyes wide and staggering backwards, clutching his chest as red blossomed on his shirt. A suddenly free Ping stood up and flourished the knife that each soldier had been handed out on the first day.
The three other men were on their feet in a second; but by then Ping had run to the woman's side and cut loose both their bonds.
"Go!" He urged them to run, "GO!"
The women took his advice and ran like frightened deer, disappearing from sight. One man took off after them and stopped short when Ping's dagger buried itself up to the hilt in his head. Ping whipped around to face the two remaining men wielding wicked-looking blades weaponless. The men ran at him and swung their swords for his neck...
Ping rolled out of the way at the same moment Shang leaped out of the cover of leaves and blocked their blows with his sword, kicking one away and slicing the other's arm.
Ping had rolled away and grabbed a thick branch; now he crouched on the ground and stared at Shang with undisguised surprise.
The man whose arm Shang had cut aimed toward Ping; Ping held up the branch and the blade bit into the bark and wood, sticking. While the man tried to pull it out, Shang stuck him in the back and he fell down instantly.
Shang looked at Ping the moment the man with the ratty beard jumped up behind the captain with sword raised; Ping grasped the dead man's sword and swung it with the tip still lodged in the wood. The blade cut in his neck as the blunt wood cracked his skull.
He fell as Ping and Shang looked around, breathing hard.
Shang grabbed Ping's arm and his sword and led the soldier up the slope towards his horse.
"Um," Ping started nervously, "those girls—"
"Are you all right?" Shang demanded, inspecting him closely. His plain tunic hung loosely on his body, exposing a shoulder. He had a few bruises on his wrists where they had tied the rope, and a bleeding scratch on his hand, probably accidentally self-inflicted when he was cutting through the rope. Shang found himself being drawn to his neck and the dip of his shoulder, then tearing his eyes away angrily.
"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Shouldn't we go after the girls—"
"How did they capture you?" Shang asked, calmer now. Ping blinked.
"I was going to fill up my canteen with the water from the flowing creek rather then the pond when I..." He turned a bit pink and scratched his head in a familiar gesture that Shang had become use to. "I tripped and fell down the slope right into their camp. I didn't have a chance."
Shang breathed in deeply and ran a hand through his hair that had begun falling loose since the fight. "I see," he murmured, gazing down at Ping. He pointed at Ping's belt around his tunic. "Your clothes are practically falling off," he mentioned helpfully.
Ping looked down and noticed his disarray of clothes and chuckled, embarrassed. He unwound the wrapping and the tunic parted to reveal a toned, slim build. Again, that strange glow started to fill Shang until he felt like light was coming from his pores. I put that muscle there, he thought proudly. He watch with steady eyes as Ping struggled to tie the loop. He looked up at Shang apologetically when he raised an eyebrow.
"M-my fingers are kind of clumsy...they feel heavy after being tied up for so long."
Shang sported a microscopic smile as he gently slapped Ping's hands away and stood close to him, looking down at his belt and quickly fastening his tunic.
His eyes flickered up to Ping's face, even redder than before and eyes shyly avoiding Shang's. So cute.
His hands stopped along with his breath. Ping looked up at him questioningly and cocked his head to the side. Shang stood looking at him vacantly.
What? A loud, angry voice demanded. WHAT did you just think? You called another man 'cute'! What is WRONG with you?
"Shang?"
A soothing voice calling out his name brought him back to earth and he blinked rapidly before focusing on Ping, still maintaining his grip on his belt.
"Um, is there something wrong, Captain?"
He was so close. So very close. Shang could feel his breath hitting his neck. His skin looked so soft...
Get away from him!
Shang jerkily let go of Ping's finished belt and stood back, searching for an excuse.
"I...I..." He grew angry with himself for his idiocy. "G-get back to camp! And don't tell the other soldiers about this; they'll be out hunting for those girls." And if you tell them how I acted, Shang thought sullenly as Ping nodded his head and ran for his horse, petting its neck and mane, someone who's NOT as naïve as you might suspect something.
Aw. I love how shy Shang is about his closet feelings for Ping. What do you think? Tell me! Message, review, something!