Chapter Text
“To the Crown Prince!”
“To His Royal Highness! Happy birthday!”
“Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!”
A chorus of young voices echoed through a small clearing in the middle of the woods, where it seemed like half the teenagers in Xie Lian's entire graduating class had gathered to celebrate his seventeenth birthday.
He stood at the center of a loose circle, surrounded by people brandishing little plastic shot glasses full of alcohol that they raised high in tribute, then immediately drained.
When he woke up this morning, Xie Lian hadn't expected this at all.
Never having cared much for huge celebrations, he would have been content to pass his birthday quietly with his two best friends, Nan Feng and Fu Yao, but somehow the two had conspired and organized this little fete behind his back.
So when they'd suggested a walk in the woods near Mount Taicang after dining with his parents earlier, Xie Lian thought nothing of it.
Mount Taicang wasn't too far from the Xie family home, and they'd often traversed its trails, having played amongst the endless swaths of fruit trees and the blazing, broad-leafed maples since they were children.
Who knew that after a short fifteen-minute walk, a bunch of half-drunk classmates crouched in a clearing would blindside Xie Lian with an illicit birthday party?
“Thank you, everyone! I appreciate all of you being here.” Though Xie Lian was used to public speaking because of his school activities, he was still a bit thrown, and his voice warbled a little. “But please, there's really no need for you guys to call me that anymore.”
What had started out as a stupid joke on Nan Feng's part about Xie Lian being the darling of the school—what with him being the student council president, head of the drama club, and editor of the newspaper in addition to being much beloved by students, teachers, and stray animals everywhere, well.
It was almost like he was royalty, and Nan Feng thought it would be funny to address him as such.
It would have been fine if it was just him, but somehow, the rest of their classmates had caught on and dubbed Xie Lian, to his great embarrassment, the Crown Prince of Xianle High. And no matter how many times he begged them not to, they all continued to call him Your Royal Highness or some silly variation thereof.
The only one who didn't seem to get a kick out of the whole thing was Fu Yao.
But then, he always seemed to go against the grain no matter what.
“Fuck yes, there's a need!” Qi Rong shouted obnoxiously, his voice louder and more penetrating than the bass booming from the wireless speakers nestled at the base of a nearby tree. “Cousin, our family is royalty in this town! Why shouldn't they call you that?” he cackled drunkenly. “And you can all bow down to this ancestor while you're at it.”
Xie Lian winced.
While it was true that the Xie family was one of the wealthiest families in Xianle City, neither Xie Lian nor his parents cared to flaunt their status the way Qi Rong did.
“Nan Feng,” Xie Lian whispered to his friend, “please don't let Qi Rong have any more alcohol.”
There was no love lost between Qi Rong and Nan Feng after an altercation between the two resulted in broken arms for them both, but ever since, the younger boy had been very careful about crossing Xie Lian’s best friend, who was more physically imposing and a far better fighter.
Nan Feng's face twisted in annoyance. “Why doesn't your mother just send him abroad or something? Better yet, she should send him to military school. Let him learn some discipline.”
“Like that'll ever happen,” Fu Yao said in a wry voice. “Even if it did, they'd just send his spoiled little ass right back, anyway. Even Shifu has no patience for him.”
It was true that their martial arts instructor, Mei Nianqing, who had taught the three of them since childhood and had the endurance of a saint, couldn't stand Qi Rong.
“You know why Mother won't send him away,” Xie Lian said quietly.
Xie Lian’s mother and her younger sister shared a close but complicated relationship that became even more convoluted after his aunt eloped with the man who would later become Qi Rong's father.
At first, her new husband was sweet and charming, and all was well. It didn't take long for the facade to drop, however, and the man very quickly revealed himself to be an abusive monster who enjoyed beating his wife and child.
When Qi Rong was five, his mother finally found the courage to leave and return to her older sister, who was only too happy to receive her.
Unfortunately, Qi Rong's mother passed from illness shortly after that, but not before begging Xie Lian's mother to look after her son, who unfortunately seemed to take more and more after his father.
Qi Rong was extremely unruly, always lashing out, constantly getting into fights, skipping school, and stealing—typical juvenile delinquent behavior.
Xie Lian, who was closest to him in age, seemed to be the only person the fifteen-year-old respected, and because of that, he did his best to guide him in the right direction.
He took him out one-on-one, included him in activities with others, and urged him to attend the therapy sessions his parents had arranged, to no avail.
Ultimately, Xie Lian understood he could only do so much, and really, it was up to his parents, as Qi Rong's guardians, to set the rules, to guide and discipline him . . . but if he was being honest, the two of them were doing a poor job of it.
Xie Lian's mother, in particular, seemed to struggle with finding the right balance when it came to curbing Qi Rong's behavior.
Most of her “punishments” were the equivalent of a slap on the wrist and ended up making no difference at all.
Xie Lian watched Qi Rong from across the way as he joked, loud-mouthed and full of swagger, laughing with his little circle of hangers-on, then sighed heavily, feeling guilty.
“Hey. Your Highness.” Nan Feng elbowed him gently. The two of them had been friends even longer than he and Fu Yao, and thus, the other boy could easily discern what Xie Lian was thinking. “Give it a rest for tonight. It's your birthday. This is supposed to be fun, remember?”
“Yeah,” Fu Yao added, only sounding mildly caustic. “Can't have the Crown Prince of the school crying at his own party.”
“He wasn't crying,” Nan Feng snapped.
Fu Yao rolled his eyes. “Happy or sad, he always looks like he's going to cry.”
“Yeah, well,” Nan Feng retorted, “you always look like you have a stick up your ass!”
“And you look like an idiot!” Fu Yao shot back.
Unsure whether to burst out laughing or start crying, Xie Lian watched as the two continued to bicker with an uneasy smile. He was just about to stop them when his cell phone rang.
After fishing it out of his pocket, Xie Lian took one look at the caller's name and sighed again.
Fu Yao glanced at the screen and quipped, “Mommy Dearest, right on cue.”
Nan Feng sipped his drink, his eyes widening in surprise. “Already? It hasn't even been an hour.”
Xie Lian's mother may not have been forceful enough with her nephew, but she was the exact opposite when it came to her own son.
She doted on him and spoiled him, which Xie Lian didn't mind so much as a child, but the older he got, the more anxiously attached she became.
Lately, whenever he left the house, Xie Lian would get a phone call shortly after from his mother, who insisted she was just “checking up on him.”
“Ignore it,” Fu Yao said, picking up on his hesitation.
“Don't do that,” Nan Feng countered sensibly. “She'll just keep calling.”
Fu Yao sneered. “What is she going to do once her ‘precious baby,’”—he punctuated the phrase with derisive air quotes—“graduates next year and goes off to college? Call every hour of the day?”
“Don't pay any attention to him, Your Highness,” Nan Feng replied in an exaggerated aside. “He's just jealous because his mom doesn't care what he does.”
Fu Yao's mother had always been a sensitive topic.
She had been the Xie family's maid for many years and spent more time in their home than in her own. Xie Lian could never decide if Fu Yao was embarrassed by her profession, resentful of it, or both.
Whatever it was, Fu Yao's delicate face darkened with fury, his obsidian eyes flashing.
For a moment, it seemed like he might launch himself at the other boy when Xie Lian stepped in between them.
“Alright, enough,” he said, waving a hand. “It's my birthday, which means no fighting. Don't make me force you both to start training idioms.”
Nan Feng and Fu Yao visibly paled.
Training idioms was something Shifu punished them with any time they misbehaved or fought, with Fu Yao and Nan Feng on the receiving end far more than Xie Lian.
After failing to pick up the call, Xie Lian’s cell phone vibrated as it went to voicemail.
Great.
“I have to go call my mother back before she sends out a search party,” Xie Lian said, already walking away.
Ever protective, Nan Feng caught his arm. He had always taken it upon himself to watch out for Xie Lian, who was smaller in stature since they were little.
“Where are you going?”
“Well, I can't make the call here,” he explained, a tad exasperated. “The music's too loud, and most of the people here are drunk. If she figures out we're at a party, we're done for. I'm just going to walk up the path a bit. I'll be fine.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Fu Yao said in a snotty voice. “He'll be fine.”
Nan Feng's brows lowered in an epic glare as he released Xie Lian's arm. “Just hurry back.”
Nodding, Xie Lian strode away, following the path out of the clearing as his friends went at it once again.
It never ends with those two, he thought, kicking a few rocks and sticks out of the way.
The weather had been hot all day, well over eighty degrees. Thankfully, the heat had died off a little with the sun's descent below the horizon, but the humidity wasn't budging.
Grateful to have a few moments alone, Xie Lian allowed himself to wander a little, admiring the orange-red bark of the trees and their shivering leaves.
Once the booming of the bass died away, and he could no longer hear the raucous chatter of dozens of teens, Xie Lian deemed the distance suitable and pressed the call button under his mother's name.
She picked up before the end of the first ring.
“I'm sorry, mother,” Xie Lian immediately apologized with a little white lie, tugging on the loose strands of his long hair. “I had my phone on do-not-disturb during dinner, and I forgot to turn it back on.”
Mother and son conversed for several minutes. How was the walk going? Are the three of you being careful? Be sure to drink plenty of water. You don't want to get heat sick.
Xie Lian tried to ignore the twinge of frustration in his gut, all while assuring her, Yes, yes, we will.
Maybe Fu Yao was right. Maybe it was time to have a talk with her.
But not tonight.
Tonight was his night, and like Nan Feng said, it was supposed to be fun.
Scruuuuunch.
Xie Lian's ears perked up at the sound, momentarily distracting him.
Scruuuuunch.
The sound was strange, a little hollow, almost like something was being dragged or scraped.
What in the—?
He turned his head, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, when his mother's voice sounded from the other end of the line.
“A-Lian?”
“Sorry,” he apologized, and after repeated assurances that he would be careful, drink plenty of water (unlikely, unless it was mixed in with the booze), and not stay out too late, Xie Lian finally hung up.
Scruuuuunch.
The noise sounded again from behind him, and Xie Lian spun around, unsure what to expect, but certainly not the sight that appeared before him.
There, perched on a group of interlocking vines that looked weirdly like a swing, was a person in vibrant white robes with billowing sleeves.
This alone was odd, as most people didn't wear traditional clothing these days outside of special occasions. But even stranger than the clothes was the thing resting upon this person's face.
A mask.
The mask was white with a strange duality; on one side, the eyes and mouth curved down in a crying frown, and on the other, they slanted upward in a cheerful smile.
Altogether, the image presented by this person in the darkening quiet of the woods was extremely eerie, and Xie Lian froze, his heart skipping a beat as he stood there, helplessly staring.
The figure tilted its head to one side, its long black hair lifting gently in the breeze, and spoke.
“How are you . . . Xie Lian?”
#
“Who are you?” Xie Lian asked, taken aback.
“You know who I am,” said the masked figure. His voice, for it seemed masculine based on the sound alone, was resonant yet gentle and oddly familiar. “We are old friends, you and I.”
Old friends . . . ?
Suddenly, the whole thing seemed just a little too bizarre, a little too pat, and Xie Lian burst out laughing.
“Fu Yao, is that you under there? The ‘old friends’ thing gave you away. Didn't you get your fill when you dressed up as a demon at Shi Qingxuan's Halloween party last year and scared the hell out of me?”
The figure said nothing, only tilted its head further to the side and gazed at Xie Lian as if he could actually see him through the opaque exterior of the mask.
An icy chill shot straight down his spine, and Xie Lian's laughter died almost as quickly as it came on.
Maybe it wasn't Fu Yao under there, after all.
And if it wasn't him . . .
Thoroughly unnerved, Xie Lian cleared his throat. “I, ah . . . I've got to get back.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned, ready to flee, and gasped.
Instead of a single stretch of padded dirt, there were now two diverging paths leading away from the exact spot where Xie Lian stood.
His voice dropped to a whisper. “How—?”
While there were many ways to reach the summit of Mount Taicang, most people stuck to the main path that led up from the foot of the mountain, as did Xie Lian. He knew this path as well as he knew his own backyard, so how could he have gone astray?
He gazed down the length of each trail, looking for familiar trees, plants, or landmarks—anything to help orient him—but the landscape seemed inexplicably foreign to him now.
A cool wind scuttled through the trees, and then a soft voice spoke, “You ought to be careful walking about the woods on a night such as this. Choose the wrong path, and you'll never return.”
Xie Lian flinched and jerked around, shocked to see that the man in the billowing robes had gotten up from his vine swing and approached him without making a sound.
“‘A night such as this?’” he echoed.
“Have you forgotten what today is, Your Highness?”
Xie Lian was so caught off guard he didn't even react to the ridiculous honorific or stop to wonder how this person knew it was his birthday.
“I . . .” Then it hit him. “It's the Ghost Festival.”
Of course.
During the Ghost Festival, people believed the barriers between the realms opened, allowing ghosts, demons, and monsters to run rampant in the world of the living.
As a child, his elders had warned Xie Lian against being out at night during the Ghost Festival. Traveling down strange roads that seemed to appear out of nowhere was also not a good idea, and wearing all black, red, or white was a surefire way to attract unwanted attention from the denizens of the underworld.
Xie Lian looked down at his silk and cotton dress shirt and the knee-length shorts covering his lower half—both white—and cringed a little.
It wasn't that he believed in ghosts—he didn't. Nor did he believe that roads leading to the Ghost Realm could suddenly pop up out of nowhere.
That being said, Xie Lian didn't know if this masked individual truly believed what he was saying or if he was just messing with him, so he was unsure how to respond.
The other man seemed to interpret his hesitation as him being frightened and laughed.
“Silly child,” he said, tone mild and reassuring. “Come. I shall take you back.”
With no further discussion, the figure in white stood up from its makeshift swing, gave a grand sweep of his sleeves, and glided away.
Still hesitating, Xie Lian clutched his cell phone, unsure if he really ought to accompany the man.
Somehow—and he still wasn't sure how—it really did seem as though he had gotten turned around, and while he was confident he could eventually find his way back to his friends given enough time . . .
He glanced up past the heavy canopy of the trees towards the sky.
It was getting dark.
For the sake of expediency, Xie Lian decided to allow the stranger to guide him back.
After all, if things truly got out of hand, he could always call Nan Feng.
He could call him now, of course, but once he told Nan Feng he had gotten lost, Fu Yao would find out, and Xie Lian would be mocked and teased mercilessly for the rest of the night.
Exhaling sharply, Xie Lian hurried to catch up to the man in white, who was moving down the path on the left at a leisurely pace.
They walked together in silence for a few moments, and Xie Lian was impressed at how easily and gracefully his odd companion was able to move despite the length of his voluminous robes and the cry-smiling mask, which surely must have been obstructing his vision.
Suddenly, something occurred to him.
“Are you a performer?” Xie Lian asked, genuinely curious.
Sometimes, during the Ghost Festival, live performances were given at night for the amusement of the ghosts. In his costume, the figure in white would fit right into a period stage drama or opera.
“I suppose I am,” the man replied. “In a way.”
Hearing this, Xie Lian felt a little more at ease.
The motivation of a method actor was something he could understand because his secret ambition—even though his father would never allow it—was to be an actor.
Growing up, he had starred in many school plays, and earlier this year, he got to play the lead role in the community production of God Pleasing Warrior, to much local acclaim.
When he was on stage, Xie Lian felt free in a way he was not during his normal life.
He wasn't hampered by social or parental expectations, hounded by Qi Rong's suffocating attention, or struggling with the pressure to keep the peace between Nan Feng and Fu Yao.
He could just disappear into the life of someone stronger and braver than himself and be at peace.
“And you, Your Highness?” the man in the cry-smiling mask asked, steadily striding along with no regard for the fallen leaves or broken sticks in his path. “Who are you?”
Upon hearing the figure address him thus once again, Xie Lian couldn't help but wonder how he knew this nickname.
Was it possible he'd seen him in God Pleasing Warrior? Or maybe he'd just seen him around town. Xianle City wasn't that big of a place, after all, and everyone knew almost everyone.
“Me?” Xie Lian said, almost tripping over a tree root. “I'm no one special. Just a student at Xianle High. I'm going to graduate next year and go to college. Actually,” he admitted, blushing a little at the fact that he was about to confide to a complete stranger what he was unwilling to confide to anyone else, “I also want to be a—”
Sensing the other man's steps coming to a stop, Xie Lian looked up for the first time since they'd been walking, and his heart gave a tremendous start.
Before him was not the clearing where his friends were undoubtedly still partying and waiting for him to return.
This was something else. Something he never even knew existed on Mount Taicang.
“What—?” Xie Lian's mouth went dry. “ . . . Where are we?”
The white-robed figure turned to regard him, gesturing with one flowing sleeve. “Don't you recognize this place, Your Highness?”
‘This place’ was a broken-down temple of some kind.
Set in a copse of wilted maple trees, the temple itself was old, very old, and looked like it had been vandalized.
The outer ornamentation was missing, the doors smashed as though they'd been kicked in, and the scarlet exterior was blackened in places as if, as a final insult, someone had set fire to it.
As to whom the temple was dedicated, Xie Lian couldn't say as the establishment plaque lay on the ground, shattered into pieces.
“Recognize it?” His heart began to pound as a strange fog slowly rolled in, surrounding the temple and drifting toward the eaves. “No, I . . .”
“This is where it all began,” said the figure in white. “And ended.” He paused, and when next he spoke, Xie Lian sensed that even though he couldn't see the man's face, he was smiling. “Where it will begin again.”
“What are you talk—”
Xie Lian stopped, blinking rapidly as though his eyes were playing tricks.
Within the fog, glowing lights had appeared, shimmering with an eerie phosphorescence.
What the . . . !?
Something was wrong here.
Very wrong.
This place—to say nothing of the man who had led him to it—felt surreal, dreamlike, as if it didn't belong, as if it existed out of time, and by being here, Xie Lian, too, was now out of time, the proper course of his life irrevocably altered.
He needed to get out. He needed to get away.
Blood spiking with adrenaline, Xie Lian turned to run, but the man in the cry-smiling mask anticipated his action and cut him off with a swift kick behind one knee.
Xie Lian fell to the ground with a cry, his cell phone spiraling out of his hand, and before he could recover, the back of his head was seized in a terrifying grip.
The sense of strength coming from that one single hand was immense, and he knew the man—no, the creature, for Xie Lian now understood that there was no way this person in white was human—only had to close his fingers, and his skull would be crushed.
He braced for exactly that, but to his great surprise, the white-clad figure only sighed and began dragging him by the hair towards the decrepit temple.
“Let me go!” The pain arcing through his scalp forced Xie Lian to scramble to his feet and move along with him or risk losing chunks of hair. “Let me go!”
“My dear Crown Prince,” the creature replied oh-so-reasonably as he yanked him effortlessly up the stairs. “Don't you know by now that there is no place for you to go to? No place where I will not find you?”
With that, the creature hurled him through the open doorway, and Xie Lian tumbled to the floor, skidding through years of dust, dirt, and dead leaves into the temple's great hall.
Shaking and covered in filth, Xie Lian got to his knees and looked around, hoping to find an alternative route of escape or a weapon of some kind.
He had his martial arts training, it was true, but something told him that if he tried to fight that creature hand-to-hand, he would lose. And a broken bone was not something he was willing to risk right now.
After glancing around, Xie Lian was not surprised to see that there was no statue in the main hall of the temple. Just the blackened remains of the base and a cracked, empty altar.
On each side of the altar, something was written on the pillars, but the characters had been brutally lacerated over and over to the point where they were almost unrecognizable.
. . . Body in . . . Abyss . . . Xie Lian read silently, trying to decipher them. Heart in . . . Paradise?
Body in Abyss, Heart in Paradise.
Suddenly, Xie Lian’s entire body jerked as a flame of recognition sparked a whirl of images in his mind.
“What is this?” the cultivator asked, gazing down at him.
The cultivator was handsome, of an indeterminate age, and dressed in simple robes. He was passing by when he spotted Xie Lian kneeling at the head of a bridge, right next to the tree he had just finished planting in the earth.
The battle with the ghost that had terrorized the bridge for many years had been long and arduous, and Xie Lian thought it only right to send off such a formidable foe with respect after vanquishing him.
“Body in abyss,” he said to the cultivator, allowing a small shower of dirt to fall from his fingers to hallow the grave. “Heart in paradise.”
The cultivator stared at him for a moment, then smiled. Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding white light and—
Xie Lian's consciousness abruptly snapped back to the present with so much force it triggered an instant headache, and his stomach was almost sick.
Groaning, he curled in on himself and clutched both sides of his head.
What the hell was that?!
“Oh?” said the figure from behind him. “Is it starting already?”
Xie Lian looked over and saw the creature silhouetted in the fragmented doorway, surrounded by little floating wisps of greenish-blue flames. The strange lights reflected off the surface of the cry-smiling mask with a chilling effect.
“Please,” Xie Lian pleaded. “I don't know what you're talking about. Just let me—”
The white-clad figure clicked his tongue as though he were thoroughly disappointed in Xie Lian's response and moved toward him.
Xie Lian stood up, but his head still hurt something fierce, and his vision swam, causing him to waver drunkenly on his feet as he instinctively tried to escape from the thing coming at him.
But, of course, the creature in white was far faster than Xie Lian and quickly seized him by the neck, driving him back until he smacked into the altar.
“Please, stop,” Xie Lian begged as the masked figure leaned over him, his pulse thundering against the cold fingers digging into the side of his throat.
Without warning, the hand clamped shut like a vice, squeezing as it lifted Xie Lian into the air and then slammed him down on the altar.
Stars exploded in his vision, and all the air rushed out of his lungs. The broken statue base dug into his back, cutting him through his shirt in several places, and he could taste blood in his mouth.
For several agonizing moments, all Xie Lian could do was lay there, stunned, before finding his voice.
“Who . . . are you?” he asked for the second time that night.
“You know who I am,” the creature replied once again, fingers leaving Xie Lian's neck to sweep the tangled locks of his hair, long since loosened from its ponytail, away from his forehead and cheeks.
His ministrations were gentle, almost careful, like he was trying to comfort someone very dear to him, and they scared Xie Lian much more than his violence had thus far.
“No, I don't,” Xie Lian moaned, tears running down his cheeks as he squirmed. “I don't! You're insane. You're insane! Just tell me what the hell you want!”
The hand caressing him slowly withdrew, and the figure stepped back. Then, a hollow clang and a strange scraping could be heard—the sound of metal being dragged on stone.
Xie Lian rolled his head to the side and trembled.
The creature held a sword at his side. The blade was deadly looking and impossibly black, like a night sky devoid of stars.
“What do I want, Your Highness?” he said, raising the sword high, the silver grain winking at him. “I want to pick up where we left off.”
Xie Lian opened his mouth—whether to rage or to scream or to call out for help, he didn't know—but his voice was immediately silenced by the thrust of that vicious-looking blade into his abdomen.
He watched, lips opening and closing soundlessly, as the black blade was savagely ripped out and then stabbed back down.
“Does it hurt, Your Highness?” the figure in white asked, pulling the sword free once again from its sheath of flesh and splattering hot blood everywhere.
The pain was unlike anything Xie Lian had ever experienced; the sensation of skin splitting, his internal organs punctured and sliced, was more than he could bear, and yet . . . he could not scream.
“Does it hurt?” the creature asked again, this time pointing the blade at his chest before plunging it down.
Red drops clung to the surface of the cry-smiling mask, making the creature’s bizarre visage look even more terrifying as he went about his grisly work.
He chose a different body part, and then another, and another, always asking the same question.
The sword skewered Xie Lian's wrist.
“Does it hurt?”
Pierced his thigh.
“Does it hurt?”
Cut across his throat.
“Does it hurt?”
Sliced both ankles.
“Does it hurt? Does it hurt? DOES IT—”
“Sir?”
“—HURT??”
“Sir? Sir?” A hand tapped Xie Lian's shoulder, giving it a little shake and freeing his consciousness from the nightmare in which it was trapped.
Xie Lian sat upright with a startled gasp and stared at the bus driver, who looked a little worse for wear for having driven ten hours straight.
“We've arrived,” the bus driver informed him.
Xie Lian looked around and saw that all the other seats were empty. He was the last one left.
“Sorry!” he exclaimed, closing the open book splayed across his lap, then jumped up to gather his coat and bag.
“It's alright,” the driver assured him. “It's a long drive. Happens all the time.”
He watched as Xie Lian gathered his things and straightened the white silk scarf around his neck. As he waited, he decided to make a polite attempt at conversation. “So what brings you to Mount Yujun, young man?”
“Oh,” Xie Lian said, flashing a smile as he attempted to get his heart rate back under control. “Nothing special.”
I'm just here to find a ghost.