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With Zhao Yunlan asleep in his arms, the last thing that Shen Wei would want to do is go to sleep himself. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he reaches for the blanket bunched up at the end of the bed, pulls it over the both of them, and curls himself around Zhao Yunlan, whose head he lets rest on his forearm. As he lays there in bed beside him, Shen Wei feels the euphoria of their night together slowly ebb away, leaving behind an inexplicable fondness that settles comfortably in his chest.
He worries briefly that he might have overdone it and feels a small flash of guilt. When Zhao Yunlan suddenly passed out underneath him, Shen Wei had thought he’d died. Though this was a rather implausible concern in hindsight, Shen Wei had been nearing a state of panic as he scrambled to find out what had happened. A quick check of his pulse and gentle snoring proved that he had only fallen asleep, to the relief of Shen Wei. Part of him is glad that Zhao Yunlan fell asleep immediately because he doesn’t know what he would say to him if he hadn’t.
Before they talk, before the questions Zhao Yunlan is sure to bombard him with, before he has to scramble to find answers (lies, they are lies) that will be believable enough that Zhao Yunlan won’t ask anymore but not enough that he’ll truly believe them, Shen Wei, for once, just wants to enjoy being with Zhao Yunlan without having to consider his secrets.
(Maybe he can’t ever get that, but at least he’d like a few moments to pretend.)
His eyes study Zhao Yunlan’s peaceful face, caressed by gentle moonlight, as if it is some glorious treasure to behold. Shen Wei has memorized every line and curve of this face, and yet, it still feels like his heart is being squeezed every time he looks upon it. He still can’t believe that he’s here with him, that he’s held him, that he knows again what those lips and that skin feel like underneath his touch. His gaze drifts down to Zhao Yunlan’s neck, where marks of passion trail along his skin.
Mine, he thinks briefly as his fingers curl around the back of Zhao Yunlan’s head, the sight invoking a possessive hunger that he lets linger for a moment before he pushes it down.
Shen Wei leans in closer to Zhao Yunlan, resting their foreheads together, and lightly brushes his fingertips against his cheek. Zhao Yunlan’s skin is warm and slightly rough to the touch. He smells slightly of smoke: a smell Shen Wei doesn’t find particularly appealing though doesn’t mind. But underneath the smoke there’s a fragrance reminiscent of forgotten earth, of worn rock and fresh soil, with the lightness of a heavenly sky. And even deeper within, at the roots which none can see, it permeates with the resounding sense of home.
In the darkness, Shen Wei smiles to himself. Even after all this time, this scent has never faded. It is his, after all, no matter in what life. Shen Wei has never forgotten it—of course he could not—but it has been a long time since he was last close enough to recognize it. It’s comforting. He finds everything about Zhao Yunlan comforting, both the familiar and unfamiliar.
And so Shen Wei simply lies there beside him—for hours, maybe, he doesn’t know—perfectly content to just watch over Zhao Yunlan as he sleeps. He could never tire of looking at him. It’s like he’s catching up on all the time they spent apart. It’ll never feel like enough, no matter how much he looks.
When Shen Wei gazes into his face, his entire demeanor softens. There’s just something so intimate about seeing Zhao Yunlan like this. There are no creases between his eyebrows. He doesn’t smile either. There’s neither a pretense nor a coldness. Instead, there’s only gentle contentment in his expression.
For Zhao Yunlan, it’s a moment of vulnerability—something seen by very few.
And yet here he is with Shen Wei, as if there’s no other place he’d need to be, as if it is in Shen Wei’s arms that he perfectly fits into, like the missing piece of a puzzle.
Shen Wei’s eyes aren’t visible in the darkness, but in that moment, the greatness of his devotion towards Zhao Yunlan is laid bare in his expression. It’s terrifying, a little—just from the intensity of it. How can a single person hold so strong a feeling for another?
The answer is both simple and complex, as nearly everything is. The thing that no other person will ever be able to understand is that Shen Wei has lived through a million lifetimes loving one person. It is time that strengthens love, and Shen Wei has had nothing but time—time spent yearning and loving and holding and losing. Time to know that, for him, there is only one in this world he would love so fiercely and determinedly.
Perhaps, even with that explanation, others would still find that kind of devotion frightening.
It’s why he keeps it buried, hidden behind a mask. He’s trained himself to be like this (had to, in order to protect the one he loves), and though it may not have initially been in his nature, so many years of repressing his desire has made him grow used to holding himself back all the time.
Even though he knows restraining himself and staying away is what he should do, Shen Wei still does not regret holding Zhao Yunlan. How could he regret the kisses that were pressed all along his skin or the feeling of Zhao Yunlan’s fingers digging into his back? The sound of his name falling from Zhao Yunlan’s lips over and over? The warmth, the thrill? No, that he could never regret; maybe if he were better, he would.
Instead, while lying there beside his love, his treasure, his eternal forever, Shen Wei feels happy. It’s a kind of happiness he hasn’t felt in a very long time, except in his memories and of a time long ago. For just one night, he didn’t have to hold himself properly or hide. Zhao Yunlan welcomed him into his arms—pulled him in, more like—just as he was.
Shen Wei wants to wrap himself around Zhao Yunlan, pull him close to his chest, and never leave. If he could, he would bask in Zhao Yunlan’s warmth and fragrance for eternity, although he knows that will never be possible.
Eternity, he is keenly aware, is a double-edged sword. It is freedom from death...and a chain to life. While it is a gift, it is also a burden.
“I should have killed you then.”
Shen Wei is immediately stirred from his serene stillness by the memory of those words; his thumb moves to gently brush against the corner of Zhao Yunlan’s eye, still puffy and red. Shen Wei’s heart twists as he remembers the pure sorrow with which Zhao Yunlan had wept with earlier that night.
“I’m sorry,” Zhao Yunlan repeated, over and over, until Shen Wei grew afraid of the words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Shen Wei had never seen him so sorrowful and then so enraged. The fierceness of his gaze nearly mirrored his own, and Shen Wei gladly drowned in it, let it take hold of him, and through his passionate embrace tried to show him that even after all this time, even as the years dragged on in loneliness and ache, he would never ever regret.
I’d live for you. I’d die for you. I’d kill for you. I’d trade my life for yours.
(I’d do anything, as long as it meant you would be there.)
In comparison to the one who died protecting him, Shen Wei’s sacrifices seem small. Small, because there’s no question in his heart about it. He’s aware of their weight, feels the significance within his pain, but to him, it’s nothing if it’s for the one he loves. Because that’s why he does it—not to pay back the life he owes him, but because he’s in love. Shen Wei loves him. Sometimes, it’s just that simple. He loves him, so he wants to save him. He can’t comprehend a world without his love and the eternity for them that he so desperately craves. It’s a selfless act, perhaps for a selfish reason.
A selfless act that has its price, in more ways than one.
By this point—the hours having crept by quickly and cruely—Shen Wei can already see the grayness on Zhao Yunlan’s face and the cold paleness to his lips. Zhao Yunlan, though peacefully, sleeps from exhaustion, and not any kind a normal human would ever experience. In a way, he almost looks like a ghost, lying there so still and wan. There is no color to his cheeks. The energy that once crackled underneath his skin is gone. All the liveliness that characterizes Zhao Yunlan has vanished, leaving behind a weakened body.
Shen Wei has seen this before, on this very face that he holds so dear.
He draws his hand away from Zhao Yunlan’s cheek. A sigh leaves his lips, and he smiles, though there’s a coldness to his eyes. In his heart, he knows that now he cannot let go of Zhao Yunlan. The moment he gave in to his desires, he resigned himself to that fate. He has restrained himself for so long and withdrawn himself from the world, but at his core, Shen Wei knows he remains a selfish, selfish person. Selfish for wanting Zhao Yunlan. Selfish for wanting him, even when he knows it will hurt him. And now that he’s had the taste of his love again, he cannot let go of it.
The image of a plum blossom drifts through his mind’s eye, and he closes his eyes tightly. Shen Wei has already lost him before. He promised himself he would never again, not like this.
So he won’t leave him, and he won’t stay to watch as Zhao Yunlan’s life drains from his body because of him.
There’s only one thing he can do.
Shen Wei laughs softly, dry and bitter. He really is selfish. He wonders how long these secrets of his will last. Zhao Yunlan is a smart man, after all. He already knows more than any of his past lives ever did. And he still loves him even with that knowledge. He still trusts him. Maybe he would...no, no, he can’t know anything more. Shen Wei must make sure of that. Or else…
Or else Zhao Yunlan will leave him forever.
If he ever finds out what kind of person Shen Wei really is, he’ll surely retreat out of fear and disgust. Perhaps he’d be right to do so.
And even though he’s determined to keep Zhao Yunlan by his side, he knows that when Zhao Yunlan wants to leave him, he won’t stop him. It will kill him to do so—but he’s going to die anyway.
The Great Seal has already begun to break. Shen Wei knows that there’s no stopping what has already begun, although he will try to hold it off for as long as he can. And then, when he can’t any longer, just as he promised Shennong in exchange for Kunlun’s eternity, he will give up his life and go to where he should have gone long ago.
When he finally goes, he will go alone.
Unless Zhao Yunlan decides to come with him.
Shen Wei doesn’t think he will. Because, at some point, Zhao Yunlan will leave him. That’s all he’s ever done, again and again. Kunlun left him (for protecting him). Shen San left him (for loving him).
And Zhao Yunlan…
(for trusting him).
He doesn’t blame them for it. More or less, he understands why. (He doesn’t, really. He thinks he understands, but thinking is very different from knowing, and not even the hearts of those you love are always completely understood.)
Still, despite knowing what will come, Shen Wei hopes that he won’t leave. Maybe, if he does everything just right, Zhao Yunlan will stay. He’ll stay.
Stay, stay, the Young Ghost King cried once, long ago, clutching robes of jade in his shaking hands.
Stay, his heart still says. It’s merely a wish—no longer a plea. He knows now that pleas won’t make him stay.
But for that small hope, his secrets would stay hidden; his lies would become the truth; his deception would be treated as a kindness.
He would bind them together in eternity, to never part.
Shen Wei leans down to kiss Zhao Yunlan’s brow. It’s gentle, tender. He lingers—and then pulls away. Slowly, he smiles, bitter and pained and loving all the same. As he strokes the hair out of Zhao Yunlan’s eyes, he murmurs, “Yunlan, why do you make it so much harder for me?” And even though he asks him, his question isn’t really meant for Zhao Yunlan to answer, because he’s the one who’s making this hard.
Shen Wei, who couldn’t have just stayed away and passed on quietly like he was supposed to.
Shen Wei, who decided that in neither life nor death would he part from Zhao Yunlan again.
(Shen Wei, who thinks he can only destroy when all he really does is love.)
But no matter how difficult, he has already found his conviction: the end of Shen Wei’s eternity will also be the end of Zhao Yunlan’s.
————
Shen Wei thinks this up until the end, at the end, standing before the roaring flames. He tears his gaze away from what will be his doom and looks down at their interlocked hands. For some reason, an odd feeling swells up in his throat, and he suddenly squeezes Zhao Yunlan’s hand tighter.
Zhao Yunlan turns back to look at him, and a moment later his lips have curled into a loving smile. “Mm, Baobei?”
Unafraid. An expression so calm and relaxed one would think he isn’t moments away from death. A smile meant only for Shen Wei.
And Shen Wei finally understands.
This isn’t the end to eternity.
He wants to laugh; how could he have gotten it all so wrong?
He had believed that their eternity was bound together. In granting each other unending life, their fates entangled with one another. Their journey became one, even as they were forced to be apart. Neither of them would know death, and yet they would suffer through life over and over.
When Shen Wei realized his end was drawing soon, he wanted to take Zhao Yunlan with him. If there’s no more eternity left for Shen Wei, how could it exist for Zhao Yunlan? After all, Shen Wei kept him in this world only so that he wouldn’t completely lose him.
He is mine, and I am his. We belong together, in life and in death.
But Shen Wei was wrong.
Eternity is eternity; there is no end.
Even with a dispersed spirit, Shen Wei will love Zhao Yunlan. That’s what will continue on, even when he’s gone. That’s true eternity. A body is only a body; it is a vessel for eternity, not its essence.
He—Shen Wei—will end, but his love, his eternity, will not.
And even though Kunlun was the one who started it all by protecting the Young Ghost King, it’s only Shen Wei who hasn’t finished it. Kunlun did his part—he passed on. Shen Wei must still fulfill the promise he made in his own bargain.
All the Young Ghost King wanted was for Kunlun to be there. All Shen Wei thinks now is that he’d like for Zhao Yunlan to be happy.
He must be happy, for Shen Wei’s love to carry on.
Shen Wei understands now that their eternities will be intertwined forever, even as he fulfills his promise. Even if they weren’t, he would still choose Zhao Yunlan’s happiness over everything else. After all the love and happiness Zhao Yunlan bestowed upon Shen Wei’s undeserving self, he feels it’s only right.
And so he doesn’t need Zhao Yunlan to stay.
Something in Shen Wei’s face must give him away because Zhao Yunlan’s eyes suddenly swirl with confusion, but it’s already too late—Shen Wei surges forward and kisses him, tenderly and achingly. It’s every kiss they’ve ever had and every kiss they didn’t. It’s the spaces in between, the words that they never managed to say. Yearning and fulfillment brim at its edges, like the dawn breaking through the clouds.
In those precious moments, Shen Wei shares what an eternity together with Zhao Yunlan tastes like.
And then, cruel but right, Shen Wei takes it all away.
Zhao Yunlan fights it—oh, he fights it, he really does—but Shen Wei’s hold is strong. Bit by bit, he peels away each memory of himself, crumples it in his fist, and turns it to dust. The moment that they first met, the peaceful hours spent in the office, every meal they enjoyed in each other’s company, the slow kisses as they lay in bed together—all of it gone, scattered, erased.
And Zhao Yunlan cries out with each one as they are ripped away from him, like each erasure is a dagger to his heart. In a final attempt to protect what is being taken from him, he clutches something to his chest, curls himself around it, and begs Shen Wei not to take it, oh please, not this, let me have this, please, Xiao Wei—
Shen Wei firmly unfurls his hands to find a small memory trapped inside. He smiles, slightly puzzled. What is it that he wants to protect so badly?
It’s surprisingly mundane. They’re in Zhao Yunlan’s apartment, with Shen Wei seated properly on the couch and Zhao Yunlan comfortably settled in his lap. Up on his perch by the window, Daqing is fast asleep under a patch of warm sunlight, his belly full of dried fish. Shen Wei is grading papers—and it is painfully obvious to him that many were written at 2am and only with the power of pure caffeine—while Zhao Yunlan types up a report he hates writing, judging by the way he’s hitting the keys a little harder than he needs to. Every so often, Shen Wei reaches up to run his fingers through Zhao Yunlan’s hair. When he does, Zhao Yunlan gentles his attack on the keyboard, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. The two of them don’t ever speak, both seeming to be preoccupied with their own work. And yet, this image feels perfect, somehow. The silence is of the comfortable kind, and the room feels peaceful—and right. Like home. Like how it’s meant to be.
Shen Wei’s face softens for a moment, his eyes turning misty, and then he takes it from him too.
As the last memory is pulled from his mind, Zhao Yunlan’s eyes close and he slumps against Shen Wei. For a few moments, Shen Wei’s arms linger, and then they let him go.
And it’s then, just as he is about to do the same, that he finally understands the ones who left him.
Before him, the flames burn bright.
Shen Wei almost finds it comforting as he is swallowed up by them.
————
He is not dead.
He should be—he was—but he isn’t.
Somehow, he knows this, though he doesn’t know where he is exactly. In any case, he’s not where he just was.
His shoulders and forehead feel heavy, weighed down by an unfamiliar sensation, like the heartbeat of a tiny flame. It’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t dislike it; it grounds him as he drifts among the nothingness surrounding him.
Ah, he misses his Yunlan already. He wonders if he’ll forgive him for what he’s done, if he’ll understand. He won’t, he concludes, smiling, before he remembers that he doesn’t remember him anymore.
He let go of him. He fulfilled his promise.
So why isn’t he dead?
He suddenly hears something in the distance. To be more precise, it isn’t him who hears something, but his soul that does (and when did he get that?) Upon hearing it, his heart leaps into his throat, and his chest flutters with anticipation. For what? he wonders and turns around.
He doesn’t understand what he sees.
Kunlun is there. He stands there, in the way he always did, like there’s nothing that could shake him, a mountain rooted in the earth. His face is—not quite sad, simply serene. In the nothingness, he seems to glow with a divine light.
Wordlessly, he looks back, unable to do anything but stare.
From where he’s standing, Kunlun extends an arm towards him, his fingers uncurling and laying outstretched for him to take. “Come home with me,” he says, soft, and his voice somehow carries its way over to him.
Home.
He wants to go home.
Can he?
His heart yearns. It’s unbearably painful, to wish for something you weren’t ever supposed to have. In that moment, all he wants to do is gather his loved one in his arms, hold him close to his chest, and stay. No more leaving. No more hiding. No more making promises he can’t keep. That’s all he wants.
Whatever he was expecting to come after his sacrifice, it wasn’t this, it wasn’t this ache, it wasn’t this endlessness that would allow him to regret.
How cruel it is, to have this request to taunt him and finally make him feel regret. He knows he made the right choice by letting go. What’s done is done—there’s no more going back. There’s no more home to go back to.
He took home away forever when he took away Zhao Yunlan’s memories.
He’s sure there’s no way he could still be alive. He’s sure that Kunlun could not be here. He’s sure that Zhao Yunlan will not ever remember him.
But he’s been wrong before. He’s never wished so much that he is again this time too.
Kunlun’s face remains calm, but he notices now that the hand reaching out to him is trembling a little. “Please,” he says, and there’s a slight catch to his voice. “Baobei.”
At that, he startles.
“You promised not to leave me, remember?” he quietly continues, hope and doubt simultaneously intermingling in his words. “And I know we’ve both had enough of broken promises. So come home with me. Come home with me.”
He hates that tone in his voice, like he’s trying to hide his fear, like he thinks that maybe he doesn’t want to go back with him, and it doesn’t matter anymore that he should be dead, he wants to go home, and in four great strides, he’s at Kunlun’s side and tightly grabbing his hand.
“Yunlan,” he says, with every bit of love he has pouring out from his newly formed soul and into the name, and Kunlun—Zhao Yunlan—both—smiles at him.
“Let’s go,” he says and leads him home.