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His luck has run dry before this death; it has long been stolen, with the stench belonging to the corpses of his loved ones, with the blood he had shed - in its stead came about the changing tide of vengeance, the desire for destruction. This hatred had long seeped inside his heart, petrified; there was not much to him, to his soul, but the seeking of revenge.
So now that it has been struck upon the thief of lives he so hated, what is it that chains He Xuan’s spirit to this Earth? If anything, what good was the mortal realm?
Water danced, bending to his ill will, reflecting every single sin of mankind just as his closed-off heart had; and yet, what good was the darkness that brought no comfort and no retribution?
...The fan he had returned to Qingxuan, disguised as Hua Cheng. He thinks of the little item fondly, even now. And up to this very moment, the unclear steadiness of the normally limpid body of water made no sense; up to this very moment, he was in denial. Shi Qingxuan - so, it really was you, after all. The one who reaped the seeds sown by Shi Wudu, the blood money and riches and drinks; the one who was, after all these years, the closest person to He Xuan.
...How preposterous.
( “A-xuan,” he had laughed, clear and fresh as snow upon the highest mountain-peak in early springtime; in his hands he carried a relatively large stuffed animal, its paws sewn in stylized patchwork, “I got this the other day at a fair! You know, the one you couldn’t make it to. I really wish you could’ve! It’s the perfect date spot!”)
Someday, they may find happiness…
(“Well, what I’m getting at is that you can have it! I won it for you! As a token of my appreciation for having you around, ehe.”
He took the plush and squeezed it, gently. Qingxuan’s eyes sparked with mirth and anticipation, as a child waited for whoever they admired to return the bespoken joy they were handed ever so carefully.)
...whether together or not, they would find it, surely - mayhaps, even in one another’s arms, and yet…
(He Xuan’s thin lips stretched out in a delicate smile, his emotionless face failing to contain the chuckle bubbling up from his chest. Qingxuan pouted, ever so infantile, most definitely expecting rejection of some sorts. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Hehe! What about a kissy,” he sing-sang, much to his boyfriend’s exhaustion, “well, if you’re not up to it, we can just go somewhere another time! There’s this trendy cafe I’ve found…”
“What, is every single food joint trendy now.”
“Awh- shut it! Anyways, as I was saying, this place sounds really cute and we should check it out sometime… When are you free again? I’ll text you!”
...that would be another timeline, another lifetime. This relationship, unfulfilled, remains like clockwork, like the sand seeping to the bottom of the hourglass. Shi Qingxuan wanders around the city, a beggar with the smile of a saint, and He Xuan’s spirit would linger until the man’s very last breath.
Someday, their thoughts echo, hearts atwin, someday.