Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Xie Lian is five. Spring has set in after a long, harsh winter that kept him confined to the inside of the Royal Palace. The Royal Palace Gardens are in full bloom, and the weather has warmed up considerably, so the young Crown Prince can finally explore and leave his opulent and stifling chambers. He feels so excited that he almost trips on his robes as he hurries out to frolic freely. His mother, the Queen, laughs at his eagerness and urges him to slow down because the Gardens are not going anywhere. His mother’s gentle admonishments don’t deter him in the slightest, and he runs all the way from his room to the Gardens, smiling so brightly that the sun feels lacklustre in comparison. 

No wonder everyone, from the King and the Queen to the servants, dote on their beloved Prince. He is the pride and joy of everyone’s lives he touches, however briefly he might. Xie Lian does not know, but the Royal Palace only feels like home when his tinkling laughter resounds in its gigantic halls as if breathing life into a beautiful but otherwise stone-cold statue.

Once Xie Lian arrives at the Gardens, he does not stop to catch his breath from all the running. He jumps around excitedly, his big, brown eyes shining with barely controlled glee and awe at the greenery and pretty blossoms around him. The birds are singing a simple yet charming song in their mysterious language, the air is crisp and light, and the sunlight dapples on his face in warm, golden patches. He watches in amazement as this previously dead and gloomy place takes on a stunning new look. Everyone knows just how beautiful the Royal Gardens are. Xie Lian is giddy that he gets to experience it first-hand, for the talks hardly do justice to what meets the eye. 

Xie Lian stops running around when his mother finally catches up to him. He hugs her legs and points at all the beautiful things he sees with enthusiasm. The Queen smiles down at her darling son, her expression adoring. She places her hand on his head and pats it gently, soft and affectionate. Nothing brings her more joy than seeing her son happy and being next to him.

A light wind, carrying the freshness of sweet-smelling flowers, blows past the little Prince’s cheeks, making his long hair dance with it. A dainty butterfly flits past his face, and he stretches out his tiny fingers to catch it. 

It is just out of his reach, and Xie Lian rushes after it, a giggle bubbling inside his throat. The butterfly, enjoying the game of tag with the little boy, flies high and low, close but just out of his reach. There is a moment when Xie Lian feels like the butterfly is just within his grasp, but then he stumbles. The next moment, he is on the ground. The butterfly is nowhere in sight. He hears his mother cry out behind him in alarm, rushing forward to help him up. Xie Lian tries to force down the tears threatening to spill out of him because he is a brave boy. He has promised Mother he won’t cry every time he falls because he is a big, brave boy, and the Crown Prince and Prince don’t cry when they fall.

So he struggles to get up on his own, his little hands desperately trying to push him off the ground. After a few unsuccessful tries, he realises, to his absolute horror, that he cannot. No matter how hard he tries, his body refuses to budge. It’s as if his body has locked up.

Someone help me, he thinks, panic rising sharply in his chest. Mother. Where are you? What’s taking you so long?

The warm sunlight starts to fade, and something digs into his back uncomfortably. Suddenly, the sweet-smelling breeze is gone, and a pungent metallic smell fills his nostrils, making him want to retch. He does, and a warm fluid slides past his tongue. He coughs, or at least tries to. The birds are not chirping anymore. He can’t hear his mother either. Instead, he can hear whispering voices. He feels so cold. He feels so scared. Where is Mother? Who is going to help him?

It hurts, he thinks. It hurts. 

His vision swims in and out of focus. One moment, he is in the Royal Gardens; the next, he realises he is in the broken-down Crown Prince Temple. His body, if you can even call it that at this point, has been bound and chained to the altar. This was why he could not move. He would not be able to now, though, even if he gets unbounded. 

He blinks, and a thick, warm liquid seeps out from his eyes; he can’t see anything anymore. Everything is tinged with red. His godly blood flows out from all his orifices, but from where does it not currently? Faintly, he can hear a heart-wrenching scream near him, as if crying out the sounds he can’t make anymore, and his mind sways in and out of consciousness. He is not sure he is alive. He is not sure he is dead, either. Everything is distant now. Everything feels numb.

Then he feels a razor-sharp pain in his gut, and it all comes back into focus. He is not even able to choke out a sob. His throat has been shredded into ribbons, barely sticking with the rest of his body with whatever flesh remains. 

He wishes he could die. He wishes someone would take off his cursed shackle and finish everything once and for all. He wants someone to douse this body with oil and set it on fire after he dies because he would not be able to bear seeing the state it is in now. He wants nothing to do with it anymore. He does not have the strength to go on. He needs this to end. He can’t hang on anymore. Not to his sanity, not to his consciousness, not to his doomed life. 

He closes his eyes again, wishing to be transported back to the dream he was having, but to no avail. He wants to feel some sense of security, warmth and comfort, even if it’s all fake. Anything would be better than the nightmare he is living in. 

The attacks don’t stop. No one is showing any mercy to him. No one looks down at his broken and battered beyond-recognition body and feels any sympathy. No one thinks this is someone in pain, and perhaps we should stop. He is not human to them. They are not human to him either. They are monsters. They all want to save themselves; no one wants to save him. 

Not that anyone can save him now. 

Slash. 

He feels the remaining tendons in his neck snap and tear. He’s certain his head is not sticking to his body anymore. And it is still not enough for him to die.

Slash.

His stomach has separated from his body; his guts must be hanging out, skewered like a pig on the roast.

Slash. 

The sword drives deep into his chest, and whatever chunks of his traitorous heart remain continue to beat and bleed against his own wish. 

More Blood. More Pain.

More Blood. More Pain. More Blood. More Pain. More Blood. More Pain.

Pain, pain, pain. Brutal pain. It is as if the only thing he knows since his birth is pain, and he will die knowing nothing else. What Gardens and what butterflies? This is it. This is hell.

The scream grows louder, and the fire burning in the temple grows brighter till it reaches a monumental crescendo. One moment, Xie Lian is lying motionless in torturous agony, praying to whichever god is willing to listen to release him from his flesh; the next, he feels a sharp jerk with one final stab to his chest, and finally, finally, his soul breaks free out of his mutilated body. 

Xie Lian floats over the scene of the temple burning, an all-consuming fire blazing like a terrifying inferno, and the hundred people who stabbed him get charred to death instantly. The stench of his blood is everywhere, metallic and pungent, mingling with the smell of burnt flesh. Blackened skull and bones roll on the ground, the scene more horrifying than anything he has witnessed.

He feels no sadness for the hundred or so people who died here; instead, a vicious, gratifying feeling spreads through him, which slowly turns into blinding rage. They died too easily. It was over too quick for them. They should have burned for longer. They should have felt their flesh burning and then melting and then falling off their skeletons. They should have tried to run around trying to save themselves but realised they were helpless. They should have screamed out in pain, suffered, and begged for his forgiveness so that Xie Lian could have shown them none and relished their torment all the more.

Even as he surveys the burnt temple, he dares not look at his remains atop the blackened altar as if terrified that the moment he does, his soul will split apart to pieces. As a god, he’d seen countless statues of his, the Flower Crown Martial God, with a flower in one hand, sword in the other and that ever-present serene smile. He does not want to look at himself for the last time and keep that image in his head. He would not be able to bear it. 

The ghost fire that had been raging takes the shape of a young man who falls to his knees beside him, howling in unspeakable pain and rage. The young man dares not lift his head and look at him; the sight of Xie Lian is so gruesome, bloody and unbearable that it’s hard to believe the mound of flesh on the altar used to be human once. He tears out at his hair and pounds his fists on the ground as if the one who died was not Xie Lian but him. The screams tearing out from his throat don’t stop until his voice grows hoarse, and he is physically incapable of making another sound.

Xie Lian watches him, emotionless.

The ghost fire that had accompanied him in the graveyard, the one that tried to stop him from coming here, and the one that burnt each and every sinner present in this temple to death, is this young man. The only one who had felt his anguish in his final moments was this young man kneeling beside the altar. The very same altar where people had once prayed to him and then used as a sacrificial slab to butcher him up.

Xie Lian feels a sense of gratitude towards him. He wants to thank the nameless ghost for showing him more humanity than humans did but knows he cannot; he is too weak. His soul feels fractured and disjointed, as if all the pain and mental torture chipped away at his core, and he can never be whole again. It takes him great effort to try and keep himself from completely dispersing. He floats near the ghost, who is sobbing as if his undead heart has been torn to pieces, and whispers a thank you. He knows his voice does not reach him, for the ghost never stops and registers the words gifted to him. Xie Lian lingers by his side for a second longer and brushes past his cheek and up towards the ceiling again.

He hopes the ghost will understand his sentiments. He truly wants him to know how vital the ghost’s simple acts of trying to save Xie Lian’s life were. It was all meaningless in the end, but it matters to him, for he glimpsed something akin to kindness in this hell-ish temple of death.

Meanwhile, White No Face’s deranged laughter slowly dies with every passing moment, as if realising something has gone terribly wrong. “Xian Le.” He murmurs, his hand reaching out towards Xie Lian’s cold body, his fingers trembling. “You were not supposed to die. How did you die? How could you die? The shackle. The shackle! How did it break? No! No! No, no, no no, NO, NO, NO, NOOO!”

The spectre gathers Xie Lian’s remains in his arms, and the blood dyes his white funeral robes a deep crimson. White No Face holds him like a father might have his son, sounding almost crazed, as if he cannot believe being pierced by a sword a hundred times actually killed Xie Lian. As if he, too, feels pain and insurmountable grief at his horrifying death.

It is as if he is not the one who started all of this.

Xie Lian feels red-hot anger coursing through his entire form like lava; he wants the phantom nowhere near his body. He wants to scream and cry and shake him and chase him away, but he is aware of how helpless he is. So he floats over the heads of the two ghosts and then out of the temple, lest he is discovered by White No Face. His body might not have survived, but he will not let his soul fall into the cruel hands of the monster. 

He will wait. He will wait till he gets stronger. And then he will hunt down and bestow the same fate to White No Face that he endured.

Till then, he will vanish.

No one will hurt him ever again.

Chapter Text

800 Years Later

“Hua Shixiong!”

Hua Cheng briefly registers his name has been called out but does not feel like pausing to stop painting. Nothing could be more interesting than what he is doing. His long, slender fingers deftly move the paintbrush across the scroll, creating a stunning masterpiece. 

People say he is rude, but he only gets so much time for himself. He can’t very well just abandon his chores and hobbies at every beck and call. Thus, he goes about his task. There is a lazy self-assurance in his pose, and to a bystander, it looks as if bringing a beautiful painting to life is nothing extraordinary or takes much effort from him. Perhaps because it truly is so. For the head disciple and the pride of the Hong Gong sect, nothing is too hard. Hua Cheng paints the way he sculpts; he sculpts the way he spars with his sabre; he spars with his sabre the way he debates; he debates the way he walks: confident, haughty and simply perfect.

He knows he is better than all the disciples in the Hong Gong sect, and he prides himself on his abilities. His elders teach him that humility goes a long way and everyone likes a talented young man who is humble and not a show-off, but where is the joy in that? He has worked so hard to reach his current position; why should he bother practising something as silly as humility? His expertise in his skills and crafts is there to not only serve and save the common people, but it is also a means to establish his superiority over everyone. He wants everyone to know he is better and to look at him with awe and then with jealousy.

“What is it, Ming Xin?” Hua Cheng asks, still very much concentrated on his work, his back facing the young boy who just arrived in his quarters.

“Shizun demands your presence.”

That gets his attention. He stops painting, slowly puts down the brush at his side, and then calmly wipes his hands on a rag. His pale fingers are stained with various dyes, the colours standing out on his snow-white skin, and he systematically wipes them all clean, ensuring that he does not leave a single blemish on them. Hua Cheng takes a few moments to admire the painting he had been working so hard on and allows a small smile to grace his otherwise harsh facial features. Satisfied with how this new piece is coming together, he turns around to greet the pink-faced young boy who has probably come running over to him all the way from their Shizun’s chambers. 

Hua Cheng’s crimson sect uniform flutters a bit when he turns, the sleeves of his robe elegant like the wings of a beautiful butterfly. He gives Ming Xin an inquiring look. One of his elegant eyebrows is perfectly arched as if already doing the talking before the words leave his mouth. Had anyone else disturbed him, he’d have looked annoyed but since it is Ming Xin, there is a little twinkle in his eye. Hua Cheng would never admit it, but he is pleased to see his Shidi.

Ming Xin is fifteen and a couple of years younger than his shixiong. He is just as handsome as his idol Hua Cheng is, if not more, but he does not have the same commanding air around him. The ever-present slight smile on his face makes him look like a bright sunflower instead. He is also probably the only martial sibling Hua Cheng genuinely cares for. It is partly because of Ming Xin’s talent with his scimitar, kind and gentle demeanour and virtuous nature, partly because Ming Xin is one of the few people who does not take him for a freak for his mismatched eyes and shy away in fear and partly because he is one of the two orphans Hong Gong sect picked up to nurture and train as cultivators. 

There is a strange kinship between the two disciples as if they are the only ones who can understand each other’s pain of being abandoned and unwanted, of living the most tender years of their lives as street urchins, of fighting a battle to just try and survive and the humiliation of being scorned by everyone around them. They also have a burning desire to prove their mettle. 

In each other, they find someone who, at the very least, is an equal.

Hua Cheng is not the kind of person who is overly friendly with everyone, quite the opposite, actually. This is why everyone knows how important the sweet fifteen-year-old disciple is to him. They stay out of Ming Xin’s way and think twice before saying something even slightly mean to him. There was only one incident when a guest disciple made the mistake of being somewhat off-putting to Ming Xin. Hua Cheng had made sure that idiot had cried tears of bitter regret for trying to cross his way. After that, the message was clearly sent to everyone: no one insulted Ming Xin because Hua Cheng, who regards the young boy as his own little brother, would destroy you and look absolutely dazzling while doing so.

“Does he now?” Hua Cheng asks curiously, head tilting to one side, his raven black hair from his lazy side ponytail falling slowly over his shoulder and onto his back as he does so. He crosses his hands in front of his chest, thoughtful. “What service does the master require from this lowly one?”

“I am not sure,” Ming Xin answers truthfully, “but Shizun was visited by some folks from a village a little to the north of our sect. They have been plagued by a ghost bridegroom. I am guessing his summons have something to do with the Ghost Bridegroom case.”

“A Ghost Bridegroom?”

“Yes. Apparently, a Ghost Bridegroom is behind the abductions of many young brides who pass through Mount Yu Jun. This time, the girl he kidnapped happens to be the daughter of an officer, so there has been quite an uproar in trying to catch the monster behind the mysterious disappearances of the girls. I think Shizun wants you to go and investigate.”

“I see.” Hua Cheng nods, a contemplative look on his face. This indeed sounds very interesting and a case worth solving. “Thank you, Ming Shidi.”

Ming Xin smiles before he clears his throat and asks hesitantly, “If Shixiong has no objection, can this Shidi accompany you on this mission? I would like more experience in dealing with ghosts. I have encountered only a few, but they were all too weak. I think this Ghost Bridegroom is more powerful than what I have dealt with so far. This would be a worthy lesson for me.”

“I don’t mind.” Hua Cheng answers without a second thought. “I will ask Shizun to let you accompany me. But no one else. Just don’t get in my way while I work. Observe and learn.”

“Of course! I will not dream of troubling Hua Shixiong!” Ming Xin chirps enthusiastically, eyes shining with joy. He is barely able to stand in one place, as if itching to dance around the room to show his excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Now, now.” Hua Cheng laughs a little, an unexpectedly soft sound that instantly makes him look younger and more handsome. He runs a hand through his ponytail, and flicks it back with a swish. “Don’t thank me so quick. I might not let you interfere in my mission, but I will ensure I work you to the bone.”

Ming Xin pouts but then smiles. 

“That’s alright, I don’t mind. Every experience is a good one. By the way, what have you been painting this time, Hua Shixiong? Will you show it to me before we go visit Shizun?”

Hua Cheng coughs as if suddenly embarrassed by this question. He scratches his neck, his eyes darting around in nervousness. He hesitates for a moment, but in the end, he passes the scroll on to the young disciple anyway. It is not self-consciousness over the quality of his work that holds him back; in fact, he is delighted with it. It is actually the subject of the painting. It is not anything obscene or unsightly. Instead, it is-

“This man again? How many paintings and sculptures have you made of this man already? Who is he?” Ming Xin exclaims, half exasperated and half fascinated. He looks up at Hua Cheng, curious and thoughtful. “Shixiong, do you know him? Is he someone important to you?”

For once in his life, Hua Cheng is at a loss for words. 

Truth be told, Hua Cheng does not know how to answer Ming Xin. That this man he paints and sculpts obsessively haunts his dreams? That he feels there is an inexplicable connection between them? That sometimes he wakes up from vividly realistic dreams with tears in his eyes and heart in his mouth, unable to remember what he was seeing but just able to remember the terrible soul-crushing sorrow he had endured in it? 

Hua Cheng can’t seem to get over just how handsome the man he paints and sculpts is. Every time he so much so looks at him, his heart beats faster, and his day turns better. No matter what form he paints him in, dressed in rich robes befitting a prince or plain white old-fashioned robes of a cultivation sect long forgotten now, that man looks eternally serene and beautiful, the way one would expect a small flowering valley hidden deep among the mountains to be. That man brings him peace and, at the same time, steals away his breath and keeps him restless. Hua Cheng doesn’t trust religion, but he thinks this is perhaps how people feel about gods. 

He can’t say all this to his Shidi, though; he can’t say this to anyone. They would deem him crazy. Honestly, he sometimes thinks that he is crazy. Anyone would after they continuously dream about the same person they have never ever seen over and over again and yet are entirely obsessed with them. 

It’s not as if he has not tried finding out who this man is, but no matter how many scrolls he goes through and how many scriptures he reads, he remains just as clueless about the mysterious man as he always has been. It is as if all his traces have been wiped clean from history. Or perhaps he does not exist, to begin with. 

Uncomfortable and frustrated, he turns his back towards his Shidi and bites out, “You ask too many questions. It is not appropriate. I am your senior; do not forget that.”

His fists are curled up at his sides and his voice sounds shaky, as if the weight of Ming Xin’s questions and his own inability to answer them is crushing him down. He feels suffocated and uneasy. He wants to be left alone. 

Ming Xin, surprised at the sudden change in Hua Cheng’s attitude and realising he has indeed been too nosy, blushes and mumbles, “Forgive me. I crossed a line. Perhaps we should go; we’ve kept Shizun waiting too long.”

Hua Cheng does not turn around; he just nods stiffly. “You go ahead, I will follow you in a moment.”

After saluting his senior respectfully, Ming Xin leaves in a hurry, feeling incredibly awkward. The comfortable air between the two disciples changed to a tense one so quickly that he almost got a whiplash. As he walks away promptly towards his Shizun’s chambers, he wonders why exactly Hua Cheng got so incensed by a seemingly innocent question and why he is so obsessed with a handsome man who always has a sword in one hand and a flower in the other?

—✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦—

Hua Cheng arrives at Mount Yu Jun with Ming Xin two days later. Their journey has been long and arduous, but neither of them shows any trace of fatigue on their faces. On the contrary, Ming Xin is excited; he looks around in wonder and finds it hard to believe that the adventure he had longed for so long is now finally starting. He has accompanied Hua Cheng before, but never just the two of them. He greatly admires the head disciple and deems himself lucky to have had this opportunity to learn from his inspiration.

Hua Cheng maintains a neutral expression, unaware of Ming Xin’s starry-eyed gaze fixed on his back; this is not his first mission, after all. He has completed hundreds of assignments and established his name as one of the finest in the cultivating world. The ghost bridegroom case should be an easy victory as well. He has solved cases where others ran away with their tails tucked between their legs. He is fearsome with his sabre and resourceful and does not hesitate to play dirty if need be. To deal with evil spirits, you have to have a bit of evil inside you, too.

They enter a small teahouse at the border of Mount Yu Jun. Apart from casting a curious look on one of Hua Cheng’s bandaged eyes, the owner makes no comment. He probably considers it an unfortunate incident, which is very common for a cultivator dealing with demonic spirits, and leaves it at that. 

The crimson-clad head disciple of the Hong Gong sect looks scary enough with his hard jawline and harsh face lines. His neutral expression looks like he is plotting someone’s murder. He does not need to add more fuel to the fire. So, whenever he goes out on a mission, he ties a simple black cloth over the eye that glitters red like a ruby. Ming Xin is thoroughly vexed by this habit of his Shixiong, but he knows his place. Apart from making an agitated face, which gets duly ignored by Hua Cheng every time, he says or does nothing else to deter him.

Hua Cheng understands Ming Xin’s anger and irritation at others for not being able to accept him just the way he looks, but he also knows he is a child and does not understand the ways of the world. To be accepted by people, you have to change yourself. Who will love the rawest, most authentic version of yourself? Hua Cheng himself finds his appearance despicable, so how can he expect others to like it? He knows Ming Xin does not mind his face, but he is so young and impressionable. He hero-worships him. Of course, Ming Xin does not mind! 

The duo order food for themselves and then find a seat near the back to rest their weary limbs. Ming Xin, famished after the journey, digs into the food with barely any control and manners. Hua Cheng watches him eat with an amused expression. He laughs with surprise when Ming Xin chokes a bit on the rice he is inhaling and coughs loudly as he tries to catch his breath. As the young boy struggles to regain his composure, he gives his senior a sheepish smile before continuing to gorge on the food. Hua Cheng shakes his head at his Shidi fondly. Compared to the rabid animal beside him, he sips his tea with complete calmness, keeping his eyes and ears open for any information.

It turns out the people in the teahouse are very few and not interested in gossip at all. They eat and drink quietly as if a cloud of gloom is hanging over their heads. Whatever the situation with the Ghost Bridegroom is, it is serious. Not able to eavesdrop on any interesting conversation, Hua Cheng calls for the teahouse owner. 

“What is it, Daozhang?” The owner, a middle-aged man with a very average face and greying hair, asks politely.

“My Shidi here wanted to tell you the food here is exceptional, and he has never enjoyed a meal more his whole life. Isn’t that right, Ming Xin?” Hua Cheng says with the most sincere expression he can muster, eyes wide and lips curled up in a fake smile.

Ming Xin chokes again, but for appearance’s sake, he nods enthusiastically, his mouth still full of food.

The owner looks so pleased that his previously glum expression dissolves in an instant, and he gives them a toothy grin. “Well, my teahouse is famous in this province! I am so very happy young master approves. May I bring in more food for him?”

“No need.” Hua Cheng answers with a wave of his hand just as Ming Xin tries to nod again. “He needs to be able to control his gluttony. Such manners do not befit a cultivator.”

Ming Xin makes a face and the owner titters. “Well, Daozhang, you must know the best for the young master. Now, err, pardon this lowly one’s intrusion, but what business brings you two masters here?”

“Ah, as a matter of fact, I was about to ask you something related to it.” Hua Cheng answers quickly. He graciously gestures to the owner to take a seat in front of them as if the teahouse belongs to him and not the other way around. Such is his commanding air that the man does not even think of questioning him and obeys him instantly. “A few days ago, a couple of villagers from this area approached the Hong Gong sect, where my Shidi and I are from. We were informed that you have been plagued by a Ghost Bridegroom. We have come to investigate.”

“Oh.” The owner nods, looking solemn again, “Oh yes, we have. Over the past hundred or so years, several brides have been snatched away by that entity. My grandmother once told me a friend of hers, who was very dear to her, went missing the same way. This problem has been long-running.”

Hua Cheng is surprised by this information. A hundred years? And no one had cared to inform them or any other sect? Are the people here crazy? It seems like no one would have told anyone had an official’s daughter had not been lost, too. At this point, he is feeling more annoyed with these buffoons than feeling sorry for them.

The teahouse owner continues, oblivious to any change in Hua Cheng’s expression and happy to chat after a slow day at work. His story is now going on a different tangent altogether. Reminded of his dear departed grandmother, his tales have now become about her. 

Ming Xin looks bored to tears as owner chats on because, so far, they have not gotten any new or valuable information, but he still listens attentively. Hua Cheng, who has never been as nice as his Shidi, can’t be bothered with playing charades. So he takes out a scroll with all the information they have of the case and starts rereading it for the hundredth time. It is more interesting than whatever the hell the owner’s grandmother enjoyed cooking for him when he was a kid.

“Anyways, I will not trouble you two masters anymore. I must get going.” The teahouse owner says finally. Ming Xin mumbles out something dully, and Hua Cheng still ignores him. The teahouse owner bows, saying, “I am happy the Ghost Bridegroom is finally getting attention. Before you came here, another young Taoist came to my teahouse enquiring about the Ghost Bridegroom. Seems like this matter has spread like wildfire.”

Hua Cheng snaps to attention at that. Another Taoist? He exchanges a meaningful glance with Ming Xin, who looks just as surprised. The teahouse owner is truly a work of art, yammering away for so long like an absolute idiot and sharing this information like an insignificant afterthought.

“Perhaps you can tell us the whereabouts of the other Taoist.”  Ming Xin says, taking on the role of continuing the conversation. He has a sweet and earnest face; not a single person alive has ever said no to it. No one has the heart to be that cruel. “If we are working on the same goal, we can work together.”

The owner doesn’t need any cajoling to begin with, and Ming Xin’s expression just prompts him to his feet, and he says very respectfully. “Of course, young master! You need not ask and look for the young Taoist too much because he is still here at this teahouse.”

Saying so, he points towards a table where a young man sits alone with nothing but a few scrolls for company. He looks deeply engrossed in the scroll he is reading, his thin eyebrows knitted together in a frown. His brown hair is tied in a neat updo, with a few strands framing his face. He looks young, around the same age as Hua Cheng, but one look at his broad shoulders and lithe body tells the experienced eye that he is a seasoned fighter. He has an intimidating aura, but Hua Cheng is unbothered by it. He has met many people like that young Taoist and dealt with them with laughable ease.

“Thank you so much.” Ming Xin smiles at the teahouse owner, who preens for proving to be helpful. After making the duo promise that they will approach him for more assistance, he finally leaves them alone.

“Let us not delay much longer and close this case before he does.” Hua Cheng says to Ming Xin once he is sure the owner is out of earshot. His dark eye is fixed on the other cultivator, who is blissfully oblivious to it. “I don’t want him to get in our way and hinder our work.”

“Or perhaps we could really ask him to join us? It would be easier that way. What do you think, Hua Shixiong?” Ming Xin asks, and Hua Cheng stares at him as if his perfectly fine Shidi has suddenly gone insane.

“I don’t work with my own martial brothers and sisters, much less a random stranger I saw at a teahouse because I am better off alone. Ming Xin, you know I find company irritating because all people ever do is get in my way and pitch in idiotic ideas.”

His last remark is a jab at Ming Xin, but the young boy pays no mind to it and shrugs. “I think it is a good suggestion. We can work together, and he actually seems like someone dependable for once, not like the usual cultivators we meet. I know you secretly agree with me about that cultivator seeming like a reliable guy, too.”

The worst part is that he is right. Hua Cheng hates to admit it, but he knows the Ghost Bridegroom case is more convoluted than what he has dealt with so far, as it involves an entity on a killing spree for over a hundred years. It would be difficult to take it on alone, and Ming Xin is still very young and inexperienced. Another cultivator in his team would significantly help him, not just him but the other cultivator, too.

Begrudgingly, he snaps, “Fine. But I am not going to approach him. This is your idea; you will have to work for it.”

Ming Xin gives him a triumphant grin, and against his own will, Hua Cheng feels his annoyance towards the young boy start to ebb away. Ming Xin, meanwhile, gets up and marches purposefully over to where the young Taoist sits, still awfully concentrated on his work.

Hua Cheng watches discreetly as his Shidi greets the other cultivator with utmost respect and grace and introduces himself. He is not able to hear the conversation clearly, but he sees the cultivator glaring at him once before he shakes his head at Ming Xin. The young boy, ever persistent, continues the conversation till the other cultivator gives a defeated sigh and nods. It is all very dramatic, and Hua Cheng thinks inwardly it is hilarious. Ming Xin is a menace when it comes to persuading people. The only person capable of saying no to him is Hua Cheng himself because he is very well aware of his crafty manipulations. He might have fallen prey to them once, but not anymore. 

Then, as if struck by an epiphany,  he realises that he actually did fall prey to it again, just a few minutes before and a sense of disbelief towards his own naivety fills his senses. No one has the nerve to take advantage of him. No one except Ming Xin. That boy, really…

He sees Ming Xin give the young Taoist a joyous, bright grin when he agrees, the final trick up his sleeve to make the other person feel very important and mollify any hard feelings they might have.  It works like a charm every time because it worked on him just now, too.

A very strange expression flickers across the Taoist’s face, a mix of surprise, nostalgia and sadness when he receives the grin before it is replaced with his former aloof one.

Hua Cheng wonders what could have possibly elicited this reaction as he quietly takes a sip of his tea, and his Shidi bounces up to him with a jubilant air, proud of himself for efficiently completing this task.

“Hua Shixiong, the other young master, wants you to join him at his table.” Ming Xin announces formally with a twinkle in his eye.

“Does he want to, or did you make him?” Hua Cheng asks, his face lines soft with fondness towards the boy. He can’t ever stay angry at him for too long.

“Same difference.”

The senior cultivator snorts at the cheeky response and gets up to join the young Taoist they’d been bothering. 

“Greetings from this cultivator.” Hua Cheng says. He sounds polite enough, but there is an edge to his words. As always, his easygoing confidence is almost verging on arrogance. The young man, not the least bit intimidated, levels him with a cool look as Hua Cheng continues.“I am Hua Cheng, head disciple of the Hong Gong sect.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Fu Yao, a cultivator from Huang Ji temple.”

For a cultivator from a temple that is so obscure that not even Hua Cheng, one of the smartest cultivators, knows about it, Fu Yao sounds awfully snobby. Hua Cheng has half a mind to almost turn around and return to where he was sitting, but he knows he cannot. Ming Xin really worked for this. So he does not falter and sits in front of Fu Yao, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“Ah, is that right? Forgive me. I have never heard of Huang Ji temple. Is it very far?”

“Not far.” Fu Yao answers evenly, his gaze impenetrable. “Just very difficult to reach.”

“A real shame.” Hua Cheng tuts with fake sympathy and then continues with barely concealed sarcasm. “I would have loved to learn more about this mysterious temple.”

Ming Xin watches with alarm as the two men not so discreetly glare daggers at each other and wonders with dismay whether joining forces to tackle the Ghost Bridegroom together is the right idea. He probably should not have forced Shixiong, but now that they are in a mess, he could only hope they get along.

“Hua Shixiong, Young Master. Perhaps we should forgo any more small talk and start strategising how to tackle the Ghost Bridegroom?”

“Perhaps we should.” Fu Yao answers after a pause while glaring coldly at Hua Cheng, who pretends to not notice it.

“Yes, Ming Shidi, we should. Please sit down and detail our plan and progress for the young master.”

So they get down to work. It turns out that Ming Xin did make a smart move to team up with Fu Yao because he has an uncanny amount of knowledge about the entire incident. Not the one to be left behind, Hua Cheng details the appearances, social backgrounds, ages, and anything else he could find of the brides who had gone missing.

Hua Cheng knows he has done a mighty fine job with his meticulous research because Fu Yao reluctantly acknowledges that there is a lot that he did not know about the case. Hua Cheng and Ming Xin helped him out immensely. Saying these words out loud makes Fu Yao look as if he is in physical pain because he can’t bear the smug expression on Hua Cheng’s face. Still, he knows he has to be polite for them to be able to work together, so he swallows his rage.

Fu Yao, too, gets his moment of retribution when he details the men he has already recruited to fight alongside him whenever they go up the mountain, something Hua Cheng had not bothered with initially because he felt he was sufficient alone. He grits out a good job, and he wants to punch the living daylights out of Fu Yao for looking so cocky. Who is this asshole, anyway? And how have his eyeballs not rolled back into his skull, considering that he has rolled them every two minutes for the past hour or so they have been conversing?

Ming Xin, who just feels happy to be learning from not one but two very experienced cultivators, does not care enough to get in between whatever not-so-secret contest the two seem to be having. He did try in the beginning to get the two to become friends, but when he realised that no matter what he did, it only screwed up things more between them, he stopped trying. 

It brought him some sense of peace, at least.

However, the fierce competitiveness between Hua Cheng and Fu Yao proves to be useful as they chart out potential strategies and put their brains together to work on a solution. With all their information, the three cultivators come to the same conclusion. This case is more exciting than what they had anticipated when they came here but more challenging, too. If they do not proceed with caution, there will be dire consequences. Like how a small fire provides warmth, but a raging one consumes you whole.

It’s a damn good thing Hua Cheng likes to play with fire.

Chapter Text

“It’s getting late. Perhaps we should head out to find some accommodations?”

Hua Cheng looks up from the manuscript he and Fu Yao have been reading while pointing out inconsistencies in the accounts reported by the villagers when they get interrupted by Ming Xin, who is bleary-eyed and tired. He really has been trying his level best to stay focused. Still, the long journey from their sect to Mount Yu Jun has finally caught up to him and worn him out. He can hardly keep his head up while his two seniors discuss amongst themselves.

“I think we should. You look exhausted.” Hua Cheng agrees and then shoots off a dangerous look towards Fu Yao as if daring him to object to this prospect. Fu Yao rolls his eyes at the uncalled hostility and then huffs as he starts methodically gathering the scrolls and manuscripts they have.

“Lend me a hand, will you?” He snaps at Hua Cheng, who is leisurely sprawled across his seat and has not been making any effort to help. Instead, the head disciple of the Hong Gong sect is busily fixing his hair, his fingers running through his sleek hair tied in a ponytail.

Furious, Fu Yao burns with silent rage and nearly explodes before Ming Xin jumps to his feet and starts helping him out like the sweet-tempered youth he is. Ming Xin makes small conversation with him, and even though Fu Yao gives him clipped replies and many sarcastic eye rolls, the young boy’s presence and words are comforting enough to calm him down bit by bit. 

All though every time Fu Yao so much so glances at Hua Cheng, relaxing and calmly fiddling with his sabre as if he has all the time in the world, his temper seems to flair up again.

When they finally gather all their stuff, no thanks to Hua Cheng, and set out of the teahouse, they are greeted with a loud commotion. Many folks have gathered outside the tiny building, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers and pointing down the road. They shake their heads and make disapproving clicking noises with their tongues.

The three cultivators, curious, follow the direction they are pointing at and immediately freeze up in shock. If Hua Cheng needs more conviction to truly accept that the locals of Mount Yu Jun are incomparably dim-witted, he gets it when he sees a bridal possession marching down the road. The bridal sedan is carried by eight burly men who look like they make a living by beating people to a pulp regularly. The ringleader happens to be a punk who is walking confidently in front of them.

“Do they want to die that badly?” Fu Yao asks, jaw hanging open at the sheer stupidity of the people. Hua Cheng finds himself silently agreeing with him.

“What can you expect from these dumbasses who took a hundred years to report this matter to someone? If they die, I say it serves them right. They are begging for it.” Hua Cheng grumbles in reply and crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyes narrowed in displeasure.

Fu Yao snorts. Then as if realising what he just did, he coughs and clears his throat, hoping no one noticed him laughing at the red-robed asshole’s remarks.

“Hua Shixiong, Master Fu, perhaps we should try stopping them?” Ming Xin cries out in alarm, ignoring his two seniors’ mean remarks and reactions. His face is contorted with worry. “They will surely die if we don’t stop them in this foolish endeavour. I don’t know why someone decided to marry off their daughter and send her on her way in such a turbulent time, but we can’t just stand and watch!”

Hua Cheng sighs, knowing that his Shidi is right. This is one of his jobs as a cultivator and the head disciple of the Hong Gong sect: protecting the common people no matter how stupid and foolhardy the said common people are. He took a sacred oath in the presence of his Shizun and elders, and he knows it is not something he can back out of.

Fu Yao, too, seems to be begrudgingly agreeing with whatever Ming Xin says, and he exchanges a tired but resigned look with Hua Cheng. They both know that the only ones who can stop this insanity from reaching its doomed culmination are themselves. Hua Cheng reaches for his sabre, and Fu Yao reaches for his sword. However, before either can step forward, a figure runs in front of the possession, crying shrilly.

“Miss, please do not go! These people are using you as bait to catch the Ghost Bridegroom. Please, you must not go!” 

It’s a girl with a very plain and rather squashed-looking face who has taken charge to stop the suicidal proceedings of what appears to be an attempt to catch the entity on Mount Yu Jun. So this is what is happening, Hua Cheng thinks to himself in amusement, a half-assed foolish dare with several lives at stake. Ming Xin looks even more anxious at this revelation. At the same time, Fu Yao rolls his eyes at the dramatic scene unfolding before them and comments at the girl, “So ugly!”

“Master Fu!” Ming Xin gasps, scandalised by Fu Yao’s sudden and unexpected rudeness. Hua Cheng can’t say he disagrees with the other Taoist; the girl is indeed very unimpressive to look at.

“This bitch! Ying, get out of here!” The punk rages and shoves back the girl, Ying, who had come running to stop anyone from going further up the mountain. “Can you stop sticking up your ugly nose everywhere? We are trying to get some work done!”

Thoroughly unimpressed by the people of Mount Yu Jun’s collective below-average intelligence, Fu Yao and Hua Cheng once again hold themselves back from stepping up to help, much to Ming Xin’s chagrin. It’s pointless, and the scene in front of them is also somewhat entertaining anyway.

The girl, meanwhile, doesn’t back down or shy away from the insult. Instead, she boldly charges towards the covered bridal sedan carrying the supposed bride. A few of the burly men push her back, but she stands stoutly on her ground and does not step back. In the scuffle that follows, the bride falls out of the bridal sedan in a heap, the crash resounding. The crowd Ohs in unison, heads turning, and some stand on their tiptoes to catch a better view.

Hua Cheng can’t help but laugh at the utterly ridiculous scene. A lifeless puppet’s head rolls down the road. The girl, realising that there wasn’t a live human posing as a bride, just a mannequin, breathes a sigh of relief and rounds up on the punk again, looking furious.

“You must not go up the mountain, or you will surely die!” She demands, voice urgent. She sounds angry and concerned at once, and despite having been mistreated by the punk’s gang just a few moments before, she does not stop in her noble undertaking of trying to save these people’s lives.

The punk, instead of feeling grateful for the concern, looks livid. He grabs her by her arm and shoves her away.

“Who do you think you are?” He yells, brash and loud. His face is twisted up in annoyance, and a vein twitches in his temple. “You wouldn’t dress up as a bride to act as bait, and now you broke our puppet! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you so hellbent on wrecking our plans, you bitch?”

“I-I-”

“Oh, I know!” The punk leers, “You don’t want us to go up the mountain and catch the demon because you are in love with him, aren’t you?”

“No! He is not— I—”

“Oh, shut it. We’ve all seen it. We know you sneak up the mountain regularly with food and offerings for the ghost. You have conspired with him and fallen in love and now you don’t want that entity to get caught.”

Ying shakes her head vehemently, too shocked to say anything in her defence. The crowd squirms uncomfortably at the allegations. The punk shows no signs of backing down and continues his verbal onslaught. “No one looks at you twice because of your ugly face, so you whored yourself out to anyone who showed you the slightest bit of interest, even if it’s a fucking ghost. We should have all seen this coming.”

Saying this, the punk pushes the girl onto the ground and menacingly draws closer to her, a dark expression on his face. Ying looks close to tears as she tries to get up, but the punk places his foot on the hem of her robes, preventing her from moving any further. 

Realising the matter is getting out of hand, Ming Xin rushes forward to help, but in the blink of an eye, Hua Cheng, fast as a bolt of lightning, has already stepped in front of the girl, towering over the punk. His hair falls back from his face, his gaze is icy, and his lips are curled up in a disdainful sneer. His red robes blow lightly with the breeze, and his sabre has been drawn out of his scabbard, the gleam of the blade blinding everyone around. He is like a panther regarding his prey: cold, dangerous, yet effortlessly elegant and beautiful. Instinctively, the punk draws back, and so does the crowd.

“You think you are cunning and smart enough to defeat the ghost bridegroom, don’t you?” Hua Cheng asks in a silky, smooth voice as he looks down at the punk. He looks so terrifying that the thuggish men behind the punk all exchange nervous glances. “Then go ahead and do so. I don’t know why this silly girl is being so noble as to try and protect a fool like you. If you disappear up in the mountains and never return, half of the village folks here would be glad not to see your ugly face again. Your own mother would not cry for you.”

The punk turns red, his face a mask of fury as he sputters incoherently, ”H- HOW DARE YOU?”

Hua Cheng shrugs carelessly in response, the smirk still on his face. “I am sorry, has no one ever told you just how insufferable you are? Am I the only one who has done so? Well, I’ll do it again and again till the words stick in your head.”

The punk, humiliated and burning with rage, rushes forward, screaming and cursing, aiming to take down the man in front of him, but Hua Cheng easily steps aside and then has him rolling down on the ground in agony with one swift kick on his back.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you are any match for me on any level.” He says calmly as he walks over the man in one long step. He gives him another condescending glance and then spits out, “Trash.”

Hua Cheng turns away finally, satisfied. All around him, he can hear the villagers laughing as the punk lies sprawled out on the ground, dazed. All the men he had brought with him step away from Hua Cheng when they realise they could all very well be next. They abandon the bridal sedan and their leader without looking back and run away as quickly as possible.

Ming Xin, meanwhile, helps the maiden up on her feet and whispers something in her ear. She looks down at her robes, tears filling her eyes, her face burning with shame. She tries to clutch her torn garments to reassemble them and make them look whole again when Ming Xin stops her, removes his outer robe, and covers her with it. Embarrassed but deeply moved, the girl bows and hurries away from the scene.

“What a show.” Fu Yao remarks with another eye roll as he joins the duo while the crowd disperses. “A pair of righteous heroes, the two of you.”

“Not everyone is as useless as you are.” Hua Cheng mutters under his breath, and Fu Yao turns his neck towards him so sharply that he almost cracks it. His eyes are narrowed into sharp, cat-like slits, and his nostrils have flared up.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing much.” Hua Cheng purrs and sheathes his sabre, giving Fu Yao a sly smile. “Accommodations, anyone?”

“Oh yes, please!” Ming Xin pipes up before Fu Yao loses all restraint and punches Hua Cheng squarely in the face. “Let us go, Hua Shixiong. I have had enough excitement for the day, and I think we should all get some rest.”

“In that case, let us go find a temple of General Ming Guang to spend the night.” Hua Cheng suggests. “This is his domain, after all; some of his temples must be nearby.”

“There are none.” Fu Yao interjects, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes. Again. Hua Cheng is so annoyed by this habit that he might just claw out Fu Yao’s eyes the next time he rolls them. 

“Why not?” Ming Xin asks, ever the curious and earnest soul. “This is very strange!” 

“Indeed it is. I asked around this morning and learnt that the temples of General Ming Guang would get destroyed inexplicably whenever someone built one here.”

“Could it be related to the Ghost Bridegroom?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it is a possibility.” 

Ming Xin looks utterly devastated. “This case is getting more tangled up by the moment and now we don’t even have a place to spend the night!”

“Who said we don’t have a place to spend the night?” Fu Yao asks, the beginning of a delighted smile tugging at his lips. It creeps Hua Cheng out because the expression does not suit Fu Yao at all.

“There is indeed a temple dedicated to General Ju Yang close by.”

—✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦—

Night has fallen, and all around them, nothing can be heard except the hooting of owls and snapping of twigs beneath the feet of the people in the bridal procession. Eight strong men, who are actually all trained military officials in disguise, carry an exquisitely crafted expensive bridal sedan through Mount Yu Jun. Moonlight shines down on the path, illuminating the dark and gloomy forest. There is a tension in the air, palpable through the frigid atmosphere of doom.

Hua Cheng walks right beside the bridal sedan, wholly calm and unbothered. He does not seem to care much about the fact that at the moment, he is on his way to deal with a vicious Ghost that has wrecked havoc for years. Indeed, he is confident of his victory. It is partly sheer arrogance in his capabilities that keeps him strutting leisurely. This arrogance is neither unearned nor undeserved, which is what makes Hua Cheng the skilled, capable and formidable cultivator he is. The other reason is to make himself seem as non-threatening as possible so he can strike down at a critical moment and take advantage of the unexpectedness of his tactics.

On the other side of the bridal sedan, Fu Yao walks in a much more guarded manner, alert and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His hands never seem to leave the hilt of his sword, his brows are furrowed in utmost concentration, and he looks mildly irritated by Hua Cheng’s lack of care for the situation. But it seems almost everything Hua Cheng does annoys him, so there is nothing new. They have spent two days in each other’s company, and both have made peace with the fact that their brains have been moulded in a way that would never make them get along. They are too different yet eerily similar to find a distorted image of themselves in each other likeable.

Inside the bridal sedan, the bride fidgets in apprehension. 

“I am so excited. My heart is beating so very fast.” The bride whispers while smiling nervously. “Hua Shixiong, are you sure the Ghost Bridegroom would not suspect anything?”

“If you quiet down, I am sure he wouldn’t.” Hua Cheng replies. “Brides are supposed to be quiet. Very mindful. Very demure. Not chatting away with their attendants.”

“I still don’t understand why I had to dress up as a bride.” 

Hua Cheng can hear the petulance in his Shidi’s voice. It is quite endearing. 

“Because you are still young and small and can pass as a woman. Not to mention, after Xiao Ying’s help, you certainly looked like a stunning bride.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Fu Yao chimes in, taking Hua Cheng by surprise. “Although I must say, he looked a ghastly sight before the makeover.”

Ming Xin laughs affably, agreeing wholeheartedly, but Hua Cheng is not at all impressed with the other cultivator poking harmless fun at his Shidi.  So he snaps out, loud and clear, “Well, he still looked better than how you do every day.” 

Fu Yao is so stunned by this sudden attack that he is not sure if he heard correctly at first. Still, when his brain starts to piece together the insult that just got hurled at him, a relatively good-looking man, out of nowhere, his face starts reddening.

“Alright, I have had enough of you.” He barks out and is almost on the verge of drawing out his sword, looking like he wants to duel with Hua Cheng then and there. “What is your prob-”

“Wait!” Hua Cheng interrupts him in the middle of his indignant squawking. “Everyone, halt!”

Fu Yao might be someone who gets on his nerves, but Hua Cheng knows he is an able warrior and knows when and how to deal with sudden changes like this. Sure enough, Fu Yao is quiet, and the two cultivators with other armed men stand in complete attention. 

“Wh-what is it?” Ming Xin whisper-shouts from inside the bridal sedan.

“There is something up ahead.” Fu Yao whispers back tensely. Everyone has drawn out their weapons and is anxiously waiting with a bated breath.

The movement is quiet before it picks up pace. At first, it is nothing out of the ordinary, just a few rustles here and there, but then it gradually increases. A faint howl resounds through the air. Wolves, Hua Cheng thinks lightly. 

“That’s strange.” One military officer remarks as he takes a battle stance. “There’s never been any news of wolves roaming on Mount Yu Jun!”

“We are in the right place, then.” Fu Yao says. “Everybody be ready. It’s just a few wolves. We can get going easy and quick.”

Their relief is short-lived. As a few dozen wolves step out into the clearing, disgusting humanoid creatures in the number of hundred crawl out from behind them.

“Fuck.” Hua Cheng curses under his breath when he realises what those creatures are. “Binu!”

Indeed, the group is surrounded by hordes of Binu. While these creatures are incredibly weak and dealing with a few of them is child’s play for cultivators as strong as Hua Cheng and Fu Yao, but hundreds of them? That is sheer insanity. Hua Cheng has the sudden and acute realisation that they are hopelessly outnumbered and trapped in the middle of Mount Yu Jun. 

“What the fuck are those?” One military official shouts in panic, his sword trembling in his hands. “I thought we’d been surrounded by wolves!”

“Well, what a shame we cannot serve you your favourite wolves to kill!” Fu Yao yells in frustration as the first onslaught of the army of Binu descends upon them. “I hate these creatures so much! Why them?!”

Hua Cheng doesn’t have the time to order Fu Yao to stop bitching like a spoilt princess for having to fight Binu before his sabre is out of his scabbard and he is locked in combat. He pushes his spiritual powers into his weapon and moves at a frightening speed, striking down the creatures with effortless ease. His swordwork is elegant, like a ribbon moving through the air—lithe and graceful. He doesn’t feel strained by the battle, but he knows that the situation is bound to worsen sooner or later.

He stays close to the bridal sedan, ensuring nothing gets close to his Shidi, who is unarmed, save for a small dagger, and defenceless. Hua Cheng had not been too keen on the prospect of using Ming Xin as bait, but he knew he and Fu Yao would not have been able to pull off the stint Ming Xin is doing. Since he knows that now, more than anyone, Ming Xin is the one whose life is in grave danger, he has to ensure he stays close to him. One wrong move and they are all done.

He can barely catch his breath from the previous batch of Binu he just slaughtered when more surround him. Screaming in frustration, he holds his sabre tightly and braces himself again. From the corner of his eye, he can see Fu Yao engaged in fierce combat and using exorbitant amounts of spiritual energy. The military officials who had been so proud of their skills and strength are nowhere to be found. It is just two cultivators against hundreds of Binu.

Hua Cheng hacks and slashes away at the creatures that mindlessly attack him. His limbs are moving on their own accord as he thinks of ways to successfully evade this meaningless hurdle set by the Ghost Bridegroom. His brain is churning out methods and ways to break out of this hellish place one after the other furiously. Still, nothing is good and substantial enough to actually pull them out of their predicament. The Binu are increasing exponentially, and Hua Cheng can’t even see Fu Yao as the creatures have entirely engulfed him.

“HUA SHIXIONG!” Ming Xin’s sudden, panicked scream makes Hua Cheng’s heart stop in terror. He turns around and, to his absolute horror, he realises he has been led quite far away from the bridal sedan while he had been fighting. Ming Xin, who had been trying to hold his ground against the Binu with his dagger, is now overwhelmed. The young boy slashes away haphazardly, trying his best not to get captured, but it is a futile and one-sided fight. The Binu are excruciatingly weak alone, but their strength, which lies in their sheer numbers, is crushing.

“MING XIN!” Hua Cheng roars, trying desperately to get back to his Shidi but these fucking Binu! No wonder Fu Yao hates them! He fights with everything in his body, but he can only watch as the Bridal Sedan is surrounded completely by the devilish creatures. And Fu Yao? Where the hell has he vanished off to? 

He keeps trying to get close, but the more he tries, the more he gets attacked. Panic rises like bile in his throat, choking him and making him nauseated. He can’t breathe. He can’t focus. 

Ming Xin is in danger. 

Ming Xin is going to get kidnapped.

Ming Xin is going to die.

His beloved little brother is going to die. 

And it is all his fault. Because he is too weak. Because he can’t fight off creatures that are not even classified as fierce corpses. 

A burst of manic energy flows through his body, and he starts hacking away at the creatures with even more vigour, but it seems like the more he tries, the more he drifts away from the sedan and Ming Xin.

He wants to start crying hysterically as the heavy realisation of his inadequacy starts dawning on him. His limbs are aching as he continues to move, jump, and run back and forth while swinging his sabre simultaneously, but even so, he keeps getting pushed away from Ming Xin until the bridal sedan is no longer in his view. Hua Cheng fights like never before, but nothing is good enough. 

For once in his life, Hua Cheng feels like he has been thoroughly defeated. And by fucking Binu, no less.

He doesn’t know where Fu Yao is. All he can see is the sabre in his hands, the blood on the ground, and the stupid creatures he has been fighting off for so long. They have thinned in numbers, no doubt, but he has a horrible sinking feeling about the sudden decrease in the attacks. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he knows that the worst has already come to pass.

“MING XIN!” He screams out an animalistic, desperate cry that comes tearing out from his chest. Hua Cheng hopes against hope his Shidi will hear him and call back in some way, but he gets nothing in response. 

“MING XIN!” He tries again, his voice shaky but even louder than before. He can feel his heart hammering in his throat. He has never felt more terrified. 

He still hasn’t stopped fighting, but his tireless efforts are giving him results this time due to the decreasing numbers. Bit by bit, he is able to find the time to breathe between his strikes. However, the extreme exertion makes even a task like breathing laborious. 

As he chops up the last of Binu, he starts running ahead again to where he hopes Ming Xin still is. He cuts through branches of trees hanging low and kills the occasional Binu he comes across.

The mountain is suddenly eerily silent again. Perhaps because the very purpose of isolating and abducting the bride has been fulfilled. 

No, Hua Cheng thinks to himself. Ming Xin is fine. Ming Xin is alright. He must still be in the bridal sedan. Perhaps Fu Yao found his way back to it before he did, and he protected Ming Xin. They must all be alright.

His chest is on fire, and his legs are going to give up. His back is slick with sweat, his robes have turned dirty, and the cloth covering his eye has been torn away. He wants to stop and lie down and scream, but he knows he cannot. He has to get there. He has to save his Shidi. He would never, ever forgive himself if something were to happen to him.

Abruptly, the bridal sedan comes into his view. Hua Cheng’s iron determination makes him run faster, but he knows it’s futile. He knows from how still it is all around that what he feared the most has happened. 

“A-XIN!” He cries, a wretched, broken sound and tears away the curtains frantically that cover the sedan, but it’s hauntingly empty inside save for a blood-stained dagger. His knees give up, and he falls down onto the ground in a heap, sabre abandoned at his side and head in his hands.

How did it come to this? This was not how it was supposed to go. 

This is all his fault. He should have known. Why did he allow Ming Xin to get dressed as the bride? How could he have been so stupid as to get separated from him mid-battle? 

Enraged, helpless screams resound in the otherwise still forest as Hua Cheng clutches at his hair and pulls at it. He can’t breathe, he can’t cry, he can’t fight anymore. All he can do is scream. His throat feels raw and torn like knives have scraped against the inside of it, but he does not have it in him to care.

“A-Xin!” He sobs out again, head turned towards the sky, face drenched in cold sweat and tears.

“I don’t think he can hear you.” 

Hua Cheng freezes abruptly as a rich, warm voice sounds behind him. He turns around, hands already holding up his sabre and scrambles to his feet, ready to attack.

And then he can barely hold himself up when he sees who it is.

It is him.

That man. The man Hua Cheng has seen a million times in his dreams. 

If Hua Cheng had not been acutely aware of the ache in his bones and muscles, the rotten stench of dead Binu, the horror of losing his Shidi and the absolute self-hatred for letting this all come to pass, he would have believed this as a dream. 

But it is not. The golden prince is right there in front of him, standing in all his radiant glory as if this is where he belongs. It is as if it is natural for him to appear before Hua Cheng when he desperately needs someone the most.

The prince is dressed in rich royal robes with meticulous and detailed embroidery done with red and golden threads. He is decked out in resplendent jewellery that gleams like the stars shining over their heads, and a set of white pearls hang from his earlobes like dewdrops. Despite being shorter than Hua Cheng, the prince has an imposing presence.

In one of his hands, he holds an intricately crafted white flower. One look at it tells Hua Cheng that it is a scarce and valuable treasure. It emits a faint glow and, when the prince steps forward, the flower leaves a silver trail like a liquid moonbeam. 

Although the face of that prince is hidden by a golden mask, Hua Cheng knows the beauty of those gentle brown eyes and soft lips that are usually curled up in a serene smile. He doesn’t see the expression the prince is making behind that mask. He sorely wishes he could because no matter how often Hua Cheng has seen this prince in his dreams, the real person in front of him is so ethereal that it’s making his eyes swell up with tears. 

This is perhaps what people claim is a spiritual experience. This is what it means to see god.

“Wh- who are you?” Hua Cheng stammers out after several moments have passed. His voice is raw and rough from the screaming, and it hurts to talk, but he knows he has to ask. The mixed feelings of intense joy and sadness have clogged up his throat, making breathing difficult. Seeing this man in front of him fills his entire being with indescribable bliss as if he has been waiting for this moment his whole life. He can’t tear his eyes away from his prince, drinking up the sight of him like the parched earth drinks water after years of drought. 

The phantom ignores his question and walks up to him till they are standing face to face with hardly any distance between them. He extends out one of his hands for Hua Cheng to hold. 

“Follow me?” He asks, his voice a sweet melody to Hua Cheng’s ears, one he did not even know he had been dying to hear for ages.

“Your Highness.” Hua Cheng answers and then feels surprised at himself for using this title for the man before him. Where did that come from? And more so, why did those words roll off his tongue so naturally? He doesn’t think for too long before he places his dirty and grimy hand on the spotlessly pale and soft palm stretched out in front of him.

Hua Cheng says, “Always.”

Chapter Text

It’s surreal, holding the hand of a person Hua Cheng had deemed as a figment of his imagination and following him into the labyrinthine depths of Mount Yu Jun.

He has no idea how long they have been walking. It could have been a few minutes or several lifetimes, and he would not have been any wiser. They are not talking, and Hua Cheng does not feel like talking either. He simply allows himself to be led through the dark forest the way a five-year-old would follow their mother. He looks at the golden Ghost leading him with awe, his heart pounding inside his chest like a hundred galloping horses. A deep, indescribable emotion he cannot figure out swells deep within him, making his entire being feel heavy and light simultaneously. He cannot exactly put a finger on what he is feeling, but it teeters dangerously close to something like love.

Somewhere, a part of his brain is sounding out alarming gongs because how is he blindly trusting a ghost in the woods and following him like a lost puppy? But the rest of his mind is in a blissful haze, so warm and comfortable that nothing bothers him. Once or twice, he hears the distant howls of vicious beasts, but with one wave of his expansive sleeves, all are silenced by the Ghost Prince, as if all the guards set up by the malevolent Ghost Bridegroom are nothing but insignificant ants.

Hua Cheng is practically sleepwalking. He can hardly remember his own name. It doesn’t matter though. He knows that if he is following this man, he is safe. It is undeniably insane to show such unwavering faith— his Shizun would probably vomit blood at his laxity— but it is as if he has been hypnotised.

No, Hua Cheng shakes his head lightly, chasing away his previous thoughts. He has not been hypnotised. He is fully aware of the pale and cold fingers that hold his hand gently; he can hear the crackle of dead leaves beneath their feet, and he can see how the Prince walks through what appears to be a dangerous array as if merely strolling in a garden. He can feel his uneven breaths but he wilfully chooses to ignore all sensation and sight and simply focus on following His Highness as if that is the very purpose of his existence. Following him through heaven and hell, right to the ends of the earth. 

Once or twice, he opens his mouth to ask something from the millions of questions floating around in his head. Questions that range from Why are you helping me? to How do I know you? to Am I going to die? 

But nothing comes out of his mouth. 

They stop at the edge of a particularly dense wooded region, and the Prince lightly tosses the flower in his hand up in the air. It floats over their heads for a moment before it scatters into thousands of petals that gently float inside the woods. The woods look like they have been bathed by a cosmic snowfall, simply stunning to watch.

Hua Cheng is unable to tear his eyes away from the breathtaking scene, his mouth agape in amazement. He feels like a child, wonderstruck by each trick the Prince plays out. He could watch him do this all day. He would place his head in the cup of his palms and sigh longingly like a pining maiden while watching the Prince perform all kinds of heroic feats with no shame whatsoever. The Prince, oblivious to his foolish thoughts, calmly starts walking again, trailing after the petals by a few seconds. The woods are suspiciously quiet, but Hua Cheng can smell a faint trace of charred-up flesh and bones. He is not quite sure what those petals just did. Still, he knows that this part of Mount Yu Jun was especially heavily guarded by a vicious formation. If they had been so vastly outnumbered by Binu initially, there is no way it’d have been this easy for them to get through the inner formations. 

Unless, of course, the Prince used those delicate-looking petals to break through the formation.

With every passing second, Hua Cheng’s appreciation for the man in front of him grows. 

“Why?” He asks as they continue on their path, his words so soft that he can barely hear them himself. “Why are you helping me? What did I do to win your favour?”

Predictably, he gets no response. Even if he was heard, his question is ignored like all of his earlier ones. No one ignores the head disciple of the Hong Gong Sect and lives to tell the tale, but Hua Cheng thinks this man can do just about anything with him and never face any consequences because Hua Cheng would never come after him for retribution. The Ghost Prince could trample him under his feet and he would gladly take it as a blessing.

That is the most frightening thought he has had in a while, but he knows not why he feels this way. He desperately wishes he did. It’s like the answer is at the tip of his tongue but every time he thinks too hard about it, it fades away like the last twinkling star when dawn breaks in.

As Hua Cheng is ruminating over his peculiar behaviour, the Prince stops abruptly. Hua Cheng inhales sharply as he almost collides with the back of the Prince. He swallows thickly, completely taken aback and overwhelmed by this sudden contact, before raising his head. In front of them is an old but suspiciously well-kept building, and the peculiarity of coming across it in the middle of nowhere somewhat grounds his musings.

It’s a temple dedicated to General Ming Guang.

How strange! Ming Guang’s temple kept getting destroyed everywhere else, but here, in the depths of Mount Yu Jun, one stands tall. 

The Prince turns slowly to face him, his long hair dancing in the cool breeze. His sleeves flutter gently as he finally takes his hand away from Hua Cheng’s palm, who suddenly aches at the loss of skin to skin contact. The Ghost’s golden ceremonial mask, engraved with many auspicious motifs, such as phoenixes and dragons, hides his expression; only unfathomable brown eyes are visible. For a second, Hua Cheng has the wild desire to snatch the mask off. Only the small, still sane part of his brain keeps him in check.

The Prince surveys him carefully for a moment, as if quietly calculating something, before respectfully saluting Hua Cheng. The gesture is so unexpected that the Crimson-clad cultivator entirely freezes up for several moments, his mouth hanging open, completely startled by this sudden but heartfelt act. He immediately returns the salute when he gathers his wits. 

“Please,” Hua Cheng asks again,  slowly realising that his time with his Prince is drawing to an end. He sounds urgent, the desperation evident in his voice this time. He sounds close to tears, throat choked up with gut-wrenching sorrow. “You have to tell me. Who are you? Why did you help me? How do I know you? I know I know you.”

There is a pause in which his words ring loud and clear in the otherwise silent forest. Behind the mask, Hua Cheng sees the Prince’s eyes, that had been carefully expressionless up until that point, widen ever so slightly as if staggered by the fact that he is not entirely anonymous to the cultivator.

“You do not know me.” The Prince answers finally, his words cold. 

“I do!” Hua Cheng insists, tears threatening to fall and only held back by sheer force of his will. He is unsure why he feels so devastated by the Prince’s complete refusal to reveal his identity to him because he is usually not the sort of person who gets affected by anything. But this blatant, cold-hearted lie? He cannot bear it. Not from his Prince. Not when this is possibly the first and last time he ever sees him. So he keeps going. “I do! I know you. I know I know you. How do I know you? Please tell me, how do I know you? You have possessed my dreams, you have lingered at the back of my mind every waking moment. How can I say I do not know you. Your Highness, I-”

“Your Shidi is inside that temple, taking his last breaths.” Interrupts the Prince as if he did not hear Hua Cheng’s piteous pleadings. “Make your choice. Do you want to argue with me for your answers, or do you want to save that young boy?”

Hua Cheng pales, his lips trembling. The ache in his heart grows so strong he can hardly stand its crushing weight. He was haunted by this person his whole life and longed to meet and ask the Prince about his identity and whereabouts. Now that he has him before him for the first time in his entire life, he is faced with a cruel choice. This Prince is unlike the version he has seen in his dreams; he is truly merciless. 

Hua Cheng knows that, in the end, there is no choice after all. Of course, he is going to save Ming Xin. Even if it means that he is never going to see this Ghost again, he will save his Shidi. The phantom might hold the key to all his questions, but Ming Xin is his brother, and he would turn heavens and earth to keep him safe, come what may. So he hardens his face and blinks back his tears, as if they were never there to start with, before he turns away from the Prince.

His back is straight, his sabre is clutched tightly in his hands, and he will be the man he always has been: cold, emotionless, and ruthless and walk away from his Prince as if he never existed to begin with.

“Thank you for your help.” Hua Cheng says, his back still turned towards his Prince. His voice, which had been trembling with emotion before, is eerily calm and cold now. He starts walking away from the Ghost and towards the temple of General Ming Guang. “I don’t know why you helped me, but I am grateful and indebted to you.”

“I hope you save your Shidi.” The Prince answers, his voice faint.

Hua Cheng turns at this, but there is no one. The wind might as well have echoed those parting words. Sighing and already feeling like what he experienced a while ago was nothing but just a dream, he starts running towards the temple. The urgency of the situation and Ming Xin’s life being in danger pushes him forward, and his mind is finally out of the comfortable haze it had settled in.

He tries not to think of the Prince as he runs. He focuses on his breaths, the Ghost Bridegroom, and the safety of Ming Xin and Fu Yao.

He almost believes he dreamed of the whole thing. 

Almost. 

Because the entire time Hua Cheng had been holding hands with the Prince, the Prince had slowly and steadily poured spiritual energy into his body. Enough to take away his fatigue and pain and replenish what he had lost that night. The process had been so slow and discreet that not even a cultivator like Hua Cheng suspected anything. Indeed, he feels as good as new.

As Hua Cheng races towards the temple, he mentally vows to himself he will turn the three realms inside out to find the Ghost Prince. Let him remain as elusive as he wants to be; Hua Cheng will pull him out from the bottom of the ocean if need be. He refuses to let today’s encounter be their only meeting.

Xie Lian watches him from afar, the most inscrutable expression on his face under the ceremonial mask. His eyes are tinged with a hint of red and his hands are tightly clutching at the hem of his sleeves, as if he is restraining himself. For a split second it appears like he would finally say something. But then, with a flourish of his robes, he walks away, disappearing into the dark he came from.

Chapter Text

Ming Xin’s head feels like it is going to split into pieces.

He is actually unsure if it has not already.

Distantly, he can hear something— someone— screaming, a whole lot of people screaming, actually, and all he wants to do is wring their necks and yell at them to shut up because it is not helping with his headache. It is a shame he doesn’t even have the energy to groan, let alone subdue anyone’s cacophony because he is sure his body is slowly collapsing in on itself due to that headache. Not to mention, it also seems like he is aching all over. The sensations are like he is slowly contracting and then suddenly expanding so as to maximise the pain he is feeling.

Where is he? His eyes hurt so bad he can barely push them open, let alone look around to ascertain his surroundings. He tries to open them nonetheless, putting in all his remaining strength in this brave endeavour but fails.

Oh no, is he dead? Is that why he is in such terrible pain? Because he is dead? 

That’s a possible explanation and definitely not out of consideration. He is a young cultivator, after all; death is something that is more or less always hanging over his neck. Heavens, he is awfully calm at handling his own death, isn’t he? Not that he can throw a fit even if he wants to because his body simply does not allow him such excitement as of now. Isn’t death supposed to end all suffering? Why is he still being tormented with such pain? 

And how did he die again? What led to his sudden demise?

Ming Xin struggles to remember the details, and bits and pieces of his memory swim back to him the way clouds float lazily through clear blue skies on a windy day. He had been—he had been swarmed by Binu, hadn’t he? Those disgusting, slimy creatures had been all up on his face and body, and they had been pushing him down and overcrowding inside his bridal sedan, and he had-

What had he been doing?

He had been… fighting? No, he had been trying to put up a fight while pathetically crying out for his Shixiong. He remembers the absolute bone-chilling terror he had felt when he had realised he was on his own against hundreds of Binu and the Ghost Bridegroom. He had panicked and cried and screamed and fought, and all the while, he had called out for his Hua Shixiong. Ming Xin had heard his Shixiong screaming back, too, but it was all hazy to him after that. Hua Shixiong’s horrified Ming Xin is the last thing he remembers before he had passed out due to sheer exhaustion, fear, and the hands of those revolting creatures around his neck, choking the air out of his lungs.

How embarrassing! What a way to die! Oh, he is so glad he does not have to see his Shizun here in the afterlife; he would not have been able to show his face to him. He would have died a second time due to shame. Choked to death by Binu! Forget Shizun; Hua Shixiong would never have forgiven him had they met!

“Stop yelling! You are all going to die like this! Do you all want to die? Stand in one place!” A clear voice rings through all the screaming and death-induced haze Ming Xin is in, jolting him out of his reverie. He makes a feeble attempt to put a name to that voice because he is certain he has heard it sometime before, but he cannot. 

“Stop bossing around commoners like that, Mu- Fu Yao!” Snaps another voice, this one wholly unfamiliar to him. Good grief, why is everyone so loud in the afterlife? “You know that will get us nowhere!”

“Well, if you are so smart, Nan Feng, why don’t you try to calm these idiots down. And- hey, where did that other cultivator go off to?”

“Who?”

“I am talking about Hua Cheng, Nan Feng. The cultivator who was wearing red robes.”

Hua Shixiong! 

“That red robed asshole? Who knows? I think he is dealing with that punk inside that temple.” Nan Feng grumbles.

Ming Xin finally manages to open his eyes and realises that he is currently resting on the ground, a bundle of outer robes swathed under his head to provide some cushioning against the hard and dirty surface. He also concludes that he is alive, and his soul is still fastened to his body. His heart is beating inside his chest, although feebly, and he is able to breathe. 

Thank heavens! The Binu didn’t kill him! Now, he will not have to die of shame. He can still save some face in front of his Shixiong and Shizun! All is not lost.

Ming Xin blinks, the movement surprisingly painful, and sees that over his body hovers a man wholly unfamiliar to him. He would have jolted in shock at this man’s sudden appearance only if he could have had.

The man in question has sharp features and is very good-looking indeed, with dark hair hanging in a low ponytail. He looks pretty solid and athletic, and if Ming Xin has to hazard a guess, he’d say that he is someone experienced in battle and knows how to deal with demonic energy, too. What had Fu Yao been calling him? Nan Feng?

He tries to say something, ask for the whereabouts of his Shixiong and confirm that he is alive. Still, all that comes out of his mouth is indiscernible blabbing. 

“Oh!” Nan Feng exclaims in surprise as he hears Ming Xin’s pathetic grovelling and immediately crouches beside him. He has gentle eyes but a severe jaw and a harsh mouth. “You are up! Fu Yao, Xiao-Xin is up.”

Xiao-Xin? 

Is Nan Feng talking about him?

“Is that right?” Fu Yao’s face, distorted with worry, swims in front of Ming Xin. He can see how relieved the young Taoist looks when he sees that Ming Xin is finally conscious. Oh, he really kicked up a fuss with his supposed almost death, did he not? All of his hopes of saving face are now slowly getting shot out of the sky, one by one. He really should have just died.

“I’m Dead?” Ming Xin all but croaks hopefully and then internally cringes at his state. What is he? An eighty-year-old man on his deathbed?

“No, no!” Nan Feng laughs. He certainly has a charming and warm laugh and voice. It is quite soothing to hear. “You are alive. Your Shixiong arrived just in time to save you.”

“Where’s Shixiong?” Ming Xin asks. Even in his addled state, the look Nan Feng and Fu Yao exchange does not go unnoticed by him.

“Ah, Hua Cheng. I am not sure. He rescued you by himself and brought you out of that temple. He was utterly furious when I found him; angry at me for abandoning you two. I had not done any such thing. I had simply gone to arrange backup.” Fu Yao explains this to him hurriedly, and Ming Xin tries his best to keep up with the sudden onslaught of words and information on his barely conscious mind.

When he says backup, Fu Yao gestures towards the man who is still crouching by Ming Xin’s side.

“This is Nan Feng, the backup I requested. We are from the same temple. He is- uh-”

“His cultivation partner.” Nan Feng says, a cheeky smile flashing on his face momentarily. Fu Yao practically hisses at him in response, face flushing as scarlet as the robes of the cultivators from Hong Gong Sect.

“Yes. That. He is- my husband.” Fu Yao clears his throat while still glaring daggers at Nan Feng. “It is our luck that he happened to be nearby when I sent a flare up asking for help, and he showed up quickly. Your Shixiong was still livid, though. Currently, we are trying to manage the villagers who sneaked up on the mountain after us. It is a complete mess. Your Shixiong claims the Ghost Bridegroom has mixed in with the villagers who sneaked up here, and we are trying to catch him. We are also keeping an eye on you since you are vulnerable.”

Ming Xin’s head, already spinning with the after-effects of almost dying at the hands of the Ghost Bridegroom, spins harder. He might just pass out again. Everything around him is such a mess that he is not sure if it is a wise idea for him to try and help these three cultivators. If anything, he is more of an added baggage on them right now. Really, the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks dying would have been more logical…

“I will go and tell Hua Cheng you are awake. He was worried sick about you.” Fu Yao says this as he sheathes his sword and looks around carefully as if expecting the Ghost Bridegroom to launch a sudden sneak attack on them.

“Don’t move yet.” Nan Feng says, his hand stroking his forehead. “I’ve been supplying you with some spiritual energy, but it seems like the Ghost Bridegroom has dealt you significant damage.”

Ming Xin’s stomach plummets at this news, eyes widening in fear. What significant damage? He has not…? He has not lost all his cultivation, has he? 

“Ah, don’t fret too much!” Nan Feng exclaims hurriedly when he sees the young boy looking practically on the verge of passing away due to pure alarm and trepidation. “Your meridians and golden core are intact. You just need good rest.” 

Ming Xin visibly relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief and then passes out again.

—✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦—

When Ming Xin wakes up, still groggy and exhausted, he realises he is no longer lying on the ground. Someone is holding him up in their strong arms close to their chest. It takes him another moment to realise that the person holding him up like a weightless baby is none other than his Hua Shixiong. He feels much more at ease. He’d have no one carry him like this other than his Shixiong. It’d be too embarrassing.

It seems they are descending from Mount Yu Jun, the Ghost Bridegroom already dealt with. What a shame he could not even learn anything from this assignment other than the fact that he should not traipse across unknown territories dressed as a bride. He is going to be made a laughing stock and he can’t even complain about it.

His headache is back in full force, and Ming Xin miserably wonders how long it will last before he finally feels fine again. More than anything, this assignment proved to him that he still lacks a lot of training and that he needs to work harder. He was nothing more than a burden on his Shixiong.

“I have been thinking,” comes the sharp-edged voice of Fu Yao, and Ming Xin listens intently with his eyes still closed, “How did you manage to break through the array guarding the Ming Guang temple? Last I saw, you had been using tremendous amounts of spiritual energy. How were your resources not completely depleted when you finished dealing with Binu?”

“Oh. I had help.” It’s a succinct reply from the red-robed cultivator, and to Ming Xin, it’s clear that his Shixiong is not willing to entertain further questions. However, Fu Yao is still not familiar with his mannerisms. Well, even if he was, Ming Xin suspects Fu Yao would not care. He has a penchant for pissing off Hua Cheng.

“Is that right?” Fu Yao asks, and Ming Xin can hear his mocking tone. “Where did your help disappear off to when we were all fighting for our lives against Xuan Ji?”

Xuan Ji? Who is this Xuan Ji? Ming Xin fears he missed out on a significant piece of lore when he was out cold. He will just have to ask his Shixiong in that case.

“Speak for yourself, Master Fu. I was handling myself perfectly against her.”

“Don’t try to act smart, Master Hua.” Nan Feng says, sounding exceedingly annoyed by this slight towards his husband. “You know what A-Yao meant. If your help was so capable, they surely would have stuck around to assist you with finishing the job rather than abandon you amid everything.”

There is a pause and Ming Xin feels the chilling, murderous anger of Hua Shixiong seep into him through his robes. This cultivator couple is truly gutsy, testing the patience of Hua Cheng. Or perhaps they are just foolish.

“Fine. If you want to know so badly, I was helped by a ghost.”

“A ghost? Was it Xuan Ji?” Asks Nan Feng.

Ming Xin is too weak, but if he had been walking along the trio, he, too, would have smacked his head at this question. This Xuan Ji character had previously been fighting with them. Why on earth would she try to help Hua Shixiong break through her own formation. He hears Fu Yao's disappointed sigh, and it’s also no wonder that Hua Shixiong sounds so condescending when he says, “Why would Xuan Ji help me break through her own arrays and formation? It wasn’t her. It was- it was someone I know. At least, I think I know him.”

It’s rare for Hua Cheng to sound doubtful about himself, and Ming Xin is very astonished by this abrupt change of tone and manner, and although the other two cultivators have not known Hua Cheng for too long, they too catch onto it quickly. 

“Someone you know? You know a ghost?” Fu Yao asks incredulously, suspicion and alarm evident in his words.

“I didn’t know this person was a ghost before I met him today.” Hua Cheng answers evenly. “I have… seen this person many times in my visions. He is a Prince. A Crown Prince, perhaps. He is also a cultivator. In my dreams, he always carries a flower.”

That man?! Shixiong met that man?

“A Prince.” Nan Feng repeats slowly

“What did he look like? What was he wearing?” Fu Yao asks, and Ming Xin realises he is trying very hard to sound calm. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Hua Cheng.

“You two sound like you both know something. What is it that you know?”

“Nothing!” Nan Feng answers too quickly. Then, after a beat in which Ming Xin suspects Hua Cheng had levelled him with a bone-chilling glare, he continues. “I was thinking of someone, but it can’t possibly be him.”

“Who were you thinking of?” Hua Cheng demands. Ming Xin, whose ear has been resting very close to Shixiong’s chest, hears his heart thumping away wildly. 

“It really can’t be him.” Nan Feng insists, sounding on the verge of anger. 

“How do you know?” Hua Cheng barks back viciously.

“Just tell us how he looks!” Fu Yao snaps impatiently when he realises his husband’s stupid insistence is getting them nowhere with the other cultivator. He, therefore, tries out a new approach. “Perhaps if you do, we can confirm if the Ghost really is the person Nan Feng has in his mind or not. This tussle would lead us both nowhere.

Ming Xin knows that whoever this person is, his Shixiong is desperate to get whatever shred of knowledge he can get his hands on about him. 

“I- Fine.” It seems like Hua Cheng has finally decided to thicken his face. Ming Xin feels his weight being shifted in his Shixiong’s arms ever so gently as he draws out something from his expansive sleeves. “This is what he looks like. I sketched his portrait a few days ago when he came to me in a dream. Have a look. Satisfy your curiosity.”

Ming Xin hears the sound of a scroll being unfurled.  

Silence. Absolute, stillness and silence all around.

“What the fuck.” Nan Feng mutters in crazed disbelief. “What the fuck??”

Fu Yao makes a squeaking noise deep down in his throat. “What the fuck?” He says, wholeheartedly agreeing with his husband’s sentiments, who still continues to mumble what the fuck in a deranged manner.

“Will you two stop cursing and—”

“Hua Cheng,” Fu Yao slowly interrupts him and his husband’s inane, enraged ramblings. His voice is composed, but the slight tremor indicates he is furious and— just a little bit— scared. “Do you think this is funny?”

“I don’t know him!” Hua Cheng all but roars at them. “I don’t know him! All I’ve seen is his face in my dreams! Today, he guided me through Mount Yu Jun! So what? You claim it can’t be the person you were thinking of, but judging from your reactions, it is indeed that person! So what? What is the big deal?”

“The big deal is that this man has been dead for eight hundred years!” Nan Feng hollers back, stunning Hua Cheng into a stupefied silence. Ming Xin almost falls out of his Shixiong’s arms, shocked at this announcement. This man has been dead for centuries?

“No one knows what happened to his soul after his death. All we know is that nothing has been heard of him since then, and today, you claim he guided you through Mount Yu Jun! The general consensus has been that his spirit dispersed after his death, and he has been gone since then. Your statement does not match this fact. Even if the Crown Prince of Xian Le has turned into a Ghost, one so strong that could easily crush a Wrath, why would he show up to help you after he has painstakingly hidden his identity for years?” 

“So what if he did?” Hua Cheng shouts back, having regained his composure. “How does it even bother you two? Ghost or not, what does his presence or absence even mean to you? Why are you both so upset about him finally revealing his identity to me?”

“He—” Nan Feng falters, struggling to come up with answers to this question. “He— err—”

“Him being a powerful Ghost does not match with whatever descriptions we have of him in our historical texts.” Fu Yao answers on Nan Feng’s behalf. “He was a noble soul who never hurt another while alive.”

“And it fits!” Hua Cheng insists. “He helped me as well!”

“One does not become a Supreme Ghost without ever committing any wrong deed, Master Hua.” 

“We do not know the circumstances behind His Highness, The Crown Prince’s death and subsequent rise in power as a Supreme Ghost. All we do know is that he helped me today; he is the reason why Ming Xin is alive, too. You might think it trivial, but saving just one life is enough to make you a god in someone else’s life.”

Such sincere and heartfelt words by the seemingly cold Hua Cheng shuts up both Nan Feng and Fu Yao.

Ultimately, Ming Xin does not know why Hua Cheng is so defensive of the Prince. It is rare for him to get so riled up for someone other than Ming Xin himself,. That is precisely why the young boy sorely wishes he had somehow been able to see the Prince too because he sounds wonderful based on his Shixiong description. Not to mention, he saved his life.

After this somewhat disastrous conversation, the trio breaks up. Nan Feng and Fu Yao trail behind the Hong Gong Sect’s disciples to secretly whisper amongst themselves. Ming Xin understands they both know more about the Ghost Prince than they are letting on, but it is seemingly impossible to make them reveal more information than they already have. 

As he ponders the strange Ghost, Shixiong’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “How long will you pretend to be unconscious, Ming Shidi?”

Embarrassed at having his act seen through, Ming Xin opens his eyes to find Hua Cheng peering down at him with a wry smile on his face. The black cloth that usually covers his scarlet eye is missing, and he looks disheveled and exhausted, with a few cuts on his face and one on his lower lip. Still, he is mostly fine.

“You knew I was pretending?”

“Of course I did. Those two might be idiots. I am not.”

Ming Xin chuckles weakly before lowering his lashes and whispering, “I am sorry, Shixiong.”

“Don’t be. I am just glad you are alive. I— I was petrified. You are the only family I have.”

A lump rises in Ming Xin’s throat when he sees the affection and concern on Hua Cheng’s face. 

“I am sorry for worrying you, Hua Gege.”

A brief but genuine smile flashes on Hua Cheng’s face. “Rest.” He commands. “You need it to recover.”

Ming Xin obeys him without any question.

Chapter Text

Summons from the Heavenly Emperor are the last thing Mu Qing expected that morning. It started off as a regular day, as calm and unhappening as it could be in the life of a lower court official, when Ling Wen, another lower court official working under Jing Wen, sends him a message stating Jun Wu demands his presence immediately regarding a matter that could not entertain any delays.

Of course, as Mu Qing is from the lower court, he obeys whatever is asked of him by any upper court official without any questions, but an urgent summon from the Emperor? That is mind-boggling. Jun Wu barely engages with any upper court officials until and unless they are among the most elite, so asking for someone whose status is as insignificant as Mu Qing’s is genuinely shocking and somewhat scary.

Actually, it's terrifying.

As he sets off hurriedly towards the Great Martial Hall, Mu Qing thinks of what he could have possibly done to elicit this sudden invitation. He is not stupid, though, so it doesn’t take him long to conclude that the matter must be about Xie Lian. After all, Xie Lian had been the darling of the heavens and someone Jun Wu still holds in great regard, his banishment notwithstanding. 

Could these summons be- could it be regarding that incident? When he had failed to defend Xie Lian against those thirty-three gods? It must be. That has to be it. 

Oh, Jun Wu is going to skin him alive. 

But he honestly had no choice back then! He’d even tried his best to make up for it afterwards; he really had. All he wants is to support Xie Lian. He became a lower court official only so that he could rise in the ranks and indirectly look after Xie Lian and the King and Queen and even that asshole Feng Xin. 

He has to explain all this to Jun Wu and beg for mercy; there is no other way. Also, why is he singling Mu Qing out? Why not punish all the other culprits, too? The ones that had actually been bullying Xie Lian?

Heaven is indeed a corrupt place to be. It is nothing new, of course. Mu Qing faced such circumstances a hundred times in the mortal realm. It is just saddening to see that the place supposed to house people of unsullied characters is somehow sometimes worse.

Immersed in these thoughts, Mu Qing arrives at the Great Martial Hall and announces his presence, his firm and calm voice not betraying the panic within his heart as it thumps loudly in his chest. He can hear the blood pumping in his ears.

Jun Wu walks out from behind a screen and stands tall and imposing behind his intricately crafted throne. His expression is solemn, his hands behind his back, and his posture is straight and regal. A chill runs down Mu Qing’s spine when he sees the Emperor; after all, it is not an everyday occurrence.

“Your Highness.” Mu Qing says, giving him a respectful salute, his head bowed and eyes lowered. He dares not breathe.

“Ah, Mu Qing.” Jun Wu says, voice grave. “Please follow me. I do not wish to discuss the matter at hand here, where we can be overheard.”

Oh, Mu Qing is dead. He is so dead. He is going to get obliterated out of his measly existence.

With feet that suddenly feel like heavy, lifeless logs, he trails behind the Emperor. A thousand thoughts race across his mind as he tries his hardest not to start babbling out apologies and excuses for all his past behaviour. His throat is choked up, and his stomach is turning in on itself so violently it is a miracle he hasn’t vomited all over the place.

They stop when they arrive in a different, smaller but equally splendid room adjoining the Great Hall. Bright sunlight streams in through a huge window that overlooks the heavenly realm, and priceless sculptures and antiques adorn every corner of the room. On one of the walls is a display of a dozen swords that are treasures so rare that Mu Qing doesn’t even feel worthy to lay his eyes on them, much less hold or use them.

Jun Wu stands in the centre of this room, his back facing the other man, his shoulders tense. Then, without any warning, he takes out something from his sleeves and holds it in his palms, still facing away from Mu Qing, his expression, therefore, unreadable. “Do you recognise this?” He asks.

Mu Qing swallows and slowly lifts his head and sees something akin to a cloth pouch and tilts his head, his earlier anxiety giving way to confusion. Reaching out for the pouch with still slightly shaky hands, he gingerly asks, “Your Highness, may I?” 

In response, he only gets a nod, and Mu Qing takes the pouch for closure inspection.

As it turns out an instant later, it is not a pouch but a long silk band dyed crimson in patches and blots. It takes him another moment to realise that it is not dye that has turned the white silk band crimson but blood.

Heart in his mouth, Mu Qing almost drops the band in horror.

His fingers tremble so badly that he can barely hold the delicate cloth. An epiphany strikes him, and he remembers who this band belongs to. There can be no mistake about it. After all, Mu Qing himself fashioned it out. He can’t possibly not recognise his own craftsmanship,

But why— why… does the band look like this?

“This- this is- is it- It can’t be. Does this not belong to Taizi Dianxia?” Mu Qing asks faintly, barely able to push the words out of his mouth.

“It does.” Jun Wu says gravely and finally turns to face Mu Qing. There is just a hint of sadness on his otherwise stoic face, which scares Mu Qing more than anything else. 

“Mu Qing, I am aware that you were one of the two generals Xian Le had appointed as officials under him back when he was a martial god. I know not what happened between you two when he was banished, but what I do know is that Xian Le held you in the highest regard and considered you a close and trusted friend and aide.”

No. Please no. Mu Qing doesn’t feel strong enough to keep hearing this. Whatever happened to Xie Lian, it is bad. 

“I do not wish to be cold and cruel and announce this news to you so suddenly, but there is no delicate way to go about this. Nothing I would say or do will lessen the blow or its weight. Still, my duty as the Heavenly Emperor and Xian Le’s former mentor is to at least deliver it to someone he trusts.”

Please stop. Mu Qing wants to scream. Please just stop talking. I am not his trusted friend. He hates me! I can’t bear it. 

Jun Wu breathes out a long sigh and closes his eyes as if he is in great pain before saying, “Xian Le perished at the hands of White No Face.”

Mu Qing sinks down on the floor, his knees suddenly too weak.

“I eliminated White No Face personally as soon as I learned of the matter, but nothing could be done about Xian Le. It was too late. Someone had already cremated his body, and all that remained of him was that white silk band.”

Mu Qing stares at the white band, his brain suddenly sluggish and slow. Nothing is making sense. What the hell is Jun Wu even trying to say? Xie Lian, an immortal being and one of heaven's strongest martial gods, is dead? Is this supposed to be a joke? 

But Jun Wu does not joke. He would not about something so grave.

So then, that must mean that Xie Lian is…

That he really is—

“There has to be a mistake.” Mu Qing blurts out incredulously, all manner and etiquette forgotten when he interrupts Jun Wu without permission. “His Highness, The Crown Prince, can’t possibly die. It’s not- It just can’t be! You- you must have mistaken someone else to be him. Forgive me, Your Highness, but I find it hard to believe. Xie Lian- he just- he is- he is the strongest with the most unshakable will and strength of character. He can’t die! It’s impossible! He is immortal! He is— He is—”

“Mu Qing, I understand your shock and pain, but I gain nothing by providing you with false information.”

He shuts up at that.

“I want to express my sincere condolences to you. I hope you will let Xian Le's parents know, too.” Jun Wu says after a moment. Then, without sparing Mu Qing another glance, he sweeps out of the room as if this little meeting was nothing but a short task he had to complete in the long list of duties he had to do every day. 

So cold, so impersonal. 

Mu Qing sits on the floor for who knows how long, fiddling with the white silk band. His thoughts have never been so loud, but he is not quite sure what is happening in his mind. An inexplicable feeling simmers quietly in his chest, constricting his breathing, and his head feels so heavy he is not sure if it hasn’t been filled with rocks.

This was not how he had expected today’s meeting to go. It’d have been far better if Jun Wu had just skinned him alive. What is he even supposed to do now? Inform the King and the Queen and Feng Xin?

And how is he going to do that? What the fuck would he say? Greetings! I have been sent by the Heavenly Emperor to inform you that your darling son has been murdered by a vicious entity that also brought about the downfall of your kingdom! Have a great day!

Mu Qing starts giggling. Oh, what a scene that would be! What a scene! 

Really…

He never even got to make up with Xie Lian.

There is a sudden, prickling sensation in his eyes, and he blinks furiously. There is no time for this. He has to go and inform Xie Lian’s family. Then he has to do the tasks his general had asked of him. Then, he has to practice his cultivation.

There is so much to do. He can’t just sit here idly. How does it matter if he never made it up with Xie Lian? How does it matter that their last memory together was that he chased Mu Qing away amidst curses and abuses? How does any of it matter? What matters is that Xie Lian is… that he actually is…

Fuck. Mu Qing really needs to get a grip and get going.

And so he does.

He does not recall getting up from the floor and leaving the Great Martial Hall or the entire journey to the mortal realm. It seems like it only takes him a moment to arrive at the dilapidated little shack that is supposed to house the once rulers of a great and powerful kingdom. 

An air of gloom hangs over the entire place. For a moment, Mu Qing selfishly hopes that all the occupants of this dingy little place already know the news he comes bearing, but the voices from inside the hut's paper-thin walls dash it all.

“It’s been more than a month, Feng Xin. Why is he not back yet?” Sounds the anxious voice of the Queen. 

“I’ve been searching all over the place for him. I will find him soon enough. Don’t worry, Your Highness.” Feng Xin says in a soothing tone, but Mu Qing hears the doubt and worries hidden in it, for he has always been able to read his emotions like an open book.

“Let him be! He wants to be an unruly child, always running off!” The King grumbles, and did he always sound so weak and haggard? Mu Qing’s heart breaks at the thought of this man, once so handsome and robust, having been reduced to such a state. It’s not even been that long since he last saw the King. How did his condition worsen so significantly so quick?

“My dear, we must be patient with him. He is our son. He will come back soon enough.” 

He can’t do it. Mu Qing does not have the guts and the heart to tell them the truth. He can’t tell the Queen that her son is never coming back. It will kill her. He can’t be so cruel to the woman who has always been kind to him.

“For the time being, please rest assured, Your Highnesses.” Feng Xin says again in a placating tone. “I will be back soon after completing today’s job. It will fetch us enough money for today’s meals.”

Fuck fuck fuck!

Mu Qing looks around haphazardly, panicked and scared, trying his best to find someplace to hide, but it's too late. The door opens, and out comes Feng Xin.

And this is it, isn’t it? Mu Qing can’t weasel his way out of this situation. He can’t run. He can’t vanish into thin air or just cease to exist altogether. He has to tell the truth. Right now.

Meanwhile, Feng Xin stares at him, dumbstruck. Myriad emotions flutter across his face in a few seconds. Confusion, disbelief, the slightest hint of relief and, inevitably, the one that Mu Qing had expected and dreaded the most: anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Feng Xin hisses in a low voice, clearly not wanting the other two people inside the hut to overhear.

For the first time in his life, Mu Qing cannot retort. He just opens and closes his mouth, willing himself to say the words he’d come to deliver, but his throat remains closed, and he is unable to make a single noise.

“Are you waiting for me to punch you?” Feng Xin growls and steps closer to Mu Qing and suddenly grabs him by his collar, eyes glowing with rage. “Why the fuck are you here? Are you here to laugh at us again and give us some stupid charity to make up for something shitty you did to His Highness? I will kill you this time! I will—”

“I haven’t done anything!” Mu Qing shouts and shoves Feng Xin, his body and voice back in his control. “I am not the villain you make me to be! I was just trying to help last time, and I am not here to— I am not—”

“Will you stop fucking shouting?! Do you want the King and the Queen to witness your stupid antics again? Must you make them so upset when they are already—”

“Feng Xin! Mu Qing!” 

Speak of the devil! 

The duo turns in unison and comes face to face with the Queen, who stands at the entrance of the little hut. There is a shocked but stern expression on her usually gentle face. “What is going on? Why are you fighting? Mu Qing, child, why are you here? Is it news of Xie Lian?”

Mu Qing’s mother used to tell him something about motherly instinct and how it is never wrong, and he always thought of it as a gigantic pile of idealised crap, but today, he feels the weight of those words. Because how does the Queen know?

“I— I—” Mu Qing starts, but he can’t get past that. It’s excruciating trying to come up with words that grasp the situation and are tolerable to hear. Words that are easy to stomach, but how is he going to make Xie Lian’s death easy to hear? How is he equipped to do that? 

Jun Wu was correct; there is no delicate way to do this.

Unable to respond satisfactorily to the Queen’s question, Mu Qing dumbly pulls out the blood-stained silk band and holds it out for everyone to see.

“This is… Lian’s? Isn’t it?” After a long moment, the Queen asks, her worn face turning pale and her gaze wide in alarm. “Why aren’t you saying anything, Mu Qing? This belongs to my son! What happened to him? Answer me!”

“He— Your Highness, I— the Heavenly Emperor has killed White No Face… to avenge the death of our Crown Prince.”

There it is out in the world. Now they know. They know.

Feng Xin stares at him like he has suddenly spouted two heads and is spinning on his heels. His face changes shades between white and red and purple, as if this information has exploded his brain. “How dare you make such a joke—”

However, before he can complete his sentence, the Queen crumples and faints and is barely caught by the King, who had been standing behind her. He struggles as he tries to get her back in the hut, his sickness-riddled body barely having the strength to hold himself up, much less another person. He pulls off this feat nonetheless, angrily waving away Feng Xin and Mu Qing when they rush to help, his face blotchy. 

For all the tension that had strained the relationship between the son and the father, the King looks shell-shocked, as if someone has sucked out his soul. In the span of a minute, he ages by almost a hundred years. He doesn’t say a word but quietly grunts as he carries his wife.

Once the King and Queen are back inside, Feng Xin rounds up on Mu Qing again. “Why are you spinning such outrageous tales? Do you think—”

“I am not joking! I am not lying! I wish I was. I swear, I’d want nothing more, but I am not—”

But he never gets around to his following words because he gets punched squarely in the face by Feng Xin, whose eyes are blazing and shaking with fury. 

“Shut up! How dare you? How dare you! He can’t be! He is immortal! He is alive! He can’t die like this! He’d never— What will I do for his parents? He will never leave me like this. He—” With every word he says, Feng Xin’s voice raises a pitch louder, and tears are brimming in his eyes. He has never looked more afraid and angry. 

Momentarily stunned by the blow and Feng Xin’s devastated expression, Mu Qing staggers. The bitter, metallic taste of blood fills inside his mouth. Then something ugly unleashes right from his chest, and he tackles the other man down till they are both rolling on the dusty ground, kicking and punching, biting and clawing. 

He is in pain. He has never known pain like this, pain that has no bodily source and just starts from the depths of his chest and envelops his whole body. He can’t get rid of it. It’s like someone tore down a hole in his soul and spirit, and he will never, ever recover from the loss of it. He will try, of course, to mend that hole with whatever tools he has, but at the end of the day, he’d always stand and stare at the void, numb and vacant.

And so he kicks Feng Xin and punches him, willing him to feel even a fraction of the hurt he is feeling. He pulls his hair in a childish but barbarous manner, and Feng Xin howls out in distress. It gives Mu Qing an upper hand, and he pins him down on the ground before the other man can retaliate. 

“Get off! You bastard!” Fen Xin hollers, still struggling against the man holding him down. “You vile little backstabbing snake! He is my best friend, and you did something horrible to him. If he is dead, his blood is on your head! How dare you come and pretend to be sad? How—” 

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Mu Qing roars, punching the ground right beside Feng Xin’s head, who freezes at this outburst.“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL! YOU NEVER SAW ME AS HIS WELL-WISHER, DID YOU? WELL, FUCK YOU ASSHOLE! I WAS ALSO XIE LIAN’S FRIEND! I WAS HIS GENERAL TOO!”

Feng Xin remains still as Mu Qing rages on, spit and blood from a broken nose flying everywhere. He looks terrifying, dissimilar to his usually immaculate self. Yes, he fights with Feng Xin and curses at him, but never like this. Not ever like this. He looks like a man possessed.

“You are not the only one who cared for him! You are not the only one whose heart broke seeing him fall and stumble and become something he was not. I stayed by his side when he tried helping Xian Le, and I— I know I left.”

“Yeah, damn right you did!” Feng Xin barks back and suddenly shoves Mu Qing away, who’d been pinning him down with his entire body weight until then. Mu Qing gasps in surprise and lies sprawled on the ground as Feng Xin scrambles to a side.

Feng Xin's breathing is harsh, his jaw is aching with the beating he received, and his vision is blurred either because of a vicious punch or because he is crying. With a voice trembling with all the hurt, fury and resentment he has bottled up inside him till then, he accuses, “You fucking left him when he needed you— when we all needed you— and you ran off to some random heavenly official to be his asslicker and Xie Lian— do you have any idea how heartbroken he was? And then you— you did not even defend him when he needed you! So get the idea of being his friend out of your stupid head, you damn mutt!”

“And what else was I supposed to do?” Mu Qing yells back, tears finally falling down his face like a waterfall, mixing with the blood from his nose. It stings, but he doesn’t have it in him to care, so he keeps going. “I did what I thought was the best, and you know what? I was wrong! I was wrong when I didn’t defend him. And I wish I did. I wish I could go back in time and redo it all, but I can't! I can’t.”

His voice breaks as his sobs choke him up, and Feng Xin stares at him, also crying. It’s hard to say what exactly they both are feeling. There is anger, there is hurt, and most of all, there is a chasm of sorrow in their hearts.

“And now I have to live with the guilt of leaving him and not staying by his side. I’ll have to live with the guilt of not standing up for him. For my whole life. Even though anything I did, I did it for him and my mother. This was what I thought was the best I could do. And I never got to explain my side. I never got to tell him I was wrong, and I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I was the worst friend he could have had, but I cared for him. I loved him. And he— He died hating me! And now I will have to live with that knowledge, too. That at the very end, Xie Lian died hating me.”

Mu Qing can’t say another word after that, his chest heaving with gut-wrenching sobs as he tries and fails to compose himself. It is as if all the emotions he’d been holding back since that morning are flooding out, and all the gates and walls he had erected around himself so painstakingly for years have finally been torn down.

All he can do is cry and cry and cry.

He hugs himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, muttering, “I didn’t know it’d come down to this. I didn’t know that this was going to happen. I loved him too.”

And then, unexpectedly, the most shocking incident of the day occurs when Feng Xin wraps his arms around Mu Qing, pulling his head close to his chest, hand rubbing his back and face buried at the top of his head, making his hair wet with his own tears. It catches Mu Qing so off guard that he does not even protest. He allows himself to be pulled into Feng Xin’s embrace, shivering like a newborn fawn.

“He didn’t hate you.” Feng Xin whispers hoarsely. Then, after a brief pause, softly he says, “We’ve both lost him.”

Mu Qing nods, and fresh tears flow down their faces, as they grieve for a person they both loved and both lost. Someone whose presence still hangs over their heads, bringing two bruised souls together in his death, a feat he could never pull off while still alive.

Mu Qing does not know how long they sit together huddled up like that. All he knows is that when they enter the hut, the King and the Queen rest together in deep slumber, solemn and unmoving.

Years and years later, when anyone would ask him to recall the events of that fateful day, Mu Qing would only be able to remember his brawl with Feng Xin, the tenderness that followed afterwards, laying the King and the Queen to eternal rest and Feng Xin telling him— begging him— to not leave again.

And he didn’t. He made a mistake once. He would not again.