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2023-12-05
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What happens to the heart

Summary:

“I bring an offering,” he starts, feeling the oddness of the words on his tongue. This is not an offering, not exactly. It’s not incense and gold worthy of a god, it’s not a string of worshipful words either, and yet with who they are, The Ghost King has no other word for it.

There is nothing else a ghost can offer to a god.

Notes:

Written for Birdie, who asked me if I can write fluff about Kunlun and the Little Ghost King. Well, I certainly tried, but considering everything these two have going on, it was a tough challenge, hope I managed!

This takes part before Kunlun gives SW his heart, obviously, but the rest of the timing is left unspecified on purpose - with random changes to memories SW gave us in the novel, it's better to leave it vague, hence the Canon Divergence Tag, just in case I got something wrong. SW's lying might have not fooled ZYL, but it for sure got me.

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

Work Text:

"What do humans do?" The question is out of his lips before he can think twice about it, unbidden and unashamed - he's been like this for a long time now. Shameless. 

Yet instead of scolding him, Kunlun chuckles gently, making himself more comfortable against the tree trunk he's been lying on for the better part of the day. The Ghost King cannot help but watch him for a moment, drinking in the sight. 

He doesn't know why, cannot put his finger on it, but the Ghost King needs to commit everything about Kunlun to his memory, their time feeling limited. He doesn't have a soul, that must be it - once he dies, he will cease to exist, walk into chaos never to return. All he has is what he manages to get now, his tomorrows not certain at all. 

And so, the Ghost King watches. 

Kunlun sighs, closing his eyes again.

"They live, as all the other creatures do." It's not a satisfying answer at all. The gods are interested in humans for a reason. Kunlun is interested in them for a reason. It would be impudent to press the god for more, the Ghost King knows, but he needs this knowledge. He is made of void and into the void he will eventually return, all he has is the hope that the god in front of him might retain a memory of him, faded as it will be. If children of Nuwa stir that much interest in Kunlun and other gods then there must be something about them that is unforgettable. 

In his greediness, the Ghost King wants even a fraction of that power. He wants to occupy Kunlun’s mind from time to time just like humans do.

“There is something more to them,” he insists out loud, moving a bit closer, sitting down on the grass right by Kunlun’s knees.

The god makes a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose they are surprising,” he eventually says, frowning slightly. “They have so many emotions playing underneath their skins, so much care and conflicting ambitions. The Yao have all the time they need to grow wiser and let go of certain things, but the humans? Their lives are over in a blink of an eye and yet they manage to do so much.”

“How are they different from the beasts then? They are born, they hunger, they die,” the Ghost King is not deliberately cruel, but his words seem to disappoint Kunlun somehow. The smile on his lips dims a little, giving way to pensiveness. 

“How many of them have you seen?”

The Ghost King stills. The Ghost Tribe devours everything and anything they can on their way. He was born out of a shred of Kunlun’s light, and so he despised his brethren, preferring to eat the ghosts instead of living creatures, but he has seen others feast on the humans, swallowing their flesh and delighting in their cries. 

He always found them pitiful. Weak enough to be preyed upon. No other impression of Nuwa’s children exists in his mind. 

“Not many,” he confesses. Kunlun’s expression eases at the answer. 

“Then I suggest you take a look. You might like the results more than you think, little one.” The Ghost King scoffs lightly at the address. He is not a child. He’s never been one, being born of the Profane Lands and Kunlun’s light, he’s been young but not a child. Animals have children, humans do too, but gods and ghosts do not for they themselves have never been anything else than what they are. Eternal in their forms and in their judgments - The Ghost King matured only because he wished that upon his shape, to finally make Kunlun regard him as more than a youngling following his steps. It took time and energy to consume enough of his kind to even have enough power to change and grow, and yet all Kunlun has for him is ‘little one’.

“I have grown,” The Ghost King protests, but even now, the fickle god sitting next to him laughs, his voice loud and clear, his amusement open. 

It feels both unsatisfying and more than he deserves. 

He leaves Kunlun by the tree conflicted, uncertain what he is even angry at. The fact that Kunlun has smiles and indulgence for humans when he has only condescending for him? 

The Ghost King doesn’t know and doesn’t understand.

 

***

 

The village he finds is nothing like the mountains and rivers under Kunlun’s rule - there is no natural order to the way the humans live. Their dwellings are small and remind The Ghost King of rabbit burrows - narrow and dark, filled with everything that can give any semblance of warmth. People don’t pay much attention to him as he walks among their shelters, engrossed in their own errands. 

There are some who argue, some who bring food in, others seem to work in the fields. The children of Nuwa do not seem impressive from a shorter distance - loud and panicked, fighting one another just like ghosts do. Does Kunlun’s interest come only from his own attachment to Nuwa? 

The Ghost King’s stroll brings him no answers. He is willing to give up for today and walk back to Kunlun, to demand answers, when he notices an elderly woman walking out of her hut to call out some names. 

There is an aura of death around her, a gentle scent of her imminent passing filling the air around him - not very soon, but it’s already here, calling to him, offering a pleasant meal. He is not like others of his tribe, and yet he cannot help but feel the same pull they do, no matter how much he tries to silence it. 

“Xiao Yu!” the woman repeats, her tone urging. 

“Is there trouble?” he asks slowly, almost demurely. He is an intruder in this place and there is nothing natural about him and his robes, and yet the woman doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to face him, her wrinkled face stretching in a smile.

“Oh, no, young man, none at all. This wretched boy should eat and yet all he does is run around the place and make ruckus,” she complains, leaning against the entrance to her hut. 

“Can’t he eat on his own?” The question seems to be a wise one - animals learn to find sustenance for themselves very early, why would humans be different? And yet the woman frowns at him, as if not understanding his words. Then, her gaze turns pitying.

“Young man, have you never had anyone feed you a meal they prepared themselves?” No. Ever since his appearance, The Ghost King took care of his hunger by himself. Even when there were no ghosts around, no beasts that could slake the hunger, he never begged and never stole someone else’s meal. No one has ever offered him one either, this is not something the Ghost Tribe can do. 

Not something Kunlun would do either. 

His lack of comprehension is evident to the elder woman, for she sighs again. 

“Do you have anyone? Anyone waiting for your return?”

The Ghost King ponders on his answer. He knows he will return to Kunlun, yet he cannot say that the god is waiting for him. He is more than certain that his absence is not a cause of concern - if he fails to come back for a day, two, a month, Kunlun would not look for him and would not miss his presence. 

“There is someone I am eager to see again,” he says truthfully, wondering if this reply would satisfy the old woman. 

He doesn’t get the chance to witness her reaction. A small boy comes rushing to her, almost bumping into the Ghost King on his way.

“Grandma!” He shouted excitedly, his eyes shining. “I am hungry!”

The old woman’s smile changes her entire face - the unbound happiness upon hearing this innocent demand makes the woman seem more than she was just a moment before. A light of something The Ghost King cannot name fluctuates in her body, arresting The Ghost King’s eyes for a moment. 

“I made your favourite,” the old woman says warmly, petting the boy’s head with affection, “go eat, before it gets cold.” 

The Ghost King watches the child disappear in the hut, his entire being brimming with excitement at the prospect of food. How can one have a ‘favourite’? Meat tastes like meat, ghost tastes like ghost. There is nothing enjoyable or pleasant about it, it’s just something that one needs to do, to chase away the pangs of hunger, or to make sure the enemy is vanquished without a way to return. 

A source of energy, that’s all food is. And yet, there is some knowledge in the old woman’s eyes, that is for now hidden from The Ghost King. Is it a solely human experience? Mothers feed their young in the animal kingdom, some of the Yao do the same, but what he sees is not a necessity or a duty. 

Duty doesn’t make souls shine. 

“Does it benefit you? To feed him?” The Ghost King asks the woman seriously, trying to understand. 

“Oh, yes. I hope you experience such joy too, young man. To see your loved one enjoy the meal you made for them and to know that you are the one providing it. To see them grow stronger and healthier because of your efforts - it’s a blessing to experience it,” the woman says, and the smell of decay and death disappears from her frame completely. The Ghost King stares at her, committing the words to memory. 

“Thank you for your teachings,” he manages, making the old woman laugh. Then, she walks back inside the hut, bowing her head lightly in a goodbye. The light around her doesn’t disappear. 

The Ghost King walks around the village for a longer while, trying to find hidden meaning in the woman’s words. He’s tried gifting Kunlun his prey before, the necklace refused and scorned and the experience left him with more shame than lightness - there is nothing a god might want from a ghost and there is nothing a ghost can offer that would have any value. A divine grace needs for nothing, a being born from filth has nothing more to give. 

Maybe that’s what Kunlun wanted him to see. Humans who are able to experience lightness gods and ghosts can not, their acts of devotion bring bright light that can chase even death away, for a short while - The Ghost King supposes it might be fascinating to a god, even if it is a rather insignificant thing. 

When he returns to the Great Seal, Kunlun seems to be dozing off. 

The Ghost King wonders if even the gods can get tired. Do they feel pain? Hunger? 

“Did you enjoy your walk?” Kunlun asks, not opening his eyes. He sounds certain in his assumption that his advice was heeded, as if he fully expected The Ghost King to obey. 

“They are interesting,” he allows, not willing to share much else with his god. He won’t say a word until he finally understands what Kunlun wanted them to see. He will not be treated like a youngling again. 

“Many things in the world are,” Kunlun replies, cracking one eye open, “and yet they manage to come up with things that intrigue even me.”

The Ghost King swallows the question rising in his mouth, feeling its bitterness.

He will not like the answer if he gets one.

 

***

 

The Ghost King manages to keep himself away from Kunlun for a few days but the longing to see him again tugs at him with more force each passing moment, the longing growing stronger with each question that his absence bears. 

Is Kunlun still by the Seal? 

He tries to return to the same village again, to observe the old woman and her grandson again, to witness this light again, the hue of soul he cannot entirely understand, yet his steps cannot find the place again. It’s better for any human dwelling to be forgotten by the Ghost tribe, he supposes. 

There is nothing his presence can bring to the humans, other than misfortune and misery. 

The Ghost King is walking upstream, once again returning to the path leading him to Kunlun, no answers clarifying themselves in his mind. 

He almost doesn’t notice the black shape coming to stand on his path, the black ball of fur glaring at him slightly. 

“King of Cats,” the Ghost King greets cautiously, recognising Kunlun’s companion with no small amount of curiosity. The Yao has never graced him with attention before, not quite like this. In the odd moments when they both accompanied Kunlun, the cat preferred to nap in his Master’s lap, only exchanging a handful of words with The Ghost King, when he found it prudent. 

“Little Ghost,” the cat replies haughtily, its yellow eyes shining with superiority. Is it planning on challenging him to a fight? “You left my Master for a long time.”

A desperate hope, one he should not dare to feel, flares up inside the Ghost King’s chest. 

“Has he noticed my absence?”

The cat’s glare softens into smug amusement. 

“Not that he’s told me. He spends most of his time sleeping now, idle and bored.” 

This doesn’t explain the Yao’s presence here, seeking the Ghost King to do what, alleviate the god’s restlessness? Still, there is a pang of unbridled happiness at the thought of being needed, even for something so inconsequential. 

“You lift his mood,” the cat allows finally, his words causing a sudden spread of warmth in The Ghost King's chest, unexplainable and bright. 

Oh. 

A wisdom, new and exciting enters his mind, filling it with meaning that previously eluded him. 

“I need a moment,” he says, not waiting for the cat’s response, and turns on his heel, the way back to the village appearing before his eyes with staggering clarity. 

There is one more lesson he has to learn. 

 

***

 

When he appears before Kunlun later, the King of Cats lying by the god’s side welcomes him with an offended hiss - a reaction much more honest than that of its master, who leisurely opens one eye and does not acknowledge the Ghost King’s appearance in any different way. 

“I bring an offering,” he starts, feeling the oddness of the words on his tongue. This is not an offering, not exactly. It’s not incense and gold worthy of a god, it’s not a string of worshipful words either, and yet with who they are, the Ghost King has no other word for it. 

There is nothing else a ghost can offer to a god.

And yet, the Ghost King brings up a small bowl in his hand and offers it to Kunlun, a mix of elation and fear almost dizzying him.

Kunlun is silent, but now both of his eyes are open, regarding the Ghost King and his offering with curiosity. 

It’s nothing grand. Just a simple mixture of herbs with added water, making up a medicine that the old lady promises eases pain and lifts one mood. Not certain of it, not seeing it as appealing enough for Kunlun, the Ghost King added some other ingredients on the way, flowers to strengthen the aroma and fruits to sweeten the taste. 

His god stand up, making the King of the Cats hiss in complaint, but the Ghost King cannot mind him now, not when there is a glimmer of curiosity and awe in Kunlun’s eyes as he takes the bowl off the The Ghost King’s hands and lifts it close enough to inhale the gentle steam rising from the concoction. 

“That’s an unusual gift for a ghost,” he says lightly, taking a sip. 

The Ghost King doesn’t miss the surprise marring his beautiful feature at the taste, one that seems positively shocked and not disgusted. 

“It’s gentle,” Kunlun murmurs, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Affectionate.”

The King of Cats snorts from behind Kunlun’s robe, bored with them for now. 

It doesn’t matter, for a feeling the Ghost King cannot name grows inside of him now, almost threatening to set him on fire. He can almost feel the way the mixture of herbs heals smart parts of the god’s being, he can see the smile growing in strength on Kunlun's lips, his face becoming slightly brighter, slightly more here.

He doesn’t know what pains Kunlun so, not yet. 

The god doesn’t share his burdens with a ghost, and yet a small gift seems to make him stronger, if just a bit. 

The Ghost King cannot put a name to what he feels right now, and yet he believes it to be a very human feeling. 

Kunlun gives him back the bowl, empty and precious, without uttering a word. Instead, with slow, measured movements, he reaches out for the Ghost King, his arms coming to rest on The Ghost King’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace no ghost is worthy of.

“Thank you,” Kunlun whispers into The Ghost King’s ear, making him shudder with the tremendous force of it all.

The feeling in The Ghost King’s chest grows, threatening to burn him alive.

 

***

 

Millenia later, Shen Wei watches the food simmer on the stove, waiting for it to finally be ready.

He is not bored with waiting - there is a tall man plastered to his side, peppering his neck with kisses, pretending it’s affection he wants. Shen Wei has had enough time with him to know that it's not always the case.

“A few more minutes, A-Lan,” Shen Wei chastises gently, not putting any heat behind the words. 

“I love it when you feed me. I just hate that you make me wait so long,” Zhao Yunlan whines against Shen Wei’s skin, making him shudder slightly. No matter how many times he does that, it still makes Shen Wei weak. To be allowed that, it still doesn’t exactly register as real, not yet.

Yet the warm feeling around his heart, flaring up underneath Yunlan’s touch, keeps him rooted in reality, the slight burning - now gentle and welcome, makes the reality all the more real. Sharing a meal with Zhao Yunlan is something he only dreamed of, in the dark, greedy corners of his soul, and yet he is allowed to do so now. 

It’s a blessing to experience it, indeed.

A lesson he at last learns.

Notes:

Title from Leonard Cohen's song, Happens to a heart

Thank you, Birdie, for asking me for this fic, it was a challenge for sure, but it also made me remember the novel a bit 🥰