Chapter Text
Nether Water Manor sat in eerie silence. Ghosts and water ghouls drifted soundlessly up and down the halls, through sparsely-decorated rooms and quiet side chambers as they went about their business. Only one ghost was making any noise, his boots tapping in a testy rhythm.
Black Water Sinking Ships paced his room as if trying to wear a ditch through the floor. If the pacing wasn't enough, then surely his glare would do the trick in obliterating the floorboards.
He had been like this for days, spiralling into one of the phases in which he refused to eat. Even a single bite made him sick to his stomach. And still, hunger gnawed at him.
His mind was in a whirl. His plan had been executed at long last, but there was one loose thread that was still tangled around him. The Wind Master was still here, his captive. The thought made him feel equally imprisoned. In his own manor. Infuriating.
It should have been easy for him to hate Shi Qingxuan. The man had taken everything from him. Everything that was good, leaving him with nothing but years of suffering. It should have been easy to hate Shi Qingxuan as much as he hated that arrogant brother of his.
The choices that he had offered had been cruel, but there was a kind of justice in them. Shi Wudu loved his brother, so the first choice to switch fates with a madman would not have been selected. Really, that one would have brought little satisfaction, anyway. So the second option, for Shi Qingxuan to end his brother's life, was the only option. Shi Wudu had sacrificed the life of another to ensure his younger brother's safety. Now, let him take the correct path. Let him sacrifice his own life to save his beloved sibling.
Only that had gone wrong, as well. He'd lost his temper, and as good as it felt to spill that bastard's blood, it wasn't how it was supposed to go. But it had spared Shi Qingxuan the pain. That shouldn't have made him feel relief . He should hate Shi Qingxuan. He should leave him to rot in that cold, dingy cell, He really should.
Nothing had ever, ever been easy for He Xuan, though. Not even this. And that only pissed him off even more.
He was rarely one for impulse, but it seemed to be latching onto him as of late. It was in a fit of fury that he stormed into the Wind Master's cell. The former god hung from heavy chains, his hair and robes messy and unkempt. He didn't lift his head when He Xuan stormed in. Was he even alive, or had he lost the will to keep sucking in breath? The possibility sent a spike of ice through him.
No. The little shit could not die. He would not allow it!
With just a few steps, he had crossed the cramped cell and yanked Shi Qingxuan's head up, fingers digging into his chin. His gaze burned cold when it fell upon that familiar face. So familiar that it produced a pestering ache in his chest.
He knew what it looked like when Shi Qingxuan was happy, how those eyes squinted ever so slightly. He knew how that bottom lip quivered when Shi Qingxuan was upset. How his brow furrowed as he thought. The scrunch of his nose as he dreamed. Years and years of keen observation, all to know his enemy better. He needed to understand him completely, so he watched in silence. It was a necessary obsession.
Somewhere along the way, it became a quiet fascination.
Now, it was strange to see that face go still. There had been satisfaction in seeing horror and despair burn through that bright gaze. That was the image that had kept him going all these years. But that satisfaction had burned out quickly, almost as rapidly as it had flared. There was scant satisfaction in hurting his-- No, they were never friends. That had all been a lie.
He closed his eyes, reminding himself that he was supposed to examine, not to gawk.
No response, but his prisoner was breathing. Good. He busied himself with unlocking the shackles and pulling the unresponsive man down from his chains. Without another moment of hesitation, he slung Shi Qingxuan over his shoulder and went back into the hall, intending to take him to a proper room.
Death was too good for him, He Xuan decided. To allow the man to die was to allow him to escape from all of this. To run after his brother. That was too good, too merciful a release.
To allow him to die is like allowing him to leave.
He Xuan stopped in his tracks, a chill washing over him. His fingers curled into the once fine fabric of Shi Qingxuan's robes, and his arms shook. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter! He should just kill this one, too, and be done with it!
But dying was like leaving. And he… he didn't want Shi Qingxuan to leave.
The thought spun through his mind like a leaf tossed by waves, tossed by wind.
He glared at that still face, hanging so close next to his. "I hate you," he spat. Then again, louder, as if he had to convince someone. "I hate you!"
He was the only one in the dark hall to hear, though. All of the other denizens had fled when they heard his approach, knowing that his temper had flared from the weight of his footsteps.
Eventually, the echo of his voice died away, as did the flare of emotion behind it. Not even hatred could burn forever, and he had already kept that tiny candle lit in his heart for so long.
He Xuan forced himself to keep walking. He would throw the man into one of the extra rooms. Not a guest room - he never had any guests - though it was essentially the same thing, if a little spartan.
It was better than the cell, he reasoned. Nether Water Manor was a cold, damp place. Not that it mattered to him; he couldn't feel any of it. The cells were even worse, though, and if Shi Qingxuan caught cold, it would be a pain to deal with. He glanced down at Shi Qingxuan's wrists, dangling limp against his chest. Red, worn skin encircled both, rubbed raw from his shackles. He wouldn't be chained again, either. With his spiritual power gone, Shi Qingxuan needed to eat to stay alive, and it would be a pain to have to feed him.
None of this was out of kindness. It was only for convenience. He wasn't doing this for anyone but himself. He repeated that to himself over and over as he carried Shi Qingxuan to the small bed that was shoved into a corner of the room. He repeated it as he placed Shi Qingxuan on that bed, arranging the stiff pillow and thin blankets until he caught himself and quickly turned away. Comfort was not necessary. This was for himself, not for his prisoner. He didn't need to fuss or show concern; he was no longer Ming Yi.
He summoned one of the ghost servants that drifted through the manor and sent it off to fetch a tray of food and some water. While he waited for it to arrive, he stood in the corner opposite the bed and stared, arms folded across his chest.
He was no longer Ming Yi, but it was so close to how it used to be. So like those mornings that he would stand in Shi Qingxuan's room, waiting for the drowsy Wind Master to finally get his ass out of bed. Those dark lashes would flutter, eyes slightly unfocused until they would fall on him and brighten.
" Ming-xiong!" A pleased chirp, the first word out of those lips at the start of the day. The joy woven through that name, adoration and familiarity… Every time it cut through him like a knife. Because Ming Yi, Ming-xiong , the Wind Master's beloved best friend, did not exist.
It would hurt even more on the few occasions that Shi Qingxuan yanked him down onto the bed beside him, refusing to let go as he cuddled his captive and carried on.
It was torture, the warmth of body heat against his cold skin; the gentle press of hands from the only person who ever dared touch him after he'd died; the rhythm of a real heartbeat felt beneath thin robes. It was torture how it all made him want . How it made him feel something other than stubborn anger and a drive for revenge. Because he wasn't Ming Yi, but he had produced that happiness in his companion all the same.
Sometimes, buried in silken sheets with the one who was supposed to be his enemy, in the soft haze of morning, it felt all too easy to give up everything and let himself be Ming Yi. Let himself bring someone else joy and erase the days in which he had not known the feeling. No pain-filled past, no plans to carry out, no anger and sorrow pushing him onward. Just the simplicity of being at Shi Qingxuan's side.
It was agony, how he could so easily do just that. It was agony, denying it every single time. It was agony, how carrying out his revenge still left him feeling hollow. He had not wanted to hurt Shi Qingxuan. Not physically, at least. Nor did he want to break him completely. His own idiotic rage had been to blame, there. He should know better than to lose his temper. In the end, he had only wanted Shi Qingxuan to understand. The pain and weight of knowledge would have been enough. To know just how terribly he had altered the life and fate of the man who he called his best friend.
He had tried to keep the matters of enlightening Shi Qingxuan and enacting revenge upon Shi Wudu separate. He had tried to steer Shi Qingxuan away, but the Wind Master ran to his brother every single time. Even with the knowledge of what Shi Wudu had done. It hurt.
No matter what he did, he always found pain in the end. Happy endings were not for him, nor was satisfaction, it seemed.
He Xuan only realized that he had inched across the room when his knees bumped against the bed frame. He froze, posture tense. What was he doing? How long had he spent creeping across the room, lost in thoughts and memories? He glanced to a small table near the opposite wall and saw the requested tray of food. He hadn't even noticed the servant come in. If they had spoken to him, he didn't hear.
He hid his face in his hands, anything to block out the sight of his enemy sleeping right in front of him. What was he doing? What was he doing…? Why couldn't he let go of what had never been his?
A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest. A quiet snuffle came from below.
He Xuan dropped his hands. Shi Qingxuan was stirring, face scrunching as he finally woke up. It was time to leave. He really needed to go, but his damned legs wouldn't heed the command. His damned eyes were stuck on that pale face, on those fluttering dark lashes. When they lifted, those bright green eyes stared at him, unfocused.
"Ming-xiong…?" The name tumbled from lips made clumsy by lingering sleep.
Hearing it still cut through him, even worse than before.
He Xuan stumbled back a step, his legs finally moving. Not fast enough to spare him the sight of Shi Qingxuan's vision sharpening, of those eyes widening in realization, shock washing over the other man like a splash of cold water. He saw the glint of terror in that gaze as Shi Qingxuan struggled to sit up and back away, sheets bunching around him.
It was everything that he should have expected. A natural response from the man whose brother had been murdered before his very eyes.
He Xuan turned his head, tearing out of the room. By the time Shi Qingxuan could even call out his real name in fear, the door was closed and locked behind him. He Xuan didn't stop running until he was hidden in the safety of his own room. He didn't show himself for the rest of the day.
The days passed, bleeding into an unknown length of time as He Xuan tried to busy himself with other things. He patrolled along the shores, watching the horizon for any intruders. He had expected the heavens to chase after him, but he must have hidden Nether Water Manor in its new location effectively enough.
He double-checked defenses, made sure that his bone dragons were settled in, wondered how things were going with the Earth, Wind, and Water Master posts suddenly empty. Not that it was his concern at all, but…
It was all half-hearted. This was all so… boring. There was no more reason to go on adventures or ridiculous outings to see this or that, to babysit a god that loved to drink but could never hold his wine. He no longer had any business in Heaven whatsoever, his cover blown, his days as a spy ended. So… what to do with himself? He Xuan wandered the shores and halls in a daze, often surprised to find himself in the middle of the former when he thought he was in the latter, and vice versa.
It was too quiet. He had never had a problem with solitude, before, so it shouldn't bother him, now. There was a restless energy in him, though, and he kept glancing at the horizon. The waters stretched out farther than he could see, black and still as night. Nothing moved beneath those waters that he didn't know about, but that restless feeling that something was going to happen soon refused to leave him.
His servants tended to Shi Qingxuan. He never entered that room again. He never showed himself before his prisoner after that one terrible day. Shi Qingxuan was alive, as his servants reported. He was eating. He didn't cause trouble. He continued to exist. That was enough.
That was what He Xuan told himself, as his mind wandered every hour of the day. There was no relief in anything that he did. In any of this. Not in revenge, not in torture, not in whatever the hell he was doing with Shi Qingxuan right now, and likely not in whatever he planned to do next.
Eventually, the only solution was to sleep. To leave his trusted servants and guards in charge, and fall into sweet oblivion. He didn't need to sleep, but doing so felt too good to give up. Like his hunger, it was an echo of feeling from when he was alive.
He'd gotten Shi Qingxuan addicted to it, too, during his time as Earth Master. When they were out on adventures, Shi Qingxuan would sometimes nap, his head knocking against He Xuan's shoulder or resting in his lap. Whenever he awoke, he would stretch luxuriously like a cat, strange, sleepy little sounds spilling from his lips before they parted in a yawn. Then those eyes would blink up at him. Content. Trusting.
He pushed the memories away and burrowed under the pile of blankets until no part of him was visible. It wasn't as if he needed to breathe, anyway. Sleep would chase the memories and thoughts and tangled emotions away.
It was a blessed relief.
Of course, it didn't last.
Some amount of time later -hours? Days?- He Xuan was dragged awake by something not of his own will. His mind spun in utter confusion, his body tangled in sheets. That restless feeling swallowed him whole. If he had a heartbeat, it would be racing as everything in his body screamed with distress. But what was the source?
He shook his head, hair falling around him in a loose, disheveled mess. His head ached, bones humming with the pain. He dug his fingers into his skull and gritted his teeth. He could handle pain; he had known enough of it when he was alive. But there was one weakness that he still had.
Hunger.
It struck him like a wave, dragging him under until he feared he would drown. He doubled over in bed, arms wrapped around his stomach in an iron grip. He knew hunger, and he knew how to handle his own fluctuating appetite. But this was something different, something far stronger than he had known for some time. As if his body was trying to tear itself open from the inside. He'd last felt this when… An image of a mountain, of crimson robes and an infuriating smirk drifted through his mind, and was just as quickly washed away. Hopefully that smug bastard was suffering right now, too. Let him get a taste of how this felt.
He stumbled out of bed and forced his shaking limbs to carry him out into the hall. A few ghosts trailed along, their paths uneven. Moans and cries could be heard from up and down the hall, as if every undead being was crying out.
He Xuan felt no better. He was an utter mess, having fallen into his short hibernation without changing out of his usual robes. They hung from him, wrinkled and untidy, but he cared little for his appearance at the moment.
That hunger leached into his very bones, rippling through him in an agonizing, relentless tide until he was certain that he was composed of nothing but emptiness. Every moment of it washed away his sanity bit by bit, until he was nothing more than ravenous instinct.
A ghost guard wandered over, holding a hand to its head as if wracked by headache. Nonetheless, its first and foremost concern was its master, who was swaying in the middle of the hall with a hollow look in his eyes.
"Lord Black Water, are you--?"
The loyal little ghost was snatched in a crushing grip, devoured before it could even finish speaking.
It brought back a flicker of focus, but it was far from enough. He Xuan wrapped his arms around himself, gasping in frustration as weakness sent him collapsing against the wall. One pathetic ghost wasn't enough. He knew that he could devour every ghost and water ghoul in attendance at Nether Water Manor, and it wouldn't be enough. He could empty the kitchens, but he might perish before he got there.
The worst part was that he knew it was all psychological. He wasn't actually starving, it was just the echo of that feeling from when he was alive. But he was powerless against it, the demands of his body overriding all reason. With a hunger as strange as this, though, who knew. Maybe he would be destroyed.
It was in this spiral of uncertainty that his hunger-sharpened senses caught a familiar scent. He Xuan's head turned, his mouth watering. It was the scent of a god, that bright, burning hum of delicious power. All of the ghosts and ghouls here would not sate him, but to feast upon a god? He shuddered, fists clenched so tight that his knuckles groaned.
He dragged himself down the hall, deaf to the cries of the surrounding ghosts as they suffered their own torments. He knew nothing else but ravenous need by the time he arrived at the heavy wooden door that housed his captive god. He tore off the lock in an explosion of splinters and nearly took the door off the hinges with it. It remained intact, though, swinging shut behind him with a heavy thud as he lurched into the room.
In the corner, the god looked up from the small table where he sat. Those bright green eyes widened with terror once more.