Zhang Liao Wenyuan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
800isenough) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
calvino2014-07-12 03:53 pm
800isenough) wrote in calvino2014-07-12 03:53 pm
To let me know I'm not alone
He should be a dead man.
Just what is our lord thinking!?
Well he did accept Master Jia Xu into our ranks. And that's after Master Jia Xu created the trap that killed Master Dian Wei.
But Master Jia Xu is a strategist. Lord Tsao Tsao has more than enough valiant warriors on his side, and who's to say that he won't turn on us? He was loyal to Lu Bu all the way to the end!
I fear our lord may be making a grave mistake to let a remnant of Lu Bu's madness into our army.
That man is a demon! I don't think he can be controlled. We should've killed him just like we got rid of Lu Bu.
[...once, Zhang Liao would've been proud to know that he had struck such fear into the enemy's hearts, exactly the same way Lord Lu Bu did. And perhaps his reputation is what saved him, given Tsao Tsao's strange penchant for hiring men who were more monsters than most.
But in the days that have followed since Tsao Tsao refused to take his head and had instead granted him clemency, he's finding himself increasingly isolated and confused. Enemies were allies, while old comrades had been scattered to the wind in the wake of Tsao Tsao's victory at Xiapi Castle. Even those from Lord Lu Bu's forces who had been accepted into the Wei army had been kept apart from each other, stationed at different cities. No reason was given, but Zhang Liao knew that each of them were being monitored and tested, and Tsao Tsao wanted to divide them to prevent them for plotting together.
Not like it mattered to Zhang Liao. With Lord Lu Bu dead, he felt like his entire world had died along with his master, though not entirely because he would miss the man. What Zhang Liao had lost that day had been more than life-long comrades. Everything that he had known, everything that he had fought for, his entire life and principles and values had been tied with one man, and when that man's head was paraded out for all to see Zhang Liao could've screamed. But he hadn't. He had merely watched, impassive, the lack of emotion he expressed confused for stoicism from those around him. He only prayed that Lady Ling Qi had not been around for that painful display and that Lady Diaochan had been spared the sight and was safe wherever she is right now.
Being a member of the Wei army is different. It's more disciplined, and rank and order is given much more importance. And yet despite that, he finds the Wei soldiers express as much solidarity with each other than what he had known in his past days with the Lu army. Zhang Liao had never properly enjoyed that comradeship, so engrossed in his path for the perfect warrior. Now he regrets it, regrets that he had not taken the time to even know the men under his care, to know what it feels like to have someone to watch your back or to share wine with. He had experienced it with Master Guan Yu for a few days, and it had both filled a hole in him that he hadn't even known existed, while creating another one when just a few days later they betrayed Liu Bei and his brothers. He hasn't laid eyes with the other warrior ever since the day of his dark defeat; he wonders if he would even be entertained, if he should make a courtesy call.
He didn't realise how much he would need other people's company until he's been utterly ostracised. Most of the Wei officers were either scornful, hostile or distant, and the soldiers followed their generals cue, preferring to stay away from him as much as possible. They couldn't keep their tongues from wagging, and by right Zhang Liao could've punished them for this breach in military discipline (it's strange to think that he has to do such things right now, compared to the more casual atmosphere of Lord Lu Bu's forces), but there is a ring of truth to every rumour and he supposes that they have every right to be so distrustful of him. Just a few months ago he had been slaughtering Tsao Tsao's men, drunk on his own battle-lust and dead to their concerns. He shouldn't expect an olive branch, and tolerance is more than what he deserves.
He deserves death. That should have been his share. Yet when he who wants to live dies, and he wants to die lives, what does that say about Heaven's fickle will?
And although he had been struck by this plague of loneliness, he still wanted to be alone. Just the other day Xiahou Yuan had sent a messenger to him, asking him if he'd consent to a little match of archery. But...he hadn't felt ready to face all the other Wei generals just yet, and so he politely declined. He's aware that everyone expects great things from him (and great things better come, for that is what their lord preserved his life for), but yet he feels inadequate. He didn't feel whole. Inferior, even. Because he will be in the presence of these great warriors, and he didn't feel like a warrior at all. He is a wretched man, plunged into a despondency that he hides underneath a stoic veneer that's fast approaching its cracking limit, but he knew not how to pull himself out of this dark hole that he had been thrust into. There is no path left for him to follow and he has no identity left to cling to; he is a lost man, neither warrior nor human, and he is aimless.
This didn't mean that he's slackened in his duties; he still drills the men, patrols the town, and he still trains hard. But now he trains by himself, and his movements are more mechanical; like a water mill that turns and turns only because of running water, so those Zhang Liao practice his steps only because his blood still runs in his veins. It is something to do, something familiar to cling to in these times of great uncertainty and depression and sadness. But it does not drive him anymore.
And he hates himself for it.
It's deep into the night when he finally stops. The barracks is quiet and the air around him is still, with only the eerie glow of the fires to illuminate the corridors. But the shadows seem to suck at the light and at him, a drain on his embittered and battled soul. And the chill of the night air strikes at his bones, gnawing at them with a intensity that almost leaves him numb.
The footsteps of the night patrol fade into the distance.
Somewhere a man snores, and settles into sleep.
Somewhere a dog lets out a bark.
The eyes of a cat blinks at him from the roof, before vanishing back into the darkness.
And then the crickets stop singing.
Zhang Liao stands up and looks around him, the breath from his mouth turning into wispy fog from the cold. The hairs on the back of his neck are at their end, and his skin prickles uncomfortably.
Something isn't right.]
Just what is our lord thinking!?
Well he did accept Master Jia Xu into our ranks. And that's after Master Jia Xu created the trap that killed Master Dian Wei.
But Master Jia Xu is a strategist. Lord Tsao Tsao has more than enough valiant warriors on his side, and who's to say that he won't turn on us? He was loyal to Lu Bu all the way to the end!
I fear our lord may be making a grave mistake to let a remnant of Lu Bu's madness into our army.
That man is a demon! I don't think he can be controlled. We should've killed him just like we got rid of Lu Bu.
[...once, Zhang Liao would've been proud to know that he had struck such fear into the enemy's hearts, exactly the same way Lord Lu Bu did. And perhaps his reputation is what saved him, given Tsao Tsao's strange penchant for hiring men who were more monsters than most.
But in the days that have followed since Tsao Tsao refused to take his head and had instead granted him clemency, he's finding himself increasingly isolated and confused. Enemies were allies, while old comrades had been scattered to the wind in the wake of Tsao Tsao's victory at Xiapi Castle. Even those from Lord Lu Bu's forces who had been accepted into the Wei army had been kept apart from each other, stationed at different cities. No reason was given, but Zhang Liao knew that each of them were being monitored and tested, and Tsao Tsao wanted to divide them to prevent them for plotting together.
Not like it mattered to Zhang Liao. With Lord Lu Bu dead, he felt like his entire world had died along with his master, though not entirely because he would miss the man. What Zhang Liao had lost that day had been more than life-long comrades. Everything that he had known, everything that he had fought for, his entire life and principles and values had been tied with one man, and when that man's head was paraded out for all to see Zhang Liao could've screamed. But he hadn't. He had merely watched, impassive, the lack of emotion he expressed confused for stoicism from those around him. He only prayed that Lady Ling Qi had not been around for that painful display and that Lady Diaochan had been spared the sight and was safe wherever she is right now.
Being a member of the Wei army is different. It's more disciplined, and rank and order is given much more importance. And yet despite that, he finds the Wei soldiers express as much solidarity with each other than what he had known in his past days with the Lu army. Zhang Liao had never properly enjoyed that comradeship, so engrossed in his path for the perfect warrior. Now he regrets it, regrets that he had not taken the time to even know the men under his care, to know what it feels like to have someone to watch your back or to share wine with. He had experienced it with Master Guan Yu for a few days, and it had both filled a hole in him that he hadn't even known existed, while creating another one when just a few days later they betrayed Liu Bei and his brothers. He hasn't laid eyes with the other warrior ever since the day of his dark defeat; he wonders if he would even be entertained, if he should make a courtesy call.
He didn't realise how much he would need other people's company until he's been utterly ostracised. Most of the Wei officers were either scornful, hostile or distant, and the soldiers followed their generals cue, preferring to stay away from him as much as possible. They couldn't keep their tongues from wagging, and by right Zhang Liao could've punished them for this breach in military discipline (it's strange to think that he has to do such things right now, compared to the more casual atmosphere of Lord Lu Bu's forces), but there is a ring of truth to every rumour and he supposes that they have every right to be so distrustful of him. Just a few months ago he had been slaughtering Tsao Tsao's men, drunk on his own battle-lust and dead to their concerns. He shouldn't expect an olive branch, and tolerance is more than what he deserves.
He deserves death. That should have been his share. Yet when he who wants to live dies, and he wants to die lives, what does that say about Heaven's fickle will?
And although he had been struck by this plague of loneliness, he still wanted to be alone. Just the other day Xiahou Yuan had sent a messenger to him, asking him if he'd consent to a little match of archery. But...he hadn't felt ready to face all the other Wei generals just yet, and so he politely declined. He's aware that everyone expects great things from him (and great things better come, for that is what their lord preserved his life for), but yet he feels inadequate. He didn't feel whole. Inferior, even. Because he will be in the presence of these great warriors, and he didn't feel like a warrior at all. He is a wretched man, plunged into a despondency that he hides underneath a stoic veneer that's fast approaching its cracking limit, but he knew not how to pull himself out of this dark hole that he had been thrust into. There is no path left for him to follow and he has no identity left to cling to; he is a lost man, neither warrior nor human, and he is aimless.
This didn't mean that he's slackened in his duties; he still drills the men, patrols the town, and he still trains hard. But now he trains by himself, and his movements are more mechanical; like a water mill that turns and turns only because of running water, so those Zhang Liao practice his steps only because his blood still runs in his veins. It is something to do, something familiar to cling to in these times of great uncertainty and depression and sadness. But it does not drive him anymore.
And he hates himself for it.
It's deep into the night when he finally stops. The barracks is quiet and the air around him is still, with only the eerie glow of the fires to illuminate the corridors. But the shadows seem to suck at the light and at him, a drain on his embittered and battled soul. And the chill of the night air strikes at his bones, gnawing at them with a intensity that almost leaves him numb.
The footsteps of the night patrol fade into the distance.
Somewhere a man snores, and settles into sleep.
Somewhere a dog lets out a bark.
The eyes of a cat blinks at him from the roof, before vanishing back into the darkness.
And then the crickets stop singing.
Zhang Liao stands up and looks around him, the breath from his mouth turning into wispy fog from the cold. The hairs on the back of his neck are at their end, and his skin prickles uncomfortably.
Something isn't right.]