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He Xuan walked down the dusty road leading out the small village, past golden fields under the afternoon sun. As he was leaving the shrine he had caught a glimpse of Hua Cheng among the trees with his crown prince, their hands clasped together, the fingers interlaced. Both were centuries older than him, yet walking side by side they looked like little young lovers, fresh-faced and starry-eyed.
Love, love — he turned the word over in his mind, rolling it around this way and that as a wave on the shore toys with a loose pebble. It seemed foreign, unfamiliar; when was the last time he had loved? A lifetime ago, it seemed — was, he corrected himself. The woman he loved — her urn, her ashes stood out stark and grim in his mind’s eye, but her face had faded in his memory; he saw it dimly through a murky glass. He had loved then, but he had been a different man.
Unwilling to go back to his bleak, lonely manor, He Xuan wandered the country roads, not knowing where he was headed. A bullock cart rattled past, piled high with bales of hay. Then came a handful of workers coming in from the fields. Then nothing for a time. He Xuan walked on along the empty road.
It had been a long time, he thought, far too long; and he was undoubtedly a different man. And yet, after all these years, with his heart thus altered, could he perhaps find it in him to love another? Perhaps the deep chasm of his soul might yet unbar its gates to let in the warmth of another’s touch. A hand reached out into the darkness, and with it, a face came into view. His entire body was seized at once by an irrepressible shudder. Another, yes, but oh, why did it have to be him — the reason for all his misery, the one who profited from his grief, from the loss of his beloved, his family, his bright future? Yes, he had not wanted any of it, had not sought in the least to rob him of all he held dear, but still, he had thriven on the spoils — they had been plundered for his sake. His shining eyes, his radiant smile were but a cruel reminder of what had been torn out of his hands.
He saw himself falling slowly for that innocent, cruel reminder, for the one he hated and yet could not truly hate. He had been painfully aware of how everything was to end, aware that it was impossible to throw it all away for him, and yet — and yet — he was unable to harden his heart against his affections. Despite himself, an undeniable bond had formed, and only after it had been severed did he become aware of how deeply it had taken root in his heart. Was it love?
He Xuan looked around; night had fallen and he had barely noticed. He found himself ambling through a wooded area in the company of several ghostly figures. Now and then in the surrounding darkness, he could hear crows cawing like cackling witches. Ah, he thought, so I ended up here. Up ahead, a faint red glow grew as he approached the bustling market.
Love or not, whatever it was, it could not exist alongside his vengeance. Choosing one would mean giving up the other, yet in choosing either he would nonetheless feel the loss of what he gave up. His heart had been confused and unsettled all this time — was it love? He did not know, or rather he could not admit it, so he told himself it was nothing, he did not feel anything, and pressed on with his revenge. But after all the walls had been torn down the towers burned to ground; when the dust and rubble had settled, he saw with a new clarity — he loved him; he loves him yet. But what use was there in knowing that now?
He had believed the only way he could finally find happiness was to see his two enemies destroyed, but now, even that could not bring him satisfaction. After knowing Shi Qingxuan — knowing his trilling laugh, the playful shove of his hand, the warmth of his arm around his shoulder — the revenge which should have been sweet and glorious became but bitter ash that parched his throat. At long last he had gained that coveted vengeance he so painstakingly strove after, devoted his entire being to, but why, why did it feel so empty? Even as he held it within his grasp, he had lost all ability to delight in it.
Carried by the flow of the crowd, He Xuan drifted aimlessly through the street until he came to a large, bright red building. Through a magnificent entrance flanked by illegible couplets, throngs of ghoulish creatures streamed in and out. He Xuan took on a female appearance and stepped inside. No harm in taking a quick look around the Gambler’s Den, she thought.
The interior of the building was, as usual, completely ostentatious; at every corner one was assailed by a dazzling crimson amidst the rich carpets and elaborate carvings. Violent shouts erupted endlessly from the hordes all around. Listening to that babble of uncouth noises, the raucous yelps and hoots, He Xuan wondered if they were not in fact some angry mob here to cheer at the execution of a hated villain.
Shouldering through the crowd, she came to a long table at the end of the main hall. Before it, onlookers gathered like fantastic figures in an expanse of florid tapestry; behind it, fine drapes of red silk hung softly from an archway. Through the curtains, He Xuan could make out the silhouette of a man seated on a divan; she didn’t need to hear the voice to know who it was.
“Come on,” the voice was saying, “does no one want to take up my offer for a game?” He Xuan turned to go; she didn’t think he’d actually be here. But alas, as she began pushing her way back through the crowd, the voice came again through the curtains. “What about you, woman?” it said cordially. “The one in black.” At once the crowd cleared around her as if in attempt to avoid the plague. He Xuan paused in her step, but was in no hurry to turn around. “How about a game?” the voice pursued. “You seem the sporting type.”
With a half-suppressed sigh, He Xuan turned to face the figure behind the curtains. “If you insist,” she acquiesced. And drawing herself up, she laid out her terms — there was a certain person to whom she owed a large sum of money; if she won, the debt was to be cleared without question.
“And if you lose?” probed the voice, sounding exceedingly amused.
“You get twice the amount,” answered He Xuan solemnly.
“Excellent, excellent. It’s a deal.” There seemed to be the hint of a snicker in the words, a sly smile about them.
The one behind the curtains rolled first. A croupier retrieved the cup and dice from within and held them out for the crowd to see. Murmurs of approval arose in response. Then the croupier came forward, handing the cup and dice to He Xuan. She took them in hand, shook them firmly, and calmly revealed the result. Naturally, she had lost.
A burst of rude laughter erupted from behind the curtains. A moment of hesitant silence followed before the crowd joined in with an accompaniment of stamping feet and squawking whoops. It seemed a long while before the uproar finally died down and the voice said, “That’s fine, you already owe me so much. I’ll just add it to your account.” The curtains parted and a figure in red emerged, grinning with malicious delight. “Why don’t we take a stroll to sort out the details?” said Hua Cheng.
Outside, the night air blew in a cool, continuous breeze. He Xuan pretended not to notice as Hua Cheng looked her once over. “What brings you to Ghost City?” he asked. The bastard was still smirking, evidently very pleased with himself.
With a click of her tongue, He Xuan resumed a male appearance. “Nothing,” he replied sullenly. “Just passing by.”
“Well, I’m glad you were,” Hua Cheng laughed. “Your presence made for some good entertainment.”
He Xuan opened his mouth to retaliate, but shut it again as his eyes fell on Hua Cheng’s neck. A fresh bite mark, a little spot of reddish purple, peeked out from under his collar. Hua Cheng saw him eyeing it and raised his eyebrows with a scoff. Having left the busy street behind, they came to a stop at the quiet edge of a lake. The water was softly illuminated by a line of pendent lanterns along the bank.
He Xuan coughed and looked out across the water. “You look... happy,” he observed quite objectively. Hua Cheng couldn’t help but notice he sounded almost wistful. After some consideration, he added, “It’s been a long road, hasn’t it?”
“You’ve travelled a long way yourself,” said Hua Cheng.
“Perhaps. But my journey has been different. I’ve found no reward at the end of it.”
After all the twists and turns, the inclines and descents, he had arrived at last at his revenge; yet he found no pleasure in taking it. He felt as if going down that long, shadowy road, he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. And yet he knew that if he were to retrace his steps, neither path supplied by such a fork would have led to a more forgiving outcome.
Hua Cheng spoke in an even voice, “You still feel something for the former Wind Master.” It wasn’t a question — he said it as if plainly stating a fact. There was some silence before He Xuan stiffly cleared his throat.
“I cannot love him like you love His Highness.”
“I’d be surprised if there was enough love in your cold veins for a small dog,” Hua Cheng scoffed, “let alone the very universe.”
Unperturbed by the slight, He Xuan carried on as if he hadn’t heard. “Your love is...” He paused, searching for the right words. “Pure,” he decided, “unadulterated.” Hua Cheng raised his brows a fraction, but let him continue. “But mine,” said He Xuan, “is irreparably clouded with resentment and grief.”
He loved Shi Qingxuan — he knew it now. But when he looked in his face, what greeted him was the inevitable image of his dead parents, his sister, his betrothed — he had loved them too.
“I wanted to hate him,” he said, “but could not fully hate; and now realising I love him, I cannot fully love either.”
So it was better if he kept his distance.
To his surprise, Hua Cheng sighed. There was no laughter in his voice as he said, “It’s a game you’d lose betting on either side.” He Xuan cast a glance at him. In the reddish glow of the lanterns, his face was somber, almost meditative. There was no secret sneer on his lips, no wicked glint in his eye, only an honest melancholy laid out plainly for a moment.
In silence, they stood by the lake, listening to the cries of vendors from the street, the hum of the crowd as they shuffled along. There was a distant crash, then voices yelling — it seemed some fight had broken out. Hua Cheng gave a short laugh and clapped He Xuan on the shoulder, bringing him back to the present. They headed back toward the street.
As they walked, Hua Cheng observed that He Xuan had been unusually talkative that evening, and asked with a jeer if he’d been drinking. He Xuan chose to ignore the question and remarked instead on his unusually good mood. “Of course,” snorted Hua Cheng, and He Xuan was reminded of the small bruise at his collar. Presently, they arrived again at the entrance to the Gambler’s Den.
Before they parted, Hua Cheng turned to He Xuan and indicated the doorway with a wave of his hand. “You’re welcome to stop by again anytime,” he said casually. “Come play a round or two. Who knows, maybe one of these days your luck might turn.”
There was something taunting in the way he said it, and yet his tone felt surprisingly sincere.