Chapter Text
"This is a robbery! Get down on the floor!"
Sizhui blinks at the shouts behind him, and then sighs as he lowers himself to the floor, resigning himself to a distinctly annoying day.
A bank robbery, in this day and age. He can't help but wonder what these poor souls are thinking. This would have been a terrible, terrible idea even if they hadn't happened to do this when he was there.
As it is, he can but hope the would-be thieves will get out of this alive.
He would just lie back on the floor and wait, but the robbers are terrifying the teller. Sizhui really should do something about it.
He stands slowly, keeping his hands well away from his body.
"Hey! Get back on the floor!" one of the robbers shouts, pointing his gun in Sizhui's face.
"Gentlemen, I hope that I may be of assistance in this matter," he says politely. "I think it might be best for everyone if we can resolve the matter quickly." Preferably before any sort of information about it becomes public.
"Can you open the fucking vault?" another of the armed, masked men demands.
"I can not, but neither can they," Sizhui says. "As a security measure, there will be very little cash accessible to the staff. I would strongly encourage you to leave now, before the police can get here." Or anyone else, he thinks.
He's tempted to use a compulsion charm. It's unethical, but under the circumstances -
- no, he's too late. He can hear sirens.
That is an unfortunately rapid response.
This is going to be difficult.
And then he hears a whisper from where some of the bank's other patrons are huddled. "This guy just got up and started talking to them," a young woman is whispering. "Even with a gun in his face. Is he brave or stupid? Vote in the comments."
He turns slowly, ice running down his spine. "Are you livestreaming?" he asks, horrified.
The woman smiles at him. "I sure am! Want to tell everyone your name?"
"Turn that off!" one of the thieves shouts.
Sizhui closes his eyes for a long moment as his phone starts vibrating in his pocket.
Fuck.
---
Jiang Yanli gives her nephew thirty seconds to reply to her texts. She thinks she is being rather generous.
He doesn't answer.
She sends a text to the family group chat, then calls A-Xian's number and looks at her assistant while it rings.
"Have Jiang Cheng alerted," she orders, and her assistant nods and taps on her tablet computer.
A-Xian answers his phone. "Shijie?"
"Check your messages," she says, and hangs up. "I'll be going out," she tells her assistant. "Triage anything urgent for when I get back."
Her office has a balcony. She pulls her sword from her pocket as she steps outside and is in the air within moments.
---
Jiang Xiaotong has one of the most important jobs in the world, and he's proud of it.
As the personal secretary to his own distant ancestor, Sandu Shengshou, he is in a position of great responsibility.
He knows all of the protocols by heart, from memory, which means that he does know what to do when the priority message comes in.
He's just never had to do it before.
A quick call confirms that the message is authentic, however, and the fact that Sandu Shengshou is in a meeting with four ambassadors and the American Prime Minister - a meeting that has taken nearly two years to arrange at all - is suddenly irrelevant.
By order of Jiang Yanli: Inform SSS immediately that LSZ is being held at gunpoint in Vienna. Details on his phone.
Orders from Jiang Yanli supercede, well... everything.
Jiang Xiaotong grabs a handful of forms from a drawer, then knocks and enters his ancestor's office without waiting for an answer.
"My apologies," he says, and extends his shaking hand towards Sandu Shengshou, who takes his tablet and reads the message on it without a change in his expression, then hands it back.
And then he turns, drawing Sandu from the pocket of his dress slacks as he does so, and shatters the window with it before leaping out and onto his sword. In a moment he is a disappearing dot in the sky.
That, Jiang Xiaotong thinks, was so cool.
He turns back to the stunned dignitaries.
"I apologise for the disturbance," he says, and begins setting out the forms in front of them. "An issue of great urgency has arisen. We would appreciate your discretion on this matter. These are non-disclosure agreements in your personal, individual capacities. We will not be offended if you wish to have them reviewed by your own lawyers."
---
It can get chilly at altitude. Jiang Cheng pulls traditional robes out of his qiankun pocket and puts them on over his suit.
He also puts on a face mask - a habit for travel anyway, but helpful for disguising his identity - and sunglasses before he gets his phone out and switches it to satellite mode.
It can hop satellites fast enough to keep up, he's sure, but probably not signal towers.
He winces as he pushes through the sound barrier. That's always slightly uncomfortable.
jie
Bank robbery in Vienna. Radish in danger. GPS live.
There's an image attached.
Someone is pointing a gun at his nephew's face.
Jiang Cheng pushes himself for more speed and pulls up the GPS tracking app.
Glowing dots represent members of his family. He's unsurprised to see six of them moving towards Europe, and angles his flight to a better path for interception. He was the furthest west at the outset; Wei Wuxian and Wangji were visiting A-Jie's home in Jinlintai.
Wen Qing and Lan Huan were at their offices in Yunmeng. They locate each other first, and form up - it's easier and faster to slipstream together.
They head towards Sizhui's little dot. The others will catch up - Wei Wuxian is irritatingly fast at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Jiang Cheng will be shocked if he doesn't break Mach 3.
---
Sizhui sits quietly with the other hostages.
Two of them were, previously, among the group of armed robbers, but he talked them around. The leader of the group has now promised to shoot a hostage if Sizhui opens his mouth again.
It has been two hours since the siege began, and Sizhui is worried that he is running out of time.
Perhaps swaying the loyalty of some of his forces pushed the leader too far. He has regrets.
He has also underestimated the capacity of his family, he realises - he would not have thought it was possible to get from home to Vienna this quickly, but there is a commotion amongst the police officers outside, and he can see the familiar shine of sword glares reflecting off the marble floor of the bank. He sees blue and violet. If he's lucky, it might just be his parents.
... and Auntie Wen. He sees a glimmer of red, too.
Which means Uncle Jiang is probably here too.
"What the fuck is that?" one of the robbers, on watch at the window, shouts.
"You! Do you know something?" the leader demands of Sizhui.
He supposes he is the only one of the hostages not craning to look.
He raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at the others, and then at the leader's gun.
"Oh for - I won't shoot you if you answer me," the leader snarls, and Sizhui nods.
"Those are the Immortals of the Five Nations," he says, trying not to sound as tired and exasperated as he feels. This is such an over-reaction. He's not a child. Whenever Dad gets held hostage at gunpoint he acts like it's funny.
There is a momentary squeal of feedback, and then a voice over a megaphone. Before, it was the hostage negotiator from the police. Now it is not.
"Good day, gentlemen," says a clear, pleasant voice.
"Who's that?"
Sizhui tries not to sigh. "Zewu-Jun," he says.
"I have procured the agreement of all interested parties that we will offer you very generous terms of forgiveness if you release the hostages unharmed immediately," his uncle says. "We will allow you two minutes to do so before we take alternative steps."
Sizhui is mildly surprised. Two whole minutes? His uncle must have been arguing for that the whole way here, to win agreement from the others. He's a very kind man, Sizhui thinks fondly.
"Guard the doors," the leader snaps. "And the hostages. Get that one."
Sizhui is dragged to his feet by one of the more brutish of their captors, who holds a gun to his temple.
"May I have that, for a moment?" he asks politely, indicating the bank's telephone, which the leader has been using to communicate with the police outside.
"Tell them if we see one cop even approaching the building we're going to start shooting," the leader snaps.
The man threatening him shuffles awkwardly along as Sizhui approaches the desk, so as to keep the gun pressed to his head.
Sizhui desperately hopes his parents aren't standing somewhere where they can see him.
He picks up the phone.
"Hello. Is someone there?" he asks.
"A-Yuan," his uncle replies warmly. "Are you hurt?"
"I am fine, thank you," Sizhui says, tilting his head enough that the gun barrel doesn't press quite so uncomfortably. "I hope your flight was not unpleasant."
"It was quite smooth, I assure you. Clear weather the whole way."
"Excellent. I'm glad." The leader of the robbers is staring at him, and makes a pointed gesture with his gun. Sizhui represses the urge to roll his eyes. "I have been asked to convey to the forces outside the building that if these gentlemen see one cop even approaching the building they're going to start shooting," he says dutifully.
"Oh, the police won't be doing anything," Uncle says, with a light laugh. "Tell him so. I'd hate him to be anxious about it."
"He says the police won't be doing anything," Sizhui tells the leader. Uncle Jiang is sure to be out there. He probably called the Austrian Chancellor.
"Good," the leader snarls.
"He says good," Sizhui tells Uncle.
"Would you mind asking him if he's made a decision about our offer?" Uncle asks.
Sizhui does so. He can't help but frown at the reply. He wouldn't ever use such words to address any of his family members.
"I think he is determined to decline," is what Sizhui says. "He wants me to put the phone down now."
"Very well. The two minutes are almost up, anyway. I'll speak to you shortly, I'm sure."
Sizhui puts the phone back on its cradle and looks at the clock, counting seconds.
"Please stay calm," he tells his current captor as they approach the two-minute mark.
"What are you -" the man shouts, as Sizhui moves. There are two seconds to go.
He moves his head out of the way of the gun and grabs the man's wrist, squeezing hard enough to force his grip to loosen. (He hears bone crack, but really, he's saving the man's life and sometimes one must yield to necessity.)
With care, he catches the gun by the barrel, staying well clear of the trigger, before it can hit the ground. It doesn't look like a very good gun. It may not be sufficiently well-made not to fire when dropped.
And then he shoves the man towards his compatriots. Perhaps his parents and Uncle Jiang won't have seen that Sizhui was being held, or at least, which one of them had been holding him.
The last second ticks over, and the world explodes.
The doors shatter inwards in a flash of purple lightning. A flicker in the air is silver needles that strike the gunman standing over the hostages, who freezes in the act of turning to see what's happening.
A chord of guqin music accompanies the flash of light that knocks most of the others flying. A burst of papermen sails in after them and pin the fallen to the ground. The ones who were by the doors escape the attacks. They turn and start firing wildly.
The bullets hit a wall of soft lavender light and stop, hanging in the air.
Sizhui represses a wince. Auntie Jiang, too?
Zidian flickers again, and the gunmen by the door go down hard.
Some of the men on the floor are on their backs, and are raising their guns, even if they can't sit up. Suibian and Bichen flash bright as they fly through the room, slicing the guns themselves into pieces.
Uncle Jiang enters. He's wearing a travel mask and sunglasses, but his body language is sufficient to convey quite a lot of threat as he surveys the room.
Sandu is bare and bright in his hand.
"The next one who moves is dead," Uncle Jiang says flatly, even as Sizhui's parents are hurrying to him.
"Are you hurt?" Dad asks anxiously. "Wen Qing, is he hurt?"
"I'm fine," Sizhui says, but doesn't resist as Auntie Wen takes his wrist. He feels the warm, ticklish sensation of her spiritual energy as she examines him.
"He hasn't been eating enough," she says with a frown, "but he's not injured. Even if he has been drinking too much coffee."
"I've been busy," he says hopelessly.
"Tch," Dad says. Sizhui's father is pulling him into a tight hug, and Sizhui can feel that he's shaking.
"I really am fine, I promise," he says, as reassuringly as he can.
"I'm glad to hear it," Uncle Lan says. He and Auntie Jiang have come in.
"When we're done here, I'll make lunch," Auntie Jiang says warmly.
"What the f-" the leader of the robbers starts to shout. Sizhui is almost too late applying the silencing charm. Uncle Jiang won't take it well if the man addresses any of his family so discourteously at this point.
"We did warn you," Dad says reprovingly.
---
The next morning, Sizhui goes to see his department head.
"I need to take some personal time off," he says apologetically. "I have to go home for a few weeks."
"I understand completely," his department head says soothingly. "I imagine your experience yesterday was traumatic."
"It was, rather," he says. Not for me, he thinks rebelliously, but his family won't calm down about it unless he goes back to stay with Auntie Jiang and his parents for a while.
He is less than twenty-five years younger than any of them. He imagines most people would think that such an age difference could be considered negligible after even the first few hundred years.
Such people, Sizhui thinks darkly, haven't met his parents and their siblings. It was clear by the time he was three hundred that he would always be the baby of the family.
"I have to ask," his department head says tentatively. "Were those really the Immortals?"
He represses a sigh. "They were," he says.
"They came because you were in danger?" She's wide-eyed.
He is not finished with his work here. He can't burn this identity yet. "They did," he admits. "I'm a direct male line descendant of Hanguang-Jun and the Yiling Patriarch," he says truthfully. "They know who I am, and they are very protective of me." Even though he is capable of taking care of himself, he thinks.
He told them all he'd be back by midday. He still has a packed lunch from Auntie Jiang in his bag.
"Goodness," the department head says. "That must be very reassuring, I suppose."
"Sometimes," he says.
"Well, I'm approving your leave," she tells him. "Take as long as you need." She clears her throat. "This is probably a terrible time to ask, but -"
---
"My department head has a friend who runs the history department at the University of Vienna," he says, when he gets home. "They'd really like to have a talk with at least one of you, if you're willing."
"I'll do it," Dad says instantly.
---
two years later
"I don't get it," Dad says.
Sizhui, expression neutral, keeps stacking more academic journals in front of him.
There's really a lot of them.
"You proved that you were the Yiling Patriarch," Sizhui says, tone flat. "That you were a real historical figure, who had lived through centuries of history."
"They thought that meant I'd been present at every single major historical event," Dad says, with a laugh. "That's such a silly idea."
"So you fucked with them," Sizhui says, putting the last stack of journals down with an emphatic thud. He glares at his dad. "Admit it."
"I totally fucked with them," Dad agrees.
"And now the entire field of history is in a state of convulsion as people argue about how to make our understanding of past events and the documentary record agree with what you said."
Dad stares. "But I said -" He stops. He said a lot of things.
Sizhui pulls out a journal and throws it at him. "You said you slept with Queen Elizabeth in 1356, even though she wasn't born until 1533 and was famously a virgin, and you were married before you met her," he says. "She was perfectly nice to you, you know, that was rude of you." He pulls out another. "You also told them Shakespeare's plays were written by Christopher Marlowe and Billy found them in a box after Kit died, which is unfair on Billy." And unfair on poor Kit, Sizhui thinks, to tell anyone that he was responsible for Henry VI Part One.
"I didn't know you knew them that well," Dad says. Sizhui doesn't touch that. There are some topics he doesn't go near with his parents, and how well he knew Kit Marlowe is always going to be one of them.
He slaps down another journal. "You also said that you arm-wrestled Cleopatra and lost," he says accusingly, "even though you weren't even born when she was alive!"
"Of course I wasn't," Dad admits. "Did none of them even consider that I might be lying?" he asks wonderingly.
Sizhui sighs and slumps into a chair. "Several articles have been written suggesting that," he says tiredly. "Two of them weren't even by me. They haven't been well-received."
"Wow," Dad says. There's a long silence, and then he grins. "You know, I could tell them that -"
"Absolutely not," Sizhui hisses. "Don't you dare make this worse."
Dad pouts.