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Five hundred years pass before Hua Cheng hears of a new Guoshi in Yong'An.
Rumour has it that the mysterious Fang Xin Guoshi is a young man who saved Yong’An’s crown prince from peril. No one knows his background or where he came from, except that he is eminently talented in swordsmanship and the four arts, and is never seen without a mask.
Hua Cheng sends the Waning Moon Officer to pay a bunch of royal guards to loosen their tongues, and finally one of them spills the information he is seeking. It turns out that the guards were engaged in combat with a group of bandits attempting to kidnap the crown prince, when a mysterious stranger arrived and intercepted the fight, easily fending off the kidnappers with nothing but a single tree branch.
Hearing this, Hua Cheng stills.
A memory flashes in his mind. His god, bruised and battered, wielding a single branch against thirty-three heavenly officials, as Wuming, a weak wisp of a ghost, weaves around him in a pathetic attempt at assisting his god in the fight.
This mysterious man is his god. He has to be. No one else has skill enough to effortlessly hold their own in combat with nothing but a single branch.
Hua Cheng inhales sharply, air rushing into hollow lungs that have not breathed for centuries.
After five entire centuries - at last, a lead, a whisper of his god’s whereabouts. He can hardly believe it.
Soon, Hua Cheng shifts into the appearance of a youth and enters the royal palace of Yong'An in the disguise of a palace servant in plain clothes, heading straight for the chambers of the Guoshi.
He crosses paths with several Yong'An nobles along the way and is forced to bow to them to keep up his facade, contempt curling in his gut.
On some days, part of him almost feels a sense of vindictive appreciation for Yong’An’s role in the demise of Xianle, the kingdom that both made and destroyed him, that he’d always wanted to see in ruins. However, on most days, he hates the people of Yong’An for what they put his beloved through, the hundred cuts he had to watch them deal to his beloved’s broken body.
Thankfully, he doesn't have to endure them for long, for he soon arrives at the chambers of the Guoshi, following the route that he'd plotted earlier with the help of his wraith butterflies.
The Guoshi's chambers are well-furnished with furniture that is tasteful, if somewhat bare, almost un-lived in. An elegant sandalwood table and chairs stand in the middle of the empty chambers.
Though Hua Cheng could hardly care about his surroundings right now. Every one of his senses is focused entirely on Xie Lian standing before him, clad in flowing black robes trimmed in gold and silver, as heart-stoppingly beautiful as the day he first saw the prince. His back is turned to Hua Cheng, but Hua Cheng would recognise the figure of his god anywhere. The slope of those shoulders, the way his long hair cascades down the straight, elegant line of his back, are the very same features that Hua Cheng spent a decade immortalising in stone in Mount Tonglu, every memory he had of his beloved cradled tightly like pearls in the recesses of his mind.
He's here. Really here, living and breathing and whole before him, and Hua Cheng feels more alive than he has in five centuries, the impossible weight of grief, longing and heartache at last lifting from his shoulders.
He almost doesn't know how to stand without it.
Instead, he kneels before his god, reporting for duty.
“Guoshi, this servant is to be your new attendant.”
Xie Lian turns.
Hua Cheng dares a glance up and snatches a glimpse of a heavy, intricate white-gold mask set over Xie Lian's face. It covers most of his lovely features, rendering his expression unreadable, but the gold-brown of his eyes can still be seen through them, their glow just as bright as they were the day Xie Lian caught him at Martial Deity Avenue all those years ago. Hua Cheng aches to see them without the barrier of the mask between them.
“They sent me a new attendant, despite my expressing that I did not need one,” Xie Lian muses quietly, almost as if to himself.
Then, louder, “Please, rise. There’s no need for such pleasantries.”
Hua Cheng bows once more, rising as told.
“What is your name?” his god asks.
The first time his god had asked him for his name, five hundred years ago, he didn’t have one that he could answer with. His mother had never had a chance to give him a proper name before she passed, and his father had never called him anything other than ugly monster or useless trash.
In the years after emerging from the scorching heat of Tonglu, he'd chosen a new name for himself after his Flower-Crowned Martial God. City of Flowers. However, to reveal his true identity at this point in time would be a misstep. So instead, he offers another one of his childhood names, one sometimes used by his mother.
“I was the third son in my family. They called me San Lang.”
Xie Lian nods, turning away from him to stare out the window again instead of facing him. “Thank you, San Lang. You’re dismissed. I will call for you later if I find myself in need.”
His voice is curt, perfunctory and detached, a far cry from Xie Lian's usual warmth and congeniality. Hua Cheng remembers the rumours about the Guoshi Fang Xin, that despite his martial talent and unparalleled wisdom, he rarely speaks. When he does, they say his words are cold, and reveal precious little about himself, as if maintaining distance on purpose. Hua Cheng knows that it's likely another mask, carefully constructed to conceal his true identity from the Yong’An royals, lest they find out they're harbouring the crown prince of the previous dynasty.
Hua Cheng bows again dutifully, turning to leave. Yet just before he does, he procures a small vase cradling a single flower and sets it on the desk, a silent offering.
He’s only made it down the corridor before Xie Lian calls him back.
“San Lang, wait.”
Hua Cheng returns to find Xie Lian standing rigid, shoulders tense, gaze fixed upon something. He follows Xie Lian’s line of sight to the white flower he left, its snowy, pearlescent petals stark against the black stone of the small vase that he carefully encased it in.
Xie Lian glances sharply at Hua Cheng.
"This flower… Was it you who placed it here?" His voice maintains a careful neutrality, but Hua Cheng notes the slight tremor in it, and the way his fingers clench subtly, as if the sight of the blossom struck something in his psyche.
He remembers.
"Guoshi's chambers are a little bare," he replies lightly, "and this servant wanted to freshen it up. It suits Guoshi's chambers, won't you say?"
For a moment Xie Lian doesn’t answer, his jaw tight. But then, slowly, he relaxes, fingers unclenching. “...Thank you,” he says at last. “It’s lovely.”
His voice is hushed, almost awed, as if this small piece of kindness from a stranger came wholly unexpected.
"If Guoshi likes them, this servant can bring more," Hua Cheng answers.
Xie Lian is quiet for a few beats, but slowly nods. "I think I'd like that. Thank you, San Lang."
His voice is soft, warmer, and something akin to hope tentatively spreads its wings in Hua Cheng’s chest.
Hope that he can reach Xie Lian behind that mask, hope that this time, he can keep his god safe, protect him the way Hua Cheng could not when he was younger and weaker.
The last time they were together in this very same palace, his god was also wearing a mask. Hua Cheng can still see it clearly, half of the mask twisted into an eerie smile, the other half a weeping grimace, his god's voice colder than Hua Cheng had ever heard it. He had knelt before his god and sworn to die following him, yet had nearly been destroyed after absorbing the curses of the Xianle spirits, still far too weak.
Much has changed since then. Hua Cheng is much stronger now, finally a Supreme ghost King with a whole realm under his control, finally strong enough to protect his god, and Xie Lian is no longer young and newly orphaned, raw with grief that devoured him whole.
There are so many words that he wants to say to his god, so many things he wants to do, so many questions he wants to ask. He wants to know how his god has spent these past years, if he has suffered, if he is happier now, if those damned Yong'An royals are treating him well here.
But all that, in time.
The worst is over now. After five hundred years of searching, he’s finally found his god again. Whatever may come after, Hua Cheng is unafraid, is ready to meet it head-on. After all, the source of his existence's strength has been returned to him once again.