Hidden Encounters

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43476801.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: 山河令 | Word of Honor (TV 2021)
Relationship: Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu
Character: Wen Kexing, Zhou Zishu, Han Ying (Word of Honor), Zhang Chengling,
Gu Xiang (Faraway Wanderers), Ye Baiyi
Additional Tags: Lord of the Rings Meets SHL, Elf Zhou Zishu, Disguised Necromancer
Wen Kexing, Human Prince Zhang Chengling, Threats of Violence,
Quests, Redemption, Enemies to Lovers, Revenge
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Holiday Gift Fics
Stats: Published: 2022-12-07 Chapters: 1/? Words: 5358

Hidden Encounters
by sootsies

Summary

Cast aside by his brethren during a night he needed them most, Zhou Zishu, an elven lord,
lost everything. This changed him, turning him into a cruel, merciless man who is the
complete opposite of who he was before. He desires revenge, and he won't stop until he
gets it.

Along his journey he comes across hindrances, which include a snot nosed human prince,
and a charming wizard who isn't quite what he appears...

Notes

This is a gift for the wonderful Naltariel I hope you like it!

This was a blast to work on, as it gave me an excuse to jump back into the LOTR universe,
and combine it with my current hyperfixation. This was supposed to be under 8k...but welp.
It looks like it'll be between 18-20k.

See the end of the work for more notes

Lothlórien, a kingdom where nature meets magic, and life thrives in perfect tandem. It's existed for
centuries, laid witness to the rise and fall of generations and met little to no peril. Over the years it's
become a place of hospice for those in need, and a home for elves of all kingdoms. All are
welcome, and all are protected.

Zhou Zishu rules this kingdom with a caring hand, putting those within its walls first and foremost,
all without asking for anything in return.

However, nothing good lasts forever. The night is young when it comes. The barbaric cries of orcs,
and eerie howls of worgs, a bone chilling melody that grows closer with every passing breath. They
swarm through oaken gates like the roaches they are, bringing with flames and carnage.

His soldiers rise to the defense, creating solid rows to fight the orcs off long enough for the
civilians to flee through the underground tunnel system. But as valiant as their efforts are, they are
quickly becoming overrun, outnumbered by hundreds, and weakened by fatigue. Zhou Zishu sends
two of his swiftest ravens, each carrying a message requesting aid. Yet no aid comes to them that
night. Not from Mirkwood, and not from Rivendell.

Screams join the morbid melody as his people, soldiers and civilians alike, are struck down in the
masses. Blades decapitate heads from shoulders, fists rip through metal chest plates, arms fly from
bodies. There is no victory for them, and if they keep fighting, the elves of Lothlórien will be
wiped away.

Gathering his remaining forces, as few as they are, Zhou Zishu calls for a retreat. Those who have
fallen will be remembered as heroes, and be given a proper farewell when they next settle. His
homeland is in ruins, set ablaze by the savagery of war, and kept lit by the betrayal of his kin. He
will remember said betrayal until his soul leaves his chilled body. Turned away from those he's
helped for centuries, during a time he needed them most.

This changes him, replacing the soft, generous man with someone colder, sturdier. Gone is the
man who helps without question, and welcome the one who is skeptical of all, and holds little
regard for anyone who wasn't with them that night.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

"My lord. We've scouted ahead and found a human village just over yonder." Han Ying, his
general and closest friend reports. After distance was made from their kingdom, he had ordered a
small party to scout ahead, searching for threats, and shelter. "It's large enough to offer shelter until
our strength is recovered."

Zhou Zishu is silent, simply lifting his hand in an order to proceed, something Han Ying
understood as if he delivered a detailed speech. He instructs the group to gather, then proceed
across the grasslands, retracing the steps he had previously taken.

The human village appears as if it's covered in a layer of dense soot, staining wood and brick,
much like the mines down below the rocky mountains. However, unlike those, this holds a dank,
musty odor that clings to the skin. Those within its perimeter are just as ghastly. Each one wears
the grime like a second skin, the layers thick enough the mat their hair. And their clothes. Fabrics
once rich with detail now remain ragged and soiled, hanging off their forms like a wet rag.

This whole ordeal is unappealing, and Zhou Zishu's stomach rolls more than once. But, it's the first
shelter they've encountered since that night, and his people cannot handle another night spent
beneath a simple tree. They need proper protection, they need food, they need to regain their
strength.

Glares of hostility and rage greet them at the gates, a clear sign that their presence isn't welcomed.
"What say you elf? Why bring your stench to our village?"

Zhou Zishu bristles, those are wise words coming from someone who reeks like dung, but he
forces a cool indifference to remain. "Our humblest apologies. My people have been wandering for
many sunrises, and simply wish for a shelter to regain their strength."

The human man scoffs, shoving his shovel into the dirt, and leaning against it. "No shelter will be
offered for you here. It will be best if you move along."

Han Ying steps forward, hand upon the hilt of his blade, but a sharp glance from his lord silences
the words that gather on his tongue.

The current Zhou Zishu is foreign to him, cold like a frozen stone on a winter night, and unmoving.
His friend is buried beneath this facade, drowning in hatred. If he's not rescued, it's unknown what
will become of him.

"We will pay you handsomely. All we ask for is a room, and a warm meal. Come morning light we
will depart." Around his waist is a selection of satchels, each containing items of importance. He
reaches into one, and removes a selection of crafted goods. A necklace of beaded azure, a circlet of
carved oaken wood, a hairpin with a flowing flower design. These are the creations of his people,
and are worth more than any mortal currency. More remain in a horse drawn cart behind. He offers
these to the man.

The human admires the goods, taking the time to absorb each detail, and test the sturdiness. But
this is all an act, as he swats the items to the muddy ground shortly after. The force of the blow
moves Zhou Zishu's hand, and tarnishes it with a layer of filth. Moving as one, his soldiers flock to
his side, shining arrows, and glimmering blades poised at the ready.

"Rubbish. You offer rubbish in return for stinking up our homes, and brandishing us bad luck. Be
gone repulsive fiends while I-"

Words morph into a garble, the sound of someone's lungs filling with liquid, as they fight to
breathe. It's a gruesome sound that's part of a chorus of screams.

Zhou Zishu's dagger lay buried within the man's neck, darkening the metal with a spill of crimson.
No one, not even his own men saw him brandish the blade. His movements were that swift. The
elves and humans alike watch on with horror, as the blade is twisted, twisted until the light leaves
the man's eyes.

"I will make this request one final time. Provide my people with a room and bed, then we will be
on our way."

This time, he doesn't wait for an answer. He simply removes his blade, and wipes it clean as he
steps through the gates, his people following behind.

Although some of the humans regard him with horror, a majority still hold that bitter hatred, a
hatred that promises trouble during their stay. He wouldn't put it past them to poison their food, or
plan an assassination during their sleep. It'll be another night without rest.

They discover what they assume is a tavern, as the lower level consists of a crudely decorated
seating area with kegs of alcohol strewn around. The upper floor holds two bedrooms, each one
containing a set of beds, and closets of linen. They're questionable, but it's something. He'll make it
work.

The children and their parents find the comforts first, collapsing against the straw as fatigue digs its
claws. Now that he can look at them properly, he can see how horrible they look. Exhaustion
weighs heavily across their shoulders, and their eyes are dull with the relapsing horror of that night.

"My lord." Han Ying speaks. "Should I find some food for everyone?"

Zhou Zishu nods, eyes still roaming across the elves. "Go in a group, and make it yourself. Don't
accept anything that is given to you. These lot are not to be trusted."

The man leaves after a salute, leaving Zhou Zishu to his thoughts. No one has said anything about
the murder, but none of them look at peace either. He can't decide what would be worse, being
judged because of his deed, or being feared.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Moonlight bleeds through dusty glass, filling the rooms with a cool, eerie glow. Most of his people
are asleep, either grouped together on makeshift beds, or upon the lifted straw. Guards take shifts
overlooking the spaces, and horse, their hands lingering on their weapons. Zhou Zishu is among
them, leaning against the wall, looking into the night.

Sloping planes, and endless trees as far as the eye can see. Anything can happen during their
venture, and that worries him.

"Zishu." A voice speaks. Without turning, Zhou Zishu knows who it belongs to. Han Ying.
Although he allows the elves of Lothlórien to address him by name, his friend only did so
privately. It's strange and quirky, but it's also endearing. "You must rest as well. How many nights
has sleep evaded you?"

"Too many." He responds, unmoving from his vigil.

Han Ying sighs, placing his hand upon Zhou Zishu's shoulder. "You've been strong for us, but you
must also tend to your own body."

It's Zhou Zishu's turn to sigh, a soft, dejected sound as folds against Han Ying. Here he can let the
comfort seep into his body, melting away some of the facade.

As children, they would sit together beneath the flowering Mallorn tree, in a position much like
this. Side by side, curved into one another like two pieces of a puzzle. They didn't really talk, no,
they simply took in the comfort that being so close to the other brought. Even as the centuries
passed, and age grew their bodies, they met at the tree whenever comfort was needed.

"I'm tired." He replies simply.

Han Ying presses closer, his strong hand rubbing soothing circles across the expanse of Zhou
Zishu's back. "Rest. I will watch over everyone."

He guides Zhou Zishu towards a small blanket. The fabric is ratty, and sports various holes, it'll do
little to provide warmth. Han Ying realizing this, removes his cape, and drapes it across his friend's
shoulders. But before he could turn away, Zhou Zishu catches his hand. "Thank you." He whispers,
voice barely audible over the sounds of nightlife and slumber. Han Ying just smiles, and takes his
position.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Pale light trickles through glass, bringing with the cold chill of a frosted morning. Some of the
elves continue to sleep, blissfully unaware of what will befall them once their senses wake. From
reports he learns that only a few daring souls made moves overnight, all of which were stopped in a
beat of a heart.

This time, Zhou Zishu is the one to gather food, making certain his blade is within view. When
Han Ying returned yesterday, he had told him the food was hazardous in both odor and appearance,
so he is to see it firsthand.

The food is as ghastly as the village, bread speckled with spots of green, reeking cheese with a fine
layer of mold, meat with a darkened hue and surrounding flies. How any of them are able to
survive on this rubbish is astounding. Surely more should be buried beneath the soul.

Crude gestures and verbal barbs greet his leisurely stroll, with some daring enough to lob saliva at
his feet. But after the display yesterday, they know better than to do anything more.

The bread is salvaged, tucked within satchels, it'll be sufficient until they are able to find proper
food.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Suns rise and fall, nights greet with lingering chills, and settlements come and go. Some were
pleasant, and provided them with supplies for their journey, while others were much like the first,
cold and full of hatred for the elven race. The journey is difficult, made long and insufferable due
to the extended route they were forced to take, but with every passing step, they grow closer to
Mirkwood.

He didn't put much thought on what will happen upon their arrival, what he will say. Surely they'd
be turned away, his kin too cowardly to face those they betrayed. But he will stand his ground, for
his people, for their future.

Withering grass becomes lush with life as the warm meadows of the Shire greet them. Bountiful
beauty, and fragrant mystery scents engulf their party. Some of the Hobbits regard the elves with
skepticism, weary of the rugged strangers who request shelter and food, but a majority are
welcoming.

A kindly Hobbit opens her doors, allowing them a home for three sunrises. Although it's a tight fit,
their stomachs are always full, and cold never reaches them. All she asked for in return is help with
daily chores, and longer arms to pick the ripest fruits from her trees.

When the time comes in which they must depart, she fills their satchels with a plethora of items.
Baked goods, crisp apples, salted crackers, linen blankets, even some oats for the horse. She
wishes them luck, and so continues their journey. One that holds more comfort than before, and
will hopefully come to an end by the time the moon completes a full transition.

With strength restored to them, the elves of Lothlórien will persevere.

The land of man unfurls before them, full of life, but not as vibrant as the woodlands of elf, or
meadows of Hobbits. This corner holds no signs of civilization, just an endless sea of green, green
that becomes darker, as a teasing shadow fills the sky.

In the distance smoke spreads, billowing from the ground in a forlorn cloud. It's similar to that
night, when flames ate wood, and created a blazing inferno.

"My lord. Should we investigate?" Han Ying asks, watching the scene unfurl with furrowed brows.

"No." Zhou Zishu replies cooly, averting his gaze from the disaster. With flames that large, the
chances of survival are slim, and all that will await them is a reminder of that night.

"But my lord-"

"I said no!" Zhou Zishu snaps, startling his companions. Only, Han Ying doesn't flinch, rather he
meets the cool indifference of his gaze, his own reflecting a silent plea.

"Zishu...This is on our way. A quick search won't detour us."

Silence fills the space, but the tension is as loud as a thundering storm. Suddenly Zhou Zishu turns
around, and although he says nothing, Han Ying knows he got through to him.

The smoke belongs to an army of licking flames, which had wrapped its sharp talons around a
kingdom of stone. The once pristine white rocks are now tarnished and dark, and flags of gold and
blue lay in flaming heaps. Even from the gates, corpses can be seen, some sporting weapons
lodged within their chests, and others charred beyond recognition. It doesn't take a scholar to know
what brought this tragedy.

Orcs.

"Spread out." Zhou Zishu calls. "Keep your faces covered, and search for survivors."

Although it's not said, 'Be careful.' lies on his tongue.

Most of the elves remain by the cart, hidden from view by a mere tree. They are ordered to flee if
those within the walls don't emerge within a set period of time, and although it doesn't sit well with
them, they agree.

Debris crumbles, crashing charred stones to the ground, and igniting dwindling flames. The elves,
even with face coverings cough on the thick layer of smoke, smoke that fills their lungs as if
they're drowning in water. Yet they push forward, eyes looking for any signs of life. Unlike them,
these people weren't as lucky, and Zhou Zishu prepares to signal a retreat. However, his name is
called.

One of his soldiers crouches beside a ground well, the depths deep beneath the soil. She's gesturing
towards the hole, which upon closer inspection he realizes holds a child. It's a young, scraggly boy
who harbors injuries. She tries to coax him out, but whenever her hand draws near, he swings a
sharp dagger.

"Move aside." He instructs, in which she reluctantly obliges with.

Unlike her, he doesn't lower himself to the boy's level, rather he remains on his feet, and peers
down at him. "Get up, or you will die."

When the boy recoils, Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. He does hold sympathy for him, and admires his
courage, as foolish as it is. "Your people are dead, and so will you if you continue to breathe in this
smoke. Either come with us, or continue behaving like a fool and join their fate."

He doesn't say anything else, despite the noise of complaint from the soldier. He simply turns, and
while dodging rubble and bodies, makes his back to the gate. He doesn't make it far before he
hears a quiet, almost inaudible call of, "Wait…"

From behind he can hear how the soldier helps the boy out of the well, rough scrambling, grunts,
and an occasional pained cry. She braces him against her side, being mindful of his injuries.
"Move out." He calls to Han Ying, who then relays the order to the rest of the elves. Only when
they're outside is he able to realize the severity of the boy's condition. The burns cover the expanse
of his left arm, making the skin red and inflamed to the touch, and cuts adorn his face and chest.
Almost as if he took a few blows, then ran through branches in his haste to flee. How he's able to
remain conscious is beyond his comprehension.

Gasps greet them, as elves swarm towards the child. Some try to touch, and others make
themselves useful by clearing space on the cart.

The boy looks terrified, and having so many foreign individuals in his space certainly isn't helping.
With a sigh, Zhou Zishu ushers them to the side, his hands already searching for his vial of
medicinal ointment. He'll just clean the wounds, then apply the salve. If done correctly, only a faint
scarring will remain from the burns. The damp cloth just touches skin, when the boy jolts away
with a cry of pain.

"Be still." Zhou Zishu hisses. "The sooner I get this done, the sooner the pain will fade."

The boy whimpers, but he complies, doing his best to fight against the pain, and hold his body still.
All things considered, he does a remarkable job, only jerking a couple times when Zhou Zishu's
touch is a tad too rough, or access liquid drips within the flayed flesh. That is…until the salve is
applied.

Despite the numbing tendencies to it, the direct contact must burn like a thousand suns, as the boy
passes out halfway through the process.

"What kingdom is this?" Zhou Zishu asks as he fastens linen bandages around the injuries. The
kingdom obviously held great wealth, as the structures were far beyond the skill and currency of
the common folk.

"I believe it's the Jing Hu kingdom. They were gentle people, who became a center of trade for
many races."

Zhou Zishu scoffs, stepping away from the boy. "Look what that kindness got them."

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

By the time the boy stirs, the sky has become a painting of orange and red, and the elves have
found camp beneath a canopy of trees. Some rest, some eat, and some are out foraging among the
roots.

"You're awake."

The boy startles, clearly not expecting a voice to come so close to his ear. During his slumber,
Zhou Zishu had taken a perch on a nearby stone, simply watching the strange boy. He hasn't
moved, and it's unnerving.

The boy recoils, attempting to retreat within himself out of embarrassment, only to hiss in pain
when the simple gesture aggravates his injuries.

"Little fool. Do you not know how to treat your injured body?"

Upon the lack of response, Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes. Truly this child is incompetent, likely due to
his upbringing. He's willing to bet that whatever he desired, he received without an ounce of
hesitation, and had never once experienced combat.
He removes a neatly folded package, a square of leaves that's only a little bigger than his hand, and
offers it to the child. When the boy doesn't make a move to take it, Zhou Zishu removes the casing,
revealing a thin, golden cake.

"It's Lembas bread. Eat it and be grateful."

This is the last in their supplies, which he had hoped to save until an emergency arose. But, who
knows when the child last ate, and he can't have him dying after all those supplies were wasted on
him.

The boy carefully outstretches his non-injured arm, and takes the bread from Zhou Zishu. He's
tentative at first, but once the sweetness spreads across his tongue, he fills his cheeks until they
bulge.

Zhou Zishu watches with a raised brow, silent even as Han Ying joins him.

"Careful." The latter says, bringing his canister of water to the boy's lips. He's careful as he tips it,
making certain the flow is steady enough so he won't choke.

"Th-Thank you." The boy whispers, his voice wielding a slight crack. By now some of his
coloring has returned, casting away the ghostly appearance of before.

"What do they call you?" Zhou Zishu cuts in. "What business have you with the orcs?"

A shadow passes over the boy's features, darkening his aura, and adding a glaze to his eyes. His
lips tremble once, twice, and then the dam breaks, causing fat tears to roll down his cheeks.

"Zishu." Han Ying whispers. "He's been through more than a child his age should, and in such a
short period of time as well. Be easier on him."

Using a small cloth, he wipes away the tears, catching each drop before it could connect with skin.
"Cry young one. Release the weight that's lodged within your heart."

The boy cries and cries until tears dry, and there's nothing left to spill. Only then does he answer
the questions previously asked of him.

"Z-Zhang Chengling. Prince Zhang Chengling " He hiccups. "I-I don't know why they came, we
never did business with them. It was just a regular day, but there were calls of an invasion. There
was so many…too many. My brother told me to hide, and that he would come back for me when it
was safe…but he never did."

Zhou Zishu's heart aches for the child, such a fate is undeserving for someone so young, so naive.
This can change someone, he would know, as he's experienced it first-hand.

"I want to fight." Zhang Chengling says suddenly, voice sturdier than it was. "I want to avenge my
family."

"Do you even know how to fight?"

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard. One must stab faster than the other, then victory is achieved."

While he isn't necessarily wrong, it's clear as day that the boy has no knowledge on anything
physical or war related. The process is more complicated than that, and with his scrawny physique
and miniscule comprehension on how to actually defeat a man, he would be bested by a goblin runt
within a blink of an eye.
"Our Lord Zhou is one of the finest fighters in Middle Earth. Perhaps he would be so kind as to
mentor you in the ways of the warrior."

Indifference flares as Zhou Zishu fixates his friend with a pointed glare, clearly not appreciating
being volunteered for such services. Han Ying only smiles, seemingly unfazed by this reaction.
Zhang Chengling on the other hand is aglow with excitement, eyes shimmering, and body moving
against the pain to sit upright.

"Will you? Will you really?"

"Absolutely not." Zhou Zishu snaps, moving to his feet. "I will be retiring for the evening, and
expect to be unbothered until morning."

Han Ying's lips still harbor that soft smile, even as Zhou Zishu disappears among the elves. Due to
earliness of the hour, he knows that the latter won't be sleeping anytime soon, but he says nothing
of it. Best to give him space.

"Don't mind him. He just grows irritable at night. He'll help you."

Zhang Chengling's demeanor brightens as he finds reassurance in the words spoken to him. He's
about to respond when Han Ying continues. "Orcs invaded our kingdom as well. Coming under the
shroud of nightfall, bringing ruin upon us all.

"Trust doesn't come to him easily anymore, as the betrayal he met will last for centuries to come.
However, the Lord Zhou I know would never turn away someone in need, or someone with
potential, and you, your highness, you hold both of these qualities.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Zhou Zishu wakes the next morning to a face hovering above his own, drawing his hand to his
blade. But before the metal could meet air, the person's features sharpens, revealing that its the
human prince.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Zhang Chengling beams, offering an apple. "Early training is proper for a warrior's form."

This child is truly a fool, had he not turned down that ridiculous request but a few hours ago? With
his current situation, any swift movement would be a recipe for disaster. Putting that issue to the
side, he has no time, nor interest in detouring from his journey to Mirkwood.

"You're either an imbecile, or a masochist. Either one, I want no part of it."

Zhou Zishu turns on his side, hoping that the child will take the message and leave. However,
much like the night before, Zhang Chengling disregards his words, and tries a different approach.
He finds a blade discarded beside a sleeping elf, and takes it in hand. It's a sturdy broadsword that
would prove a struggle for even the most experienced warrior, so when a weak, injured boy wields
it, pain ripples throughout his form.

"You little fool. Do those ears not work properly?" On his feet, he rips the blade from the boy's
hands, then tosses it to the ground. "You're injured, do you not recall?"

Zhang Chengling looks up at him, and Zhou Zishu is taken aback from the determination he finds
reflected within those hazel depths. "Please be my mentor. Teach me the ways of the blade and
warrior."
"No."

"Please be my mentor. Teach me the ways of the blade and warrior."

Annoyance sparks, causing Zhou Zishu's brow to twitch. Already this child is proving to be more
trouble than he's worth. He should've delivered him to the nearest human kingdom when he had the
chance.

Taking him by his uninjured arm, he drags him back to the cart where he was sleeping. "Rest, or be
left here when we next depart."

"Please be my mentor. Teach me the ways of the blade and warrior."

This time his voice took on that wounded tone from before, pleading and vulnerable in a way that
stops Zhou Zishu from leaving. It awakes the part of him that he remains hidden, strictly for his
own protection.

As Han Ying mentioned, the prince has gone through a lot in such a short period time. The least he
can do is help him learn how to defend himself, so he won't meet a similar fate as his family.

"Rest and recover first. Only then will I teach you."

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

With every passing day, the elves grow closer to Mirkwood, and the prince's injuries show signs of
improvement. Ever since that morning, the latter never brought up that question again, and instead
helped with simple group tasks. Such as feeding the horse, or going out with foraging parties.
Eventually Zhou Zishu trusted him enough to have him tend to these tasks without his supervision.

A trust he comes to regret when the party he was with returns with a desperate form of horror in his
stead.

"Zishu, Zishu! It's the boy!"

Those words draw him to their side, where he notices how two others are missing. "Where is the
prince? What happened to the others?"

"We neared the whispering woods of the children of Ungoliant, but the child…he didn't heed our
warnings, and ventured within the depths. Two went to retrieve him, but no one emerged. We fear
the worst."

Zhou Zishu's heart falls. The woods on the outskirts of Mirkwood are the most dangerous of all,
harboring both the children and Dol Guldur. Those who are foolish enough to venture within its
depths, are hardly seen again.

"Han Ying, you all, come."

He doesn't wait for a response before he breaks into a sprint. It's unknown how long Zhang
Chengling and the elves have been inside, so the possibility of them still being alive is slim. But
even if he's too late, he won't let their bodies be desecrated and consumed by those nightmarish
creatures.

Dark magic pulses as they draw nearer, flickering like a fatal caress. Whispers seem to echo around
them, tempting and wicked.
"Keep your senses alert, and strike true."

With those words, they allow darkness to consume them, putting themselves at the mercy of what
lies within.

The further they venture, the more morbid it becomes. Webs hang from branches, and coat the
leaves with a whispery cloud. Some are stained with crimson, and others encase small creatures.
The whispers grow louder, everywhere and nowhere at once, creating a chorus that harmonizes
with chittering that comes from up above.

The first spider drops behind, silent in the way a predator stalks its prey. It's large, large enough
that if saddled it could prove to be a worthy mount. Ridden to strike fear into the hearts of foes.

Just as it lunges, Zhou Zishu leaps into the air, landing on the shell of the arachnid. It writhes in an
effort to sway the pest from its back, but a dagger becoming lodged within puts an end to that.

It screeches as the metal runs down the length of its body, flaying it open until it collapses,
unmoving, upon the ground. This victory is short lived, as its cry had alerted its brethren who lay
hidden within the trees and crevices. Like an inky river, spiders flow into the clearing, chittering
with excitement, all eager to enjoy the food that so graciously walked into their nest.

Brandishing metal and wood, the elves move as one, dancing across the forest floor in a
coordinated rhythm that promises death to anything that approaches. Countless spiders fall to their
hands, only enraging those who survive. Unbeknownst to them, eyes that belong to neither spider
nor elf watch from the shadows, harboring an interest in the scene before them, and one elf in
particular.

Zhou Zishu moves as if he harnesses the power of air, gliding swiftly and silently while his blade is
invisible due to the velocity of his attacks. Distance doesn't save the spiders from his wrath, as
hidden metal discs emerge from his sleeves, and bury themselves within their bodies, stopping
them where they stand.

Corpses line their feet, but victory isn't achieved that easily, as their strength begins to fade,
causing their footwork to become sloppy. In a span of a breath, one of the elves is caught in a web,
and dragged into treetops screaming.

A cry of their name sounds before the one yelling meets a similar fate. One by one they fall to the
spiders, until just Zhou Zishu and Han Ying remain. Back to back, they stand their ground, but the
spiders are unending, and their movements slow.

Webs gather around their feet, binding them together, and growing tighter and tighter. The last
thing Zhou Zishu sees before his vision is obscured, is a faint red glow coming from the trees over
yonder.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Time is strange under the casings of web, hours may have passed, maybe even days, but he can't
tell for certain due to the almost delirious, comatose state he is in.

Through the webs and his drooping eyes, he's able to see a faint red glow, similar to the one from
before. It's closer this time, and seems to pulse like a thrumming heart. Once, twice, then the webs
are being shredded as if talons were lodged within.

He can hear gasps and confused muttering as his people are freed in a similar fashion. The spiders
are nowhere to be found. It's just them, and a strange, sultry individual who purrs, "Well, well,
 well. What a predicament we have here."

End Notes

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