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Zhang Xinjie came back to himself slowly, head still aching and yet he couldn’t feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor anymore. He tried to open his eyes, but even the low light of his lamp made his headache worse, and he let out a soft, involuntary noise of pain. He heard a hum from above him, and then a cool cloth was on his forehead, soothing some of the sting.
He parted his lips to ask what had happened, to ask where he was, but the other person spoke first, answering both his questions.
“You fainted, Xinjie, and I found you after you were late for our weekly meeting.” Zhang Xinjie had always found Han Wenqing’s voice soothing, and now was no exception, his captain’s steady presence helping to tamp down on the panic building in his chest at the thought of missing any of the items on his schedule.
“Captain-“
“I’ve already cleared the rest of your schedule, Xinjie, and you aren’t in any condition to work right now.” Zhang Xinjie considered protesting, but before he could get his thoughts in order, something cool was pressed against his lips. “Drink. Your throat is probably sore.” The water was soothing, relieving some of the pain in his throat, and Zhang Xinjie coughed slightly afterwards.
Since his eyes were closed, he didn’t see the stark red petals that fluttered down onto the floor. Nor did he see the pain that tightened Han Wenqing’s features as he swept the petals away and tucked the blanket more firmly around Zhang Xinjie’s shoulders.
Zhang Xinjie knew when he woke up that today was likely not to be a good day when he woke up choking on the mass of petals that had formed in his lungs while he slept. He coughed and coughed into the bin he kept near his bed until he felt like he could speak without petals falling from his lips. He frowned as he checked his watch; coughing up petals was starting to eat into his schedule, making him lose time, only a few minutes here and there. Yet, a few minutes added up quickly, and Zhang Xinjie felt his equilibrium being thrown off as he walked out of Tyranny’s building later than he usually did.
He found himself distracted, unable to sink into his usual meditative headspace, thoughts stuck on the quantity of red petals in his bin, the fact that the tightness in his chest was a daily occurrence now, rather than a mere nuisance. Zhang Xinjie knew what this all meant, knew that this meant that the plant was growing bigger, that the more time he wasted clinging on to hope, the more deeply entrenched the roots would be in his lungs and the harder it would be to recover.
It would have been better if he’d booked his appointment to remove the plant when he first coughed up a petal. The recovery rates were better, the time to recover was shorter, and it meant you wouldn’t live life clinging to someone you couldn’t have.
Zhang Xinjie knew that if he’d admitted to anyone what was happening to him, they’d tell him to confess or book a surgery to have the plant removed. And it seemed so simple when put like that, confess or let go. Confess or let go. The options that Zhang Xinjie had inked into his journal, characters stark on the paper. Black and white, two options, and all he had to do was pick one.
But he didn’t.
It had been three years now, and the disease was progressing right on schedule, the number of petals increasing, shorter lapses between petals and Zhang Xinjie knew what came next.
Full flowers. And then blood. And then…
Zhang Xinjie shook his head slightly, bringing his focus back to his walk. He didn’t want to be late to training, and he pushed his thoughts away, resolving to focus on what was, not what could be.
Zhang Xinjie was hiding something.
Not that Han Wenqing expected his vice-captain to tell him every single detail of his life, but something was clearly wrong, and Zhang Xinjie seemed to be going to great efforts to conceal it from everyone. He seemed the same as he’d ever been, but his schedule had changed recently, blocking out sections of time where it simply said he was unavailable.
While this wasn’t odd in of itself, Zhang Xinjie seemed to vanish entirely for these periods, and he always came back looking pale and drawn, as if something was weighing on him, and Han Wenqing couldn’t help but be concerned. Zhang Xinjie had rarely looked dishevelled or disturbed, but there was something in his eyes that worried Han Wenqing, and he wondered if anyone knew what was wrong with him.
His tentative overtures to Huang Shaotian, Yu Wenzhou, Xiao Shiqin and Ye Xiu got him no new information other than the fact that Zhang Xinjie’s friends had noticed that something was wrong. Xiao Shiqin noted that Zhang Xinjie rarely called him now, choosing instead to message him, and Han Wenqing couldn’t help but wonder why. Huang Shaotian mentioned that whenever Zhang Xinjie called him, he’d mute himself occasionally, apologising and mentioning that he had to attend to something.
“I know he is very busy, as a vice-captain, I know that he has lots of things he needs to do so he can help you, even if Blue Rain are going to beat you again this year, but even if he has things to do, he always tells me at the start and says he has to go at a certain time, he doesn’t like interruptions, but he won’t say what is happening.”
Huang Shaotian’s words wouldn’t leave Han Wenqing’s mind, weighing on him as Zhang Xinjie seemed to get worse and worse, despite there being no change to his day to day schedule. Whatever was happening, Zhang Xinjie seemed to be pushing through it, refusing to slow down or deviate from his schedule.
Han Wenqing wanted to say something, wanted to intervene, to see if Zhang Xinjie would confide in him, but every time he found an opportunity, Zhang Xinjie would find an excuse to slip away.
He was used to spending time with Zhang Xinjie outside of the time they used for team meetings and strategy planning, and all of a sudden, he was no longer in his friend’s schedule.
It had happened gradually, so gradually that Han Wenqing hadn’t noticed until he looked at his own schedule one day and realised that Zhang Xinjie’s name was missing, barring the most essential of their meetings.
He’d broached the subject carefully, unsure if he had done something to upset his friend, but Zhang Xinjie assured him that he was fine, that nothing had changed.
Han Wenqing had accepted his words, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Zhang Xinjie spent less and less time with the team, politely excusing himself from informal situations by citing work or tiredness. Han Wenqing found himself watching Zhang Xinjie walking away from him again and again, only cementing the concern in his chest.
Zhang Xinjie didn’t like putting distance between himself and Han Wenqing, didn’t like the growing distance and subsequent formality between himself and his team, but he couldn’t think of any other way to keep the progression of his disease a secret. The burn in his lungs was a permanent companion now, and he couldn’t help but feel that if he opened his mouth, the incriminating petals would spill out, revealing his secret, staining the floor with his lies.
It wasn’t as if Zhang Xinjie didn’t notice the confusion in Han Wenqing’s eyes, wasn’t as if he couldn’t see the way his team was pulling away from him, but he didn’t know how else to hide the branching roots of the disease.
You could tell him. Zhang Xinjie ignored the voice in his head, pulling his focus away from the plant growing in his lungs to the training schedule he was supposed to be reviewing for Han Wenqing.
He could feel a headache building up behind his temples, but he simply took another drink from his bottle, hoping that it would soothe his throat, keeping his eyes on his screen, even as the glare made the throbbing behind his eyes worse.
Zhang Xinjie felt the all too familiar pressure in his chest and moved quickly to his bathroom, leaning over the sink as he began to cough; he watched the mix of blood and petals stain the sink, coppery taste filling his mouth, choking on the mass of blood and flowers.
It was the most amount of blood and flowers he’d had to cough up, and Zhang Xinjie was honest enough with himself that he wasn’t in any state to go back to his work.
He knew that he should get his phone to message Han Wenqing, assure him that he was fine but that he’d have to miss their meeting, but he blinked and found himself sitting on the floor, tile cool against his skin, soothing the fever building.
Zhang Xinjie patted at his pockets, searching for his phone, knowing that if he didn’t excuse himself that Han Wenqing would come looking for him, but his limbs felt weak as his headache only worsened, and the only thing that Zhang Xinjie felt he could do was close his eyes, barely noticing himself drifting off, alone on the cold tile.
As much as Zhang Xinjie had put space between them recently, Han Wenqing still felt confident enough to say that his vice-captain wasn’t the kind of person to cancel a meeting without a word. He also did not tolerate being late, either from himself or others, which meant that when five minutes passed without Zhang Xinjie entering their shared office, Han Wenqing felt compelled to go searching for him.
He knocked at Zhang Xinjie’s door, waiting for an answer or for Zhang Xinjie to call for him to enter, but the distinct silence only made the concern in Han Wenqing’s chest grow, and he keyed in Zhang Xinjie’s door code, entering the room quietly.
Zhang Xinjie’s computer screen was lit up, cursor still blinking on the screen, but Zhang Xinjie was not sat at his desk, and unease crawled up Han Wenqing’s spine. He glanced around the room, not that he expected Zhang Xinjie to be hiding, and he spotted a flash of fabric from the bathroom. He knocked on the door a few times before easing the door open.
Han Wenqing could admit that Zhang Xinjie slumped on the floor with blood staining his shirt and still trickling at the corner of his mouth was terrifying. He dropped to his knees immediately, pressing his fingers to Zhang Xinjie’s wrist and feeling less panicked when he could feel his pulse steady beneath his skin. Zhang Xinjie didn’t respond to his touch, however, and his skin was clammy, forehead burning with fever.
It was only natural for Han Wenqing to scoop his vice-captain up in his arms, wondering when Zhang Xinjie had grown so light. He smoothed some of his friend’s hair back, frowning at how sweaty he was, wondering how king Zhang Xinjie had been lying there, in pain and alone.
Zhang Xinjie didn’t wake, even when Han Wenqing pulled his sweaty clothes off, gently placing him on the bed as he turned to collect the supplies that Zhang Xinjie kept in his room. Zhang Xinjie shivered as Han Wenqing wiped the cooled sweat off him, but he still didn’t wake, and as much as Han Wenqing thought he needed to drink something, he couldn’t bring himself to wake him.
He tucked Zhang Xinjie under the covers, gently removing his glasses and placing them on the bedside table. Zhang Xinjie seemed so peaceful in sleep, face smooth and clear of the stress that seemed to be weighing on him more and more recently. Han Wenqing wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he leant down to press a gentle kiss on Zhang Xinjie’s forehead.
When his vice-captain didn’t stir, Han Wenqing moved from his seat and pulled the blinds closed, making the room dim. He caught sight of the document open on Zhang Xinjie’s laptop and recognised it as the training schedule he’d asked Zhang Xinjie to review for him. It was easy to picture Zhang Xinjie at his desk, frowning at the screen, forehead furrowed with pain, trying to power through the discomfort, and Han Wenqing frowned at the thought as he saved and shut down the laptop.
He then returned to his seat and pulled out his phone, sending out the necessary messages to clear his and Zhang Xinjie’s schedule. He didn’t think about the fact that he didn’t have to check the calendar that Zhang Xinjie made public, that he knew what his vice-captain was doing today, and yet had to check his calendar for his schedule.
Han Wenqing wasn’t sure what to do afterwards; Zhang Xinjie was as comfortable as he could make him, there was little else he could do now, but he was reluctant to leave. He went back into the bathroom to fill a glass of water and froze when he saw the sink.
He’d been distracted at the sight of Zhang Xinjie slumped on the floor and hadn’t taken the time to look around the room. Now everything fell into place, and Zhang Xinjie’s distance and exhaustion made sense as Han Wenqing looked at the flowers and blood in the sink. He cleaned it up on autopilot, unable to stop his mind from slotting together the pieces.
Zhang Xinjie avoiding him and the team. Zhang Xinjie avoiding calls with his friends, opting to text. Zhang Xinjie looking tired and wan, as if something was weighing on him. It all made sense as Han Wenqing cleared out the evidence of Zhang Xinjie’s progressing disease.
Han Wenqing knew about the progression of the disease, knew the various stages, which meant that he understood what it meant if Zhang Xinjie was coughing up flowers and blood. It meant that he was running out of time, it meant that he was only going to get worse, and it meant that he needed to make a decision.
In fact, Han Wenqing couldn’t believe that Zhang Xinjie hadn’t made a decision already. By this point, there were only two, confess or book the surgery to have the plant cut out. He couldn’t believe that Zhang Xinjie wasn’t ready to make that choice.
Han Wenqing was pulled out of his thoughts by a noise from the other room, and he hurried over to find Zhang Xinjie awake and squinting at the low light of the lamp. He pressed a cloth to his head immediately, and Zhang Xinjie seemed to appreciate the coolness as he reassured him about his schedule.
He proffered the glass of water, which Zhang Xinjie drank greedily before coughing, more petals falling from his lips, speckled with blood. His vice-captain didn’t seem to notice, eyes already closing, and Han Wenqing tucked the blankets more securely around him, crushing the petals in his fist.
He was going to do something to save Zhang Xinjie, wasn’t about to watch his friend fade away like this, even if it meant watching Zhang Xinjie walk into someone else’s arms.