Chapter Text
“My mother told me,” a boy whispers from under the sheets, “that when people had something they really longed for, they’d fold a thousand paper cranes.”
“Why?” A thousand paper cranes is about the equivalent of a thousand paper talismans, and a thousand paper talismans is about the equivalent of his entire month’s allowance.
“I...don’t know. She didn’t say.” The boy sits up cross-legged with the blanket still draped over his head. “If they really wanted something that much, they’d just have to get the money for it.”
“They probably folded them because they didn’t have enough money.” His brows crease slightly at the thought. “I guess that means that you’d never have to do that then.”
“Heh.” The boy lets out a smug chuckle. “But if you ever did want to do it, I’d do it with you.”
“Couldn’t you just get it for me?” he grumbles, half-heartedly throwing a pillow at his companion. It lands on his chest with a soft thump and slides down into his lap.
“Fine, fine.” He scoops the pillow up and rests his chin on it. “I’ll make sure you get everything you’ve ever wanted.” The two boys continue whispering under the blanket, and soon it falls silent; the candle goes out and it is hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
They say that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, what you wish for the most will come true.
Under normal circumstances, a professional would not be standing waist-deep in cold pondwater. If he tries hard enough, he can even look past the frog that has made itself comfortable in his pocket. With a politeness befitting of a gentleman, he scoops the frog out of its new home and places it back in the water before crawling out of the pond. In his defence, the cobblestones in the palace are even more slippery than they look, what with all their speckled glory, and it had even rained a few hours before.
“Where have you run off to now?” Chongyun grumbles, smoothing out the soggy note fished out from his pouch. On it is his commission: to exorcise a poltergeist from the palace. It had sounded simple enough, but it is the third day he has caught a glimpse of the spirit, only to lose track of it after chasing it for well over an hour. Though he hadn’t been given a deadline for this commission, his usually infinite patience is starting to wear thin. From the corner of his eye, he sees the nearby bushes rustle unnaturally and immediately zips off in that direction. Unfortunately, his stamina and alertness is limited, and while he scans the skies for any sign of the runaway spirit, he fails to notice the obstacle on the ground and trips on a branch. “Would you be so kind as to stay in one place for more than three seconds?” he yells.
But you want to make me go away. Why would I let you?
Fair point. “Then why would you run the risk of getting inside my head? Just float off somewhere else, if that’s what you want.” On the contrary, Chongyun had expected the spirit to float off somewhere else the moment it had sensed his arrival, and here it is speaking to him through his own thoughts. From experience, he knows that most spirits can’t even bear to be within a kilometre’s radius of him: his father had told him it was something to do with his constitution. Strangely enough, this spirit doesn’t seem to be disturbed, and is instead fooling around with him as if he hadn’t a fear in the world.
No...that wouldn’t be fun.
Chongyun closes his eyes, and he estimates that the playful spirit is somewhere to his diagonal left, hidden up in a tree. Perhaps, however, it is time to change his strategy. He will never be able to chase after something capable of floating into trees. With a sigh, he flops down onto the stone bench nearby and rubs his temples. He looks up into the branches. “Do you have a corporeal form?” He’s met with silence, and his hands begin to feel slightly clammy. Is it a sensitive question for the undead?
Yes.
Chongyun is an exorcist that has never once seen anything he has successfully exorcised. Simply put, it’s like being a world-famous chef who has never tried a single dish he’s cooked. Sure, he sees himself as a very responsible person most of the time, but here lies an opportunity to interact with a spirit. How many of such spirits will he ever be blessed enough to meet? “Could I see it?”
Why? What if I turn out to be something grotesque? I refuse to be responsible for any nausea you feel as a result of this experience.
“You could have just said no, you know.” Chongyun grumbles. “Okay, let me tell you something. Typically my go-to method of throwing spirits to the afterlife is just by being there. For you, however—”
Ah, so you do not actually know how to do your job?
“I do know how to do my job. I just haven’t had the chance to actually do it. So, what I am proposing is this: you let me see what your corporeal form looks like, and I stop trying to kill you.”
I am already dead. But technicalities aside, are you sure that you will keep to your end of the deal? For an exorcist to promise not to dispel me...the terms you raise are suspiciously skewed.
“Well.” Chongyun has always been a bad liar. “I promise I won’t do it now.” The spirit seems to shuffle up in the leaves, its presence wavering slightly. “Why do you want to stay in the mortal realm so badly? I’d assume most of the undead would want to achieve eternal rest in the afterlife.”
I don’t know. All I am deeply aware of is that there is something I need to finish here before I am able to ascend. Trouble is, I don’t know what it is either.
“Does that mean that after you’ve finished this task of yours, you’d go?”
Probably. I do not give it much thought most of the time. It is quite impossible that anyone else would be able to find out what I don’t remember, seeing that I am probably the only one who ever knew what I wanted.
Chongyun claps his hands together, tuning out everything the spirit had thought-projected after the words “quite impossible”. “Well, it’s worth a shot! Let’s make a deal: I help you find out what it is you need to do, and you’ll be able to ascend while I get paid! All you have to do is show me your corporeal form.”
The spirit stays silent in his mind for a while. Chongyun feels his heart pumping a little stronger and a little faster at the prospect of finally being able to see a spirit, and he locks his feet one behind the other to stop them from swinging wildly. Nothing seems to be happening, however, and he is tempted to believe that the spirit had been unhappy with his terms and had just up and left. But then he feels something weighty next to him on the bench, and the air starts to turn slightly warm.
It starts from the feet, and as something pearly starts to materialise in the shape of shoes, Chongyun finds his gaze completely transfixed on the path of the translucent mist. It swirls upwards gently and morphs into calves, then a torso, a neck, and he follows its movement like someone fooled until he meets a golden gaze. Only half-alert at this point, his hand moves of its own accord and reaches out to touch, only for the poor spirit to slide away from him.
Pervert.
Chongyun snaps to attention, and though he knows that he has to deny such blatant defamation of his good name, what ends up coming out of his mouth is anything but denial. “You have beautiful legs,” is what he says. The offended spirit makes a face of disgust and while it is exaggeratedly distorted with the downturn of its mouth, somehow it does not take away from the glamour of its eyes.
Is this why you asked if I had a corporeal form? You are more impure than I expected. You are truly terrible at every aspect of your occupation.
“No, no, that’s really not why.” Chongyun scrambles to save the few remaining shreds of his dignity, but he has never been eloquent. “I swear it’s not, sorry, I tend to lose my verbal filter sometimes, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” As his tongue stiffens and he trips over his consonants, a warmth creeps up the back of his neck. To his credit, the spirit stops frowning and its eyes curve in what appears to be a little giggle. “I have another question, if you don’t mind. Are you able to touch and move things in this form?”
I’m not sure. When I move around sometimes there is a little bit of wind, but I have not tried consciously touching anything with my hands.
“The palace maidens say that they’ve been plagued with sounds of doors slamming and papers rustling in the dead of night, though.”
I did not use my hands for such trivial matters.
Chongyun chuckles. “Okay then, let’s try it out.” He fishes a strip of blank talisman paper from his pouch and places it on the bench between them. “Try to pick that up.” The spirit tentatively extends its hand towards the paper and its fingers actually close around the strip of paper. It lifts the strip to its face in wonder and smiles.
I did it.
Chongyun gives the spirit a thumbs-up of encouragement, but his eyes quickly widen at the coolness that has settled over the hand he had placed on the bench.
I can touch you too.
“Yeah,” Chongyun all but stammers, “you can.” The spirit’s wispy hand is placed over his and it’s smiling, and from this moment onwards Chongyun no longer sees this as a spirit but as a boy. A dead one, yes, but when cool translucent fingers gently press onto his, all the space between them—time, space, the multitudes of breaths—is suddenly compressed into nothing.
Though Chongyun honestly would like nothing more than to continue his conversation with this beautiful spirit, the palace walls are beginning to cast long shadows on the grass. He needs to begin his journey now if he wishes to be home before nightfall, and it is with great mental tenacity that he extracts himself from the spirit’s hold and stands up. “I need to leave soon. But don’t worry, I make good on all my promises. I’ll be back tomorrow too, and we can start finding out how your last wish can be satisfied,” he grins encouragingly, trying not to meet the spirit’s cold gaze head on. Perhaps this is the power of so much yin energy condensed into a tangible form. “What’s your name? You know, so that I can call you when I come back here tomorrow.”
I don’t remember. But I’ve seen something written while gallivanting through the palace and it felt extremely familiar. Do you have something I can write with?
Chongyun takes out a thin brush (the ones that self-ink: very useful for emergency talisman creation) and hands it to the spirit, who takes it in seemingly-practised fingers and scribbles something down. “Uh...what is that supposed to be?”
I wouldn’t know. I can’t read it and I had expected you to be able to.
“I would probably be able to figure it out if it were written properly,” Chongyun grumbles. “Do all spirits write this horribly?”
I can’t help it. This brush feels so strange. Please just do your best.
Chongyun stares at the mess of ink before folding it into a neat square and pocketing it. “Well, I’ll take another look at it when I get home. Tomorrow I’ll be back with your name. Please promise not to fool around tonight while I’m not here, the palace maidens are genuinely terrified by your antics.”
I promise nothing.
Seeing Chongyun’s stern expression, the spirit seems to recoil a little from where it floats in midair.
Perhaps I can promise something as meagre as that.
“Here.” Chongyun scribbles his name on another piece of paper and hands it to the spirit. He wonders fleetingly where and how the spirit would keep the note, but there is little time for technicalities. “Since you’ve given me your name, you can have mine too. See you tomorrow!” Chongyun waves as he gathers his belongings and runs out of the palace. He has about two hours before the sun sets completely and the journey would take him a little more than one, but he needs to decipher the name he has folded in his pocket before the sunlight dwindles away, so he runs, and he keeps at it all the way home.
The spirit lingers in the palace courtyard as it stares at the note it’s been given. One day, it will sound like something, but for now, it tries its best to burn the characters’ likeness into its mind.
Qiu.
The word seems to burn in his pocket now that he has successfully deciphered it and though he is already jogging at a mean pace, he can’t help being excited to tell this news to his new spirit friend. Qiu, as in how the leaves fade to red before they fall, as in how the air cools with just a lick of frost. As in how summer and winter make a compromise and swirl in the balance.
Chongyun reaches the same spot from the day before and calls out to the spirit. “Qiu! I’m here!”
Who is Qiu?
“Heh,” Chongyun snickers, “it’s you. That’s what that character says.” Qiu, who has by then materialised next to him, makes a rather inquisitive face.
What does it mean?
“It means autumn.”
That’s all?
“What do you mean that’s all? I think it’s a beautiful name,” Chongyun grumbles. “Much more beautiful than mine. Apparently my parents gave me this name because of the weather on the day that I was born.” Qiu giggles. It’s a pretty sound.
Today, while waiting for you, I went on a little trip around the palace. I did not make any mischief; I keep my promises very well. Although...
Qiu takes out a few loose sheets of paper, the thick opacity of the paper a clear contrast against his translucent form,
...I may have taken some liberties with the things that caught my fancy.
He thrusts the papers in Chongyun’s face. They’re littered with small inked characters in perfectly straight columns, and in Qiu’s hurry, Chongyun cannot make out a single word.
Quick, tell me what they say.
“I didn’t teach you how to pick things up for you to become a thief, Qiu,” he chides, taking the papers as he side-eyes the little spirit.
You didn’t teach me, I did it myself.
With a sigh, Chongyun quickly scans the pages he’s been given. He snorts. “Qiu, where did you find this from?” Qiu scratches his chin thoughtfully.
I may have pilfered it from one of the maiden’s rooms.
“Qiu, this is a love letter,” Chongyun chokes out, increasingly unable to contain his amusement. Qiu’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, before his expression morphs into a smirk.
Oh, pray tell what it says.
“Let’s not pry,” Chongyun decides, though there are still traces of a snicker in his voice. “The poor girl must be beside herself with stress after discovering the loss of her letter. Why don’t we return it to her?” The mischief on Qiu’s face melts away, almost into a pout, but when Chongyun makes his way to the servants’ quarters, he drifts obediently along.
“Which room was it?” Qiu shrugs.
They all look rather similar to me.
With a heavy sigh, Chongyun knocks on the door of the first room. When a girl opens the door and peeks her head out, he speaks. “Hello, sorry to bother you. Does this belong to you?”
She takes a look at the name signed off at the bottom and shakes her head. “No, Xiaowan isn’t in this room. She’s in the one three rooms down.” Chongyun thanks the girl and makes his way to the fourth room, but this time just before he knocks on the door, he hears furious giggling and indiscernible chatter.
He knocks, and the girl that answers takes one look at his face and bursts into laughter. Through his confusion, Chongyun asks, “Are you Xiaowan?”
“No, no, but she is here. Xiaowan!” The girl spins around abruptly to call into the room itself, and another maiden, flushed in the face, comes to the door.
“I believe this is yours.” Chongyun hands her the letter, and if he had thought that it wasn’t possible for her to get even redder, he dismisses the thought immediately. With a shy mumble, she thanks him and shuts the door in his face.
She is not courageous.
Chongyun has nearly forgotten about Qiu, whose presence had been overpowered by that of the lively maidens. Somehow, he sounds a little disapproving, and when Chongyun turns back to glance at him, he has his arms crossed. “What do you mean?”
You did not read the letter?
“No, I felt that it would be rude to pry,” Chongyun admits. Qiu sighs, a little wisp of spiritual energy puffing out of his mouth.
In that case, it cannot be helped. All I can say is that for an exorcist, you have quite an astoundingly low level of intelligence.
Chongyun frowns. “Well then, since you’re so smart, do you know why they were all laughing at me?”
Of course I do.
Qiu’s expression turns into one of smugness, and for a fleeting second, displeasure, the crease between his brows so subtle and gone so quick that Chongyun dismissed it as a trick of the light.
But I should not tell you, since you didn’t finish reading the letter.
“But you can’t even read! How would you know what it says?”
You said it was a love letter .
“Yeah, but how does that lead to any conclusion at all?” Qiu huffs and turns away without saying another word. “Fine, let’s just drop it. They can laugh at me all they want,” Chongyun grumbles.
“You know, I think you should really apologise to the poor people you’ve been terrorising. Every time I’m not with you, I get complaints about the terrifying ghost that overturns soup bowls and lifts the maidens’ skirts.”
I have never done such indecent acts. At least, not on purpose. And the soup bowl was an accident too.
“You may have not done them on purpose, but that’s not an excuse. Come, let’s make today a trip through the palace saying sorry to all your victims.” Chongyun gets up from the bench they’ve been sitting on and brushes his hair back from his face. It’s the peak of summer now, and the heat is really getting to him. He looks at Qiu, all frosty and shimmery, and vaguely wonders if spirits possibly could function as air-conditioning. Qiu grimaces but floats along after him.
The servants’ quarters are all the way on the other side of the palace grounds, and Chongyun’s shirt is drenched by the time they reach the halfway mark. His discomfort evidently shows up in his expression as well, judging from the way Qiu shoots him a concerned glance and places his hands on Chongyun’s neck.
Chongyun screams a high, decidedly unmanly scream.
Eesh, I thought it would ease your suffering.
Chongyun then takes Qiu’s hands and places them back on his neck. “Maybe you should give a little warning next time. Ah...this feels nice.” With Qiu’s cool fingers pressed against the reddening skin on Chongyun’s neck, they continue their journey with a lower temperature and less discomfort. It is when they pass by one of the shorter buildings in the palace that Chongyun feels some resistance behind him.
“Qiu? You okay?” He whips around to see the spirit’s face turned towards the structure, gaze unwavering. He tries tugging lightly at Qiu’s hand to get him to keep moving, but the spirit remains frozen in midair. Chongyun directs his gaze at the same building that Qiu is staring at, but finds nothing remarkable about it. It had probably once been resplendent, but the colour and shine has long faded from the pillars and tiles, leaving only dullness on the wood. “Qiu?”
Qiu does not respond, but begins physically drifting towards the building and passes through the doors. Damn, Chongyun grumbles as he chases after him, so slamming doors was a conscious choice. Little shit. He pushes the doors open and with that action, unleashes a whole storm of dust that swirls about his head. When he manages to rub the dust out from his eyes, he opens them to see shelves of books lining the walls. Lonely cobwebs stretch from all the corners and everything seems to be covered in a fine layer of dust that sunlight filters through from the windows. There is also a desk in the middle of the room, at which Qiu is currently hovering beside, gaze fixated on the chair. “Well, I’m sure there’s no harm in sitting on it,” Chongyun mutters before coughing. This place reeks of old .
Qiu turns around to look at him wordlessly, before sitting down on the chair. He doesn’t even disturb the layer of dust that has settled on it, let alone make any dents in the seat. Then he drags his gaze over the various writing stationery left untouched for what feels like a few centuries, but still says nothing. Chongyun is beginning to feel a little unnerved; he doesn’t recall Qiu having stayed silent for this long since they’d started talking.
I remember some things now.
When he hears Qiu’s voice in his brain, he jerks upright from where he is leaning against the doorframe, conveniently ignoring the ominous creak of the fragile structure. “What do you remember? Where is this place, even?”
This used to be a library. I think. When I was alive I spent most of my time here, alone. I’ve read all the books here.
Qiu flutters over to one shelf and picks up one of the books.
I wrote this one.
Chongyun takes it from his hands and blows the dust off of the cover, The binding threatens to give way due to age, and Chongyun’s touch is close to reverent to protect the pages from falling out. He opens the book gently and laughs. Qiu frowns.
Is it funny?
“No,” Chongyun snorts, “it’s just that...well, you’d certainly fare much better in this generation. We have things called typewriters here. If you had used one, I’d probably be able to decipher something in this book.” Qiu’s frown only deepens, and now even his arms are akimbo.
Don’t be mean. I’m sure it is not as bad as you make it out to be.
“Yeah, yeah, it isn’t.” Chongyun gives in. At least he can make out most of the words on each page. “Oh, look. I think you wrote your full name here...the year too. Most of the pages have a date. Is this your diary?” Qiu stays silent; he only stares at Chongyun like he wants to say something but can’t. Chongyun takes his silence as an affirmative and begins to read.
“Your name is Xingqiu, Chongyun starts, then stops abruptly and looks up. “Or should I say, Prince Xingqiu?”