CP: Hai Xia, healing the regrets that never found closure
The Southern Archives, during the Republican era.
Your name is Zhang Haiyang.
You were the third child they brought home. You were seven that year, burning with fever in a ruined temple on the edge of the rainforest. Zhang Haixia carried you back, walking thirty li with the soles of his feet rubbed raw and covered in blisters.
From then on, the Southern Archives had three children: Zhang Hailou was the best fighter, Zhang Haixia was the cleverest, and Zhang Haiyang was the quietest.
You were always holed up at the maritime bureau, poring over old files. Your eyes were so dark and deep that they made people uneasy.
At first, Zhang Haixia thought you were shy.
It wasn't until your first field assignment that he realized the truth: you weren't quiet. Your eyes could speak.
Your ability was hypnosis.
After that, a new rule was added at the archives: you could go on a field assignment without a gun, but never without Zhang Haiyang. Whenever Zhang Haixia led the way, he kept you behind him, saying, “Stay back. Don't hypnotize me, too.”
But you never hypnotized him. Not because you couldn't, but because you didn't dare.
Because you had tried once. When you were sixteen, you secretly looked into his eyes, wanting to know what he was thinking. What you saw was a rainforest, a ruined temple, a little girl burning with fever, and a boy carrying her on his back, the soles of his feet covered in blisters. He never stopped for a moment.
You looked away, your eyes stinging. From then on, you never looked into his eyes again.
Zhang Haixia knew nothing about it. After every mission, he simply handed you a packet of roasted chestnuts and said, “You worked hard. Go home and get some sleep.”
He didn't know that the sleep you longed for most was one from which you'd wake forever in his eyes.
