Chapter Text
Jun Wu departs not long after, leaving behind a promise to eventually continue their conversation about punishment and an unfortunately overwhelming feeling of relief at his absence. It's not something Xie Lian likes to admit, but he can't deny it either; for all the Heavenly Emperor is awe-inspiring and noble, there is something so knowing about him --- a discerning sort of near-omniscience beneath his understanding mien --- that is, of course, expected of someone so powerful, but is innately unnerving all the same. (Or perhaps Xie Lian is the only one to be unnerved, for perhaps Xie Lian is the only one with so many sins still hidden. There's no way to be sure.)
Whatever it is, Xie Lian can't help feeling almost embarrassed in his presence. As if a few seconds of eye contact with those placid, kind, sympathetic eyes are too much to bear. As if Jun Wu can see every ugly, squalid, shameful thing Xie Lian has ever done with just a look, or an extended conversation. As if his sins can be laid bare --- dissected neatly, clinically, with a blade sharp enough to be painless but not quite enough to numb --- by nothing more than thorough patience. (The knowledge that this sensation is no doubt a combination of lingering paranoia and overwrought emotions rather than anything about Jun Wu himself does nothing to change the sensation itself, which, as it happens, manages only to make Xie Lian feel even guiltier.)
However thick a face Xie Lian might have, it's not thick enough for this.
The fact that Jun Wu can't actually know everything, of course, only makes the whole thing worse; it allows his forgiveness --- his absolution --- to be handed out too easily. No doubt his impressions are distorted by Xie Lian's first ascension, enough that the Xie Lian of today would be well nigh unrecognisable when compared to his flower-crowned past self... and who could blame him? Xie Lian hardly recognises himself in what he's become.
Which rather directly ties to the still-unconscious Wu Ming and this, if nothing else, keeps him motivated. Moving. Focused. Whatever is to be done later --- whatever happens to Xie Lian, either as richly deserved punishment or self-inflicted penance --- is to be done later, once Wu Ming's condition is more stable than it is now. As it is, he's still motionless on the bed, oblivious to both the conversation that has been held nearly overtop him and to Xie Lian's attempts at help alike, and so there is more to be done. (Another reason to be glad that Jun Wu has left: Xie Lian would not be able to focus with the Heavenly Emperor in the room, for that would be a disrespect too great even for his guilty soul. Much better that the place stay empty and quiet and haunted instead.)
Naturally, this means that another knock sounds at the door almost immediately, mere moments after the door has slid closed once again.
It's not a particularly great surprise, to be honest; in fact, the only surprise entailed is mild shock that it didn't somehow manage to sooner. In fact, it's arguably uncharacteristically good fortune --- or, perhaps, merely the complicated policies of decorum due to a Heavenly official --- that whoever waits on the other end has not just entered outright, probably bearing bad news or something else equally distracting.
Regardless, it is also decorum befitting a Heavenly official to go open the door --- injured half-god, half-ghost or no --- and so Xie Lian hauls himself back to the door and eases it open. "Hello?"
The door opens to reveal... Utterly nothing.
Or, rather, nothing other than the front walk to the newest rendition of XianLe palace. For a moment, he wonders if whoever had knocked has already left, or if he's made up the knock in the first place. And then he realizes that the front walk isn't empty after all; rather, it is occupied by two people rather than one, each as far away from each other as they can get and actively glaring daggers at each other. (Honestly, it's a bit awkward. Xie Lian feels vaguely like he's stepped into an ambush for which he is utterly unprepared.)
They've given grudging hellos, through gritted teeth and crossed arms in the wake of Xie Lian's tentative greeting, but it's silence that takes over after, at no cost to the awkwardness of the situation. Xie Lian clears his throat into the space. "Can I help you both?"
One of them --- a young gentleman, with enough poise and grace to resemble a statue, and about equal aloofness --- rolls his eyes. "You've got that backwards."
The other --- equally young, but with a spirited sort of wild energy that burns more than it freezes --- shoots his fellow a glare. "He means that we're here to help you."
"Oh." Xie Lian nods. Wonders who sent them. Decides to ask. "And which Highnesses are you from?"
"The Palace of Nan Yang," replies one. "This one is Nan Feng."
The other sighs before he answers, though he does, at least, answer. "The Palace of Xuan Zhen. Fu Yao."
Xie Lian blinks. Feels the slightest chill course over him, and resolves not to address it. "Oh." A beat. "And you know who I am?"
"Of course," Fu Yao says. His arms being crossed is not new; his eyes rolling is. "How do you think we found the palace otherwise?"
"Good point." Xie Lian's comment is quick on the heels of Fu Yao's own, but he hopes that the rudeness is made up for by the fact that he prevents whatever biting response Nan Feng was gearing up to deliver in the process. "And your generals--"
For once, both junior officials must agree on something, for both immediately chorus, "Our generals don't know we're here."
"I see." A moment, filled with nothing but uncomfortable silence and equally uncomfortable looks, and then Xie Lian steps back. "Then I suppose you'd best come in."
This, too, they oblige --- shocking though that feels, given their general attitudes --- though there is a moment's conflict regarding who was to enter first (settled when both tried to go before the other at precisely the same time and ended up squeezing through shoulder to shoulder instead). Xie Lian watches as they grumble, both standing just beyond the threshold and sniping at one another, and there's a moment, as he does, where he isn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Shuffles backwards, instead, and peers at the bed where he left Wu Ming, just to make sure he's still there and okay.
The argument cuts off abruptly. "Your Highness?"
"Ah, yes, my apologies, Nan Feng." A beat, filled with contemplation; after all, he's not entirely sure Wu Ming would appreciate others' presence during his recovery. "I fear you've come at a busy time."
One of Fu Yao's eyebrows arches, part unimpressed, part vaguely critical. "Because of the ghost?"
Xie Lian grimaces at the callousness. Nods anyway. "Indeed."
"Then the rumours are true?", Nan Feng asks. "You know him?"
Another moment of contemplation. Wu Ming has always been a very private person --- has offered Xie Lian such devoted service and yet never even shown his face --- and they'd been on such unfortunate terms last they'd talked that Xie Lian isn't entirely sure how much to share. Eventually, he settles on a vague, "In a way."
A frown from Nan Feng. An eyeroll from Fu Yao. "How clarifying," the latter says, though he does not press for more information either.
Xie Lian smiles his way through the ensuing question. Busies himself with tidying up --- asking Nan Feng to empty the basin, sending Fu Yao to fetch bandages --- and then wrapping Wu Ming's wound until the gaping edges are no longer visible. The dressing will have to be removed, of course, whenever more qualified professionals are available to help, but it can hardly hurt at this point, and said medics are taking a while anyway. (Besides, not enough is said about the importance of simply having something to do.)
He is, perhaps, lucky that he makes it to the end of that task before more questions are asked; he is also, it seems, lucky again, for it is Nan Feng who starts it, rather than Fu Yao. "Who is he?"
"A..." Xie Lian hesitates. "A friend," he settles on, though he acknowledges that the term may not be as reciprocal as the sentence implies. "He saved my life." (It's laughable how much of an understatement that is.)
"How generous," Fu Yao says, and the rolling of his eyes is almost expected this time. (Nan Feng's decision to elbow him in the side after is only a little less so.)
The renewed squabble that follows is loud. Hectic. Xie Lian even almost misses the sound of gentle rustling under it. He doesn’t, though, just as he could never miss the voice that follows, quiet and slightly hoarse but clear all the same. "Your Highness?"