Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He knows he’s dying.

That’s probably for the best. He has been hoping to die for years now. He can’t be sure for how long though.

Time doesn’t flow in this hell. Time stays stagnant. It lingers, on and on mixing with this permanent state of agony until he’s not sure he even exists anymore as something that is not pure pain.

There was a before though. He knows that because sometimes when he can no longer take it, when he’s sure he is long past his limit but can do nothing other than endure, when it happens.

He dreams.

The dreams aren’t kind to him. They are also filled with pain, just like his reality.

Sometimes the pain is physical. Just as he can feel the stake in his heart and the marble under his arms and the pool of blood surrounding him and the bitter cold that envelops him, he can also feel pain in the dreams.

He can feel the sword plunging at his body again and again until he is nothing but a disgusting pile of flesh, destroyed by the mob he wanted to protect.

Other times, he can feel the silk on his neck tightening.

Sometimes the pain in mental.  Misery at the sight of his friend pointing a sword at him.

His closest companion thinking he lost his mind and oh so easily leaving. It’s better that he left, he thinks. He will only hate me a little if he leaves now.

Grief at the sight of two bodies, once adorned in gold and fine silk, now in little more than drags, hang from the ceiling.

Raw agony when that man in the smiling mask looks at him, raising his sword at the sky and gathering that awful cloud of resentment all around him until not even his mask remains .

 Bitterness piles up at the sight of his ruined temples that used to gather so many of his people.

The darling of the heavens. What a cruel joke.

Dreams are hardly ever kind. But they remind him that he used to be something. Someone who wasn’t trapped down here, unable to move, unable to breathe or feel anything other than the pain or the cold sticky blood.

Dreams serve as reminders.

Reminders are not a good thing.

But he can only endure. He cannot escape. He tried.

He also remembers how it felt when his arms broke after hitting the lid of the casket. He can’t break marble. Not in his current state.

The silk trapped in this hell with him tried to wrap itself around his broken limbs. The thing cannot escape either, not even from any small openings between the coffin and the lid. It stays with him. It tries to comfort him.

He cannot remember what he used to call it.

Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. He can only dream.

He dreams of dying.

He dreams of being rescued. Of his old friends whose faces he can no longer remember finding his coffin and oh so gently removing his freezing body from that small hell and helping him walk out.

He dreams of being reunited with his parents in death. Sometimes he cries in his mother’s arms as she rubs his back, whispering soft nothings to her son.

Sometimes he yells at them through his sobs, demanding an explanation. Asking why they left him when all he needed was to be loved. To be believed in.

He wakes up in tears that fall from his eyes down to his ears, down to his hair where they mix into the puddle of blood that envelops his every inch.

Twice, he dreamt of that unnamed soldier opening the coffin.

The first time, the man helped him get out. He called him “Your Highness” again. He helped him remember he used to be called that.

 He remembered when that man called him that and he, the fool, hated him for it.

 “Your highness will always be your highness”.

The second time he got inside the coffin with him. He even had that sword with him. And as he lay on top of the body in the coffin, he stabbed them both with it.

“Come with me, your Highness. It’s the least of what we deserve.”

He hates seeing the soldier in his dreams.

Trapped and forgotten by all, unable to escape or call for help, he can no longer make it up to him. He died for him- the least he can do is stay alive, even in this hell. But he wanted to find him again.

He can’t.

He used to be able to defeat monsters and armies.  He can barely lift his arm now.

It hurts.

Worse than the dreams are the hallucinations, because they are always of Him. In his white funeral garb, the monster mocks him.

“Sad, how sad. Look at what they did to you.”

He hopes he can die just so he can stop seeing that mask so close to his face.

“Silly boy. You know you cannot die. Try asking me for help.”

“Agree to come with me and I will help you. I’ll get you out of here, just like in your dreams”

He knows this is a hallucination. That is why he remains silent, waiting for the dreams to claim him again.

What a pitiful existence.

The shackles on his neck are tight. He can feel them get tighter every time he wakes up from the dream. Dimly, he wonders how long this thing can keep him on the verge of death for. There must be a limit. Is he finally close to that limit?

Maybe he will finally see his mother again. She will fuss about the state of him, his tangled hair and tattered robes and tell him to go clean up before his father comes and sees the mess and he will laugh and tell her not to worry about it, his friend is distracting the king so he will have more time.

Not that his friend would still do that.

Maybe he will see the soldier again with his beloved. He separated them twice already. He will apologize and leave them be.

He hopes he doesn’t see the monster, if he is still allowed to hope.

He can’t breathe again. Are the dreams going to claim him, or is it death?

He wishes he could see the sun again if it’s the latter. He can only see darkness ahead of him.

The silk, will it die with him? It’s part of him after all. He hopes it will. He doesn’t want to leave that poor thing alone.

Tighter and tighter and tighter, the shackles pulse again and again as if they’re alive.

This is it.

He hears something. The first sound he hears in…a long time. And then he can no longer feel a thing.

The pain is gone.

The agony and the ache are gone.

The cold remains.

Chapter Text

Hua Cheng stares at the statue in front of him. He stares at the features he memorized long ago, the soft brows and the gentleness of the man possessing them.

It’s his Highness’s birthday today. He wonders if he’s aware of that. Could he be celebrating?

He hopes he’s not alone.

It’s been 809 years since the last time he saw his highness in that day at Lan’er Bay.

The first and only day where he finally managed to protect him.

He was truly happy in that moment. Dying for his prince, his god, was the greatest honor he could hope for. Managing to protect him from that monster after so long finally made him feel worthy.

It made him feel that, in that moment ,I it’s alright for him to exist, since he’s protecting his god.

He no longer feels proud.  Or happy .

He still hasn’t managed to find him.

So many leads over the years have led him nowhere.

Sometimes he arrived too late, the cultivator  with the mysterious sentient silk being long gone. Other times, the leads were nothing but false rumors, causing the small hope burning in his chest to die out.

He used to lave leads. Vagye and scattered across the land, but they were there.

There haven’t been any in 500 years.

He hasn’t stopped searching. He does not dare to even entertain the possibility that the search is now pointless. He might be a blasphemous man, but he remains a devoted believer.

He will find him eventually. He just has to keep looking.

He pays his respects to his God’s statue, hoping he’s safe.

(He knows he’s not. How could he be?)

He hopes they’ll meet again.

“Forgive this lowly one, your Highness. I will keep my promise to you.”

“I want to protect them.”

(What a cruel joke. He cannot protect his god. )

(He can only search for him.)

He can only hope that-

“Stop ignoring me, you bastard.”

Black water’s voice sounds in his head again. Hua Cheng smiles at the interruption, welcome for once, and opens his array.

“What is it.”

“White Sword attacked again.”

Hua cheng can’t suppress a smile at that. “Jun Wu?”

“Try to sound a little  less happy. Heaven is in chaos again and they called for a meeting. Everyone’s here and they’re all yelling in the hall.”

“Poor you. What did he do this time?”

White Sword Razed Altar. Quite a simple name.  Certainly lacked the creativity his and He Xuan’s names have.

A ghost that is not a calamity simply because Mt Tonglu hasn’t opened these past few years . Powerful enough to regularly attack Jun Wu’s temples and succeed in destroying them. Powerful enough for heaven to fear him, just like they fear Hua Cheng .  Quite the feat for a ghost of  barely 100 years of age .

“Burnt 3 temples in the north. Only ashes remained. All belonged to un Wu too- he doesn’t look happy about it. The cowards are hoping to assemble a team to track him down. Again.”

“You volunteer then. Try to find him so we can finally talk to him.”

A powerful and elusive ghost that targets the heavenly emperor would be a good ally to have, for both of them.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how this will go.” He Xuan sound even more annoyed than before.”They won’t find him. They never do- that bastard is too good at escaping.”

“True, but an ally wouldn’t hurt. If he hates the gods enough, he can help you with your little revenge scheme” Hua Cheng smirks, knowing he caught Black Water’s interest.

“Implying we also help him with his whatever-the-fuck this is.”He Xuan grumbles.”I’m not too keen on joining his scheme of tearing down the heavens. Just two gods are enough for me.”

“A shame. I’ll make sure to let him know, then.” Hua Cheng sighs. It’s always fun to provoke He Xuan. He waits for the realization to hit.

Silence.  And then “You son of a bitch. You know where he is , don’t you?”

Hua Cheng makes sure He Xuan hears him laugh before he closes the array.

White Sword. Truly an interesting man. Nothing is known about him. Not the place he originates from, not his appearance, not his goal. The only thing they’re aware of is his…distaste for his Majesty. Reasonable, Hua Cheng thinks. He’s not too keen on the Heavenly Emperor himself.

 His attacks are always randomly timed and in different regions-the only thing they have in common is their target- the temple’s altar is always at the center of the destruction. For the building itself, even the degree of destruction differs- sometimes nothing remains of the temple while other times only the altar is ruined. He’s also able to avoid the guards heaven has placed on Jun Wu’s temples, and always leaves before reinforcements arrive.

 Maybe Hua Cheng can strike a deal with him, just like he has with black water. A new ally powerful enough to strike enough fear in heaven , dangerous enough that there are now guards stationed outside Jun Wu’s temples could be of use to him.

As long as he manages to find his Highness.  That’s all that matters.

He turns to face the statue again. It’s one of his finest works, but still can’t fully  capture the God’s essence. The warmth and gentleness combined with absolute strength.

Hua Cheng is a blasphemous man, he’s well aware of that. He gently cups the statue’s face, bringing his forehead close to the marble.

This is all he will allow himself to do.

The stone is cold.

He remembers his God’s skin being so hot to the touch that horrifying  day in the cave.

The stone can’t come close to the real man.

It’s the closest thing Hua Cheng has had for the past centuries.

“Happy Birthday, your Highness.”His voice is a small thing for once, barely above a whisper.”Please. Wait for me.”

He takes a step back.

His idea of forming an alliance with Whit Sword to find his God isn’t a new one-Yin Yu has been on his tail for nearly a decade now, Hua Cheng himself has his butterflies stationed close to Jun Wu’s temples, waiting for a figure to arrive.

 And yesterday, he finally found it.

He gently closed the door of the temple, making his way to the mortal realm. There is a man he wants to meet.

Something tells him that man is also waiting for him.