Chapter Text
Zhou Zishu stares at the wall on the far end of his dark prison cell, the steady drip of water elsewhere in the dungeons being the only indication that time is passing at all. A chilly dampness has long settled into his bones, bringing back unpleasant memories from the Hantan Cave. Though the great martial god has lived through situations far more adverse than the environment he is in now, Zhou Zishu’s nerves feel frayed, unsettled, a sixth sense of dread preventing him from meditating effectively.
They had taken Wen Kexing to a different place after their capture at the Marriage Manor. The red string of fate, which had felt light and whimsical before, now sits like a heavy reminder around his wrist.
Zhou Zishu waits.
The echo of footsteps down the stone corridor is deafening after an eternity of silence. Zhou Zishu remains on the bed with his eyes closed, his legs crossed in the perfect posture of a meditating man, undisturbed by mortal affairs. When the footsteps stop outside his cell, he opens his eyes slowly.
“Ai, you must have suffered much discomfort over the past few days, haven’t you,” Helian Yi says, sighing sympathetically.
“This humble subject thanks His Imperial Majesty for his concern,” Zhou Zishu replies, rising from the bed to approach the prison bars.
Helian Yi appraises Zhou Zishu’s appearance, which is weary from his time in the cell but no less proud, as if no hardship could ever strip the pride that has settled into the very bones of the martial god. “Do not worry. I am certain we will be able to clear up this misunderstanding quickly, and you will be released in short order. Whoever called for your mistaken arrest shall be reprimanded accordingly.”
“What will happen to A-Xing?” Zhou Zishu asks, ignoring his words.
“I will hold trial, and if he is discovered to be a ghost king in disguise, he shall be executed. Do not worry,” Helian Yi repeats reassuringly, “no harm shall come to you.”
Something tense settles in the air around Zhou Zishu. He isn’t surprised by the outcome; after all, he has known Helian Yi for millenia, and he is intimately familiar with the character of the newly crowned Heavenly Emperor. Still, there had been a part of him that hoped —
It doesn’t matter now. What will happen will always happen.
“There is no misunderstanding,” Zhou Zishu says. His voice is more steady than he feels, firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Helian Yi’s figure stills, his face frozen in that neat, pleasantly smiling mask. After a moment, he speaks slowly, enunciating each word with great care. “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”
Zhou Zishu takes a deep breath. “There is no misunderstanding,” he repeats. “I took A-Xing back to the heavenly realm of my own accord after he had been injured, without authorization.”
“Zishu, do you understand what you are saying?” Helian Yi demands, his mask cracking. “Your servant is a ghost king!”
Zhou Zishu remains unmoved. “I am aware, but he did not participate in the war, and I sealed away his memories when I brought him back to recover. I take full responsibility for my insolence, but he did nothing wrong.”
The air between them turns to ice. Helian Yi gestures at the guards flanking him to step down, and they do so after a moment’s notice, turning back down the hall. The Heavenly Emperor does not speak until the footsteps of his guards have receded, leaving them effectively alone for the time being.
“You will take full responsibility?” Helian Yi asks. His tone had gone flat, and the sound of words spoken through gritted teeth is the only indication of any emotion at all. “To bring a ghost king into the heavens in secret is treason!”
“I am aware,” Zhou Zishu replies simply. At this point, there is little else to say.
Helian Yi slams an open palm into the metal bars, not even flinching as a small magical spark flares up at the contact. “You are willing to betray me for not just anyone, but an enemy of the heavens? Has that ghost truly captured your heart in such a way?”
This finally provokes a reaction from Zhou Zishu, whose face tinges red with indignant anger. “I have never been able to see more clearly. Is our responsibility as gods not to enact heavenly justice accordingly? If it is, then we should consider cases on an individual basis, rather than being so quick to judge based upon prejudices.”
Helian Yi barks out a laugh in frustration. “Prejudices? Are you even hearing yourself? There is no prejudice! Ghosts are evil by nature, and ghost kings are the worst of them all!”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes flare with fury as he takes a step forward, his aura intimidatingly suffocating. “By nature,” he repeats, scoffing. “Helian Qi’s trial hasn’t even been that long ago. His horrific corruption is evident enough that even gods cannot be considered just all the time, so is it imperative for all ghosts to be evil? Is it a sin to want to survive?”
Helian Yi holds his gaze for a long time. His expression has since gone still, a stone mask hiding the true heart of a ruler. Zhou Zishu has never been good at reading Helian Yi’s thoughts, but now, the Heavenly Emperor is truly just a blank page in front of him.
After the air had gone suffocatingly still, and time has slowed to a stop, Helian Yi lifts a finger to point at Zhou Zishu. “Alright. Good. Very good.” His voice takes on a higher pitch, almost hysterical. “You’re willing to throw away our bond of millenia for a ghost king you barely know? You and I could have gone on to carry out great deeds! Our legacy would be unparalleled! And you’re throwing all that away for—” he cuts himself off with an angry laugh. “Is it worth it?”
Zhou Zishu sinks to the ground and prostrates himself. “For the sin of treason, this humble subject is guilty of a crime that deserves a thousand deaths. Though I have no face to make any request, I dare ask Your Majesty to grant me one thing before I must stand trial, after which my title can be stripped and I can be exiled from the heavens.”
Helian Yi looks down at the prostrating god, his eyes no longer holding any warmth for a comrade of times past. “Ah?” he says in a taunting voice, feigning amused interest covering the venomous fangs of a snake. “And what might that be, since I am apparently unable to offer anything that would be of interest to you?”
Zhou Zishu ignores the jab in his words. “Before we stand trial, I wish to see A-Xing one last time.”
Helian Yi laughs with no humour, a grating sound worse than crying. “Now you’re making me seem like a cruel person who is heartlessly breaking apart a pair of ill-fated lovebirds.”
Zhou Zishu remains with his forehead pressed to the cold stone floor, and does not dignify him with an answer.
“Very well,” Helian Yi says, just as he turns away. “If the two of you intend on living and dying together, then I will fulfill your wish.”
“Your Imperial Majesty is kind and magnanimous, and will rule for tens of thousands of years to come.”
Helian Yi walks away, leaving his guards to take Zhou Zishu out of his cell. He is led through dim corridors that seem to wind further down into the dungeons, until torchlight becomes few and far in between. The darkness comes alive like a beast, pressing in on all sides, and they descend further still.
Eventually, when they have reached somewhere so isolated that the rushing of blood in his ears is louder than his breath, the guards stop him and open a cell, pushing him inside before closing it again. Zhou Zishu touches the bars tentatively, which are reinforced and ice-cold to the touch but not magically charged — a testament to how long these halls have been desolate. Hearing no footsteps yet, he presses up to the bars and calls out to the guards.
“My friends, can you spare me anything that can help with meditating? A pill or a single incense stick is fine. I only ask for one night of good sleep before I am tried before the court.”
There’s a shuffle of feet as the guards hesitate, wondering if they are breaking any rules, but Zhou Zishu knows that they would help. He had recognized them when they first walked up with Helian Yi: both were relatively young immortals despite their outstanding martial proficiency, and Zhou Zishu had personally trained them on numerous occasions in the past.
Finally, one of them steps forward and shoves a few items into Zhou Zishu’s hands before stepping back quickly, like he is afraid of getting caught. Feeling around, Zhou Zishu can tell that the items contain a candle and a match, as well as a single stick of incense. A faint scent emits from the unlit wood, and he recognizes it as Drunk-Like-a-Dream, a hallucination-inducing incense.
“Thank you, Chen Ming,” he says earnestly, giving the guard respect in addressing him by name.
“Take care, Wushen-dianxia,” the two guards tell him, using his title in the last bit of dignity they are able to afford him.
Then, their footsteps fade away, leaving him alone in the darkness with a monster.
~~~~~
The iron shackles that bind his hands and feet clash against each other as they walk, but the sound is easily drowned out by the cacophony of the crowd that have come to witness a spectacle. Given his reputation, there is almost a sense of vindictive glee from the onlookers, to see the normally proud and just martial god fall so far from his former glory.
Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing are brought into the Imperial Court side by side, flanked by guards who keep a wary eye on the two of them. Their appearance causes an uproar, though it is difficult to tell the sentiment behind it — anger, confusion, malicious delight. Or perhaps most look on with indifference, simply viewing the trial as another source for gossip and entertainment in the heavenly realm.
The Imperial Hall is lined with heavenly officials in ascending order of importance, though Zhou Zishu’s eyes fix on the man standing near the front of the hall. Wearing a full suit of armour is the White Impermanence, sent to represent the underworld given that the trial potentially concerns the presence of a ghost king. Wu Xi hasn’t taken a seat yet, though the place next to Jing Beiyuan is empty and clearly meant for him. Instead, he watches Zhou Zishu with those dark, unreadable eyes, asking him questions Zhou Zishu isn’t interested in answering.
There is little either of them can do now to change the situation. Zhou Zishu can only be relieved that it is him and not someone else who had been sent on behalf of the underworld.
As they approach the throne, the disdain of the crowd rises in a unified voice, condemning him for his crime. Some call out mockingly, taunting his fall from grace, while others shake their heads in disapproval.
Suddenly, as if enraged and indignant at the jeers, Zhou Zishu breaks free from the guards and charges straight at Wu Xi, arms striking together in a powerful blow. A look of surprise passes over Wu Xi’s face as he raises his own arms to intercept, and in the moment that their bodies collide, an imperceptible slip of paper passes from Zhou Zishu’s hand to Wu Xi’s.
And then the guards are surging up to suppress him, and Zhou Zishu is dragged backwards like a rabid dog. As he falls back in line next to Wen Kexing, he does not spare Wu Xi a second glance.
“Enough!” Helian Yi calls out, his voice resonating through the great hall and silencing the cries for justice.
The court comes to order.
“Dragon Immortal?” Helian Yi calls, once the crowd has settled.
The Dragon Immortal sits up straighter, moving with a mystical air in his ever-present facade of sageness. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” he answers, slowly and methodically, before turning to address the court at large. “We are gathered here today to preside over a trial of great importance. The great martial god Zhou Zishu has been found guilty of consorting with evil. Such a crime can be likened to treason, and is to be punishable to the highest degree!”
A murmur spreads among the crowd, the words growing harsher and more judgemental as they gossip to one another. A few immortals turn their attention from Zhou Zisu to his servant, whispering wild tales and even wilder speculations among themselves. To his credit, Wen Kexing does not react to their words, although his clenched fists betray his anger.
Zhou Zishu leans over to nudge Wen Kexing with his shoulder. “Remember, just ignore them, A-Xing. It’ll be alright. I’m here.”
Wen Kexing nods, still so sweetly and wholeheartedly trusting. “I know, Shenxian-gege,” he whispers back. “I just don’t like how they’re saying bad things about you.”
“People will say what they will. What is important is that we were able to stay true to our hearts. ”
Helian Yi raises a hand for quiet. “To accuse a powerful god of such a crime is quite a bold accusation indeed. You must understand that I cannot simply take your word.”
“Of course not,” the Dragon Immortal agrees. He waves a hand, and two of his personal guards emerge from the side with Yue Lao between them. “The Old Man Under the Moon has been known to possess a mirror that can reveal someone’s true nature. By shining it at the martial god’s servant, we will all be able to see whether my words are truthful or not.”
Yue Lao struggles between the guards and shakes them both off, looking extremely disgruntled. “Tch, keep your hands off me. Young people these days have no respect for their elders,” he mutters. Turning to address Helian Yi, he bows deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty, the Crimson Heart Mirror is used to determine whether lovers are faithful to one another, and—”
The Dragon Immortal cuts him off, smooth and unhurried. “Will you withhold valuable evidence in order to protect your nephew in the Imperial Court?”
Yue Lao looks at the Dragon Immortal, shaking with such anger that even the tips of his whiskers are trembling. “You!”
“Yue Lao,” Helian Yi interjects before the situation can escalate. “I understand that you may have personal feelings in the matter. Zishu has been a longtime comrade-in-arms of mine, and the consequences may not be so harsh if you are cooperative.”
Yue Lao hesitates, but Zhou Zishu looks over and catches his eyes before shaking his head slightly. It’s not worth it, he tries to convey, hoping that his dense uncle will be able to read his mind this one time.
Reluctantly, Yue Lao reaches into his sleeve to pull out a lacquered hand mirror painted in deep red. In the Marriage Manor, its colour inspires auspicious joy, but against the harsh whites of the Imperial Hall, it creates the same visual shock as a splash of blood.
The Dragon Immortal gestures again, and one of his guards takes the mirror to bring to the two kneeling prisoners. With steady hands, he raises the mirror so that Helian Yi can see its surface clearly, before angling it towards Wen Kexing.
Immediately, the reflection in the mirror changes. Zhou Zishu watches as Wen Kexing’s face becomes wreathed with shadows, red staining the corners of his eyes. His skin pales in drastic shades, draining of any signs of life, and his robes become a red that rivals the mirror — though whether it is the original colour of the fabric or soaked in blood, it is difficult to tell.
A gasp goes up in the section closest to the imperial throne as officials and observers alike take in the scene. Cries of horror, of panic, and of hatred echo throughout the massive hall as outrage breaks out. From all around them, accusatory fingers begin to point ruthlessly.
“How can Wushen-dianxia protect such a monster?”
“Kill him! Kill him immediately! He is a danger to us all!”
“The martial god is a disgrace to the heavens! Exile him right now!”
The Dragon Immortal watches the chaos unfold with quiet disapproval, but there is a satisfied glint in his eyes. His guard retreats to the side and returns the mirror to Yue Lao as outrage rains down on all sides. Though the use of offensive magic is banned in the Imperial Hall, the crowd attacks like a pack of frenzied wolves, throwing all kinds of sharp, priceless accessories at the prisoners standing trial.
Zhou Zishu shuffles closer to Wen Kexing at the onslaught, summoning a weak shield with what energy he has left. A thin barrier goes up, repelling the downpour of headdresses and necklaces and shoes.
“Is he protecting that monster even now?!”
“Shameless!”
“Execute them both this instant!”
When it becomes clear that the cacophony will not end on its own, the Dragon Immortal clears his throat pointedly and begins to speak again. “As you can see with your eyes, Your Majesty, the martial god is actively protecting a threat to the heavens. Surely, the act of knowingly inviting such a danger into the heavenly realm can constitute treason. Regretfully, though it appears that Your Majesty regards Wushen-dianxia deeply, he does not return the sentiment.”
“His crime and punishment shall be determined by me,” Helian Yi says with warning, waiting until the Dragon Immortal dips his head in apology before continuing. “As for this…I am truly heartbroken by this turn of events. Perhaps I should take this as a lesson that even my closest advisors cannot truly be trusted.”
Though nothing happens, Zhou Zishu sees the Dragon Immortal shiver ever so slightly in his seat, and feels a grim sense of relief. Good. Helian Yi is nothing if not an opportunist, and Zhou Zishu takes what little comfort he can in the fact that the Heavenly Emperor has not lost the ability to think for himself quite yet.
“Now,” Helian Yi says, turning his eyes towards the two prisoners. “Is there anything else you would like to say before your sentence is passed?”
“The Crimson Heart Mirror has revealed the truth,” Zhou Zishu says, his voice ringing out steady and clear. “I take full responsibility, but let it be known that it is I alone who decided to bring A-Xing back to the heavens so he can recover from the war. I have sealed away his memories, and he had no say in the matter.”
Helian Yi raises an eyebrow at the confession that he has heard once before. Leaning forward, he says, “I can give you a chance to redeem yourself. The ghost kings are known to be quite proficient in spells that capture the hearts of people, and it is no surprise that you may have found yourself tricked as well.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction, and then continues more forcefully when he finds none. “If you destroy his soul by your own hands, I will sentence you to seclusion for a thousand years, after which you may return to your post.”
Just like with their conversation in the jail cell, Zhou Zishu bows forward, prostrating as best as he can with the chains. There isn’t even a quiver in his voice as he answers, “Though this lowly subject has betrayed our bond, I dare ask Your Imperial Majesty to allow A-Xing to enter reincarnation. I will bear the consequences alone.”
Protests break out immediately at his words.
“They should both be destroyed!”
“Wushen-dianxia is under the spell of the Ghost Valley Master!”
“After the atrocities he has committed? The martial god is out of his mind!”
“Very well. Will you protect him to the end?” Helian Yi asks, his tone flat and unreadable.
“Yes,” Zhou Zishu answers, firm and absolute.
“Dianxia!” Wen Kexing protests. Though he is still confused by the entire situation, he can sense that Zhou Zishu is getting into trouble because of him. But before he can plead otherwise, Helian Yi cuts him off with his next words.
“You are a bigger fool than I thought.”
He raises one hand facing upwards, and thunder echoes throughout the great Imperial Hall as sparks of electricity gather in his palm.
“No ghost king shall be allowed to walk free while I am the Lord of the Heavens.”
Zhou Zishu’s eyes widen in feigned shock at the same time that his chains flare up, completely immobilizing him, as eighty-one strikes of heavenly thunder crash down upon Wen Kexing. He struggles fruitlessly as Wen Kexing’s figure is entirely lit up in blinding white. The last thing that remains visible is Wen Kexing looking back at Zhou Zishu in confusion before his features blur into nothingness, shattering into a million sparks that dissipate in an instant. When the light recedes, only a charred outline is left on the ground, with not even an iron chain link to show that there once was a person in that place.
For a moment, Zhou Zishu’s heart skips a beat as doubt crosses his mind, but then he catches sight of Wu Xi among the crowd. The White Impermanence simply stares back with intense anger and disappointment, and that is enough for Zhou Zishu to know that his gamble succeeded.
His chains dim, allowing him to slump to the ground in a defeated stance.
“The martial god Zhou Zishu has been found a traitor to the heavens, and he shall be exiled for his crimes,” Helian Yi declares.
Guards on either side of Zhou Zishu grab him by the arms and drag him out of the Imperial Hall, in the exact same manner as they had with Helian Qi when the former water god was exiled. There’s something so absurd about the comparison that Zhou Zishu begins to laugh hysterically, the last sound that anyone hears from him before he is taken out of sight.
~~~~~
The previous night.
There’s something disorienting about being in total darkness so deep underground that even dripping water cannot be heard throughout the dungeons. Zhou Zishu turns away from the iron bars with the items that the guard had kindly spared him, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“Shenxian-gege?” a small voice calls out in the dark, sounding so lost and incredibly out of place in this prison for monsters.
Following the source of the voice, Zhou Zishu feels his way towards Wen Kexing, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“A-Xing, are you alright?”
“I’m scared,” Wen Kexing replies, plaintive, like a child who is complaining because he knows he is safe.
“I’m here now,” Zhou Zishu says reassuringly. “Hold on.”
Letting go of Wen Kexing, he strikes the match against the stone wall, which finally lights up after the third try. Carefully, he sets the small flame upon the candle, which begins to burn steadily. This deep underground, there is no breeze that will threaten to snuff the fire out.
Tossing away the match, Zhou Zishu lifts the candle up. In its circle of light, he sees dark shadows under Wen Kexing’s eyes, and his clothes are significantly dirtier than they had been when they were captured. Still, despite the clear tiredness in his posture, his eyes are bright, and Zhou Zishu can see that he is otherwise unharmed.
“Shenxian-gege, what’s going on?”
“A deep misunderstanding,” Zhou Zishu replies. Given the work he does for Helian Yi, he has become a master of lies, but for some reason, he always feels guilty whenever he deceives Wen Kexing. “There are people who are unhappy with the Heavenly Emperor’s ascension, and who wish to target me because I am one of his most powerful allies.”
“But…we’ll be okay, right? We didn’t do anything wrong,” Wen Kexing says.
“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees, patting his arms. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“So when can we get out of here? Surely you have explained the misunderstanding already, right?”
“We will be able to go tomorrow. A-Xing, come here.”
Zhou Zishu beckons Wen Kexing to sit with him on the ground, setting the candle to one side. Even with only half his face visible, Wen Kexing is beautiful. Such a face is more fitting to belong to the heavens than many others Zhou Zishu has met, and seeing him in this light makes his breath hitch. After a moment, he looks away to clear his mind and gather his thoughts.
“A-Xing, listen to me. What I am about to say is going to be very important, alright?”
At his serious tone, Wen Kexing sits up straighter and nods solemnly, and his shift in attitude almost makes Zhou Zishu want to laugh if not for what he is planning to do next.
“Tomorrow, there will be a trial to clear up the misunderstanding,” Zhou Zishu begins. “There will be people who say mean things about us, but no matter what, you cannot act out, do you understand? You need to promise that you can keep your temper. Ignore them if you must. A-Xing, answer me.”
Wen Kexing nods dutifully. “I promise. Even if people say mean things about us, I can’t get angry.”
“Exactly. Things might get messy, but I need you to trust me, and to follow my lead, alright? Remember, I will never let anything bad happen to you,” Zhou Zishu says, staring straight into Wen Kexing’s eyes.
“Shenxian-gege, you’re making me worried.”
Zhou Zishu leans forward and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. This is my fault, and you should’ve never been involved with all this. It’ll be okay, alright?”
“Okay.”
Zhou Zishu exhales long and hard before pulling back. “Alright then. Try to get some sleep, I’ll wake you in the morning.”
Wen Kexing lies down obediently, looking at Zhou Zishu expectantly. “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course.”
Satisfied, Wen Kexing closes his eyes, and Zhou Zishu quickly lights the incense stick with the candle. Then, he settles next to Wen Kexing, greedily soaking up the only source of warmth in this cold dungeon. He calms his breathing and relaxes his body, enjoying the moment because he knows it cannot last.
When Wen Kexing’s breathing falls even, Zhou Zishu extracts himself from him and sits upright with his legs crossed, settling into a meditative stance. The Drunk-Like-a-Dream has little effect on him given that he created the sedative, but it helps him relax nonetheless.
Closing his eyes, Zhou Zishu begins drawing in all the merit he has accumulated during his immortal lifetime, layers upon layers of good deeds distilling into pure energy that allows him to keep his immortality. When he opens his eyes again, distorted characters in white swirl around him in a thick cloud so bright, it washes out the candlelight completely. They circle him and Wen Kexing with a low hum as millenia of cultivation becomes visible at the same time. If there had been any onlookers, it would immediately become clear why immortals are afforded the power they have.
As Zhou Zishu concentrates, the cloud presses into itself and spins faster, threads of energy weaving it into a concrete shape. Finally, when all of the merit has been condensed into a single sheet akin to a blanket or a cloak, Zhou Zishu reaches out for it, and then methodically severs every string of energy that connects him to his merit. When the last string snaps, the merit pulls away from his body, and he lays it over Wen Kexing instead.
There is some struggle as the blanket attempts to dissipate out into the three realms, but Zhou Zishu has done enough that it eventually settles over Wen Kexing obediently, bonding to him like the power is taking on a new host. Rather than integrating into the fabric of his being, however, a thin layer of white envelopes his entire body, and though it seems as though it is his physical form that has been wrapped, it is clear that what the layer protects is his soul.
The white light glows for a moment longer, and then it settles completely and fades.
Zhou Zishu lets out a breath he had been holding. With all of his merit stripped away, he feels uncomfortably vulnerable, his skin tingling like it is newly healed, or perhaps that it has been scrubbed raw. It doesn’t hurt, not in the same way separating his soul had hurt, but he is now acutely aware of his mortality. If he leaves the heavens, then he will be no different than a powerful mortal cultivator, subjected to the same cycle of death and reincarnation as the humans are.
With the last threads of energy passing between his fingers, Zhou Zishu quickly creates a simple note the way one might create a paper talisman. But instead of manifesting a sigil or a rune, he quickly composes a message in clean black lines, watching as the words write themselves onto the blank slip. As the note is completed, he takes it out of the air and tucks it away into a sleeve.
Now that the transfer of merit is complete, the candle becomes the only source of light again. Since Wen Kexing is asleep, Zhou Zishu can watch him without feeling awkward, and his eyes trace every angle of his face like he is trying to commit him to memory.
Compelled by an unknown force, he reaches out a hand to touch Wen Kexing’s cheek with impossible gentleness, before leaning down to press their lips together. Fast asleep, Wen Kexing is soft and pliant beneath him, so lovely and trusting like a newborn deer. Perhaps if he were awake, he would be blushing and stuttering, and perhaps if he still had his memories, he would say insufferable things. But now he is neither, and his scent, his touch, more addicting than any drug in the three realms, consumes Zhou Zishu’s senses.
After an eternity, Zhou Zishu forces himself to pull back, putting space between the two of them. A spot at the corner of Wen Kexing’s lips catches the light, glistening, and it makes Zhou Zishu’s ears burn as his actions catch up to him. Flustered, he takes off his outer robes to drape them across Wen Kexing none too gently, huffing to himself.
Still, as he settles down next to him, Zhou Zishu cannot help but take one last glance at Wen Kexing. In a voice scarcely more than a whisper, he says, “Sweet dreams, Lao Wen.”
~~~~~
“How is he?” Zhou Zishu asks.
He sits at a low tea table in an underground temple, though none of the full tea cups have been touched and are slowly turning cold. Across from him, Jing Beiyuan and Wu Xi look at him with various degrees of disappointment, betrayal, and indignity, which he would find extremely amusing had he not felt so tired.
“His soul is safe, and after some recovery, he will be able to enter the Wheel of Reincarnation,” Wu Xi answers dutifully, before he can no longer stop himself. “Zishu—”
“I cannot believe you did that!” Jing Beiyuan cuts off Wu Xi’s outrage with his own. “You meet your destined lover and all of a sudden, you throw all logic out the window? You don’t even consult us or bother asking for help? Zhou Zishu, you are such a bastard.”
“Yes, yes, the worst of them all,” Zhou Zishu agrees. “If you are here to scold me—”
“Scold you?!” Jing Beiyuan demands incredulously. “I would get Wu Xi to beat you up if you—giving up your merit, really? And what if your clever little plan didn’t work, what then?”
Zhou Zishu holds up his wrist, where a bracelet of red string appears for a moment before it vanishes again. “I have a bond with him through this, no matter how weak. If I felt that my merit had not been enough to protect him from heavenly thunder, I would have redirected its strike to me instead.”
Wu Xi furrows his brows. “The red string of fate does not affect immortals.”
“Except neither of us were immortals at that point. He was a ghost king in disguise, and I no longer had my merit.”
Jing Beiyuan lets out a laugh of anger at the reminder. “You’re truly insane.”
Zhou Zishu snorts. “Yeshen-dianxia is giving this lowly one too high a praise.” Turning serious, he looks at Wu Xi. “Thank you, by the way.”
Wu Xi huffs, the most agitated Zhou Zishu has ever seen him. “There was little else I could do at that point, besides to follow through with your crazy plan. If I had not collected his soul in time, he would have been discovered and destroyed for good.”
“Like I said, thank you.”
“So what are your plans now? Since you are clearly capable of making your own decisions,” Jing Beiyuan says sarcastically, playing with a tea cup in annoyance.
“I’ll wait until Lao Wen has recovered—” Jing Beiyuan gags at the nickname “—and then I will enter reincarnation with him.”
Jing Beiyuan stares at him blankly. When Zhou Zishu does not offer further information, he says, “Wait, you’re serious.”
Zhou Zishu shrugs. “The political situation in the heavens is stabilizing, and the Dragon Immortal will be convicted soon. I have no merit and I have been exiled, so there is little else for me to do anyway.”
“You could remain in the underworld until you have accrued enough merit to regain your immortality,” Wu Xi says, pragmatic as always. “Though we are technically under the rule of the heavens, we operate on our own most of the time.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Zhou Zishu says, shaking his head. “But my mind is made.”
“Alright,” Wu Xi nods, before rising from the table. “I will lead you to him, then.”
“Much obliged.”
“Wu Xi!” Jing Beiyuan protests.
“Beiyuan, we cannot force him to do anything against his will,” Wu Xi answers.
He takes Zhou Zishu to a side chamber within the temple, where Wen Kexing rests upon a simple sleeping mat. Though he looks mostly solid, his form flickered from time to time, turning the slightest bit translucent as he does.
“His soul is unharmed, but to suffer a heavenly tribulation will still cause some shock,” Wu Xi explains. “We expect that he will be well again in seven days.”
Zhou Zishu nods his thanks, before settling to sit next to Wen Kexing. He reaches out a hand subconsciously, but it passes right through his fingers. Though he expected the result, he couldn't help but inhale sharply. “I will stay with him, then.”
“Zishu—” Jing Beiyuan starts through gritted teeth, but he interrupts himself by running forward and crushing Zhou Zishu in a hug. “You. Are. Such. A. Bastard.”
Zhou Zishu hugs him back. “I know. You said that already.”
After a long moment, Jing Beiyuan pulls away, turning his face to the side so Zhou Zishu can’t see his expression.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Zhou Zishu sighs, a smile playing at his lips. “It isn’t as though I am dying, or anything.”
“You— ! I can’t. I cannot remain in the same vicinity as this infuriating man any longer. Good riddance,” Jing Beiyuan tries to say harshly despite his shaky tone, and then he leaves the room.
Wu Xi sighs, looking at the door where Jing Beiyuan had been. “I’ll look after him. Take care, alright?”
Zhou Zishu nods. “I know I keep repeating myself, but thank you, truly. For everything.”
Wu Xi gives him a full warrior’s salute, and he too leaves.
Seven days pass in a blur, and after Wen Kexing wakes, Zhou Zishu takes him to the Pool of Reincarnation. Spirits are lined up by the ghost guards, and they advance in stumbling confusion. As they reach the edge of the pool, an elderly woman ladles soup into a bowl, muttering all the while, clearly disgruntled.
“Shenxian-gege, where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” Zhou Zishu answers honestly for the first time since he sealed away Wen Kexing’s memories. “But we will be together.”
“Hey, you two, move along!” the voice of an old woman says scoldingly.
Zhou Zishu realizes that the spirits before them had gone, so he takes Wen Kexing to the pool. As they get closer, Meng Po’s eyes widen in recognition.
“Wushen-dianxia. This ghost spirit must have done great things in his life, to warrant having the martial god as his personal escort down to the underworld.”
“You are mistaken, Meng Po,” Zhou Zishu corrects her respectfully. “I am no longer the martial god, and I am here to accompany him into reincarnation, rather than to escort him.” He pauses, looking over at Wen Kexing with a gentle smile. “You are right, though, that he has done great things, both in life and in death.”
Meng Po seems surprised by the news, but she has been by the pool for as long as time had meaning, and there is little she has not seen. With a shrug, she hands them two bowls of soup.
Wen Kexing takes his portion and wrinkles his nose. “What is this? Medicine? Is it bitter?”
Zhou Zishu laughs, squeezing his hand. “It is not. It will help us move on when we drink it.”
“But I don’t want to move on,” Wen Kexing says, clearly hesitant.
Zhou Zishu shakes his head with a smile. “We may be moving on from this life, but we will be doing so together. From now on, in every lifetime, we will never be apart from one another.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
With their hands joined tightly, they drink Meng Po’s soup in unison, before stepping into the Pool of Reincarnation together.
[ - TO BE CONTINUED - ]