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"There is no need for us to see each other again.”
As Zichen’s last words to him ring in his head, Xiao Xingchen memorizes his features and burns every detail of them into his memory. He had managed to keep him unconscious long enough to reach the Celestial Mountain, where he begged on his hands and knees to be taken once again to his Shifu.
He steals one last gaze at his friend (does he even deserve to call him that, still?), absorbs the scent of pine and earth and dew that accompanies Zichen wherever he goes.
With tears rolling down his face, he steals one more thing: a kiss.
Then, he hooks his thumbs underneath his eyes.
This must pale in comparison to what Zichen felt when Xue Yang poisoned him.
I cannot procure a new pair of eyes from thin air, A-Chen, Shifu had told him, scolding. This is something even I cannot heal.
Then take mine.
Blood spills from the now-empty sockets.
Hands trembling, he gives his eyes to Baoshan Sanren.
“Shifu,” he says.
His master sighs, accepts, and turns away from him.
"Stay until your injury has healed." Stay until your beloved has recovered.
How can he say no?
Zichen is in an induced coma, and Xiao Xingchen stays by his side.
He listens to the steady rise and fall of Zichen's chest, feels the heartbeat telling him that his friend is still with him. Every sunrise, he brings him flowers from the garden, a bunch of purple hyacinths littered with morning dew.
Regret, the flowers mean, according to Shifu. Xiao Xingchen hopes that Zichen will at least accept them, if he cannot accept his apologies when he wakes once more.
One day, he wakes to a violent coughing fit. His chest feels clogged, his heart constricted by invisible ropes. Something nags at the back of his throat, it wants to get out but it remains lodged there.
Xiao Xingchen thinks it is a good time to depart.
As he leaves the mountain and his master for the last time, he feels something surging deep in his chest.
It is the guilt that will never fade away. It is the longing to be by Zichen's side again, the voice in his head telling him to go back to him, to betray his final wish.
It is not.
As he covers his mouth to cough, he feels a foreign object leave his mouth. He inspects it by touch, he has no more sight after all, and feels his blood run cold.
In his trembling hands he holds a single tiny flower petal.
Of course.
They are resting at an inn when they hear of intriguing information.
A young woman, a disciple of the Meishan Yu Sect, died of suffocation from flowers growing inside her lungs.
"Excuse me," Xiao Xingchen says to the man sitting beside their table. "This… disease. What was its cause?"
The villager tells him it is a rare ailment born of love unreturned. The feelings plant flowers in the host’s chest, continuing to grow and grow until ultimately, they die from lack of oxygen. The only way to cure it is for the love to be reciprocated.
He tells Zichen as much, after the kind villager leaves.
“How cruel it must be,” Zichen muses. “to die of love.”
Wrong, Xiao Xingchen thinks now. It is not as cruel as what I have done.
This is merely a punishment for the pain I’ve caused you.
He presses on.
He continues to travel, to nighthunt. He does not give his name to anyone. He ignores the whispers of the townsfolk, the gossip he hears about himself, his blindness, and the blood ever-present on his eyes and mouth.
A large portion of his money goes to medicine he purchases to help with the coughing. The vendor tells him it should suppress his coughs and allow him to continue nighthunting as normal.
It works, but sometimes he wishes it can also turn off his thoughts of Zichen.
The memories fuel the growth of the flowers. It is not long before he coughs enough flowers to blanket him while he is sleeping.
One night, he does not sleep alone.
He meets a blind girl named A-Qing, and together they rescue a young man from the brink of death. Gradually, the air between them shifts from stilted awkwardness to a budding domesticity.
A feeling he wished he could have shared with Zichen more often.
The flowers in his lungs still choke him awake every morning, but having these two around him makes breathing a tad bit easier.
Their other companion, after fully recovering, asks to accompany Xiao Xingchen on his nighthunts.
He knows that the other man only offered out of pity.
He should decline, should not allow the other man the burden of watching over him.
He accepts.
He does not want to be alone anymore.
"My friend," he whispers one morning. "Will you... tell me what flower I am holding?"
His companion hums. "What good will it do to you, daozhang?”
Xiao Xingchen laughs in response, tilting his head up. “Well, I… cannot see. And I have an idea as to what this flower might be, but how sure can I be unless someone really tells me what it is?”
The other man sighs, and plucks the flower from Xiao Xingchen’s hand. Then, he picks up the forgotten basket and heads off to buy vegetables for the day’s meals.
When he comes back, he tells Xiao Xingchen that he coughs out purple hyacinths, confirming Xiao Xingchen’s thoughts.
“Do you know what they mean?” Xiao Xingchen asks. “They are said to symbolize deep sorrow and regret. A flower used to beg for forgiveness from the recipient.”
The other man scoffs. “This… whatever you have. It’s supposed to be a disease of love, right? Then why these flowers? What could you have possibly done to the one you love for you to be so guilty towards him?”
Xiao Xingchen’s breath catches. The hyacinths force their way through his throat, covering the wooden floor with flowers and spit and blood. He falls to his knees.
“I… have caused him much pain. He is a dear friend to me, and I’ve done nothing but inconvenience him and bring him suffering.”
“A ‘dear friend’ would look for you, you know.”
“He does not know where I am.”
“Still.”
“I don’t want him to see me like this.” I don’t deserve the luxury of meeting him again, anyway, he does not say.
(If Xiao Xingchen was not so focused on breathing properly, he would have noticed the sickeningly amused tone of his companion’s voice all throughout their conversation.)
“Xingchen,” someone says from behind him as he’s preparing tea. “I apologize for my lateness.”
Xiao Xingchen turns to look at the other man (Zichen, Zichen, he’s here again), ready to greet him with a smile.
He freezes at the sight of blood sticking to Zichen’s already-dark robes. Deep gashes line his arms, and one in particular is painfully close to his neck.
“D-Did you come all this way here without cleaning your wounds?”
“I did not want to make you wait any longer,” Zichen says, looking him in the eye. “I was excited to see you again.”
Xiao Xingchen feels his face flush. His heart races.
“Zichen, you should take care of yourself first,” he chides, getting his medicine pouch and pulling out herbs and bandages. “You know that I’ll be willing to wait for you no matter how long it takes, right?”
The other man sighs, the corner of his lips tilting upwards ever so slightly. “You always do.”
“Only for you,” Xiao Xingchen replies, looking up at his friend. “Now, let’s get you patched up. I can’t have you bleeding all over the place.”
Once Zichen is all bandaged up, healing herbs placed on his wounds as well for good measure, he pours two cups of newly-brewed tea. He hands one cup to Zichen, careful not to make contact with the other man’s fingers.
He feels the slight warmth from Zichen’s skin, just a hair’s width away, and he shivers as he lets go of the teacup.
“Xingchen, are you alright?”
He looks up. Oh no, he noticed. “Yes, of course.”
“Are you cold?”
Xiao Xingchen looks down at his teacup, embarrassed. He gives a soft laugh. “A little bit. It seems the winter this year will be harsh. But I can manage, don’t worry about me. You should keep yourself warm as well. You are injured, after all.”
Zichen sighs, before walking over to him and draping his outer robe over him. He tucks it snug around Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders, and looks back at him. “Better?”
“Zi-Zichen!! I can’t take this!”
“Xingchen, let me do this. As… thanks for patching up my wounds.”
Xiao Xingchen removes the robe covering him and passes it back to its owner. “It was nothing, really! I--”
“Xingchen, I insist.” Zichen pushes it back to him.
“No, you need it more than I do--”
“I’ll be fine--”
“I can manage--”
“No, really--”
In their little squabble, their fingers touch, and they both freeze. Xiao Xingchen pulls back his hand, the contact from Zichen’s hand sending warmth through his arm and the rest of his body. He takes several steps back.
“I-- Uhh--”
“It’s okay--”
“I’m so sorry, I know you don’t like being touched!!”
“Xingchen--”
“I made you uncomfortable, haven’t I? I’ll leave, I’m sure there’s another room available--”
“Xingchen.” Zichen sprints over to him and takes both of Xiao Xingchen’s hands in his. Looking him in the eyes, he continues, “I don’t mind if it’s you.”
In the gentle kisses of the snowflakes from the slightly-open window, in the moonlight illuminating Zichen’s dark eyes and soft, fond gaze, Xiao Xingchen thinks that he might be a little in love with his best friend.
Xiao Xingchen feels a sudden warmth envelop him while he is sitting outside their home one night. Thanking the person behind him, he wraps the blanket closer to himself, only just realizing how cold he’s gotten from how long he’s been in the snow.
“Daozhang,” A-Qing says, “you should go back inside.”
He laughs. “No, I’d rather stay here.”
“Why?”
Xiao Xingchen chokes on the flowers building up in his throat.
“I…” he starts. “It makes me feel…”
“...Happy?” A-Qing whispers.
“Yes,” he exhales. “It must sound silly.”
“It does,” she muses. “But if it makes daozhang feel better, then I won’t question it.”
A-Qing really is a kind girl. What did he do to deserve a ray of sunshine like her in his life?
“I remember you wanted to hear a story before. Would you still be willing to listen to one of mine?”
“Oh! Yes!”
“Very well then. But I must warn you: I’m not very good at telling stories.” He scoots over to make space for the girl. “I’ll tell you about a friend of mine, a daozhang, just like me...”
The story gets long with the number of times A-Qing has to remind him to stay on track, and by the end of it he feels blood soaking the bandage over where his eyes should be. As A-Qing fetches a washcloth to clean him up, he chokes on his sobs.
His coughing is accompanied by whole bunches of flowers spilling from his lips, forced out by the memories of Zichen that he’s never dared to mention until now.
A-Qing rubs circles on his back as she wipes away his tears. They don’t get up until their other companion calls them inside for dinner.
(The flowers remain scattered on the snow-covered ground, dotting it purple and staining it with red.)
When his companion tells him that the purple of the flowers is soaked with blood, Xiao Xingchen knows that he does not have long until he is suffocated by the rapidly-growing garden in his lungs.
“I think I should do the errands from now on,” the other man says, guiding Xiao Xingchen to bed. “Little Blind and I will take care of things, daozhang. You should rest.”
Xiao Xingchen does not leave their home for a long time.
“A-Qing… have I ever told you why I lost my eyes?”
“ Daozhang… you don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s okay. I want to.
“See, I was travelling with an old fri--
I--
his family was killed… and it was my fault… they were killed because the murderer wanted to get to me…
Zichen was hurting, and was blind because of me. So I gave him my eyes, as an apology to him, and as penance.”
“And you… still feel guilty?”
“Everyday.”
“Then the flowers inside you… they’re his?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never looked for him?”
“He doesn’t want to see me. Not anymore, after all the suffering I’ve put him through.”
“Daozhang…”
“It’s okay, A-Qing. I’ve accepted my fate. It’s selfish, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
“To die from a love you refuse to let go of.”
His companion had just left for town when A-Qing returns.
“Daozhang, daozhang!! ” she says, running to him, breathless. “We have to leave! Now!! That bastard Xue Yang--”
What?
“A-Qing, wait!” Xiao Xingchen exclaims. His hands are trembling as they feel their way to the girl’s shoulders. He gingerly lowers himself on his knees to meet her face-to-face. “H-How do you know that name? Tell me, please.”
“The other daozhang!! He saw that bastard when I led him here. He was looking for you! ” A-Qing explains. “He told me to tell you about this and run!!”
His mind blanks out. Not from the lightheadedness he still hasn’t gotten used to, but to the thought of meeting Zichen again.
He feels another wave of flowers force its way out of his throat.
Zichen, Zichen, Zichen.
Why did you come back?
“We have to hurry!!” A-Qing says, breaking him out of his stupor.
Xiao Xingchen takes a deep breath, the stench of hyacinths flooding his senses. He gets up.
“Yes, let’s go.”
He and A-Qing barely make it outside the house when they hear the fight between the two men.
"Do you know what your dear friend has done? Slayed demons and ghosts, and never asks for anything in return. Righteous, as you say he is!" his companion scoffs. “He’s eliminated walking corpses, too! We would go night-hunting… and kill those poisoned by corpse powder.”
Xiao Xingchen’s heart stops. He’s killed innocents? He’s spilled more blood? He’s… been silent to the pleas of the living?
He can’t breathe, and he has to hold onto A-Qing to steady himself. Blood spills from his eye sockets, soaking the bandage tied around his head. The flowers in his chest bloom anew, fueled by the guilt he feels at murdering harmless people. He holds back his coughs, willing the plants to stay where they are.
He might as well choke to his death right now.
"You used him!! Took advantage of his blindness and lied to him!!"
Zichen.
Zichen is here!
He’s really here!!
The other man laughs. “And tell me, Song-daozhang, whose fault is it that he can’t see in the first place?!”
No, Xiao Xingchen wants to say, it’s not his fault, it was mine, I gave my eyes to him, it was my fault, the killing of innocent lives, the naïvety of my ideals, it’s all my fault, mine, mine mine mine--
Xiao Xingchen lets go of A-Qing and runs, chest heaving, flowers threatening to spill over once more.
“How dare you call yourself his friend!” Xue Yang says, voice dripping with venom. “After the words you said to him last, aren’t you ashamed to still think of yourself as that?!”
It feels like no matter how much he runs, he cannot get closer to the two. He does not know where he is anymore. How far has he gone? How many flowers has he left on the ground?
How much closer is he to Zichen?
He continues to run, until he trips and lands on dirt. The coughing doesn't stop, the long, winding stems woven in his lungs constricting his heart. Blood mixes with the plants spilling from his lips; it pools beneath his hands and wets the dirt he clenches with weak fingers.
“Xingchen!!”
Zichen!!
"You still dare to say his name?" Xue Yang laughs, before clashing swords with Zichen once more. "After all that you've put him through? After he took out his eyes for you? After he started vomiting flowers out of his love for you? Ha!"
No! Zichen was never supposed to find out!
The second call of his name is punctuated by a scream of pain. He hears Zichen choking on his own blood, hears him screaming in pain as if burned.
“ Shut up! You don't deserve to call him like that!!” Xue Yang yells in tandem with the agony that Xiao Xingchen’s body feels. “You--” He’s cut off by a stab, hopefully from Zichen.
Xiao Xingchen won’t let Zichen get hurt by that murderer anymore.
He staggers to his feet and starts to sprint again, only to fall once more.
He gets up.
He falls.
He gets up.
Someone pushes him back.
“No-- Zichen!!”
“ Daozhang!! ” A-Qing! Why-- “You’re going the wrong way! The other daozhang will take care of that bastard, he said so himself! If you join the fight too... you might make your condition worse. That good-for-nothing scumbag won’t last any longer either!”
“A-Qing, no! I have to help Zichen! Please!”
“Daozhang,” she says desperately, and then presses something to his chest. He reaches out to examine it and freezes.
Shuanghua .
“If you want to help him, at least let me help too. Please let me use this,” A-Qing pleads. “Let me protect you, like how you protected me when we first met.”
She is so strong, so smart and brave. She would make a fine cultivator someday.
But she is not ready.
“A-Qing, no, please,” Xiao Xingchen says. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“And you won’t, I promise!!” A-Qing replies. “That bastard already has a wound on his stomach! He really won’t last long. But he did something to the other daozhang , so now he can’t see anything! Please, daozhang ! I want to do this, and I know you know that I can!”
“No! You--”
Wait.
“A-Qing… how do you know of their injuries?”
“Oh, I can see.”
What?!
“I’m sorry! I swear I was going to tell you sooner, but I kept on forgetting!”
Xiao Xingchen is about to tell the girl that there’s no need to apologize, but instead he doubles over in pain, a fresh wave of flowers spilling from his throat. More blood escapes his body, making him feel even more lightheaded.
His body wills him to stay, to let A-Qing help Zichen.
His heart cannot bear the thought of the girl putting herself in harm’s way for him.
He tightens his hold on Shuanghua, using the sword as support to keep himself from falling again. His sword calls out to him, telling him that a fierce corpse is nearby.
He frowns. Aren’t the only people fighting…
“A-Qing.” He needs to know if what Xue Yang said is true, if Shuanghua can truly be deceived by corpse poisoning. “Are there any corpses walking around right now? Is there anyone there besides Xue Yang and Zichen?”
The seconds it takes for A-Qing to respond are the longest he’s ever waited.
“None. It’s just them.”
Oh.
“The other daozhang still can’t see properly. I don’t know what that scumbag did to him, but I still wanna slice him up into pieces for hurting him!”
Oh.
That murderer, that delinquent, took advantage of Xiao Xingchen’s love for Zichen once more, used his illness as an excuse to accompany him on nighthunts. To experiment. To kill.
If Xue Yang wanted to play around with the living, he might as well have used Xiao Xingchen himself.
But now’s not the time for self-pity, he chides himself. Zichen is still there, fighting Xue Yang.
And whenever Zichen needs help, Xiao Xingchen is always there.
He pushes himself up, unsheathes Shuanghua, and takes a few much-needed breaths.
“A-Qing,” he says. “I need you to keep an eye on the three of us, but stay hidden. I… cannot trust my sword at the moment, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt Zichen.”
The air around the girl changes, from one of worry and desperation to confidence and determination.
“Let’s go.” And with that, A-Qing sprints away. He trusts her enough to find a good hiding spot for their plan.
Xiao Xingchen runs as well, listening to the sounds of swords clashing and footsteps dragging across dirt. His lungs are heaving with the air that can barely escape. He stumbles every few steps, but he never falters.
Shuanghua weighs heavier and heavier in his hand as he runs.
He is closer now, the clangs of Jiangzai and Fuxue reverberating in his ears.
He hears the swipe of a sword towards him, and he barely manages to parry his opponent.
“Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen spits out. “Why didn’t you just kill me when we met again?”
The delinquent laughs, a poisonous sound. “You’re seriously asking me this now? When both you and your beloved friend are about to die? What good will it do for you to know my intentions?” he shouts, the grin on his face audible in his voice.
Shuanghua falls to the ground with a heavy clang, followed by the thud of his knees hitting dirt.
Xiao Xingchen hears metal on metal once more, accompanied by Xue Yang’s curses as he continues to speak to him. “Do you think it will change the lives you took, the lives that were screaming and begging for your mercy before you killed them in one fell swoop?”
You’re just as much of a murderer as me, is what he hears. You don’t have the right to call yourself a man who advocates justice and eliminates wandering evils.
You’re a hypocrite.
Xiao Xingchen’s head spins with the affirming testimony that yes, he had indeed been tricked into slaughtering the innocent. The voice in his head, along with Xue Yang’s maniacal laugh, rings in his ears.
A murderer.
No!
You’re the evil you yourself swore to eradicate.
No, I--
Zichen was right to curse you.
Stop!!
He picks up his fallen sword.
No.
He raises it up.
Don’t let him get to you.
He--
“ Daozhang, on your left! Hurry!!”
--turns, and with what little strength he has left, thrusts Shuanghua in to the body near him.
He hears a scream of pain in the tone of Xue Yang’s voice, hears him hiss and curse at both A-Qing and himself. He is about to withdraw his sword from Xue Yang’s body when he is pushed aside, and he falls to the ground, coughing up more bloody flowers as he lands on dirt.
He hears a grunt of pain, in the deep timbre of Zichen’s voice.
No.
No, no, no nonononono--
He feels lightheaded, his breath now coming in short wheezes as he starts to crawl towards the direction of the bodies that collapsed.
“ Daozhang!! ”
A-Qing!!
It sinks into him just now, and his stomach drops.
This was supposed to be just another normal day for the girl. She supposed to be in town, she should be safe, she should be away from this, away from that murderer, away from Xiao Xingchen himself, who forced her to live with danger for two years, who put her in danger him who--
“Daozhang, no!! Don’t move!!”
He pushes himself up, and continues to drag his body in the direction from where he was pushed away. If he’s right…
Zichen is within reach now.
He is stopped by someone putting their hands on his shoulders. He feels himself being turned to lie on his back, the new position making it somewhat easier to breathe. He is pulled backwards, and his head rests on the other person’s lap.
Their hands, trembling, cradle his face, wiping away the traces of blood on his cheeks and lips.
Xiao Xingchen manages a weak smile as he uses the rest of his strength to lift his hand up towards the other person’s face. He wants to be sure, wants to trace the strong features of his best friend’s face.
"Zichen," he whispers, the petals and stems drowning out his voice. "It’s you."
Silence.
“Zichen… won’t you say something?” Xiao Xingchen whispers, voice accompanied by the spray of blood and flowers still spilling from his lips. It stains his robes, his heart, his hands.
Sobs.
Xiao Xingchen’s hand is removed from where it’s been cradling Zichen’s face, and feels it placed palm-up on his chest. Zichen traces characters on his skin.
Is it really me?
Blood drips down his face once more, his already-soaked bandages absorbing the pent-up longing he’s suppressed all these years.
Zichen was never supposed to know. But Xue Yang already told him, ruining what chance at reconciliation Xiao Xingchen had with his best friend.
But he’s going to die anyway, so he might as well confirm the other man’s thoughts.
“It always has been.”
As he starts to lose track of his senses, he hears Zichen choke on his breath. The other man coughs, and something foreign lands on Xiao Xingchen’s chest. It is a flower, he can tell, but it is different from the hyacinth he coughs every day. The flowers crowding his chest already overwhelm his sense of smell, but he still registers the new scent of the other flower.
He knows this scent.
"Zichen, what are these?" he asks one day, as they stroll past the several stalls in town.
"Lilies," the taller man replies. “I have seen them a few times at wedding celebrations.”
Xiao Xingchen hums. “Do they symbolize anything to be used in such a grand occasion?”
“I hear that it is the flower of purity,” Zichen explains. “And is also used to mean good luck.”
He picks one from the flower stall (after asking permission from the vendor, of course) and twirls it in his hand. “A beautiful meaning for a beautiful flower.”
“Do you like it, Xingchen?” Zichen asks, taking the plant from his slim fingers. The white of the petals makes a striking contrast against the dark of the other man’s robes. “I can buy a whole bunch for you, if you like.”
Xiao Xingchen’s heart races. A bouquet of flowers? For… him?
“No, it’s alright, Zichen!” he reasons. “I-I don’t need it, so it’s best not to get it.”
“You’re holding back again.” Zichen reaches out with his free hand and gently grasps Xiao Xingchen’s wrist. “How many times did I tell you that it’s okay to treat yourself every once in a while?”
“I--”
“We’re getting the flowers, Xingchen.”
“No, that’s too much--”
“I insist--”
“But--”
In the end, Zichen purchases a single lily, and tucks it behind Xiao Xingchen’s ear.
“It suits you,” Zichen mumbles. “A pure flower for the pure soul who descended the immortal mountain.”
Zichen’s sobs are louder now, as he leans down to press their foreheads together. The scents of lilies and pine mix with the fragrance of hyacinths surrounding him. Xiao Xingchen tries to speak, to ask him one last question, but his words are caught in the flowers clogging his throat.
Zichen, oh Zichen, his mind whispers. Is it me? Truly?
The last things he senses are drops of liquid (tears, Zichen, no, please don’t waste them on me) falling on his face, and a faint pressure on his lips before he fades into unconsciousness.
If so, I’m sorry. I’ve caused you pain again.
Song Zichen, tongueless, mute Song Zichen, pours all his love, his regret, his longing, into the kiss he presses on Xiao Xingchen's lips. His mind screams the words he’s been rehearsing for two years.
I love you.
A beat passes, before he collapses from the wounds on his chest and the weight of guilt in his heart.
I’m sorry.
Vaguely, he registers the sound of A-Qing’s shouts, her hurried footsteps getting closer to him and Xingchen. He wants so badly to stay awake, to hope that Xingchen is still okay, that he hasn’t died because of him.
But the thought persists and lulls him to blackness.
I was too late.