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No Water Is Enough

Summary:

[Book 5 Spoilers Within]

Once, the emperor of heaven saw that his troublesome successor had what he had always desired so dearly. To teach him a priceless lesson, he took it for himself.

Hua Cheng faithfully serves the god who saved him as a child— the one he has worshiped for 800 years— the one to whom he gifted his ashes: The Heavenly Emperor, Jun Wu.

Xie Lian just wants his beloved back, no matter what it costs him.

 

[Russian Translation Available Here | Перевод на русский]

Notes:

Title from Think of My Dear Wife by Yuan Zhen.

No water's enough when you have crossed the sea;
No cloud is beautiful but that which crowns the peak.
I pass by flowers that fail to attract poor me
Half for your sake and half for Taoism I seek.

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: Crimson Rain Subverted

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He walks into the grand martial hall as if it is the first time again. It always feels like the first time. It echoes around him, empty of his majesty's useless servants. The silver bells on his boots chime with his every step in the quiet. He feels the disapproval without needing words, and silences them with a thought. The quiet yawns open once again. The one he lives for waits. Patient as always.

Hua Cheng drops to one knee. The throne of the heavenly emperor looms before him, his godly boots before Hua Cheng’s unworthy eye. He keeps his head bowed, knowing better than to look up uninvited. His majesty is patient in his correction, but Hua Cheng keeps making foolish mistakes. The emperor is merciful with him, but he should not have to be.

Hua Cheng should be perfect.

“Have your pets found him?” Jun Wu asks, voice patient and kind. His frustration only shows when Hua Cheng forgets himself. Forgets his place. He keeps his eyes fixed on the emperor’s boots. He stays on one knee.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“And you remember my warnings?”

“His majesty’s enemy is cruel and shrewd, hiding behind a mask of benevolence. He will attempt to twist this unworthy servant’s thoughts. This one must strike hard and fast. The enemy cannot die, and this one need not fear bringing him forth in pieces if necessary.”

“Good.” The emperor praises, and it unlocks the tight feeling of worthlessness in Hua Cheng’s chest. “You are not my ideal servant, Crimson Rain Sought Flower, but you show promise. I have no doubt you can learn, given time”

“This unworthy one thanks you, dianxia.”

Fuck. His traitor tongue slips again, and he doesn’t have to look to know that—

The black blade of Zhu Xen appears at his neck. The sword presses up from beneath his chin, forcing Hua Cheng’s eyes higher. Hua Cheng swallows, and the motion would draw blood if he were more than the useless ghost he is.

“Try again.” Jun Wu says, infinite in patience, magnificent in his gentility with such a pitiful excuse for a servant before him.

“Your majesty,” Hua Cheng whispers, closing his eye— eyes— deferentially. Jun Wu does not like his imperfect form, so he wears a perfected skin before him. Hua Cheng still does not understand why he ever thought the emperor would like such a thing. He had felt so certain...

“This one will accept any punishment,” he offers, forcing himself not to look upon that glorious face. He has not earned it.

“I know you will.” Jun Wu rises from his throne. Paces forward, shifting Zhu Xen’s blade aside and placing his hand in Hua Cheng’s tightly-bound hair instead. Hua Cheng lowers his head, and suppresses the bewildering urge to tremble at the tender touch.

“Go now,” Jun Wu orders with benevolence. “Do well, and all is forgiven.”

“Your majesty,” Hua Cheng rasps. “I will not fail you.”

“All I ask is that you try,” Jun Wu assures. Hua Cheng feels a sudden squeeze around his heavy limbs as the emperor wraps his hand around the ring of his ashes. “You will try for me, won’t you Crimson Rain?”

“If I fail, I ask that your majesty disperse this servant’s useless remains!” Hua Cheng spits, disgusted with the thought of failing his god again.

“Though I do enjoy your spirit, I hardly think that would be necessary.” The squeeze releases. Hua Cheng refuses to gasp, reminding himself that he does not have to breathe at all.

Jun Wu switches his hold on Zhu Xen. The tip of the sword whistles past Hua Cheng’s ear. He does not flinch. Then the god offers his blade in both hands. Hua Cheng raises both his own hands, palm up, to receive its weight. Even to his dead skin, the blade feels cold.

“After all,” Jun Wu says, releasing the sword into Hua Cheng’s reverent hands, “Xianle's tenacity is not to be underestimated.”


Hua Cheng finds the piece of trash where the butterfly found him hours ago. He is sitting in the middle of a field, bathed in sunlight, miles from the closest town. He sits straight on the ground, not even a stone beneath him to guard against the dirt. His head is tilted back, his legs crossed, and his hands resting neatly on his knees. He has a pleasant, soft smile, and breathes deeply as if in meditation. Around his throat, the curse shackle is hidden beneath white bandages. ‘Without his spiritual power, will this fight even be a challenge?’ Hua Cheng wonders.

He could strike now and tear him apart with little more than a thought. Efficient , Jun Wu might praise, pleased that Hua Cheng followed his advice.

He doesn’t.

Instead Hua Cheng cocks his hip, crosses his arms, quirks one eyebrow, and waits. His smile deepens, amused by the oblivious creature before him. This is Jun Wu’s target? His majesty could have given him a task twenty times more difficult. After all, hasn’t he already dethroned and destroyed martial gods brimming with spiritual powers? And yet his majesty thinks he must be warned about this scrap god?

“Hmm,” Xianle says, breaking into his thoughts. His eyes are still closed, but it would appear he's aware of his company. "Crimson Rain Sought Flower?"

Hua Cheng gets his first sense of unease. Not only did Xianle give no indication of his attention, the way he speaks Hua Cheng's title is... No one has ever said any of his names like that. He inspires fear, awe, or hatred everywhere he goes; often all three. He has painted his reputation in blood through the past eight centuries.

So why does this insignificant worm’s voice sound not just respectful, but outright fond ?

Hua Cheng deepens the cruel smile he wears, seething with anger on the inside at being thrown off balance.

“Your highness the crown prince.” He greets in return, letting disdain drip from every word.

That’s better. The trash god flinches as if wounded. Hua Cheng is about to follow the words when Xianle takes a deep breath and sighs it out again. By all appearances, he seems to be taking a moment to relax in the middle of this shitty field with Jun Wu’s loyalest weapon standing right before him. Then Xianle smiles again, as bright as before.

“Ah, you say it so coldly,” his laugh is easy and self-effacing. “I imagine I make a pretty sorry sight. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Crimson Rain." He sketches a half-bow where he sits. "May I assume that you’ve been sent to capture me?”

“Indeed. I'll be bringing you to his majesty,” Hua Cheng lifts Zhu Xen, waggling its point in the traitor’s direction. He mimes slices across Xianle’s throat; his shoulders; his hips, “in as many pieces as I see fit.”

“I see, I see.” Xianle only bobs his head in a nod, eyes still closed and still smiling that gentle smile. “Sounds like you’re working hard. I hope you’re being treated well.”

“Where are your worthless little allies?” Hua Cheng laughs instead of allowing the nuisance to blabber on further. “I’d love to bring his majesty their heads as an added gift.”

“Well, now that you’ve said that, why would I tell you where they are?” Xianle has the nerve to laugh again; Teasing and light, as if this were a joke.

Hua Cheng’s smile deepens, and he doesn’t bother fighting it back. The slaughter is always more enjoyable when they’re spirited.

“Do you plan to sit there all day?”

“Do you plan to let me rise?”

At last the traitor’s eyes open. They shine dark gold in the sunlight, like honey straight from the hive. Xianle's smile deepens when he lays eyes on Hua Cheng. There is not a trace of fear in him.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Hua Cheng points out, sauntering closer and gesturing with his free hand. “Or spiritual power. Wouldn’t you say the scales are already tipped heavily in my favor, even if I give you time to prepare?”

“Indeed, indeed,” Xie Lian bobs his head a few more times. “Then will you let this old god stretch a moment? I’ve been waiting here since your butterfly found me, after all.”

“This humble ghost apologizes for the inconvenience.” Hua Cheng scoffs, sketching a mocking bow. “Do you truly think you stand a chance?”

“Well,” Xianle rolls his shoulders. He dips low to the ground with one foot out to the side, shapely legs clearly outlined under his coarse robe when he leans into the stretch. “You aren’t using the dreaded E-Ming, so that’s one point in my favor. Why not, by the way?”

‘Put that filthy thing away,' Jun Wu instructs, firm voice bordering on anger. A thumb pushes aside his eye patch, and presses down into the empty socket. 'We both know where it should be.'

Hua Cheng closes his good eye in shame, even as Jun Wu's voice turns soft with understanding. ‘If you are to serve me, you must cover your imperfections.’

“This blade was gifted to me by the heavenly emperor himself.” Hua Cheng preens, shaking free of the thought. He starts to prowl back and forth before the blithe god as he stretches. Impressive flexibility, he has to admit… “It will more than suffice for the likes of you. You should feel grateful to be struck down by the great Zhu Xen.”

“Ah,” Xianle waves his hand in front of his face. “Not to disappoint you, but I’ve actually been struck down by that sword a few times already. It’s nothing special.”

“You’re a strange little thing,” Hua Cheng chuckles. “Are you going to stop stalling for time now? No one is coming to save you.”

“I am not waiting for anyone. Lord Crimson Rain is honorable to give this humble god time to prepare,” Xianle tilts his head, smiling. “Would you like to make a wager on the outcome before we begin? I hear you enjoy gambling.”

“There will be only one outcome,” Hua Cheng lets his fangs show when he grins. “What could you offer me that I won’t already take?”

The god shivers, which Hua Cheng had anticipated with delight. But he also… Blushes? Is he…?

“Information.” Xianle says in a rush, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I’ll answer one question from you with complete honesty.”

“So you intend to lie to his majesty the heavenly emperor?”

“Ah, do you have to say his full title every time? How tiring… As for your question, if I answered that truthfully, wouldn’t it make our bet worthless?”

“Hm…” Hua Cheng can’t help the chuckle in his chest. How odd… “And if you were to win? What prize would you ask?”

Likely something foolish. His loyalty, or information on Jun Wu, or the location of Hua Cheng's ashes.

“I get to ask you one question.” The traitor raises a single finger. “You don’t even have to answer. It’s a good bet, right?”

“Too good.” Hua Cheng watches Xianle bend backwards, taking his eyes off the enemy to stretch into nearly a full back bend. The loose ends of his rich brown hair trail down onto the ground with the arch of his back. “You’re hiding something. But I accept anyway. Whatever your plan is, you’ll never get the chance to follow through.”

“So cocky!” Xianle accuses, straightening up already shaking his head and spreading his hands. “I would say it’s your youth, but you’re nearly as old as I am, so it must be experience instead.”

“Which tells you?” Hua Cheng prompts with a delighted cruelty, rolling his own shoulders in preparation.

“Ah, that my lord Crimson Rain is unused to losing.” Xianle laughs, clapping his hands together. “Something this one cannot relate to, in honesty!”

“Then let’s put you out of your misery quickly, shall we?”

Hua Cheng summons a wave of his butterflies. He's had his fun; now this will be over fast. They will enclose the god in a blinding wall of silver agony, and the shreds of him will be offered to Jun Wu on a platter.

But the god doesn’t scream, or flee, or even stand dumb with confusion as those who do not know the Wrath Butterflies do. As Hua Cheng’s vicious, ruinous, monstrous butterflies scream out of him and towards the traitor god, Xianle smiles.

He opens his arms, lifts his hands, and laughs . It will be a fool's death. It should be a fool’s death.

Except the screaming stops.

The butterflies slow in the air, fanning their silver wings. By the time they reach Xianle, they float sweetly down to him. They perch upon his head; his shoulders; his extended arms.

There is not a single drop of blood.

“Ah, sorry, sorry everyone,” Xianle giggles as the silver insects crawl across his face. “Yes, it’s good to see you too.”

When he looks up to Hua Cheng, his expression is bashful. “My apologies, but your butterflies probably won’t do much good against me. Animals tend to enjoy my presence, you see.”

Hua Cheng feels his smile fall for the first time. Never before. NEVER before. What sort of power is Xianle using to turn his own spiritual creatures against him?

No matter. Pathetic, useless things. What good are they to him if they won’t obey?  He waves a hand and the butterflies crumble into dust, shrieking.

Xianle jolts in place, eyes wide and expression distraught.

“It wasn’t their fault,” he objects, turning a sorrowful frown on Hua Cheng. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“If you’re going to worry about something, your highness,” Hua Cheng draws the address out, letting his disgust with the once-prince coat the words, “you should start with yourself.”

It’s all the warning he gives. It’s more warning than the traitor deserves. Most of the battles he had when he dethroned the 33 gods were over in a heartbeat, even without the butterflies. There were few who could come close to matching Hua Cheng for speed and preparedness.

His sword meets air rather than flesh. It would appear that Xianle is one of the few.

“In honesty, I’m quite excited about this.” The god says, robes still settling around him from the speed of his movement. He’s so far away that it would look to an observer like Hua Cheng swung at nothing. “You’re quite a fighter, and I’ve never gotten to try my skill against you. Though if you’re open to negotiation, I’d prefer to not fight at all!”

“Of course you would prefer not to,” Hua Cheng returns, smirking in pleasure as the thrill of this being an actual battle pulses through him. “The weak would always prefer to run.”

“Do you really think those who choose not to fight are weak?” Xianle tilts his head, looking bewildered. “I think it’s quite the opposite.”

Hua Cheng spins back into motion, and doesn’t stop after the first strike this time. Xianle is a whirlwind as he dodges. His white robes glow dull gold in the sun as he ducks and weaves around every strike. Zhu Xen sings through the air. In answer, Xianle hums under his breath, as if considering something. The low pitch of his humming remains unchanged with his increasingly gymnastic maneuvers.

He doesn’t try to strike back once.

“Would it be safe to assume, then, that you would consider predator animals stronger than prey?” Xianle asks with deep consideration, hopping back so far that he clears the field.

He doesn’t even appear to be breathing hard. Interesting...

“You wouldn’t?” Hua Cheng grins, letting his fangs shine.

“Not in the slightest,” Xianle taps his chin, face scrunched up like he’s thinking hard. “For instance, even if you insist on measuring strength by the ability to kill— which is how I assume you’re ranking things—"

Hua Cheng tilts his head in confirmation.

"— a horse could kill a wolf in single combat. However, it would still prefer to flee. Does that make it weaker than the wolf by default?”

“Do you really think now is the time to talk about our personal philosophy?” Hua Cheng chuckles at the strange man before him, so unconcerned with Zhu Xen's blade and so intent on their discussion.

“Ah, indeed, I should focus! It just seems short-sighted to me, as a person who has been kicked by a few horses.” Xianle laughs that awkward little laugh again.

“Jun Wu was right,” Hua Cheng snorts, eyes narrowing as he speaks, seeking out that potential weakness he noticed before. “You really do have some mixed-up ideas in that pretty head of yours.”

“Ah, pretty ?” Xianle replies, his face flaring bright red.

Hua Cheng strikes like a snake in the wake of his flush, the sword poised to slice straight through Xianle’s heart.

Two fingers meet the side of Zhu Xen, and tap it aside. The force of the motion numbs Hua Cheng’s hand, and sends him veering off course, nearly into a stumble.

“I see it is dangerous to receive a compliment from the esteemed Hua Chengzhu.”

The strange god is laughing again. Embarrassed. The tips of his ears are still charmingly pink, and his honey-bright eyes are cast aside like a shy maiden's. By appearances alone, no one would believe that moments ago he flicked Hua Cheng’s blade away as if it were nothing.

“Won’t Xianle satisfy this ghost’s curiosity?” Hua Cheng asks, eyes narrowed above his vicious grin. “Why would a creature as strong as a horse choose to run if it knew it could win?”

“Hm, lots of reasons I suppose.” The god lifts his hand to his chin again, tapping against a smooth jawline in consideration. "I'm certain Lord Crimson Rain could figure it out."

Hua Cheng moves like liquid fire; drags speed into all of his limbs, and presses forward. Xie Lian circles, and dodges, and circles again. Neat, smooth motions that inevitably tuck him into Hua Cheng’s blind spot, or out of range, or even once, shockingly, pressed right behind him, back to back, twisting with him like a reflection.

“You’re very good,” Xianle offers when he breaks away from Hua Cheng’s back, driven out of hiding by a wild, blind attack. “It’s a pity Jun Wu gave you a straight sword. I’m certain you’re a demon with a saber. Or better yet a scimitar?”

“I don’t need E-Ming to kill you.” Hua Cheng laughs. “You won’t even fight back.”

“No.” Xianle agrees, smiling. “I won’t.”

“Why not?” There’s definitely something crazed showing in Hua Cheng’s smile by now, but he can’t help it. Isn’t this exactly what he hates? Being looked down on by these worthless, traitor gods? Those who abandoned his— his majesty?

“Do you think this ghost king beneath you?” he continues, prowling forward.

“No no no, not in the slightest!” Xianle waves both hands before him; a more obvious defense than any of those he’s used against the blade. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower is a unique and dangerous opponent, unmatched in this world. I truly regret being his target at this time!”

“Then fight, you pathetic excuse for a god!” His voice is rough; frustration and hatred boiling out of his throat.

“I won’t.” Xianle's hands drop to hang loose at his sides, and that sweet little smile stays fixed on his face.

Hua Cheng tosses a die. Uses the magic to teleport himself across the field in a heartbeat, it should be more than enough of a surprise to—

The god ducks around to his right, and has the audacity to tap his elbow up and hook one of Hua Cheng’s legs with his ankle, correcting his straight-sword form. He even laughs after, as Hua Cheng whips around towards him, mouth agape.

There’s no denying it. The god knows he’s blind on his right. How does he know that? This skin should be more than sufficient to hide that fact even from emperor Jun Wu himself. No, Hua Cheng didn’t give himself away. The god must have researched him to prepare for this battle. Perhaps he found the old legends told by that group of pathetic humans, hundreds of years ago. Those fools  who wandered around blabbering stories of a hero ghost tearing out his own eye.

Idiots. He should have sacrificed them to the kiln.

“You’ll wear down eventually.” Hua Cheng says, annoyance boiling under his skin. Failure doesn’t sit well with him. Being taunted and played with even less so.

“I'm sure, I’m sure,” the useless god agrees, “but I won’t fight you, even if I do. Ah, careful! That’s a scimitar stance again, Lord Crimson Rain!”

Hua Cheng barks a furious laugh. He shifts his stance, then gestures to himself with his free hand. “Does this unworthy ghost meet your approval now, your highness?”

“Ah—” Xianle flinches again at the sound of ‘your highness’ on Hua Cheng's tongue.

“If Lord Crimson Rain would do this old god a favor and call him ‘Xie Lian,’ this one would be very grateful.” Xianle hurries to say. It looks like there is something aching behind his smile. It’s the only strike Hua Cheng’s been able to land on him thus far.

“Wouldn’t that be terribly disrespectful?” He holds his cold smile, glaring at the one opposing him. “Why won’t you strike me, your highness?”

The trash god sighs, shoulders slumping. “You know, I promised to answer one question truthfully if you won… This really does seem to invalidate the bargain… But I suppose I can give you this one for free, since it's to do with you.”

Xianle tucks his chin. Looks down at his empty hands with a sad, wistful smile, then lifts his gaze to Hua Cheng again.

“It’s a simple answer,” he says, “but you won’t like it.”

“You’re stalling to catch your breath.” Hua Cheng accuses, half-playful, all furious. “Answer.”

“Very well.”

Xianle’s smile takes a turn for the blinding. The sunlight paints him golden. His hair is coming loose from the sloppy bun it’s half-gathered into. It waves around him with his white robes in the gentle wind.  Xianle’s eyes narrow in undeniable affection. When he speaks, it is with the certain clarity of one reciting a poem they wholeheartedly believe.

“This one simply does not want to hurt Hong Hong-er.”

That name is a knife. It pierces straight through Hua Cheng’s empty eye socket, and back into his brain. The world goes dark for a heartbeat as his dead body tries, briefly, to live again. He pushes it away. Feels his smile fall into a snarl, and his eyes go wild with fury.

He knows, he knows, he knows, no wonder he thinks you’re trash.

But Xianle is just smiling at him, that gentle affection unwavering. If anything, there is a touch of concern there now, in the twist of his brows. Hua Cheng drags in a breath. It shakes.

“Who is that supposed to be?” He spits, acid in his voice, knowing it’s far too late to deny. His own response gave him up to this enemy.

“You.” Xianle replies, gentle, as if trying to coax a rabid fox into drinking from his hand.

Hua Cheng lets the final remnants of his smile fade. He snarls outright, and jolts forward.

Something grips his leg, and he stumbles. It’s only a moment, but it’s too long. The thing wraps around, and around, and around him. It forces his arms to his side, trapping the sword outside the bindings; ties his legs together; wraps tight around his shoulders, all the way up to his throat. The attack sends him toppling to the ground, writhing.

“Careful, Ruoye!” scolds Xianle, hurrying forward. “Don’t hurt him.”

Hua Cheng struggles; a feral beast in a trap. It is a cheap trick— a cheap trick he shouldn’t have fallen for! Getting distracted by a wound from the past? Being blinded by this trash’s simple smiles and strange speeches? Falling for such a thing? Shameful!

He claws his hands. Thrashes. Tries to twist the sword to cut the thing holding him, even if he slices into himself, but—

The sword is lifted from his clawed fingers. He didn’t even see the god move. He screams in wordless fury. Lashes out, trying to bite that pale hand. He is a wild thing, and he will fight to his last breath— he will fight until this stupid god tears him apart, and then he will reform himself and come for him again, and again, and again— so long as Jun Wu keeps his worthless ashes!

“Easy,” the god says, tossing Zhu Xen away like so much garbage. The dark blade spins through the daylight, and lands with a tragic clatter somewhere so far it is out of sight. “I’m not going to hurt you. Ruoye will even let you go, once I’m safely away.

“Coward,” spits Hua Cheng, laughing past bared teeth. “Coward!”

“Ah, indeed, it’s true.” Xianle agrees, standing just out of range of Hua Cheng’s sharp teeth. “I am a coward.”

Hua Cheng twists himself against the bindings, unhinged, desperate to make just one mark on this nothing god . The thing around him squeezes, and he gives a hollow gasp.

“Ruoye!” Xianle scolds again, and the bands around him loosen once more, though not enough for him to writhe free.

There is a heavy sigh. Then the traitor has the audacity to kneel before his bound form, and dip into a low bow, touching his head to the ground.

“This is my fault,” Xianle says, his voice low and so achingly kind, “and I will fix it. I don’t dare keep you here while he has hold of you, but I pray you stay safe and well, Hua Chengzhu.”

Hua Cheng jolts. Not to try escaping. He doesn’t understand this god— he doesn’t understand anything at all about this— but the sight of Xianle bowing makes something crazed in him howl louder. Hatred? Fear? Sorrow? He doesn’t—

“Since I won, I get to ask you one question.” The god sits up, brushing a hand over his dirty forehead. “Though I know you don’t find this a legitimate victory.”

“I do,” Hua Cheng growls, and he surprises even himself with that. He averts his gaze. Grits his teeth, breathing in the smell of the earth, though he doesn’t have to breathe.

“Your victory is clear.” He mutters, sullen. “That I was unprepared for your tactics, it does not speak poorly of you, but of me. His majesty even warned me you would toy with my mind.”

“Ah, I truly did not intend to,” Xianle sighs, “I only spoke the truth. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hua Cheng says nothing. Waits for the pain.

Another soft, sorrowful sigh, then the god speaks. “Alright. My question is only this: please listen well.”

He bends closer, almost in range of Hua Cheng’s teeth. He eyes Xianle’s throat, ready to strike, before—

“Are you sure,” the traitor breathes, as if it is a secret, “that your devotion is not misplaced?”

Hua Cheng’s eyes snap up from his throat to his honeyed gaze. Fury lights under his skin. He opens his mouth, ready to snarl an answer, or bite at that pretty face, or— The band wraps itself four times around his mouth, silencing him. Its grip is deadly, but it feels soft against his skin. Like silk.

“Don’t answer right off the bat,” Xianle says. “Just think. And please, Lord Crimson Rain, be safe. Keep yourself safe.”

Xianle reaches out, as if to touch, and Hua Cheng tenses, eyes burning with fury and offense. His delicate fingers twitch just once before he folds them back in his lap without touching. Then he stands.

“This one will see you when next you hunt him down,” he says with a bow. “I will watch for your butterflies. Ruoye will release you in four hours. This one will pray that Jun Wu is not unkind to you for this. Please accept my apology that I could not come with you.”

Then he leaves, simple as that. He pulls the ragged hat he wears off from his shoulders as he goes, and settles it atop his head. The sun beams down on him, this once-darling of heaven, and he walks into the distance. He does not run. He does not look back.

Eventually, he vanishes into the distance. Hua Cheng never once looks away.

He trembles in the silk restraints, silenced and squeezed. He reaches for his spiritual powers, but the silk is no simple tool. It seals him like a magic circle.  He can do nothing but struggle.

So he struggles. He has been a worm on the ground before. He has crawled through the mud for his highness— no, his majesty , and he will do it again. Over and over. Forever, if he must.

He does not have to escape. He just has to—

The god tossed Zhu Xen towards the West. Hua Cheng writhes his way in that direction, fighting the silk band for every inch.

In the end, it releases him before he reaches the sword. Though he lashes out, it slips away from him. It flies straight up, until it merges with the pale clouds in the dark night.

Hua Cheng stares after it, panting hard, fury and confusion warring in his empty chest. It is an unbearable shame to return with nothing but the bruises wrapping his body.

He must bear it for his majesty. He turns at last, walking further west. He finds Zhu Xen buried halfway through a tree trunk from the force of the rogue god’s throw. He pries it free with worshipful fingers, and closes his eyes.

For just a moment, before he ascends, he feels a rush of fear at the thought of what Jun Wu will do to him.

It should be fine for him to do anything. Hua Cheng gifted him his ashes for a reason. Hua Cheng is his highn— his majesty’s , to do with as he pleases. There should be no fear in that. Didn’t he say it himself?

‘What’s there to be afraid of? If it were me, I’d have no regrets giving away my ashes, destroyed or not!’

Hadn’t he said it to Jun Wu’s own face, smiling with fond benevolence upon him?

And yet, as he tossed the dice, another voice whispered in a strange, kind voice:

‘Are you sure your devotion is not misplaced?’

Notes:

NEW ILLUSTRATION from Kayura Sanada! "This one simply does not want to hurt Hong Hong-er"

Chapter 2: The God of No One

Summary:

Xie Lian tries to find a way forward without San Lang at his side.

Notes:

Thank you everyone for the extremely warm reception to this story! I hope that I can keep delivering on the promise of this premise.

If you missed it, chapter one now has illustrations! Check them out here and here!

Now, without further ado, Chapter Two.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

One Week Ago:

 

“Call him,” Jun Wu says, a dangerously indulgent smile on his face. “I’ll let you. Make sure he knows there’s nothing to fear.”

Xie Lian flinches from the touch of Jun Wu’s fingers against his temple. Invasive not only of his mind, but of Hua Cheng’s as well. He must bear it. There is no winning in this situation. No escape unless the odds change, and he has never been lucky. He must keep the situation hidden. He blushes even thinking Hua Cheng’s array password, and Jun Wu chuckles to himself.

It is always so easy to talk to Hua Cheng. It is harder not to spill his soul to him. Jun Wu’s cold fingertips against Xie Lian's sweaty skin provide some distance. Some anchor against his desperate desire to lay all his troubles before San Lang and pray for his help .

“There’s a lot of work to be done in the heavens indeed,” he’s saying, or something like it. “It will take me some time. San Lang, you must guard the human array while I’m gone.”

“Ah, what a pain…” Hua Cheng whines, voice pouty and childish in his mind. “If gege were here it would be no trouble, but like this…”

Xie Lian should tease back, or soften the blow or— He can’t give any hints, but how much does Jun Wu know about how they usually communicate? Will he know that not teasing is stranger than teasing? Should he answer like normal, or give what Jun Wu would consider a normal answer?

“Please, San Lang?” He asks, soft and gentle and honest, at least. “This gege is counting on you to keep everyone safe.”

There is a beat of silence. Then low and worshipful Hua Cheng replies:

“Anything you wish, this one will provide. Don't be afraid, dianxia.”

“Ah,” Xie Lian laughs, and tries to make it sound easy, as if his chest is not clenching in affection and fear. It’s not as hard as it could be. He’s faked laughs for hundreds and hundreds of years. “Truly, San Lang always puts my mind at ease!”

“Good,” Hua Cheng says. “Hurry back, gege. Don’t let those fools in heaven bother you.”

Xie Lian shivers. Jun Wu’s fingers are pressing harder into his temple, nearly painful. He tilts his head away to ease it, but Jun Wu only presses down harder in warning.

"No one is bothering me, San Lang. They're grateful for the help, just as you always say they should be." Harder still. Much worse than this, and it won't only be a bruise... "I have to go now, alright? They’re calling for me. Be safe, San Lang.”

“You too, gege. This one will be waiting.”

Jun Wu removes his hand at last, and with it goes Xie Lian's ability to access the array. The connection doesn’t close so much as it snaps. Xie Lian shivers, then forces his instinctive reactions back down. He swallows, and straightens.

Jun Wu’s killing spirit is rolling through the air, so heavy that breathing tastes sour.

“Was this one’s attempt not to your liking, my lord?” Xie Lian asks, with all the regal calm he once possessed.

“No, no,” Jun Wu is smiling again, but there is no hiding that beneath it is a grimace-- Something cold and ferocious and raw, like the human face disease he so painstakingly hides away. “You were very good, Xianle. What an excellent little liar you've become.”

“...And yet this one senses his majesty is displeased.”

“I only wonder,” Jun Wu's eyes bore into Xie Lian, “whether this new ghost servant of yours would be so loyal if he knew what became of your Wu Ming.”

Xie Lian’s body reacts before his mind does. The punch strikes true, sending Jun Wu flying back to crash into the entrance of Xianle Palace. Xie Lian has a moment to regret that impulsive choice before the shackle around his neck tightens. He makes a strained sound, clenching his teeth.

His hands claw, but he doesn’t bother scrambling for purchase. He doesn’t bother trying to scream or beg or plead. It’s only pain. He’s felt pain before.

Jun Wu stalks out of the dust to find Xie Lian still on his feet, face coloring in splotches, eyes teary from the pressure, waiting for him.

“Tenacious, ridiculous creature.” Jun Wu chuckles, wiping a bead of blood from the corner of his mouth. With it gone, there is no longer any trace of the strike Xie Lian landed. “Tell me, was that satisfying?”

The squeeze lessens, and Xie Lian drags in a breath. Chokes. Drags in another through his coughing. He refuses to take his eyes off Jun Wu, even as he blinks away the cloud of tears blurring his vision.

“You don’t get to say his name,” he wheezes, sorrow making a fool of him. “It was your fault he—”

The squeeze returns, and Xie Lian chokes again, his words silenced. Ah, he thinks for a dizzy moment. Truly, no one but San Lang wishes to listen to this old god talk…

“Do you really think the problem was me, Xianle? Jun Wu asks with a low laugh, stalking closer and closer.

Xie Lian takes a step back, but it’s a weak thing. His knees are starting to falter. Not their fault, poor things, there’s not enough air to run a whole body. This isn’t the first time he’s had such an experience. Ruoye squeezes around his arm, ready. Xie Lian tries to clear his vision. Tries to swallow. His Adam’s apple gets stuck against the squeezing shackle. How nostalgic…

“Weren’t you ruinous and cruel?” Jun Wu is saying, voice booming over the roar of blood in Xie Lian’s ears. “Didn’t you gather the spirits of the dead yourself? Didn’t you force him aside while you lay in the street, bleeding like a fool until you were too weak to do anything but watch?”

There was once a version of Xie Lian who tried to spit curses at Bai Wuxiang, but who hardly knew any curses to use. The Xie Lian of this moment knows many, many more. Though he cannot speak them aloud, he tries. Bares his teeth in a grin as he mouths them, fully aware that Jun Wu knows what he’s saying.

“Well,” Jun Wu says. “I see you’ve chosen to make this hard on yourself.”

His first strike takes Xie Lian off guard. The world flashes, then loses color, then flashes again. He is on the floor, somehow, and he still cannot seem to breathe. It’s troublesome indeed. It seems he’s gotten himself into trouble. San Lang will be—

San Lang will be so—

Heavy footsteps approach, and Xie Lian lashes out with Ruoye. He cannot command it aloud to slaughter, but it knows its work. It flies out in fury, streaking towards the Heavenly Emperor’s throat.

Jun Wu catches it in both hands, and calmly ties a deadknot. He never stops walking as he does.

“Unfortunately, Xianle,” he says, swinging poor limp Ruoye in one hand, “I know this thing’s origin very well.”

Get up , Xie Lian tells himself, fighting against the draw of his tunneling vision. Get up. You’re only dying, you’ve done it before. Get up!

He realizes almost too late that he’s flopped onto his back. That Jun Wu has raised one foot to step down on his chest, and crush him. His chest, where—

He cannot scream, but his mouth parts in sudden fear as he curls around the most precious thing to him. Jun Wu’s foot meets his side instead, cracking ribs. Infinitely preferable to risking the diamond. He fumbles, dizzy, and finds—

“What’s that?” Jun Wu sounds almost sharp. Almost angry. No, no, no—

“Give it to me.”

He won’t. He won’t . He scrambles for his feet. Chokes when a foot meets his back, pressing him into the floor. He wraps his hand around the ring. So long as it’s cushioned by his flesh it should be fine, right? So long as Jun Wu doesn’t stamp him down into nothing at all, it should be fine! Please be fine!

“Xianle, why must you always test my patience?”

The foot meets his side again, in a swinging kick this time. It flips him, sending him crashing back into the wall. It hurts, please, someone—

“Give it to me!” Jun Wu demands, stalking after him.

Xie Lian hunches there, whistling scraps of breath all that sustain him, blood pounding as the pressure builds behind his eyes. He can barely see, but he has to— He has to—

When Jun Wu is close enough, Xie Lian twists. Whips his legs out, hooking one behind the emperor’s ankle and kicking with the other. The emperor’s knee snaps with a satisfying crack .

Xie Lian scrambles to his feet. Flees. If he can get out of the palace, maybe—

The shackle on his ankle tightens, and with a pathetic, mewling squeak of sound he topples. He can feel the blood in his body being drawn into the shackles, draining him. Please, no—

Jun Wu grabs Xie Lian's closed hand. Xie Lian didn’t even hear him coming. He can’t hear anything but his own heartbeat. He won’t let go of the ring. He won’t. He won’t. San Lang!

Jun Wu breaks his fingers, one by one.

When he takes the ring, snapping its chain with a tug, he laughs.

Xie Lian crumples the moment Jun Wu releases him. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and Jun Wu has— he has—

“That fool.” Jun Wu says, so softly Xie Lian almost can’t hear it over his roaring blood. “That fool. He’d really give you his everything.”

Xie Lian can barely see. He’s reaching with his good hand. Clinging to the bottom of Jun Wu’s robe. His mouth keeps forming ‘give it back, give it back,’ but no sound escapes him.

“Don’t worry,” The heavenly emperor crouches, and tenderly strokes Xie Lian’s bloody hair as his consciousness fades. “I’ll take far better care of him than you did Wu Ming.”


Now:

 

The ruin of a house has been recently patched against the weather. Situated on the outskirts of town, it is better than the best they could have hoped for. It is also far too small for them all. No one has complained, despite how well practiced some among them are at such complaints.

After all, Xie Lian is certain that every one of them has recently redefined both paradise and the abyss in their hearts.

Xie Lian limps back to the broken-down building. He knocks three times before dragging himself through the door. Four pairs of eyes fix on him at once, and he summons a smile to reassure them.

“Well,” he says with a light laugh, “he’s alive.”

His knees go weak the moment the words leave his mouth. It seemed like such a small thing to say, but the enormity of it... Xie Lian covers his face with one hand. Leans back against the door and sinks down to sit sprawled there, even as a clatter arises and Feng Xin calls out for him.

“He’s alive.” Xie Lian repeats.

He can hardly believe it, though he’d been holding out hope with all his strength. The appearance of the butterfly that morning had given him more reason to believe. Not to mention that he had whispered a plea of 'wait, not here' and it had listened. He'd dared to hope that meant Hua Cheng was still safe, and coming to greet him with good news.

Even now it perches above the door, opening and closing its wings, and telling its master nothing. When Xie Lian begged it not to give away their location, it had listened. When he had gone to the field and told it ‘now,’ it had listened again. When he told it to go back to the shack, it had gone.

But then the butterflies had betrayed Hua Cheng, and he'd understood.

“Your highness,” Feng Xin is close now, reaching out towards him, but not touching. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Xie Lian breathes, shaking his head. “No. I’m fine. I’m not hurt. Only tired”

“You were limping.” Mu Qing states, cold and sharp. He's been pale recently. So pale. The cursed shackle on his wrist glares at Xie Lian, uncovered.

“Ah, that’s merely this one's poor luck,” he forces a laugh, but no one seems convinced by it. “I only fell in a ditch walking home. Imagine! Coming through a fight with Crimson Rain Sought Flower unharmed, then falling into a ditch!”

He laughs again. Everyone manages to look even more awkward.

“It was a fight?” Quan Yizhen looks offended at being left out, and Xie Lian almost laughs for real.

“Not really, not really.” He waves a hand. “Very one-sided.”

“You wiped the floor with him.” Quan Yizhen guesses.

“I refused to fight back.” Xie Lian says instead. His huff of laughter at Quan Yizhen’s horrified expression is less forced than before. "I wouldn't do anything but dodge. And even doing only that, it exhausted me…”

“And?” Yin Yu this time, constantly on-edge these days, and staying on the other side of their one-room shack from his once-shidi at all times. “Is Crimson Rain—”

“It’s worse than we feared, your highness Yin Yu.” Xie Lian sighs, letting his eyes fall closed, then snapping them back open when all he sees is that cold, angry smile on San Lang’s dear face. “Crimson Rain Sought Flower is not being held hostage. It appears he is currently loyal to Jun Wu.”

It feels selfish to say, but after a moment he forces himself to add, "And he has no memory of this one."

There is silence for a moment. It seems none of them can envision this reality any more clearly than Xie Lian would have been able to five hours ago.

Feng Xin offers: “but I’ve fought that devil before. If your highness got out unscathed, he must not have been trying to—?”

Xie Lian is already shaking his head. “This one only survived because San Lang—" It doesn't feel right to call him that name just now... "That is, Hua Chengzhu wasn’t using E-Ming. Perhaps for his sake, perhaps because Jun Wu wished for his own sword to strike me down. Either way, it is a good thing. E-Ming may side with me as the butterflies do, and if it did, it would no doubt be in danger."

In his memory, they dissolve screaming all around him again. Those sweet, floating, delicate butterflies, greeting him as San Lang used to. Eager, warm, and gentle. Poor things…

Xie Lian lifts his hands, and the butterfly above the door floats down to him and perches in his hand. Feng Xin draws back an inch, still shy of the creature.

“And you’re sure it’s not a trick?” Mu Qing asks, cold and distant. “That all this isn’t part of some sick game Crimson Rain is playing?”

“He’s not playing a game at all.” Xie Lian says, sorrow clenching his heart. “He fought like a man possessed. I’ve never seen him so disorganized. Whatever Jun Wu’s done to control him, it’s stolen more than his belief in me.”

Oh dear. The grip of the sorrow on his heart turns deeper and sharper. He bites his lip; tucks his chin; tries to breathe through it, but it’s too late. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes, burning with salt. He drags in a breath, and feels his shoulders hitch.

“Your highness…” Feng Xin whispers, hovering close by.

“Forgive me," Xie Lian chokes, fighting not to meet Feng Xin's earnest eyes. "It's only, Crimson Rain finally found me, after all the time and effort he spent, and this worthless god couldn’t even keep him safe…”

“Your highness,” Yin Yu’s voice is almost harsh; not nearly as disinterested as usual. “You know Hua Chengzhu's intention was never for you to protect him.”

“But I wanted to,” Xie Lian's voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “He entrusted his ashes to me, and I lost them…”

“'Lost Them.'" Mu Qing repeats, rolling his eyes. "Strange way to say ‘the Heavenly Emperor himself beat me and took them by force’. Don't pretend you're so untouchable.”

He sounds angry, but Xie Lian can’t tell on whose behalf he’s mad. It might be for him, but the bitter tone of Mu Qing’s voice grates against his wounded soul.

The butterfly flicks its wings, fluttering upwards. It alights on Xie Lian’s face, and tries to clean his tears. Or maybe to drink them? It is a butterfly, after all. Once he'd watched a whole group of them drinking the tears of an alligator on the riverbank...

“It’s good news that lord Chengzhu didn’t use E-Ming.” Yin Yu is noting. Xie Lian tries to focus himself on the conversation. “If the blade is like the butterflies, then it’s possible that whatever Jun Wu did was not complete. If it were a form of total domination, there would be no reason his spiritual tools would not obey him.”

Xie Lian stays in place, leaning back against the door with both legs propped before him. One arm rests over his knees. The other holds the butterfly up before his face. He tries to force his exhausted mind to work. To think. Hua Cheng's devotion, Jun Wu's failings, Bai Wuxiang's cruelty, the theft of one's heart.

The theft of one's fate...

“I need to seek someone out for advice.” Xie Lian’s voice comes out ragged. He clears his throat. “But it will be dangerous. Perhaps Lady Rain Master might be willing to take you in while—”

“Hey,” Feng Xin says, his voice low and soft. “Your highness. Look at me.”

Xie Lian drags his eyes up. His left eye is blocked by the silver wing of a butterfly, but even looking at Feng Xin’s expression with a single eye is almost too much. He is so ferociously sincere.

“Wherever you go, I am following you.” Feng Xin declares.

“Don’t say that like you’re the only one,” Mu Qing spits from where he’s still sitting, arms crossed and scowling.

“I think Lord Crimson Rain would kill me if I were to abandon you at this time, your highness.” Yin Yu mutters.

“Shixiong!” Quan Yizhen objects, leaping to his feet.

“It’s a joke, it’s a joke!” Xie Lian says quickly, though when he glances at Yin Yu he sees only raised eyebrows on that plain face, clearly implying that it's not.

“This one goes where Shixiong goes, no matter what!” Quan Yizhen declares anyway, eyes blazing.

Yin Yu glances left, away from Quan Yizhen, and scowls.

“Then… you all have my sincere gratitude.” Xie Lian murmurs, inclining his head to them all. “To all of you. But if you are joining me, there is one thing I must insist on. Jun Wu will no doubt have San Lang— That is, Hua Cheng— seek me out again. When he does, do not interfere."

"But—” Feng Xin starts, brows furrowed.

"Even if the worst happens and he manages to hurt me, I can’t die." Xie Lian insists. "I’ll be fine. The rest of you, however...”

His words enter the room like a death shroud. No one will look at him but Mu Qing, who is staring with fixed attention and a dark scowl.

“And are you certain,” Mu Qing says in a low, dangerous voice, “that this isn’t all shaking out exactly how Crimson Rain wants it? You saw that cave, your highness. He’s obsessed. If he thinks this is the only way he can have you—”

Xie Lian’s heart frosts over. Maybe it’s a legitimate concern; maybe it’s affection that drives the question. All he can hear in the words is hate.

And in response, he snaps “It’s none of your fucking business.” with every ounce of venom he can muster.

He drags himself to his feet and leaves before he can say anything more he’ll regret.

“Highness—” Feng Xin is saying, but Xie Lian closes the door behind himself. He doesn’t slam it. It would be a miracle if the roof didn’t cave in.

He can hear them starting to argue as he wanders out into the evening. The walk will help him calm down, and should help him shake off the last bruises from his fall too. Technically it hadn't been a ditch as much as a cliff, but... Things like that are just part of who Xie Lian is. He is a god with no luck, and no powers, no believers, and no one who would stay by his side.

For a brief moment, he'd thought things might actually get...

How foolish.

He finds a quiet place to watch the stars. The silver butterfly flutters off his hair. It lands on his fingers again, crawling over where a red string used to be tied.

When it had first unraveled he’d thought—

He'd have to apologize again to them for how he'd reacted at that time.

There was no string on Hua Cheng’s finger when they fought. Jun Wu must have removed it. What else had he done while Xie Lian lay trying to piece his body together again? What else had he taken from Hua Cheng? What else must his— his companion be going through?

Xie Lian has learned Jun Wu’s lessons before— or perhaps better to say Bai Wuxiang’s lessons. They are not kind things.

“Please,” whispers Xie Lian aloud to no one, watching the silver butterfly open and close its wings.

Some time later, footsteps approach. Xie Lian isn’t surprised. Eventually one of them was going to follow him. He should apologize before they have to ask for it. If he isn’t careful, he knows they’ll leave again.

Maybe they’ve already decided to, and this is Mu Qing coming to tell him, just like he did all those years ago.

The footsteps are too heavy for that, though. Incautious and abrupt, not masked and purposeful like Mu Qing’s would be. In fact, it sounds unlike any of them except—

Quan Yizhen flops back onto the ground beside him, arms crossed behind his head.

“General Qi Ying,” Xie Lian greets.

“I always forget to answer to that.” Quan Yizhen tells him. “You should just call me by name.”

“Then you should as well,” Xie Lian agrees with a smile. “Are those two still fighting?”

“En. Shixiong sent them outside before they knocked the house down. They headed the other way, though. It should stay quiet here.”

“Did Yin Yu send you to fetch me, then?” Xie Lian asks with a soft, sorry chuckle, imagining the poor Waning Moon Officer trying desperately to pry his Shidi off himself.

“No,” Quan Yizhen answers simply. “I came because I had something to tell you.”

“Oh?” Xie Lian blinks. Looks away from the butterfly at last, down at the fluff-haired god splayed on the grass without any worry for propriety. “This one would be grateful for your wisdom, Quan Yizhen.”

“You don’t have to pretend.” The young god sighs. “I know I’m not wise. I get things wrong all the time, I don’t know how to act around people, and I’m not a very good god. But…”

The look he turns on Xie Lian is breathtaking. Powerful in its simple and sincere nature.

“I know what it feels like,” Quan Yizhen says. “When someone you love hurts you, and you know it’s an accident, but no one will listen. I just wanted to say that I believe you. That’s all.”

Xie Lian stares, mouth open, awestruck. Then warmth blossoms again at last inside him. He had not even realized how cold his heart had been. Truly, the power of a single person is not to be underestimated…

“Thank you,” Xie Lian lets out a slow breath, and a gentle, real smile follows in its wake. “You were right. That means a great deal to me.”

“Right?” Quan Yizhen props himself up on his elbows. “Shixiong said ‘don’t bother his highness,’ but I figured you’d want to know! Those other two always get things wrong anyhow. They thought Shixiong really betrayed me back then. Plus, they’re always yelling about betrayal and stuff for hours ! Though usually I think it’s not about Shixiong. Which is good, because I’m not supposed to beat them up.”

“No, indeed, you aren’t.” Xie Lian bites back a hopeless laugh at the thought. Does he enjoy imagining Quan Yizhen pouncing on Mu Qing and Feng Xin any time they bring up the word ‘betrayal?’ Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean he should encourage it.

“Okay,” Quan Yizhen stands and dusts himself off. “That’s all I came to say. Also, if you want to borrow spiritual power before your next fight, I can lend you some no problem. But I wanted to tell you that you can just do it by touching hands. We don’t have to touch lips like you did in the mountain when I was a sword.”

Xie Lian’s face flares bright red. He jolts to his feet.

“I— There’s— Thank you! I need to! Inspect the river! For— Warding! Warding purposes! Against, ah, evil!”

“Okay?” Quan Yizhen says.

“Goodbye!”

Xie Lian sprints immediately in the opposite direction of the river. Thankfully Quan Yizhen doesn’t appear to notice.


When Xie Lian finally returns to the cabin, his stiff muscles stretched and his heart calmed, the others are all asleep. His limp as settled, but he’s starvingly hungry. No matter, he thinks, and sets the thought aside. He’s ignored hunger for years at a time before.

For just a moment before he settles into bed, he thinks he catches the glint of light off Mu Qing’s dark eyes, liquid-bright in the shadows. But then there’s only darkness again, and the sound of Feng Xin’s once-familiar snoring.

It’s crowded, and the wooden floor is hard. Xie Lian has slept in worse places.

It’s not the conditions at all that keep him awake.

It’s remembering the raw desperation on Hua Cheng’s face when he realized he’d lost. It's the sound of his low, beautiful voice saying ‘your highness’ as though he were dragging the words through the mud.


“It's not so far, all things considered.” Xie Lian says, gazing down at the map he’s bartered for.

His scrap collecting has come in handy again over the past few days. He would have started sooner, but it’s only recently that his back healed enough for him to walk. He’s grateful that it was back to normal before he had to dodge Hua Cheng’s vicious strikes.

He never would have forgiven himself if Hua Cheng had hit him. He was fairly sure poor San Lang wouldn’t be happy if he returned to find he’d hurt Xie Lian even a little...

“What's not?” Quan Yizhen’s face is scrunched. He’s fighting to pay attention, though he keeps glancing towards Yin Yu, hoping to be praised for focusing.

“The travel,” Xie Lian says, patting his head twice. “It is a few days to the Royal Capital from here.”

“Forgive me the error in judgement in bringing us here, your highness.” Yin Yu offers with a sharp bow.

“Ah, your highness Yin Yu, please don’t be silly!” Xie Lian flaps his hands. “Without you, I’m certain I’d already be a corpse again by now.”

Yin Yu flinches. Ah . Xie Lian had suspected that he’d been dead when Yin Yu found him, but he’d hoped he’d at least been breathing by then. Oh well…

“Pray tell, your highness, why are we going to the royal capital anyway?” Mu Qing asks, prickly and sour. “Wasn’t it swarming with Bai Wuxiang's minions or something?”

“Hua Cheng held the array.” Xie Lian says, voice firm. “And Lord Wind Master was there as well. Whatever happened, I have no doubt they persevered.”

He won’t consider the alternative. He can still see the smiling Wind Master’s face, thinner and dirty but still so bright and alive…

“Fine.” Mu Qing’s cold eyes are sharp. “So we’re going there to check in on your little friend?”

“Would you shut up?” Feng Xin shouts. “Isn’t it because of his highness that you’re even alive? Show some gratitude!”

“And isn’t it because of me that you are?” Mu Qing shoots back, expression souring further. “Where’s the gratitude for that?”

“You?! What did you do but nearly crack my fucking skull?!”

“I saved your sorry life and you know it.”

“Enough.” Xie Lian doesn’t raise his voice. He prefers not to raise his voice. He already lost control the day before, even if only for a moment. (He’s close now. Holding on by threads and the grace of a delicate silver butterfly, perched feather-light in his hair.)

“First,” he lifts his eyes to meet Mu Qing’s glare head on, “I don’t expect gratitude, and I don’t expect obedience. If you stay or leave, that’s up to you. Second, I need to contact Black Water Sinking Ships, and I think Shi Qingxuan can help.”

Yin Yu gapes outright. He’s the only one of them who fully understands what that would be asking. Xie Lian looks at him, ready to see disapproval. Instead he finds quiet respect in those calm, sad eyes. He nods in reply.

“I can just make an array,” Quan Yizhen objects, still frowning at the map. “Why should we walk?”

“Ah, your powers are indeed impressive, Quan Yizhen,” Xie Lian nods sagely, “but with the heavenly realm cut off, and Jun Wu’s eyes no doubt watching for us, we want to use them sparingly.”

“It will take forever, though.” Quan Yizhen says, not with the petulant pout of a child, but with the air of a sage advisor. Xie Lian thinks he understands Yin Yu’s trouble a little better. It’s cute for now, but if this young god were his rival… How embarrassing.

“Sometimes a long walk can solve problems in and of itself,” Xie Lian says, tracing his eyes over the roads they’ll take. “We can use the time to heal and plan if nothing else.”

“Right.” Mu Qing raises his wrist, displaying his shackle. “Because healing is the problem.”

“You get used to it.” Yin Yu says, pitiless. “Borrow some of your friend’s power if it bothers you so much.”

“Fuck no!” Feng Xin splutters, though whether at the suggestion or being called a friend, it’s hard to tell.

“Shixiong, you can borrow my power!” Quan Yizhen exclaims eagerly.

“No!”

Xie Lian looks down at the map and the long path before them. At least it won’t be quiet.

Please hold on, San Lang. Please be safe.


“How did the lord look?” Yin Yu asks as they walk.

He’s finally managed to throw Quan Yizhen away from dogging his every step by instructing him to scout ahead. Feng Xin and Mu Qing are busy ignoring each other like angry cats ahead on the road. Xie Lian glances over to find Yin Yu trying to maintain an unaffected expression while clearly, blatantly curious. He carries the Earth Master’s shovel over one shoulder, and wears his mask crooked over the side of his head.

“Strange.” Xie Lian lowers his eyes to the ground. His own feet against the raw dirt of a road is a familiar sight, unchanged through centuries. “He was wearing a normal enough skin, though it's rare enough to see him in ponytails. It’s just… He was dressed in Jun Wu’s colors. Sometimes he's disguised himself in black, but other than that it’s always been red...”

“Pretty sure that one didn’t mean his costume.” Mu Qing interjects from ahead, not even bothering to hide that he’s eavesdropping.

“That is very useful information, your highness.” Yin Yu says, addressing Xie Lian alone and snubbing Mu Qing. “As your highness suspects, Hua Chengzhu takes great pride in his wardrobe. This servant can think of no reason he would change it but one.”

“En. My thoughts exactly.” Xie Lian's shoulders droop. “It makes this one worry as to what else Jun Wu will be trying to change.”

“Lord Chengzhu is a stubborn man.” Yin Yu offers in a way that’s intended to be comforting but comes out just a little bitter? “Certainly the emperor will not find him easy to alter.”

Xie Lian thinks of a smiling youth in an ox cart, instructing him on his weak point and how he could be killed. He thinks of a ghost king glancing at his own ashes when he asked, and lightly calling them ‘nothing important.’

“We can hope.” He says, and rubs the finger that should wear a red string. “Other than that, he was much himself, except for… Well, except for his lack of regard for.. For this one. San Lang, that is, Hua Cheng… He showed no signs of recognition or memory. Even Ruoye took him by surprise. And when the butterflies were gentle with this one, he tore them apart.”

“When Lord Chengzhu is himself again, he will commend them for siding with your highness.” Yin Yu offers, simple and straightforward.

Xie Lian clings embarrassingly hard to Yin Yu's use of the word 'when.'

“So it’s true?” Feng Xin asks, glancing back with narrowed eyes. "That one, he's… What. In love with his highness?”

Yin Yu stares dead ahead, holding eye contact until Feng Xin awkwardly looks away. Then he looks to Xie Lian, and catches his hopeful, uncertain attention.

“It is only this servant's assumption," Yin Yu says, eyes tight with something halfway between jealousy and fondness, “but that may be too weak a word for it. Pray his highness does not doubt lord Chengzhu’s intentions.”

“This one has no doubts,” Xie Lian assures, stretching as he feels his back muscles start to tighten and pull. “We weren’t able to talk as much as this one wished, but enough was said.”

Yin Yu nods his approval, then pulls his mask back on as Quan Yizhen crests the hill before them, waving wildly.

Neither Mu Qing nor Feng Xin look back again, but they aren’t bickering either, instead only glancing at each other now and then, with a silent intensity.


They don’t dare spend the night in a temple when it is heaven itself they’re fleeing. Xie Lian hesitates before a temple to General Ming Guang and bows his head briefly with a wish for general Pei Ming to be well.

If only Ban Yue had a shrine of her own he could pray to. Wishing the health of the one she was last seen with will have to do.

He speaks to the owner of a barn some ways outside town to request shelter for the night. Yin Yu offered to do it, probably to save him some face in front of Feng Xin and Mu Qing, but had agreed that Xie Lian was likely to garner more sympathy with his noble face and gentle nature.

Indeed, all it takes is a bashful smile and a promise to groom the animals for the old couple to welcome them, though they have little to share. Xie Lian takes the stale buns they offer with a deep bow of gratitude, though he suspects that they would have been gifted to the animals in another day.

Everyone is hungry, after all.

“Have you no pride anymore?” Mu Qing asks when Xie Lian offers him one. His silk robes are dirty with sweat and dirt, but have lasted remarkably well under his expert care.

“Pride doesn’t keep one fed.” Xie Lian replies, and tosses a bun at him without waiting to see whether he catches it. It's his, whether he eats it or lets it rot.

Feng Xin at least doesn’t complain, though he looks torn between fury and tears. Just as the days previous, he seems to want to say something to Xie Lian, but can't find the words.

Quan Yizhen grew up on the streets, for all he’s become accustomed to the life of a god. He eats without complaint, and Xie Lian pats his head in praise. Yin Yu has never complained about anything in Xie Lian’s presence, and doesn’t start now.

“My lords should gather some fresh hay to make beds and rest a while.” Xie Lian says, dipping a gentle bow towards them all. “This one made a promise to groom the goats and donkey in exchange for the roof.”

“Your highness doesn’t have to.” Yin Yu objects, frowning. “This servant can—”

“Ah, your highness Yin Yu, please don’t mistake me for being prevailed upon!” Xie Lian laughs. “Caring for animals has always been a pleasure for this humble god.”

He lifts a finger to the butterfly in his hair. It is now accompanied by a fresh flower he tucked into his bun, in case it might be hungry. The tickling of its feet makes him smile. He lets it stay in his hair. It's enough to know it's there.

Feng Xin and Mu Qing are watching him go from behind, but that’s fine. They'll find what they want to say, or they won't.

He knows better than to chase after the goats. 700 years ago, when he was new to labor, he might have darted around with all his martial skill, trying to gather them through brute force. Now he holds his own stale bun in one hand, and splits it in half. He makes a show out of enjoying the half he takes for himself, and by the third bite he has an audience of four goats. They climb on his white robes with dirty hooves. The donkey is no less insistent, but somewhat more gentle, only reaching her long neck forward and wiggling her lips towards the treat.

“Ah, we can share, but you have to follow,” Xie Lian coaxes, leading the strange caravan inside with a pleasant hum. The youngest goat bounces off his thigh repeatedly in its delight, turning cartwheels.

He continues to ignore the eyes on him, closing the barn door then splitting the half-bun into five pieces; not even, but proportional. He feeds each creature by hand, and smiles when the donkey rubs her fine, long head against his shoulder in enthusiastic praise of the meal.

“There now,” he says, voice quiet, meant for the creatures and not the gods. “Does this fine lady volunteer for the first grooming?”

Honestly, Xie Lian has quite a few volunteers for the first brushing. The animals are all clustered around him, save the youngest goat which bounces away to inspect its new roommates.

A gutteral ‘oompf’ and a sharp “Fuck off!” indicates that it’s discovered where Feng Xin bedded down. Xie Lian hides a smile, and wishes—

He takes a breath, lifting the brush down from the barn wall. He wishes San Lang were here. He would trade an amused smile with Xie Lian at the sounds, and help him brush the goats and donkey as if nothing were more natural. Or, more likely, he would say something like  ‘gege, I can do this if you’d like to rest. Aren’t you still recovering?’

And Xie Lian would wave his hands and say ‘no, no! This gege is just fine, San Lang; completely healed!’

San Lang wouldn’t believe him. He’d hum, and the butterflies would flicker free from his vambraces, fluttering around Xie Lian and pouring spiritual energy into the smallest bruises. He would laugh at their tickling feet, and San Lang would smile that foxish, delighted smile, or…

Or maybe San Lang would give him the spiritual power directly, flowing past his lips like an unending stream; somehow both cold and too hot at once, making his face boil red and his heart race and—

Hua Cheng’s face flashes through his mind, twisted with fury, teeth bared, that desperate look in his eyes. ‘Coward!’ he screams at him, vicious and trapped, ‘Coward!’

Xie Lian blinks back into reality with a faint shiver. Before him, the donkey gazes at the brush, lifting and setting down one hoof.

“What a good, patient girl.” Xie Lian soothes, running a hand down her long nose.

It is not her fault that San Lang is lost to him. It is no one’s fault but his own. He sets the guilt aside for later and starts brushing the soft fur of her neck.

She is truly a good, patient girl. She only bites him once, when he tries to pick the dirt free from her back right hoof. He pats her flank in understanding, and keeps going despite the teeth bruising his hip. Eventually, she gives up and lets him work. The bruise will fade.

By the time he’s brushed the second goat, Quan Yizhen is sleeping and Yin Yu has gone out for a walk to clear his head.

By the time he’s halfway groomed the third— happily chewing on his sleeves— he’s aware of the fact that he’s being watched again. It makes his neck itch. He's tired, and antsy, and, though he hates to admit it, angry.

He wants to forgive, but he can never forget. And forgiving would be easier if this all didn’t feel so familiar…

He takes his time grooming the final goat, waiting to be approached. But in the end, neither Feng Xin nor Mu Qing speak to him. Maybe they already know that he cannot give them the answers they want.

Maybe they just don’t want to bother with someone so troublesome.

He pulls a bucket of water from the well outside when he's done, strips off his outer robe, and cleans the worst of the dirt from it. When he goes back to try to sleep, he finds Yin Yu waiting for him just outside the barn.

“Your highness,” Yin Yu bows, and Xie Lian jumps forward to catch him, his outer robe still dripping from its cleaning.

“There’s no need to bow,” Xie Lian says. “Is something the matter?”

“This one only wanted…” Yin Yu hesitates. Then takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Forgive me, your highness. This one has an impertinent question.”

“Please,” Xie Lian gestures. “There’s no need to fear. If your highness has a question, this one will try his best to answer.”

Yin Yu nods, solemn. His jaw clenches in a rare flash of emotion. Then he lifts his gaze and speaks.

“What will your highness do if what has happened to Hua Chengzhu cannot be undone?”

Xie Lian’s heart sinks into his stomach. He breathes, slow and steady. The butterfly is a silver point of light in the dark, like a personal moon, resting in his dry hair.

At last, Xie Lian shakes his head quietly. His pulse feels too hard for his body.

“Your highness Yin Yu, this one can only offer his apologies. There is no answer.”

“You won’t accept it’s possible?” Yin Yu asks, almost sharp.

“It’s not that.” Ruoye squeezes Xie Lian's forearm. Perhaps it can feel his pulse racing through his forearm. “It's only, this one can’t— Can't... Your highness Yin Yu, I truly— I— Please.”

He’s shaking. He’s shaking, and unraveling again, and it’s not right, it’s not fair to Yin Yu, it’s a reasonable question, he should be able to face it, he should—

His knees buckle. It’s only Yin Yu’s quick hands catching him that keep him from dirtying his dripping robe far more grievously.

“Forgive me,” Yin Yu is saying, “your highness, forgive me."

Xie Lian does. Of course he does. It’s not Yin Yu’s fault that he’s falling apart. It’s not Yin Yu’s fault that Mu Qing left, and Feng Xin was driven away, and Xie Lian’s parents dangled from the rafters. It’s not any of their faults either.

It's not their fault, so he doesn’t scream and howl like he wants to. It would only disturb their rest, and the nice couple in their cozy house. That nice couple, who if Bai Wuxiang were to come, would no doubt carve Xie Lian’s chest open to save their own lives. It’s not their fault. It’s no one’s fault.

No one’s fault but his own.

He doesn’t scream, but he can’t speak either. He stands, weak-kneed, held up by poor Yin Yu, and bites down on his own hand to stifle his sobbing.

When he regains himself, he will apologize profusely. When he regains himself, he will bow, and promise to consider it, and Yin Yu will hurry to say he doesn’t have to. When he regains himself, he will worry that those prying eyes he’s so very aware of watched him fall apart.

For now, he only stands, and shakes, and longs for a voice that would whisper ‘gege,’ and arms that would wrap around him and make him feel safe.


The day they will arrive at the royal capital, the butterfly begins beating its wings wildly as they walk. Xie Lian lifts a hand to it, but it will not settle. It floats before his face, trying to tell him something.

“Okay,” he tells it. “Wait just a little longer, please.”

It obeys. Settles in his hand and fans its wings, as if trying to calm itself.

“Your highness?” Feng Xin asks, pausing and turning back at the sound of his voice. From the look on his face one would think…

“Forgive me, did I forget to speak again today?” Xie Lian asks, laughing awkwardly. The day before he'd only realized when Feng Xin nearly broke down with worry.

“Oh,” Quan Yizhen says, tilting his head. “I thought that was on purpose? Shixiong says that wise people are quiet.”

“Hush.” Yin Yu snaps.

Mu Qing keeps his eyes averted.

“San Lang is looking for me again,” Xie Lian says, lifting the butterfly. “So I’ll have to meet up with you in the city. Please go ahead of me and try to find lord Wind Master? He currently resides with a group of beggars in the poorest parts of town. They will know him as ‘Ol Feng,’ though I believe he still goes by Shi Qingxuan himself.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mu Qing speaks now, though his eyes are still averted. “You’re a mess about this whole thing. You haven’t been sleeping, and you barely eat. Just tell that damn thing not to show the bastard where you are.”

“This one thanks you for your council, general Xuan Zhen,” Xie Lian says with a bow. “This one will take it under advisement. Your highness Yin Yu, will you seek Shi Qingxuan out for me?”

“Of course, your highness.” Yin Yu bows, mask obscuring his plain face. “Please be cautious. As you know, Hua Chengzhu would be devastated to learn he did you harm while under this curse.”

Xie Lian smiles at the gentle words, desperately grateful that Yin Yu has not brought up his question again.

“You’re fighting Crimson Rain?” Quan Yizhen asks. “Can I come?”

“No,” Xie Lian laughs. “I’m not fighting.”

“Don’t do this,” Feng Xin says, and it sounds like a plea. “Your highness, that demon… If you aren’t careful, he really will kill you!”

“It’s kind of you all to worry,” Xie Lian says, trying to remind himself of that fact as well. “But this is not your choice to make.”

He turns away from them, and starts walking. The further from civilization they meet, the better.

The further from the others, the better as well.

He walks until he finds a good place towards the base of a mountain. Gentle sunlight dapples through the trees, and a nearby spring emerging from rock fills the air with the light sound of water. It is a place where Xie Lian can maintain his peace and center himself until Hua Cheng arrives. He must face him calmly.

“Alright,” he tells the butterfly. “You can show him. Then go to the others again, please. I don’t want to lose you too.”

The butterfly flutters off his hand. Xie Lian sits cross-legged on the leaf-covered ground, and starts breathing. Deep and slow.

I will call him Crimson Rain Sought Flower and Lord Chengzhu. I will give him the chance to notice any lies he's been fed, but not push or pressure him. I will win, and ask him something like ‘are you certain of when and where you were born?’ Whether he takes it as meaning his human self or his ghost self, he will either remember the carving in the kiln, or his childhood in Xianle. Though I hesitate to remind him of that time again. He was so small then. He hates being small…

Hua Cheng arrives between one heartbeat and the next. Xie Lian expects another of his odd, playful greetings. The spear of killing intent that greets him drives him immediately from sitting into motion.

He twirls away from the blade that would have skewered him, and lifts surprised eyes. It would seem Hua Cheng bears a grudge for…

For…

His thoughts stall out. His mouth goes dry. His forced smile crumples in sorrow and pain.

A black clad ghost wearing a smiling mask twirls his saber, and attacks.

Notes:

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Next Chapter: A Nameless Servant's story

Chapter 3: Nameless

Summary:

Hua Cheng will be whatever his god requires of him. Even Wu Ming.

Notes:

This chapter contains mild gore and violence. Please proceed with caution.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The blood on the floor is bright against the white marble. Hua Cheng had created it just for his god. He had filled empty veins with liquid red, and awakened every one of his dead nerves. Lessons needed to be learned, and that damned trash god had left the dirty work to his majesty.

At first his majesty had mentioned only a lashing, but when Hua Cheng had taken off his robes and knelt before him…

He doesn’t know what Jun Wu saw on his arm that led him to such an action. The exposed muscle and bone and sinew glare up at him from his useless arm, painting his whole body with blood. An entirely new kind of crimson rain, just for his majesty the heavenly emperor. No other has ever seen Hua Cheng painted so.

Jun Wu is still holding the flesh of Hua Cheng's forearm. He’s scraped away the blood and meat, pushing power through it until even from where he kneels, Hua Cheng can tell it is perfectly preserved. But he doesn’t understand why . Staring at the leather of his own skin, he gets too close to seeing Jun Wu’s face. He jerks his unworthy head back down to fix his eyes on the floor. The motion makes his head swim.

“Fix yourself up now.” Jun Wu instructs, still looking at Hua Cheng’s pathetic flesh where it drapes over both his palms. “You’ve suffered enough for your errors.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Hua Cheng bows low, and cuts off the nerves in his arm with a shudder of relief.

It isn’t often that any injury befalls him. It has been even longer since he’s bothered to feel it. But his majesty had intended this as a punishment, and Hua Cheng is his loyalest servant. He will not fail him. Not even in this.

“He cursed you, you know.” Jun Wu says, rolling up the strip of Hua Cheng’s skin as though it was parchment. Something is scrawled on the pale flesh in dark, chaotic marks, but he can't make out the details. “Didn’t I tell you not to speak with him?”

“This humble servant was mistaken,” Hua Cheng keeps his eyes down. Inside, his mind whirls, flicking through every possibility. A curse? He hadn’t felt it at all. Perhaps when that silk caught him? Perhaps that flash of darkness when the god spoke that old, awful not-name.

“It would have made you harm me.” Jun Wu lifts the strip of leather once more, then tucks it inside his robes, next to the crystal ring he wears.

Hua Cheng’s whole body goes cold. His spiritual powers shudder in his veins. He bows lower. Presses his forehead into his blood on the floor. To hurt his majesty would have been unforgivable.

But he hadn’t been cursed. He is certain of it. Is he or is he not the Ghost King? Doesn’t he know as much about curses as any pretty, sly, smiling trash god? How could it have surprised even him? It cannot be. That Xianle had not lifted a finger against him, either in magic or in strength. And yet, he knows that the emperor’s word is law, and there had indeed been some marking on his arm…

No. No, it was only his tattoo, wasn't it. He remembers that tattoo. Hadn’t he carved it with shaking, reverent hands in one of Jun Wu’s temples? Sheltered from the storm outside, and so achingly grateful that he wrote it into his own flesh? Hadn’t he traced the characters at night through the many, many years, sharpening his worship like a blade?

His eyes flick back and forth over his own blood on the floor, trying to find the answer written in it. There must be an answer.

Are your sure your devotion is—

“I believe I know where the error lies.” Jun Wu says with a heavy, disappointed sigh. “It is with me, of course. A servant can only be so good as their master teaches them.”

Hua Cheng’s blood boils. “His majesty has done nothing wrong! This worthless—”

“Don’t interrupt.”

His voice isn’t angry, but it is law. Hua Cheng’s jaw clicks closed. He tucks his head more deeply in deference. Something in him doesn’t like it. Something in him is roiling against the indignity. He will seek it down and cut it out of himself. His majesty deserves only the best. After Hua Cheng’s failures, after his weakness, after the indignities he’s put his majesty through, did he expect to be treated as an equal?

Startlingly, some part of him answers ‘yes.’

“Do you know where your fault lies?” Jun Wu asks, pacing forward from his throne. He lifts Hua Cheng's white and gold robes off the floor. They've been dyed an ugly red with his blood. “Your pride.”

The words pierce him. He grits his teeth, and nods. Weak, failing, useless thing, not even good for destroying one lowly, powerless god.

“Never fear.” Jun Wu touches his fingertips to Hua Cheng's head, brushing lightly over his hair. Hua Cheng fights not to tilt into it and offend his majesty with his unworthy desires. “This god has a solution. Will his follower accept it?”

I wasn’t cursed , part of Hua Cheng begs to say. That wasn’t a curse, it was your name, your majesty, it was you—!

“Please,” Hua Cheng begs aloud, “your majesty, carve this useless servant into something more useful. This one is yours to command; yours to alter.”

“Good,” Jun Wu praises.

He walks past the throne, and gestures with one hand for Hua Cheng to follow. He pauses only to wipe the evidence of his filthy blood off the floor with a burst of spiritual power. His arm, now bloodless, he leaves ragged and gaping. Jun Wu still holds the stained robes, so Hua Cheng follows him bare but for his trousers. His hair tumbles around his shoulders in disarray.

The map of his majesty’s temples is more beautiful than any night sky’s lying stars. Jun Wu stops beside it, not pausing to regard the sparkling lights. Instead he lifts a box from the low table before him.

“I had to prevail upon Ling Wen to make use of this, but it is a small price to pay for her pardon, wouldn’t you say?”

“Your majesty’s generosity is unmatched.” Hua Cheng agrees, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“So obedient,” Jun Wu chuckles. “You give me hope for him.”

Warmth blossoms in Hua Cheng’s chest. Yes. That’s all he wants. To give his majesty hope.

But— Jealousy rises, bitter— which him is his majesty referring to?

“Wear this,” Jun Wu says, opening the box and offering it to Hua Cheng. “Change your trousers to match.”

The black robe is simple and unadorned. Hua Cheng takes it without question. Wearing it, he becomes nothing but a servant in appearance as well as name. His silver chest piece and vambrances were discarded long ago. The butterflies are useless to him except as spies, until he can uncover what that trash god did to tarnish them.

Jun Wu hums at the sight of him, re-dressed. He lifts an enormous saber from the table as well, and presses it into Hua Cheng’s hands. Then he lifts his right hand and taps Hua Cheng’s head with a single finger. Hua Cheng ties the saber to his belt and pulls his hair back into a tight ponytail at the reminder. He keeps his eyes downcast, and folds his arms behind his back, waiting for Jun Wu’s judgement.

“Good,” Jun Wu says. “Nearly perfect. There’s just one more thing.”

His hands appear before Hua Cheng’s face. Cradled in them is a bone white, smiling mask.

Hua Cheng stares. Stares, and stares, and—

How long has he known? Why didn’t he ever say? Was he so disappointed in me? Was it so insignificant? Of course. Of course, it must have meant nothing to one such as him, it was only natural that— that—

“Well?” Jun Wu is still waiting. Hua Cheng takes the mask in trembling hands, and ties it over his face.

“What are you thinking?” There’s suspicion in Jun Wu’s voice. “Speak.”

Hua Cheng’s mouth opens without leaving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“How long has his majesty known?” He asks, and it comes out pathetic . Weak, and small, and young and useless; not even worthy of a name.

Jun Wu’s fingers twitch. Hua Cheng fixates on that sight. Replays it in his mind. Hurt? Surprise? Confusion? He wants to look at his face.

He cannot look at his face.

“Ah,” Jun Wu says, drawing the sound out into something almost dangerous. “My poor little Wu Ming…”

Wu Ming shudders. Clenches one hand into a fist behind his back.

“I’ve always known,” his majesty says, stroking the side of that smiling mask as though it were Wu Ming’s face.

He’s lying , Hua Cheng’s instincts scream, and he smothers them desperately.

“Forgive this servant’s impertinence.” Wu Ming rasps. Jun Wu waves a magnanimous hand.

“Seek out the imprisoned Mei Nianqing.” He instructs. “He posed for some time as a guoshi for Xianle, and should know his weaknesses. Find them out at any cost, then descend. Do not return unless you are physically incapable of fighting.”

Hua Cheng narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth to ask—

His body moves. His body moves, and fear shoots through him. His body moves without thought, and though he fights it back to bow, he realizes—

“Your majesty?” He whispers, recognizing all at once the Brocade Immortal surrounding him, already trying to force him away.

“I wish that I could trust you to follow my commands, Wu Ming,” Jun Wu sighs. “But for now I will be compassionate. You will not be allowed to fail me again.”

Wu Ming closes his eyes behind the mask.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he whispers, and somehow the words make him feel sick.

Even though this is exactly what he was meant for. Even though he sculpted himself into a weapon just for Jun Wu to use.


The streets of the Heavenly Capital are still empty. The gods have been assured that all is well; that the last of Black Water’s spies are being rooted out; that Ling Wen was framed amid the conspiracy; that those involved would be brought to justice. There is no need to panic, but for now no one may leave.

After all, what could these greedy gods lack in their golden palaces, surrounded by luxury? What’s a few days in thousands of years? Yet they still have the audacity to complain to their heavenly emperor about the inconvenience.

Wu Ming doesn’t need the Brocade Immortal’s insistence to storm past their palaces. Xuan Ji must have been summoned to Jun Wu after him. She rides down the streets in a heavenly carriage, towing General Ming Guang behind her by a leash. Wu Ming watches them pass, and glares from behind the mask when that bruised-up god’s face turns towards him.

“You,” Ming Guang calls, the collar around his throat ringed in bruises from his once-lover’s tender treatment. “You’re Crimson Rain, aren’t you? How could you do this? I can understand the draw to such a gentle virgin, but to turn on him like this— Truly, that young man— He really cared for you! Vile traitor!”

He spits on the road as he is dragged past.

“Your dog is barking, Xuan Ji,” Wu Ming says, and kicks the useless god in the gut.

“Don’t you touch him!” Xuan Ji rebukes, fury in her elegant face. Pei Ming wheezes and slumps, dragged behind her carriage by the collar around his throat. She glances back to him, but does not slow their progression.

Wu Ming turns away from them both. Pei Ming is always full of stupid words. He won't last much longer, no matter what Jun Wu promised Xuan Ji for her assistance.

The Brocade Immortal prickles against Wu Ming's devotion, as if inspecting grain. He can feel it like a physical touch. Something bordering between anger and professional curiosity, digging into his mind.

It's so distracting that he almost runs straight into the young ghost in the road. She stares at him out of dark, wide eyes, and offers him a handkerchief with a serious little frown.

“My lord, you have blood on your hand.” She says, voice low. “General Hua wouldn’t want you to be hurt.”

“I don’t give a shit what your general thinks,” Wu Ming snarls, anger boiling out of him. “Move or I’ll disperse you.”

She steps aside, but continues to offer the handkerchief. Wu Ming snatches it from her hand, and starts working the blood from between his fingers as he walks. The exiled Pei Xiu watches from behind her, eyes dark, and expression grim. The sword Rong Guang hovers above him, threatening at any moment to fall.

It is part of Pei Ming’s punishment. The life of his precious successor, left hanging in the balance of Rong Guang's discretion.

They are not his to consider. Not his to care about. There is only room in his dead heart for one man. Wu Ming looks to his arm, covered in the Brocade Immortal's dark fabric.

He tries to envision the tattoo. To replace it on his skin where it should be. To build it back. But the characters of Jun Wu’s name dance and swim in his head more even than usual calligraphy does. He cannot remember.

That can’t be. How long did he spend tapping ink into his flesh? How many nights has he traced it in secret, over and over?

He lifts a hand to his forearm. Tries to trace the familiar path with the same muscle memory that would let him carve in his sleep if he wanted.

The characters jumble into nothing between his feeling and the reality. He clenches the ragged meat of his forearm in cruel fingers, and refuses to mend it in petty revenge.

“This is your fault,” He growls to the Brocade Immortal. “Stop poking around in my head. I’m not going to disobey his majesty anyway.”

The incessant prodding doesn’t stop. If anything it worms deeper. Wu Ming snarls in frustration behind a smiling mask.

By the time he reaches Mei Nianqing, his temper is well beyond frayed.

Finding him playing cards with three ragged, hand-made dolls does not improve his mood.

“Just a moment, just a moment young man.” Mei Nianqing says with an air of scolding. There’s something about his voice that drives the aching wedge of confusion and fury deeper into Wu Ming’s already aching brain.

He storms forward and overturns the table. Rips the head off the first doll and tosses it aside. The other two fall limp of their own accord.

Still holding his hand of cards, the guoshi stares up at him and blinks twice, a disapproving scowl on his face.

“Ah,” he sighs. “Impulsive and rude. What sort of servants is he keeping?”

His voice burrows under Hua Cheng’s skin, but his face is unfamiliar. Hua Cheng’s rage boils. He smiles behind the mask, cruel and hard, and smothers his emotions until he can perform as the Wu Ming he’s meant to be. He crouches down before the sitting guoshi.

“Do you like to gamble, old man?” He asks, gesturing towards the cards he holds— the only ones not strewn about the small room.

A strange light enters the guoshi’s eye. Hua Cheng knows it well. In the gambling hall…

But he isn’t supposed to be Hua Cheng, and he isn't supposed to think of Ghost City anymore. It is a haven of sin, and Jun Wu’s servant must be pure. How strange that Wu Ming hadn’t been punished for it when Jun Wu saw the city first hand. How strange that… Why had it felt like they had a good time there?

“I doubt a youngster like you would know this game,” the guoshi scoffs at last, back stiff and straight.

“It hardly matters,” Wu Ming waves his left hand. The muscles twinge with recent injury. He pushes a little spiritual power through them. Not enough to heal the skin. Not without the tattoo.

“Cocky,” the man accuses, waggling the cards he still holds at him. “And what do you think you’re doing wearing that mask? It’s hardly fair to gamble with someone who hides their expression!”

He makes a grab for the mask, but Wu Ming is faster. He dodges the strike with an easy turn, then summons the cards from around the room. The Brocade Immortal is squeezing around him, impatient, but he doesn’t let it bother him. This is their fastest avenue. Torture takes such a long time, and often the quality of information is lacking…

Though he’ll consider it for stress relief once the gamble is won. Something about this man makes his skin itch.

“If you’re so worried, wear a mask of your own.” Wu Ming snatches the cards out of Mei Nianqing’s fingers with a deft motion.

He pauses, looking at the hand of cards. There is absolutely no way it could be a winning play. The old fool had been about to lose to three stuffed dolls…

“Pah! Fine!” Mei Nianqing lifts a hand and swipes it over his face. In its wake appears the mask of an old man, with a carved beard and an empty expression. For some reason it makes Wu Ming’s false eye itch.

“What do you want to bet for?” The man asks, head tilting, the glint of his liquid eyes bright behind the mask.

“The weakness of the Xianle crown prince,” Wu Ming smiles as he makes the bet, “and against it I offer your release.”

“My release?” Mei Nianqing laughs. “Wouldn’t your heavenly emperor kill you?”

“Perhaps.”

Definitely. But if Wu Ming fails here, then wasn’t it all for nothing anyway? If he cannot do what his god asks even here, using the simplest of his powers, what use is he?

“Pah,” the guoshi scowls. “I accept. There is a reek of ill fortune about you as it is.”

Centuries old memories finally connect, and that hated voice clicks in place at last. Wu Ming almost laughs. Almost. How could he have forgotten, even for a moment? Perhaps because of the disguise… Jun Wu must have assumed he would know already. This foolish guoshi doesn’t even realize what stands before him…

Wu Ming regrets making the wager now. Torture would have been more satisfying. But this was never about what would satisfy him. He lets the guoshi deal the cards, and he lets his anger burn inside him, and he doesn’t bother cheating.

It doesn’t matter how long the old man takes thinking and muttering to himself. It doesn’t matter that his battered puppets sit up and sway, observing their match. It doesn’t even matter that Wu Ming doesn’t know this game.

Luck is luck, and he’s fought and bled for his, until there remained no creature luckier. The twin snake eyes he rolled in the human array had just been—

His mind balks from the thought. He doesn’t know why. Like his own butterflies, he can feel his heart beating frantic in his chest.

“I can hear you panicking,” the guoshi says smugly behind his mask, assuming that he is the center of Wu Ming’s thoughts. “You already know you’ve lost.”

“Then play your hand.” Wu Ming challenges, a fake smile in his voice and his eyes glaring out furiously.

He still doesn’t know what they were trying to gain from the cards, but he knows the moment he sets his down that he’s won. It’s right there in the way Mei Nianqing flinches back, and the dolls fall over in sudden despair.

There is without a doubt something wrong inside Wu Ming, but it does not seem to be his luck.

“Bah!” Mei Nianqing scowls at the cards, then gathers them to shuffle again.

“I don’t do ‘try again’s.” Wu Ming purrs, letting the victory soothe the starving hunger for competence in his chest.

“His highness cannot eat eggplant without breaking out in red patches across his cheekbones, but he likes it too much to stop.” Mei Nianqing replies, shuffling the cards.

Wu Ming stares at him.

“You asked for his weakness,” the guoshi says, pointing at him. “There’s a weakness. If you want something else, ask for it clearly.”

“I see,” Wu Ming says, and the Hua Cheng in him chuckles despite himself. “You must feel clever.”

“Will you play another round or not?” the infuriating guoshi asks. “Unless you think feeding him eggplant is something you’re likely to achieve.”

“If I have my way, that troublesome creature will never fear eating eggplant again,” Wu Ming agrees in a low, dangerous voice, his lips curling up in anticipation of violence.

It rattles around inside his body as if he were hollow.

“Hmm,” Mei Nianqing deals. “Make a better bet, then.”

Wu Ming leans forward. Places an elbow on the table and props his chin on it— smooth white mask and cold dead skin.

“You may want to try to be more helpful,” he warns playfully. “I’d be very happy to tear you apart, guoshi .”

“Would you?” he scoffs. “What grudge could a little ghost like you hold?”

“You don’t recognize me?” Wu Ming can feel the angry smile on his face. It colors his voice like an animal's snarl. “Is the mask so effective? I thought you would know my misfortune anywhere. You certainly seemed convinced that I would corrupt or destroy his majesty Jun Wu, weren’t you?”

The man stops dealing. That mask fixes on Wu Ming, then tilts, slowly, to the left. Wu Ming waits with bated breath, ready for the realization. The shock. Then the guoshi shrugs and goes back to dealing.

“If you have a complaint, state it plainly.”

Wu Ming slams a hand down. The floor cracks beneath the force of his strike. The desecrated bones of the former heavenly officials groan beneath them.

“You can't tell me you don’t remember. How often did his majesty bring an ill-fated child to the temple in Wuyong, where you spoke of a solitary star?”

“There was no such child in Wuyong.” The guoshi says, picking up his hand of cards. “You are confused. Will you play or not?”

Wu Ming takes up the cards without looking at them. Lets himself flow through the game without focus. Games are easy. Playing is easy. Fortune, payment, loss, success; they are yet another language he had learned to speak.

“When I win,” he says, “you’ll tell me what will break your little trash god’s spirit.”

“Easy enough,” the guoshi chuckles, and it is a sad, sick sound. “When I win, I will ask you one question.”

Wu Ming freezes. Lifts his eyes in a glare.

‘You don’t even have to answer,’ Xianle’s voice sings in his head.

“I see he learned well from you, old man.” Wu Ming purrs, viciously. “He enjoys playing mind games as well.”

“Xie Lian? Mind Games? Hah!” The guoshi drops his cards. Wu Ming sets his down as well, secure in his victory, and more secure when Mei Nianqing gathers them up and starts shuffling again at once. “If only. That boy doesn’t have a liar’s bone in his body. If he were to gamble, the whole table would know at once whether he had a winning hand.”

“I don’t care.” Wu Ming says. “What breaks him?”

“When the gold foil palace crumbles,” Mei Nianqing replies, and starts dealing again.

Wu Ming snorts despite himself.

“The palaces that are built to fall?” He scoffs, thinking bitterly of a child wrapped up in such pleasant games while he himself had—

No, he realizes with a strange sinking feeling. No, he doesn’t— He doesn’t feel bitter. He should. Why does it only make him sad, thinking of those dark honey eyes welling with tears as the gold crumbled?

“Everything is built to fall when you have lived long enough.” the guoshi sighs. “But he will never accept it. Was that what you wanted to know?”

“You know it wasn’t.”

“Then play again.”

He does, thoughtlessly. The cards feel heavy in his hand. He looks down without seeing them. He cannot stop envisioning of that odd man, looking down heartbroken over a crumbling plaything.

“Your wager?” Prompts Mei Nianqing.

“His martial weakness.” Wu Ming says. “The way to defeat him.”

“Hm. It is a high ask… Then I will wager… The truth. If I win, I will tell you why Jun Wu can’t stand you.”

Wu Ming goes utterly still. He stares down at the cards without seeing them. He couldn’t really know, could he? It’s a bluff. It’s the guoshi getting under his skin, just as that Xianle did. His majesty loves him. Or, no, not— His majesty accepted him, despite his failings. His majesty wants to make him the best he can be. He doesn’t… It's not that he can't stand him. It's not.

If not for the Brocade Immortal strangling him from within his own mind, Wu Ming would have thrown the game to find out.

“Truly, your luck is evil.” Mei Nianqing says, staring down at Wu Ming’s hand. “Who did you steal it from?”

“I took nothing I wasn’t owed.” Wu Ming informs him, his joyless grin all teeth behind the smiling mask. “Xianle's weakness, old man.”

“It’s been many years since I trained him.” Mei Nianqing's mask tilts again, considering. “But tell me something. How did he fight you when you faced him?”

“Like a coward.” Wu Ming spits. “He dodged until he could bind me in cursed silk, then fled.”

“If you think him a coward, you are a fool.” the old man lays his hands back on his knees rather than shuffling again. “Despite all my best efforts as a teacher to him, Xie Lian has never backed down from a challenge, even when backing down could lead to a better outcome. He will involve himself in whatever he sees as amiss, and shatter his heart every time. He will do anything to keep the gold foil palace standing.”

“So you’ve said,” Wu Ming hisses, rising slowly. “I do not have patience to wait, old man.”

“Do you think he didn’t hit you because he couldn’t?” The guoshi rises as well, standing for the first time. He is shorter than Wu Ming remembers him. “Do you think for a moment that you were spared out of some generalized foolishness? Pah! The coward here is you, refusing to face the truth!”

Wu Ming moves without thought. Grips Mei Nianqing's throat and digs his claws in, just barely breaking the skin. Behind his mask, Mei Nianqing doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Must I spell it out?” the guoshi rasps around his squeezed throat, a sneer in his tone. “If you want his martial weakness, it’s you. A gold palace he does not want to fall, for whatever reason.”

Wu Ming drops him as if burned.

I simply do not want to hurt Hong-er .

“Liar." He rasps.

“Not in the slightest.” Mei Nianqing scoffs. “Pull yourself together, young man.”

Wu Ming throws him back against the wall with barely a thought. It can’t be. It’s ludicrous. Impossible. Unthinkable. And yet…

“If I find you’ve lied,” he warns, “I’ll tear you apart.”

“How inventive.” The old man complains, already dusting himself off as if it were no problem.

Descend, the Brocade Immortal compels. Obey.

“What makes you think that his majesty can't stand me?” Wu Ming spits, pausing in the doorway before looking back over his shoulder. “Some ridiculous, emotional lie designed to push me over the edge?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Mei Nianqing waves a hand, dispelling the mask to reveal a smug smile. “But since I failed, I won't tell you."

Wu Ming snarls. Claws his hand. Descend.

"However, since you brought it up, I'll ask that question of you. No need to answer."

"Fuck you," Wu Ming snaps, bristling.

"Hah..." Mei Nianqing's smug smile deepens. "Very well. I was only going to ask how old you think you are anyway.”

Wu Ming opens his mouth to laugh. Then he closes it again. Obey , the Brocade Immortal insists. The Wu Ming mask weighs heavy over his imperfect face. The massive saber hangs at his hip. His majesty’s enemy wanders below.

Hua Cheng should be thousands of years old.

There was no such child in Wuyong.

He descends.


The butterflies scatter from where he stands in the middle of the field where they fought. His majesty’s instructions had left no time for preparation. Find out Xianle's weakness, then descend. Wu Ming plans now, while his traitor butterflies scour the miles and miles surrounding. He plans; he regrets; he worries; he fears.

His arm aches, the raw place where Jun Wu skinned him still unhealed. He will not repair it until he can recreate the tattoo.

He traces the characters in the dust, but they are all wrong. His hand fights the motion, even more than usual.

He remembers that his majesty had been amused and indulgent, faced with his terrible calligraphy for the first time. He cannot reconcile the warm words he remembers with his heavenly emperor. He understands, though. Of course, before it was all just a game. Now it is war. Jun Wu needs a perfect servant now, not a foolish, joking trickster.

The sun sets. The moon shines on him. He tears up grass and writes Jun Wu’s name, and every time, stubbornly, his hand betrays him. Veers off course, as if it has forgotten what character he is trying to write.

The smiling mask is cold. It was cold then too. When he failed to be the perfect servant to his wounded, tormented god. At least he had been torn apart in his place. He’d thought maybe Jun Wu might have…

But this is answer enough. This mask, this task, his highness's— damn it — his majesty’s disappointment. It had not been enough. He was not enough. Or, perhaps it had been, but not in the way he wanted. After all, he’d been allowed to stay Crimson Rain Sought Flower until this most recent defeat. If he behaves properly this time— if he performs well…

He looks down at the bare earth he's been writing on. While lost in thought, the tracings of Jun Wu’s name have morphed and warped, unrecognizable. Before him are characters he knows. He has seen them on his arm for eight hundred years. It should be longer. They are right— they feel right— he carved them into his arm, he dotted the scars with ink, he— he—!

Wu Ming stomps down on that name and grinds it into the dirt. Panic fills him; chokes him. Perhaps it was a curse, perhaps Xianle did something he had not even thought to beware of, perhaps—

The trash god has infected his precious memories of Jun Wu. His precious moments with his god. Even without the Brocade Immortal, compelling his actions, Wu Ming will not let the damnable creature survive this insult.

But hatred will not come to him. No matter how badly he wishes it to. He wants to hate that soft smile, and that back that pressed against his own, and the condescending touch of the god’s hand on his elbow, straightening his form, but—

But he…

His elbow tingles at the reminder, strangely warm on his aching body. He clenches his eyes against the memory.

The butterflies show him empty leaves and run-down cities, and no rogue gods. His hand shakes, and he grips the saber to steady himself. He cannot be this. He cannot be. His loyalty— his love— his existence— they are Jun Wu’s. He must not only accept his god as he is— he must adore him. Everything in him. Has Jun Wu not come through the most brutal of betrayals? Has Jun Wu not been scorned and wounded and torn apart while Wu Ming looked on uselessly? Had Wu Ming not sworn his fealty forever— for always— to his god? To his beloved?

Hadn’t—

Hadn’t Jun Wu, in the cave…?

Focus, he tells himself, squeezing his eyes shut behind the mask, gripping the saber so hard that his knuckles ache. Focus. You are confused because you are weak. You are failing him because of your confusion. Be patient. Give his majesty everything of yourself. He is the only worthy one in this world. If he finds you lacking now, then you are lacking.

The sun rises. The butterflies watch it. Wu Ming stands rooted in place, eyes closed. The Brocade Immortal remains dormant for now, waiting for him to find Xianle so it may compel him once more. It won’t have to. Everything started falling apart the moment Xianle smiled at him. Wu Ming will make certain to wipe that smile off his face this time.

The butterfly finds him out in the mountains. Midday sunlight gleams on his chestnut hair and the faded white robes he wears. The Brocade Immortal tightens around Wu Ming's throat. He tightens the ties of the mask, draws the saber, and throws his dice.

Snake eyes glare up, like an insult. He clenches his hand around them, and moves .

The moment Xianle appears, Wu Ming's body lurches forward. The Brocade Immortal is a violent, impatient thing. Wu Ming lets it do with him as it will. It will give him time to observe. Xianle dodges, of course. Whirls, smiling, and then—

Then the smile drains off his face, and his blood drains with it. His lips part, suddenly closer to grey-blue than pink. His pupils shrink to pinpricks, drowned in his wet eyes, and the breath he drags in is a tortured, heavy thing; more like a sob.

Wu Ming twirls the saber, and flows forward. Xianle is slow to dodge, but he twitches back in time. The swing that should have taken his head off scores deeply across his cheekbone as he twists back and away. His previously smooth motions are jerky and stilted. Wu Ming aligns his intentions with the Brocade Immortal, and becomes relentless.

He moves like a whirlwind of screaming, sharp metal. There is no speech this time— no teasing, or flirting, or confusing, light laughter. There is only violence. It is a language Wu Ming is more fluent in than any other. And yet, Xianle keeps retreating. Stumbling behind trees, twirling out of reach, rolling away.

Wu Ming twirls, leaping high into the air and crashing down from above. Xianle moves at the last moment— leaves Wu Ming on one knee, his sword buried deep in the earth. Wu Ming lifts his head, watching Xianle waver where he stands.

An agonized sound tears out of Xianle's throat, and tears spill down his cheeks. It seems to have nothing to do with the blood pouring down his face, spotting the front of his grey-white robes. The fool staggers back. Lifts his hands to cover his eyes.

“Hua— Hua Chengzhu, please, ” he gasps, sounding as if he’s being strangled.

“Ready to plead for your life?” Wu Ming laughs, dragging the massive saber out of the ground and lunging forward again.

He slashes towards Xianle’s legs, hoping to maim while he’s weak, since death-strikes aren’t working.

The long robe the traitor wears shreds at the touch of the saber, flapping open just above his thigh. A near miss. Enough to make Wu Ming hungrier for it. Enough to drive the Brocade Immortal mad with its desire to draw blood.

Kill, kill, kill!

“No,” gasps the once-god. “No, Hua Chengzhu, please, the mask—!”

Wu Ming laughs at him. Thrusts forward. The tip of the blade rips the fool’s white sleeve.

“That’s not my name,” he laughs, cold and furious. Wasn’t it this trash who cost him his name? Wasn’t it this—

Are you sure—

“Please!” The god grinds to a halt after putting distance between them. He bows deeply, shaking hands before him. “You don’t know why Jun Wu’s asked you to do this— You don’t know who you’re mocking!”

Kill!

Wu Ming’s body lunges forward. The god doesn’t move. He stays there, bowing, and fear strikes through Wu Ming; not excitement, not bloodlust, not rage, there is only fear, there’s only—!

The god whirls away from the killing blow at the last moment. Grabs the smiling mask in both hands and drags it away, faster than his guoshi by a factor of thousands. He leaps away, cradling the smiling mask against his chest. His face is wet with tears, and his chest heaves with every breath. He chokes on a sob, staggering. His tears pour into the bone-deep gash on his face.

“Wu Ming,” the trash god whispers, “forgive me…”

Wu Ming freezes at the sound of his name in that voice. That mournful, broken—

He snarls, and throws himself forward. Kill, kill, kill the Brocade Immortal chants, and he becomes nothing but violence. Without the mask, his face is on display, but he cannot force a smile. He cannot calm himself. He cannot be what he must be for his majesty. He is not enough— so lacking as to need the influence of the Brocade Immortal to refrain from speaking to this traitor, and even so—

“Where did you hear that name?” Wu Ming spits, furious. “Do you have spies still in heaven, you scum?”

Xianle’s eyes lift to him, fixing even as he dances away, a desperation and tension in his motions that was never there before. The mask he holds to his chest with shaking hands, and will not release. It slows him. A loose strand of hair falls away under Wu Ming’s saber.

“He didn’t call you that,” Xianle gasps, breathless but not from exhaustion. “Hua Chengzhu, tell me he hasn’t taken your name from you!”

“Fuck you!” Wu Ming screams in return, unhinged. He whirls into a ballistic attack, and the god presses forward. Blocks with one arm against Wu Ming’s skinless forearm, and twitches at the feel of it under the black fabric.

Wu Ming realizes what’s coming a moment too late. The silk whips out from beneath Xianle’s robes, whipping out and wrapping around his arm. It twists, violently, and his hand spasms around the blade.

“Ruoye!” the god barks, even as he strips the saber from Wu Ming’s hand, backing up in a leap before Wu Ming can claw his face. “Don’t hurt him!”

If you want his martial weakness, it’s you.

The silk whips back. Circles the suddenly armed Xianle. The god is shaking, head to foot. His left hand cradles the mask as if it were something precious. His right holds the saber, the only part of his entire body that is stable and sure.

“Forgive me!” Xianle gasps around the tears. “Forgive me, I cannot let you strike me again! Hua Cheng, San Lang, please!”

I prefer when you call me San Lang.

Jun Wu smiled at him in the ramshackle shrine, eyes gleaming and his face— His face—

“That’s not my name!” Wu Ming howls, and reaches for a blade he has been forbidden. Imperfect, broken, cursed, awful thing, but he must fight, he must

E-Ming bursts into existence in his hand, summoned by his will. He rushes forward, compelled and furious. His mask, his sword, this trash, this trash looking at him with those wounded eyes, calling him San Lang, staring at him like—

Like honey eyes watching a gold foil palace crumble.

He lifts E-Ming.

“Don’t!” Xianle cries out, the silk whipping forward.

It is too late. E-Ming swings and— and jerks to the side and—

Wu Ming stares down at the red eye glaring up at him, embedded in his own chest. The scimitar vibrates, shaking him from the inside. His hand is still wrapped around the hilt. The Brocade Immortal quivers around him at the strike. The world quivers around him.

In his own cursed red eye is pure hatred.

“E-Ming, no! ” Xianle is screaming, and the silk wraps around Wu Ming again, binding him in his moment of weakness.

And then Xianle is there. Gripping the hilt over Wu Ming’s hand. His other hand lands on his shoulder, holding him. The saber and mask are both abandoned on the ground behind him.

“Let go,” he urges, hands trembling where he touches, gripping Wu Ming, staring into his eyes with a panicked intensity. “San Lang, let go! I can help!”

Fight, the Brocade Immortal insists.

Wu Ming grabs Xianle’s wrist. Drags him off-balance, then whirls with a scream. He feels E-Ming’s blade, piercing him through, connect with the god. He rams his back into that trash, desperate to draw blood. The force of the impact tears the hole in his chest deeper, and E-Ming jolts suddenly free.

Xianle makes a strained, broken sound and breaks away from him. He staggers back, bleeding. E-Ming flings itself out of Wu Ming’s chest and flies to him. Presses flat against the traitor's chest, as if trying to hold him up. Its red eye is full of tears. Wu Ming keeps his feet through sheer will. The silk squeezes around him, but he isn’t off guard this time. He still has the hand that gripped E-Ming. He tears at the silk and himself both, savage and screaming. He has no purpose but to fight.

He has no option but to fight.

The silk jolts, then flees from his onslaught. He doesn’t let it. He catches the silk as it wriggles away, and rips it in two.

Xianle screams.

Wu Ming’s body freezes at the sound of agony. Fight , the Brocade Immortal insists. Fight until you are unable to continue, fight until you are dispersed!

He stares. Stares at the bleeding god of nothing, his shoulder gouged open by E-Ming’s blade. Xianle cradles the scimitar close to his chest, staring at Wu Ming as if he has just broken his heart wide open. Wu Ming drops the shreds of silk, and two uneven halves of a senseless bandage float to the ground.

“Ruoye!” Xianle’s voice sounds different, thick with tears and despair. “No, please!”

The Brocade Immortal overwhelms whatever froze Wu Ming. Sends him lunging towards the saber on the ground. He scoops it up in a broken motion. The hole in his chest aches. He cannot close it. E-Ming will not permit it.

“Traitor!” Wu Ming gasps around the blood in his mouth. He shouldn’t be bleeding. He should be able to turn it off.

Xianle’s eyes lift from the silk, brows twisted in a mask of grief and fear. It hurts. It hurts to look at, and he hates it, he hates it, he—

“Don’t,” the god gasps. “San Lang, stop! E-Ming will—”

“That’s not my name!” Wu Ming howls, throwing himself forward.

E-Ming lashes forward, and Wu Ming barely blocks it in time. It twirls back, flying, violent and insatiable and he will shatter it for this!

Xianle lunges forward. Grips E-Ming’s hilt, but only to drag it back. To grip it tight before him in a defensive stance. His blanched face is stark against the pouring blood coursing down his cheek and shoulder. He looks ruined, but he is not ruined enough .

“You’re hurt!” the god objects, as if heedless of his own blood. “San— Hua Chengzhu, I beg of you, retreat!”

“Say it!” Hua Cheng demands, laughing in fury. Blood pours from his mouth. “Say it, your highness! Say my name!”

The stab wound doesn’t seem to wound Xianle, but the words do. He sobs, clinging with both hands to the trembling E-Ming. Fighting the scimitar’s bloodlust slows him. Wu Ming swings the saber, the Brocade Immortal crowing their triumph as the blade meets the side of Xianle’s knee. The slash is deep and brutal, tearing flesh and ligament and muscle. The once-god doesn’t even flinch, only leaping back with his working leg.

“Stop this! You’re wounded!”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Wu Ming laughs. “You wanted me to use a saber, didn’t you? How do you like this one’s bite? How does it compare to that traitorous piece of trash you’ve stolen from me?”

“This isn’t E-Ming's fault!” Xie Lian insists, gasping. “And that saber— it belongs to another! Hua Chengzhu, Jun Wu is only using you to hurt me! You don’t have to do this!”

“That’s not—” he stabs. Slashes. Leaps. Xianle ducks. Shies back. Stumbles. “— my name!”

“Wu Ming!”

The outright anguish in the god's call locks his body in place. The Brocade Immortal digs into him, furious, vicious, cruel— Do not return unless you are physically incapable of fighting.

The weight that crashes into him should hurt. It should be a blade. It isn’t. Arms wrap around him, and Xianle’s chest is strong and warm; sticky with blood.

“Please!” The god begs, squeezing him with one hand flat on his back, and the other holding the wriggling E-Ming away from his flesh.

Wu Ming’s veins bulge with the effort not to move. The Brocade Immortal wants— Wants— but the arms around him are heaven and he is so—

“No,” Wu Ming growls, tearing himself apart.

It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, and Xianle’s arms around him are so real , and so warm and—

And the name in the dirt, the name that had been tattooed on his arm, the questions, the doubt, the cruelty—

“It’s okay,” Xianle whispers. “San Lang, it’s going to be okay.”

Wu Ming loses his fight against the Brocade Immortal. His will is too fractured, his belief is too—

He kicks Xianle’s wounded knee, then uses the space it opens to strike him, palm to heart. There is the sound of tearing fabric, and then his saber follows his palm. Pierces Xianle’s heart, and Hua Cheng pushes forward until it pins him to a tree.

The pressure around him falters. Fails. Hua Cheng stares as Xianle’s head drops forward, gasping around what must be unbearable pain. Clutched in one fist, he holds a shred of burlap. He’d used Wu Ming’s own attack to tear it the Brocade Immortal.

“Why,” he chokes, staring down at the dying trash.

A fragile grin answers him, and voiceless words. He can’t breathe to answer. But Wu Ming thinks…

‘Crimson Rain should not be controlled.’

Then the god's expression changes, twisting in horror. Wu Ming is so fixated on the burlap in his closed fist that he doesn’t react in time. E-Ming strikes, lodging itself into Wu Ming’s neck, buried halfway through the column of his spine without a hand to force it through. The ex-god scrambles at the blade pinning him to the tree, mouth open to call out.

Hua Cheng staggers. E-Ming yanks itself free. Spins in the air, and flashes towards him again. He jerks his left hand up. Catches it through the palm of his hand. Clenches his fingers, trying to shatter the damn thing.

An abandoned scrap of white silk drags at his foot, sending him tumbling. E-Ming spins away, and Wu Ming burns with fury. Scrambles to stand, the rags of a ghost, wearing the rags of another. He cannot— He cannot fail, he— he cannot—

“Your highness!”

No. No, no, no .

“Your highness, where are you?!”

A silver butterfly floats into the clearing. Lands on the sword pinning Xianle to the tree. Wu Ming stares at him. Xianle stares back. One hand grips the saber. The other is stretched towards him, desperate. Discarded between them is a smiling mask, splashed with blood. E-Ming flies back to Xianle’s side, bracing his chest, trying to keep him upright where he’s pinned.

The god's lips move. Wu Ming stares. Reads his lips, and shakes his head. His chest tightens. His body shudders. He falters. He fails. He cracks at the edges.

The rogue gods of the South burst into the clearing, already screaming.

Wu Ming cannot fight them. He cannot stay. He cannot—

He flees back to Jun Wu. He can’t tear his eyes away from Xianle’s tear-burned eyes and blood-spattered face. His eyes stay fixed on him until reality fades into the empty gold and white of heaven. A heavy, disappointed sigh sounds above his crumpled body.

Like a fool, Wu Ming twists in the pool of his blood to look at Jun Wu’s face.

His god frowns down at him as if he is a dying rat.

It is like looking at a stranger.

'Your ashes,' Xianle had tried to tell him in that last moment, desperation written on his twisted face. 'Your ashes aren't safe, San Lang.'

'San Lang.'

'San Lang.'

"Ah, Wu Ming." Jun Wu sighs, and nudges his broken body with the toe of his boot. "What a disappointment."

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your support thus far.

If you want to drag your friends along with you through this journey, please consider sharing the promo tweet HERE or Tomo's impeccable illustrations HERE.

I know this one was rough. Please trust me that I meant the tag Happy Ending.

EDIT: NOW ILLUSTRATED BY THE INCREDIBLE SAENDA! MY GOD LOOK AT THIS!

Chapter 4: The Dead Man

Summary:

There are days that feel like the world is ending.

Xie Lian is having one again.

Notes:

I cannot even tell you all what your support of this story means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll try to make it the best I can.

And just... Remember that happy ending tag.

Also, if you missed it, THE INCREDIBLE SAENDA illustrated a scene from Chapter Three! Check it out!

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains references to past suicide (Xie Lian's parents) and some Suicidal Ideation from Xie Lian. Please proceed with caution.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

One Week Ago

 

“No, no, no, no…”

The first thing Xie Lian becomes aware of is the chanting. A low, half-familiar voice, tight with stress.

“No, no, no…”

He finds it almost soothing. The outright distress in that voice's tone is sweet, he thinks. Unusual, too! It’s not often whoever finds the mess of his body sounds so concerned about it. More often than not he’s greeted with frustration or hands patting him down for valuables. Whatever happened to him this time— goodness, his head is swimming— he is fairly certain that it was another death.

“No,” breathes the voice again, and a careful hand touches Xie Lian’s throat. It stings. “He’s going to kill me… He’s going to kill everything .”

Oh, is that why they’re distressed? Is someone going to be upset about the body? Well, that makes more sense, Xie Lian thinks. He would sigh, but he can’t seem to make his lungs work, the lazy things. Still, if someone is in danger because of him, or will get in trouble, he should—

And what if he was fighting something dangerous? They might be in a precarious situation. In fact, he’s almost certain he was fighting something incredibly powerful before he—

His eyes snap open. Jun Wu. The ring.

Yin Yu sucks in a sharp breath, jolting back from where he leaned over Xie Lian. It’s so dark that he’s only barely visible, the shadows eating up his black clothes.

“Your highness,” Yin Yu’s shaking hand fumbles for his pulse point, “you’re—?!”

Xie Lian can’t reply. His voice won’t work, but more than that, his brain won’t. All he can remember is the ring. All he can think is—

“We have to get you out,” Yin Yu is saying, eyes flicking around the dark. “I should take you now and—”

“No,” Xie Lian tries to say. It comes out a garbled sound that sends his broken body into choking spasms. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—

The world goes dark again, but it comes back faster this time. Yin Yu is hovering still, looking something like horrified. Xie Lian should reassure him, but he can’t speak. He can’t speak at all. They have to— San Lang, but—

“Jun Wu,” he mouths, unable to speak aloud. “I have to—”

He tries to heave himself up. His body fails him. One hand screams in pain. Ruoye unfurls from his wrist and wraps around him tightly, hugging him back to the earth.

“Your highness, please!” Yin Yu hisses. “Escape is our only option. As soon as we’re out of heaven, I should be able to contact Hua Chengzhu again!”

Xie Lian blinks back tears. Takes a shuddering breath. He can’t get the ring back. He can’t. He’s not strong enough, especially not with the shackles…

But San Lang would know where to start. If they could just get to San Lang, he would know what to do. He would know what to do, and he would— He would—

He can’t have been destroyed. He can’t have been. He can’t have been. If he’s gone—

Xie Lian wants to go. He wants to go now . He wants Hua Cheng here, immediately. He wants to confess his failure, and fall into San Lang's arms, and for San Lang to say I’m safe, gege. It’s okay. We’ll get it back.

He wants to go, but…

“The others,” he manages to rasp, his brows twisting. “Feng Xin, Mu Qing, Ban… Ban Yue…”

He’s fading again. Failing. Ruoye shivers around him. His hand aches. His throat aches. His ankle feels broken beneath the shackle. His back may have broken as well, where Jun Wu stepped on him. He can’t be sure. Above him, Yin Yu’s face is drawn and tight with stress. He glances above them, then back to Xie Lian’s face. He takes a deep breath, then says:

“Your highness, don’t move from this spot. Don’t struggle. Rest, and I’ll be right back. I’ll bring everyone.”

When Xie Lian is next aware, he is alone in the darkness. Alone, alone, alone…

He speaks that evil communication array password inside his mind like a sutra, over and over, but no one ever answers. He does not even notice when the darkness is unconsciousness instead of the all-encompassing earth, surrounding him from all sides as it did hundreds of years ago, buried deep and left to rot.

….

“Careful with him, idiot!”

“Shixiong, did you have to bring them?”

“Silence. Keep your mouths shut. Quan Yizhen, if you are not careful with his highness I will leave you here.”

“But I’m being careful, Shixiong?”

“You really think you can dig us out of the heavenly realm?”

It's such a familiar sour voice. It always sounds so angry and cold. Xie Lian forces his eyes open. His cheek is pressed against a heavy, muscled shoulder. Curled hair puffs all around him. The back he’s draped over is strong and warm, and he wants to push away from it and wail. There is only one touch he wants, and it is cold, cold, cold…

He can only barely make out the too-pale form of Mu Qing, an unconscious Feng Xin over one of his shoulders and his steps unsteady through the dark. Yin Yu’s voice echoes back from before them, with the rhythmic digging of the shovel.

“If I don’t, Hua Chengzhu will murder me without a doubt.”

“Shixiong!”

“Shut up!”

“Your highness Yin Yu,” Xie Lian’s voice is so raw that it feels like a stranger’s. All of them go still in the wake of his words. There is sudden attention on him, but he can’t quite focus. He can’t—

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault. It’s me. It’s me. It was always—”

“He’s shaking.” The person holding him says, sounding distressed. “Shixiong, what’s wrong with him?”

“Your highness the crown prince,” Yin Yu’s voice takes on a strangely gentle note, as if he is trying to take care of him. “Please trust me that you are not at fault for this. Just hold on a little longer. I will get you back to Hua Chengzhu.”

“Seriously?” Mu Qing snaps. “Is that why you’re dragging us out? So he can kill us himself? That sick freak—”

Xie Lian moans an objection, but he can’t find words. He can’t find anything. He’s so tired. He’s so tired and it’s all his fault, no matter what Yin Yu says. He couldn’t stop Jun Wu. He couldn’t stop Bai Wuxiang. He couldn’t save Xianle. He couldn’t protect even a single ring. If he had just— a water vendor’s tormented eyes — if he had just given in, then maybe San Lang— an angry man’s simple kindness — if he had— the refusal of terrified people to harm him, even at his own invitation — if—

A ghost in black, smiling the moment before he screamed in agony on Xie Lian’s behalf.

When Xie Lian wakes again, it is to a dark room. The raised voices outside are familiar; always fighting. Before him, a man in a demon mask crouches, speaking aloud, his eyes averted from Xie Lian and a heavy confusion in his voice.

“Chengzhu? Chengzhu, you— Where are you? Chengzhu!”

Something tickles against Xie Lian's finger. He shouldn’t be able to feel it, by all accounts. Who could feel such a tiny thing when they were in so much pain? But the tickling is new, and the pain is as old and worn as he is. It is an ancient, frayed thing.

He forces his hand up. He forces his bleary eyes towards it. Beside him, Yin Yu calls “your highness?” but Xie Lian ignores him.

The red string coils around his finger like an agitated serpent, tightening and loosening and tightening again.

“Wait,” Xie Lian whispers to it. “Wait…”

“Your highness, don’t move. You’re still—”

The perfect red butterfly knot that was so lovingly tied droops all at once. The knot slips, then slides free as if untied by the very hand that fastened it. Red string with no second meaning falls from Xie Lian’s broken, mangled hand.

“Your highness?”

The only good thing— the only one who had stayed— who’d believed in him— who he’d loved, he’d loved , he’d—

The only good thing.

Xie Lian can’t fathom the sound suddenly filling the empty room. It sounds like a dying animal. He fumbles at his own broken hand. He clutches at string and broken fingers alike. Yin Yu catches his wrists. He tries to stop him. The sound only gets louder.

It’s him, of course. It’s him. He’s heard this sound before. He’d howled it into the dirt at his parents’ makeshift graves, at what should have been the end of all things. Not a scream, not a laugh; something ugly, and human, and terrible. Something exactly like him.

His back arches off the floor with the force of the wail. He clenches his eyes shut to hide from how Yin Yu casts aside his mask and calls out to him. He holds them closed to escape Quan Yizhen’s abrupt questions. He clenches them tighter to hide from the door bursting open; from Feng Xin and Mu Qing’s voices, still yelling, but pitched in a different tone all at once.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and they are calling his name. He can’t breathe, and Yin Yu is gripping his wrists tight to stop him from clawing at himself. He can’t breathe, and Feng Xin is barking ‘Stop. Your highness, stop!’

The animal sound does stop, but not because of the yelling. Xie Lian is out of air, and he can’t breathe, and San Lang—

San Lang would have scooped him up, maybe. Would have said something like ‘gege, your highness, I’m here, don’t be afraid.’ San Lang would have sealed their lips together, and given him breath.

“Back up!” Mu Qing is barking somewhere. “Give him space!”

“Shixiong, what’s wrong with him?”

San Lang is gone.

Xie Lian welcomes the darkness that claims him, and desperately wishes it was death.


Now:

 

Xie Lian awakens to the steady, rocking motion of being carried. He was somewhat aware before. Distant, flickering memories and thoughts rise up in him. Someone’s hands were pressing against his chest, bracing him around the sword. There was lots and lots of yelling. Something was wrapped tight around his chest.

Something is still wrapped tight around his chest. He thinks, at first, that it’s Ruoye.

Then he remembers beautiful hands— beloved hands— tearing through twisting silk.

“He’s crying again.” Whispers a broken voice above him.

“And?” Another asks, cold and vicious. “What am I supposed to do about that? If he’s crying, he’s not dead. Isn’t that better?”

“How can you be so heartless?!” That broken voice barks, overwhelmingly loud.

Xie Lian lifts a hand that feels like lead and pats the screaming man's chest to quiet him.

Silence reigns. Even the steady, rocking motion stops. That change, small though it is, sends him back down into darkness.


Memory blurs; distant voices over his body in a forest; the tug of a familiar saber dragging out of his skin; a red-eyed sword shaking; a smiling mask covered in blood.

A smiling mask, lifted to him in supplication; a smiling mask, lifted to him in hate.

“You can stab me,” he tells Wu Ming. “You can stab me if you want. But that’s Mu Qing’s saber.”

“Do you really think he’d mind?” Asks Wu Ming in Hua Cheng’s voice.

“Did you always sound like that?” Xie Lian wants to ask. “Or did I just forget your real voice?”

But he can’t ask. There’s a hole in his chest. He can’t move.

He can only watch as E-Ming severs Wu Ming’s head, over and over. His head rolls until the smiling mask falls off.

First it's San Lang’s face, then the skin he wore in that fishing village, then the small, round face of Hong Hong-er, then the nameless Soldier who’d fought beside him against the Land of the Tender, then Hua Cheng’s true form,.

All empty-eyed. All dead.


“—And I’m telling you that he’ll be pissed if we leave the scimitar!”

“It’s cracked anyway. Worthless. If you want to keep it, stop complaining when it cuts you.”

“You heartless—”

“That again? You’ve said the same before.”

“Do you love abandoning things so much? Why not drop that scrap of bandage while you’re at it! Why not just leave both of us behind? Or are you counting on him to save you from that shackle.”

“Who would count on that? Doesn’t he have two of his own?”

Xie Lian manages to force his eyes open. San Lang should be right there— The one holding him while he can’t stand. He can’t see who’s holding him, though. He can only see the upside-down world to that person’s side, held draped over both their arms.

He blinks against the glare of the living world, eyes fixing on the smiling mask hanging from that person’s sash. From his current perspective, it frowns in agony. He could stare at it forever if not for—

“Why,” he rasps, and the swaying motion halts abruptly again, jarring his dizzy head. He almost loses his thoughts. "Why is Mu Qing naked?”

Not fully naked— not really— but his precious silk outer robes are gone, and he’s clad only in the pale green of his inner robes. Narrow brows pinch and Xie Lian can’t make out his expression, but he’s certain it’s sour.

“Isn’t that because of you?!”

“Your highness,” says the one carrying him.

“No,” Xie Lian whispers, closing his eyes. “No, no, no…”

Because that’s not Hua Cheng’s voice. It’s not. Hua Cheng is—

He scrambles for the dark that rises. He begs his heart to stop healing. Just let me stay asleep.


His parents' bodies hang heavy. He watches them sway. He watches the silk that holds them start to rip. He fumbles to save it. He grabs on to help it hold the weight of their bodies.

“Your highness,” whispers a dear, familiar, beautiful voice— so low and loyal.

“San Lang,” he chokes, “San Lang, help me, don't let it tear!”

A saber halts his word. Blood pours out of him. He loses his grip. Ruoye is torn apart.

“Does it hurt?” Hua Cheng purrs, crouching before his writhing body. “Cry out if it hurts.”

Xie Lian can’t. He stretches his hands out for Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng, who can’t see the sword behind him. Hua Cheng, who doesn't see Jun Wu smiling. Hua Cheng, who can’t see his own death coming.

Xie Lian is too weak to stop it.

“Maidens should marry the right man, believers should follow the right god,” Jun Wu says in a voice that sounds like one of the Puqi villagers.

Xie Lian tries to beg, but it has never mattered what he wanted. Jun Wu drops the ring to his bloody chest, and smashes it there like a boulder.


“I’m not doing anything , he’s having a nightmare!”

“Then put him down? Have you never cared for anyone in your life?”

“I—”

“I don’t care. Set him down! Stop squeezing him tighter, you’ll hurt him.”

Xie Lian fights against the arms holding him. He fights, because all he can do is struggle. Isn’t that what insects do, caught in the webs of spiders? Isn’t that what animals do, caught in hunter’s traps?

Are predators stronger than prey? Don’t they both scream and struggle with their legs caught in cruel snares?

“He’s burning up.”

“And?”

“Why didn’t you mention that? Give me your water.”

“Like he wants you touching him!”

“He doesn’t want either of us touching him.”

Xie Lian’s body goes limp as he’s set on the ground and the hands are removed. His breath hitches and catches, wet in his lungs. His chest is strangely tight— strangely tense— it— cry out if it hurts — it doesn’t really hurt. His eyes burn with tears.

“You’re feverish,” a voice says, close and sour. “Drink.”

A hand cups the back of his head. He tries to lash out. Something obeys his impulse, but not his hands. There is a grunt, and the splash of something hot against his face.

“Mu Qing!”

“It’s fine. Didn’t I tell you not to complain about being cut by this thing? Anyhow, my saber stabbed him before. It’s only fair. Drink.”

The command is followed by precious drops of water— warm from travelling— pouring over Xie Lian's lips. He opens his mouth. He drinks in desperation.

“He’s always like this when he’s sick anyway.” That sour voice mutters.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian calls when the water is removed.

“Always like this, huh?” Laughs the other voice, though it sounds more like pain than humor.

“Yes,” says the sour one, setting Xie Lian’s head back down. “He used to call for his mother.”

“So, what, he wants that one to be taking care of that one?”

“Clearly, idiot. If he— Ah!”

“Hold still, that wound looks bad—”

“Can you seriously say that to me now?!”

“You’re banished, right? Shut up and take some of my spiritual powers!”

“I’d rather let it fester.”

You wouldn’t, Xie Lian wants to tell him. You wouldn’t actually like that. It hurts so much. It hurts so much, and it doesn’t end. It hurts so much that you forget what hurting means.

And then, he would say, someone comes and teaches you. Someone comes and gives you permission to start feeling again.

And then you lose them.


“San Lang,” he says, thoughts blurring. “Just who is your noble, gracious, special someone?”

The world splits apart. A beautiful youth in a rice field smiles, and his eyes answer the question. A handsome man on the beach tangles their fingers together, and that tells him everything. A gorgeous man facing away from him in a cave turns to face him.

“Did you really think it would be you?” That man asks with a soft, vicious chuckle. “The god of scraps and broken things?”

“No,” Xie Lian answers. “No. I know it couldn't be.”

“Gege, gege,” whispers a child, tugging on his sleeve.

Xie Lian turns down to him. They are under the water together. The child is a corpse, dark eye covered in a grey film, bandages unraveling from the other side of his face. Xie Lian hears his words as if he were still living.

“Don’t you know I’m a broken thing?" The child whispers. "Won't you please love me?”

“Of course I love you,” Xie Lian tells him.

“Fool,” says Wu Ming, head lowered, ponytail flowing in the water. “You’re only comforting a corpse.”

“Please,” Xie Lian whispers. “Please. Did you find your beloved?” That's not the right question. "Aren't you angry?" That's not the right question either. "Are you him?"

“Dianxia,” says Wu Ming weakly, a black sword in his chest. “Why couldn’t you have loved me then?”

“Wait,” Xie Lian begs. “Wait, please, wait, don’t leave me, don’t go, you just got here!”

But Xie Lian is deep, deep, deep inside the kiln, and there is only a cry-smiling mask here, dangling a shining ring on a chain, and whispering to himself.

“That fool. That fool. He’d really give you his everything.”

There is a tug on his sleeve. He looks down. Hua Cheng’s small form frowns up at him, cute as a button, his neck severed straight to the spinal column, with E-Ming still vibrating in the wound.

“Gege,” the tiny creature says. “You have to wake up now.”

“I’m not strong enough,” Xie Lian whispers. “I’m not strong enough to save you.”

“Gege shouldn’t have to protect this one.” The child says with a petulant frown that only makes his face sweeter.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian begs.

“But,” the child whispers, “gege already saved this one before. So he doesn’t have to worry.”

Xie Lian blinks awake.

“Oh,” says a familiar voice, but not the familiar voice he wanted. “Oh, he’s awake! Hello, your highness!”

“Lord Wind Master,” the words tear out of Xie Lian’s throat like sand, “how—”

“Your highness,” Yin Yu appears at his side. Places a hand over his chest. “Don’t speak too much. You’re still healing.”

Yin Yu presses his fingers against Xie Lian’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Xie Lian apologizes immediately, though it makes his throat seize up and his breathing stall.

“Haha,” Shi Qingxuan’s laugh rings hollow. “Your highness, what are you apologizing for?”

“This one,” he whispers, trying to make his brain work, “left Lord Wind Master there alone…”

He blinks hard, in time to see the way that gentle face, covered in dirt, twists as if he’d been struck.

“No,” Shi Qingxuan says, unusually serious, “your highness, you stayed.”

He takes Xie Lian’s other hand. Xie Lian can’t argue against it, so he only squeezes that grip instead.

“The others—?”

“Didn’t I say not to talk?” Yin Yu huffs, long-suffering. “They’re outside. E-Ming won’t let them in.”

“It let me in, though!” Shi Qingxuan says, beaming again with a bright, innocent pride.

“They went to where Shi Qingxuan says Lord Black Water has been since the events of the Human Array.” Yin Yu adds.

Xie Lian’s mind is starting to work again, air once more touching his thoughts. He blinks to clear his vision, then smiles.

“Meaning,” he rasps, “they were insufferable and his highness Yin Yu sent them away?”

“If you won’t take this servant’s advice, he will fetch you some tea.” Yin Yu’s voice manages to carry in tone more dryness than even Xie Lian’s parched throat can boast.

“He sent them away,” Shi Qingxuan confirms in a whisper. “Part for your sake, part for his own sanity.”

Xie Lian’s smile deepens. How he has missed the friendly presence of the man kneeling beside him…

“Forgive this one,” he squeezes the Wind Master’s hand again, “seeking Lord Wind Master out to ask for your enemy.”

“Your highness really doesn’t have to call me that,” Shi Qingxuan chuckles. “Ol’ Feng more than suits this one now. And this humble beggar is only happy to see his friend again. To be of service is more than he could have asked for!”

“Can you sit?” Yin Yu asks, returning with a chipped ceramic cup of simple construction that nonetheless steams softly. It looks like paradise to Xie Lian's aching body.

He would have forced himself up for far less.

“You were right anyway,” Shi Qingxuan offers eagerly.

Xie Lian catches his breath and takes the tea with both hands, reluctantly releasing Shi Qingxuan’s hold on him.

“He was here in the city!" The Wind Master continued. "You’d have been lost if you went to Black Water Island.”

“According to the Wind Master, Black Water Sinking Ships arrived shortly after Hua Chengzhu’s sudden departure, and devoured the trapped spirits within the human array.”

Xie Lian blinks, staring down into the tea— it’s barely more flavorful than hot water, but he knows what a luxury it would be to his host. He lifts his eyes to Shi Qingxuan for confirmation.

“All of them?”

In return, he receives a tight smile and a bobbing nod that goes on a little too long to be considered normal.

“Indeed,” the Wind Master says, fumbling out a torn fan roughly patched with brown paper to flutter before his face. “Lord Black Water unhinged his jaw and swallowed one after another. Then he began to fall, and that Heaven’s Eye was making a fuss, so I led him away to a place where he could sleep off the meal.”

Xie Lian stares, awed by the man before him. By his sweet smile, and the deep terror in his eyes; by an act of protection where he would have more than expected and forgiven an act of hatred or revenge. Truly, just one person…

“The others won’t find Lord Black Water agreeable, I fear.” Xie Lian rasps, draining the mug before turning the best smile he can on Shi Qingxuan. “This one must thank you for your hospitality, Lord Wind Master. Please be assured that I have not forgotten the meal I owe you and your fellows.”

“You know, our part in saving the city has given us all excellent new material for begging and busking.” Shi Qingxuan laughs. “Don’t hurry, your highness.”

“Your highness, please do not rush off.” Yin Yu says, with a defeated air already hanging in his words. “Your wound is not healed.”

“Oh, this.” Xie Lian says, looking down. “I’ve had—”

He trails off, staring.

Fine, elegant, gold-lined silk stares back. Mu Qing’s outer robe has been folded carefully and tied over the stab wound in his chest. He swallows hard, and lifts a hand to touch it. Then he realizes—

“Ruoye!” he exclaims. “E-Ming!”

The scimitar answers at once. A bolt of silver flies to him and presses against his chest with its hilt, shaking wildly. But Ruoye—

“Ruoye,” Xie Lian whispers again, unspeakable grief lodging in his chest.

“Your silk band?” Yin Yu questions. “It’s here. It was torn.”

“I know.” Xie Lian whispers. “I need—”

“This one will fetch it for you!” Shi Qingxuan offers eagerly. “Would you like the mask too?”

The mask…

“Yes,” he manages to choke.

He looks down at E-Ming while Shi Qingxuan hobbles the few steps across the small, crumbling hut. A dark, deep crack traces down the entire length of its shining blade. There is still blood staining it from where it struck down Hua Cheng.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Xie Lian scolds the blade. “If he’d broken you—”

But the scimitar refuses to be contrite, even for a moment. It only shivers and presses against Xie Lian’s wounded breast, as if trying to heal him.

“Did the butterfly lead the others to Black Water?” Xie Lian asks, casting his gaze around the room in search of that precious light.

“Ah…” Yin Yu says, a weight in his voice. “Your highness, as for the butterfly…”

The stab wound doesn’t hurt. Yin Yu's tone does. It sinks down into him as if he’s swallowed lead.

“Chengzhu’s will is always for his highness to be well,” Yin Yu says, eyes lowered. “This servant did not realize until that one had healed the cut on your cheek that it was giving all its power.”

“It’s not your fault, your highness Yin Yu.” Xie Lian says, grief echoing in his hollow body. “It’s not your fault.”

It is no one's fault but his own.

Yin Yu helps him remove Mu Qing’s robe, though only after objecting to the idea strenuously. Xie Lian can’t bear leaving it on a moment longer, but he laughs his way through that explanation. He smooths the awful wrinkles out of the irrevocably-stained fabric when it’s free. He watches with confusion as his own fingers shake against the stiff, muddy bloodstains on fine robes.

“I wonder why,” he muses aloud.

“Generals Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang both had many new cuts from E-Ming when they arrived with you.” Shi Qingxuan comments, as if casually. “Your highness truly looked dead when he arrived here. It must have been startling to those two, as your former attendants.”

“Hah,” Xie Lian says without any humor. “I’m surprised General Xuan Zhen didn’t find it pleasant…”

He folds the robe carefully, and lifts his arms to let Yin Yu wrap Ruoye’s torn form around his chest. After all, the silk had once gained life through his blood. Perhaps that same blood might sustain it until Xie Lian can source enchanted materials with which to repair his poor companion.

He is shaky on his feet when at last he stands, but he can hold them. He is weak in his knees when at last he moves, but he can walk. He cannot walk quickly , but that’s just as well. Shi Qingxuan is no longer as swift as the wind. Yin Yu paces beside them both, either patient or broken. Perhaps both.

“Lord Wind Master…”

“Ah, again, your highness, really, Ol’ Feng is—” Shi Qingxuan broke off with a fond sigh, and turned a sweet smile on him. “What can this humble one do for your highness?”

“Did… Lord Wind Master was also the last to see San Lang, so… That is… This one was wondering…”

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower was contacted by your highness through the array at that time.” Shi Qingxuan offers at once, limping at his side with his once-powerful fan tucked in his belt. “He smiled as he spoke with you, even though there was so much going on, but the moment you disconnected his face changed. Your highness, I hope you know that I say this with some experience behind me— I have never seen a more frightening expression than his in that moment.”

“Oh,” Xie Lian says dumbly, thinking of all he’d seen through Shi Qingxuan’s eyes.

“Mmhmm.” Shi Qingxuan agrees. “He said your highness was in danger, and that reinforcements would arrive for the human array. He said he had to go somewhere until then, to find a way into the heavenly realm. Then he was gone.”

Xie Lian swallows hard. How long after that had…?

He takes a shaking breath, and forces a smile.

“Thank you, Lord Wind Master.”

“Hahaha, your highness spends both thanks and apologizes too freely!”

Xie Lian can’t tell him what it means. To know that the last anyone had seen of Hua Cheng he had been thinking of him. To know that he’d sensed something wrong, even though Xie Lian had tried his best to give nothing away. To know that he’d sent reinforcements to hold the human array; not because he cared, but because he knew Xie Lian would.

And how, Xie Lian thinks with a sick feeling, was he repaid for his loyalty?

They find the others just where Shi Qingxuan said they would be. Black Water Sinking Ships, however, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, three martial gods stand staring at an open doorway, full to the brim with water as if the ocean had taken up residence.

Quan Yizhen lifts his eyes first and immediately bursts into motion, waving over his head as if the three of them hadn’t been seen yet. He is, Xie Lian realizes with a sigh, dripping wet. His curly hair hangs in wild, sodden waves about him.

“Shixiong, Shixiong!” He cries in delight. “These two don’t know how to get in!”

“Neither do you, idiot!” Snaps Mu Qing.

Feng Xin whips around towards them at once, the sincere worry on his face clear even at a distance; even to Xie Lian’s still-foggy eyes.

“Your highness, should you be up?” He asks at once in alarm, taking a half-step forward.

A dozen shallow cuts on his arms bleed sluggishly. A tight bandage is wound around Mu Qing’s bicep as well, stained bright crimson red. Xie Lian lifts a hand to wave him down with a careful smile.

“Darling E-Ming,” he soothes. “Please let them close their wounds. They were only helping.”

He strokes his fingers down the silver hilt gently, and feels the scimitar shudder in answer.

Other than that, he simply gives the three of them his most practiced smile and asks “Black Water Sinking Ships is within?”

“Yes!” Quan Yizhen replies when Feng Xin only gapes and Mu Qing keeps his back firmly turned. “But it’s full of water. I said I could swim in, but these two wouldn’t let me.”

“There is a devastation rank ghost inside! ” Feng Xin says with the particular angry tone he saves for repeating the same fact the seventh time.

“And?” Quan Yizhen replies. “I could probably fight him.”

“We’re not here to fight him, Quan Yizhen,” Xie Lian says, wishing he had something to offer the young man to dry off with. He feels around in his robes and only finds…

Oh.

He pulls the piece of burlap out of his sleeve and looks down at it. His smile freezes on his face, twitching at the corners.

“Where did you get—” Quan Yizhen starts, reaching forward.

“Don’t!” Xie Lian jerks the fabric away from him. “I don’t know what you see this as, Quan Yizhen, but—”

“It’s the Brocade Immortal, I know.” Quan Yizhen replies with an easy nod. Yin Yu’s face drains completely of blood in the corner of Xie Lian’s vision. “You don’t have to worry, Xie Lian, I recognize it. Where did you find it? How did you tear it?”

Xie Lian opens his mouth. Closes it again. It feels worse, saying it aloud. It feels unbearable.

“Jun Wu gave it to San Lang.” He replies at last around a voice threatening to break. "I tore it to stop him."

Silence answers. He doesn’t want to see their faces. He lets Quan Yizhen take the burlap from his suddenly slack fingers, and breathes deeply enough that he can feel Ruoye’s squeeze around his chest. He pretends to himself that it is intentional comfort, and not a simple fact of the tight bandaging.

He turns to the door while they stand in silence. It’s an interesting puzzle, certainly. It seems like an unusual place to nap, but less so for a ghost than for a human, he supposes. If he did not dislike drowning so much, he would consider spending some time at the bottom of the ocean.

He thinks of squirming creatures with their legs caught in traps. He thinks of thrashing fish in an ocean. He sighs, and pushes his fingers beneath Ruoye’s tight bonds. He presses his fingers into his barely-closed wound, and writhes them deep enough to conjure fresh blood. He doesn’t even feel it.

“Stop!” Cries a voice, too-loud.

A hand grips his wrist and yanks his fingers roughly out of his own skin. Xie Lian lifts his calm eyes to Feng Xin and smiles politely, despite the bruising grip on his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Feng Xin demands.

“Calling a shark to the surface,” Xie Lian replies.

He slips free of Feng Xin’s grip easily enough, then dips his bloody fingertips into the dark, distorting water. For a moment, all is silent. Then the water roils like a storm, and a pale hand shoots outward, tipped in claws, to wrap around Xie Lian’s wrist. He isn’t concerned, though. It is far more gentle a touch than Feng Xin’s was, and makes no move to pull him into the water.

Indeed, Black Water Sinking Ships steps free, his long dark hair still connected to the water like a tether.

“Are you out of your mind?” Hisses the ghost venomously.

“Lord Black Water.” Xie Lian greets, giving as much of a bow as he can with his wrist still held captive.

“If he finds out you bled to wake me, he will quadruple my debt.” Black Water snaps, dropping Xie Lian’s wrist as if burned by it.

Xie Lian smiles despite himself. He had thought the debt might be a joke, but it appears not…

“This one can assure you that will not be the case,” Xie Lian swears with a more proper bow.

“Where the fuck is he?” Black Water asks, scanning the faces around them as if trying to pick out which one is Hua Cheng’s disguise.

“Ah,” Xie Lian smiles. “He’s not here.”

It feels so small to say it. It feels wrong to say it. It shouldn’t be that simple a thing to say.

“He’s—” he starts again, then realizes he would just say the same words. Only…

Only now that he’s said them…

Now that the words have left his mouth, what is there to say? He is not here. He is not here. He is gone. He was taken. He was stolen. He is lost.

“Lord Chengzhu’s loyalty has been usurped through unknown means by Jun Wu.” Yin Yu fills in while Xie Lian’s brain chases itself in circles.

Black Water Sinking Ships stands without moving, dead eyes fixed on Yin Yu now.

He says nothing.

“Tell me,” Xie Lian whispers, and his voice comes out wrong. He isn’t smiling anymore. He’s supposed to be smiling. It’s not their fault. It’s none of their faults. “If you had discovered the truth while you were still alive, could you have reclaimed your fate?”

Black Water Sinking Ships dead eyes slide down to him. Xie Lian meets them, and finds an endless abyss. He knows it well. He understands it completely.

“What is the nature of Jun Wu’s control?” He Xuan asks in return.

“He has San Lang's ashes. I think he’s altered his memories.”

“To steal Crimson Rain’s faith?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Black Water Sinking Ships doesn’t blink. His eyes dip to Xie Lian’s bloody chest.

“Did he do that?”

Xie Lian nods, then shakes his head.

“The Brocade Immortal…”

“It won’t matter.” Black Water Sinking Ships interrupts. “If he regains himself, he’ll scatter his own ashes for harming you. If he doesn’t regain himself, he might continue existing for a while, but without the true root of his belief, it cannot last.”

“No.” Xie Lian says.

“No one owns the same thing twice,” Black Water Sinking Ships says, merciless. “Even if stolen back, it is altered. You have three choices: Forget him, avenge him, or mourn him.”

Xie Lian wants to put his hands around the ghost’s throat. He wants to pry his sharp teeth from his mouth until he gets a better answer. He wants to tear this ghost apart.

He turns on his heel without a word and starts walking.

“Your highness!” Someone calls.

“He-xiong! How could you!”

“Don’t address me like that.”

“Go back to sleep, then! Who even wants you here?”

“Your highness!”

He doesn’t slow down. He can’t. He needs to find San Lang. He needs to bring San Lang back. He has to bring him back. He needs to find the solution to this puzzle. It has to be a puzzle. He just needs to understand it.

Somewhere there has to be another way. Somehow there has to be another path.

His lungs are tight. His body shakes. E-Ming is a heavy weight at his side. If it is disturbed by Black Water’s words, it doesn’t show it. The healed cut on Xie Lian’s cheek stings with loss. The inert band of Ruoye around him squeeze with every breath. He just needs something. He just needs an edge. He just needs anything ; A hat from the rain master to stave off the drought long enough to find a solution. A new busking routine that brings in enough for a meal to fight off the starvation. A brief gasp of fresh air from deep within the soil, nailed into a coffin.

He doesn’t even realize he’s on his knees until Feng Xin is kneeling before him, hands on his shoulders.

“Your highness, just forget him!” He’s saying. “That bitter creature— I doubt he’s ever cared for anything in his life!”

Xie Lian wants to scream. He wants to laugh. He does neither. His face stays blank.

“Your highness?” Feng Xin tries again, shaking him by his shoulders. “Snap out of it.”

“When has that ever worked on anyone?” Mu Qing hisses peevishly from nearby.

Suddenly Xie Lian can’t stand them. He opens his mouth to tell them to get lost. To hurry up and leave. To stay the fuck away from him forever this time.

He’s still holding Mu Qing’s silk robe in one hand. He’d meant to give it back to him.

“Oh,” says Feng Xin. “Your highness, don’t cry...”

“Seriously?” Mu Qing barks in reply. “Just don’t say anything at all! That would be better than your shitty advice!”

“At least I’m trying!” Feng Xin barks back.

“And I’m not?!”

“The mountain.”

Xie Lian finally manages to force his words out, but they aren’t the words he meant to say. They stare at him.

“I need to go back in the mountain." He clarifies.

“What?” Feng Xin forgets to gentle his tone after his fighting with Mu Qing.

“With the statues.” Xie Lian adds. “There’s silk there. I can mend Ruoye with it.”

Silence reigns. He can hear Quan Yizhen whispering ‘Shixiong’ over and over again from nearby, trying to ask a question, and getting repeatedly hit to silence him.

“Bai Wuxiang knows where that is.” Feng Xin says at last. “He hunted us there.”

“He’ll find us anywhere.” Xie Lian replies, feeling as lifeless as he sounds. “Will you take me there, or do I need to walk?”

“Fuck.” Feng Xin whispers. Then he stands, and Xie Lian smiles in the empty agony of betrayal. Here, at last, is the final straw. Here, at last, is the last piece of Jun Wu’s work. He will be alone.

“Quan Yizhen,” calls Feng Xin. “I need to borrow some spiritual power after all!”

Xie Lian stays on his knees. He doesn’t even realize that he’s hugging the crying mask and Mu Qing’s robes to his chest. He just watches Quan Yizhen gamely touch his still-wet hand to Feng Xin’s gloves, and the light that follows.

“Your highness,” Yin Yu says, and offers Xie Lian a flask of water. “You should drink.”

“Why are your lines so crooked?” Mu Qing is griping. “It’s further West than that, don’t you remember?”

“Complain or help, pick one!”

“See?” Quan Yizhen says, crouching before Xie Lian. “A hand touch will do.”

He can’t quite manage a smile, but he pats the young god on his soggy shoulder.

Then he focuses on breathing, one breath after the next, and hopes that he’ll find some answer in the ten thousand god cavern beneath Tonglu Mountain. Perhaps there is some clue he overlooked. Perhaps there is some truth he forgot. Perhaps there is some hope to be found there.

When the array is complete, they step through together. The Wind Master never followed them. Xie Lian is glad. He cannot protect anyone. He has never been strong enough. But it's good, that the others are there. In a world where so much is hard, where so much hurts, that, at least, is good.

They stayed.

He’s glad only until the moment he sets foot in the cave. He's glad only until Feng Xin and Quan Yizhen summon palm lights in the dark. Then a deep, wounded moan claws its way out of him, and he sinks to his knees once more.

Around him, countless beautiful statues, each one lovingly crafted, have been reduced to nothing but rubble.

Notes:

THIS CHAPTER NOW HAS AN ILLUSTRATION FROM THE WONDERFUL SAENDA!!! Xie Lian's Moment of Comfort!

AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY MY INCREDIBLE WIFE TOMO! Xie Lian encounters Wu Ming

Chapter 5: Broken Things

Summary:

Wu Ming returns to Jun Wu in failure, betrayed even by his own mind and haunted by a blood-stained face.

Notes:

A few notes before today's chapter:

First: Tags for Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, and Mental Breakdown have been added (though I should have added that third one some time ago.)

Second: Breathe through it.

Third: ART!
If you missed it, there's new art from Saenda from the last chapter! It's agonizing.

Tomo illustrated moments of pain from last chapter too! It hurts my heart and I love it! (And now there's MORE! Feng Xin and Mu Qing finding Xie Lian!)
@ruixuexe on twitter drew painful & adorable sketches of Xie Lian, He Xuan, Quan Yizhen, & the Xianle trio+E-Ming!

Finally: I cannot tell you how much the response to this fic has meant to me. I will be responding to comments tonight (sorry for the delay) but I am so grateful to every one of you. And I swear, I swear, I mean that happy ending tag.

I mean it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

He is unravelling.

The wound in his neck gapes open, unhealing. His illusory right eye is no longer heeding his commands, slow and off-pace in its motions; only half-open and dragging behind reality. Jun Wu is pacing back and forth across the grand martial hall, deep in thought.

Every time Wu Ming blinks, he sees the blood-spattered face of the trash god. He is waiting in the dark, like the afterimage of the sun.

He tries not to blink.

E-Ming's wounds in his chest and neck refuse to heal. The raw flesh of his forearm throbs where Xianle's forearm met it to block his strike. The Brocade Immortal is silent around him.

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t bother trying.

Jun Wu paces, deep in thought. Wu Ming lies on the floor of his throne room, and tries to stop his body’s useless bleeding.

He blinks again. Golden eyes burned red with crying greet him. There is blood on his face, and Xuan Zhen’s saber protrudes from his chest. The trash god reaches out to him.

Your ashes aren’t safe, San Lang!

He forces his eye open. He cannot swallow. E-Ming did not behead him, but it was a near thing.

Jun Wu is above him when he opens his eye. The illusion on his right side stays closed. It's just as well. Jun Wu would dislike its weak, half-functional motions.

The toe of his majesty's holy boot nudges at the bloody mess of his neck. Wu Ming urges his flickering spiritual power to clean the blood from that white boot at once. It earns him a small, approving smile from his god, so it is far from a waste. It is the most useful thing he has done yet.

“Is your scimitar’s curse keeping them open?” Jun Wu asks, tilting his head with seemingly idle curiosity.

Wu Ming opens his mouth to answer, but only receives an ugly gurgling sound and the taste of blood. He frowns in frustration and reaches for their private communication array.

His fuzzy mind must have misremembered the password. It doesn’t work at all.

Jun Wu sighs again, shaking his head. ‘In the array is fine,’ he says, and Wu Ming is relieved that he was willing to lower himself to use his crude… He frowns in confusion. His password is…?

‘Focus, Wu Ming.’ Jun Wu admonishes. ‘Your wounds. Is it E-Ming’s curse?’

‘Possible.’ Wu Ming replies quickly, ashamed by his own distraction. ‘It would not typically work at such a distance, but—’

“But it is connected to you.” Jun Wu acknowledges with a nod. Then he crouches, endangering his gold and white robes with the pool of blood. Wu Ming scrambles, flattening one hand against the ground, and pushing a spiritual barrier between the staining red and his god’s perfection.

Jun Wu smiles at him, and lays a hand on his head. Wu Ming closes his eye to appreciate it as Jun Wu pats his hair in steady motions.

The memory of being wrapped in the trash god’s arms crashes into him like a blow to the heart. Blood pumps heavy from his chest at the reminder, as though there were still a heartbeat there to force it.

San Lang, it’s going to be okay.

“Why did you do it?” Jun Wu asks, fingers toying with Wu Ming's snarled hair.

‘Do what, g—your majesty?’ He catches himself, just barely. He hasn’t slipped like that since the first day he—

His brows tighten in confusion. The first day he what? Why did he ever think it appropriate to call his majesty ‘gege’ in the first place?

“Why did you craft that blood weapon from yourself?” Jun Wu clarifies, sliding his fingers down over the illusion of his right eye.

His finger prods, and Wu Ming lets the pitiful illusion drop. Jun Wu slides his thumb between his empty eyelids, forcing them open wider. Wu Ming shudders on the floor.

‘A moment of madness. Desperation.’ He answers, ashamed.

“Not fully,” Jun Wu argues, chuckling. “Or do you think I truly believe you instinctively spared those worthless mortals you were defending?”

Wu Ming stares up at him. He knew? It makes sense that he would guess E-Ming’s origin. It isn’t subtle, with its eye and ridiculous insistence on clinging to— to—

Jun Wu’s hand strokes through his hair with bare fingertips, his thumb still resting in the wet heat of Wu Ming’s empty eye socket. His patience is truly unmatched.

‘This servant did not want to dishonor his god by turning on the common people for personal gain.’ He responds at last, shame burning through him.

Jun Wu tilts his head back and laughs. His thumb digs in. Wu Ming watches him. He loves his laugh. He wants to make him laugh more. He feels that he used to be able to, before Xianle turned on his majesty. If he could just—

“The common people,” Jun Wu chuckles, letting his laugh fade away and shaking his head slowly. His fingers smooth over Wu Ming’s cheek, still anchored by his thumb where an eye should be. “And what made you think I would like that?”

Wu Ming keeps his attention on the sad curve of his Majesty’s smile. To anyone else it might have seemed patient and a little cruel, but Wu Ming knows his majesty like no other. He knows that beneath everything he does is a sorrow born of his own kindness. He knows, no matter how cruel the smile seems, his majesty is sad.

‘At that time, your majesty had just chosen to spare Yong’an, at great risk to yourself and in spite of their unworthiness. This one wanted to honor that choice.’

“I see.” Jun Wu says, his smile sharpening. “Well. That answers my question. Still… With just your own eye, your sword became so powerful. Imagine what a hundred human lives could have done?”

Wu Ming had imagined back then. He had wanted to.

‘Did this servant choose wrong?’

“You did.” Jun Wu sighs, shaking his head. “They were only common trash. The only way for their lives to have meaning is for them to be sacrificed for the strong. You understand that, don’t you?”

If you have no reason to live, then live for me, Jun Wu’s voice said once to a screaming, shaking child in a run-down temple. Wu Ming wonders, for the first time, if he misunderstood the intention behind those words. The question sinks through him like pain. He shudders, head to foot, his broken body arching around the pain. His eye rolls back as Jun Wu sighs, removing his touch at last. Blood leeks from the abused eye socket.

“Take yourself to the palace of Xianle to recover,” Jun Wu says, footsteps heading away from Wu Ming’s useless body. “When you’ve healed enough to fight again, come to me.”

He should answer. He’s supposed to answer. The communication array is open and waiting. He has to thank his majesty. He has to thank him on his knees, forever. This man who is his reason to exist. The man who saved him and gave him a reason to live, despite that he was only trash.

Was it only so Wu Ming would sacrifice himself?

Does it matter? Isn’t that what he wants to do anyway?

The pain crawls through him again, inescapable. It is not a feeling like a sword strike; it echoes from deep inside his bones.

It feels like crystal cracking.

When he can think again, Jun Wu is gone. He is alone, bleeding on the floor of the grand martial hall. The frayed edges of the Brocade Immortal nudge at the back of his mind. He has to go to the palace of Xianle. He opens his mouth, unsure whether he would snarl or moan. He can do neither. He pours spiritual energy into his wounds. It dissipates out of his flesh, coalescing into useless butterflies.

They circle his body lazily. They land in the pool of blood and drink from it. They shine.

Wu Ming thought Jun Wu would love them, once.

Wu Ming thought Jun Wu would love him, once.

His butterflies won’t answer him. His blade won’t answer him. His body won’t answer him. The Brocade Immortal pushes against his failure until it too fails.

He is unravelling.


He has a brief moment of awareness.

There is a warm body beneath him. Coarse fur pokes at his cheek. A hand touches his back and stays there as the world moves beneath him in steady, rolling motions.

He wants to hate the comfort. It isn’t Jun Wu, so it should mean nothing. He wants so badly to hate.

He can’t seem to feel anything.

San Lang, a voice just out of his reach is saying, its tone warm with delight. San Lang .

He falls into darkness, and hopes to find the one calling.

He knows who it is.

He wants so badly to hate him.


The kingdom is failing. The kingdom is falling. Jun Wu grows quieter each day; colder each day. Hua Cheng watches him. Follows him. Drags his blood-soaked fingers out of the mud to collect flowers for his shrines.

“The boy is cursed,” says a faceless man watching him search for flowers in the mud. “The boy himself is a curse. He will bring ruin.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes scan the ground for a glimmer of hope. Of color. There. A white flower in the battlefield.

“The boy is cursed,” the faceless man says. “There was no such boy in Wuyong.”

Hua Cheng staggers towards the flower.


Someone is touching him. He writhes. He bites. He fights. He is a feral, vicious thing.

“Rain Master!” A deep voice calls.

“Stand down,” the reply is endlessly calm. “That was my mistake.”

He tastes blood. He laughs. His laugh doesn’t work. An awful, bubbling sound rises up from him. His body arches around him.

Jun Wu would scold him. Jun Wu would step on his chest to hold him down. Jun Wu would be disgusted.

He is disgusting.

He is unravelling.


A girl stands on the battlefield, holding out a handkerchief towards him. Her expression is empty, but there is fear in her. There is hurt, and confusion. She is and is not inside a pickle pot, and his movement falters in confusion at that thought.

“General Hua,” she whispers, pressing the handkerchief towards him. “General Hua—”

The kingdom is falling. Hua Cheng stumbles through the battlefield towards the white flower for his god.

A piece of paper flutters down, torn and frayed. He catches it. It is not paper. The strip of leather bears black marks that he cannot read. He throws his own skin aside, with so much force it sends him toppling down atop the flower. He barely catches himself before he crushes it beneath his own chest.

His hands find purchase on the yielding, blood-drenched body of Xianle. More wound than man, his open chest and stomach are wet, and red, and fluttering with helpless life. Hua Cheng’s hands sink deep into him, fingers skittering over his bones. The flower grows up from his open mouth, lips parted in a silent scream.

His deep honey-toned eyes are dull, fixed up on Hua Cheng.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, though his lips don’t move. “It’s okay, San Lang.”

Hua Cheng can feel Jun Wu behind him. He drags his bloody hands up. He puts them to the flower stem. He puts them to Xianle’s lips. There is no breath.

“It's okay,” Xianle breathes, dull eyes staring.

Hua Cheng plucks the flower. Xianle’s body falls to dust.

He turns, at last. Jun Wu stands behind him, draped in funeral white. A mask covers his face, half-crying, half-smiling. Wu Ming kneels before him and offers up a flower.

He knows what’s coming long before his god’s hand crushes his ashes.

He only waits.


Awareness returns with an ache and a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He lifts one hand to guard against it, but cupping the palm over his ear only increases the sound.

It also gives him away.

“Hua Chengzhu,” a woman’s voice greets.

He forces his eye open. He needs to get his bearings. He needs to discern whether this is a danger to his majesty. Whether—

He unintentionally relaxes at the sight of Yushi Huang. She kneels by a low table, holding a teacup in both hands and patiently watching him. She returns her eyes to her tea, watching the steam drift upwards for a long time before speaking.

“My apologies for being a poor host. I would offer you tea, but doubt it would do you much good in your current state, Crimson Rain Sought Flower.”

His throat. Time has definitely passed— He can tell that his spiritual powers have returned, though not fully— but the wounds in his neck and chest are still open. At least they aren’t bleeding anymore.

“The password to my private array is ‘a good rain knows its proper time.’ Please use it if you would like.”

Wu Ming only watches her. His ears are ringing, and his body echoes that high-pitched note. It feels unstable as smoke. He can feel his long limbs still awkward with youth. A mess of bandages over his face.

The body he died in. He hasn’t reverted to it since he was in the kiln.

If the Rain Master is disappointed, she doesn’t show it. She takes a long drink of her tea. The scar on her throat bobs with her swallow. Wu Ming forces himself to rise. His body is disobedient, but it functions now. However poorly, at least it functions. He shoves himself up onto his elbows, then up into a sprawling seat. His head spins, and he takes a moment to steady himself. He needs to get to Xianle palace. That’s where he was ordered to go. Where the Brocade Immortal will…

He looks down at himself. Soft blue outer robes meet his gaze. His mind is his own again.

“You wouldn’t permit anyone to tend your wounds.” Yushi Huang informs him, lifting her gaze to look out at the gardens just beyond the vast windows beside them. An ox paces the fields there. Wu Ming thinks of coarse hair under his body. “Beside you is a needle and enchanted thread. It should hold your skin closed until you can heal.”

Wu Ming fixes his eyes outside and says nothing. The ox wanders through simple fields, freshly planted. He knows it has been many years since the Rain Master came to heaven herself. A young ghost runs out to join the ox, a bucket of water clasped in both her hands, but carried as if it weighs nothing. He watches her dispassionately. She offered him a handkerchief once. He cannot remember a ‘General Hua.’

“One week ago, you contacted me with news of danger in heaven.” Yushi Huang says, unmoving at her tea table. “I do not know why. But I am grateful you did. If I had not arrived, Pei Ming and Pei Xiu may both have been lost. Please accept the thread in thanks.”

Wu Ming only sits and stares. Pei Ming and Pei Xiu are here, then. He doesn’t know what happened to Xuan Ji and Rong Guang. He should inform his majesty. He cannot connect to his communication array. He cannot speak.

The ghost in the garden frowns in concentration as she tips the bucket, watering the plants. He remembers offering up the pickle jar where she rested himself. He remembers her cooking with Jun Wu while under Mount Tonglu, traveling to the kiln. He remembers Jun Wu’s hand on her hair. He remembers her voice calling ‘General Hua’ with a pang in his chest that he doesn’t understand.

His ears ring.

He takes the thread, and staggers out of the Rain Master’s palace. Yushi Huang sits behind him, unmoving. She drinks her tea and lets him go. He can still taste her blood in his mouth.

He does not remember calling her.


The palace of Xianle is in ruins. He stumbles through the rubble. His legs are traitors. He would cut them off to spite them if he thought he could form more, but his spiritual powers are diminished beyond belief. He has not felt so weak since he was a newborn devastation kneeling on a ruined temple floor.

He’s forced to support himself against the wall, cold under his hand. The needle he holds digs into the palm of his other hand, squeezed too tightly. He remembers the hook of an earring, piercing deep into the palm of an unworthy hand. He remembers never releasing it. He leans against the wall to fumble for his braid, and finds the coral pearl hanging there as ever. He shudders, wrapping his fist around it and pressing both hand and bead to his chest.

He thinks of Jun Wu’s unpierced ears.

It means nothing. The parade took place thousands of years ago, after all. Though he remembers it so clearly. The parade route was crowded with bodies and echoing cries of celebration. He remembers his majesty, robed in white and gold, giving new meaning to color with his beauty. He remembers that perfect mask; so much less perfect than Jun Wu's face. That shitty good-for-nothing servant portraying the ghost, and his majesty playing the part of…

Of the heavenly emperor Jun Wu?

His head swims. E-Ming’s wounds ache. The high-pitched sound in his ears redoubles. He snarls against it, soundlessly. A butterfly alights on his gaping throat again, prodding at it in search of more to drink. They are still bleeding out of him, the butterflies. He pushes off the wall. Forces himself forward. The butterflies flicker and falter and fade behind him.

He finds a bedroom that contains a table and mirror. There is next to nothing else in the room. It is empty of art or any personal flourish. A pile of flat robes rests atop a chest, ready to be used, all white fabric and ornate designs. They are untouched, but for the dust of the recent palace destruction. Usually there would be no filth in heaven to dirty them. Xianle’s betrayal has truly ruined everything.

Including Wu Ming.

He drops onto the seat before the mirror. Rakes his unruly hair over his shoulder, uncaring of the snarls he pulls free, and the clumps of hair that follow. The needle in his palm doesn’t feel like anything.

San Lang , a voice calls to him in his own memory, beckoning from the darkness of oblivion.

Wu Ming bares his teeth at his own awful reflection. He tears away the remembered bandages, and drops them to the floor. He can still feel Jun Wu’s thumb in his empty eye socket. It should thrill him to be touched at all. He wants to force his hands down his own throat in disgust.

Jun Wu is only using you to hurt me!

“Shut up!” He tries to scream. Nothing escapes him. His lungs are empty. He cannot fill them.

He fumbles with the needle and thread, and wants to tear himself apart. All he’s worked for, all he’s dreamed of, everything he's done, and now he fails. Now, after so many hundreds of years, he falters and fails and—

He pulls the enchanted thread through the needle’s eye at last. The hole in his breathing first. He can’t see it past the meat of his body.

He claws the flesh away with his own fingers. It’s satisfying work. It feels like digging out an eyeball in service to his god.

Then he remembers that E-Ming's creation was a worthless sacrifice, worthy only of scorn.

He mutilates himself in penance. His body does not bleed. He cleans away the mess of flesh and tendon at his neck until he can’t hold his head upright any longer. It doesn’t matter. Tilted to the side, he has a good view of the gaping black hole in his own breath.

He stitches it closed as the skin he wears struggles to regrow itself around his hands.

The needle goes in.

‘E-Ming, no!’ Cries Xianle, as if he's the one being stabbed.

The needle slides out.

‘This one simply does not want to hurt Hong Hong-er.’ Xianle says, eyes so warm it burns.

The needle slides in.

‘Stop this! You’re wounded!’ Xianle begs, as if his own leg and shoulder and face were not pouring blood.

The needle slides out.

‘It’s okay. San Lang, it’s going to be okay.’ Xianle’s arms tight around him, warm and safe and strong. Xianle’s body, shaking against him with tension. Xianle’s blood filling his senses, and his long-dead heart screaming at the touch of kindness.

The needle stalls.

Jun Wu holds his jaw in a bruising grip. Jun Wu says ‘tell me who you serve.’

“You, your majesty.” Wu Ming whispers, his voice whistling past his half-sewn throat.

But he hadn’t said that. His mind supplies the truth, unbidden.

‘Gege, what’s wrong?’ Hua Cheng had asked, lifting his own hand to Jun Wu’s face. ‘Why do you look so sad?’

His eye burns.

‘Your Majesty,’ Jun Wu had corrected, his tone patient and his hand furious. He had shaken Hua Cheng roughly by jaw, the bone under his fingers bruising; threatening to break.

His hand shakes holding the needle. He forces it back towards his throat. He tries to stop the shaking breaths he’s taking.

‘Your Majesty,’ Hua Cheng had said, brows twisting and stroking his god’s brow with gentle fingers. ‘It’s going to be okay. Just tell me what you need, and this servant will provide it.’

The needle falls.

‘Still not enough I see,’ Jun Wu had sighed. Then he had taken up the ring of his ashes once more, and washed Hua Cheng's world in bright golden pain.

“It was my fault,” Wu Ming chokes in front of the mirror. The tears are useless. The tears are ridiculous . He hates them. He hasn’t cried since— Since his god had been—

Xianle’s broken open body on the battlefield, a flower in his mouth.

“Stop,” Wu Ming begs of no one. “Stop.”

Xianle’s smile, soft and warm.

Jun Wu’s smile, cold and victorious.

“Stop.”

‘He cursed you, you know’ Jun Wu held Hua Cheng’s tattoo turned to leather in his hand like a victory.

‘Please, Lord Crimson Rain, be safe.’ Xianle reached out to touch him, then pulled away when Hua Cheng tensed.

Wu Ming screams until his feather-weak voice buckles under the weight. He rips the mirror from the wall and shatters it on the floor.

The violence isn’t enough.

He upends the table before him; sends it crashing to the floor. He lurches to his feet, and shatters the chair he used against the wall. He tears the curtains down from around the bed, and rips open the mattress with his claws, and howls somewhere between fury, and madness, and sorrow.

He tears into the robes, carefully stacked for Xianle and never used. He pulls them apart at the seams, and feels the light of the kiln burning him from the inside out, blazing in the back of his ruined throat. He howls in a voice that flickers in and out of existence, and rips fine silk into nothing.

He tears a band of silk, and Xianle screams like a man seeing his family murdered before his eyes.

He claws at the walls. He breaks the windows. He ruins everything he can touch, but there is nothing there to be destroyed. It is an empty, unused palace, already in ruins.

When the madness leaves him, he finds himself sitting on the floor amid destruction, and feeling nothing at all. He pants through it, watching salt tears drop to the floor. The room is torn apart.

He is unravelling.

Numbly, he seeks out the needle from the wreckage. He sews the wound in his neck without bothering to look. His own tearing claw marks have healed, leaving only E-Ming’s sharp lines once again. He does not care how it looks. Nothing matters.

He rips Yushi Huang's blue robes off of himself, and lets the cursed body he’s been forced into remember itself. The bandages cover his right eye. The too-large armor wraps over his long, scrawny frame; scavenged off a dead soldier to hide his own return to the army. Not that anyone cared, in the end. A seventeen year old walking towards death in battle— the only worthwhile act of his short life.

San Lang—

He staggers into the wall. He punches it after, and the delicate white and gold crumbles. He pushes past the remnants of his majesty’s fight. He blinks his blurry eye closed and shakes his head against the constant high-pitched screaming sound. He trips on a break in the floor and tumbles. His hands claw before his eyes, blood-stained nails against the cracked white marble. He whirls on what tripped him, fury brimming in him. There is an indent the size of a man’s torso, marked with blood. His hand reaches unconsciously towards it.

It looks too small for Jun Wu’s body to have fallen there.

A butterfly flits down from behind him, and delicately probes at a spot on the ground. Wu Ming has to brace his hands on the floor, kneeling pathetically on the ground. He swipes at the damnable creature, and it lifts away from the spot it was inspecting; dried salt and blood. Wu Ming’s own tears drop beside it.

San Lang—

He claws his way to his feet. He shoves his sleeve against his crying eye in fury. He wants to claw it out as well. He wants to drop it under Jun Wu’s boots to crush. He wants to tear himself to pieces.

San Lang—

“I know!” He screams, standing in the doorway to the Xianle palace. He’s panting for breath, teeth bared.

It isn’t Jun Wu’s voice. The voice in his head isn’t Jun Wu’s voice, and the name on his arm wasn’t Jun Wu’s name, and the earring in his hair wasn’t Jun Wu’s earring, and he is coming unravelled.

He storms through heaven, forcing himself onwards. His posture is bowed as if against a terrible wind, and he staggers like a madman. Grating laughter drags his eyes up and he snarls in fury at the sight of Qi Rong.

“Crimson Rain!” Qi Rong howls in delight. He holds the blood-drenched Lang Qianqiu by his hair, having just paused in bashing his face against the plaque declaring his own palace. “Ahahahaahaha, it’s true! It’s TRUE! You pathetic shit-stain, you really ARE dying, I thought that Xuan Ji was—”

Hua Cheng’s spell flows out of Wu Ming’s broken body with a hissed breath. An abrupt puff of green smoke interrupts the vile words. Lang Qianqiu's body slumps to the ground, dead to the world. A snarling green daruma doll rattles beside him, hopping with fury.

Wu Ming moves to push on when a frail voice from closeby calls: “Dad!”

Wu Ming pauses mid-step, wavering in place. The scrap of a boy is a mess. He scoops up the daruma doll in both arms, staring at the bleeding god with eyes full of tears. Then he looks up to Wu Ming.

“Sir,” he whispers, eyes widening in shock over unnervingly hollow cheeks. “Sir, if you’re here… Where’s Daozhang? What happened? Won’t he come back and help? Dad keeps hurting people, and I can't--"

“Guzi,” Wu Ming rasps, and his voice is an awful thing. “Go inside the palace. Eat and drink anything you want.”

“Sir,” Guzi chokes, hand shaking on the fuming daruma doll Qi Rong. “Sir, are you actually dying? Can’t Daozhang help?”

“Go.” Wu Ming replies.

“But sir, isn't stealing—”

“This thing is a god,” Wu Ming rasps past bared teeth, pointing down at Lang Qianqiu. “If it minds a child eating, then it is a shitty god. Go .”

He doesn’t know if it’s the blood on his teeth, or his awful appearance, or the reassurance, or his obvious hunger. Guzi runs, the daruma doll in his hands and the wheezing god left bleeding on the streets of heaven.

Wu Ming doesn’t know why he knows the child. He doesn’t know why he hates Qi Rong and Lang Qianqiu. He doesn’t know why he called the Rain Master a week ago. He doesn’t know.

It doesn’t matter.

San Lang—

He walks into the grand martial hall. No matter how many times he enters, it always feels like the first time. He is unravelling.

Jun Wu waits on his throne, patient as ever. Wu Ming drops to one knee before him, and feels the weight of his motion dislocate his kneecap. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel it. It doesn't matter. His ears are ringing.

The war inside himself rages.

“Your majesty,” he begs his god, eye fixed on the floor, “let me fight again.”

“Hm.” Jun Wu answers.

He steps down from his throne in patient, measured steps. His boots enter Wu Ming’s vision, standing before him on the perfect marble floor.

“If you fight like this, Xianle will likely kill you even without intending to,” His god says, tilting Wu Ming’s chin up with gentle fingers. It pulls at the stitches in his neck. Wu Ming doesn’t care.

Jun Wu’s hand clenches on his jaw, tight enough to bruise, nearly enough to break.

“This servant will not fail.” he rasps. “Even if he is dispersed, your majesty wears his ashes. He will return to your side.”

He reaches upwards in supplication; in a silent plea. He has a question. He has a question, and he cannot ask it aloud. The war within him hangs unending in stalemate.

“Ah,” Jun Wu whispers, crouching before him, a soft smile on his face under furious eyes. “Such a good servant you could be, Wu Ming.”

Wu Ming meets the fury in his gaze.

Jun Wu stands behind him in a cave. ‘I'm sorry. Something like this has to be said clearly.’

Wu Ming clenches a filthy hand in the front of Jun Wu’s pristine robes.

‘That's true,’ Hua Cheng says, head down, awaiting judgement . 'That's for the best.'

Wu Ming drags himself forward, and locks his lips and Jun Wu's together in desperation. Their teeth clack in the open-mouthed kiss as Jun Wu gasps against him.

Arms wrap around him from behind. So tight, so warm, so real. A beloved face presses into the center of his back, so short when in his memory he looms so large. He shakes, just a little. He shakes, and he holds him.

Jun Wu reels back, tearing their lips apart. He jerks his hand back, face twisting in fury.

His strike caves Wu Ming's face in with an awful crack. It sounds like crystal cracking.

He lies unloving where he falls. Jun Wu spits on his face. He makes no move to wipe it away or to rise.

"Don't return unless it's with Xianle," Jun Wu snarls. Then he adds in pure disgust: "And don't you dare touch him with your filthy hands."

Wu Ming barely hears him. The world is high-pitched screaming and bone-deep pain. He lies in place like the corpse he is, and Jun Wu storms away.

When he can move again, he sits up in stiff, unsteady motions. His face heals in lurches. His good eye is blurry and swimming, dizzy from more than one kind of blow.

Slowly, he lifts the hand he clenched in Jun Wu's robe. He uncurls his stiff fingers.

The ring of his ashes shines up at him. Twin cracks run through its center, dark in the bright diamond. Wu Ming stares down at it, the dead Soldier's body shaking around him. Then at last closes his hand around the ashes, and falls from heaven like a stone.

Notes:

NOW ILLUSTRATED BY SAENDA! Hua Cheng Falls

Chapter 6: Ruins

Summary:

Xie Lian stands in the ashes of his life, and considers wearing a mask he wore once before.

Notes:

So much to say, but I'll keep it short:

1. After settling down to actually WRITE this chapter, I realized it was more than two chapters worth of content, so I've split it. THUS, the total chapter count has changed to 8. Sorry for my poor planning...;;

2. If you haven't, please check out the art for the previous chapter! Tomo drew Jun Wu's cruelty & Hua Cheng's fracturing mind, and Sandea illustrated Hua Cheng's Fall! This is break-your-heart-quality work, and I'm eternally grateful.

3. Huge shoutout to @xielian_gege on twitter, who has started a Russian translation of this story linked in the description! I'm so grateful that you think this fic is worthy of your time and hard work.

I think that's all! See you very soon with Chapter 7, and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Text

 

Three Days Ago

His face is in pieces on the floor. By his right knee, a fragment of his own eye stares up at him, curved in a smile. The shadows are stark and harsh— the bright light of Feng Xin’s palm torch the only illumination in the dead cave.

He must have lost some time again. He doesn’t know where Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen went. Feng Xin and Mu Qing are mid-fight. His broken eye stares up at him. He wonders what it looked like before it was broken. All of these carvings had been so beautiful. All of them had seemed so calm and gentle. There was so much patience in their expressions; so much divinity.

Now he can only see accusation in that grey stone fragment of his own eye. This was his fault. All of San Lang’s years of work. All of Hua Cheng’s love and affection. All of his worshipful attention to detail. All rendered to nothing but rubble beneath Bai Wuxiang’s cruelty. Like Xianle. Like Xie Lian. Now like Hua Cheng himself.

You did this, that fragment of his eye says, staring up at him. You know you did this.

I did this, he agrees silently, reaching down to brush his fingertips over the broken stone iris. His fingers are trembling. He doesn’t feel it. He’s aware of so much he doesn’t feel. He’s aware of bruises on his knees, and the hole in his chest, and E-Ming at his side, shaking and shaking and shaking.

He sits in silence, and lets his eyes scan over his broken body, repeated over and over all around him. If the pieces of him from the temple altar were lumped in among them, it would complete the picture. The ruination of a worthless god. A god who'd had only one believer. Even with only one, that god could not protect him.

He doesn’t even realize that the screaming behind him has stopped until someone touches his arm.

He’s not angry. It’s not anger that makes him lash out. It’s a calm decision. The clearest thought he’s had since all of this started.

There is a crack. There is a shout. Xie Lian lifts his stone face towards the one whose arm he broke, and sees the look of startled betrayal on Mu Qing’s face— washed out in the light of Feng Xin’s spiritual power, and only growing paler from the sudden pain.

Good, Xie Lian thinks, climbing to his feet in slow, steady motions. Good. Hurt them. Drive them. Get rid of them. They’ll only hurt you.

He’ll only hurt them.

“Don’t touch me.” He says, standing amid the rubble of his last temple; as hollow now as he is.

“What the fuck?” Feng Xin says, staring blankly at Mu Qing’s limp arm.

Xie Lian’s lips twitch. He almost laughs at him. If he starts laughing, he thinks he might scream.

Mu Qing’s dark eyes don’t waver from him. Not even as he takes a step back, gripping his bicep to hold his broken arm to his side. He looks ridiculous, standing there in his inner robe. The pale silk is ruined; stained yellow from his sweat, just as his outer robe was destroyed by Xie Lian’s blood.

“Let me see,” Feng Xin is saying, pressing forward, gripping Mu Qing’s shoulder. It’s no surprise the other god shrugs him off and backs off another step, flicking him a furious glance.

“Leave.” Xie Lian instructs them both, turning away and walking deeper into the darkness.

The ground is unsteady beneath him, the uneven rubble of his life slipping beneath his feet. He walks calmly, uncaring as his ankle twists, and his toes stub against larger pieces of stone he can’t see. The dark beyond Feng Xin’s light looks like safety. This place will do as well as any. He can curl up here in the dark to wait. He can wait, and Jun Wu will find him, and Jun Wu can do what he pleases.

There was never a puzzle here for him to solve. The puzzle pieces were only exposed organs, unwinding from a dying man. Trying to put them back into place would do nothing. The body they belong to is dying. Nothing will stop it.

Perhaps, if he just lets Jun Wu take him, he can try to give Hua Cheng some comfort. Perhaps they can have just a little more time together.

“Move.”

“Your arm is fucking broken! You want me to just—”

“Who exactly did you come here to protect?”

“Damn it, you—"

"Move."

The light increases around him all at once. Feng Xin is following him. He hates him for that. He hates them both. The hate pours over the calm that wraps around him, like a stream of water dripping onto stone and wearing through it. He hates them. They need to leave. This place is for him alone. No one else. This was his temple. This is his end. They aren’t invited.

They threw away the right to watch him die a long, long time ago.

His terrible luck kicks in. He twists his ankle. He doesn’t feel it, but he limps as he moves, and Feng Xin hisses in a breath.

“Your highness, stop.”

“Leave, Feng Xin.” Xie Lian turns on him. He doesn’t glare. He doesn’t have the energy. From how Feng Xin balks at his expression, maybe his real expression is bad enough.

“...You’re hurt.” Feng Xin says. Behind him, Mu Qing is moving through the rubble, careful not to jostle his broken arm. Damn him. Damn him, he's supposed to leave.

“Do you think,” Xie Lian turns his attention back to Feng Xin, voice slow and words carefully chosen, “that Jun Wu will let Jian Lan live if she manages to control that feral son of yours?”

Feng Xin jolts. He looks more wounded than Mu Qing does, cradling his broken arm. Xie Lian presses forward, his head lowered but his eyes fixed on the fool before him.

“Didn’t you lose her because of this exact thing?” He asks, his voice as empty as he is. “Toddling after me when I was long past hope while she waited for you?”

“I—”

“Isn’t this exactly how she and your son died?” Xie Lian steps closer, hateful words flowing easily from within him. “You couldn’t choose between us, and in the end you protected neither. Truly the makings of a righteous god.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Mu Qing says. He’s not talking to Xie Lian. “You know what he’s doing, Nan Yang.”

“I know.” Feng Xin says, his voice broken.

“Oh?” Xie Lian feels the urge to laugh again, rising up in his chest. It burns. It burns. “And what do you think you know, Mu Qing? Does it please you, to see me so far fallen? Did you enjoy telling your mother what had become of the royal family? How long did you care for her before you abandoned her as well?”

“My mother was dead when I arrived.” Mu Qing replies, his voice calm and quiet. “Just as your highness says, I was torn between my loyalty to you, and my loyalty to her. In the end I protected neither. After that, I chose to protect myself instead.”

He straightens up slowly, taking a deep breath, his expression sour and pale. “There are things I regret. But I don’t think I was wrong.”

“Then protect yourself now.” Xie Lian tells him, shifting into a stance. E-Ming rattles at his hip. He doesn’t draw it. He doesn’t want to kill them. (He doesn’t know why he doesn’t want to kill them.)

“I’m not going to fight you.” Mu Qing says.

“Because you’ll lose.” Xie Lian accuses.

“Yes.” Mu Qing agrees.

It throws him off. He blinks. It isn’t supposed to go this way. He isn’t supposed to be this way.  Xie Lian scrambles for what to say to offend him. To hurt him. It was so much easier with Feng Xin. Why was it easier with Feng Xin? Wasn’t Mu Qing always offended? Wasn’t Mu Qing always so sensitive and—

“You’re hurt.” Feng Xin says, and Xie Lian’s eyes snap to him. “And you’re exhausted, and you haven’t eaten in days while you run yourself ragged busking for the rest of us.”

“Don’t think we bought that ‘this one ate on the way back’ scrap you were selling us.” Mu Qing's eyeroll as he mocks Xie Lian is a flash of white in the dark cave.

“And now all of this…” Feng Xin’s voice breaks. “Your highness, we left you before, but we won’t—”

“Don't.” Xie Lian says.

“We won’t leave you now.” Mu Qing steps forward, shoulders back and head lifted. “Break my limbs, strike me dead, I don’t care. I left you to fend for yourself without knowing what I was truly leaving you to. I won’t leave you to this.”

“You drove me away once. I won’t make that mistake again.” Feng Xin agrees, his voice breaking with emotion.

“Fuck you.” Xie Lian hisses, the hate covering his skin, and that awful laughter burning in his chest. “Both of you can go to hell. Stay away from me. Get away from me!”

He scoops up a piece of one of his own statues to throw. He lifts it; aims at Feng Xin’s head, because if he caves Mu Qing’s skull open and spills his brains he won't ever— He'll— He'll have to clean it up, and—

Feng Xin stands in place. He doesn't lift his hands to block. He doesn't flinch. He just watches him. His eyes flick to the piece of statue Xie Lian lifted, and his brows twist.

Despite himself, Xie Lian jerks his head to the side to look. His own smile answers him. Soft and delicate; curved in an almost impish delight that he can’t remember ever feeling.

Hua Cheng had covered this smile with silk, hoping to hide it from Xie Lian’s eyes. Hoping to spare him the depth of his love. Hoping to keep it secret, so he could keep him just a little while longer. He had been so strange here. So shy and anxious, as he only was around the truth of himself. His true form; his true beloved; his true devotion; his true feelings.

“Your highness…. You really will be the death of me,” he’d whispered into the crown of Xie Lian’s head, holding him so, so tight, his voice staggering and fragile with hope.

The laugh burning in Xie Lian’s chest claws out, staring at that broken piece of his own smile. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel anything. He laughs and cries like a mask he once wore. He laughs and cries like the calamity he is. The disaster that has torn everything to shreds. In the end, doesn’t it all come back to him?

“I was going crazy,” Hua Cheng had gasped against him, cradling Xie Lian like a precious thing in his hands. “I was going crazy…”

“I’m going crazy,” Xie Lian sobs, letting the stone fragment of his smile clatter to the ground.

His hand falls limply to his side, and his head hangs back as he gasps shuddering breaths through his sobbing. It was never laughter at all boiling in his chest. It was never hate pouring over him like water. It's despair eating through the stone he’s wrapped himself in. It's grief welling red-hot in his chest. They escape him in gasping, broken noises. He sounds like a dying animal. It almost makes him laugh.

The body that crashes into him isn’t the body he wants it to be. It is warm, and of a height with him. It is strong, and broad, but not whipcord muscle and delicate hands.

But it is safe. It is safe, and it wraps his shaking body in a tight hug, and he can’t— he’s not strong enough to—

“We aren’t leaving.” Feng Xin swears, holding him tightly, his temple pressed to Xie Lian’s head, and his hands shaking on his back.

“I can’t do it,” Xie Lian chokes. “I can’t lose him. He just found me. He just found me! San Lang!”

The last he cries out. His call echoes in the sudden dark. Feng Xin is holding him too tight to bother with a spiritual light. Somewhere in the dark, Mu Qing stands, wounded and silent. Xie Lian wails into the quiet. The sound tears out of him. E-Ming quakes and cries at his side. Ruoye is dead against his chest. San Lang is gone. San Lang is dying. Mourn him, forget him, or avenge him.

He lifts his hands at last. He claws them in Feng Xin’s robes, so tight the fabric tears. He shakes him by the grip. Pulls at him.

“You have to go!” He chokes. “You have to go!”

“I won’t.” Feng Xin says, low and broken, so close to Xie Lian’s ear that he can feel the hot tears on his cheeks.

“I can’t stop,” Xie Lian gasps. “I can’t stop trying— I won’t stop trying. I'll never let him go. He’ll kill you if you stay!”

“When did either of us ask you to stop trying?” Mu Qing huffs, the shuffle of his footsteps loud against the sound of Feng Xin sniffling tears and Xie Lian’s ragged breaths.

“But—” Xie Lian gasps, blinking up at the darkness.

“Your highness,” Feng Xin laughs, wet and tragic. “We know you. You’ve never given anything up.”

“No matter how bad an idea it was.” Mu Qing adds dryly.

“Neither of us are asking you to give up on him.” Feng Xin says. “Just let us stay. Let us help.”

“I can’t,” Xie Lian chokes. “Bai Wuxiang— He won’t stop until I’m alone. If you’re here— I can’t ask you to stay!”

“You’re not.” Mu Qing says, hand fumbling to Xie Lian’s shoulder in the darkness and holding on— fearless despite what happened the last time he touched.

“Yeah,” Feng Xin croaks. “You’re telling us to leave. We’re telling you ‘no’. Simple as that.”

“So, do you respect us as gods to make our own decisions, or do you still mistake us for servants?” Mu Qing asks, a sour note coloring the steady declaration.

“Don’t be an asshole!” Feng Xin says at once, reaching one hand to shove him. The shove is greeted with a pained sound from Mu Qing. “Oh, fuck, sorry—”

“You bastard.” Mu Qing spits, his hand trembling on Xie Lian’s shoulder.

“Your arm,” Xie Lian gasps, pulling back at once. “Feng Xin, the light—”

“Don’t.” Mu Qing mutters.

Feng Xin lights his palm torch once more, quickly wiping tears away with his other arm as Xie Lian pulls out of his hug to reach for Mu Qing. The sour general backs away from his touch, scowling and averting his gaze.

“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian scolds. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine.” Mu Qing says with a roll of his eyes.

Is this what San Lang feels like with me? Xie Lian thought, thinking of Hua Cheng’s scowl whenever Xie Lian insisted he wasn’t hurting. He lets out a weak, wet laugh.

“Both Feng Xin and I have had broken arms before,” he says, gesturing to him. “We know it’s not fine. Sit down. Feng Xin, can you—”

“If he’s not too proud.” Feng Xin huffs, his brows tightly furrowed but his lower lip still trembling.

“If you don’t want my arm broken, don’t break it.” Mu Qing scolds Xie Lian. “Are you even an adult? Flailing around like this, wallowing in self-pity.”

“Shut up!” Feng Xin orders. “Don’t yell at his highness! What’s your problem? Can’t you be nice for more than one sentence at a time?”

“Ah, stop fighting, stop fighting,” Xie Lian sinks slowly to sit. He plucks a delicate sculpture of his own hand from under one thigh. The sculpture holds the broken stem of a flower. He holds the broken hand of the statue. There's some poetry in that, but he's too tired to find it. He sets the hand aside with a gentle sorry pat; not for himself, but for San Lang’s hard work.

He doesn’t expect the two generals to pay him any attention, really. He expects they’ll fight until they remember that they had something else they were supposed to do, or he gets tired enough to threaten them with idioms. Or perhaps he will work up the resolve to drive them off again.

He’s surprised when Feng Xin drops down to sit beside him right away. He scowls in discomfort and pulls a piece of carved brocade out from beneath himself. Mu Qing lifts an elegant brow and takes the time to nudge the pieces of rubble out of the way before sitting— careful, posed, and calm. Xie Lian glances down at the cursed shackle on his broken arm.

“Ah, I really shouldn't have done that.” He breathes, staring at it.

“Why not?” Mu Qing asks, bland and calm. “If you wanted to break twice that many bones, no one would blame you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Xie Lian shifts anxiously as he speaks.

His body aches, but it aches more for comfort than anything. It’s not like he can help with fixing Mu Qing's arm anyway. He draws his knees to his chest, and wraps his arms around them. He pillows his cheek on his own bruised kneecaps, and watches Feng Xin set the orb of light between the three of them. He holds out his hands for Mu Qing’s arm.

“Why not?” Mu Qing demands, not even paying attention to Feng Xin. When he's ignored, the other man huffs and takes his arm anyway. He's gentle though, pushing back the sleeve and lifting it by the wrist and elbow to inspect the break.

“Hm.” Xie Lian blinks slowly, taking a deep breath. “Why did you lend me your robe to bleed on? You could have made Feng Xin use his.”

“This idiot? He was useless.” Mu Qing scoffs. “Crying and yelling all over the place while you were bleeding.”

“He’d been stabbed in the heart .” Feng Xin snaps, though his hands stay notably gentle on Mu Qing’s arm.

“And?” Mu Qing rolls his eyes. “You already knew he couldn’t die. Was panicking going to help? Just admit you were useless.”

“So you bandaged me.” Xie Lian clarifies. “But why? You're only—”

He almost lets the acid out again. Almost says ‘you're only here because you have nowhere else to go.’ But he holds it back. It isn’t fair. Even if it’s true, it’s clear that Mu Qing is trying, in his own way.

“Only what?” Mu Qing asks, bringing the acid himself. “Go on, say it. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Only holding onto the hem of my old master’s robe? Only currying favor in the hopes the Sweeping General will be permitted to remain in heaven? Only trying too little too late to make it up to you?”

“Ah, I wasn’t going to say any of that.” Sighs Xie Lian.

“Hey.” Feng Xin says. “What did we talk about?”

Xie Lian blinks, looking at him in confusion. Mu Qing grumbles and looks away, expression narrow with displeasure.

“Sorry, your highness.” Mu Qing mutters, not sounding sorry. “We should talk about you instead. How you’re holding up. What we can do.”

“Me?” Xie Lian laughs, letting his eyes fall closed rather than watching Feng Xin chew his lip, considering Mu Qing's injury. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”

“There has to be something.” Feng Xin insists. “Your highness, like this, before Jun Wu or Crimson Rain even—”

“Hush.” Snaps Mu Qing.

“It’s okay,” Xie Lian lifts his eyes to the walls of the cavern around him. Empty alcoves and the few places where the feet of statues survived are all that greet him. “I don’t mind. I know you’re concerned, Feng Xin. Please don’t be. I’ve been through far worse than this.”

“You mean as Guoshi of Yong’an?” Feng Xin offers, glancing at him with a furrowed brow.

“Or in that Banyue disaster?” Mu Qing leans in a touch, dark eyes gleaming with interest.

“Oh, no.” Xie Lian chuckles. “Those were no real trial. There was… There was a time that…”

He trails off. He swallows. He can’t. They don’t deserve that.

“There was a time that I thought I was alone in the world,” he says at last, which is at least true. “That was far harder than anything. So really, you’ve both already done so much just by staying.”

“Tch…” Mu Qing snaps his gaze away at once. Feng Xin keeps staring at him, his brows twisting in worry.

“Your highness—”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Xie Lian chuckles, hugging his own legs tighter. “I don’t blame you for that. If you hadn’t gone, perhaps he would have killed you. That would have been much worse. As it was, I got to see you both rise as the gods of the South.” He smiles at the memory, gazing away from them into the dark of the cave. “I was so happy you were both okay. Though less so that you were still fighting…”

“Of course you were happy.” Mu Qing mutters with a very audible eye-roll.

“Stop whining.” Feng Xin scolds. “I'm setting your arm anyhow, so close your mouth. This will hurt.”

“Whatever.”

He doesn’t make a sound as Feng Xin sets his bone. Xie Lian swallows back bile at the sound. He hates causing pain. It's too bad that he's so very good at it.

“Hey,” Mu Qing says.

“What?” Feng Xin snaps.

“Not you.”

Xie Lian drags his eyes back from getting lost in the darkness. He finds that pale, tense expression waiting for him.

“Talk to us.” Mu Qing demands. “What are you thinking? What’s going on in your head? Why won’t you let anyone close enough to help?”

“Quan Yizhen helped.” Xie Lian tells him thoughtlessly. “And Yin Yu saved all of us. He was originally only going to save me, you know. It was good of him to go back for you. I couldn’t even ask him properly.”

“You asked him?” Mu Qing asks, sounding small.

“En.” Xie Lian lets his eyes drift away again. “I’d already lost San Lang. If I’d left you to die there too… But now everyone else is still trapped there, and we have no way to get in touch. Who knows what became of Ban Yue, or the two General Peis, or your—” He cuts off, glancing to Feng Xin.

He’s resolute in the pale light of his spiritual lantern, but his jaw muscle is clenching and unclenching as he ties Mu Qing’s arm into a sling using his already-ruined silk robe. Mu Qing grimaces in distaste at the bloody fabric.

“I shouldn’t have said that about Jian Lan and Cuo Cuo.” He whispers. “I’m sorry, Feng Xin.”

“It’s fine.” Feng Xin mutters. “You aren’t wrong.”

“I was.” Xie Lian shakes his head, and closes his eyes. He presses his face into his own knees. The bruises ache. It’s familiar. He craves that familiarity. “I was wrong to both of you. Mu Qing, your mother—”

“It was a long time ago.” Mu Qing replies.

“It still hurts.” Xie Lian whispers with the voice of experience. Neither of them argue.

“So…” Feng Xin starts slowly, sitting back now that Mu Qing’s been seen to and laying his hands on his crossed legs. “You and Crimson Rain, huh?”

“Hah…” Xie Lian smiles. A weak, watery thing. “If only…”

“Even with all this?” Mu Qing asks, gesturing around them.

“I wish you two hadn’t over reacted at that time.” Xie Lian's regret drags at his voice. “If we’d had a little more time, maybe we could have…”

His voice chokes. He clenches his eyes shut, tears soaking into the ratty fabric of his robes.

“I love him,” he whispers. “I love him, and I didn’t get to tell him that before it all went to hell.”

“I mean…” Feng Xin hesitates. “We, uh… we all saw you kiss. It was pretty—”

“Disgusting.”

Feng Xin reaches over to hit Mu Qing’s shin in rebuke— a light tap compared to their usual tussling. “—obvious. I was going to say obvious.”

“You think so?” Xie Lian’s voice doesn’t sound like his own. It sounds young; broken, and hopeful. A crown prince, begging assurance that the gold foil palace might stay standing.

“I mean, you heard Pei Ming.” Feng Xin offers, a note of hopeful teasing in his voice. “He’s got the most experience in such things, right?”

Xie Lian barks out a laugh despite himself. It comes out gross; all snotty and wet. It’s better by far than the bitter, crazed laughter of before.

“Ah,” he chuckles, wiping at his face with his sleeve, disgusted by himself in more than one way. It’s better than the nothing of before too. “That’s… Good to hear, in truth. I hope it was clear. I hope he knew. Whatever Jun Wu did to him, I hope he knew it wasn’t my intention.”

“How could he not?” scoffs Mu Qing. “Haven’t you been protecting him rabidly since the moment he showed up? Talking about how nice his name is and scolding us for being rude.”

“You mean scolding Nan Fang and Fu Yao.” Xie Lian corrects, a mean smile ticking at the corner of his mouth.

Mu Qing groans. Feng Xin hides his face. Xie Lian grins. It hurts. He lets it fade quickly. Takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“So you love him,” Feng Xin prompts, sounding like it pains him to do so. “This must be…”

He doesn’t appear to have words. He turns to Mu Qing for assistance, and gets an annoyed look for his trouble and a shrug.

“Don’t look at me, I was never stupid enough to fall in love.” Mu Qing mutters.

“It’s awful.” Xie Lian fills in to save Feng Xin from himself. “It’s awful. And Black Water's words... They might not be wrong. San Lang is very protective of me. Even if I get him back, I failed to keep myself during this time. It’s possible that he… Ah, I don’t want to think about it.”

The last he chokes out past too-tight lungs. He can’t stand it.

“Then don’t think.” Mu Qing mutters. “You’re good at that.”

“Your highness,” Feng Xin offers softly. “Haven’t you always said to seek a different path? That Black Water didn’t see a solution… It doesn’t mean you won’t.”

“The second cup.” Mu Qing sighs, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve died for that foolishness before.” Xie Lian whispers, gazing at the ruin of San Lang’s love for him.

“Then…” Feng Xin hesitates before speaking. “I suppose it’s whether you’re willing to risk that again for him?”

“Of course I am.” Xie Lian casts a confused frown at his friend. “It’s you two I hesitate to risk. Not to mention Quan Yizhen, and Yin Yu… None of you are expendable.”

“To you, no one is expendable.”

Mu Qing manages to say it like an insult, but it makes Xie Lian smile. He looks down at the broken hand of his statue beside him.

This was truly his last temple. Puqi shrine is destroyed. He doesn’t bring it up to the other two, but he feels it deep in his chest. There is nowhere to worship him now. If San Lang dies, will he fade?

If San Lang dies, will he mind fading?

“To me, it is the safest place in the world.” Hua Cheng assured him in this very cave, eye laughing and bright as he spoke lightly of his only weakness. “If its hiding place is destroyed, then there’s no need for me to exist either.”

Xie Lian touches his chest where the ashes once rested, and wants to shake that beloved ghost to pieces for being so foolish.

A vault under the earth would have been safer. Anywhere would have been safer.

And yet…

And yet, all at once he understands. If Hua Cheng was gone, even as much as he cares for the others…

He wouldn’t want to stay.

“Wait,” says Feng Xin all at once. “Look. Down there. Isn’t that—”

Xie Lian looks. His breath catches in his throat. He scrambles to his feet and runs, twisted ankle be damned, towards the almost non-existent glow in the dark.

Hope is a dangerous thing. Xie Lian always seems to love dangerous things. He runs headlong into that faint light, and laughs aloud as he’s wrapped over and over in tickling strands of silk.


Now:

 

“Sweet E-Ming, please hold still.” Xie Lian chides, drawing the sword down from the air where it’s been vibrating; threatening Feng Xin again. The first few times, Feng Xin had balked and paled. Now he just sighs.

“You’re going to make him worried again.” Feng Xin scolds the scimitar. “Settle down!”

“Now now, there’s no need to yell,” Xie Lian flaps a hand awkwardly. “I only want to see if this little impromptu sheath will help keep it stable.”

“What would help keep it stable would be to stop waving around and threatening everyone but the Wind Master.”

“And Yin Yu!” Chirps Shi Qingxuan helpfully.

“He hardly counts! He works for Hua Cheng!” Feng Xin objects.

“I still don’t get why it doesn’t like me.” Quan Yizhen sighs, lying on his stomach on the floor and watching E-Ming with envious eyes. “I love swords.”

“I know.” Xie Lian soothes. “But E-Ming is very clever, which means it’s very particular about its friends. Aren’t you? Yes you are.”

He strokes the silver hilt as he speaks, and E-Ming wiggles weakly before settling back into his lap and letting him measure it properly.

“You’ll spoil it.” Mu Qing warns, eyes still fixed on his needlework.

“Ah,” Xie Lian’s eyes fix on the limp white silk pooled in Mu Qing’s lap. “Probably…”

Every day since the cave, Mu Qing has spent hours working on the band. He refused to experiment on it, and first worked his fingers bloody learning to stitch with the enchanted silk of Hua Cheng’s butterflies. Not a drop of his blood has touched any robes but his own. The ruined silk he bandaged Xie Lian with all those days ago now bears messy glowing white stitching from his attempts.

"Isn’t this how it’s usually done?" Xie Lian had asked with well meaning curiosity as Mu Qing fumbled with the enchanted strands.

"Usually you harvest the silk-worms in their cocoons and boil them." Mu Qing replied, eyeing the butterflies that had followed them home. " So no."

Xie Lian shudders again remembering it, and lifts a hand.

A silver butterfly floats down to him at once, followed by three of its fellows.

“Hey,” Mu Qing says, scowling. “If you want me to fix this thing, stop stealing the light.”

“So use a lantern?” Feng Xin scoffs, working on the cheap bow he’d managed to purchase with funds from selling meat after his latest hunt.

“Sorry!” Xie Lian says at once, sending the butterflies back to their place perched above Mu Qing’s head.

"So sour." Shi Qingxuan whispers, leaning close to Xie Lian from where he'd been working on stitching up his own ragged clothes. "He'll spoil the rice."

Xie Lian elbows him very gently in the side, and bites back a grin.

“It’s me,” calls a low, flat voice just before the door to Shi Qingxuan's ragged home opens again.

“Shixiong!” Quan Yizhen flips to his feet, beaming. “Welcome back! Thank you for your hard work today! How was it? Can you stay? This one will make tea!”

“No no!” Says Shi Qingxuan, hopping to his feet. “Let this one make tea, Qi Ying.”

“...I paid for the new teapot after last time.” Quan Yizhen objects with a pout.

“Mmhmm.” Shi Qingxuan agrees, making eye contact with Yin Yu and lifting his brows. No one wanted a repeat of either part of that. Particularly not the attempt at lecturing Quan Yizhen when he'd stolen the funds from one of his own temples...

“Sit down, Quan Yizhen.” Yin Yu sighs. “Your highness, Wind Master, good evening.”

“Fuck you too.” Feng Xin mutters to himself at the slight, scowling. Mu Qing’s lips twitch at the corner.

“Your highness Yin Yu,” Xie Lian greets warmly. “Welcome back. Any success?”

“Lord Black Water’s library is as extensive as promised,” Yin Yu pulls his mask from his belt to wear it again, now that he is out of the city. He likes it, Xie Lian has come to realize. He isn’t certain why, but that doesn’t matter. He thinks Yin Yu would probably wear it all the time, but out and about in the city it’s best not to draw attention and… Well, to be blunt, Xie Lian has to admit that Yin Yu’s true face is the best at not drawing attention. He apologizes silently for the uncharitable thought.

“Ooh, this one senses a ‘however’ coming up here, your highness Yin Yu.” Shi Qingxuan teases, as bright and easy with the dour ex-god as he is with everyone.

Yin Yu heaves a put-upon sigh. “However this servant was unable to discover any pertinent information. All the information regarding ashes is much the same.”

“Only how to destroy them.” Xie Lian sighs, stroking E-Ming’s cracked blade.

The scimitar brings him endless comfort. It is San Lang’s spiritual weapon, after all. So long as it is calm, he is certain Hua Cheng still exists. Of course, E-Ming is never really calm , but he loves its enthusiasm. He loves how it presses into his fingers like a cat being stroked. He loves it.

“And on your end?” Yin Yu asks, not a modicum of hope in his voice. He has taken Black Water’s word as law, though he is willing enough to follow Xie Lian’s orders and seek another answer.

“Hm.” Xie Lian looks down. “Some progress. Would his highness Yin Yu consent to a small walk together to discuss?”

“Seriously?” Mu Qing glares at him.

Xie Lian lifts both hands immediately. “This one is really, really feeling much better! Really! After two days of rest, surely General Xuan Zhen must agree this one has recovered?”

Mu Qing rolls his eyes, but goes back to sewing, scowling down at his work. He's still relegated to mostly working one-handed by his broken arm. Guilt swells immediately in Xie Lian, but he swallows it back. Mu Qing has asked nothing of him since except…

Well, ‘asked’ wasn’t the right word for what he had done. He’d brought Xie Lian back to Shi Qingxuan's home, and then he'd complained and groused and sneered and poked and cajoled until Xie Lian lay down and closed his eyes. Then, ludicrously, he’d stood there to make sure he stayed laying down until Feng Xin had insisted they swap places since Mu Qing was wounded.

Xie Lian had laughed, and the sound had struck truer than it had since… It had been a bright enough sound that the Wind Master stopped scolding the generals of the South and instead flopped down beside him to join the nap. He chatted easily with him while Mu Qing stared at the ceiling and scowled and Feng Xin tried not to pout at how easy it was for the two of them to talk. And then, despite everything… Xie Lian really had fallen asleep.

Oh, the dreams had still been there. Hua Cheng’s tiny corpse held onto his sleeve and walked through the world with him. He had tugged on his sleeve and whispered ‘gege, help me?’ as they were stabbed in a temple, and were trampled in Banyue, and rotted together in a coffin.

But Xie Lian that night had whispered ‘I will’ to him every time, without fail. He had gathered that child’s corpse in his arms and held him there. Hua Cheng's shaking body had held onto him, full of faith.

“Do what you want.” Mu Qing mutters now, glaring down at Ruoye.

“It’s true though, that you don’t have to hide from us?” Feng Xin offers, frowning up from his work on fixing up the sub-par weapon and fletching new arrows. Those he made of spiritual power would have burnt the poor simple bow to a crisp.

“Thank you,” Xie Lian says with a smile. “But there are some things that San Lang would not enjoy being spread.”

“Ugh," Mu Qing sneers. “Is there worse than we already know?”

But he says it mostly to himself, so Xie Lian lets it pass.

“Shixiong, you’re going again?” Quan Yizhen looks despondent. “Can this one come? If there’s danger—”

“No.” Says Yin Yu, turning on his heel and leaving.

“Don’t worry,” Xie Lian whispers, squeezing Quan Yizhen’s shoulder as he passes. “We won’t go far.”

“Okay.” The young god mutters, looking put out but not nearly so despondent as Xie Lian would have guessed. “Have fun then? Don’t die again.”

Shi Qingxuan stifles a laugh, and masks it by clearing his throat a few times and waving. “Qi Ying, come here, come here. You can help me fix their tea for when they return.”

“Wind Master, don’t forget to take your cut from the hunt money.” Feng Xin reminds with a sincere concern. “Letting us all stay here is a strain.”

“And give me that damn tunic when you’re ready. I’ll show you how to patch it properly.” Mu Qing adds, sharp and frustrated.

“Uh,” says Quan Yizhen, apparently wanting to be part of the conversation. “Want some spiritual power?”

Shi Qingxuan’s awkward laugh follows Xie Lian and Yin Yu outside, onto the streets of the royal capital. So does a single one of the silver butterflies that followed him home from the cave. It floats into his hair and settles there, just like its sibling had before.

Yin Yu walks in silence with him a while, his steps still carefully slowed to match Xie Lian’s cautious gait. He’s trying to do better. Trying to let himself heal all the way this time without pushing.

He thinks Hua Cheng would be proud.

“You know,” Yin Yu says at last. “If we started running now, we might give them the slip, your highness.”

Xie Lian chokes, and laughs again. It’s a bright, lively thing. He likes Yin Yu. He likes all of these people, he's realized over the past few days. He likes Shi Qingxuan who was always so quick to share when he had enough, and now shares just as readily with next to nothing. He likes Feng Xin’s desperate sincerity and stiff attempts to be a support in this awful situation. He likes Quan Yizhen’s easy nature and single-minded devotion.

Mu Qing… Is fixing Ruoye, and stained his nice robe, and really , it’s not as if he ever did anything so terrible. One mountaintop eight hundred years ago, and a reasonable distrust of nobility. It was still hard, but… It's too hard not to feel some affection for him, so Xie Lian doesn't try.

And after all, he did break his arm…

“Ah, let’s not run just yet.” Xie Lian says. “It would be rude to make Shi Qingxuan babysit without payment.”

Yin Yu looks younger when he smiles. He looks down at the mask he’s holding, pacing a ways further in silence before asking. “His highness wanted to share his thoughts?”

“En, he does.” Xie Lian says with a nod. “But that’s not really why this one asked you to come, your highness Yin Yu. This one had a question, but it might be cruel. You don’t have to answer.”

“Ask it.” Yin Yu stops in his step and turns to him. “I’ll answer, your highness.”

Xie Lian nods. “Then, forgive me. I won't hesitate. If you had killed Quan Yizhen, what would you have done?”

Yin Yu stares at him. Then he hums to himself. He looks down at the dirt beneath them. His thumbs brush over the demon mask he carries, and he turns to keep walking. Xie Lian falls in step with him, watching his carefully-blank face, and his dull, tired eyes.

“I don’t know.” He says at last. “At the time… Well, they probably would have done more than simply exile me from Heaven. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to worry at all about what to do next.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. His eyes haven’t changed. He doesn’t even try to fake a smile. Xie Lian waits it out. He knows it’s uncomfortable. He walks slowly, and smiles at the familiar beggars they pass, waving and exchanging hellos. None of the hurrying higher class take the smallest notice of him and Yin Yu. They have trained themselves not to see those with grime on their faces and bloodstains on their clothes.

“You highness is asking because Hua Chengzhu hurt you.” Yin Yu says at last. “But it’s not the same situation at all.”

“Hm,” Xie Lian tucks his hands inside his sleeves. Hidden in one, the mask of Wu Ming is cool against his fingers. “It may be more similar than you think, my friend. Quan Yizhen himself conflated our situations.”

“Did he.” Yin Yu’s voice is impressively flat.

“He did.” Xie Lian nods. “He had the grace to assure this one some time ago that he knew what it felt like, being harmed by one you trusted and knowing it was an accident.”

Yin Yu looks like he’s swallowed something awful. Xie Lian wants to take mercy on him and end the conversation. After all, didn’t Yin Yu show him mercy when he couldn’t answer before? But Yin Yu doesn’t ask, so Xie Lian only waits and walks. They meander through the shacks, and Xie Lian takes note of a few scraps that might be useful. He stoops to pick up a particularly nice piece of discarded wood from a recently fallen house. He tucks it into his sleeve with a hum, and keeps walking.

They head towards the edge of town, and Xie Lian doesn’t suggest they turn back. Some things are easier said without ears around, even if no one in the royal capital would understand a word of what was said.

When they’ve left the city behind, standing in the fields surrounding it, on the opposite side of the city from where Xie Lian led Hua Cheng to fight, Yin Yu finally draws a deep breath to speak.

“I would say it would have ruined me, but I’m already ruined.” He says, his voice rife with bitter acceptance. “I would say it would have killed me, but I would still have tried to live if I could. I wish I could say I would have regretted it, but I can’t be certain I would have been. However…”

“Yes?” Xie Lian prompts.

“I don’t think I would have ever been happy.” Yin Yu replies, dull eyes fixed on the dirt. “I’m not sure I will be as it is now either, but if I had killed him then… No matter what success I knew, what heights I rose to, I would always… He would never be gone. It would still all be about him. About what I’d done. He wouldn’t even have blamed me. He never does.”

“I know.” Xie Lian says, voice low. “Thank you, your highness. That was helpful to hear.”

It isn’t. It only reinforces what he already knew. But Yin Yu has been honest, and deserves his thanks.

“And your highness?” Yin Yu asks, lifting the mask to his face and tying it on now that there are no eyes to stare. Xie Lian lets him hide without comment. “Did you remember anything that might be of use?”

“Nothing much. I thought I might try giving San Lang a flower next time.” Xie Lian sighs. “If he is not under the control of the brocade immortal, that is. He used to offer them to me when he was a child. I think they were all he had.”

“It’s worth a try.” Yin Yu agrees with a nod. “Hua Chengzhu would surely—”

The butterfly in Xie Lian’s hair flashes into the sky. It flutters, frantically, darting back and forth. There is a crashing sound. E-Ming rattles at Xie Lian’s hip, struggling to free itself. Xie Lian grips it tightly, and pushes himself in front of Yin Yu.

He’s fallen from Heaven many times. He has never watched someone else fall.

“Yin Yu, run .” He commands.

“No, your highness!” He’s answered.

The dark form hits the ground so hard the earth buckles and shakes. Xie Lian sucks in a breath.

“Go!” He orders again. “I can’t protect you and myself!”

“There is absolutely no need for your highness to protect this servant.” Yin Yu says with a grim displeasure, sinking into a stance.

Ah… Of course that would offend even a former martial god into disobedience…

Xie Lian takes a deep breath. Hua Cheng knows Yin Yu. Certainly whatever Jun Wu did to him didn’t erase the years of service his faithful Waning Moon officer had given him? Surely he would—

Xie Lian’s thoughts stutter to a halt. From the cloud of dust, a figure walks. No, staggers . There is blood on his armor. His hair falls in ruin about his shoulders, A bandage wraps around the right side of his face. His neck is stitched half closed with rough, vicious needlework. Xie Lian grips E-Ming tighter.

Hua Cheng can barely keep his feet. Smoke pours not only up from the earth, but off of him as well. The curling evil fractures into short-lived butterflies behind him. They scream and crumble in his wake.

Despite all the horror of it, it’s Hua Cheng’s expression that strangles his heart. That little nameless Soldier from the Beizi Hill, who fought bravely until his very end. Xie Lian has seen his smile, and his awe, and his worship, and his concern.

Hua Cheng’s brows are furrowed. His lips are pulled back, baring his teeth. His eye fixes on Xie Lian and stays there, burning. He looks like he's suffering. He looks like he's being tortured .

“Chengzhu…” Yin Yu whispers behind Xie Lian, voice filled with a terror that Xie Lian can’t even feel past the shock.

“You,” Hua Cheng says, and his voice is wrong . A million ways wrong. It is a rasping ruin, breaking and wheezing past his slit throat. “What did you do to me?”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispers, taking a half-step forward.

Yin Yu grips the back of his robes tightly, holding him in place.

“What have you done?” Hua Cheng snarls, fury and hate and terror in every line of him, like the screaming child Xie Lian first knew him as. His right knee gives out. Send him stumbling forward onto his knees. He claws his hands, and drags himself up out of the dirt through sheer will.

The darkness bleeds off him. The butterflies that form scream as they die.

“Stop,” Xie Lian whispers before managing to catch his voice. “San Lang, stop, you’re hurt . E-Ming, let him close his wounds!”

The scimitar shakes at his side, eye rolling madly.

“If you want me dead, just kill me!” Hua Cheng roars, so loud that it breaks his fragile voice, and leaves him coughing into one hand. He sags where he stands like he’s only held upright by the thinnest of strings.

Yin Yu’s grip slips, and Xie Lian doesn't hesitate. Hua Cheng’s body gives out just as Xie Lian arrives to catch him. He sinks with him to the earth. He’s light. He’s terrifyingly light. It feels like he’s barely there at all. Just a little scrap of a thing. A boy fallen off the tallest tower, weighing nothing in his arms.

“San Lang,” he calls again, pressing his hand to the ruin of his neck. It isn’t healing. E-Ming won’t listen.

The sound that escapes Hua Cheng at his touch is heartbreaking. It’s somewhere between a desperate refusal and a greedy moan.

His skin feels hot to the touch, and Xie Lian has never felt anything more wrong.

He fumbles. Flounders. Grasps at straws for what to do, what to say. Hua Cheng’s eye is closed, and he’s breathing in choked gasps, though he doesn’t need to breathe at all, and Xie Lian—

Xie Lian grips one of Hua Cheng’s wrists, then the other. He draws them together in front of Hua Cheng's chest and grips them tight in one hand.

“Look at me.” He says.

Hua Cheng looks. His eye is wild and dangerous. He is a predator, caught in a hunter's trap.

“I’m holding you captive.” Xie Lian says to him. “Do you understand? You can’t return to heaven because I’m holding you captive. You aren’t disobeying anyone. You can’t fight, and you can’t return. I’ve captured you.”

Hua Cheng stares. Then his lips twitch and he gives a raw, breathy, vicious laugh. It ends in a groan, his head tilting back and his body twisting in Xie Lian’s arms.

“Your highness—” Yin Yu says.

“Bring me something to bind him.” Xie Lian orders without looking, his voice strangely calm. “Whatever happens, I won’t let Jun Wu touch him again.”

The weak ghost in his hold shudders at his words. Xie Lian wants to comfort him. He doesn’t know how.

“But—” the once-god behind him hesitates, one hand half-lifted.

“Yin Yu, please!” He snaps, jerking his eyes away from Hua Cheng just long enough to watch the masked man, frozen in place. Then Yin Yu straightens, and vanishes to do his bidding.

“You— Hah—” Hua Cheng’s grin is furious. Xie Lian wants to pat it away. He holds his wrists in one hand, and holds him off the ground with the other. “You even took Yin Yu from me?”

“No,” Xie Lian’s voice is low. He can’t keep the ache out of it. “Hua Chengzhu, though I know you have many questions, please. You must rest for now. Your body is—”

“My body—”

Hua Cheng laughs, raw and broken. His voice fizzles out again. It does not come back. Xie Lian has no spiritual power with which to try to heal him. He has only his lap to keep Hua Cheng’s body off the hard, unforgiving ground; his hands to hold the ghost king’s wrists and shoulder; his eyes to bear witness to how he is suffering.

“Please,” Xie Lian whispers. “You must rest, Hua Chengzhu. No harm will befall you. I swear it.”

The butterfly drifts back to Xie Lian’s hair. Xie Lian sees Hua Cheng notice it. Sees his mouth open as if curse it to death. Then, as if that hatred took his last energy, he slumps in his arms. It’s a slow struggle of unconsciousness.

Whatever has happened to him since Xie Lian saw him last, he is immeasurably worse. Not only the tragic skin of the young Xianle soldier, but his throat. The bandages on his face. That he had fallen . Not just from heaven, but to his knees. Xie Lian has only ever seen him fall once before…

Terror pounds through Xie Lian's body with every heartbeat. He shakes on his knees holding Hua Cheng off the ground, afraid to move; afraid to do anything that might hurt him worse.

In his arms, Hua Cheng shudders over and over. In his arms, Hua Cheng is dying.

Just as He Xuan said.

Chapter 7: Haunting Himself

Summary:

Hua Cheng has fallen. He is nothing but a worthless piece of trash now, reviled by Jun Wu; a failure at his only task; a ghost trapped in a dying body.

The trash god Xianle will not let him go.

Notes:

You've heard it all before, my friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and thank you again. For your support, for sharing this story with your friends, for being here, commenting, and holding on for the happy ending.

We are so, so close now. Thank you for being here.

ALSO! The wonderful Tomo illustrated Xie Lian's confrontation with Mu Qing and Feng Xin! Please look upon it and FEEL.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


One Week Ago

“You’re reducing my debt.” He Xuan says in his mind. “By half.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t care. He doesn’t even bother responding. Let the bastard huff about being drawn into the chaos. It’s not like Hua Cheng will need him for long.

“Hold them.” He orders Shi Qingxuan, watching his face pale and his expression twist.

“Something happened,” he guesses, his once-divine voice raw. “Is his highness alright?”

“Focus on your task. If the array fails and you survive it, I’ll gut you myself.” Hua Cheng replies, snarling down at the ex-god.

“I can’t hold it myself!” Shi Qingxuan gestures sharply to his own body. “I’m not a god anymore!”

“You never were.” Hua Cheng snaps. “Reinforcements are coming. Just keep these idiots—”

Something lurches inside him. Something is— Something is wrong. Something is wrong in a way he doesn’t have words for. The red thread on his finger twists and tightens. The strand of Xie Lian’s hair he’d stolen and woven into it for the spell burns.

(It wasn’t really stealing, he told himself at the time, reverently taking a loose strand of hair as he left his ashes on Xie Lian’s chest. He’d been given a hair once, and lost it in the fires of war. Now that he had this one, his god would never be lost again.)

He watches the string writhe and burn with numb horror, then turns away from Shi Qingxuan's loud objections. He throws his dice, leaving the humans behind to hold or fail. There’s only one thing that matters, and he—

Xie Lian can’t die. He can’t really die. But he can suffer. He can suffer, and Hua Cheng is supposed to save him.

“The Waning Moon casts dim light,” He snarls aloud as he tears through Paradise Manor. He’ll need a disguise that doesn’t use much power, something to keep his presence masked from Jun Wu. He’s pulling the closet open when…

No response from Yin Yu. He tries Xie Lian again. Pei Ming. Feng Xin.

Nothing.

The heavens are sealed. If he’d stayed with the damned Shi Qingxuan he might have been able to use the soul-shifting spell to access Xie Lian’s mind but—

The thread on his finger writhes. It suffers. Hua Cheng burns. It drives the hard-won wisdom out of him, and leaves only the ghost fire, clutched in a white hand while its beloved screams. He bares his fangs and tries to think, tangling his hands in his hair.

The Rain Master. She's never in the heavenly realm. Worth a try.

“A good rain knows its proper time,” he says aloud, hoping her password is unchanged since He Xuan's last intelligence.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower,” a voice greets him at once, words measured not with caution, but with interest.

The sound of her voice unlocks something in his chest. There are still moves to make. He edits his skin as he speaks, inspecting himself in the mirror.

“Yushi Huang,” he greets in return, “how would you like me to owe you a favor?”

“There is nothing I need," the Rain Master responds without even taking time to think, “but if Crimson Rain seeks aid, this one may be able to assist.”

“Hah,” Hua Cheng breathes aloud, staring at his own reflection. It's dangerous to owe a debt like that, but terror boils in his chest. It's a danger, but he remembers the stories of the Rain Master lending Xie Lian her hat, without any word of repayment.

“Something has gone wrong in Heaven," he tells her, choosing to trust as his god did. "No messages can get through. I need—”

His thoughts jerk to a halt. His everything jerks to a halt. He stares in the mirror, halfway through wrapping a turban for his disguise. He holds eye contact with himself as his lips part.

“No.” He says aloud.

“Crimson Rain?” Yushi Huang says in his mind, calm and curious.

“No!” Hua Cheng says, his contact with her flickering and fading into nothing. “No, you can’t.”

E-Ming rattles at his side. He can feel the butterflies shifting in his vambraces and necklace.

There’s no voice he’s speaking to. There’s only a feeling. A call. It latches onto him, anchored deep in his long-dead chest. Something in him is breaking. The thread on his finger winds tighter and tighter.

“No.” Hua Cheng says again, gripping that thread, and holding onto it with all he has. Holding onto—

“Let’s talk more later!” Xie Lian cries, gripping his hand to flee.

“Don’t go crazy!” Xie Lian soothes, holding him tightly.

Truly, San Lang always puts my mind at ease!” Xie Lian says in the communication array. It sounds genuine, despite the fact that there is something so clearly wrong.

“Dianxia,” Hua Cheng whispers before the call overwhelms him.


“Try again!” Hua Cheng laughs past teeth covered in blood. “Try again, you pathetic old man!”

“Silence!” Jun Wu roars in reply.

“He’s already escaped you, hasn’t he!”

Hua Cheng can’t stop laughing. He doubled over with pain, but it doesn’t matter. Xie Lian isn’t in heaven, or Jun Wu would be making him watch. He’s certain. He’s certain. He’s suspected for so long, but now he is sure.

“He’s abandoned you to me.” Jun Wu returns, poison dripping from his words. The ring of ashes is clutched too tight in his hands. “He traded your ashes for freedom!”

“Liar,” Hua Cheng is howling with laughter now. The very thought. “Even if he had, I would be so glad he did!”

The thread on his finger twists tighter and tighter. Blood pours off his hand. A stream joining a river. His eye is bleeding, and his nose, his mouth, his ears. He is being unmade. He greets the pain with laughter that bares his teeth.

“You’re nothing compared to him!” He cries, triumphant in the face of destruction. “You never have been, you never will be! There is no god in this world but him, you worthless, weak piece of trash!”

“Then this little obsession of yours runs deeper than I thought.” Jun Wu says with an absent click of his tongue. “Very well. I wonder… Perhaps if taking you by force won’t work, I can simply make an exchange…”

“Stop talking to yourself, old man!” Hua Cheng snarls.

Behind him, a butterfly is working at the bindings on his wrist. He has to keep Jun Wu angry. He has to keep him distracted. With the immortal binding cables off, he’ll be able to fight for his ashes. E-Ming rattles in his mind, but he refuses to summon it forth. He doesn’t have the strength to control it, and it is an impulsive, foolish weapon. It would be shattered.

He doesn’t care, but Xie Lian would. Xie Lian, who cradled that cursed thing without a thought— who cradled a cursed child without a thought. Xie Lian, who was so effortlessly gentle with him, as if it was easy and the rest of the world was just wrong. Xie Lian, who wanted him to stay.

“There’s really no need to be so stubborn. After all, Xianle and I are remarkably similar.” Jun Wu sighs, almost dreamily. “He only has a few lessons left to learn… It’s a pity Shi Wudu was killed by your compatriot before I could pick his brain about his tactics, but…”

His expression clears. His face lights up with a sudden pleasure as he puts two and two together. It was never just Shi Wudu.

No. No, no, no— Hua Cheng bucks against the ropes. E-Ming rattles in his mind. The butterflies swarm his bound hands.

“Ling Wen, Ling Wen the All Knowing,” Jun Wu speaks aloud, his mouth curving in a pleasant, gentle smile as he watches Hua Cheng struggle. “Do you remember your friend the Water Master’s work with the Reverend of Empty Words?”

Hua Cheng twists. He bites at his own shoulder. He breaks his own wrist to worm it out of the ropes.

“Excellent! Come to my palace, if you would. We have much to discuss.”

“His highness is nothing like you,” Hua Cheng screams, his voice raw with fury. “He’s nothing like you, and you’re a fool to think so! At every step, he has walked a better path than you ever could have dreamed! Compared to him, you are nothing. All of heaven is nothing!”

“Someone is just asking for punishment.” Jun Wu clucks, shaking his head. “At this rate it will be weeks before you're suitable for fighting.”

Hua Cheng grins. There’s blood in his mouth. He lets Jun Wu draw closer, then spits it onto his pristine boots.

“He’ll beat you.” Hua Cheng grins, bright and certain. “Whatever you do to me, you’ll never change him. And you know it!”

The pain is welcome. He fights it tooth and nail. He tears himself apart as much as he can. The longer he can stall this— the longer he can fight— the longer Xie Lian has to get away.

I love you, he thinks, eye closing as the blood pours and pours.

I love you. Be safe. Be safe.


He awakens from pain to a scowling face and a hand gripping his ashes too tight. Everything hurts. Everything burns. The thread on his finger coils tighter and tighter, cutting into the skin. His god hovers over him, his expression terrible.

“Gege, what’s wrong? Why do you look so sad?” Hua Cheng asks, lifting his hand to brush over the tight pull of his cheek.

“Your Majesty,” his beloved corrects. He is gripping Hua Cheng’s jaw, so tightly that it threatens to break. He shakes his face by the grip, as if in punishment. Hua Cheng’s brows knit in worry, but there’s no need to force him. He’d call him anything he asked.

“Your Majesty,” he corrects himself as if it makes sense.

If he’s patient, his god will answer his questions in time. He has every faith. But that awful expression is still there and… Hua Cheng tilts his head in worry and strokes his beloved’s furrowed brows. The last he remembers, there was a fight. Something awful must have happened. What has he failed in this time? What was he too weak to save his god from?

“It’s going to be okay, gege,” he swears. “Just tell me what you need, and this servant will provide it.”

“Still not enough I see,” Xie Lian sighs, frowning down at him.

But it isn’t Xie Lian. It isn’t Xie Lian. It isn’t Xie Lian!

The grip on his ashes tightens, and foreign magic pours through him. He screams his god’s name, and hates himself for calling for help. If Jun Wu came to save him, he’d only— No. No, if Xie Lian came, if—

If Jun Wu endangered himself to save a worthless servant like Hua Cheng, he’d shatter his own ashes in penance. Jun Wu has already done so much for him. Even now, Jun Wu lifts his burning hand and touches the thread that’s halfway through amputating his finger. His majesty hisses as if burned, then chuckles to himself.

When the thread shatters like glass, Hua Cheng breathes a sigh of relief, and thanks his merciful god through numb lips that don’t feel like his own.


Now:

There are cracks in the world. He walks up to the edge of one and sits there, feet swinging over the abyss. His finest work looms behind him— a near-perfect statue. He still needs to give it a sword. He keeps looking down.

There’s nothing at the bottom of the crack. There’s no magma. No hidden sea. No jagged rocks. There’s just the abyss. He isn’t afraid of it. He has always been in the abyss.

A figure moves on the other side of the chasm. Someone in pale robes, gesturing. He doesn’t look at them. He swings his feet over the end of everything. On his body, the cracks in the earth are repeated. A carved hollow over his throat. A gap where his heart should be.

“Hong Hong-er,” a voice calls.

Her real voice is long forgotten. He keeps his eyes fixed on the emptiness.

“You can come home,” she offers. “You can try again.”

“I’ve never had a home.” Wu Ming tells her. “A home is where you live with your loved ones. I was going to have one, I think, but something went wrong.”

“That’s not true.” she tells him. “I loved you. I did.”

“In spite of everything.” Wu Ming laughs, and fixes the smiling mask over his face. It hides how his grin has started to crack. “I wanted more than ‘in spite of’.”

On the other side of the crack in the world, the figure in pale robes is on his knees. Wu Ming cannot look at him. He is only dreaming. His mind wouldn’t know who to make it. He cannot look at the statue looming behind him. He would not know its face.

“You won’t last long anyway, you worthless shit-stain.”

Wu Ming’s smile twists into a grimace and turns on the image of Qi Rong. He’s often here in his dreams, with his sick smile and his shining eyes. In his hand he grips a gunny sack. The sound of hoof-beats pounds through the silence around him. He doesn’t remember why.

“Get the fuck out of my dream.” Wu Ming says rather than wondering. He throws that figment of his imagination down into the abyss.

Qi Rong screams obscenities all the way down. Wu Ming laughs after him. It’s the most fun he’s had since that first fight with the trash god.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower?”

He goes still. His legs stop swinging. He keeps his eyes on the pit, watching the last flickers of green light.

“Your highness the crown prince,” he says in return, the words hollow and angry.

“It’s okay.” Xianle’s voice grows closer. He kneels right beside him. “Crimson Rain can throw this one down if he would like to.”

“I should,” don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, “you’re only manipulating me.”

“Is that what you think?” the dream asks in Xianle’s voice. “Is that really what you think?”

Wu Ming looks at him.

Xianle is pinned to a tree, a saber through his heart. His face is bruised and bloody. His hand reaches out, and this time it catches Wu Ming's robes. This time he’s close enough to hear the broken whisper of his words.

“Your ashes, San Lang—”

The terror in his eyes is breathtaking. Wu Ming jerks away from it, and nearly topples off the edge. Xianle grips him tighter with his dying hand, lurching against the blade.

“Don’t go,” the dream breathes to him, blood pouring down his face.

Wu Ming hovers there, held away from the edge of the abyss by Xianle's hand. The fabric of his robe starts to tear.


He wakes in a rush, trapped in a dying body. Above him, silver butterflies perch on the inside of a hastily-patched roof. He tries to move, and finds that he’s been bound at the knees, ankles, and wrists.

He fights. There is no choice he could make but to fight. It is all he has ever done. He strains and struggles, but though the ropes are not as insidious as that evil silk he tore before, they have been imbued with spiritual power. His twisting tears at the stitches in his neck.

“Hua Chengzhu,” Xianle’s voice is bright with worry. He appears in a rush, kneeling down beside him. “Please try to relax.”

Hua Cheng forces his useless body to lunge, ready to tear out Xianle’s throat with his teeth. The rotten god of the Southeast pulls Xianle away by the back of his robes before Hua Cheng can do more than scratch him.

“I told you, you have to be careful.” He scolds Xianle, checking the mark on his neck at once. “He’s always fought like a feral beast.”

“He’s not a beast.” Xianle snaps, his voice harsher and clearer than Hua Cheng can remember ever hearing it. He clears his throat after, straightening his robes. “But thank you, Feng Xin. I’ll be more careful.”

Hua Cheng struggles as long as he can. Xianle begs him to stop in a low, gentle voice. The general of the Southeast stares at the wall, and says nothing more.

When at last Hua Cheng sinks into darkness again, he can’t tell if the sound Xianle makes is a sigh of relief or sorrow. But he is distantly aware of a cool hand against his skin, settling the bandages back in place around his missing eye.


Jun Wu stares down at him with eyes the wrong color and whispers “Are you sure your devotion is not misplaced? Wu Ming—”

“San Lang—” he says at the same time, his voice splitting in two, overlapping.

And then, together again: “—are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” Hua Cheng chokes, Xianle’s— Jun Wu’s— hands around his throat, strangling him. “I don’t know.”

His god stares down on him, hands tightening steadily around his throat. His god stares down at him from behind a cry-smiling mask, and Hua Cheng can no longer tell what color his eyes are.

The dream cracks around him.


“Shhh,” a voice is whispering, something cool and damp moving over his face. “It’s only a dream, San Lang.”

“Don’t.” He rasps, clenching his eye shut against that name. “Don’t—”

“You’re awake?” The cool touch on his face pauses, and he tilts towards it greedily. It feels nice. Everything hurts but that. He doesn’t let himself sigh when the slow strokes of the cloth resume. His body trembles at the kind touch.

“Forgive the familiarity,” the trash god’s voice says. “This one thought you were asleep, Chengzhu. Even our guard is sleeping for the moment. Pray don’t attack me and wake him again?”

Hua Cheng forces his eye open. Above him, the trash god has a small, soft smile. Their eyes meet and catch. The room is dark, lit only with the dim light of several silver butterflies. By the wall, the general of the Southeast is dozing.

“I could hurt you.” Hua Cheng tells him in a raw, wheezing voice. It sounds terrible. He hates it completely. If his hands weren’t bound, he’d claw his throat open.

“You could.” Xianle agrees, and turns away to dip the cloth into water again before wringing it out and returning to sponging the sweat away from Hua Cheng’s face. He doesn’t flinch away from him, even when Hua Cheng bares his teeth.

He should bite. He should drive him off. He should fight with all he has for Jun Wu.

But he’s already captured. He’s bound and subdued. Even if he hurt Xianle, he couldn’t take him anywhere. There’s nothing he can do.

He heaves a sigh of relief, and lets his eye fall closed again. Trying to breathe hurts, so he stops trying. Xianle sponges lightly at his brow, at his temple, down his cheek. He avoids the bandages covering his eye.

“Squeamish?” Hua Cheng accuses in a whisper, his lips curling into a cruel grin.

“Hah…” He can hear the soft rustle of Xianle shaking his head. “No. But Chengzhu hasn’t given this one permission. Ah, though, really this one shouldn’t have touched you at all without—”

“It’s fine.” Hua Cheng rasps as the cool cloth threatens to withdraw again. “This one is your prisoner, isn’t he? Do as you like.”

It’s more bitter than he intended, but it’s true. He is weak, and useless, and imprisoned. He cannot protect his majesty at all like this.

Does he want to?

A shudder runs through him again. A gentle hand meets it, resting on his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” the god says to him. “I’ll talk to E-Ming again. It’s being so stubborn… I know it finds this hard to forgive, but… I’ll make it unwind the curse, Hua Chengzhu. Hold on a little longer?”

“The curse?” Hua Cheng chuckles. It’s not a pretty sound. “That barely matters. You’re much more dangerous, your highness.”

Xianle’s hand twitches, the touch of the rag flickering against Hua Cheng’s jaw. He remembers a harsh hand grabbing him there, shaking him for his disobedience, rattling his already-rattled brain. Xianle delicately brushes the wet cloth over his sweat-soaked skin.

“I don’t want to be.” He says, his voice so sincere that it aches. Then he clears his throat and gathers up a brave smile. “And Hua Chengzhu doesn’t have to call this one by that title.”

“What else would he call such an esteemed god?” He asks, a cruel laugh in his words and his teeth bared in his smile.

“Whatever he likes.” Xianle replies without question. “Anything he likes. May this one see if he can assist with the wound on your neck?”

“Don’t bother.” Hua Cheng means to hiss it. He means to hate him. Really, he does.

“Chengzhu isn’t a bother.” Is all the god says in reply. “Is there anything this one can do that would help?”

Hua Cheng thinks seriously. The god gets under his skin through that patient, gentle act of his. Something to throw him off, to give him a glimpse of what's under the act…

“The bandages are disgusting.” He says in reply.

Let him see Xianle blanch in response to his maimed face. Let him watch the little trash god, the worthless crown prince, the traitor of heaven balk and stumble in the face of his ugliness. He has to remember. Jun Wu is the best of them. He has to remember.

He can’t stop shaking as Xianle unwinds the bandages. There’s a sharp intake of breath. Hua Cheng greedily watches him, ready to take that gasp as his answer when—

“You’re bleeding,” the god whispers, fumbling to fold the cloth to a new, cleaner area before pressing it at once against his hollowed-out eye-socket. His other hand cups the side of Hua Cheng’s head, holding him still.

There’s nothing. There’s no revulsion at all. He holds the cool cloth over his aching empty socket, bloody from Jun Wu’s callous touch. His hand shakes where it supports Hua Cheng’s head.

He’s forgotten to be careful. His pale throat is well within reach of Hua Cheng’s teeth.

Hua Cheng gapes up at him. His own sharp teeth and endless struggle feel as distant as a dream.

“Does it hurt?” Xianle asks, turning those worried eyes on him again, so bright and full of concern for a worthless servant like him.

He should think it’s a lie. He should hate him. He should fight now, while he has a chance. Xianle is only a god of trash.

He wants to bury his face against his neck and hide there forever.

“Hua Chengzhu?” Xianle asks again, his concern redoubling. The cloth lifts as he checks on the insignificant wound, then he settles it in place again.

“It’s fine.” Hua Cheng finds the strength to say.

Xianle’s expression pinches and he frowns. It’s the first glimmer of disapproval he’s shown at all. Then he sighs out a long breath and lowers his eyes from Hua Cheng’s gaze. His hands stay, one gently holding the side of his head, the other resting over his missing eye.

Hua Cheng fades again, unable to decide which touch to lean into, and instead holding very, very still in the hopes they won’t be taken away.


His dreams are as broken as he is. They are fragments of thought.

Jun Wu pats his hair in praise.

Xianle grips his ashes in an iron fist.

The cry-smiling mask stares down on the kneeling Wu Ming.

“Who are you,” Wu Ming calls to the mask. “Let me see you! God, please, let me see you.”

In Puqi shrine, Jun Wu makes an awful stew that poisons his guests.

In heaven, Xianle presses his thumb into Hua Cheng’s empty eye socket.

“This was a mistake,” his voice says, but it’s not his voice. Hua Cheng’s dream can’t imagine his voice that cold. It rings so discordantly false that it wakes him.

“-- that if you were really the merciful god you claim to be, you’d let E-Ming finish it’s work.” Black Water Sinking Ships is saying, standing in the doorway to what Hua Cheng realizes only then is a miserable little shack.

“I never claimed to be a merciful god.” Xianle returns, calm and precise, holding E-Ming’s hilt tight in one hand and blocking the doorway.

Hua Cheng laughs; a sharp, barking sound. It’s clearer than his voice was yesterday. He doesn’t know why. He Xuan’s eyes snap to him, his face twisted in disgust. Xianle, in comparison, whirls with a beaming smile.

“Good morning, Hua Chengzhu!” He greets cheerfully. “There’s tea for you if you can drink it.”

“It would only pour out again.” Hua Cheng chuckles, tilting his head to show his neck.

“This is useless.” He Xuan says.

“Then leave!” Snaps the small, mortal Shi Qingxuan as he pushes the ghost with his one good arm as if he has nothing to fear. “You said your part, and his highness said no.”

“You little—”

“Feng Xin, would you mind?” Xianle says, taking a step back and looking to the Southeastern general.

Feng Xin hesitates, glancing between the Devastation lying bound on the floor, and the one seething in the doorway. Then he pokes his finger directly into Xianle’s chest and says “Don’t go close. If Mu Qing has to stitch you up again he’s going to call it my fault for centuries.”

“I know, I know.” Xianle soothes, patting his hand.

Then, at last, the door is closed. Silence falls. Hua Cheng shifts as if trying to find a more comfortable position. The spiritual energy in his bonds is lower today. If he’s patient and careful, he might break free. If he’s clever, he can lure Xianle closer and take him down. If he’s successful, he could still deliver his body to heaven. Jun Wu would be so pleased. Jun Wu would praise him. Jun Wu might forgive him for running.

Hidden beneath his robes, his own ashes quake like a dying man’s heart.

“I’m being destroyed.” Hua Cheng announces to the room at large, less a question and more an observation.

Xianle’s jaw clenches.

“He Xuan thinks so.” He says at last, his voice musical and light, not matching the cold fury in his eyes. It’s not directed at Hua Cheng.

“Hm.” Hua Cheng watches him as Xianle rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath to calm himself. “And what does your highness think?”

Xianle pauses mid-motion. He lowers his sleeve from his reddened eyes and looks at him. Then a smile blossoms on his face. It’s small, and weary, but it’s true. Hua Cheng can’t get enough of looking at it. He can’t stop thinking that he put it there.

“This one thinks that Hua Chengzhu is a man who enjoys defying expectations.” Xianle replies with a soft chuckle.

If Xianle lets his guard down, Hua Cheng can kill him and drag him back to heaven when the magic in the binding runs out. He tells himself that’s why he smiles in return.


That night, the useless general Qi Ying is chosen to guard them. He falls asleep even faster than Feng Xin did, pouting after his Shixiong with endless little sighs.

“To be honest, this one specifically requested that Quan Yizhen guard tonight because there was no doubt he’d sleep,” Xianle confesses awkwardly, kneeling by Hua Cheng’s side to whisper.

“Sneaky.” Hua Cheng accuses with a wry smile.

“Would Chengzhu like to sit up for a while?” Xianle’s blush is back, dusting the tops of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears in the butterflies' silver light.

If he says yes, Xianle will touch him to help.

“Yes,” he says, and adds a pout for good measure. “This one’s back already aches.”

“No good at all.” Xianle says with playful empathy, shaking his head.

One of his hands cups the back of Hua Cheng’s neck. The other wraps around his waist. Hua Cheng closes his eye. His head swims as Xianle moves him. He keeps his body limp for more than one reason.

First, he wants Xianle to think he’s weaker than he is. Second, it means Xianle holds him closer.

He refuses to inspect the second reason, and selfishly takes what he wants. He tilts further into Xianle’s arms until the god settles him against the wall so he can sit comfortably.

“Alright?” Xianle asks, brows knit in concern as he leans back.

Hua Cheng opens his mouth to whine. He doesn’t understand the impulse. If he said ‘no, your highness stopped holding this one’ and pouted, what would Xianle do? What would he say?

He stares at his face and says instead: “I know you.”

“You do.” Xianle agrees, settling back onto his knees, so close they’re almost touching.

“I know you well?” Hua Cheng pries, eyeing him.

Xianle’s lips twitch. “Very,” he agrees. “Though there’s still a lot about you that I don’t know, Chengzhu.”

“Your highness called me San Lang before.”

He forgets to say ‘your highness’ like an insult. It slips past his teeth with an affectionate lilt. His body shudders.

“Ah, this one doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable!” He lifts his hands between them, waving them a little, as if fending off the words.

“Did this one say he was uncomfortable?”

Xianle watches him. His smile comes out again. The real one. He shakes his head in false exasperation. “Ah, San Lang. So insincere.”

He whispers it like a man dipping his toe into ice-cold waters.

“What did I call you?” Hua Cheng says. “If we’re being informal.”

“Call me whatever you like.” Xianle looks down at his hands. E-Ming is silent by his side. Hua Cheng’s butterflies alight in his hair. With Xianle’s eyes averted, Hua Cheng can spare them a brief, venomous glare. Useless things…

“Then…” he hesitates. He knows. But he won’t. He can’t.

You are not my ideal servant, but you show promise, Jun Wu’s voice praises in his mind.

Gege, what’s wrong? He asks Jun Wu, stroking his brow.

“...I suppose that makes you Wu Ming.” He whispers, cold and harsh with a wicked smile.

Xianle’s smile fades. He swallows hard. His eyes fix on a point in the distance, the remnants of the blush vanish as he goes almost wax-pale.

“So it’s true?” Xianle whispers. “You were…?”

“How did you know my names?” Hua Cheng presses forward, trying to make it idle curiosity, trying to hide his anger under vulnerability. “Wu Ming. Hong Hong-er. How long have you been watching me?”

“I haven’t been.” Xianle's voice is wounded. He lifts a hand to touch Hua Cheng’s cheek. Hua Cheng doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t know what to do at all. Xianle is not looking at his eye. He’s looking at his own hand against his skin. “The greatest of all my crimes is that it took me so long to notice you.”

“If you know the answers, just tell me,” hisses Hua Cheng. He grabs Xianle’s wrist with both his bound hands, holding his trembling, calloused fingers to his cheek before he can pull away. “Just say it.”

“I can’t.” Xianle replies, his voice low with sorrow. “I’m afraid it would only tear you apart.”

“Coward.” Hua Cheng accuses again.

“Yes.” Xianle agrees in a whisper, so close that his breath brushes Hua Cheng’s lips.

“I could kill you.” Hua Cheng tells him to watch him withdraw. Instead he watches him blush and shiver.

“I know.” Xianle breathes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Hua Cheng replies, startled to find it true.

He’s leaning forward before he can think better of it. Xianle leans forward as well, his brows twisting, his expression of yearning so deep that—

“Hey,” a voice outside the door calls, and someone raps four times.

Quan Yizhen leaps to his feet, drawing his blade at once. He casts a confused glance at them— Xianle’s face covered with both hands in mortification, and Hua Cheng leaning against the wall and scowling— then he shrugs and turns to the door.

“Who goes there?” He calls out, trying to sound intimidating and just sounding confused.

“It’s me, you idiot, we’ve traveled together for a week. Don’t you listen to anyone but that Shixiong of yours?”

“Why bother?” Quan Yizhen replies with a shrug.

“I was never here,” Xianle whispers, fluttering hands scooping Hua Cheng up bodily and setting him back on the bed. Then he quickly removes himself to stand in the opposite corner, a bland, peaceful smile on his face.

Hua Cheng’s head spins. His heart gives a lethargic beat. Blood oozes up to dampen the bandages around his chest, neck, and missing eye. The raw meat of his forearm will stick to his rough linen tunic without a doubt.

He doesn’t care. He only stares after Xianle, still feeling his hands— strong and steady against his aching body. He licks his lips, chasing the phantom of what almost—

Don’t you dare touch him with your filthy hands, Jun Wu snarls down at him, disgust written all over his face

He feels the words like a knife, and drags in a relieved breath when his thoughts are interrupted by a delighted cry from Xianle.

“Ruoye!”

The flash of white entering the room has him tensing on automatic, but the silk ignores him completely. It crashes into Xianle’s chest so hard that he bounces back into the wall behind him. He doesn’t seem to mind, laughing in sheer delight and clinging to the silk as it twines around him.

“All of a sudden it started going crazy.” the voice from outside the doorway says. “Wouldn’t stop running around until I promised to bring it.”

Hua Cheng slides his eyes over from the delirious vision of Xianle’s joy as a band of white silk dripping with evil coils around him, nuzzling and twisting and squeezing while Xianle goes teary with joy and splits his lip open smiling too hard.

“Oh,” Hua Cheng says slowly, staring at the one in the doorway. Hate curls in him easily at last. For a moment he’d thought he might have run out. “ You I recognize.”

The sweeping general of the Southwest Mu Qing glances at him with empty eyes, then rolls them.

“Great. Congratulations.”

“Mu Qing, be nice.” Xianle scolds through his laughter, wrapping the evil silk up in his arms and holding it close.

He’s crying as he laughs. Hua Cheng’s eyes catch on the sight of him, and can’t understand the way it makes his chest tight and his eye sting. The gaping hole where his right eye once was throbs.

“No.” Mu Qing replies dryly. “Your highness, I’m not done repairing that thing yet, tell it to calm down.”

“Ruoye!” Xianle scolds, holding the silk in gentle hands. “You’re still torn? Let me see!”

The silk wiggles. Hua Cheng’s eyes flick over the seam of pale white stitches. He would consider it a potential weakness, but…

“Mu Qing, this isn’t finished yet?” Xianle asks in surprise, looking up to the useless traitor.

“Do you want it to rip again?” Mu Qing asks in reply, sharp and cold.

That sour, cold expression is unchanged. Unchanged after hundreds— no, thousands— of years. The same rolling eyes that dismissed him from Jun Wu’s side in the army. The same sarcastic drawl that said ‘he’s lying, he’s got a home to go to’ when all Hua Cheng wanted was to stay.

Hua Cheng feels a flicker of power answer his anger. He glances upwards at the butterflies, and finds them all fixated on the doorway. Curious. Xianle is still talking to him, walking over to join his side with his silk band coiling around his fingers.

Hua Cheng flicks one finger.

The so-called General of the Southwest shouts in alarm, his face sliced open by a silver butterfly’s wing.

“San Lang!” Xianle scolds at once, turning on him with an expression of surprise.

“I don’t know why his highness is scolding this one, the butterflies don’t even listen to him anymore.” Hua Cheng pouts, as if the silver butterfly hasn’t fluttered pleasantly back to settle in his hair, Mu Qing’s blood still dripping from its wing.

“What?” Quan Yizhen says, frowning. “You got bitten by a butterfly?”

“Go.” Xianle pulls a piece of fabric from his wide sleeve and presses it to Mu Qing’s face.

The hatred in the sweeping general's eyes as he glares back at Hua Cheng is a relief. He much prefers being hated to being ignored.

“I know you won’t listen, so I won’t bother trying.” Mu Qing mutters, cold eyes fixing on Xianle again. “Send the silk back before you get in any fights.”

Then he’s gone. Hua Cheng considers sending a few more butterflies after him, but even that small exertion has tired him. He must save his strength to face Xianle when the bands weaken sufficiently.

“Uh,” Quan Yizhen rubs a hand back through his fluffy, unbound hair. “What happened?”

“Nothing too unexpected,” Xianle replies, not sounding in the least surprised. Only a little tired. “Would you do this one a favor and go tell his highness Yin Yu what just occurred? Blow-by-blow. This one suspects he’ll be happy to hear it.”

“Okay!” from the way he lights up one would think he’s ascended again. “Bye, Xie Lian!”

“Mmhmm, bye.”

“Cruel.” Hua Cheng comments from where he lies. “If your highness is going to sick Qi Ying on him, this one will win back Yin Yu’s loyalty in no time.”

Xianle doesn’t laugh or smile. He just sighs and lifts a hand towards the butterflies in the rafters. They respond to him at once, fluttering down to join the silk band in fluttering around him.

At his hip, something shudders.

“You can come out, but you can’t fight.” Xianle says aloud, stroking the rough wooden sheath at his hip.

Hua Cheng breathes a laugh.

“Your highness truly is a god of trash,” he says, sneering. “That thing is broken.”

“E-Ming is a cute and clever weapon.” Xianle replies, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “This one will not surrender it.”

The so-called ‘cute and clever’ weapon, which had turned on its master so happily, limps free of the rough wooden sheath. It has bindings around its blade, trying to hold it together over its cracks. The white ribbon immediately twines itself around the silver, cuddling up close to it.

Hua Cheng ignores them both, watching only Xianle’s expression. How he gives the spiritual weapons a weary smile at their affectionate embrace. How the butterflies settle in his hair, turning a simple bun into an extravagant work of art. How red his eyes are.

“Would San Lang tell this one his history with Mu Qing?” Xianle murmurs. “Unless he is tired, of course.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hua Cheng says instead, watching him closely. “Why are you bothering? Do you think you can steal me away from his majesty? Do you think breaking me will make a difference?”

“This one doesn’t want to break or steal Hua Chengzhu.” Xianle sinks slowly to kneel close by the scratchy bed Hua Cheng rests on.

He moves with unusual caution, touching his fingertips down to cushion the motion. Hua Cheng’s eyes flick to his knees. Is he hurt? He makes note of it

“This one only wants to help.” Xianle adds in a soft, almost tender voice, breaking Hua Cheng’s thoughts.

“Everything was fine before you.” Hua Cheng tells him, hands clawing in their bonds. “You’ve only made everything worse.”

“I know.” Xianle replies, with a smile twisting his expression into something that’s more like pain than satisfaction. “I know.”

Hua Cheng should hate him. He should claw out his eyes. He’s close enough to. He should take advantage of the lack of guards— of the trash god’s obvious underestimation.

In a corner of the abandoned room, a long strand of white silk settles, nuzzling against a scimitar with a crying red eye.

“The sweeping general dismissed this one from the army many years ago.” Hua Cheng tells him, voice rough. He clears his throat. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should. “This one wanted to defend his majesty, and that piece of filth denied him.”

“Mu Qing is just over 800 years old.” The trash god reaches out, and Hua Cheng goes still at his hand’s approach. He holds himself in place as Xianle fixes one of the bandages around his head. “Are you sure— San Lang! Your throat’s bleeding?”

“Not much.” Hua Cheng huffs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling rather than face Xianle’s little frown. “Just forget it.”

He doesn’t. Somehow Hua Cheng had known he wouldn’t.

“Will you let me help?” he asks instead, hands hovering.

“I’m your prisoner.” Hua Cheng repeats. “Do what you want.”

Xianle hesitates a moment longer, then takes a deep breath.

“Alright then,” he says. “Please forgive this one in advance, Hua Chengzhu.”

It should be frustration coloring his words. It isn’t. It should be cruelty or desire driving his hands. It isn’t. He cradles the back of Hua Cheng’s head with one hand, lifting it ever so slightly off the bedding.

Hua Cheng can’t help breathing. He takes slow, steady breaths and stares up at the ceiling past Xianle’s face. Delicate fingers tipped with rough calluses brush over his throat, unwinding the bandages. Every motion is careful.

His focus shifts before he understands why. He keeps gazing up, but lets the ceiling fall out of focus. Above him, Xianle’s attention is entirely on his neck. It leaves him free to observe. He is beautiful in the details— the furrow of his noble brows; the tightness at the corners of his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them; the way his lips tense and relax as he bites them from the inside while he works.

He is beautiful, and Hua Cheng should hate him. He is beautiful, and he looks with such sorrow at the bloody mess of his neck. He is beautiful, and dampens the sleeve of his own white robe to blot the drying blood away.

“The sweeping general is 800,” Hua Cheng whispers as the cool touch of Xianle’s robe lulls him back towards the darkness. “How old is your highness?”

“San Lang already knows.” Xianle murmurs in return, the lips that nearly met his not long ago barely moving with the words.

He does. He knows he was a child when Mu Qing kicked him out of the army. He knows that Mu Qing should have been his majesty’s attendant thousands of years ago. He knows that he wasn’t; that he’s here, mending spiritual weapons instead of serving his majesty. He knows that Xianle sent Mu Qing away to protect him, like a friend. He knows that Mu Qing was playing the role of a worthless ghost when he fell. When he took—

His eyes trace down from Xianle’s wounded eyes. His sun-brightened hair falls forward over his ear. Hua Cheng reaches up with his bound hands, and tucks the dark strands back into place.

“Your ears are pierced.” Hua Cheng whispers.

“They are.” Xianle replies in a whisper of his own. “I pierced them myself, many years ago now.”

He sets Hua Cheng back down with a tender motion. His fingers skim lightly up from his wounded throat to his cheek.

“Tell me what I called you,” Hua Cheng’s fingers tangle in Xianle's hair of their own volition. “Tell me what you want.”

“This one wants San Lang to be safe,” Xianle whispers. “Whatever that looks like, whatever this one has to do. That’s all that matters.”

“Fool.” Hua Cheng’s hands clench in Xianle's neglected hair, unwashed for days now it seems. It should disgust him.

“Rest, “ Xianle places his own hands over Hua Cheng’s. He doesn’t try to stop his fingers from snarling his dark locks. He only holds his hands between his own, warm and sturdy. “Rest.”

Hua Cheng lets his eye fall closed. He lets his breathing stop. He lets his fingers go loose.

He does not fall asleep.

He hears Xianle’s deep sigh. He feels how his hands squeeze around his limp fingers before setting his bound wrists down. Xianle’s rough fingertips brush over the bindings, and for a moment he thinks he's checking the spiritual powers but— no. No, he’s just checking his raw skin there. A cool, soothing touch meets it a moment later. Water and the soaked, bloodied sleeve soothing the scraped abrasions.

“Sweet E-Ming,” Xianle’s voice calls, low and wounded. “Won’t you release your curse now?”

A hollow rattle answers.

“Gently,” Xianle whispers, hands leaving Hua Cheng’s bound wrists. “Gently. Don’t shake it Ruoye, it’s damaged. Ah, what am I to do with you both…”

A heavy, heavy sigh follows. Hua Cheng doesn’t dare move or glance. He can feel Xianle’s attention on him, kneeling close but no longer touching.

“He’s so hurt,” that voice murmurs again. “How could I have been so stupid as to send him back the first time? I should have kept him here. I could have talked to him. Now, even if he does come back… Ah! Haha! Shh, stop, that tickles!”

He can’t help it. He risks a glance— not through his own eye, but through one of his butterflies. They have clustered around Xianle’s face, drinking his tears away, trying to fix what’s wrong with him. Xianle’s hands hover, unwilling to dislodge them by force and risk hurting them.

Their attention only seems to make him cry harder, but he’s choking back laughter too. He puts a hand over his mouth, stifling his noises and looking down at Hua Cheng’s body. Hua Cheng glances at himself through the butterfly’s eyes and fights back a sneer of disgust. Someone removed the misfitting armor before binding him, but he’s still dressed in the rough linen of a soldier. His face is disgustingly pale— almost green-blue in the silver butterfly light. White bandages cover his eye, but the ugly wound in his neck is bare.

He realizes with a lurch that someone redid the too-tight, haphazard stitching holding his neck closed. It better not have been the fucking sweeping general…

“Did you hear what he said?” Xianle asks the empty room. The butterflies cluster. The silk drifts towards him, towing E-Ming’s shivering blade. He welcomes them into one arm, then notices the hovering butterfly Hua Cheng is peering through.

Rather than growing suspicious, he just holds a finger up to it, cradling E-Ming and his silk in the other arm. Hua Cheng lets the butterfly land there, and is brought just before the god’s face. The soft smile Xianle gives him makes his hollow chest ache.

“Everything was fine before me.” Xianle whispers. “I only made everything worse.”

E-Ming rattles fiercely, trying to lift. It turns its point on Hua Cheng’s body, but he doesn’t even have time to get annoyed before Xianle has caught it and dragged it back to his chest.

“No,” he whispers. “No. Don’t hurt him again. I’m serious, E-Ming, I will never forgive you if you hurt him again.”

The scimitar rattles despondently. Its ugly eye wells with impossible tears. Xianle bends and presses a soft kiss to its hilt.

“He’s not wrong.” he says, sounding so small and lost that Hua Cheng suspects he’s being played with. “He’s not wrong. Before he found me, wasn’t he the powerful and respected Crimson Rain Sought Flower? Wasn’t he safe; above all the heavens and earth, ruling Ghost City? Now… Now, because of me…”

Who is this performance for? Hua Cheng wonders. But he doesn’t like it. He compels the butterfly with all his force, and it bites the finger it sits on. Xianle gasps, turning surprised eyes on the insect. Then his brows furrow and he lifts it closer to his face rather than flinging it away.

“San Lang?” he asks, surprise overtaking sorrow on his features at last.

Hua Cheng flees into exhaustion once more, not daring to think of how hopeful Xianle’s expression was.


There are cracks in the world. He sits on the edge of one, and looks down into the nothingness below him.

There are cracks in his body. He sits on the edge of the crack in his body, and looks down into the nothingness inside him.

“You’re falling apart,” says a ghost. “How pathetic.”

“You’re one to talk.” Hua Cheng doesn’t turn towards He Xuan.

“If he were a merciful god,” He Xuan hisses in Hua Cheng’s ear, looming behind him, “he would disperse you.”

“I’m falling apart.” Hua Cheng says aloud, staring into the abyss. “I’m still falling apart. So why do I feel so much better here than I did with his majesty?”

“You know why,” Xianle’s voice tells him.

Hua Cheng turns towards him on instinct, and with a lurch—

Xianle is pinned to the tree by the massive saber. He is bleeding. He smiles as he bleeds. His hand clenches Hua Cheng’s robes, clawed desperately in the fabric.

Hua Cheng leans back over an endless abyss.

“San Lang,” calls Xianle.

“Which one were you?” Hua Cheng begs, lifting his hands to grip Xianle’s hand, holding his desperate grip between his fingers. He doesn’t squeeze. He doesn’t crush. He just holds him as the fabric threatens to tear. “When you wore the mask, which one were you?”

“You know,” Xianle whispers. “Wu Ming, you know.”

“I can’t.” Hua Cheng closes his eyes. “I’ll shatter. I still h-have—”

“I know,” Xianle murmurs, holding him away from doom and refusing to release. The fabric is tearing. Hua Cheng drags in a breath and releases his grip on Xianle, ready to fall. Xianle just drags himself closer, letting the sword dig deeper and deeper, forcing himself along its blade.

“I still have a beloved in this world,” Hua Cheng chokes as Xianle wraps his arms around him and the pouring blood from his stabbed heart drowns them both, pouring into the abyss.

“A noble and gracious special someone,” Xianle agrees, leaning their heads together and rocking with him, deepening the wound with every motion.

They waver above the abyss, only the saber holds them both away from an endless fall. Xianle’s blood pours down in a river, softening the inevitable.

“Who are they?” Xianle whispers. “Who is that noble and gracious special someone?”

“I—”

“Who are they?”

The arms around him are so tight. The blood around him is so hot.

“It— My god. My god!”

“Who are they?” Xianle’s voice repeats, pressing their heads together. But he isn’t Xianle. He isn’t Jun Wu. He isn’t anyone but another Hua Cheng, bleeding from his mouth, from his nose, from his eye, from his ears. Hua Cheng, skeletal and broken, jolting and twitching and shaking. He clings to himself above the abyss as sounds of agony tear themselves from his throat.

“Who are they?” Hua Cheng demands of himself. “Who are they? Their name, their name, their name!”

“San Lang! Please, please, don’t—”

“Your highness, back— Ruoye! Don’t block me, he’s—”

“San Lang, come back! Wake up!”

There are hands on his hands. There is a mouth on his temple. There is a voice calling his name like a prayer. In his mind, on the edge of the abyss, Hua Cheng clings to himself. They hold together on the edge of destruction.

“I have to fight,” Hua Cheng chokes around his blood. “I have to fight. I have to give him as long as I can.”

His claws sink into his own body. He tears, and tears, and tears. He holds himself off the brink, and tears himself apart.

“San Lang, please! Don’t hurt yourself! It’s going to be okay! Everything’s going to be okay! This isn’t— None of this is your fault!”

Both forms of Hua Cheng freeze. The bleeding stops. They hover there on the edge of oblivion. And then the dream shrinks away at last.

San Lang shrinks as well. He shrinks until he is a small, awful thing. Until the bindings on him are so loose that they slide off his tiny hands. Until the god gasping and terrified above him scoops him up into his arms and holds him so tight. So close.

“San Lang,” Xianle’s voice whispers, clinging to his tiny child’s form as if it were something precious.

“That’s not my name.” His voice is tiny and broken.

“Hong Hong-er.” Xianle cries instead, as if it wounds him. “It’s not your fault— None of this is your fault, so don’t hurt yourself anymore!”

Hua Cheng screams in response. It is a wail of agony. He clings onto Xianle’s robes, and feels himself hugged back just as tightly. He is falling apart, but Xianle’s arms hold him together. He is falling apart, but Xianle makes him want to hold on. He is falling apart but it isn’t— It isn’t his fault. It isn’t his fault.

“Fuck,” whispers a voice he doesn’t care enough to recognize.

“Hush,” says another. Rarely has he heard Yin Yu sound so low and wounded.

“Shixiong… Is he dying?” whispers a third, far too loud.

“Why did you do this to me?” Hong Hong-er whispers raggedly, shaking Xianle by his lapels. “Why can’t I remember?”

“I’m so sorry,” Xianle replies, his voice as thick with tears as Hong Hong-er’s is. “I’m so sorry. I would tell you if I could, but you’d only think I was lying. If you can’t find it yourself—”

“I can’t!” Hong-er wails. “I can’t! I’ll fall apart! I can’t fall apart! He still needs me! He needs me! I have to find him!”

“Shhh,” whispers Xianle, rocking with him even as tears pour into Hong Hong-er’s hair. “Shhh… It’s going to be okay.”

“I have to find him!” Hong-er cries, clawing his fists in Xianle’s robe. “I have to go back!”

“No!” Xianle replies, shaking his head against Hong-er’s scalp. “No. You’re not going back to heaven.”

“Not without you.” Hong Hong-er snarls. He puts his teeth to Xianle’s neck, and he hears a choked sound of horror from those watching,  but Xianle just holds still.

And Hong Hong-er can’t—

He can’t bite down. He hangs there, shivering, his teeth against Xianle’s throat, but he can’t.

“Take a deep breath,” Xianle says, voice comforting and soft. His hand strokes over Hong Hong-er’s shoulders, back and forth. He follows the order without thought. Chokes on the breath and lets it out in a sob, twisting his head away from Xianle’s neck.

“Your highness, did he—”

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Relax. Everyone just relax. Slow breaths… Slow breaths, Hong Hong-er.”

“Why are you so nice?” Hong Hong-er sobs. “Why did you have to be so nice?”

“I’m sorry,” Xianle replies, leaning their heads together. “I know it’s hard for you.”

“I have to kill you,” Hong Hong-er clenches his fingers in the dirty white robes. He presses his face into Xianle’s broad shoulder. “He’ll love me if I kill you.”

“Your highness,” Yin Yu’s voice says. “We have to do something. At this rate—”

“I know, your highness Yin Yu.” Xianle replies. He takes a deep breath. Hong Hong-er feels it shaking in his chest. “Would you all please ready the portal to the cave again?”

“There?” the sweeping general asks with a cold, scornful note in his voice. “Are you sure? Just tell him the truth.”

“How could he trust me under these circumstances?” Xianle returns sharply, even as he shifts and rises stiffly, his knees clearly still troubling him. Hong Hong-er clings tighter. He doesn’t have to. Those warm, gentle arms around him have not faltered once. “He’d be a fool to, and he’s not a fool.”

“I’ll get it ready, your highness.” Feng Xin offers with a short bow.

“Go,” Yin Yu’s voice adds in a whisper. Hong Hong-er glances up to see him pushing a deeply offended sweeping general and an incredibly baffled Qi Ying ahead.

Xianle follows after them at a slow, steady pace.

“Does Hong Hong-er want to walk for himself?” He asks, his hand still resting flat against Hong Hong-er’s back.

In answer, he presses tighter, shoving his face into the very neck he tried to bite moments ago. Xianle should smell awful. He’s bedraggled— truly a pathetic creature crawling in the mud before his majesty. He doesn’t. He smells familiar. Soft and strange. Not pleasant, but achingly good.

It is a stupid thing to think, but there is only one association he has with that scent.

He smells safe.

“I should warn you,” Xianle murmurs, his voice pitched so quietly that it’s just between the two of them. “The statues… They were destroyed.”

“You broke them?” Hong Hong-er chokes, jerking back in Xianle’s arms.

“No,” Xianle gasps, holding on, but letting him back up so their eyes meet. “No. I would never. San— Hong Hong-er, they were so beautiful. This one can’t imagine anyone breaking them.”

“It— There was a protective array, they should have been—” Hong-er stumbles over the words. The loss punches the breath out of him. “What if— What if— I have to— I need to carve another! I have to—”

“It’s okay,” Xianle murmurs.

“It’s not!” Hong-er screams in return, grabbing Xianle’s hair and yanking. “He’s a god, he needs a temple! What if he fades?! What if— I have to carve another one!”

“Okay,” Xianle says, appearing unconcerned by the vicious yank against his hair. “I picked up some wood recently. Once we’re there, I’ll give it to you.”

“And a knife!” Hong Hong-er insists.

“No!” the generals of the South say before them, turning in eerie unison to glare back.

“Alright.” Xianle says in opposition to them, calm and collected. “Feng Xin will lend you his hunting knife.”

“Your highness!” cries Feng Xin in objection.

“Tch. Seeking his own destruction again,” mutters the other.

Hong Hong-er eyes the bare saber he wears, one hand balanced on its hilt to keep it from dragging on the ground.

It doesn’t have Xianle’s blood on it anymore.

Quietly, he untangles his hand from Xianle’s hair, and shifts aside the fabric of his robes to look at his chest.

Stained bandages greet him, wrapped tightly around his wound.

Xianle lifts his hand from Hong Hong-er's back to cover it up again, and guides Hong-er’s head down to rest on his shoulder.

“Just forget that,” he murmurs. “Just forget.”


Quan Yizhen and Feng Xin both light palm torches inside. The butterflies floating around Xianle scatter to the edges of the cave, illuminating the full scale of the destruction. Hong Hong-er twists in Xianle’s arms until he’s set down amid the rubble. He stares at the broken pieces for a long moment.

They were only statues. He doesn’t care about the lost work. He cares that they were for his god. His god. One who deserves every love and worship. He stares at them, and feels his body breaking around him. A child’s body, with a hole in its heart, and its throat cut open.

“There’s one thing they missed,” Xianle offers him softly. “I don’t know if it’s enough, but… The butterflies protected it with their silk.”

Hong Hong-er glances to him once. The stooped form, bent a little lower, as if wanting to be on a level with him. Hong Hong-er’s hands are free. He could attack. He could claw this lying god’s eyes out before his friends could even move. He nudges at a piece of statue with one toe, and watches Xianle’s eyes flick down to it and tighten at the corners. He looks torn between grief and rage.

If he broke the statues, he is an incredible actor. Even He Xuan would be impressed.

Xianle offers his hand. Hong Hong-er takes it, as if he were really the child whose body he’s trapped in. Butterflies surround them, and the Southern gods back off. Yin Yu stays still, Quan Yizhen stuck to his side like a burr. He’s wearing his mask, as he has been since Hua Cheng awakened here. Hong Hong-er hesitates, glaring at him in confusion. Yin Yu averts his eyes, head tilting to the side.

Xianle’s hand tugs, very lightly, and Hua Cheng follows. They walk slowly through the ruined cave. The trash god in his tarnished robes, glowing in the light of the butterflies, walking slowly at Hong-er’s side rather than pulling him along. Hua Cheng’s body is clumsy with weakness; a pathetic child made more pathetic as its body dies.

“This one can carry Hong Hong-er if he would like?” offers the god hopefully.

“No.” Hua Cheng replies, eyes tracing from one empty alcove to the next.

He knows all of these statues. He knows them as intimately as he knows his devotion; his power. They are all gone now. He does not remember their faces. He knows that here, this one was smiling, sword lifted with the blade down, elegant and fierce. His majesty— his highness?— his god held a flowering branch in his other hand, cradled like a child against his chest.

Here, this statue sat in meditation, eyes closed and expression peaceful. He remembers carving his glorious chest, filled with breath. He remembers carving the delicate flowers that surrounded him.

Here, his god had been captured mid-leap, the whole statue balanced on the tip of his majesty’s— his god’s toe, with his hair and all of his beautiful silks whipping around him in motion. He remembers being disappointed in its expression. The statue itself was beautiful, but he always struggles with the expression.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Where there had been love, there is only ruin.

The butterflies lead them through the cold grey stone. Xianle seems distinctly alive in this ruin. His tanned skin and sun-brightened hair— his eyes shining in the butterfly light— his warm hand in Hong Hong-er’s, slightly sweaty, and occasionally squeezing. Hong-er switches to watching him instead of the ruins. He catches Xianle’s gaze the next time the trash god glances down at him.

Caught staring, Hua Cheng only stares more. Catching him, Xianle only smiles.

His smile is so soft. Hua Cheng can’t look away from it. The way it speaks of affection and grief at once. The way his eyes shine with the butterflies, as if he is moments from crying. The way the hand around his own squeezes gently, and Xianle’s thumb rubs over Hong Hong-er’s fingers in comfort.

“It must be hard to see this.” Xianle says, with sorrow and grace in every word. “Please forgive this one for bringing you here.”

“It’s better to know they’re broken,” Hua Cheng replies, his voice rasping and weak. “This one will have to carve more.”

“If this one might speak out of turn,” Xianle almost stumbles on some rubble, and Hua Cheng grips his hand more tightly. “Ah, sorry! Only… doesn’t Hong Hong-er think he should focus on his own safety at this time?”

“What does it matter?” Hua Cheng returns viciously. “If this one cannot serve his god, he does not deserve to exist.”

“Don’t say that,” Xianle says, coming abruptly to a halt.

Hua Cheng stops too, looking away from the divine picture the butterflies make Xianle into. The rubble on the ground suits him better.

“Hong Hong-er is worth more than such callous words.”

The god crouches before him in the rubble. His other hand rests on Hong Hong-er’s head.

“If I can’t serve him, there’s no point in living.” Hua Cheng returns, his jaw clenching around his own hatred.

“Then we will find Hong Hong-er a new reason to live!”

Hua Cheng jerks his head up again at the ardent words. Xianle is glowing. His expression is tormented, but filled with something so gentle. He wants it so badly. He wants to take it in his hands and keep it. He wants to hold it forever.

“There is no reason but him,” Hua Cheng whispers, the argument falling from numb lips.

“There can be.” Xianle insists. “To live for a god is less than a person like Crimson Rain Sought Flower deserves. He deserves to live for himself.”

“That’s not even how ghosts work,” Hua Cheng laughs, but it is a small breath of a sound.

“Then this one will find a new way for ghosts to work.” Xianle says, with such a determined, childish expression that Hua Cheng can’t stand it.

He laughs, bright and bewildered. Then he lifts his hands. It’s an instinct. An impulse.

Xianle doesn’t question it. He scoops him up in his arms at once and starts walking again. Hua Cheng settles against his chest. He could strangle him. He could claw open his throat and bathe in his blood. He could tear out his hair by the handfuls.

He leans his head against Xianle’s chest, and listens to his heartbeat.

He knows, of course, that this is for a purpose. That this is Xianle trying to save himself and his friends from Jun Wu. That he was dangerous, and Xianle took him down. He can’t decide if being spared and treated like this is a kindness or an added cruelty. He can’t decide if it’s a rare pleasure, or torture. He can’t understand either way.

The steady rhythm of Xianle’s heart gives him no answers. He should hate it, but he doesn’t. He has a brief, bewildered thought that it is the best sound he has ever heard. He knows it’s foolish, but despite himself, he can think of no sound better.

He realizes where they’re going all at once as Xianle takes a left down one of the many branching pathways. He wriggles in his hold until Xianle releases him— as gently as if he were a newborn deer. He struggles through the last of the rubble, and sprints forward. His butterflies follow him, fluttering and flicking, half-faded with his measly spiritual powers. They flutter down onto the silk covering the wall.

Hua Cheng stands before it staring, breathing hard though he shouldn’t need to breathe. Then he tears at the silk.

It falls away beneath his hands, and there they are. There he is. An ugly, malformed red thing, dropping out of the sky. There is his god, rising to catch him. His god, painted with a mask on his face.

Who are you? He screams at the cry-smiling mask in his dreams.

He keeps tearing. The silk falls away. The rain drenched temple. The umbrella. The flower. The fruit.

He tears and tears and tears.

Then he stops.

The paint is smeared in a circle. He painted it with his own blood. He remembers that. There was nothing to paint the gunny sack with but his own blood. It’s painted from his own perspective, from this very same body, but broken and bruised. He stares at the face he painted looking down on him. He stares, and feels a wail rising in his chest that he doesn’t let out. He stares, and feels his ashes quake against his chest. He stares, and backs away in horror.

Did he change it? Did he alter it? Is this torture?

Is it real? Is he real? Is this kindness?

“Hong Hong-er?” Xianle’s hands are trembling before him, hovering as if he doesn’t know where to put them.

Hua Cheng’s mouth is dry. His throat is slit. His chest aches around a hole. There is a crack in the world, and he is forcing himself not to fall yet.

“I need—” he chokes. Then he shakes his head. Shakes his head again. He claws his hands in his hair. He clenches his eye shut.

In his mind’s eye, Jun Wu whispers ‘It’s not your fault,’ while holding a screaming child. In his mind’s eye, Jun Wu calls out to him in fear as he leaps into the sinner's pit, despite that he must have known by then. In his mind's eye, Jun Wu hugs him from behind, shorter than him, and answers his question in silence.

When he opens his eye again, Xianle is kneeling before him. In his hands he holds a piece of wood and a hunting knife. When Hua Cheng looks at him, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. He lifts one sleeve to Hong Hong-er’s face, intending to wipe away the tears. Hua Cheng flinches back from the touch, and Xianle freezes in place. Then he gently sets the carving tools down before him.

“You’re a fool.” Hua Cheng gasps, staring at the knife.

“Yes.” Xianle agrees.

“You’re a liar.” Hua Cheng accuses, glaring at him.

“Not about this.”

“What do you want from me?” Hua Cheng chokes.

“This one only wants you to live.” Xianle’s expression hurts to look at. Hua Cheng tears his gaze away with a choked sound.

“Leave me!” He commands. “Leave me, or I’ll tear you apart!”

“Hong Hong-er can take all the time he likes,” Xianle stands slowly and stiffly. Hua Cheng considers kicking his knees out and making him scream. Would it feel good? Would it hurt? Should he? Wouldn’t Jun Wu be proud?

He looks at the painting again, and feels himself falling.

“This one will be close by.” Xianle murmurs. “Please call if you need anything at all.”

Hua Cheng does not reply. He stays there, staring at the painting as Xianle slips away. Slowly, he looks at the wood and the knife. How many of them could he carve through before they killed him? Xianle at least. Perhaps the sweeping general too. He’d like to kill Yin Yu for his betrayal. Qi Ying would kill him before he could, without a doubt.

He sits hard on the cold earth under the mountain, as he did centuries ago, and starts carving.


He always loses time when he works.

Who are you, he asks the wood as his hands carve and carve. The knife meets his hand over and over. He doesn’t care. He has no blood to stain the wood.

 

“What’s he doing down there? Creepy.”

“Mu Qing, be nice or leave. He’s working. Let him think.”

 

The wood in his hands is just a piece of scrap. It’s worthless. Under his attention, broken wood grain smooths into flowing robes and coils of hair. Hong Hong-er’s fingers are too small, but he makes them work. Even though they shake and shake and shake, he makes them work.

In his mind, a skeletal Hua Cheng tears at himself and demands the name of his god.

He says nothing, sitting in silence and working.

 

“Your highness…”

“Yes, your highness Yin Yu?”

“I— Nothing.”

“Go ahead. This one won’t be upset.”

“Are you sure Black Water wasn’t correct? Isn’t this cruel?”

“It might be. As I told Lord Black Water, I never claimed to be merciful. If there’s a chance, I think San Lang deserves it. Cruel or not.”

 

He can’t approach the face yet. He details the robes. Etches the indication of a brocade he remembers so well he could recreate it in its complete form tomorrow. He thinks of the Immortal Brocade again, and finds himself almost sad it was torn.

Once, they understood each other. There had been so few in all his years who really understood. Now even he doesn’t understand himself.

The face of his god’s statue stays blank.

 

“Your highness, you should eat.”

“Ah, thank you Feng Xin. That’s kind of you. Will you excuse this one for a moment?”

“Are you going to—?”

“En. In his current state, he might be hungry.”

 

Hua Cheng keeps his eyes on his empty-faced god. His knife moves slowly, carving one half of the face into a smile, and the other into a frown. Carving one eye bright and smiling, and the other downcast and full of tears. He twists the statue back and forth in his too-small hands, watching the mask he’s given it twist in the dim light.

“Hong Hong-er?”

He calls to him as if they hadn’t camped only a short way away, huddled together and speaking loudly enough that Hua Cheng could clearly hear them. He doesn’t react at all, only twisting the statue back and forth. When the god of scraps sits carefully beside him, Hua Cheng glances to his legs.

“What happened to your knees?” he finds himself asking in a dull voice, though he doesn’t care.

“Nothing important.” Xianle replies, pressing his thumbs into the steamed bun he holds and ripping it in two. “This one thought Hong Hong-er might be hungry?”

Hua Cheng stares down at the statue in his hands and makes no move to take the bun he’s being offered.

“Is it you?” He asks

“Does it really matter?” Xianle replies, voice soft and sad. “If Hong Hong-er doesn’t remember, then what’s most important is finding a way to help him heal.”

“There is no way.” Hua Cheng tells him, twisting the statue. Back and forth, back and forth, Xianle smiling gently, Xianle crying and broken. Jun Wu smiling and victorious, Jun Wu wounded and abandoned.

Xianle’s hand stops his endless motion. His fingertips are rough with work, and his skin is dark against Hua Cheng’s sickly, dead pallor. He doesn’t grab him, or take the statue. He just rests his hand there, brushing his thumb tenderly over the marks on Hua Cheng’s first finger from where the knife slipped.

“We’ll make one.” He says. “If there isn’t a path you can walk safely, this one will find a new path.”

Hua Cheng stares down at Xianle’s gentle hand over his own. Under his fingers, the smile-crying statue seems different. He can see so many things about it that make so much sense. He knows the brocade he remembers is from the kingdom of Xianle. He knows that the robes are in the fashion of Xianle. He knows that the figure would be shorter than him, hugging him from behind and holding on so tightly.

He knows, but he can’t know. His eye wells with helpless tears, and he sniffles. It’s an awful sound, fitting of the awful child he’s become.

“It’s alright,” Xianle’s hand lifts and rests in Hua Cheng’s hair. He offers half the bun again, the other half resting in the hammock of his own robes over his lap. “Eat a little, alright?”

Hua Cheng grabs the bun in a greedy hand. He stuffs it into his mouth, chewing hard against the mouthful. He sobs around it, breaking apart. He reaches for Xianle, and the second half of the bun is dropped to the ground as Xianle scoops him up into his arms once more.

“I have to protect him,” Hua Cheng sobs around the mouthful he can’t swallow, clinging to Xianle. “Please, whatever you did, let me protect him.”

“Ah, Hong Hong-er,” Xianle whispers, rocking with him. “You did, you did, you always, always did.”

“What if he’s in danger?” Hua Cheng chokes. “What if he needs me? I’m so useless!”

He scrambles for the knife, eager to plunge it into his own useless skin. Xianle holds him tighter, even as he claws and struggles and scratches.

“Hong Hong-er is not useless,” he soothes, as if he weren’t being torn at by a feral beast. “He’s not useless, or cursed, and he is not going to die.”

“I have to,” Hua Cheng sobs. “I have to. He took me, didn’t he? He made me something else— I can’t be this! If I can’t serve his h-hi—” His Majesty, his Highness, his Majesty, his Highness, gege, gege, gege—

“No.” Xianle squeezes him tighter. Almost too tight. It almost hurts. “No. Hua Chengzhu, Hong Hong-er, San Lang, Wu Ming, you have to live.”

“I can’t,” Hua Cheng laughs, tangling his hands in the hair and robes he’d been tearing at. “I can’t! I died so, so long ago,  your highness! I died, and it was an honor! It was the only good thing I ever did! If dying again protects him—”

“No!” Xianle replies.

“If it protects him I should be dispersed!” Hua Cheng screams, clinging tighter. “I’m worthless like this! I’m worthless!”

Xianle presses his face to Hua Cheng’s shoulder. Curls his body all the way around the tiny, ugly, awful creature, painted in red all around them.

“Please,” Xianle’s voice is barely a sound, almost lost beneath Hong Hong-er’s heaving sobs. “Please. If not for yourself, please. Won’t you stay a little longer for me? Won’t you live just one more day with me?”

Hua Cheng sucks in a breath, his eye snapping open wide.

“My my,” a bright voice, sounding pleasantly surprised, echoes through the cave. “Did I miss a piece after all?”

Hua Cheng chokes. Xianle jolts to his feet, holding his useless child’s body to his chest and backing up against the dead-end mural. The huddle of gods who had been clearly eavesdropping leap to their feet. Yin Yu takes a shaking breath, thick with emotion, as if he’s been crying.

Before them, lit by his own halo of light, Jun Wu strides easily through the wreckage, kicking aside pieces of statues thoughtlessly.

“What a mess, what a mess,” he sighs. “Really, Xianle, I sent you such an invitation, but you’ve made it come to this. Such a pity. I would have let you keep him, you know. Once you finished your lessons like a good pupil, I would have given him back. But I see it’s far too late for that.”

“Run!” Xianle orders the others in a barking command. “Go!”

His arms are iron bars around Hua Cheng. Eight hundred years ago, Hong Hong-er was caught in midair by a smiling god. Eight hundred years ago, he found a reason to live. Eight hundred years ago, not thousands.

“Your highness, you go!” the sweeping general shoots back, pulling his saber free.

“Hurry!” Feng Xin agrees.

“I’ve been waiting for this!” Qi Ying cries, and jolts forward at once to fight.

Jun Wu’s laughter fills the cave.

“No,” whispers Xianle. “No, no, no…”

He takes a shaking breath. His eyes are glassy with terror. Then all at once calm descends over him. He lets out the breath, and crouches, setting Hua Cheng down gently.

 

Something explodes. Yin Yu lets out a wordless cry of alarm and horror.

 

Xianle’s eyes are fixed on him, and Hua Cheng cannot look away from his gaze.

“Run.” Xianle orders him softly. “You know this cave better than anyone. Go, San Lang. Hide. This one is begging you. You’ll find something to live for again if you look. I know you will. San Lang is so good at everything. So clever. So needed in this world.”

Hua Cheng stares up at him and takes a shallow breath.

“You run too.” he whispers.

“I can’t.” Xianle replies. “Jun Wu took something from me. I have to get it back. I’ll make the others run, and I’ll take it back. But you go first.”

Hua Cheng reaches out. He grabs Xianle’s robes. He swallows hard.

“It’s not an important thing,” he argues. “It doesn’t hold any power anymore.”

“It’s the most important thing.” Xianle tells him, and touches his head gently.

There are a thousand voices screaming in his mind. There are a thousand impossible memories. There are so many things he should do and say and think about.

 

“No! Shixiong, get up!” Quan Yizhen screams.

 

Hua Cheng doesn’t think at all. He reaches into his robes and pulls out the ring in a shaking hand.

“Take it.” he whispers. “If this is what you need, take it.”

Xianle freezes. He stares down at the ring with a fixed, horrified expression.

 

“General Xuan Zhen, really? I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Mu Qing! Let go of him, you bastard!”

 

“Hurry.” Hua Cheng insists, pushing it towards him. “Crush it. Stop him.”

“Aren’t you afraid?” Xianle asks, those horrified honey-gold eyes holding Hua Cheng’s gaze as he presses his hand over his open palm— over the ring.

“Not if it’s you.” Hua Cheng replies, sick with want and confusion and sorrow. Xianle’s smile as they fought. Xianle’s grief for a nameless ghost. Xianle’s gentle touch on his dying body.

“You can break it.” He insists. “It’s okay if it’s you.”

 

There is screaming. There is laughter. The cave shakes. The ruins of statues dissolve into dust under the force of clashing gods.

 

Xianle wraps his hand around Hua Cheng’s, holding him and the ring both.

“I won’t,” he whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I will never hurt you.”

Then he lifts the fractured ring from Hua Cheng’s palm, and the world explodes into the blinding light of a thousand butterflies.

Hua Cheng stares down into the abyss with a sword through his heart. His body is in ruins. He is skeletal and shaking. There is a hole in his heart. There is a gaping wound in his neck. He bleeds from his eye, from his ears, from his mouth. In his arms, his own body trembles; a tiny, cursed, awful child.

“I would give him everything.” Hua Cheng tells himself. “If I could find him, I would give him everything.”

The child grabs his braid, vicious and strong even dying and bloody. He yanks him down, and the sword comes loose all at once. They are falling. The child holds his braid in an iron fist, and whispers in his ear with Xianle’s voice.

“You already did.”

Hua Cheng falls silent into the abyss. A figure in white catches him. A figure in white, who was stranded on the other side. A figure in white, whose face is hidden behind a cry-smiling mask.

The mask comes loose as Hua Cheng lands in his arms. Golden eyes smile down on him; warm and relieved and so, so kind.

“Your highness,” Hua Cheng whispers, staring up at him. Then, his face twisting into a delirious, bewildered, broken smile, he calls again: “Your highness!”

The cracks close around them, enshrining them in crystal.

Xie Lian is still clinging to him. Xie Lian, smelling like blood, clothed in dingy yellow-white robes stained with Hua Cheng’s blood and his own. Xie Lian, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding, screaming light. Xie Lian is holding onto him, and Hua Cheng is screaming. He is tall, and he is whole, and he has failed, failed, failed—

 

Jun Wu is laughing.

 

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries out.

Hua Cheng pulls himself away before he can drop to his knees and beg to be dispersed. Xie Lian, bleeding and afraid; Xie Lian reaching for him over and over.

“Gege, stay here. Don’t fight.” He forces himself to say in an ugly awful voice.

Xie Lian is still in danger. His gentle, selfless, tragic, hilarious, wonderful god, who he had scorned, and wounded; spat upon and raged against.

“San Lang, wait!”

Hua Cheng erupts forward with a vicious scream, scooping the saber up from Mu Qing's fallen body. Jun Wu turns towards him with a delighted, indulgent smile.

Hong Hong-er serves his highness the crown prince, Xie Lian. Wu Ming serves the exiled flower-crowned martial god, Xie Lian. Hua Cheng serves the scrap-collecting immortal, Xie Lian. San Lang serves his beloved, Xie Lian.

"Don't!"

Xie Lian, he chants in his mind as his butterflies howl and descend. Xie Lian. The only good thing in this worthless world.

"Crimson Rain, aren't you a little late?" Jun Wu says with a mocking chuckle as their blades clash.

His highness's most worthless servant will not fail him again.

Chapter 8: Reunion

Summary:

Hua Cheng is back, but with Jun Wu right there before him, how can Xie Lian hope to get through to him?

Notes:

Unfortunately, a cold took me down before I could write a complete finale. Please forgive me for extending the chapter length by one more! There's still plenty to enjoy here, so I hope it will tide you over!

See you soon with the ending!

Also, please note: This chapter added the tags 'non-sexual intimacy' and 'bathing/washing'

Chapter Text


Yesterday

Xie Lian carries his broken body through the streets. Hua Cheng shakes in his arms— endless, tiny motions. His head lolls, and the stitches in his neck slide, leaving his throat gaping open.

People move out of his way, tutting and chattering behind him.

“What a sad sight, what a sad sight, holding his friend’s body so close.”

“Take that corpse to be buried quickly, young man!”

“Hush! Don’t you see his face? Be kind, jiejie, be kind.”

In his arms, Hua Cheng is light. The ancient, ill-fitting armor of Xianle is more substantial than his bloodless body. In his memory, a youthful soldier better suited to a saber than a sword stands before him on the mountain; brave, loyal, and obedient . Xie Lian remembers only enough to hold him tighter.

If he’d kept him then— if he’d been stronger, or better, or smarter— if he’d kept him safe then, how many more years would they have had together ? Would Hua Cheng have died at all, if Xie Lian had treasured him as he deserved?

Would he have left when Mu Qing and Feng Xin did? Would he still have worn the smiling mask before Xie Lian’s calamity if Xie Lian had already trusted his true face? Would Bai Wuxiang have killed him? Would the resentful souls have torn him apart?

Hua Cheng’s body twitches and jolts. Onlookers gasp and shrink away. Xie Lian just whispers to him.

“San Lang, hold on, hold on.”

“Your Highness,” Yin Yu approaches him at a run, falling in step at his side. “The residence Lord Black Water used should be safe. It’s further from people than the Wind Master’s. The others are there preparing—”

“Fine,” Xie Lian replies. “Fine, just take me there.”

He’s being too short again. Too sharp. He should be kind to Yin Yu. All he can think of is how light Hua Cheng feels. How raw and broken he looks, with his bloody throat, and his dark hair wild about him. His true form is always pale as a corpse, but rarely does he look like this— skin nearly translucent, tinted blue-green from the remnants of stale blood still trapped inside him .

He feels as insubstantial as a butterfly, dying before Xie Lian even had a chance to say farewell.

Yin Yu opens the door for him, then closes it behind him and turns to address the crowd. He hears him spout short, easy lies. He hears him say ‘curse,’ and ‘dangerous,’ and ‘fumes,’ and he hears a lot of people leaving.

“What the fucking— That’s Crimson—” Feng Xin is standing stiff and frozen in the middle of the room.

“Not now.” Xie Lian snaps, setting Hua Cheng down on the rough bed.

He is as tender as he can be, but still Hua Cheng’s head lolls unnaturally . He truly resembles a corpse, slit-open and bloodless. Xie Lian’s hands shake as he straightens his head. Then he sets to unfastening the ties on his armor. He knows the ties well. He used to help undress the corpses from the battlefield and prepare them for burial.

He knows Hua Cheng’s corpse wasn’t among them. He was still alive when Xie Lian was called back to heaven. He was still alive, and guarding his temple. Still alive, swearing ardently to never forget.

Xie Lian should be strong. Hua Cheng is desperately hurt. He needs help. He needs care.

Instead he breaks, and bows over him. He presses their foreheads together as the body beneath him shakes, and shakes, and shakes. His tears spill hot onto his feverish skin.

He swore he wouldn’t forget, and Xie Lian knows it’s not Hua Cheng’s fault. It’s not, but it hurts. It hurts, and he doesn't know what to do with it. It hurts, and Xie Lian knows who to blame when it hurts. If he’d been stronger, if he’d been better, if Hua Cheng had never been foolish enough to trust him…

“Hey, Xie Lian?” Quan Yizhen drops down to sit near him, and Xie Lian drags in a breath. He forces himself to sit up. He forces it all back down inside himself. He smiles an empty smile and looks at the childish god.

“Yes?”

“Shixiong said to put spiritual power in these,” Quan Yizhen holds out ropes.

Xie Lian balks. His right hand rests on Hua Cheng’s throat, feeling him shiver.

“No.” He says.

“Yes. Your highness, this reeks of a trap.”

Mu Qing’s voice makes his hackles rise, and his hate boil inside him. He glares at him, forgetting to smile. Mu Qing meets his stare, one arm still in a sling of his own robes. He holds out his other arm towards Xie Lian.

“Break it if you’re so mad,” He says, tone flat, “but I won’t let you pretend he’s safe.”

“He’s right.” Feng Xin’s words are stiff and awkward.

Mu Qing’s expression flickers into alarm edged with disgust, his cold eyes flashing to Feng Xin in surprise, and his arm still extended .

Xie Lian takes a deep breath. He tries to put it all further down. But before, didn’t that just make him worse? Before, didn’t he hurt Mu Qing trying to suppress it? Did he want to again?

“It might be.” He admits, voice halting. “But if it is, it’s of Jun Wu’s devising. San Lang… This kind of damage, one can’t fake.”

His body feels wrong. Like it’s going to fall apart. Xie Lian has no spiritual power to bind into it. He has nothing to give. At his side, E-Ming remains silent, as it has since Hua Cheng fell.

“So…” Quan Yizhen said. “Should I tie him up?”

Xie Lian shakes his head and holds out his hand for the ropes.

“He has to be bound, or he’ll tear you apart the moment he’s able.” Mu Qing snaps.

“I’m not saying no,” Xie Lian corrects, taking the bindings and looking down at Hua Cheng’s trembling form with regret. “I’m saying I’ll do it. I don’t think he’d like anyone else touching him.”

Feng Xin and Mu Qing plan behind him while he works. Hua Cheng’s hands are elegant and strong. Xie Lian has always admired them. There is blood beneath his fingernails. He ties his hands together at the wrists.

He whispers an apology as he touches Hua Cheng’s thighs. It’s far too familiar, far too intimate a touch. He tries not to think about how the muscles in his thighs quake as he pulls his knees together and binds them too.

Mu Qing wants Hua Cheng to be a prisoner. Feng Xin insists that Xie Lian won’t allow that. Mu Qing says Xie Lian has a death wish. He might be right.

He hesitates over Hua Cheng’s boots. He wants to take them off. They won’t be comfortable. But this Hua Cheng is not his friend, who smiled easily , and touched him with reverence, and joked with him always. This is not Hua Cheng who slept beside him peacefully in Puqi shrine, and ate at a fireside with him while Xie Lian spouted nonsense .

Xie Lian catches himself mourning, and pushes it aside, scrubbing furiously at his eyes before knotting Hua Cheng’s ankles together . Hua Cheng is not gone. He’s not. He’s right here, and Xie Lian can reach him now. He can help him.

He feels the cursed shackles on his throat and ankle. How they squeeze around him with phantom pain. No powers; no luck; nothing to offer. He is a curse on those around him, and Hua Cheng’s state proves it.

“So,” Quan Yizhen is crouched close still, pouting and with a hand on his chin, as if he’s trying very hard to look thoughtful. “I’m confused. He’s falling apart, but also super dangerous, but also we want to help him, but also we have to protect Xie Lian from him?”

“He’s no real threat to me like this.” Xie Lian offers softly , setting Hua Cheng’s feet back down  and shuffling up to kneel at his side, inspecting the awful wound in his throat .

“He’s especially a threat to you like this.” Mu Qing snaps, immediately irate again, though he and Feng Xin had come close to actually lowering their tones and making a decision . “Your highness, I know you aren’t an idiot, why don’t you try—”

“Can you spare some of the butterfly silk from your work on Ruoye?” Xie Lian says, interrupting at what must be the high-point of Mu Qing’s eye roll. “It was born of his spiritual power, so maybe it will help him heal to be stitched together with it.”

“...” Mu Qing falls silent.

“Your highness,” Feng Xin tries, earnest and firm. “We really are serious. We won’t stand by and let you be hurt again.”

“And I thank you both for that.” Xie Lian says. “Without you, I may not even have been in a position to lend him aid when he fell. He is here now, and I am going to help him.”

He lifts his gaze to find them both staring down at him with fixed expressions— one full of disdain, the other of furious concern .

“I’ll count on you to help me do so safely ,” he says, slow and cautious. He watches what it does to their faces. How Mu Qing’s disdain vanishes into awkward surprise, and then he averts his gaze. How Feng Xin’s concern softens into something fond and familiar.

“Tch… I’ll bring you the silk and a needle.” Mu Qing mutters. “Good luck not getting speared while you use it.”

“We’ll keep a guard here at all times.” Feng Xin adds as Mu Qing turns towards the door. “Not just for your sake, but… In case of trouble from outside too. Since he’s vulnerable.”

“Thank you.” Xie Lian whispers, and tilts to bow his head to the ground.

He’s caught immediately by two hands, one on each shoulder. He smiles as Feng Xin’s touch supports him and Mu Qing’s shoves at him, urging him up.

Quan Yizhen, apparently wanting to be part of this, but not understanding the exercise, pats Xie Lian’s back .

“Thank you.” Xie Lian repeats, this time smiling. Then he straightens, steels himself, and turns back to Hua Cheng’s body.

“E-Ming,” he whispers. “Won’t you let him go? I’m all healed now, so there’s nothing to be angry about.”

“All healed he says.” Mu Qing mutters behind him.

“Shh!” Feng Xin hisses.

E-Ming gives a single rattle in the sheath Xie Lian cobbled together out of scraps, then falls silent again . Xie Lian strokes its silver hiilt. He isn’t surprised, but he’s sad. E-Ming is a part of Hua Cheng, after all. Like the butterflies that have floated off Xie Lian’s hair and robes to settle in the rafters, ignoring Hua Cheng’s injuries as they refuse to ignore Xie Lian’s .

Mu Qing leaves, and Yin Yu enters. Xie Lian pulls Hua Cheng’s hair into order, pushing back memories of dressing corpses. He considers removing the bandages wrapped around his face, but he remembers a child, both hands pressed over his right eye despite the broken bones in his tiny body . He only straightens them in the end.

“Shixiong, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, his highness already agreed that he would be careful!”

“Don’t touch me.” is Yin Yu’s only response.

He kneels at Xie Lian’s side. His mask is firmly in place, and Xie Lian doesn’t question it.

“He would be furious to be seen like this.” Yin Yu says in a low voice.

“If he lives to be angry, I’ll welcome it.” Xie Lian replies.

Yin Yu laughs, his head tilting down.

“Not at you.” he corrects. “What will your highness require ?”

“Water.” Xie Lian doesn’t question him further. “Bandages if you can find some.”

“I can help!” Quan Yizhen calls. “Shixiong, let me—”

“Silence.” Yin Yu snarls, twisting his head around in a heartbeat. “Don’t wake him, you idiot!”

Hua Cheng doesn’t wake. Yin Yu stands, and bows, first to Xie Lian, then to Hua Cheng’s trembling form. He leaves, and Quan Yizhen follows at his heel like a loyal dog, refusing to acknowledge the beating it’s received before .

Feng Xin lingers, standing to the side and watching. Xie Lian can feel him there, his eyes intense.

“Forgive this one for snapping before.” Xie Lian offers at last, fingers finding Hua Cheng’s long braid and the red bead settled on the end, laying it over his chest . “If General Nan Yang has something he needs to say—”

“I’m sorry.” Feng Xin says in a sudden rush at the permission. “That your highness is going through this. That he’s— That at that time, this one didn’t consider your highness’s feelings towards him. I know…”

He takes a deep breath. It sounds like it’s shaking. Hua Cheng isn’t breathing, but that’s okay. Xie Lian knows, in theory, that it’s fine. He wishes he were gasping and panting, just for the illusion of life it would lend him.

“I know what it’s like,” Feng Xin rasps at last. “To want to protect someone and… Well. Your highness knows.”

“I know.” Xie Lian agrees. Then he turns back towards Feng Xin. “We’ll find her too. We’ll help her.”

Feng Xin stares back, his brows twisting deeply . When he bows, it is a low, grateful thing that does not serve to hide the tears in his eyes.

Then Hua Cheng wakes, screaming, and Xie Lian can see only him.


Now

In his hand, the fractured ring seals shut, with a heat so blistering that its curves sear themselves into Xie Lian’s tightly-closed palm . The light around them, though, is cold. It freezes everything. Even time holds its breath for a moment. The screaming sound of Quan Yizhen brawling bare-fisted against Jun Wu while Feng Xin tries to rouse Mu Qing fades .

Before him, Hua Cheng changes. His aura, so broken it felt completely absent, redoubles. The world screams around him, changing fundamentally . Mount Tonglu rumbles in an echo of the abrupt shift in power.

Xie Lian reaches forward to catch him, and Hua Cheng dances back.

“Gege, stay here. Don’t fight!”

“San Lang, wait!” He cries, clenching the ring tight in his hand.

Hua Cheng doesn’t listen. He slides forward like water flowing through a crack in the earth, scooping up Mu Qing’s saber and—

Xie Lian’s heart skips a beat, his eyes dropping back down to the body he skimmed over. Mu Qing lies unmoving on the broken rubble of statues in the cave, his face horrifically pale.

“Don’t!” Xie Lian orders, eyes snapping back to Hua Cheng. The butterflies erupt from behind him with a howl, filling the air in a sudden rush of power, descending on Jun Wu as Quan Yizhen jumps back in confusion . Yin Yu is picking himself up out of the rubble. Feng Xin casts aside his broken bow, and lifts his bare hands.

“Crimson Rain, aren’t you a little late?” Jun Wu mocks, as if it wasn’t him. As if it wasn’t his hands that took the ring from—

Xie Lian grips the ring tighter. His breath stalls in his lungs. Not safe, not safe, not safe, his bones will break and his throat will squeeze and Jun Wu will pry it away from him.

Hua Cheng doesn’t speak. The butterflies screech as Jun Wu dissipates them with a wave of his hand, but Hua Cheng follows right behind them, Mu Qing’s saber singing in his hand . Xie Lian loses his breath again. He has never seen Hua Cheng like this. He moves like smoke, here and gone; vicious and untouchable. Jun Wu draws Zhu Xin at last, parrying his strikes with easy motions.

The bright-white seam of butterfly silk in Hua Cheng’s throat glows in the dim light as he moves. The burn mark in Xie Lian’s palm aches as he clenches his fist around the ring.

It isn’t safe with him, but it isn’t safe anywhere here. He has to keep it safe. He has to get them out. He has to stop Jun Wu. He has to stop San Lang . He’ll tear himself to pieces like this and—

Xie Lian takes a deep breath. Ruoye stirs, uneasy, under his robes. He can’t send it to fight. Mu Qing said he needed more time before it fought. It needed more repairs. Mu Qing—

Mu Qing lies pale and limp, splayed on the rubble. He is disheveled , his hair in disarray, his broken arm splayed to the side, knocked out of his bloody silk sling. He may never finish his work. Xie Lian’s fault, his fault, his fault—

Hua Cheng spins in close, and the saber scrapes over Jun Wu’s armor. The scream of metal is echoed in Jun Wu’s laugh.

“Xianle, are you watching?” He calls pleasantly .

Xie Lian lifts his hand, eyes never leaving the fight. He presses his closed fist over his chest. Feng Xin darts past the dueling pair, dropping by Mu Qing’s side. Yin Yu is desperately trying to hold Quan Yizhen back from rejoining the fight, the curly-haired god dripping blood from his face .

Beneath Xie Lian's robes, the hole in his chest has not fully closed. He fixes his eyes on Hua Cheng, his dark hair a banner behind him as he and Jun Wu dance, and parry, and exchange crashing, ringing blows . Jun Wu chats lightly as they fight. Hua Cheng only screams.

“Hurry. Crush it. Stop him.” The boy gasps, a beautiful, twisted wooden sculpture abandoned at his feet, holding his life out to Xie Lian with desperation in his eye .

“Never,” Xie Lian whispers, and slides the bandages aside.

He pushes the crystal in as blood seeps, deeper and deeper. Ruoye twitches, and thrashes. Xie Lian’s breath catches in his lungs, but he doesn’t stop. It doesn’t hurt. Not like the alternative would, at least.

Jun Wu targets Hua Cheng’s right side, driving, vicious blows. He circles him, and hounds him. He plays with him. It is a performance. It is a show put on specifically for Xie Lian.

Xie Lian pushes with his thumb, forcing the crystal ring beneath skin and muscle, dug in deep next to his heart.

Ruoye wraps immediately around his chest, eager to help. It binds the bloody wound closed, trapping the crystal within.

“Wake up,” Feng Xin is yelling, shaking Mu Qing roughly by his shoulder. “Mu Qing!”

“Quan Yizhen, no! ” Yin Yu hauls him back again, pressing him back to the wall.

“He hurt you!” Quan Yizhen cries, enraged. “He hurt you, and he laughed!”

He hurt you and he laughed , Xie Lian’s heart echoes with every beat. A crystal ring sits cold beside that heartbeat, aching in his hollowed-out chest.

Hua Cheng falls back to the wall. Jun Wu’s sword screams through the air, and scores through the stone. Hua Cheng’s steps are uneven— he dodges Jun Wu’s vicious strikes and the stone fragments of Xie Lian on the ground both, struggling not to step on the broken statues .

“You know,” Jun Wu says in a light, conversational tone, “For a moment I really thought Xianle had something I lacked. That there truly was a believer in this world whose loyalty was unfailing.”

Hua Cheng says nothing. He crouches low, and sweeps in. Jun Wu dodges him so easily that the very motion is flavored with derision. Xie Lian watches Feng Xin seek Mu Qing’s pulse, and Yin Yu’s frantic eyes seek an exit. He breathes deep, and Ruoye squeezes him. The butterflies flicker around him. The few that stayed at his side are silent.

E-Ming is unmoving at his hip.

“Now I know the truth,” Jun Wu laughs. “It’s not faith driving you at all, is it? Poor sick little child. How long have you lusted? How many of these statues did you defile with your lips?”

Xie Lian seeks Hua Cheng’s eye, but he will not look at him. He clashes against Jun Wu, and is thrown back with a single, sharp motion. He launches himself off the wall he impacts again, teeth flashing along with the pale line of stitches in his neck .

“San Lang!” Xie Lian calls. A flicker of that dark eye, but nothing. No response, no obedience, no jumping away to settle at Xie Lian’s side.

Jun Wu’s smile darkens, and he flings a burst of power towards Xie Lian. He crosses his arms to absorb it, but it still sends him tumbling. A wordless cry of fury answers. Feng Xin calls out to him. Xie Lian’s ears are ringing, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is Hua Cheng’s body, shaking, on the brink of falling apart, and suddenly flung into battle. What matters is Mu Qing, bloodless on the floor, Feng Xin struggling to rouse him, and Yin Yu, defenseless as he tries to spare Quan Yizhen’s life .

Xie Lian’s mistakes led them all to this. His stubbornness, his foolishness, his pride, his failings.

He picks himself up, watching the flash of swords with more frustration than awe. He watches Jun Wu kick a piece of Xie Lian’s stone face at Hua Cheng’s left eye to force him into a sudden dodge, and wind up to strike his right while he stumbles .

It doesn’t matter that Xie Lian is injured . It doesn’t hurt. What matters is that flashing silver saber, too slow to block, and the black-clothed warrior wielding it . What matters is the seam still sewn in his neck. What matters is shaking hands offering him a ring to crush.

What matters is stopping San Lang.

Xie Lian sweeps beneath Jun Wu’s arm as he swings— too close for comfort— and grabs Hua Cheng’s free hand as he passes. He whirls away, dragging the ghost king with him by force. He hauls them both to the far side of the cave, pulling Hua Cheng behind him.

Hua Cheng tries to yank his hand away immediately, but Xie Lian holds on tighter in response. He tries to trace a word on his palm, but Hua Cheng is fighting him too much to notice, pulling against him with ever-increasing desperation, heels digging into the unstable ground .

“Xianle, what’s this?” Jun Wu laughs. “Your servant is yours again, and still you can’t control him?”

Xie Lian fixes his stare on him, furious, and smiles.

“Your majesty,” he says with a pleasant note. “If you call Crimson Rain such a thing again, this one will be forced to claw your tongue out.”

Behind his back, he shakes Hua Cheng roughly by the grip on his hand. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but he has to listen . Hua Cheng goes abruptly still at the harsh action, and Xie Lian repeats the motion of his finger against his palm, tracing out a single word .

“Dice.”

“Can it be that Xianle still plans to fight me?” Jun Wu’s smile is pleasant and handsome, full of pity and affection.

Around Xie Lian’s neck, the shackle tightens. He doesn’t even flinch. He glares, and holds still while Hua Cheng’s finger traces—

“You.”

Xie Lian replies “No. All.”

“You know, it truly wasn’t much effort to change your little ghost around,” Jun Wu walks towards them with steady, threatening elegance . “I can do it again, Xianle. It may be better simply to destroy it, though. There is no doubt it is a warped, twisted thing. Do you see how upset it’s become? How broken it is already? A true believer would not have broken.”

Xie Lian can’t answer him. The shackle tightens. His pleasant smile twists, but he doesn’t let it shift into pain. He doesn’t let it hurt at all. It doesn’t hurt at all. He meets Jun Wu’s patronizing smile with a defiant, pleasant one of his own.

“E-Ming,” he writes on Hua Cheng’s palm.

Then he takes a page from Jun Wu's book and kicks a piece of his own former statue at the emperor of heaven. Jun Wu bats it aside easily , but that’s fine. He only needs a distraction.

Xie Lian whirls, gripping Hua Cheng’s face. He kisses him, deeply , and spiritual power answers him. So does a strained, awful sound that claws its way out of Hua Cheng’s throat. So do the hands lifting to push him away.

This he counted on as well. He grabs the saber from Hua Cheng''s grip, and tears himself away, launches towards Jun Wu.

Centuries ago, he faced the emperor on even ground. Centuries ago, he wounded the martial god in his side. He hears “Gege!” behind him, and feels the air pressure change. Jun Wu’s expression is frozen in surprise until all at once it isn’t surprise anymore. It isn’t a smile anymore either.

He slaps the saber strike aside, catches Xie Lian’s robes, and shakes him roughly. The shackle tightens until he can’t help but choke and gag, but he keeps his grip on the saber.

“Why won’t you learn?” Jun Wu demands, shaking him, strangling him. “How many times must I teach you, Xianle?”

Xie Lian grins in answer.

E-Ming flashes out from its rough scabbard at his hip. It is cracked and weak, but at this distance and with Hua Cheng's perfect timing, it slices Jun Wu’s face in two.

Xie Lian twists away from the awful sight, grabbing E-Ming out of the air and gasping in a breath as the shackle loosens . The sound escaping the heavenly emperor is inhuman, but he doesn't care. Behind Hua Cheng, the wall yawns open after the rattle of dice in a distance array.

“Go!” Xie Lian barks, and his order is followed . Yin Yu lifts Quan Yizhen bodily , and runs. Feng Xin follows, Mu Qing draped in his arms.

“Gege, run.” Hua Cheng instructs, holding out his hand for the saber, eye fixed on Jun Wu.

In answer, Xie Lian goes low, grabbing Hua Cheng around his thighs. The ghost king freezes stiff, as he knew he would. Xie Lian hefts him over his shoulder, and sprints through the array.

He careens directly into thigh-deep water in the middle of a rice paddy, and feels the spell snap closed behind him . Pressed to his chest, E-Ming quakes. Thrown over his shoulder, Hua Cheng twists, freeing himself. He lands with a splash, scrambling backwards. Xie Lian doesn’t let him go. He lunges after him, catching his wrist.

“Don’t.” he orders, eyes fixed on Hua Cheng’s drawn, horrified expression and his hand tight around his wrist. “Don’t run, don’t escape, don’t move ! Stay right here where I can find you!”

Hua Cheng’s lips part. They’re shaking. He’s shaking. Xie Lian needs to talk to him. He needs time. Hua Cheng needs time. But first—

Feng Xin has waded out of the rice, laying Mu Qing on the ground. He has an ear pressed to his chest, calling his name, trying to rouse him. Xie Lian goes to them, moving so quickly that the mud doesn’t have time to draw him down.

“Feng Xin?” He asks, crouching at their sides.

“He has a pulse but it’s so—” Feng Xin’s voice is high and tight with terror. “It’s like he doesn’t have any blood in him, he— Your highness, he can’t die, he can’t die!”

“Mu Qing,” Xie Lian calls, putting a hand to his pale face.

He really is handsome, without an expression of derision on his features. He has a noble face. Xie Lian wonders abruptly whether having such a thing was only an added insult to one of such common birth.

He pries one of Mu Qing’s eyes open, and finds it white, rolled back in his skull and senseless. Xie Lian grabs his wrist, pressing two fingers there to feel out the flow of spiritual power within him.

He realizes a moment too late that he's grabbed his broken arm, but Mu Qing doesn’t react. The cursed shackle is dark on his wrist, and his spiritual essence boils around it, snared and captured inside .

“Here,” Xie Lian commands, grabbing Feng Xin’s hand and pressing it over the shackle. “Spiritual power, as much as you can, try to unlock it! Quan Yizhen!”

He lifts his head to look for the others, and finds Quan Yizhen hovering over a fallen Yin Yu. Xie Lian’s heart leaps, but Yin Yu is still trying to shove his former Shidi away from himself. Only exhausted, and not at all in the same state Mu Qing is in. At Xie Lian’s call, Quan Yizhen lifts his head, face still covered in blood, and now covered in tears as well.

“Now!” Yin Yu orders him with another shove, snarling bare-faced up at him.

Obediently , if also reluctantly , Quan Yizhen slinks to Xie Lian, casting frequent glances back at where Yin Yu lies, breathing so hard that even from the distance Xie Lian can see his chest rise and fall . Truly , he gave his all to protect the Shidi he claims to hate…

“Lend Feng Xin your spiritual energy.” Xie Lian puts Quan Yizhen’s hand on Feng Xin’s back. Feng Xin’s face is drawn with concentration already, eyes clenched closed and always-furrowed brows furrowed deeper as he channels his will into Mu Qing’s body .

“Okay?” Quan Yizhen replies. “But I thought we didn’t like him very much, so… Oh! Is it because he didn’t finish working on your weapon?”

Ruoye quivers against his chest, peering out of his robes, down at Mu Qing.

“It’s because he should live.” Xie Lian replies, more sharply than he should. “There is no other reason. Focus! All you can." Then he adds "Yin Yu will be pleased if Mu Qing survives this.”

Probably not true, but Xie Lian isn’t above lying, and it works. Quan Yizhen focuses at once, scowling and nearly glowing with power. Xie Lian drags in a breath, trying to assess the situation.

A brief glance confirms what Xie Lian already knows. In the poor, ragged rice field, Hua Cheng has not moved, halfway fallen in the deep water, the hand Xie Lian gripped held to his chest . Xie Lian swallows at the sight of him, then goes to Yin Yu.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, crouching stiffly . He bites back a wince, and swallows around his tight throat.

“Fine.” Yin Yu answers between shallow gasps. “Your highness, Hua Chengzhu—”

“I brought him.” Xie Lian says. “He’s back. We’ll figure it out. Breathe, Yin Yu.”

He glances around for the absent demon mask, but sees only a fragment of ceramic on Yin Yu’s shoulder. It must have broken. Right. He has to get Mu Qing back on his feet, and then—

Out in the rice field, kneeling with the water up to his waist, Hua Cheng is—

“General Hua!”

Xie Lian goes stock still. He swallows hard again around his bruised throat, and drags his gaze up from Yin Yu’s suddenly-stiff form.

“Ban…” He whispers, before breaking forward, sprinting towards her. He scoops her up on his arms and spins, crying out in delight.

“Ban Yue! You’re alright!”

“General Hua, put me down! You’re injured!” She objects, even as she flings her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

“I thought you were trapped up there!” Xie Lian chokes.

“I was,” Ban Yue squeezes him tighter. He hugs her close, clenching his eyes shut and shivering. “I was, but I’m fine. General Hua, in heaven, something happened to Crimson Rain! He—”

“I know.” Xie Lian rocks with her, breathing deep. “I know, he’s here. It’s okay. How did you—?”

“Lady Rain Master.” Ban Yue answers, wiggling to be put down. He lowers her to her feet, fighting back tears and grinning so hard it hurts. “She’s here now, tending to General Pei! Pei Xiu and I are fine, but Xuan Ji—”

“My friends are hurt too,” Xie Lian says quickly . “Can she help them?”

Ban Yue twists, looking at the huddle around Mu Qing. Yin Yu has gained his feet again, and is watching her warily . Behind him, Feng Xin is covered in a sheen of sweat, making him look as if he were carved from wax.

“I’m sure she can, general, I’ll fetch her right away!” Ban Yue replies. “I just came because something was bothering the rice!”

“Please tell her I’m sorry about that!” Xie Lian says at once with a brief bow, but Ban Yue is already sprinting back. He can't help but think the Rain Master’s style of pale-blue robes suits her better than the dark colors of Banyue ever did .


Xie Lian stays upright as the ox arrives with a cart. He helps move Mu Qing into the back, slow and steady so that Feng Xin never loses contact or concentration. He insists that Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen go as well.

He insists that he does not yet.

Ban Yue stands on the edge of the rice field, staring at the figure kneeling out in the water. She looks to Xie Lian as he approaches with worry in her brow.

“General Hua,” she whispers. “Whatever happened to him, it was very, very bad. I tried to help, but—”

“Thank you,” Xie Lian replies, placing his hand on her hair and stroking. “I’ll be careful with him. I promise. Will you give us some time?”

Xie Lian lets them all leave before he moves. His robes hang sodden around him. He can feel straw poking his back from the damage his poor hat must have taken, tumbling around so much. He’ll need to repair it again. At this point, probably no single piece of straw from the original hat remains.

But he still remembers.

He can only hope that the power of one person extends to him as well.

“Wait here, okay?” He whispers to E-Ming, setting it down on dry ground as it quivers in his hands. “I’ll clean you properly very soon, you clever thing.”

E-Ming squints its eye into a weary smile before it goes still. The red gaze flickers closed behind silver.

“Stay here with it,” Xie Lian whispers to Ruoye as well, coaxing it out of his robes. It floats down to coil around E-Ming, stained with his blood and cowed drooping with exhaustion .

Then there's nothing else to wait for. Xie Lian wades back out into the mud.

Hua Cheng doesn’t move. He kneels in place, staring down at the muddy water, churned by their footsteps. His face looks hollowed out and empty— no expression at all. Butterflies flicker out from him, circling Xie Lian. The sunset tinges the sky pink, and the butterflies light the gathering dark. One perches on Xie Lian’s neck, then a second, and a third.

The bruise there eases, and Xie Lian lets out a breath. But he also lifts his hand to shoo them away before they burn themselves out. They crawl onto his fingers, probing at him as if seeking injury. He feels a few alight in his hair.

Gently ,” he instructs them. “Don’t hurt yourselves.”

They shine around him, unanswering. Hua Cheng kneels dark in the sunset, mired and stuck. The butterfly silk Xie Lian stitched into his throat gleams along with the white of his eye.

“Your highness,” he rasps when Xie Lian stops before him.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian says in return.

Xie Lian reaches one hand towards his face, but Hua Cheng tilts away from the touch before it connects. He won’t look at Xie Lian. Only down at the water.

Xie Lian hasn’t taken breath to speak before Hua Cheng is rasping past his slit throat once more.

“Give me the ring, your highness.” He lifts his hand from the dark water, holding it up to him.

Xie Lian’s chest burns. If it was for the ring's safety, he would. If it was a strategic move, he would. If it was a request made out of concern for Hua Cheng’s safety, he would claw his chest open gladly for him.

He knows it isn’t any of those things.

“Pardon me,” he says to a passing butterfly rather than addressing Hua Cheng yet. “I have one more injury.”

He parts his robe, and the butterflies swarm to the bloody spot on his chest, tending to it with eager energy.

Then Xie Lian looks down to Hua Cheng. His eye is fixed on the bloody spot. Ah… He had forgotten what exactly that would mean to him. Xie Lian can’t cover it now. Even if he did, from the look on Hua Cheng’s face it is not something so easily forgotten.

“Your highness,” Hua Cheng repeats, hand still hovering between them. “The ring.”

“What does San Lang plan to do with it?” Xie Lian asks in a light tone, as if fear and exhaustion are not chewing at every edge of him.

“Nothing.” Hua Cheng lies.

“Hm,” Xie Lian takes a deep breath, turning his head to look over the painted colors of the sunset. It’s remarkably peaceful, for how broken everything is. Jun Wu will not stay gone long. Yet again, they do not have the time he wants. Perhaps they never will. Perhaps he simply has to take this time greedily , with both hands. Perhaps it is the last time they will ever have.

He lifts a hand to shoo the butterflies away from his chest. The scabbed mark is small now, shrunk to barely a sliver. He covers it again in his ruined robes.

“I’ve heard it’s unseemly for believers to lie to their gods,” he comments.

Hua Cheng twitches. It makes the water move around them.

“Highness—”

“You can take it.” Xie Lian tells him, spreading both hands to his sides. “If you want it, you can take it back.”

Hua Cheng’s eye fixes on the ring-shaped burn on Xie Lian’s palm. He hisses out a breath, and lunges for it without thought. He presses his wet hand over the mark, and pours spiritual power into it. Xie Lian holds still, his pulse racing at that sudden touch. So badly , he wanted it so badly , he wanted—

Hua Cheng freezes. Blinks. Looks to Xie Lian’s other empty hand. To his bare throat, empty of decoration. Then his eyes fix on the pink-stained, soaking-wet robes over his heart.

“No.” He whispers.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian sinks down to kneel before him. Hua Cheng doesn’t pull away. He’s fixated, eyes glued to Xie Lian’s chest.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng breathes, horror in his tone. “Why?”

“Because Jun Wu broke my fingers, and I couldn’t hold on.” Xie Lian replies.

He reaches forward, and Hua Cheng doesn’t pull away this time. He lets Xie Lian’s fingertips brush over his freezing, clammy cheek. The water is cold, and Hua Cheng has no body heat to fend it off.

The hands healing his burn twitch. A sound of agony escapes Hua Cheng’s throat.

“Now,” Xie Lian whispers, “It will take much more for their hiding place to be destroyed .”

Hua Cheng is shaking. The water trembles with him. Xie Lian trembles with him. The water rises almost to his chest, and Hua Cheng’s eye flickers down to it. Down to their clasped hands.

“Look at me.” Xie Lian commands him, sliding his fingers down from Hua Cheng’s sharp cheekbone to his jaw.

His eye snaps up. His attention is complete. His lips part as if to speak, and Xie Lian closes the space between them before he can.

The kiss is soft. It is slow. The taste of spiritual power appears, and Xie Lian pulls back.

“No,” he whispers.

Then he leans back in. Hua Cheng’s lips tremble beneath his. He does not kiss him back. He does not pull away. Xie Lian is inexperienced . He doesn’t know how to kiss like Hua Cheng does, all searing passion and the hint of teeth. He just presses his lips against Hua Cheng’s and stays there.

Hua Cheng doesn’t move except for the shaking. He holds perfectly still, as if Xie Lian were the butterfly he feared to chase away. His hands enclosed Xie Lian’s fingers, the burn long healed but unwilling to let go.

But it doesn’t change. It doesn’t fix anything. It needs words. A hug in answer won’t do this time. He can’t tease Hua Cheng into following the breadcrumbs of his own affection. He can’t fix what’s been broken .

He can only start from here.

“Stay,” he whispers against Hua Cheng’s unmoving lips.

“I failed you.” Hua Cheng replies, his voice dull and broken.

Xie Lian wants to argue. He wants to explain. He was the one who failed. All of this was his fault.

Hua Cheng would feel compelled to fight him on it, and Xie Lian is inexperienced , but he knows one thing: They cannot fight right now .

“Okay,” Xie Lian whispers instead, the word breathed into Hua Cheng’s parted lips. And then he repeats “stay.”

Something cold streaks down Hua Cheng’s cheek. Xie Lian brushes his thumb through the tear track, and cups his face more firmly .

“I hurt you,” Hua Cheng whispers.

“Okay,” Xie Lian breathes again, tilting his head, pressing their foreheads together.

Hua Cheng tilts imperceptibly into the touch.

“Stay,” Xie Lian repeats.

“Your highness…”

Hua Cheng sounds gutted. His voice is thick with pain and sorrow— broken from the ragged split in his throat.

Some things need to be said plainly. Xie Lian grips Hua Cheng’s hands tight and slides his other hand back into his hair, smearing tears over his pale cheek.

“I love you.” Xie Lian whispers, eyes falling closed as he kneels there, holding their foreheads together . “I missed you. Stay.”

Hua Cheng is silent. Then a soft, broken sound erupts from him. His body gives an abrupt spasm, as if choking. Then another, and another, and he curls in on himself slowly . Xie Lian follows him, drenched, and mud-coated and stained beyond repair. He follows him down, wrapping him in his arms. Hua Cheng curls into his shoulder, his back heaving with helpless, voiceless sobs under Xie Lian’s gentle hands .

He sobs, and Xie Lian tilts their heads together. He slides his hands over Hua Cheng’s shoulders, like his mother did for him long ago. It only seems to make Hua Cheng cry harder, but sometimes it is not such a bad thing to cry.

Xie Lian shivers despite himself, closing his eyes against the dimming sunset and holding onto his beloved . But his shiver has changed something, and Hua Cheng sucks in a rough breath.

“Gege, you’re freezing,” he chokes, and scoops Xie Lian up in his arms.

Xie Lian presses close at once. He shoves his face greedily into Hua Cheng’s shoulder, clinging to him as tight as he wanted to that first time in the sinner’s pit . He has felt so unsteady for so long, and now suddenly he feels safe . The arms around him are strong and sure. Xie Lian breathes like he hasn't in weeks. Water pours off him as Hua Cheng starts walking, wading through the freezing cold water back to shore.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispers, his voice sounding raw. He doesn’t understand why. His eyes burn as he presses them against Hua Cheng’s wet shoulder. The water must have soaked through every inch of him while he knelt. Xie Lian doesn’t know why the water feels hot beneath his eyes.

“Okay,” Hua Cheng whispers to him, his steps so smooth that Xie Lian barely feels them. “It’s okay, gege. Relax. It’s okay.”

“Stay,” Xie Lian begs, and Hua Cheng hugs him tighter.

“Don’t be scared ,” he breathes. “Don’t be scared . If gege wants this servant, he will have him.”

“You’re not my servant,” Xie Lian chokes.

“I would be.” Hua Cheng sinks to one knee on the bank of the field without setting Xie Lian down. There’s a soft rattle, and then silence as E-Ming finds its place at his side. Ruoye floats down over Hua Cheng’s shoulders, and wraps itself around Xie Lian’s bare throat.

“If your highness wanted it, this one would gladly be the bones he steps on to succeed. If your highness commanded, this one would tear himself to pieces to make life the slightest bit better .”

Hua Cheng's words are low and intimate as he cradles Xie Lian. As he walks, Xie Lian feels him change beneath him. The rough robes dry out and smooth into soft silk. The body around him broadens, and the ground shrinks further away.

“I don’t want it.” Xie Lian chokes, clenching his eyes shut. “I won’t!”

“Shhh,” Hua Cheng breathes against his hair. “This one knows, your highness. This one knows now.”

His voice is low and smooth. It rumbles pleasantly in his chest, soothing Xie Lian in a way he doesn't fully understand. His steps are so careful that it's almost like being rocked to sleep. Then Hua Cheng steps forward with his left foot again, and the motion chimes like a silver bell.

Xie Lian bites his lip against his tears, and holds on for dear life as Crimson Rain Sought Flower steps back into his life . The arms embracing him send spiritual energy wicking through his clothes, drying the sodden white fabric . He presses his face into Hua Cheng’s shoulder, and feels his arms tighten in response.

They walk for a long while, holding each other and saying nothing at all. It’s dark by the time a voice speaks.

“There you are.” A woman’s voice greets, calm and pleasant.

“Lady Rain Master,” Hua Cheng responds. Xie Lian feels his head tilt in respect. “His highness needs rest.”

“I’m okay.” Xie Lian objects, shifting for the first time, though he doesn’t want to.

Hua Cheng holds him tighter, and grunts a wordless disagreement.

“Please do not push yourself, your highness.” Yushi Huang says, soft and easy. “Your friend will survive, and the others are well. Tomorrow we will speak. For now, the room here is prepared for you both.”

“Thank you.” Hua Cheng says in his low, smooth voice again, tipping forward in a bow without letting Xie Lian go at all.

The strangeness of it hits all at once, and Xie Lian gasps, shifting abruptly in his arm. Hua Cheng blinks, looking at him in alarm before freezing again as Xie Lian shoves his hand against the seam of silver stitches in his throat .

The stitches are still there, but the skin beneath them has sealed shut.


They’re quiet at first. Just the two of them, alone in a spacious room. There’s a steaming bath ready, and two beds laid out. Hua Cheng wordlessly sets Xie Lian on one, but Xie Lian rises at once, and pulls the second bed to join the first. Hua Cheng watches him with a strange look on his face. It looks stuck between strain and humor— sorrow and joy.

“Take the bath while it’s warm, your highness.” He urges when Xie Lian has arranged the two beds into one.

Xie Lian holds out his hand to him in reply. It’s hard to find the words. It’s easier to act.

Hua Cheng takes his hand obediently , but seems surprised when Xie Lian tugs him along to the bath. He doesn’t bother pulling the screens closed around it. There’s only them. He turns to Hua Cheng, and tries to figure out where to start.

“Gege…” Hua Cheng whispers, hands fluttering in anxious little motions between them. “This one is fine. He can wait and keep guard—”

Xie Lian grunts an inelegant sound of objection. He reaches out, and catches the braid in Hua Cheng’s hair. He tugs on it, and Hua Cheng follows the pull down. Xie Lian kisses him, and this time the lips beneath his melt into the touch.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng sighs when they part. “Please, won’t you tell this unworthy follower what you need?”

“You,” Xie Lian whispers in return, feeling rubbed raw by it all. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Hua Cheng balks, flustered. His eye skitters away, but Xie Lian doesn’t let him back up, holding onto his braid.

“We bathe together, or we lie down together.” Xie Lian whispers. “This one won’t let you go.”

The dark eye that fixes on him in answer is wild, ringed in white and with an edge of panic. Then it softens, and Hua Cheng’s shoulders fall. It seems like a great weight is on his shoulders. Xie Lian lifts his hands, cupping both of Hua Cheng’s cheeks.

“Now you,” he strokes his sharp cheekbones as he speaks. “What does San Lang need?”

Hua Cheng’s eye falls closed. When he speaks, it’s barely more than a breath.

“This one wants that man’s hands off him.”

Xie Lian shudders, but he nods, brushing his thumbs over Hua Cheng’s cheeks again. He slides his hands down to his shoulders, and touches the silver necklace. Beneath his fingers, it dissolves into butterflies. Then the rest of Hua Cheng’s clothes and jewelry follow suit. Only E-Ming lingers. Xie Lian catches it as it drifts downwards and presses a soft kiss to its hilt, then looks back to the bare, tall form of Hua Cheng .

Xie Lian is too tired to be embarrassed . Too tired to be interested . He just tells him “Good” when he sees him naked and fumbles at his own robes.

When Hua Cheng’s hands chase his away, he accepts with relief. His San Lang's talented fingers make short work of the tangled, mud-soaked knot holding his outer robes closed . He peels the outer robe off Xie Lian. Then the inner one as well. Ruoye unwinds from his throat as Hua Cheng works, curling up over Hua Cheng’s bare shoulders affectionately .

The ghost’s cold fingertips barely brush Xie Lian’s skin. At the sight of his bared body, Hua Cheng hisses out a breath. Butterflies peel away from the walls, settling over Xie Lian’s knees, and side, and arms. Xie Lian wavers under the sudden wave of relief. He hadn’t even realized how badly it all hurt.

“Wait,” He whispers, catching Hua Cheng’s wrist as he draws back again. This time he’s careful. First he presses a soft kiss to the bruise he left there when he shook him. Hua Cheng must have kept it by choice, and he can’t stand the sight of it. Though he has no spiritual power to give, it fades under his gentle kiss. Then he turns Hua Cheng’s arm over to look at the raw place on his forearm. He lifts his eyes to his beloved.

“Forgive me.” Hua Cheng breathes, and ghosts his other hand over the arm. The skin heals over, a tattoo inking itself to life over his forearm. “This one had forgotten.”

Xie Lian squints at the tattoo, but his eyes can’t focus, and the handwriting swims before him. He surrenders.

The bath is warm. It’s far too small for two. Xie Lian ends up almost entirely in Hua Cheng’s lap. It’s just as well. Hua Cheng keeps shying away from touching him, and Xie Lian can’t stand it. Like this, Hua Cheng’s hands stay on him. Like this, he warms up while Hua Cheng does. Like this, he can feel the faint weight of crystal in his chest while he breathes the steam deeply .

“Show me,” Xie Lian urges, resting his hand over Hua Cheng’s on his own bicep.

“Your highness doesn’t have to worry.” Hua Cheng replies.

“Show me.” Xie Lian repeats. He’ll repeat it all night. He’ll ask all night. They don’t have time, but he’ll make time. He has to.

Hua Cheng hesitates. He hesitates longer. Then he lowers his eye. He takes Xie Lian’s wrist in a delicate hand, barely daring to touch. He lifts it to the top of his head, and Xie Lian strokes his finely-made hair with his wet palm. The hair snarls in his finger.

“Let me wash it?”

“Your highness is exhausted .”

“San Lang, please?”

Hua Cheng’s eye is dark and unreadable. It’s so full of emotion it looks like he’s drowning. Then he bows his head before Xie Lian in acceptance. He reaches back and unties the eyepatch he wears, letting it drop beside the tub without a word.

There’s really no room, but they make it work. Xie Lian works slowly . He has no luck, but he will not get the herbal-smelling oils in Hua Cheng’s eye, already too-red with crying. He pours water over his scalp, and works the oil in down to his scalp with firm, smooth motions of his fingers. Hua Cheng leans into every touch as he unwinds. He keeps shivering, but it doesn’t seem so bad in the warm water together as it did out in the rice field.

When Xie Lian can do more, he sits back stiffly in the small tub.

“Better?” He asks.

“En,” Hua Cheng replies, his voice thick with emotion.

“Where else?” Xie Lian pushes Hua Cheng’s dripping hair to the side, tucking it over his shoulder.

He’s at once pinned by that intense obsidian eye. Hua Cheng’s brows are twisted up in the middle, his expression all agonizing love. Xie Lian has to kiss him again. Then Hua Cheng’s elegant, long fingered hand lifts, and taps underneath his missing eye.

“Here.” He rasps.

Xie Lian tilts his head at the empty socket. Then he shivers, remembering it bleeding. His brows twist too, and he twines his arms around Hua Cheng’s shoulders.

“This one doesn’t want to hurt you,” He whispers.

“Gege, I want to claw it out again.” Hua Cheng gasps, trembling in his arms. “I want to tear it off. Anything gege does is—”

“Shhh,” Xie Lian hugs him closer. Water sloshes. He doesn’t care. He hugs Hua Cheng’s shaking body to his chest. They’re taking so long, the water should be ice cold. It isn’t. He suspects magic, and he makes note to thank Yushi Huang even more deeply for this.

He sits back again at last, and carefully inspects the missing eye. He waves one of the butterflies down at last, and scoops up a handful of water.

“Can you purify this for me, please?”

“Gege can just tell them what to do.” Hua Cheng mumbles, watching him with that single dark eye, as if waiting for pain.

“They’re very dear to me.” Xie Lian says. “Why would I be harsh with them?”

The butterfly touches the water he holds cupped in his hands till it glows.

“Will San Lang tilt his head back?” Xie Lian shifts onto his knees, straightening up so he's taller.

“Gege can just …” Hua Cheng hesitates. Then he smiles softly and leans his head back.

“Good,” Xie Lian praises, shifting forward.

He pours the water carefully , letting it trickle off his fingertips into Hua Cheng’s emptied eye socket . Hua Cheng shudders beneath him, and Xie Lian breathes an apology.

“It’s fine.” Hua Cheng whispers, eye still open, watching Xie Lian. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Xie Lian pours the rest of the water, not letting himself hurry. Then he moves to touch his thumb to the corner of that empty eye. Hua Cheng grabs his wrist, halting him in place. The water sloshes again with the speed of the motion. Xie Lian blinks, then pales.

“San Lang…”

Hua Cheng releases him as if burned.

“Sorry, gege, sorry,” his voice is smooth, and his smile revives; too easy, too smooth. “This one is fine.”

Xie Lian sinks back slowly away from him, lifting his hands so Hua Cheng can see them both. He doesn’t miss how he relaxes a fraction.

“San Lang doesn’t have to be fine,” Xie Lian breathes. “He’s been through so much.”

“No.” Hua Cheng shifts closer at once. “Gege, compared to you—”

“I’m fine.” Xie Lian shakes his head.

“Gege!”

Hua Cheng’s hand lifts out of the water. Presses flat over the mark in his chest. For a moment Xie Lian’s heart leaps in terror— If he claws for the ring—

He grips Hua Cheng’s wrist tightly , ready to pull him away.

He locks eyes with him, and they both freeze. Hua Cheng’s hand stays splayed over Xie Lian’s chest. He doesn't claw. Xie Lian slowly changes from preparing to pull him away to holding him in place.

“This one hurt you.” Hua Cheng breathes.

“Even controlled like that, you didn’t want to.” Xie Lian argues.

“But I did.” Hua Cheng bends his head down. His hand slides away, and his lips find the mark over Xie Lian’s heart. He kisses it, slow and soft. The rough scab edges pull against his lips, then crumble away to nothing as Hua Cheng seals the wound for good.

Xie Lian lifts his hand to Hua Cheng’s throat, touching the stitches remaining there as he lets his beloved work.

“I’ll help with these,” he offers, fingertips catching on the butterfly silk. “If it’s not too much?”

“Gege, no fair.” Breathes Hua Cheng against his heartbeat. Xie Lian shivers.

“Oh?” He slides his hand into the dark fall of Hua Cheng’s soaked hair. “What’s no fair?”

“It’s this one’s turn.” Hua Cheng tilts his head up to pout, and Xie Lian huffs a laugh despite himself. The fake pout on Hua Cheng’s face melts away into a warm, startled smile. As if he’d forgotten what it was like, making Xie Lian laugh.

“Ah, San Lang knows this one can’t deny him.” Xie Lian sighs.

“Gege must tell this one if he oversteps, or if gege is uncomfortable.” Hua Cheng requests, sitting back, sliding his thumb over the healed skin of Xie Lian’s heart. Under his touch, the ring is a dull weight, the skin and muscle healed around it.

“Ah,” Xie Lian chuckles again, awkwardly . “ Really , this one will take whatever Hua Chengzhu offers.”

“Gege speaks as though collecting scraps.” Hua Cheng sighs, even as he carefully gathers Xie Lian’s hair. “If he likes this San Lang, he can have the whole thing. Turn, gege. Let me see your back.”

Xie Lian hesitates. He leans in close, hovering an inch away from his target. Hua Cheng holds still, watching him, then tilts his lips into a soft smile. Xie Lian kisses the hollow of his missing eye in gentle apology for frightening him, then does as he’s asked and turns his back .

Mu Qing would be furious with him for turning away. Xie Lian shivers at the thought of his empty face. Hands he hadn’t noticed tracing the exit wound on his back yank away from him.

“Your highness, did I hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt,” Xie Lian replies, tilting his head back towards him. “Not at all. It’s okay, San Lang.”

But still those hands don’t return. Xie Lian twists back to check on him, and finds Hua Cheng shivering, hands held to his chest and his eye closed tight.

Xie Lian looks back forward, taking a deep breath. Then he sighs slowly .

“Ah, San Lang, really ,” he breathes, biting his lip before forcing himself to continue, “It… It hurts a little so, if San Lang could… ?”

“What were those fools doing letting you close to me this injured?” Hua Cheng chokes in reply, splaying a gentle hand over the mark in Xie Lian’s back.

“Don’t be too mad,” Xie Lian leans back into Hua Cheng’s hand, forcing him to deepen the touch to something firmer than a feather . “This one bullied them.”

Hua Cheng breathes a laugh. Then he leans forward slowly — Xie Lian can hear him moving in the bath water, and presses his forehead to the back of Xie Lian’s shoulder . He rests there a moment, and Xie Lian’s eyes fall closed, leaning back into the solid hand on his back, no longer stinging at all against a vanished stab wound .

“Gege, is it really okay?” Hua Cheng chokes. “It can’t be, can it?”

“Hm.” Xie Lian leans back against him, gazing up at the butterflies and feeling Hua Cheng’s fingers tremble with tenderness against him .

Maybe not yet,” he admits, “but if San Lang would wash this one’s hair too, then everything’s okay.”

Hua Cheng chokes into a laugh. It only grows, as his hands snake around Xie Lian’s sides and wrap around him, till he’s hugging him tight from behind. He laughs wildly with his head pressed against his shoulder.

“Gege, gege,” He laughs, sounding strangled with delight. “You will really be the death of me!”

Xie Lian tilts his face into Hua Cheng’s wet hair and closes his eyes in pleasure. He slides his arms along Hua Cheng’s, mirroring his hug.

“San Lang,” he whispers again, just because he’s missed saying it. “San Lang, San Lang…”

Hua Cheng washes his hair as if it is an act of worship. He works oil through every inch. His talented fingers turn simple washing into an unspeakably luxurious massage. Xie Lian drifts while Hua Cheng pampers him. He feels a little guilty, knowing his own hair washing was lacking in comparison, but every time he steals a glimpse at Hua Cheng all he can see in his expression is absolute warmth— sheer relief— shining adoration .

“Rest, gege,” he urges when he catches Xie Lian peeking. “This one will be done soon.”

He is. It feels too soon, even though Xie Lian’s fingers are wrinkled , and his head is swimming from the constant warmth.

Hua Cheng helps him from the bath, and wraps him in soft fabric that is not Xie Lian’s ratty robes. He leads him to the bed, hands smooth and gentle against Xie Lian’s water-wrinkled fingertips.

“Sleep,” Hua Cheng murmurs. “This one will keep watch.”

“No,” Xie Lian wraps his arms around Hua Cheng, and draws him down to the bed as well. “The Rain Master will keep watch. San Lang must rest.”

Hua Cheng goes stiff for a moment, then slowly eases, letting out a breath. He shifts till he can tip their foreheads together again.

“Not tonight.” he breathes. “Dianxia, not tonight.”

Xie Lian frowns in worry, nuzzling back against him. “You’re exhausted.”

“This one… I can’t dream again.” Hua Cheng shivers in his arms.

At the thought of his dreams, a soft sound of fear escapes Xie LIan. He holds his beloved tighter and squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a trembling breath, then lets it out again.

Perhaps …” Xie Liain whispers. “ Perhaps we can stay awake just a little longer, San Lang? This one would like to remove his stitches…”

“Gege used butterfly silk, right?” Hua Cheng latches onto the subject. “That was so clever of him.”

“En!” Xie Lian smiles, shifting to sit up on the bed. Hua Cheng stays laying down, gazing up at him with his cheek pillowed on one arm, his missing eye hidden against the sleeve of his outer robe . His inner one drapes Xie Lian’s body in soft crimson. “We gathered it to mend…”

He flinches, faltering. For more than one reason.

“Ruoye,” He calls, holding his hands out. “E-Ming, come here.”

Hua Cheng twitches, then pushes himself up to sit. He reaches out to the silk band rather than his own scimitar, and Ruoye twines through his hands, gentle and fearless . Xie Lian lifts E-Ming into his lap, sliding his hand down its cracked blade. It’s overdue that polishing he promised it, Jun Wu’s blood threatening to rust its damaged blade.

“Hn…” Hua Cheng mutters, and Xue lian looks up to see him squinting down at the line of stitches in Ruoye with a scowl.

Xie Lian fixates on those stitches as well, reaching out to touch the seam.

“Mu Qing was working on it…” he whispers.

“I remember.” Hua Cheng replies. “Lady Rain Master said your friends were well. Don’t worry, gege.”

He lifts Ruoye to Xie Lian’s throat again, stroking it with his thumb as it slides around the curse shackle there. Then he holds his hands out for E-Ming.

Xie Lian hesitates, as he didn’t with himself or Ruoye.

“You aren’t angry at it, are you?” he asks, hand resting protectively over the blade.

“I’m not.” Hua Cheng agrees. “I’ll fix it if gege permits.”

Xie Lian hands E-Ming over at once. He watches the red eye roll in its hilt as Hua Cheng presses his palm against the base of its blade and drags his hand down its entire length . Blood flakes away and cracks seal closed behind his touch.

Xie Lian watches him work, and thinks of those hands on Ruoye. He watches his face, and thinks of it hidden. He looks at his wild, unbound hair, and sees it pulled back in a severe tail.

“San Lang,” He says, only once Hua Cheng is inspecting a now-gleaming E-Ming. “Were you really … Could you possibly have actually been Wu Ming?”

Hua Cheng glances up at him, then looks back to the blade, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Mm, this one was still very young and foolish at that time. He could do so little to help your highness.”

Xie Lian feels the echo of eight hundred years rattle through him. He reaches out to touch Hua Cheng’s hands over E-Ming, gently lowering the scimitar.

“Even knowing what I did,” he breathes. “You’d still…?”

“Haven’t you seen me in much worse states?” Hua Cheng meets his eyes frankly . “Even before all this, this one has always been such a pathetic creature before his highness the crown prince Xie Lian .”

“On the beach,” Xie Lian breathes. “That’s what you meant? That I had known you as Hong Hong-er?”

“Mm,” Hua Cheng’s smile grows. “When your highness called that name… It was such a clever opening move. Truly , you gave this unworthy servant so much help, and he still took so long to come back.”

It is a transparent evasion. Xie Lian allows it. Hua Cheng hates speaking of himself, and he’s made that very clear. They will have time later. He will make time.

“And yet San Lang was the clever one,” Xie Lian praises. “To take his ashes back and come to me.”

Hua Cheng grimaces, then outright sticks his tongue out.

“Gege, can this one request one more—”

“San Lang should request anything he likes.” Xie Lian answers at once, sliding his hands over Hua Cheng’s, E-Ming trembling beneath them both.

“A kiss?” Hua Cheng breathes.

“Too easy.” Xie Lian leans closer. “Ask for two.”

“Four.” Hua Cheng counters.

“Seven.” Xie Lian splits into a grin, a breath away.

“It’s a start.” Hua Cheng replies, and closes the gap.

They share far more than seven.


They speak in stops and starts as the night creeps by.

“The ring doesn’t hurt?” Hua Cheng asks first, eyes flicking to Xie Lian’s chest again.

“It really doesn’t.” Xie Lian replies, resting a hand over his chest.

The crickets are singing outside. Xie Lian carefully trims the butterfly silk from Hua Cheng’s throat, brushing away the sting of pulling the thread free, and chasing the harshness with kisses. After each touch, Hua Cheng smiles and sighs, his head tilted to the side to let Xie Lian work, and his expression slowly being chased over with bliss.

 

Then later:

“Did he hurt you badly ?” Xie Lian blurts, afraid and concerned.

“Not so badly ,” Hua Cheng shakes his head. “But your highness said he broke your hand?”

“All better now.” Xie Lian assures, flexing his fingers. They crack alarmingly , and startle poor Hua Cheng like a high-strung cat.

The dim light of the butterflies bathes them as if in their own secret world. Hua Cheng massages first one of Xie Lian’s hands, then the other. He takes his time, working slowly and thoroughly . Xie Lian moans with pleasure, and then turns red with embarrassment. But instead of teasing, Hua Cheng just kisses the center of his palm, nuzzling against it, and goes back to work.

 

Finally, as the first hints of sunrise touch the windows, Xie Lian whispers “San Lang, do you have any thoughts on how to defeat the heavenly—”

“Let’s… Skip his title, gege.” Hua Cheng interrupts, his head in Xie Lian’s lap and his eye closed as Xie Lian strokes his hair. “Jun Wu.”

“Bai Wuxiang.” Xie Lian offers.

“The same?” Hua Cheng asks, tilting his head further into Xie Lian’s stroking fingers.

He stopped flinching away from his right side only an incense stick’s time after Xie Lian started, settling quickly under his gentle touch . Xie Lian’s heart swells with pride, watching Hua Cheng nuzzle against him as if he’d never been shy of the touch.

“En,” Xie Lian murmurs. “The same.”

“Hm.” Hua Cheng shrugs once. “Not surprised.”

Xie Lian chuckles despite himself. Somehow, even in this, Hua Cheng’s easy attitude has set his heart more at ease than it has been in so long.

“This one has thought about it.” He admits at last. “But has not come up with a feasible plan.”

“Have any of San Lang’s plans involved letting this one fight at all?” Xie Lian brushes his bangs back out of his face, looking down on him.

Hua Cheng’s dark eye flicks open, then closes again, his expression taking on a forced light ease.

“Gege shouldn’t dirty his hands.” he huffs.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian should play with him. He should poke, or wheedle, or whine. He should keep it light.

Instead, he says: “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you.”

Hua Cheng’s eye snaps open, wide and ringed in white. His mouth pops open too, with an audible sound as his soft lips part. He stares up at Xie Lian as if experiencing some religious epiphany. Perhaps he is.

“Oh,” he breathes.

Xie Lian smiles fondly down at him, and goes back to petting his hair, letting Hua Cheng stare up at him as long as he likes. He understands the impulse.

After all, he’s been staring at Hua Cheng the whole time.

 

By the time Ban Yue knocks and calls for them, the sun has risen. Xie Lian lies at Hua Cheng’s side, their fingers tangled. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but it doesn’t feel as bad as he thought. He can see Hua Cheng breathing in slow rhythm, and feel the power flowing under his skin again. He can feel Hua Cheng’s fingers twitch now and then, and watch his dark eye flick open to check that Xie Lian’s still there.

He can practically hear him thinking.

“General Hua?” Ban Yue’s voice calls again, soft and anxious.

“We’ll be right there,” Xie Lian calls back, but he doesn’t move. He draws Hua Cheng’s hand up to his lips, and kisses his knuckles.

“It seems this one will have to share gege’s attention again,” Hua Cheng jokes.

In response, Xie Lian bites his lower lip, trying to chase away the dread. Hua Cheng’s thumb immediately chases away his teeth, smoothing over the abused skin.

“Gege, what’s wrong?” he whispers.

“I don’t want this to end,” Xie Lian admits, shuffling closer to press their heads together once again.

And then, because he always wants to give Hua Cheng the whole truth, he breathes: “What if this is all we get?”

Hua Cheng hesitates, then slowly bows his head. He takes Xie Lian’s hands in both of his, presses his forehead to his knuckles, and takes a deep, slow breath.

“Your highness, don’t be afraid.”

When he lifts his head, his eye is dark and wild with passion. Xie Lian fixates on it, his breath stalling. Hua Cheng squeezes his hands, worshipful and real. When he smiles, it is full of fangs and certainty.

“You have always been stronger than that trash.” He squeezes his hands tightly . “And this one will never leave you.”

The room is silent. The world holds its breath around them, waiting for what comes next. Xie Lian only stares. And then:

“Hah…” Xie Lian breathes, as if he isn’t clinging to Hua Cheng’s hands for dear life. “When San Lang says it so forcefully , this one almost believes him.”

 

 

Chapter 9: Resurrection

Summary:

Hua Cheng should be fine. His god has saved him once again. He should be fine.

Jun Wu's existence hovers like a threat in the air.

Notes:

Welcome to the final chapter of No Water is Enough. Before you begin, Tomo drew a GORGEOUS cover illustration for this story. Please give it a look, and give her your love!

Additionally, check out this WONDERFUL stained-glass piece featuring Hua Cheng's struggle by lazycranberry on Tumblr!

Finally,here is a BEAUTIFUL illustration by the inimitable Rauch!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Last Night

His highness holds Hua Cheng's unworthy head in his lap, stroking fingers rough from living through a dead man’s snarled, wet hair . Hua Cheng should flee him; should deny him; should protect him from this.

Hua Cheng is a craven, greedy creature. He lies still, and tells himself it is because of his god’s wish, and not his own.

Stay , Xie Lian had whispered, as if it was a plea and not a gift.

Whenever Hua Cheng closes his eye, he sees Xie Lian pinned against a tree, blood coating his robes, pouring from his mouth, his kind eyes full of tears . He does not let himself tremble at the vision. Xie Lian deserves every comfort, and this is the comfort he’s chosen— Hua Cheng’s lowly head on his heavenly thighs, and his fingers in his hair .

Silver butterflies fill the Rain Master's residence . He checks every room through his sightless eye, and gazes up at Xie Lian’s smile with the other. He cannot accept the promise of safety without proof.

The generals of the South are together, one still as stone in a bed, the other resting fitfully against the wall. His butterfly keeps its distance— it would be well known in this room, and unwelcome— but neither general notes it . Feng Xin sweats and shivers, dragging ragged breaths through flared nostrils. Mu Qing lies silent, and even through the butterfly Hua Cheng can feel how dim the ex-god’s power shines.

Yushi Huang he finds kneeling at the front entrance of her home, sword over her thighs and a peaceful, composed air about her as she guards . She is unafraid, but not incautious. If Jun Wu comes, she will know it. In the quiet room behind her he finds Pei Ming, sitting uneasily , watching her back in quite literal terms.

The girl Ban Yue does not rest. She sits at the side of Pei Xiu, staring out at the moon while the exiled god rests his mortal body. She looks up at the silver butterfly and smiles. She does not lift a hand for it; he would not approach if she did. Instead she only whispers: “I’m glad you’re back, Lord Crimson Rain.” He believes her, and flees her gentle words.

Quan Yizhen rests in a corner though there is a perfectly good bed in the room. Tears are drying on his cheeks and in his lashes. The traces of blood are still on his face, only halfway washed away. His tear tracks cut clean lines down his pink-stained face. Yin Yu is nowhere to be seen at first.

The butterfly finds him on the roof, silently bandaging his own wounds. He always waits until he is alone; always waits until there is no one to see. Now that Quan Yizhen dogs his steps once more he must have struggled to find the solitude.

When Yin Yu's eyes first brush over the butterfly, his expression turns sorrowful and he forces his attention back to the bandages . Then he pauses, raising his eyes once more.

“Chengzhu?” He questions, forgetting to keep his voice flat— forgetting to keep his expression blank .

Above Hua Cheng's physical form, Xie Lian hums a long note, and strokes Hua Cheng’s throat where it was split . Hua Cheng breathes in deeply , letting his eye fall closed. Behind his eyelid, Xie Lian is pinned to a tree by a sword through his chest, one hand still clutching the torn burlap of the Brocade Immortal .

'Waning Moon Casts Dim Light ,' he whispers inside his mind, and this time it connects. He feels Yin Yu’s attention fully on him. He feels the silence stretch. Xie Lian’s hand rests over his throat, stroking up and down the vanished mark.

‘No mask?’ Hua Cheng asks, refusing to admit to more than that— refusing to let anything show.

“It broke.” Yin Yu says simply , tugging his dark sleeve down over his bandaged forearm. “Chengzhu,  you—”

Hua Cheng doesn’t want to hear. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn't want anything but the thumb on his throat, soothing a wound that is long gone. Xie Lian could clamp down and strangle him. Xie Lian could hurt him.

He doesn’t.

Hua Cheng cuts the connection to Yin Yu, and sends seven more butterflies to him. He solidifies them into a pearlescent white mask. Yin Yu lifts it in reverent fingers before fixing it in place, hiding the dark circles under his eyes and the pain in his expression .

If only all such broken things were so easily mended.


Now

“San Lang,” Xie Lian crosses his arms, an indulgent smile on his handsome face. “Do you know where this one’s robes have wandered?”

“Gege, they were dirty.” Hua Cheng whines, forcing a playful pout.

Xie Lian’s stern expression quivers at the edges with amusement, and his dead heart clenches in relief at the sight of it . He brushes invisible dust off the bright white fabric that has mysteriously appeared in his lap .

“And the ones San Lang has there?”

“Ah, Gege, it’s a strange story, these things appeared out of nowhere.”

Xie Lian laughs. Actually laughs! His head tilts back, and his teeth flash, and his body shakes with the sound. Hua Cheng is helpless in the face of it. He can only worship silently as Xie Lian puts a hand to his forehead in playful exasperation, and turns the full force of his grin on Hua Cheng .

“Well! It would be a shame for them to go to waste,” sighs his god, shoulders still shaking with amusement.

He reaches for them, and Hua Cheng hesitates. Selfish, craven thing. He has no right to ask for anything, and yet—

“Gege, may I?” He asks.

Always gracious and noble; always kind and indulgent; Xie Lian agrees with a precious sweetening of his smile and a bobbing nod .

He only starts frowning when Hua Cheng lays the outer robe out in preparation.

“San Lang, they’re too nice!”

Nothing is too nice, Hua Cheng wants to say. He can’t say it aloud. He can’t bring himself to stand in opposition to anything his highness says. He holds still instead, eyes on the fabric. It’s soft and shining white; delicate flower petals— white on white, only indicated through the stitching— tumble down the outer robes . It’s not nearly as glorious as it should be. It is not as glorious as Xie Lian deserves. His merciful, gentle, wonderful god.

“This one can change them,” he offers rather than arguing any of those things.

He lifts a hand to edit the robes. He’s touched his highness’s simple cultivator’s robes many times. He can easily recreate them, he should have from the beginning , but he’s too foolish, too—

Xie Lian catches his hand. He wraps Hua Cheng’s fingers in his own and squeezes. Hua Cheng takes a breath, and wonders when he forgot to breathe. He wonders if Xie Lian noticed. One look at his face tells him he did.

“It’s okay,” Xie Lian says, holding him. Shame and relief burn through Hua Cheng in equal measure. He shouldn’t need the reassurance. He does.

“Whatever your highness likes is most important,” he replies, tone easy and smile easier. Xie Lian is holding his hand with such care. It is clear this is for his sake and not his highness’s.

“This one likes these.” Xie Lian insists.

Hua Cheng knows it’s a lie, but he’s trapped. He can’t object. So he only smiles, and removes his own inner robe from around Xie Lian’s shoulders before dressing him. The shining white fabric slides smooth and cool over his shapely arms. Hua Cheng gazes at the contrast of his rich, dark skin as opposed to the bright silk inner robe.

“Oh,” Xie Lian breathes, warm under Hua Cheng’s fingers. “San Lang, it's so soft.”

Hua Cheng feels his own smile change. It shifts into something gentle on his face, even as he draws the outer robe up over Xie Lian’s broad shoulders.  He dares to brush the lightest of touches over his back to straighten the robe's fall. The muscles under his hand are tense, but at even the slightest touch he melts. Hua Cheng fights back the urge to bury his face in Xie Lian's fine, strong shoulders and hide there forever.

Ruoye flits closer, inspecting the fabric. It glides over Xie Lian’s arm, curling up around his throat with its stitched seam on display. Hua Cheng recognizes it for the blow it is. Xie Lian forgave him at once. Ruoye has not. That’s good, he thinks, carefully brushing that seam of butterfly silk with his thumb in recognition . It’s good that Ruoye is cautious where Xie Lian refuses to be.

“Gege looks amazing,” He praises, shaking loose the ribbon for Xie Lian’s hair.

“Hahaha…” Xie Lian flushes, glancing away. He holds his hand out, and Hua Cheng surrenders the hair tie at once. “San Lang should get to looking amazing too, then. Ban Yue must be waiting.”

“Apologies, your highness,” Hua Cheng offers at once, summoning clothes to himself. “This one didn’t mean to make you— Gege?”

Xie Lian’s hand squeezes white-knuckled around the hair ribbon. His jaw clenches, and his eyes go tight at the corner. Hua Cheng has seen him bite back screams before; he knows what it looks like. He takes a half step back and looks down at himself.

Gold and white shine over his chest.

Hua Cheng’s throat closes. His long-dead heart strains, and his eyes go wide— his two eyes, because his highness— his majesty— his— he is broken , and ugly, and if he sees the hollow of his eye, his thumb will—

Hands catch his cheeks. Lips press against his, and he chokes on his own panic against the familiar faint-iron of Xie Lian’s bitten lips. He closes his eyes against the sight of himself.

“Forgive me,” he rasps the moment the kiss is broken , burning the clothes away from himself without letting the flames touch Xie Lian . “Your highness, forgive me.”

“San Lang, San Lang,” Xie Lian’s voice is shaking. He’s made Xie Lian’s voice shake. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

“Gege doesn’t have to worry,” Hua Cheng’s voice sounds all wrong. He can’t make it sound right. “Only a foolish—”

His voice breaks, as if his throat was still cut open. His breath wheezes out of him, and Xie Lian wraps around him. His soft silk robes slide over Hua Cheng’s skin, his fingers tangling in his hair.

“It’s not foolish,” Xie Lian presses his face against Hua Cheng’s collarbone. “You’re not foolish. San Lang…”

“Your highness’s friends are waiting.” Hua Cheng blurts, eager not to hear this, not to do this, not to be this.

Xie Lian falls silent, then squeezes him once before releasing him.

“Soon,” Xie Lian whispers like a promise. “We’ll talk about it all soon. Alright, San Lang?”

“Of course, your highness.” Hua Cheng inclines his head, and summons clothes he can rely on— Black and simple. The short, dark robes better fit his station, worthless servant that he is.

Xie Lian’s expression twists, but recovers quickly . He takes a slow breath, and Hua Cheng realizes that he neglected to follow his god’s word. He hurries to take a deep breath as well, eager to please. It gives Xie Lian pause, and some of his tension melts into a soft smile. It isn’t real, like his laughter was. It’s gentle, though; as gentle as a pair of arms wrapped around a howling child, whispering ‘it’s not your fault.’


Mu Qing is the same as he was when Hua Cheng’s butterflies found him. Xie Lian requested to see him first, and Ban Yue traced the path there easily . The Rain Master’s home is not ostentatious, but there are many rooms. He wonders who she intended it all to house.

Xie Lian kneels by the worthless general’s side, pressing his fingertips to the curse shackle on his wrist . Hua Cheng watches his every move. Watches him fix Mu Qing’s fall of dark hair when he’s satisfied with what he found in his meridians.

“He hasn’t woken?” he asks, glancing at Ban Yue.

“Not yet, General Hua,” she murmurs, inclining her head. “Lady Rain Master, along with Generals Ming Guang, Nan Yang, and Qi Ying all contributed their spiritual energy . They think the shackle is something like a well. Filling it more, they were able to free the top layer of spiritual power it gathered.”

“I see,” Xie Lian murmurs, before giving a soft sigh. “He shouldn’t have fought…”

Hua Cheng bites his tongue to keep himself silent. If his highness thinks so, it’s not his place to argue. If his highness is sad, he dare not admit that he much prefers the sweeping general senseless; that uselessly trying to protect Xie Lian at this time was the least he could do . Xie Lian kneels by another’s side, his face twisted up in concern, and Hua Cheng wants to disappear.


Pei Ming’s enthusiasm is as bewildering as it is unbridled . His beaming smile upon greeting his highness is thoroughly inappropriate; the hand-waving even more so . He doesn’t speak, though, and Hua Cheng narrows his eyes. Silence is alarming from the god, and he doesn’t trust it. Not until the man eagerly fishes out a scroll he’s already written upon.

Xie Lian lets out a startled, choked sound before breaking into alarmed laughter.

Congratulations, your highness! Pei Ming has written. How was bedding the ghost king?

“Nothing— Nothing happened!” Xie Lian waves his hands before him, palms out.

Ban Yue averts her eyes, and Pei Xiu takes a slow drink of tea, ignoring his ancestor and Xie Lian both. Feng Xin, formerly hollow-eyed with exhaustion, abruptly fills with life.

“General Ming Guang, though I’m grateful for your help, his highness’s cultivation—”

“Let’s not, let’s not!” Xie Lian urges, gesturing hurriedly for Feng Xin to sit again.

But I could hear the moaning? Pei Ming writes with a raised brow.

Xie Lian laughs again, pained and startled. He whips his head around towards Hua Cheng and… and whatever he finds on his face, it wipes the smile off his own. Hua Cheng immediately summons a casual smile to his face. He hadn’t realized he’d let it drop.

It’s not as if they don’t all know. It’s not as if Jun Wu didn’t spell it out. It’s not as if he ever really thought there was a chance. A toad can love a swan, but the swan will always be above him.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian kneels by the table, gesturing to his side with a gentle motion. “Come sit.”

Behind Xie Lian, Pei Ming pouts at the lack of reaction, but shrugs it off and turns the scroll to a blank swath of paper. Hua Cheng kneels where Xie Lian bid him to, and is blessed to receive a pleased smile.

“So you’re doing being fucking crazy, Crimson Rain?” Feng Xin asks, harsh and sharp.

Hua Cheng doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look.

“Feng Xin!” Xie Lian snaps, the change in his gentle expression instant. He looks angry, and Hua Cheng hurries to ease that anger.

“His highness has this servant’s loyalty once more.” he answers, eyes on the table.

There is food laid out for them. Xie Lian hasn’t taken any yet. He’s too busy glaring at Feng Xin, a light in his eyes that implies a silent communication. Hua Cheng lets it pass, and serves generous helpings of each dish to Xie Lian. There is no need for him to be angry. What right does Hua Cheng have to hate the useless general when he has so blatantly failed his highness?

He is aware of both General Peis watching him. He ignores them.

“Oh, San Lang, thank you!” Xie Lian chirps, a forced cheerfulness in his voice, but with genuine gratitude beneath it. “Ban Yue, did you help with the cooking?”

“En, Lady Rain Master picked up where General Hua’s lessons left off.”

Pei Xiu almost chokes on his tea, eyeing the plate he must have already used. Then he glances at the ghost beside him and seems to resign himself, going back to calmly drinking. Pei Ming watches the internal war with a glimmer of pride.

Hua Cheng should think it’s funny. It was funny; him losing his words over gege’s excellent cooking lesson.

“Is Lady Rain Master not joining us?” Xie Lian glances to Pei Ming for an answer.

The expression he receives in return is complicated . The god gestures awkwardly to Feng Xin rather than writing anything down himself.

“She’s… Tending to the field we tore on our arrival.” Feng Xin says with an awkward pout. His brows are furrowed , and he keeps glancing from Xie Lian to Hua Cheng.

He only knows because the butterfly in Xie Lian’s hair watches. His own eyes he keeps on the table. So he sees, when Xie Lian starts taking food from his own plate and placing it delicately on Hua Cheng’s. He opens his mouth to object, but Xie Lian speaks before he can.

“Eat, San Lang.” He encourages with a fond look.

If it had been a request, Hua Cheng would have refused. It wasn’t a request. He eats. It only occurs to him after the third bite that it’s the first time he’s bothered since he was stolen away. The thought burns like bile in his chest, and he swallows it down as well. He has no appetite, but he follows his highness’s command.

Each item Xie Lian has placed on his plate is an order, and he obeys. He realizes as his throat burns and his stomach churns that it is a wholly Xie Lian action. That he cannot imagine a world where Jun Wu would have permitted him to eat, much less served him from his own plate. The roiling quiets, but his chest aches.

He is such a greedy thing. Wasn’t Xie Lian with him all night? Didn’t he hold him? Didn’t he wash his hair with slow, tender touches? Didn’t he cover Jun Wu’s touch with his own?

It should be more than enough.

He thinks of gold and white covering his chest, and his tongue curving towards the word ‘majesty,’ making his words slow and halting as he strains not to mix them .

“San Lang?”

They’ve been talking. He’s losing time again. It hasn’t happened in so long.

“Apologies, your highness,” Hua Cheng says, smiling blithely and blinking up at his god. “This one wasn’t listening.”

“You—!” Feng Xin halfway rises in offense. Good. If it had been Xie Lian he ignored, it would have been a problem.

“That’s alright.” Xie Lian says, the absolution immediate and overwhelming. “San Lang is still recovering.”

He doesn’t restate whatever question Feng Xin asked, instead turning to Pei Ming.

“General, forgive me if you’ve explained this before, is your voice injured?”

Pei Ming’s grin is easy and he shrugs before twisting his scroll back towards the beginning, holding up an earlier piece of writing .

Xuan Ji

It reads in explanation. Next to it, hastily written, he’d asked someone: So about that fetus spirit, you were the father? With a woman???

Across the table, Feng Xin’s face flares red all over again, the veins in his neck bulging with restraint.

“General Pei survived Xuan Ji’s assault, but not uninjured.” Pei Xiu fills in, setting his teacup down and addressing Xie Lian directly . “Lady Rain Master was able to defeat her and imprison both her and Rong Guang before taking us into her care.”

This time it’s Pei Ming’s turn to flare red. It seems nothing has changed since his awkwardness in Tonglu. Ban Yue, however , is only enthusiastic.

“She’s very powerful, General Hua! You’ll surely be safe here now! In addition to us, she also rescued that child and General Tai Hua.”

“Lang Qianqiu is safe?” Xie Lian’s shoulders droop another inch. “Thank goodness…”

“En,” Ban Yue’s smile brightens. “He was saved by Crimson Rain Sought Flower, in fact.”

Hua Cheng’s jaw clenches. He glances away before Xie Lian can catch his eye, forcing himself to take another bite of the sweet, sticky rice and vegetables . It barely tastes of anything. He misses the enthusiastic flavor of Xie Lian's cooking with a dull ache.

“San Lang, you did?”

“If so, unintentionally , your highness.” Hua Cheng toys with the chopsticks he’s holding idly , then catches himself and sets them down. He is no foolish, playful teenager to engage in such a thing. “Qi Rong only annoyed me.”

“That’s not what Guzi says.” Ban Yue informs the table at large. “He says you turned his father into a doll and sent him inside to eat.”

Hua Cheng doesn’t reply. He lifts another dumpling from before them and sets it on Xie Lian’s plate. Then a second, and a third. Xie Lian doesn’t push, and Ban Yue falls silent. Through the butterfly he can see her confusion. They’re all staring at him, in fact. All but Xie Lian.

“Guzi is safe then,” Xie Lian’s relief is clear in his voice. “This one is so glad to hear that. Once Mu Qing awakens, we will be able to boast that each of us have gone against the Heavenly Emperor and lived.”

Hua Cheng’s stomach churns. His hand twitches, still feeling the weight of a saber plunging into his highness’s chest. He had watched such a sight over and over once. Now a new sense memory joins that particular nightmare. It feels like flames under his skin. If Jun Wu had not cursed Xie Lian with immortality, they would not all have lived. Because of Hua Cheng, Xie Lian would have died.

He blinks his eyes open and stares down at the plate before him in time to see Xie Lian’s chopsticks move away. He has fallen out of time again. This time...

This time Xie Lian has delicately severed each dumpling in half, and set half of each onto Hua Cheng’s plate.

He hears a sharp intake of breath from Feng Xin on his left, but he doesn’t move. He can only stare. The dumplings are blurry in his vision. His chest aches, and his stomach churns and he burns inside. He burns like a temple.

“San Lang,” a voice he loves calls softly , concern drenching the name.

Hua Cheng parts his lips to speak, but no words come. He closes them again, and closes his eyes as well. In the dark behind his eyelids, Xie Lian is pinned to a tree, reaching for him. Even then, even in agony, even dying, he had been thinking of Hua Cheng. He had been trying to protect him.

There is silence as Xie Lian stands and guides him up by his wrists. There is a soft murmur as Xie Lian excuses the both of them. The tears drop unheeded off Hua Cheng’s face, and he does not care to stop them. Let them see. What pride does he deserve after his failure?

“Take a deep breath,” Xie Lian commands him, and Hua Cheng obeys.

They’re outside. He recognizes the smell of churned earth and distant rain. He wonders if there are ever droughts here in Yushi Huang's domain. He wonders if she would be pleased either way.

“Again,” Xie Lian instructs, and Hua Cheng inhales. Xie Lian’s hand is on his chest, over his unbeating heart. The pressure of it is heavier when he inhales deeply . He leans forward to keep it pressed firmly there even when he exhales.

“Good.”

The praise sinks straight through him, and drags a sound out of his useless throat. Xie Lian hums in return, and carefully lifts the gleaming white sleeve of his robes to brush the tears off Hua Cheng’s cheek . The sleeve comes away with a streak of red; the bloody tears of a monster.

“Gege—”

He can’t seem to gather himself, but he has to. His Highness is the one who needs protection; who needs care; who was hurt . Hua Cheng is his servant. He should— He has to—

“There’s a nice place over there, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, walking backwards and bringing Hua Cheng with him. “Come sit with this one.”

He shouldn’t, but it wasn’t a question. He follows with a numb body, his skin fighting him to be something else. He’s supposed to hide what he really is. He can’t remember what parts of the disguise he’s supposed to keep. Does his highness like him with both eyes? One? Is he supposed to be playful? Serious? A friend? A servant? Would Xie Lian disapprove of his true form? He remembers being disapproved of, and the feeling of it is removed from time. He has to sort through his memories calmly . He has to discover what’s needed of him.

Calm eludes him, and so does any memory but blood. Blood on Xie Lian’s white robes, blood on an altar, blood on the forest floor, blood on a smiling mask, blood on his hands that he wicked away without a thought; his highness’s precious—

“Sit with me.”

Xie Lian guides him down, and Hua Cheng follows. He takes a deep breath, and Hua Cheng copies him without thought. He’s rewarded with a hand on his cheek, rubbing back and forth over his cheekbone. He glances towards it and balks.

There is blood on his highness’s white sleeve, and he—

“It isn’t mine,” Xie Lian soothes, and only when he speaks does Hua Cheng realize he’s grabbed his arm; that the butterflies have clustered, seeking injury . “San Lang is the one who’s hurt.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head. He releases Xie Lian’s arm as if burned. He shouldn’t grab. He shouldn’t touch at all. He should cut his hands off in penance.

“Easy,” Xie Lian’s rough fingertips trace over Hua Cheng’s face. “San Lang has been through so much. It’s okay that he’s startled. But he should remember he’s safe here with his gege.”

“Gege isn’t,” he tries to speak, but he runs out of breath. It should be automatic and natural, but he is not a living creature. His lips move without sound, and shake. The hole in his throat—

“Deep breath.”

Xie Lian cuts through it all. So patient, so good, so kind to the worthless thing that has latched onto his side like a leech. He feels abruptly certain that Xie Lian must let leeches feed on him until they are content, then set them back in the water . The thought makes him laugh with the breath Xie Lian had him take. It is an awful, ragged sound.

He remembers yesterday. He remembers kneeling in the water, sunk deep into the mud, with Xie Lian coaxing him into speech. He should not need it again. He swallows hard, and takes a breath without prompting.

He remembers how Xie Lian had crumbled the moment he was not holding up Hua Cheng’s weight. Xie Lian should not have to be strong for him. He struggles to wall off the fear consuming him. He can’t focus his eyes, and in his blurry vision even Xie Lian’s calm, patient smile looks like a grimace.

“Try again,” Xie Lian urges, hands sliding down to take Hua Cheng’s. “San Lang wanted to say something.”

He can feel how warm they are. How rough they are against his palms. He wants to make his hands awful under them. He wants to change his skin until he looks like the monster he is.

“Gege isn’t safe with this one.” he rasps, even as his selfish hands latch onto Xie Lian’s hold.

“This one is the safest with San Lang.” Xie Lian rebuffs.

It’s not true, but Hua Cheng would have to argue with him to say so. He lowers his head, and clenches his jaw.

“San Lang doesn’t think so?”

He clenches his eyes shut— pinned to the tree blood pouring from his mouth— then snaps it open again. There’s grass under him. He’s never bothered looking at grass much.

“San Lang?”

The call drags his eyes up again. The patient smile is gone. There’s only solemn worry.

“Won’t you speak to me?”

The worry— no, the fear— in those words cuts straight through him. He clenches Xie Lian’s hands and drags in a breath.

“Always,” he swears, “as long as your highness wants this one, only—” he fights for the right words. He has to be calm; pleasant; perfect. Xie Lian has already gone through so much trouble for him.

“San Lang can tell me his thoughts,” Xie Lian scoots closer to him, clean white robes forgotten in favor of a worthless ghost . “Please? This one wants to understand.”

Hua Cheng swallows.

“It’s only redundant, your highness,” he forces himself to say.

Xie Lian's soft, worried hum joins with the sound of cricket song. The hands holding his squeeze. A rain-scented wind tugs at them both, ruffling Hua Cheng’s unbound hair.

Somewhere distant, a cry of ‘Shixiong!’ joins the chorus of insects. Hua Cheng’s lips twitch at the corner despite himself. His poor Waning Moon Officer…

Xie Lian’s eyes dart towards the noise. The look he adopts is one Hua Cheng has come to love since meeting him again. The careful consideration of a mystery. He settles in place, resting on one hip rather than kneeling.

I wonder what it’s like for Quan Yizhen,” he says at last, eyes fixed in the distance. The world reflects in them, turned beautiful by his observation.

“Your highness?” Hua Cheng asks, unable to look away.

“Only, this one understands better now,” Xie Lian holds their hands between them, resting on his lap. “At that time, his highness Yin Yu didn’t intend to hurt him, and Quan Yizhen is aware of that. But now , his highness Yin Yu’s actions must hurt him deeply .”

He squeezes Hua Cheng’s fingers, thumbs tracing over his knuckles. “This one cannot imagine trying to convince a loved one that to be hurt accidentally was not a problem. That you wished only to move forward, in spite of any past pain. That separation and not injury is the torture.”

Hua Cheng stares at him. His lips flicker up into an empty smile, and pain fills Xie Lian’s expression.

I wonder what it must be like,” his god lifts a hand to the corner of Hua Cheng’s lips, “to have someone you care for only face you when wearing a mask .”

Hua Cheng lets the smile fade. He lets his eyes fall. He watches the grass.

“The man behind that mask is not as good as gege thinks,” he says at last. “Whatever Yin Yu’s intentions, he nearly killed his… His Shidi.”

“En,” Xie Lian tilts his head. “That is true. However , of the two of them, which does San Lang think gets to decide whether that is forgivable?”

“No matter what Qi Ying has decided, no other would agree.”

“And when has Quan Yizhen cared what anyone but Yin Yu thinks?”

“Gege—”

“When has this one cared what anyone thinks of him, San Lang?”

“This servant is…”

He chokes off. His chest is tight, and his real eye burns. Xie Lian is so close to him. A breath away. He looks like he’s waiting for something.

“Tell me.” He commands, and his servant obeys.

“This one is afraid.”

Xie Lian drops his hands at once, but only to fling his arms around his shoulders. He is so strong; so steady. He draws Hua Cheng up halfway into his lap, and holds him there. Ruoye unfurls, doubling its master's hold, binding them together. Hua Cheng expects it to hurt him. It doesn’t. It won’t.

“San Lang has been so strong,” Xie Lian whispers into his hair. “This one cannot imagine such an experience. But San Lang, it will never happen again.”

Hua Cheng should argue, but Xie Lian’s arms wrap warm around him, and he doesn’t want to. He wants to believe it. This is his god speaking. This is his god.

He has always chosen to believe him.

Greedy thing that he is, he presses as close as he can into Xie Lian’s chest. He can feel the ring of his ashes inside; warm and safe, thrumming with Xie Lian’s heartbeat.

“Forgive this one his weakness,” he begs. “Gege should not have to comfort him.”

“Ah, this gege enjoys it.” Xie Lian nuzzles into Hua Cheng’s hair. “No one but San Lang bothers listening to this one’s words well enough to be comforted anyway.”

Hua Cheng grunts in annoyance, and twines his hands around Xie Lian’s sides, locking them behind his back. A breath of laughter answers him, then a sigh.

“This one knows San Lang is upset ,” his cheek presses against Hua Cheng’s head, soft and warm, “but does he know how much good he has done for this old god ? A single stabbing does not even come close to outweighing it.”

“Gege!” Hua Cheng objects, brows twisting and trying to pull back to glare at him for the words. Ruoye refuses to release him, and crushes them tighter together.

“Sweet Ruoye, be gentle please!” Xie Lian wheezes, though it’s through a laugh. “This one won’t let go. It’s alright.”

“Gege, please don’t joke.” Hua Cheng presses his face to Xie Lian’s neck. “Not about that.”

Xie Lian takes a slow breath under him, tilting his head to nuzzle against him.

“It’s over now,” he soothes. “This one won’t joke. But will San Lang please not feel so bad? This one knows how hard he must have fought.”

“Not enough,” Hua Cheng breathes. “Though that one couldn’t take me, he could twist me. This one wasn’t good enough.”

“You know, Black Water thought we should kill you,” Xie Lian says, almost conversationally . “But here San Lang is defying all logic, as this one knew he would. He should be proud.”

“This one will never be proud of any pain your highness felt.” Hua Cheng insists.

“Oh?” Xie Lian’s smile is palpable. “Then San Lang had better stay close from now on. Losing him was the worst suffering in the world.”

The words wipe all the thoughts from Hua Cheng’s mind. He clings like a child to his highness’s robes. When he blinks, he sees Xie Lian pinned to a tree. When he opens his eyes, he sees the chest he’s pressed against, whole and unbroken.

It will take time for the second sight to begin to overtake the memory. His highness holds him with no intention to let go.


“Gege’s legs will go to sleep.”

“This one likes holding San Lang. Besides, these legs are very sturdy, and San Lang is so light!”

“Gege…”


“San Lang is warmer than usual… Is his energy still unsettled?”

“No, gege. This one’s ashes are just resting in a warm place.”

“O-oh… It’s not unpleasant, is it?”

“No. This one—”

“Go on, San Lang.”

“This one likes it…”

“Ah! Good. This one does too.”


“Yin Yu is calling.”

“In your array?”

“En. There is a strategy meeting.”

“Hm. Alright. But this one will hug you again as soon as it’s over.”

“Your highness doesn’t have to— Ah, please don’t look so—”

“Does San Lang not want to be held ?”

“No, this one does! Sorry, gege. That— It’s nice. Thank you.”

“Good. San Lang, speaking of, you and Yin Yu are closer than I thought!”

“If gege says so.”

“He was so worried for you! Be sure to be nice to him.”

Hua Cheng, vividly cursing Yin Yu over their private array, grimaces to himself even as he whispers “En.”

He pauses after they stand, sending spiritual power through Xie Lian’s robes. They dance as if there were a heavy breeze, and the dirt and grass stains vanish. Xie Lian squints at the place where Hua Cheng’s blood stained the fabric, then smiles. A small red flower blooms there, and at his smile Hua Cheng decorates both his white sleeves with such a pattern.

It is daring, but Xie Lian seems to enjoy the liberty he’s taken.

“Gege, may this one ask a selfish question?” He links their arms gently , leading Xie LIan back towards the Rain Master’s house with unfaltering steps . Around them, the afternoon is clear and bright, the scent of rain fading.

“Please!” Xie Lian twines their fingers together rather than just taking Hua Cheng’s elbow. It is nearly the same pose with which Hua Cheng led him away from the bridal palanquin those few months ago.

“Which of this one’s forms does gege like best?”

Honey-gold eyes blink up at him. Xie Lian’s smile outshines the brightness of the day, and puts the Rain Master’s farm to shame with the life it holds.

“San Lang’s true form, of course!”

“En,” Hua Cheng murmurs, the illusion of a second eye falling away and his body stretching to its full height. “This one thought so.


They are the last to arrive. Hua Cheng fills his god in on the room as they approach, peering through his butterfly’s eyes and confirming details in Yin Yu’s communication array .

“The sweeping general is there.”

“Mu Qing? Should he be up?”

‘Waning Moon, why is that one even moving?’

‘Wouldn’t stay down. Eventually Feng Xin brought him along in self-defense.’

“He’s just being stubborn, gege, don’t worry.” Hua Cheng huffs.

“Oh, good! If he’s being annoying, he must feel a little better.” Xie Lian says with a bright, easy smile and no trace of sarcasm.

“General Tai Hua is there as well.” Hua Cheng notes cautiously , taking careful note of Xie Lian’s reaction.

“How does he look?”

“Better than the last time I saw him, gege.”

It wasn’t a high bar, but still.

‘The kid?’ he asks Yin Yu while Xie Lian nods.

‘With the ox and Qi Rong’s ghost flame, Chengzhu.’

‘That piece of shit survived it?’

‘Indeed. The child begged the Rain Master’s mercy, and she granted it. Mostly .’

“Guzi is with the ox. It also seems that Qi Rong was not entirely destroyed,” Hua Cheng relays. “Though this one doesn’t know if that will please you or not, gege.”

“Hah,” Xie Lian squeezes his arm. “This one doesn’t know either.”

Hua Cheng glances over though, and sees the way Xie Lian’s eyes have scrunched just a little— touched by the edge of his smile .

“San Lang, don’t let them bully you, alright?” he says as they reach the doorway. “Mu Qing especially.”

“Gege’s opinion is the only one that matters,” Hua Cheng tilts his head in agreement, and gets a gentle squeeze of his fingers in support . “Besides, that one looks only half-conscious. Even easier to ignore than usual.”

Xie Lian struggles to stifle a laugh, and rocks his body weight into Hua Cheng’s taller frame. The grin it elicits is entirely genuine.

The room is chaotic even from outside. Inside, Hua Cheng can see Yushi Huang kneeling neatly , a look of patient calm surrounding her even in the chaos . Yin Yu tries with increasing desperation to find a corner of the room that Quan Yizhen won’t follow him to. Ban Yue and Pei Xiu are both trying to take whatever Pei Ming is writing away from him, but even teaming up they’re no match for the determined general and his uncomfortable smile . Feng Xin argues with Lang Qianqiu across the table, Mu Qing swaying by his side, but somehow still finding the energy to roll his eyes .

Xie Lian takes a deep breath and meets Hua Cheng’s eye. Hua Cheng smiles at him, squeezing his hand before releasing.

Before he can pull away, Xie Lian’s finger brushes against his palm.

Stay ,” he writes there.

Hua Cheng realizes for the first time that his chest stopped hurting at some point. It clenches now in the wake of that gentle command, and he bows his obedience, twining their fingers once more . When he opens the door and leads his god inside, Xie Lian offers the room the full force of his smile.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” He says warmly . “Mu Qing, it’s good to see you!”

“I see you didn’t waste any time.” Mu Qing mutters, rolling his eyes so hard he sways heavier, appearing dizzy with the motion.

“Lord Crimson Rain!” Lang Qianqiu rises, clapping his hands together and offering a formal bow. “For your assistance , let me thank you!”

“Bow to your teacher, not to me.” Hua Cheng tells him past a sneer. “If not for his highness’s mercy, this one would not have bothered.”

Lang Qianqiu looks like he’s swallowed something bitter. Xie Lian stutters into speech— “ah, there’s really no need—!” but before he can even finish the sentence, Lang Qianqiu has turned the bow to him and repeated it with a sharp motion before folding himself back into his seat .

Xie Lian is briefly struck dumb, and Hua Cheng takes the opportunity to acknowledge Yin Yu’s bow with a nod, releasing the Waning Moon officer to continue trying to edge away from Qi Ying . Quan Yizhen is looking between his shixiong and Hua Cheng as if there were some great mystery to be unlocked about the bow .

“There,” Feng Xin barks at Mu Qing as Xie Lian and Hua Cheng take their seats, hands still joined. “You’ve seen him, he’s fine, go back to bed!”

“And leave this meeting in your hands?” Mu Qing mutters. "No."

Pei Ming taps twice on the table and unrolls a new portion of the scroll, writing quickly . Pei Xiu and Ban Yue both relax significantly once he's abandoned whatever his former project was .

Technically I both called and am running this strategic planning session.

Then he unrolls the scroll a little further and lifts his eyebrows at the Southern generals.

Are you two—?

Hua Cheng doesn’t get to see more of it than that before Pei Xiu is snatching the scroll away from his ancestor, a splotchy blush on his pale cheeks . Feng Xin has turned an interesting color again. Mu Qing doesn’t appear to have been able to read either statement, eyes bleary and unfocused.

He really is much more acceptable like this.

“It is good that you are all well enough for such an energetic meeting, your highness” Yushi Huang inclines her head to Xie Lian as she speaks, and the whole room goes quiet at her words .

Well, all except for an agonizingly loud whisper from Qi Ying of “Shixiong, who’s she again?”

“Shut up,” Yin Yu hisses in reply.

“Lady Rain Master,” Xie Lian bows to her. “This one cannot thank you enough for your assistance . Once more I am in your debt.”

“There was never debt.” Yushi Huang replies. “This one could help, so she did.”

Hua Cheng meets her searching gaze and nods slightly to her. He remembers her words as well.

“You are all aware of why we’re here, but I will state it again for clarity,” she continues. “We have gathered with the intention of discovering a way to defeat the Heavenly Martial Emperor Jun Wu, who is now revealed to have been Bai Wuxiang .”

Hua Cheng expects an outburst from Quan Yizhen, but when he glances back he sees only fire in the foolish young god’s eyes . He stares directly at Yushi Huang, as if hanging on her every word. He remembers, abruptly , the scene in the cave— the boy half-mad with rage over Yin Yu’s injury.

His Waning Moon Officer’s head tilts towards him, hidden behind the new mask. Hua Cheng turns away again, not bothering to hide the fact that he was looking.

“It’s no small task.” Lang Qianqiu submits into the silence. “This one attempted to land a single blow against the emperor when he was revealed , and yet—”

In addition , anyone wearing a shackle should not fight.” Feng Xin adds when he trails off. “Even with the power of many gods, we have not yet restored Mu Qing’s strength, and all it took was a touch from Jun Wu.”

“Good,” says Quan Yizhen. “Shixiong shouldn’t fight.”

“Enough.” Yin Yu answers in a warning tone that goes completely ignored.

“That man enjoyed it,” Quan Yizhen says, standing straight and furious, taller than his precious Shixiong, and nearly glowing with power even after having shared his energy in restoring Mu Qing . “He liked hurting us. He’ll try to hurt anyone he can if it makes us upset. So Shixiong shouldn’t fight. I won’t be able to focus if he’s hurt again.”

Xie Lian, who’d held an interested look at the sincerity, immediately covers his face with one hand. Every martial god at the table grimaces at the clearly unintentional slight. Hua Cheng clears his throat to fight back a laugh. After all, Xie Lian has asked him to be nice. Only Ban Yue and Yushi Huang seem immune to the cringing discomfort that is radiating off of Yin Yu at having been referred to as such a burden .

“Stop talking, just stop talking and sit down!” Yin Yu orders, shoving Quan Yizhen towards the table.

The young god’s pout is evident, and even the seat he takes is slouching and petulant.

Jun Wu may well abuse our attachment to one another, Pei Ming writes in agreement. That was how he kept myself, Pei Xiu, and Lady Ban Yue under control. It definitely wasn’t Rong Guang or Xuan Ji’s idea to hold us hostage from each other.

“Very nice calligraphy, general.” Xie Lian praises with a thoughtful nod. “Well written, and quickly .”

Pei Ming preens. Hua Cheng scowls.

Cruel ,” he writes into Xie Lian’s palm.

Practice ,” Xie Lian returns with a twitch of his lips.

“Why did he want me to break the human array?” Mu Qing asks, dull eyes turning on Xie Lian. “Why does he want any of this?”

“Ah… I’m not sure.” Xie Lian admits.

“I’m asking the thing next to you.” Mu Qing growls.

Hua Cheng goes still. Xie Lian’s hand squeezes around his, tight and secure. He feels Yin Yu gearing up to object and waves him down.

“He’s right,” Feng Xin admits, though with a deep scowl. “You were around him. You were working for him. What did he want?”

“San Lang was not working for him.” Xie Lian has a dark fury in his words that sends a thrill straight down Hua Cheng’s spine. “And he doesn’t have to answer.”

“Gege, it’s fine.” Hua Cheng returns the stare of Feng Xin. Mu Qing’s eyes are closed again as he tries to breathe through another dizzy spell. “This one can answer.”

Feng Xin’s fury is palpable. He accepts it and turns his gaze away, back to the gathering at large. He addresses his answer to Yushi Huang, respecting her place as the true head of this conversation .

“Whatever plans that trash has, whatever his eventual goal, all he ever spoke of was his highness Xie Lian. His thoughts, his desires, and his frustration— They all revolved around his highness, and seemed to leave little room for anything else .”

“Did he give any indication of his intentions?” Yushi Huang’s tone is even and interested.

“His desire was for this one to bring his highness to heaven by force. He did not care for his physical state, and instead seemed eager for him to be harmed in the process." Xie Lian squeezes his hand under the table in silent support. "However, he often referred to his highness as if he were not an enemy, but more like an... Absent friend. Perhaps even a student.”

“That fits with Bai Wuxiang’s behavior,” Xie Lian offers with a nod. “He often treated this one as if he were doing him a favor or teaching him a lesson, no matter how vicious.”

Hua Cheng feels it all around him, how Xie Lian’s heart pounds at the thought. He slides his finger over Xie Lian’s palm, tracing the word ‘ safe ’ over and over until his highness releases a breath.

“The theft of my loyalty was not for convenience, or out of necessity,” Hua Cheng adds forcing his voice to be steady. “He could easily have destroyed me or held me captive and continued with his plan. Instead he had Ling Wen assist him in a complex spell to alter my memories. That he did so… It cannot have been about this one’s abilities or power. He intentionally weakened me in various ways.”

Xie Lian’s hand clenches around his, and Hua Cheng lets the touch ground him.

“If his fixation is as complete as you suggest, it makes sense with our experience as well.” Yushi Huang allows. “He left heaven unguarded to face you before you arrived, and we were able to escape.”

“So Crimson Rain was just a glorified torture device.” Pei Xiu clarifies in a grim tone, his eyes dark. He glances to Ban Yue as he speaks, then quickly looks away again.

Her eyes are fixed on Hua Cheng, her expression full of concern. He ignores it, looking only at Yushi Huang.

Pei Ming is writing, and for a moment Hua Cheng waits before realizing… Is he taking notes?

“And we’re supposed to believe that on your word alone.” Mu Qing accuses, bleary eyes fixing on Hua Cheng. “That Crimson Rain was a mere puppet, used against his will.”

“You are.” Xie Lian’s voice turns dark again.

“All due respect, your highness,” spits the sweeping general, sounding anything but respectful, “let the one who pulled the sword from your dying body have his suspicions .”

Hua Cheng’s chest starts hurting again. That bruised face, those desperate eyes—

“Not only was he under Jun Wu’s control, he was under the Brocade Immortal’s control as well, we have talked about this!”

Xie Lian so rarely raises his voice. His hand is locked around Hua Cheng’s. It should feel wonderful to be defended like that. He can’t feel anything but sick fear at the memory of that sword, sinking in, jolting as Xie Lian’s body twitched.

“Oh, how sad,” sneers Mu Qing. “Am I supposed to—”

“Here,” Quan Yizhen rises, and shoves something into Mu Qing’s hand. The off-balance general fumbles to catch it. “Hold that.”

“What the—”

“Shut up.” Orders Quan Yizhen.

The entire room goes silent. The little color in Mu Qing’s face drains. He does not say a word. His knuckles shine white where he grips the piece of burlap.

“Not so easy, is it?” Quan Yizhen huffs, “And that’s just a scrap of it.”

“Quan Yizhen!” Xie Lian objects, rising swiftly from Hua Cheng’s side to go to Mu Qing’s.

Hua Cheng would mind if he weren’t bent over howling in laughter. The panic in Mu Qing’s gaze! To be taken off guard by Qi Ying of all people! All the sick, agonizing fear of the memory twists itself into ugly humor. Yin Yu doesn’t seem to find it funny, shivering in the corner, but Hua Cheng can’t remember the last time he was so entertained .

“You’re more fun than I thought, Qi Ying!” Hua Cheng cackles, even as Xie Lian plucks the brocade from Mu Qing’s fingers.

“Okay,” says Quan Yizhen with a shrug.

“Quan Yizhen, really , you know better than to play with such a thing.” Xie Lain scolds, settling back into his place.

“Gege should give it to me,” Hua Cheng offers.

Xie Lian glances at him, hesitating.

“Once, it didn’t affect you.” he notes. “Will it now?”

Hua Cheng shrugs.

“Either way, this servant will do anything Gege asks. With or without the brocade.”

Pei Ming makes an odd little noise, and Hua Cheng glowers at him immediately as he realizes that he is still taking notes . When Xie Lian cautiously hands Hua Cheng the scrap of burlap, he feels a brief thrill of recognition, and then silence . After sustaining such damage, he is unsurprised that the brocade immortal seems happy to take a break .

“This is all valuable information,” Yushi Huang says, though clearly much of it was sheer foolishness . “General Xuan Zhen, do you need to retire?”

“I’m fine.” Mu Qing grits between bared teeth, held upright by Feng Xin’s hand on his back. He can’t seem to decide whether to glare at Qi Ying or Hua Cheng.

Plans? Pei Ming writes, lifting the scroll to show the question. Below it he’s doodled a crude body with its head cut off. By the edge of the scroll, Hua Cheng can see ‘this servant will do anything’ hastily written and circled.

“Kill him.” Quan Yizhen offers.

Yin Yu kicks him from behind, and receives only a questioning look.

“Flight may be the best option.” Yin Yu offers. “ At this time Ming Guang and Xuan Zhen are both not up to fighting. However , more has been learned of the shackles. With time, a method for their removal may be perfected based on this knowledge.”

“And how many will die while we gather our strength?” Lang Qianqiu objects, back straight and eyes fierce. “Have you forgotten the gods still trapped in heaven with him? Or that previously he threatened the royal capital and all the citizens within it?”

“Guoshi is still trapped with him as well,” Xie Lian adds. “And perhaps lady Jian Lan and her son. His highness Tai Hua is correct: To run is to endanger others.”

“General Hua,” Ban Yue says, softly . “Do you have a plan, then?”

“En.” Xie Lian nods. “If Jun Wu is only interested in this one; if he will neglect his other plans for the sake of his sick game… Then this one thinks we should give him exactly what he desires .”


“This is a terrible idea,” Feng Xin argues, deeply , clearly uncomfortable.

“It is, at least, an idea!” Xie Lian says in return, bright and smiling as if he were not wrapped in funeral robes, clutching a cry-smiling mask in a white-knuckled grip .

“Why do you even think this is what he wants?” Feng Xin grumbles, arms crossed.

Xie Lian says nothing, but he meets Hua Cheng’s gaze over his shoulder. Hua Cheng nods silently . He remembers. He understands.

He doesn’t like it, but he has already made his one true request.

“Do not ask me to leave,” he’d begged, right there as Xie Lian divided their little group into himself and all the others. “Send them away if you must, but do not ask me to leave you.”

“It has to do with what we learned in Wuyong,” Xie Lian says aloud. “Do I pass muster, Mu Qing?”

“You look like a dead man.” Mu Qing replies grimly . “You should follow Yin Yu’s advice and run.”

Xie Lian smiles. It is a beautiful smile, even drowned in mourning white. His fingers drum on the mask, and Ruoye circles his throat in anxiety. “If this one ran, then he would have reason to seek you .”

“We didn’t ask you to do this.” Mu Qing is still weak as a child. He’d slept for four hours after the brief meeting, and awoken no stronger.

If his highness were less distressed by his condition, Hua Cheng would have very much enjoyed toying with such a version of Xuan Zhen . As it is, Xie Lian offers Mu Qing an indulgent nod.

“I know,” he says. “I’ll rely on you to do your part quickly so we can be done with this.”

“Chengzhu,”

Hua Cheng turns to Yin Yu, though he’s loathe to take his eyes off Xie Lian.

“You have your orders,” Hua Cheng says, more in reminder than anything. “Do not throw the dice until you are finished .”

“Yes, Chengzhu.”

“Then what is it?”

Hidden behind the demon mask, Yin Yu’s eyes are bright and sharp. He glances to Xie Lian, who’s drawn both the useless generals into a hug that neither of them looks comfortable with . Fools.

“I only feel you should know,” Yin Yu says in a low voice, “how very dedicated he is to your safety. When the red string unwound, we had to pin him down before he tore himself to pieces. Chengzhu, if you are harmed , it will harm his highness as well. Without a doubt.”

Manipulative, Hua Cheng thinks with a sigh. But effective.

“Go.” he mutters to his servant, turning his eyes away from the fierce light of his gaze and the memory of him hiding tears while seeing him suffer . “Gege, have you picked your place?”

“En!” Xie Lian turns, all smiles despite the tremble in his fingertips. “Taicang mountain please, San Lang. Ah, but first we should—”

“Yes.” Hua Cheng agrees, but he makes no move yet. He waits while Xie Lian covers his beauty with an awful mask that cannot decide whether to laugh or cry. Then he offers Wu Ming's smiling mask up to his god’s hands, and lets it be his choice.

“San Lang knows this one would give him a better name today, right?” Xie Lian breathes, inches away.

“Gege, don’t worry." Hua Cheng gives him his very best smile. He does not let his fear show. He has been rejecting fear since he was a child. "This one is himself, and gege’s plan will succeed.”

“Hmm,” Xie Lian carefully lifts the smiling mask to Hua Cheng's face, and trails his hands behind his head to tie it in place .

“San Lang," he says as he steps back, "do not let Jun Wu's vile words shake you again. This one accepts all of you. Understand?”

“Yes, your highness.” Hua Cheng breathes in return, and his smile is so bright he thinks Xie Lian must be able to see it even past the mask.

He doesn’t know why it makes his expression twist so painfully .

“Weird.” Feng Xin mutters, studying a masked pair of calamities that he did not stay long enough to see.

“I’m glad that this seems strange to you,” Xie Lian replies, turning to him with a smile in his tone but a voice thick with emotion .

It didn’t always feel so strange. Hua Cheng remembers a time when it seemed inevitable. Some part of him still wants to drop to one knee and beg his highness for permission to follow. Some part of him even gets a little excited at the thought…

Ah, he thinks to himself. Hello, old friend.

“If you tear your silk again I’m not fixing it.” Mu Qing warns, eyeing Ruoye as it anxiously circles Xie Lian. “ Just keep him distracted. Don’t fight.”

“That’s the plan!” Xie Lian agrees, even as Ruoye abandons its circling to cuddle against Mu Qing’s chest affectionately . “Ruoye will be looking forward to it as well.”

Utterly drenched in evil.” Mu Qing mutters, even as he pets the silk like a cat.

E-Ming rattles at Hua Cheng’s hip, and he places his hand over its eye. The last thing he needs is the damn thing deciding it wants petting from Mu Qing.

“San Lang, ready?” Xie Lian holds out his hand, offering freely what Hua Cheng once begged for.

Wu Ming lifts Xie Lian's hand from below and presses his forehead to the god's knuckles before straightening . “Yes, your highness.”

“Good luck,” Feng Xin looks strained and sick. “Be careful.”

“You too,” Xie Lian replies easily . Hua Cheng throws the dice.

“Crimson Rain, you'd better take care of him!”

Feng Xin’s voice follows them as they step through the portal and onto the mountain. Then there’s a sharp pop as the transportation array closes , and Xie Lian lets out a slow breath behind his mask.

“San Lang,” he whispers.

“Your highness,” Hua Cheng answers, squeezing his fingers. “He may be listening even now.”

“Ah… This one doesn’t want to say it.” Xie Lian sounds strained. His fingers shake in Hua Cheng’s hand.

“May I confess something, your highness?” Hua Cheng tilts his head, stepping closer to his god; a dark servant against his bright glory.

“En, of course.”

Hua Cheng leans in close to whisper against his ear.

“This one loved being Wu Ming. To be called such by you again, it is a gift to this humble follower.”

There’s a soft laugh behind that hated mask. Hua Cheng wants to pry it off Xie Lian's face as he did outside the kiln, but this is his god’s plan. He will play his part.

“Then, Wu Ming,” Xie Lian says, lifting his hand to the smiling mask and stroking the smooth curve of its cheek. “Thank you for being here. This one… I couldn’t face this without you.”

“Your highness, you will be amazing,” Hua Cheng promises. “Ready?”

“En. Ready.”


‘How does this look?’

‘Very intimidating, your highness.’

‘Ah, you really think so? I feel a bit silly...’

‘Nonsense. Don’t move an inch.’

‘San Lang… Are you enjoying—?’

‘Gege has no room to talk. Didn’t he blush constantly while fighting this one? And one time even when this one made a threat against his life?’

‘We— I— We shouldn’t talk! Over the array! In case he can sense it!’

Hua Cheng finds himself glad for the changes that have left the skin he wears silent again. His body shakes with amusement, and Xie Lian kicks him so, so lightly in rebuke. It feels so right. He shouldn’t joke about it, but it feels so right to play like this. He does not take the feeling for granted.

Jun Wu finds them there, as they knew he would.

Xie Lian sits amid the Xianle Pavillion ruins with Wu Ming’s body draped at his feet like a broken doll. Hua Cheng has summoned faint smoke to waft off him, as if he were still bleeding spiritual power. It takes less energy even than the butterflies.

For Xie Lian’s part, he is a beautiful, dangerous vision. His sun-kissed hair flows around him in the high mountain air, and the wind tugs at his grim robes. He sits facing dead forward, his shoulders back and his hands loose at his sides. He is unarmed , save for Ruoye. His expression is hidden by the mask, but nothing about him says fear.

Hua Cheng should feel weak. He should feel vulnerable, laying senseless on his stomach beneath a smiling mask. Xie Lian towers over him, one boot against Hua Cheng’s back where he lays collapsed. To Jun Wu it must look controlling and vicious. To Hua Cheng, it is an unspeakable comfort.

It is more than enough.

“Xianle,” Jun Wu greets, smiling at the sight of Bai Wuxiang’s appearance covering the crown prince.

The way his voice curls around that title makes Hua Cheng’s skin crawl. He has spent enough time with the monster to recognize the violence hidden in his tone. And worse: the hunger.

“Your highness the crown prince,” Xie Lian's voice is rich with his anger. He throws the past in the monster's face with casual grace.

Jun Wu’s smile twists.

“You haven’t thrown out your little toad, I see.” Despite his clear anger, Jun Wu's voice is still clear and easy.

“Crimson Rain Sought Flower is gone." Xie Lian replies, his boot a solid weight on Hua Cheng’s back. “He destroyed himself.”

There is an impressive dullness in Xie Lian’s voice as he speaks. He’d practiced saying it while outlining his plan in the meeting. At first he hadn't been able to say it at all without laughing or crying. Eventually , Hua Cheng had started rewarding him with kisses for his efforts. It had the added bonus of finally driving Mu Qing and Feng Xin away, even if Pei Ming had clapped.

“And that is?” Jun Wu gestures to the crumpled body of Wu Ming.

Xie Lian shifts his foot from Hua Cheng’s back. He kicks the smiling mask off of him with a sharp motion that ruffles his hair but doesn’t touch his skin. Hua Cheng can’t see out of the face he’s crafted for himself. He can only watch through the lingering butterflies as Jun Wu grimaces at the blank swath of skin where a face should be .

“Ahh, such a pity,” he sighs. “And the rest of your little friends? Did they leave you and your broken bodyguard to face me alone?”

“Mu Qing is dead too.” Xie Lian lies.

That one he hadn’t needed to practice, Hua Cheng thinks with pride. He taps the ground twice in silent applause for the performance with the hand hidden from Jun Wu. Xie Lian’s foot presses heavier against his back in response, though it feels more like gratitude than scolding .

“Is that so?” Jun Wu tuts. “A pity. Of them all, I thought he would survive this. He has always been such a selfish creature. I only had to send him two dreams of his mother for him to abandon you, you know. Feng Xin was much more resilient. But in the end…”

He trails off. His expression shifts, his eyebrows twisting and his eyes going soft. He walks closer in steady steps. He doesn’t look threatening anymore. He almost looks concerned.

“They left you behind,” he fills in, taking the leap they hoped he would without Xie Lian having to say it out loud.

“He never left.” Xie Lian says, gesturing to the body under his feet.

“He did,” Jun Wu sighs. “Like your parents did. In the end, he was as weak as they were. What of the ring? He must have given it to you to reclaim himself. That was the only way to undo it, you know. To reclaim his fate with his own two hands.”

“The ring is gone.” Xie Lian replies dully . “He shattered it the moment you were gone.”

“Such a pity,” Jun Wu shakes his head. “If only he had followed a better god.”

Hua Cheng twitches, and Xie Lian steps harder on him in warning.

I wonder , though, whether that is simply part of the spell. That it will lead to destruction either way.” Jun Wu chuckles. “I suppose we lost the chance to find out when that drunk little fool and his brother fell.”

Oh , Hua Cheng thinks, flicking the wings of the butterfly he’s watching through. There’s a thought .

He splits his attention once more, and opens a well-worn array.

“Black Water Holds Many Graves,” he recites, “Jun Wu just called the Wind Master ‘that drunk little fool’, and I’m curious: These days does that amuse you, or piss you off ?”

Silence answers him first. Not a surprise. Black Water’s main method of communication is silence. Absence says as much or more than presence when it comes to the dour little devastation.

“What do you gain from this?” Xie Lian is asking, his voice tense with fury. It isn’t an act this time. He’s angry, and Hua Cheng is glad. Xie Lian has more than earned this anger. He deserves to burn this sick creature down to ashes.

‘That god of yours was right, then.’ Black Water answers him at last.

‘He usually is,’ Hua Cheng preens.

‘Pity. If you’d stayed gone, I wouldn’t have had to worry about debt anymore.’

‘Not true. Yin Yu has access to your accounts.’

“You wound me, Xianle,” sighs Jun Wu. “This was never about gain for me. It is about preparing you. Educating you. You are the only one worthy to be my successor; the only one who can understand. We are so, so alike.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Xie Lian spits in reply, so livid it is like a physical force.

‘I’ll cancel it, though.” Hua Cheng offers. “For one more intervention.’

‘...You want me to fight Jun Wu in exchange for cancelling my debt.’

‘Not ‘fight’ necessarily . Just inconvenience him. It’s hardly out of your way! You could even consider it a final blow for your revenge. He knew what happened to you. He used it on me, in fact.’

‘And yet, here you are. What luck.’

Xie Lian shifts his position as Jun Wu draws closer— not shrinking back in defense, but leaning forward . Hua Cheng can feel him getting ready to put himself between the broken Wu Ming body and the emperor of heaven.

‘Not luck,’ he answers. ‘His Highness is the least lucky person I’ve ever met.’

“After all this time,” Jun Wu whispers, “after all I’ve done for you, do you still intend to stand against me? You must know what a farce heaven is, Xianle. What a fool you would be to protect those common people you so love. Haven’t I shown you? In this world, there are only brutal predators taking all they can see, and the meek they prey on.”

Xie Lian doesn’t move an inch. Neither does he disagree. Instead he asks:

“Tell me then: Do you consider predators to be stronger than prey?”

Jun Wu laughs at him. “What worth does prey have but to bleed? The real question, Xianle, is when you will be ready to stop bleeding.”

He extends his hand in a friendly offer. His boots are inches from Wu Ming’s fallen body as he smiles at Xie Lian in indulgent pity. Those boots Hua Cheng spat on; those boots he bowed to. Wait , Hua Cheng tells himself. Wait, wait, wait.

He would love to attack, but Xie Lian had been stern when outlining the plan. They aren’t here to fight. They are here to distract and to flee. Jun Wu is wrong to underestimate the power in fleeing.

So he only watches, fixated on that extended hand and the touch it threatens Xie Lian with. He barely notices when Jun Wu’s boot shifts an inch to the right. He steps on Wu Ming’s limp hand, pressing down with steady weight.

It doesn’t hurt. In comparison to everything else, it is nothing. Hua Cheng would gladly ignore the minuscule discomfort; would gladly accept far worse pain in exchange for carrying out his god’s clever ploy . What’s a broken hand? What’s a touch more shame? In comparison to his highness’s suffering—

A bone cracks audibly , and Xie Lian explodes into motion. Jun Wu isn’t surprised.

Hua Cheng is. He hesitates a moment in alarm, staring out through the butterfly, and Ruoye—

Ruoye lashes out from Xie Lian’s neck, and wraps Wu Ming in its silk. The weapon binds him with both its spiritual power and its strength.

Hua Cheng’s magic snaps, silenced by the silk. He’s back in his body, all at once. He struggles, but Ruoye only squeezes. He tries to snarl, but his face has no mouth— no eyes— not even a nose. He is a faceless, senseless thing, able only to hear as Jun Wu laughs and Xie Lian screams.

He scrambles at the walls surrounding his power. He can’t alter his skin while stuck in Ruoye’s binding grip. He can’t connect to the communication array, he can’t— He can’t breathe . He shouldn’t need to; it shouldn’t bother him, but he can’t—

He jerks against Ruoye’s grip, his body contorting, struggling in the only way he can.

“Your little puppet is falling apart, it seems.” Jun Wu chuckles somewhere. “I can help you stabilize it, Xianle. Mei Nianqing is quite well practiced at pretending to bring the dead back to life. When you’re ready to give up, I’ll have him help you.”

“Shut up!” Xie Lian screams, his voice cracking with rage.

Ruoye squeezes, and trapped in this body Hua Cheng remembers. Though he cannot breathe, and he cannot calm down, the familiarity of this trap sinks through him.

Once, a Xie Lian in calamity’s robes bound his over-eager servant with Ruoye. Once, Wu Ming could only watch while he forced Fangxin through his own stomach, dyeing the world crimson with his blood once more . How Wu Ming had screamed. How he’d panicked. How he’d fought.

Eight hundred years have changed him. They have taught him patience. They have taught him new kinds of power. He forces his useless body to relax in Ruoye’s grip, and curls in on himself. He presses his cheek to his shoulder, nuzzling the silk wrapped there wordlessly . He cannot speak, but neither can Ruoye.

“Ah, such a look you’re wearing! Xianle, don’t tell me you truly cared for that creature?”

Eight hundred years ago, Wu Ming had struggled for days. He had fought until his joints popped, and his bones snapped, and still he’d struggled. He’d screamed and writhed. He’d bit at the silk, and bit at himself, and snarled with all the feral force he had. Then, as now, he could have burned the silk into cinders, just as he burned the temple.

But Ruoye is Xie Lian’s, and he will never take anything from his highness.

Hua Cheng can only hope Ruoye remembers. He can only hope it will forgive his failure. Eight hundred years ago, as the sunset of the third day approached, he’d pressed his cheek to the silk wrapped too-tight around his shoulder and wept . He’d begged. He’d promised. “I’ll protect him, I’ll help him, just let me go.”

I did then , he tries to remind Ruoye— he tries to remind himself. I helped him then. For all the harm I’ve done, for all my weakness, I helped him then. I can again. I will.

He feels it echo deep inside him. A boy in a ruined temple, a ghost fire in a grave, a newborn devastation in a temple, a masked ghost with a sword; he has never been a perfect servant . He can offer so little. And yet—

Stay.

Hua Cheng is a broken, greedy, clinging creature. He watched his prince’s people turn on him; his god’s followers spit on him; his beloved’s friends abandon him. Hua Cheng will never be a perfect servant.

But he will never leave.

There’s the sound of feet on earth; the song of Zhu Xin's black blade screaming towards its target; a sharp intake of breath .

A butterfly beats its wings, and silk flutters free. Zhu Xin sinks into an unbeating heart. Behind him, Xie Lian gasps in a breath. He grabs at his red robes, off-balance from Jun Wu’s assault. The emperor of heaven’s face drops in surprise before it splits open down the middle in a fountain of blood.

E-Ming’s curse works on Jun Wu as well as it does on the generals of the South, it would seem.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cries, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him back, leaping away from combat. The bade drags roughly out of his heart as he goes.

“Gege, don’t worry,” Hua Cheng laughs, even as Xie Lian frantically pulls his robes open to check on the wound in his chest. “This one feels fine.”

Fine doesn’t begin to cut it. Power flows through him. He is a being built on his devotion. With every vow he renews, he becomes more than he was before. Powerless, he handed his god his life; weak, he became strong for his god’s sake.

“My my,” Jun Wu says.

His form splits and shatters. On one side, a cry-smiling mask drips from behind with blood from an unhealing wound in its face. On the other, Jun Wu stands, patient and amused.

“Xianle, there’s no need to look so worried,” he laughs. “Whether that thing is functioning or not, it’s still just a corpse you’re touching.”

“Shut up!” Xie Lian screams.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Hua Cheng lifts a hand, pulling the mask off Xie Lian's face at last now that their ruse is done . “It’s okay. However , your highness, that was a dirty trick. Binding this one with Ruoye.”

“This one promised to protect you.” Xie Lian chokes, gripping Hua Cheng’s wrist and checking on the hand Jun Wu broke.

Hua Cheng summons a butterfly to heal it, and sends it to tickle Xie Lian’s nose as well.

“Gege, no fair!” he complains. “This one promised first!”

Bai Wuxiang rushes forward, and Xie Lian whirls away, dragging Hua Cheng with him. Not that he minds. It’s a dizzying rush, being manhandled by his god. Xie Lian’s arm is strong around his waist as he dances around Bai Wuxiang’s strike like he once did when facing Hua Cheng.

“Are you really still going to be stubborn?” Jun Wu laughs, but there is something cold and awful in his eyes.

“I will never be like you!” Xie Lian stands proudly on the land where he was raised , arm anchored around Hua Cheng’s waist.

E-Ming shoots free from its scabbard, slashing behind their backs to block a strike from Bai Wuxiang .

“You were before,” Jun Wu stalks forward as he speaks. “You will be again! Or have you forgotten what you did to poor Wu Ming already?”

“Old news,” Hua Cheng drawls, cuddling up to Xie Lian’s side. “This one was happy to be of service to such a gentle, beautiful god. Much better than following any bitter old man.”

“Ahaha, San Lang, we’re also quite old th—”

His words cut off with a choking sound. Hua Cheng glances down, and balks. The collar around Xie Lian’s throat squeezes, tighter and tighter. His face goes pink at once, though his expression only turns to hate and not pain.

“Do you think it wise to ignore me, Xianle?” Jun Wu growls, prowling closer. “Make a move, and I will crush his throat, Crimson Rain!”

Hua Cheng wraps his arm around Xie Lian’s back, tucked under his ribs. If he falls— if he dies— Hua Cheng will catch him. He will get him to safety.

“You’ve made your point,” he spits hatefully , glaring at Jun Wu while E-Ming deflects Zhu Xin once more behind them.

The butterflies circling the mountain part around an expected visitor.

“Let him go.” Hua Cheng orders. Pressed against his side, Xie Lian is shaking, but he has not fallen. He stands with an iron will, eyes fixed on Jun Wu.

“Is that any way for a servant to speak? Beg your emperor properly .”

Xie Lian makes a small sound. It creaks around the shackle.

“Your majesty,” Hua Cheng says, the words ashes in his mouth. Before he can beg, there is a flash of white from behind Jun Wu, and Hua Cheng unleashes a feral grin. “Get fucked.”

He leaps, scooping Xie Lian into his arms. The wind hits Jun Wu and Bai Wuxiang both, tearing them into the air. Xie Lian gasps in a breath, coughing and choking for air as Hua Cheng lands neatly , cradling him to his chest.

“Your highness, Crimson Rain, are you both okay?!” a shrill voice cries, high with fear.

“Watch where you point that thing, Wind Master.” Hua Cheng scolds.

“You had it, you had it!” Shi Qingxuan objects, half-hopping closer as Hua Cheng sets Xie Lian gently on his feet.

“Lord— Lord Wind Master, you shouldn’t—”

“Again,” a deep, grim voice warns.

“Already?” Shi Qingxuan squawks. The torn fan flashes again, and the wind goes wild around them. The force flings the little mortal back against the black wall of He Xuan's chest.

“Oof, He-xiong, you’re so pointy! Can’t you become a softer landing place?” Shi Qingxuan scolds, laughing with awkward, anxious volume.

“You brought the Wind Master? ” Hua Cheng grumbles.

“It followed me.” He Xuan replies with a completely empty look on his sharp-featured face.

Sure, Hua Cheng thinks, a beggar with a twisted leg kept up with Black Water Sinking Ships, and somehow regained a considerable amount of spiritual power, his fan, and a significantly softer landing pad than the ground would have been .

“You have— You have to go!” Xie Lian commands, one hand on his bruise-ringed throat. “He won’t kill me, but you—”

“The little false-god himself, hmm?” Jun Wu’s voice echoes around them. “Tell me, Shi Qingxuan. Have you ever killed another with your own two hands?”

“No!” Xie Lian barks, whirling on the empty air.

There’s a frenzy about him Hua Cheng doesn’t like. There’s a desperation. It’s all too close. It will never be far enough away. The pain, the betrayal, the weakness…

“What’s wrong, Xianle?” that voice purrs. “You remember how to cure it when I infect him, don’t you?”

Hua Cheng whirls on the resentful energy when it gathers. Xie Lian would absolutely take it upon himself rather than letting the Human Face Disease touch Qingxuan and then—

Black Water Sinking Ships unhinges his jaw, and the screaming spirits are caught in a swirling vortex . As if trapped in a whirlpool, they funnel into his mouth, still howling. He Xuan snaps his jaw closed and swallows.

“He-xiong,” the Wind Master objects, even as Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are still staring. He thwacks the devastation with his folded fan over and over. “He-xiong, you have to stop saving me, it’s very confusing!”

“Do you have a plan, or did you just drag me here to watch you die again?” He Xuan asks, dull eyes fixed on Hua Cheng.

“At this point, we’re winging it.” Hua Cheng admits with a shrug.

“Sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian rasps, putting a hand over his face. “This one lost his calm.”

“Gege, don’t apologize for jumping in to save this lowly ghost,” Hua Cheng pouts, setting free a swarm of butterflies to nuzzle Xie Lian’s bruise-ringed neck . “This one wanted to fight anyway.”

Xie Lian takes a breath then addresses Black Water and Shi Qingxuan both. “Thank you for coming. Please be careful and retreat if you need to. Especially you, Lord Wind Master. He’ll give you the human face disease if he can. The Bai Wuxiang body is probably his true form— E-Ming’s wound is on that one— but the body of Jun Wu is equally dangerous.”

“And do you really expect to win?” Black Water eyes Xie Lian as the butterflies cluster back to their hiding places, leaving his neck whole once more .

Hua Cheng sees the doubt in Xie Lian’s eyes. He sees the fear. He smiles in answer, and brushes his god's hair back behind his ear.

“Your highness,” he murmurs, “Gege, don’t be afraid. You are stronger than him.”

Xie Lian stares up at him in return, then drags in a breath. “For now, surviving is our goal.” He says rather than answering, though at least he doesn’t disagree. “If there is an opportunity, be ready to take it; otherwise, retreat is a victory as well.”

“Oh, Xianle, Xianle,” whispers a voice all around them. Hua Cheng glares, seeking its source. “There will never be a place I cannot find you.”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian calls.

Hua Cheng jerks his head down from glaring at the sky, meeting his god’s eyes. Xie Lian smiles at him, then presses a hand to his chest.

“Don’t get hit again, please,” he whispers.

Hua Cheng can only nod dumbly in reply. Then he lifts his own hand, and rests it over Xie Lian’s heart, and all that has healed inside him.

“Here he comes.” He Xuan warns in a dull voice, lifting a hand.

The collision of Zhu Xin against his spiritual force sends an almost human-sounding scream into the air .

“Watch your right side, aim for his chest, don’t let up!!” Xie Lian instructs, shoving away from Hua Cheng and darting out to draw fire away from their friends.

Hua Cheng summons E-Ming to his hand rather than letting it play on its own, and leaps out through the barrier of Black Water’s magic, a feral grin twisting his lips .

Xie Lian is unarmed . It is a silent decision for him to split off and fight the version of this creature wearing Jun Wu’s face. Bai Wuxiang’s white mask drips blood from the inside, though his bloodless body is adding no more to the gore.

“I held you once,” the calamity slurs through cut lips behind that mask, eyes burning into Hua Cheng. “When I am done, he will hand you back to me himself.”

Hua Cheng only laughs, E-Ming flashing. His boots chime with every step, and his butterflies explode off of him to swarm his opponent. Three veer off, screaming to Xie Lian’s side and taking up residence in his hair, ready to guard or heal as needed.

“I don’t suppose you could be convinced to switch sides, Scholar Xuan?” Jun Wu quips, unconcerned even as Xie Lian chases him down in a thrilling, glorious series of attacks. “After all, you know who that is you’re standing beside, don’t you?”

“You had a chance to enjoy my company.” He Xuan replies, flat and bored for all intents and purposes. “Enjoy the fruits of your inaction.”

The ground yawns open under Jun Wu’s footing, and his foot sinks ankle-deep into water before he launches away from the danger . Where he lands, the water finds him, miring his steps. Xie Lian doesn’t hesitate to use the advantage, throwing himself into every strike with his whole body and soul .

Jun Wu cannot dodge him, and yet Xie Lian's strikes seem to be nothing but an annoyance.

Bai Wuxiang slashes Zhu Xin’s blade past Hua Cheng’s right side, so close it scores deep into his cheek and cuts the strap of his eyepatch . Hua Cheng drags his attention off his god and onto the thing in front of him.

“Rude,” he hisses, sending a second butterfly swarm.

Bai Wuxiang bats them away without a thought, tearing them into screaming pieces like he did in the cave. This time Hua Cheng is not trying to escape him. He bursts through the shimmering silver of his tattered butterflies and returns the slice across the smiling eye of the mask .

“Pay attention , Xianle,” Jun Wu’s voice snarls from nearby.

“San Lang, your form is very good with E-Ming!” Xie Lian calls instead, rebellious and carefree.

“Thank you, Gege! Please correct anything you see wrong!”

Hua Cheng would love to show off in response to Xie Lian's praise, but Bai Wuxiang is fast . Black Water’s trick slowed him for a moment, but he and Jun Wu have both adjusted their spiritual energy to simply bounce off the water . The Wind Master’s powers won’t be of use unless they can isolate the bastards. And even if they can blow them off their feet, they’ll have nothing to follow it up with.

Bai Wuxiang slaps E-Ming aside, surrendering Zhu Xin with the move as well. He slams his hand into Hua Cheng’s face, gripping his head. His cold thumb drags over Hua Cheng’s empty eye socket and his traitorous body locks up, even as—

“I remember you, little ghost fire.” Bai Wuxiang whispers in an awful voice; wet and slurring from E-Ming’s curse. “You will watch him die again.”

“San Lang!”

Hua Cheng grabs for Bai Wuxiang’s robes, but the ghost is gone in a flicker, laughing. E-Ming whirls back to his hand, but the place where Bai Wuxiang touched him burns .

There’s an awful crack, and he whips around in time to see Xie Lian hit the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

He launches towards him at once, mouth open to cry out. The wind steals the word and his balance, sending him tumbling. Zhu Xin’s blade flashes where he’d been moments before. Bai Wuxiang had flanked his right once more, and he had been so focused on Xie Lian—

“Crimson Rain, can it be you’re actually missing an eye!?” Shi Qingxuan is screaming somewhere, voice shrill with alarm.

Hua Cheng scrambles to his feet. Too late. Jun Wu holds Xie Lian’s throat in one hand, eyes patient as he regards Hua Cheng.

“I wouldn’t.” He cautions. “You’ve seen what these curse shackles can do, haven’t you? Or were you lying about Xuan Zhen’s death too, Xianle?”

Xie Lian can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and Hua Cheng is just watching. But if he moves— Mu Qing’s bloodless face meant nothing to him, but Xie Lian

Xie Lian’s eyes flick to Hua Cheng’s right side, and he knows, but he can’t look away. Bai Wuxiang presses his blade against Hua Cheng’s throat from his blind spot, and he lets it happen.

Breathe, he wills silently , his eyes locking with Xie Lian’s. Breathe…

“Xianle,” Jun Wu purrs. “What a beautiful face you’re making. You always make such lovely faces.”

His other hand trails down Xie Lian’s cheek. One of Xie Lian’s arms breaks free from grappling at his throat to slap it away— a sharp, precise motion.

“Let him breathe!” Hua Cheng screams aloud in fury.

“Look what you’ve done,” Jun Wu purrs, eyes fixed on Xie Lian even as Xie Lian stares at Hua Cheng. “His last moments will be full of fear, just for you. Won’t you apologize?”

Xie Lian’s lips move. ‘ Wait’ , he mouths to Hua Cheng rather than apologizing. ‘Stall.’

“Take me!” Hua Cheng commands, jolting forward. The sword scores a shallow mark into his throat at the motion. “Let him go. Take me again.”

“That didn’t turn out so well for you last time.” Jun Wu chuckles.

“I’ll do anything you ask of me if Xie Lian stays safe.” Hua Cheng offers at once. “No need for the spell. Just say the word!”

“Kill the former wind master and your friend, then.” Jun Wu orders lightly .

“Fine,” Hua Cheng says.

‘You had better be bluffing.’ Black Water’s voice says in his head.

“Well?” Jun Wu gestures with his free hand. “Go ahead.”

‘Shi Qingxuan is mortal, if you touch them, I will—”

E-Ming screams through the air. Black Water blocks it at the last moment.

Just hold out,’ Hua Cheng thinks desperately to him, ‘reinforcements are coming, just —’

Then the world yawns open under him and he’s dragged down into a sudden ocean.

‘Black Water, you bastard!’

‘Your fucking scimitar tried to take my head off!’

“I don’t care! Let me up! His highness needs me!”

In the back of his mind, a pair of dice roll. Deep in the black of He Xuan’s private ocean, Hua Cheng reaches back towards it and tears open a hole in heaven.

The moment that follows is chaos. Hua Cheng accepts it without letting it touch him. He has only one goal. He flies free of the drowning waters as the first spiritual arrow hits Bai Wuxiang's chest and Pei Ming drops between Jun Wu and Xie Lian, sword flashing .

When Hua Cheng scoops Xie Lian up and leaps away from them, Jun Wu’s hand is still clutching Xie Lian’s throat, but it is no longer connected to his body . Hua Cheng backs far from the action as the heavenly bell tolls the arrival of god after god. He sees them moving in distant shapes as he drops with Xie Lian in his lap.

Xie Lian’s mouth is open, struggling for air. Even detached, the hand is still choking him. Hua Cheng pries at its fingers with his own, then sends a burst of resentful energy through it, making it twitch and spasm until he can yank it away . Xie Lian drags in a breath, and Hua Cheng wraps him in his arms, curling around him bodily .

“Gege,” he whispers. “Gege, breathe. It’s okay. Breathe.”

“Everyone,” Xie Lian rasps, “they have to— He’s too strong!”

Even over Qi Ying’s screaming, and the immediate bickering between Xuan Zhen and Nan Yang, and Pei Ming’s battle cries, Jun Wu’s chuckling fills the world .

Hua Cheng's mind sticks on a single detail of that: Xuan Zhen's presence. Mu Qing leaps into the air, trading blows with Bai Wuxiang and matching him strike for strike. Hua Cheng's butterflies scan the field and— There. Yin Yu is passing the Earth Master shovel to Black Water who takes it with distaste. Then Yin Yu draws his sword.

His wrist is bare.

‘Tell me how,’ Hua Cheng orders at once into their communication array. ‘The shackles, tell me how!’

‘Chengzhu, as Lady Rain Master said, they are only vessels. If overfilled, they can break. However , it took the power of seven gods for every—’

Hua Cheng doesn’t care. He drops the communication. In his arms, Xie Lian is shaking. There’s blood on his face; blood in his hair. Worse, his eyes are wild with terror. He fights against Hua Cheng’s hold, scrambling to stand— to fight.

His god, who will face any danger. His god, who would think nothing of sacrificing himself if it saved others. His god, who when faced with Hua Cheng at his very worst refused to harm him; struggled to help him; treated him with every kindness . His god who had once again taken a worthless creature into his arms and won its love without even trying.

“Your highness,” he whispers, “wait.”

Xie Lian turns to him with wide, terrified eyes. The terror is too much. It will never be gone until Jun Wu is.

Hua Cheng lowers his head, cradling his god's body, and brushes their lips together.

He has shared his power before. At first, Xie Lian thinks nothing of it. He makes a strained sound, but only for a moment. He melts into his hold— into his kiss. Then Hua Cheng doesn’t stop.

He feels Xie Lian realize it. He feels him go stiff, and clench his grip in his robes. He feels him push against him. He cradles the back of his head in response, and locks them together. A soft, frightened noise escapes Xie Lian’s throat. He can do nothing to ease it but kiss him more deeply . There is one being strong enough to face Jun Wu. There is a reason Jun Wu wanted Xie Lian weak.

‘San Lang, enough!’ His god’s voice echoes in his mind, and that he was desperate enough to use his communication array password makes Hua Cheng’s heart ache .

‘Your highness,’ he comforts in reply, pouring all he has into his god. ‘You can win. You can win, and he knew when he bound you. Let this servant set you free.’

‘No!’ Xie Lian struggles— pushes against him, and pries at his arms, but he won’t hurt Hua Cheng, so he can do nothing. Ruoye lashes out, but it is only a feint. It pulls back at the last moment.

Even if they were to hurt him, Hua Cheng won't stop. The shackles will drop, he promises himself. If it takes the power of seven gods to break one, then he will be twice that strong!

In his memory, Xie Lian smiles in the face of a broken servant's scathing cruelty, and refuses to hurt him.

Xie Lian’s tears burn down his face. ‘Stop!’ he commands, and Hua Cheng breaks the kiss. He cannot force that on him. But he does not release him. He holds him tight, pouring all of himself into his shaking body.

“San Lang, San Lang, you have to stop— Yin Yu, make him stop!” He’s screaming, struggling against Hua Cheng.

“Gege, it’s okay.” He whispers into his shoulder.

“It’s too much!” Xie Lian screams. “You’ll burn out for nothing, I can’t—”

“You can,” Hua Cheng insists. “You can. This servant will not let you fall.”

“Mu Qing, stop him!” Xie Lian begs. “He’s trying to break the shackles!”

The saber enters his sight line, and Hua Cheng braces. If he’s cut to shreds this might be harder. He’ll do everything he can. He’ll give everything he can until—

“Idiot!” Mu Qing spits, grabbing Xie Lian’s arm.

Hua Cheng readies himself to fight, but—

Mu Qing’s divinity pours in, crashing against his. Xie Lian gasps.

“Feng Xin, go!” Yin Yu barks, commanding the battlefield behind them. The fight is turning in Jun Wu's favor once more. Qi Ying hits the ground hard and doesn’t rise, Bai Wuxiang towering over him. Pei Ming struggles in Jun Wu’s grasp. There’s no time, there’s no time , he has to—

Feng Xin slides on his knees towards them, throwing his arms around the whole huddle of them. Hua Cheng grunts an immediate objection, but it’s not nearly as loud as Mu Qing’s. Xie Lian lets out a startled, despairing sound. And then Feng Xin’s power is flowing too. Something cracks.

“Highness, about this—” Feng Xin gasps, winded and shaking. “About this, Crimson Rain isn’t wrong! You can win!”

“He’s only stubborn and strong.” Mu Qing spits. “It should be your specialty.”

“Wait, wait, all of you—” Xie Lian gasps.

“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng hugs him tighter. He closes his eye, feeling the power inside him swell. He feels the familiar sensation of something breaking. It's something good this time; omething that chokes and strangles; something that aches and binds .

“There is no doubt."

The shackles shatter, and Xie Lian screams.


“Wake up. Wake up! San Lang, please!”

“Highness, perhaps don’t shake him so hard?”

“Shixiong, my head hurts…”

“Shut— Ugh… Just Just sit down, Qi Ying.”

His head swims. His body aches. He remembers watching Xie Lian fly . He remembers the funeral robes shining with golden light from his power. He remembers the blood on his face, and the blood on Jun Wu’s face, and the pride . The pride he felt as the so-called emperor fell under his unbound god.

He doesn’t remember much after that.

Warmth surrounds him, thrumming quick and strong. A hand cups his cheek, and lips meet his, a firestorm of spiritual power pouring through his lips.

Hua Cheng’s eye snaps open, and he stares up into the closed eyes of the crown prince of Xie Lian, bent over his fallen body and kissing him deeply .

“He’s awake, he’s awake!” Feng Xin objects loudly , pushing at Xie Lian. “Stop fucking kissing him!”

Butterflies flicker to life from where they fell. Jun Wu lies silent and motionless, bound over and over in immortal binding cables, and Ruoye, and charmed rope . Black Water is nowhere to be seen . The rest are all gathered. Clustered around where he fell. Only one of them matters.

“How dare you!” Xie Lian is screaming before he’s even released Hua Cheng’s lips fully . He hovers over him, hair in disarray, face bloody. Tear tracks clean his cheeks, and Hua Cheng lifts a heavy hand to wipe at them.

“Gege,” he murmurs, lost in his adoration.

“Don’t ‘gege’ me, Hua Cheng!” Xie Lian snaps, face twisted in fury. “You nearly — If Feng Xin and Mu Qing hadn’t— You idiot!”

“Ah, Gege is so handsome when he scolds this one.” Hua Cheng breathes, a content smile crossing his face. “Not so handsome as when he beats Jun Wu into the dirt, though.”

“I’m not joking!” Xie Lian objects, shoving up off his shoulders to sit, arms crossed firmly and a fearsome scowl on his face. “What if you had dispersed after all that?!”

“I’d have come back,” Hua Cheng winces as he tries to sit up. His body feels as if it’s been hastily stitched together. “Gege has this one’s ashes safe and sound.”

“Is the shameless display over yet, or must I continue weeping for my student's cultivation,” groans a familiar voice .

“Guoshi,” Xie Lian clears his throat and gives a bow to his teacher from where he kneels at Hua Cheng’s side. “Forgive this student.”

“Pah,” Mei Nianqing mutters, waving a hand. “Your highness, when have you ever done anything normally ? This one has come to expect it.”

After his words and awkward silence falls over them all. Hua Cheng ignores it. He can only watch Xie Lian’s profile. He can only stare at the bare skin of his throat. It’s such a beautiful sight that not even his god’s displeasure can dampen his joy. For so long he had hoped. If he had known, he would have snuffed himself out to free his god long before Xie Lian ever would have thought to care for him .

But then, he thinks with a wild, dreamy smile tugging at his lips, there was never a time Xie Lian didn’t care. Even if he had been the most worthless trash in this world, Xie Lian would not have considered him insignificant . His beautiful, brilliant, generous god; so good, so wise, so kind.

“Stop praying!” Xie Lian snaps, cutting a glare towards him. “This one is still angry at you, San Lang!”

Hua Cheng drops back into the dirt in exhaustion. Still, he smiles. Here is the anger he knew Xie Lian was capable of— never turned against him for his failures, but now flaring in light of his near miss with destruction .

“Gege tried to sacrifice himself first.” he accuses blearily .

“What?” Feng Xin barks. “Did you? Xie Lian!”

“No, no, no, this one was just distracting the enemy!”

“After tying this one up. So cruel, gege.”

“Stop deflecting, San Lang!”

“Hey,” Pei Ming calls from where he’s watching Jun Wu’s body. “He’s laughing again.”

Silence falls once more. Hua Cheng scowls, shoving himself up to sit properly at the realization.

“He’s a god after all.” Mu Qing mutters, glaring at the bound form.

“It may be a challenge to find a mountain that will hold him.” Yin Yu cautions, crouching by his shidi and pretending he’s not inspecting his injuries behind his mask . “Even disgraced, it will take time for mortals to change. Until then…”

“Still, what option do we have?” Lang Qianqiu asks, head hung in exhaustion, but still in one piece. They all are, it seems. Even Shi Qingxuan, who appears to be sleeping off the sudden influx and usage of spiritual powers.

Hua Cheng tries to push himself to standing. Xie Lian grabs his sleeve and tugs him down. It’s such a sharp movement that Hua Cheng ends up halfway splayed in his lap. But Xie Lian doesn’t object, so neither does Hua Cheng. He settles in there with a heavy sigh, pressing his nose into the place where a cursed shackle used to rest.

“We can burn his temples.” Xie Lian offers, calm and collected.

Hua Cheng can smell Jun Wu’s blood on his chest. He presses closer to the smell. It’s comforting, after everything. Despite his anger, Xie Lian’s arms wrap around him, as if he were something to be protected .

“What, all of them?” Lang Qianqiu balks. “He’ll die.”

“If someone cares enough, he’ll live.” Xie Lian says with a shrug. “ Just one person is enough. If no one cares that much… Then perhaps it would be kinder for him not to exist.”

“Still, finding them all, much less burning them…” Feng Xin mutters. He keeps glancing behind himself, checking on something just out of Hua Cheng’s range of vision. The butterflies are flying low and weary.

“Easy.” Hua Cheng mutters into Xie Lian’s broad boulder-shattering chest, calling to mind a display of temples covered in lights like stars . “He showed me the map himself.”

Silence follows, so deep that he starts settling back into sleep.

“Holy shit,” hisses Feng Xin. “That is fucking terrifying.”

“I know,” sighs Xie Lian, his heartbeat strong and steady under Hua Cheng’s cheek and all around him. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

 


 

He walks into the grand martial hall as if it is the first time again. In some ways it is the first time. The room echoes around him, his highness’s useless servants falling silent at his approach . The silver bells on his boots chime with his every step in the quiet. He feels the approval without needing words, and breaks into a sharp, vicious grin. The one he lives for looks up from the scroll he’s studying and smiles, wonderful as always.

Hua Cheng opens his arms, catching his beloved when Xie Lian launches himself into his arms. He spins with him in the middle of the awkward, gawking gods. There is no throne now; there is no ornate gold; the marble floor he bled on has been torn up and replaced.

“San Lang, was this one late?” Xie Lian asks in worry, as if he isn’t still clinging onto him with his feet dangling off the floor.

“No, gege, this one is just impatient.” Hua Cheng soothes. “He wanted to make sure gege’s servants weren’t bothering him.”

“Why are you so fucking annoying?” Feng Xin yells, throwing his hands in the air.

Ling Wen carefully avoids Hua Cheng's eyes and stays behind at least two or three martial gods from him. She makes sure one of them is Xie Lian, which is wise of her. He throws a grin like a dagger in her direction and ignores Nan Yang completely.

“Ghosts aren’t allowed in the heavenly capital.” Mu Qing snaps, arms crossed and his sour, annoyed look pinning Hua Cheng with its full force.

“No?” Hua Cheng lifts a brow. “Gege, has this one been naughty? He’ll accept any punishment your highness decrees.”

He drawls the words, and Xie Lian heats up and pushes away from the hug. His face is the most charming shade of pink, and Hua Cheng can feel his heartbeat pounding.

“We may as well give up,” Mei Nianqing huffs. “Since Crimson Rain has decided his highness is done for the day.”

“Sir, do you mean these useless gods can’t get anything done without him?” Hua Cheng feigns shock. “How appalling! Clearly Gege should be emperor.”

“We offered!” Mu Qing yells in frustration, throwing his hands in the air.

“Shixiong can get things done without anyone’s help! He’s great at paperwork!” Qi Ying yells.

‘I’m really going to kill him this time.’ Yin Yu’s voice mutters in Hua Cheng’s private array.

‘Oh good, please hurry up so I can hire you again. I don’t have any worthwhile servants now.’ Hua Cheng replies dryly , and feels an answering scoff.

“Your highness, just go,” Feng Xin waves one hand, scowling to himself with furrowed brows. “We’ll take care of things here, your highness.”

“Thank you all very much,” Xie Lian replies with a bobbing nod. “This one will see you all soon!”

Hua Cheng holds his arm out, and smiles when Xie Lian takes it. He tosses the dice, and walks out into Paradise Manor. The moment the transportation array closes behind them, Xie Lian whirls and throws his arms around him .

“San Lang can always simply call,” he whispers. “This one knows the memories you have of heaven.”

Hua Cheng draws a deep breath, then presses his face into Xie Lian’s hair. His smile twitches at the sides, then eventually settles on growing rather than falling away . Ruoye slides out from around Xie Lian's forearm and wraps itself around Hua Cheng's neck. E-Ming abandons his hip to tuck itself into Xie Lian's belt firmly .

“Gege makes everywhere more beautiful,” Hua Cheng praises. “This one wasn’t afraid at all.”

“If anything is wrong, just tell this gege.” He squeezes Hua Cheng, then releases him to cup his cheeks. “As many times as you built Paradise Manor, this one will rebuild heaven that many and more, San Lang.”

“This unworthy one thanks you, your highness.”

“Unworthy again! You shouldn’t have visited after all if it's made you say such things. San Lang knows what words this god thinks better apply.”

He does. He knows. He carries the words under his skin, where all of his god’s wisdom lives. He knows Xie Lian would use words like brave and strong; clever and tenacious.

He only has one answer to such statements— the same answer he has given since the final fight against their shared nightmare .

“Gege, this one is too weak to argue,” he whines, draping his arms over the martial god’s shoulders and going limp as a noodle.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian objects, even as he easily supports his weight.

“Ah, the darkness is approaching again,” Hua Cheng throws his head back dramatically, twining his arms behind Xie Lian’s neck. “This ghost shall surely perish without tender loving kisses from his merciful god!”

“San Lang, it’s not funny!” Xie Lian pokes his side over and over, then huffs, turning in his arms and starting to walk.

“Is gege speaking? Ah, this one can barely hear his melodious voice!” Hua Cheng croons, clinging on and letting Xie Lian drag him as if he weighed nothing, his toes squeaking against the polished floors of paradise manor, his height making the pose fully ridiculous .

“San Lang!”

Xie Lian is laughing now, even as he tows him back to their bedroom. He’s laughing, his shoulders shaking under Hua Cheng’s arms. He pulls himself closer, trusting Xie Lian’s strength to hold him as he clings to his back like a child. It only makes him laugh harder.

There is so much he should be ashamed of. He would much rather be proud of the laughter he’s caused than remember that pain.


He snaps awake with his empty eye socket aching and Jun Wu’s face swimming in his mind. He launches himself upright, hand lifted to push away—

The red draped fabric around their bed in paradise manor looks nothing like the white-gold nightmare that the grand martial hall once was . He cuts off his breathing to silence his gasps.

“San Lang?” Murmurs the warm body beside him, awakened despite his attempt at silence.

“Sleep, gege.” He urges, though he knows he will be ignored .

“Nightmare?” Xie Lian rubs his eyes, pushing up on one arm to lounge at his side. His sleep robes fall open over his chest, and Hua Cheng can’t help but stare at the skin over his heart. Just beneath it…

“Only a dream,” he soothes, leaning in slowly to press his face there.

Xie Lian’s fingers thread into his hair and scratch against his scalp. He gives a huge yawn, and Hua Cheng laughs against his chest. The steady beat of Xie Lian’s heart warms his very essence. Safe, safe, safe, it whispers with every beat.

Safe, Hua Cheng answers it with a slow kiss against Xie Lian’s chest. Safe, he kisses into his collarbone. Safe, pressed by his lips into the skin once covered by a curse.

“Anything I can do?” Xie Lian nuzzles their heads together blearily . “Does San Lang want this one to cover any touches? To remind him how good he is? How much this one cares for him?”

“Gege can’t offer such things,” Hua Cheng mumbles into his shoulder. “This one will get spoiled.”

He still wants Xie Lian to shake him and scream. He still wants punishment for what he’s done. He still wants for it to have never happened. He still wants Xie Lian’s deserved cruelty to cover every one of Jun Wu’s idle tortures.

Instead, Xie Lian only kisses his head, and tells him “No one will ever take you again.”

His heart beats strong against Hua Cheng’s ashes.

Such a declaration cannot go unanswered. Hua Cheng wraps himself around his god, rolling back onto the bed so Xie Lian curls over his chest, laughing softly to himself .

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he promises his god in return.

“Unless this one asks very nicely ,” Xie Lian teases, as if he never had reason to fear Hua Cheng.

“En, gege.”

Xie Lian laughs at him once more, then wraps himself in the blankets and his beloved’s arms. Hua Cheng holds still as Xie Lian kisses the empty socket of his eye; the side of his throat; the tattoo on his forearm.

Then, at last, his lips.

Hua Cheng breathes through the unbearable love in the gestures. He lets the nightmare be a nightmare, and Xie Lian be real. He knows in his heart that he will never be his god’s perfect servant.

In fact, Xie Lian doesn’t want him to be a servant at all.


Alone together in the cave of ten thousand gods, Xie Lian helps him collect the pieces of his statues. They will never be the same, but he repairs them, piece by piece. He patches the places he cannot recover. Xie Lian praises his work.

"This one might get lost in the dark," Xie Lian whispers to him, standing before the first healed statue. "Does San Lang perhaps have a spell that could help?"

If Hua Cheng cries while tying the red string around Xie Lian's finger, there is no one to see but his god.

If Xie Lian cries while he returns the gesture, there is no one to see but his most devoted believer.

Deep in the cave, a rough wooden carving made by a child's clumsy, desperate hands gains its true face. It smiles from a place of honor as it oversees the restoration of something beautiful.

Notes:

I cannot thank you all enough for being part of this story. Artists who took their time and energy to create; commenters who poured so much thought into their kind words; readers who dragged their friends down with them-- Without all of you, this story would not have been the same. Thank you for coming with me all the way here, to the beginning of their happy ending.

Don't forget to check out these three gorgeous art pieces:

Tomo's GORGEOUS cover illustration for this story. Please give it a look, and give her your love!

 

This WONDERFUL stained-glass piece featuring Hua Cheng's struggle by lazycranberry on Tumblr!

 

A BEAUTIFUL illustration showing the story of this fic by the inimitable Rauch on twitter!

Notes:

Presented with my gratitude to the fandom, and my apologies to HuaLian...

ILLUSTRATED BY MY LOVELY WIFE! Xie Lian and the butterflies and the battle! (With xl correcting hc's form!)

 

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