Note: the "-" at the beginning of the sentence indicates direct speech.
China puked for the first time during the day. He usually could hold back, however it occurred to be just after lunch when his stomach was aching. And he puked all out, unlike the other two when only gags and spit came out. Glad that England spotted it before the carpet was ruined, and thanks for China being able to hold back for a moment before raining them down in the bathroom. Acidic decomposed mess quickly went down the toilet, and there he was, exhaling loudly and slobbered over the napkin England placed under his lips. China melted down the sane man's sturdy arms and leaned on his chest like a comfy seat. England couldn't see his face, yet decided to remain silent as he found the breath of the sick man had been gradually regulated.
England noticed China's change in attitude at the treaty at Nanking, unlike the few years before when he could hear such high-pitched yelling coming from the representative. Accompanied by the Qings, he wore a large cone hat, that covered half of his head and his facial expressions, that no common folk may see. It could be a result of the imposing frame of the Crown in the heckling against the damage of narcotic goods, or he is simply with other Manchu officials. However, when they were to exchange greetings, his counterpart's voice came out dim, almost silent. The fellow gentlemen would laugh behind his back, and he would say nothing. England accepted the signals of defeat from him, and the atmosphere could remain like that until they vanished as fast as he arrived.
Until he coughed, just when his silhouette disappeared from the mothership. Amidst the deafening sound of the waves and the shore, a coughing fit was heard. The sound of mucus crawling into England's ears made his chest cringe. China seemingly tried to suppress it, but to no avail, his throat keeps making that revolting noise. The Qing rushed him away until England could not see that figure from the docks anymore. Until he coughed, did his gentlemen were exposed to the heart of China. And it revealed to them to the point they knew, that Dai Qing, was so exploitable. They look at each other, knowing what they all have in mind. However, not a grin to be seen, not even a slight expression of amusement. The knowledge came to them in the most uncanny way, that no one dared to remember the "sick man" for telling them so.
National representatives, despite how tense the current relationships between the two rulers were, remained at least at dissatisfaction.
- The wind direction has changed, you're gonna hurt your eyes sitting here.
The voice was definitely of a smoker, slowly approaching him.
His hat was cast aside, revealing his unshaven skull that no Han people at the time possessed. His face bore otherworldly fatigue, which England did not witness at the dock. Yao the incarnation of China was there, bringing to him nothing more than a word of concern, for his health.
- I'm supervising this area.
- Find somewhere else, didn't your boss have a better place for you? Or did you regret not looting anything beforehand?
He wheezed the words out halfway, then turned them into a dry laugh. China stopped by the left of England, facing the inferno. England turned to him and asked.
- Then why ARE you here?
Pulled off a tiny pipe and swiftly lit it up, the sick man sucked off a breath of narcotics, then released it. The smoke from his mouth and his nostrils escaped and crawled all over his face, leaping up his dark hair before fading away.
- The place they're burning stood and housed people for a few centuries, you should know. Doesn't hurt to mourn.
England retorted.
- Does hurt to smoke...
- No, it actually doesn't.
The Western insulted, and it hit China. He kept silent for a moment with his pipe put aside. He was pondering about something.
