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It takes A-Ning some time to die.
The pole of the Stygian lure flag is still embedded in his guts when the guards finally leave, and he can feel it scraping against his ribs as he breathes. He’s lying in a pool of dark water. A-Ning is frightened and lonely and the water is cold and he hurts.
After a while, he starts to take greater stock of himself, and of the activity around him. It’s not that he wants to be particularly attentive to what’s happening. But as his physical senses grow numb, his other senses start to clamour. There are things A-Ning’s always been able to feel with his spirit––ever since that awful day when a divine being turned on him with a hungry smile, and A-die and A-niang and the rest were devoured instead.
There is the flickering goodwill of the little talisman pouch in his right hand. He has carried it close for years, but now he knows without looking that it holds a folded paper mandala for protection, a few blessed grains, and the well wishes of a young cultivator who cared for him in happier times. Let Wen Ning not be lost. Let Wen Ning not be harmed. Let Wen Ning not be overtaken by evil.
There is the lure flag, burning through his living qi like a waft of sickly incense that won’t get out of his nose. It repulses him, except in disorienting bursts where he thinks he might find it attractive. A-Ning tightens his fingers around the little talisman pouch, and he feels its tassels tangle comfortingly against his scraped knuckles, feels his mind get a little clearer.
There is the fear and despair as evil beings congregate, fluttering and landing, drawn by the flag and the smell of his burning qi, bouncing nearer like carrion crows.
They don’t touch him. He’s not sure what they’re waiting for.
As more of his blood slips out into the muddy water, as his spirit starts the final process of shaking loose from his body, he realizes that there are also dozens of people around him in a ring. Some are turned outward with dark and bloody shadows of their own, and they face down the monsters with ghostly swords and farming hoes. Some are crouched by him wielding a warm glimmering light. A few are tugging at the pole, pulling the flag’s lure spell to threadbare webbing, though their own ghostly fingers disintegrate as they touch it.
He knows all these people.
A-Ning focuses on breathing, his heartbeat skipping and slowing.
He is still scared, but if they will be together it’s not so bad. They will watch over Granny and A-Yuan and the others who are still alive, and in time he hopes they will find A-jie and protect her too, as long as she lives. There is something for him to do, once he lets go. Once he rejoins his family.
Finally he doesn’t need to let the last breath out of his lungs. His blood slows and stops flowing. The synapses stop firing. The body cools as it begins to rain again.
~
Someone is calling for him.
Let Wen Ning not be lost.
The old spell catches faintly at his spirit.
Let Wen Ning not be lost. Let Wen Ning not be harmed.
A-Ning is wandering in a world of mist and someone is calling for him. Two spirits that love him are very near, in extremities of guilt and heartbreak. A-Ning starts to run towards the voices, towards the guiding light of the talisman pouch, towards the sound of his name on his sister’s lips. The characters of the protective mandala light up the world around him, circling his spirit and leading him home.
Let Wen Ning not be lost. Let Wen Ning not be harmed. Let Wen Ning be overtaken by evil.
What?
Let Wen Ning not escape. Let Wen Ning suffer no injury. Let Wen Ning be overtaken by evil.
The world lights up in crimson. A-Ning starts to struggle.