Chapter Text
„Did you hear? There was a revolt in the Ghost Valley!”
“Again? I wonder how many died this time…”
“The whole valley is steeped in red. But they finally managed to kill that crazy leader!”
“What? Ghost Valley has a new master?”
“I heard they’re still fighting. But it can’t get much worse than the last one.”
“That’s true, that’s true, we’ll all be able to sleep more soundly now that this lunatic is finally gone.”
“He deserved it! I hope he has to suffer for his next thousand lifetimes for all the pain he caused.”
-
He didn’t know how he made it out alive, through the corpse-littered halls of the dark palace and through streets flowing with blood and filled with screams. It was Xue Feng who had instigated the revolt and in hindsight, Wen Kexing should have known. Shouldn’t have underestimated him. But he had always regarded the smaller ghosts as nothing but ants underneath his feet, or flies buzzing around his head. He wouldn’t have expected them capable of actually joining together and going up against him. Him, who had worked for years to cultivate a reputation so fearsome that no one would even dare think about disobeying him, much less try to replace him as Ghost Valley’s master. But ghosts, as it turned out, were not deterred by cruelty and pain, other than humans. Even as he killed the first wave without as much as batting an eye, and the second with equal ease, they still kept coming. After fighting for what felt like months but couldn’t have been more than hours, Wen Kexing had to learn that not even he could go on forever. His movements started to become sluggish, the injuries he sustained turned more and more severe until in the end, all he could see was darkness and blood. That was when he had done it.
Fled.
Like a coward.
But he would have died otherwise and there was still so much he had to do. Death wasn’t something he could afford yet. He ran, stumbled, and crawled through Ghost Valley, tearing and dirtying the robes that once marked him its leader. What he left behind was a trail of blood, an empty throne, and the conviction that no one would ever dare challenge his power.
He had been arrogant, he realised now as he lay on rugged stone in a pool of his own blood, as far away from Ghost Valley as his broken body had allowed him to get. He should have planned for this, should have been more careful with his schemes.
I should have killed them all, he thought, one after the other. I should have simply killed them.
He laughed, an ugly and rough noise that sounded pitiful even to his own ears. Wen Kexing, the most infamous and feared leader Ghost Valley had ever had, was defeated. Not by his enemies, but by his own foolishness. Now all that was left for him to do was to await his own death and hope that in his next life, he would be allowed his revenge.
-
Zhou Zishu looked up at the dark clouds that had been threatening rain all morning. They hid the sun and tinted the world in the muted greys of an ink-wash painting. A crisp autumn wind blew across the meadows he passed, making the grass roll like ocean waves. It would be a picturesque scene, if the world it was painted in wasn’t so damn cold. Zhou Zishu pulled his robes closer around himself and hurried his steps to reach home before the rain would inevitably come. He didn’t know if it had anything to do with the nails, but for some reason he felt that the cold bothered him more and more recently. It seeped through cloth and skin, settled in his bones, and refused to leave even when he lit the fireplace in his little hut and fell asleep right next to it. He was already dreading the snow and ice winter would bring. Maybe he should be gathering more wood, just in case.
So lost in thought he almost missed it – a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes, half hidden underneath the vegetation on the side of the dirt-paved road. Usually this wasn’t something that would make him stop. Too large was the treat of an ambush, and the risk of encountering danger wasn’t worth the meagre reward of satisfying his curiosity. But for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, Zhou Zishu hesitated. Maybe it was the aggressive colour of the cloth, or the alluring glint of jewellery that made him step closer to whatever it was that lay crumpled in the dirt. As he got closer, he saw that it was indeed a person. Long hair matted with dirt and blood but once undoubtedly well-cared for, robes ripped and torn but undoubtedly of high quality, a hairpiece shattered but undoubtedly marking someone of high status. A bridegroom waylaid on the way to his wedding? Zhou Zishu carefully poked at the body with the tip of his shoe, making it tilt over to the side. It revealed a face that must have been beautiful once, but was now so pale that it seemed translucent, with large, bloody cuts slashed across cheeks, lips, eyes.
Zhou Zishu crouched down and held his finger under the man’s nose. To his greatest surprise, he felt the faintest hint of breath ghost against his skin.
“Hey,” he said and nudged the man’s shoulder without really expecting anything. The man didn’t move. Zhou Zishu sighed and stood again. He looked around, but this road was a remote one, seldomly travelled by anyone that wasn’t a bandit or a recluse living in the mountains.
What a bother, the recluse named Zhou Zishu thought. He had sworn to spend his last three years away from the dealings of the jianghu, and this man in his lavish getup was sure to drag him back in one way or another. He could just leave him here. Pretend he had never stopped or hadn’t felt man’s the shallow breath. Without Zhou Zishu’s help, this man would simply die and go on to live his next life in a hopefully better way. Surely that would be a mercy, Zhou Zishu tried to tell himself. But in reality, he knew it would just be cruel. And so he placed his basket filled with vegetables underneath a tree from where he could hopefully retrieve it later, and pulled the man out of the ditch. As it turned out he was a lot heavier than he looked, which might also have to do with the layers upon layers of robes he was wearing. At least he won’t be getting cold, Zhou Zishu, who was earnestly freezing by now, thought. His strength may have waned since he had put in the nails, but it was still sufficient enough to hoist the man up and drape him on his back.
Dead weight in every sense of the word.
The stranger’s hair swayed with each step and tickled Zhou Zishu’s neck and his arms dangled against Zhou Zishu’s chest.
“Don’t you dare die on the way,” Zhou Zishu muttered as he began the arduous journey back to his hut. “Or I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself.” If I still have the strength to do that, he added in silence.
At least Zhou Zishu wasn’t cold anymore. Both the exertion and the warm body of the stranger pressed against his back were enough to warm up even the marrow of his bones.
When they arrived in his hut, Zhou Zishu almost wished back for the cold. He was drenched in sweat, his back was bent at a painful angle, and with each additional step he took his legs were screaming protest at him. The man’s weight seemed to have doubled on the way and at some point, Zhou Zishu had even considered simply dropping him. His body, already tormented by the nails embedded in it, now well and truly turned against its owner. As soon as Zhou Zishu set a foot into his hut, his legs gave out from underneath him and he crumpled to the floor with the stranger’s body falling on top of his. Soft hair and silken robes spread around them, looking all wrong in the shabby room. For a long moment, Zhou Zishu simply lay there and breathed. The weight on his back was almost comforting, pressing him down and centring him. With each breath, Zhou Zishu felt the tension slowly seep out of him. After a while he heard the tell-tale patter of rain from outside. His vegetables were a lost cause now.
With a sigh he pushed himself up, unheeding of the stranger’s body that slipped to the hard floor. Not only did this man make him lose the food that would have lasted him an entire week, now Zhou Zishu would also have to exhaust his medicine supply to treat him. He stared down at the still form in its bloody and torn robes and wondered what the man had done to invite such a fate. Zhou Zishu let out a hoarse laugh at the thought of having gone through so much trouble only to save a bad person. But it was too late now, and anyway – one bad person had no right to condemn another.
He grabbed the man’s arm and half-dragged, half-carried him over to the bed to dump him unceremoniously onto the sheets. He looked out of place here – in the bed, in the hut, and in the mortal world in general. His face underneath the many wounds was too flawless to belong to a human. Maybe he was a fallen immortal, or a risen ghost. Not that it mattered – he was nothing right now, merely a still body that someone else had to take care of.
That designated someone now reluctantly boiled up water and got out his last reserves of herbal medicine to treat a man he didn’t even know.
-
Wen Kexing woke up in complete darkness. His entire body felt numb, as if it didn’t belong to himself anymore. He tried moving a finger – he had fingers, right? – but found nothing to direct his energy to. There was a strange taste in his mouth, bitter with a hint of something earthy. It reminded him of something from a past so blurred he couldn’t possibly recall it. And yet he wasn’t too uncomfortable. He felt warm, and the pain that had numbed his senses when last he was conscious was entirely absent.
Wen Kexing concluded that he was dead.
If this was the eternity he would be condemned to, then it was fine. He had expected to spend at least a hundred years in boiling oil. This nothingness was bearable. If only he would be allowed to forget as well.
Something touched his face.
Wen Kexing wanted to flinch, but his body didn’t react to his commands.
“Are you awake?” asked a voice. It was rough, maybe by nature or maybe from disuse, but not unpleasant. Wen Kexing couldn’t answer.
“Do not try to move. I had to give you strong medicine against the pain and it numbs most parts of the body. The effect will wear off after another few days.”
Another few days. How many days has it been, Wen Kexing wanted to ask, but his voice had left him as well. The other voice continued.
“I treated your wounds as best as I could, but I’m no healer. There is no use in keeping it from you, so I’m telling you right away. You’ve lost one eye and one hand. This is still not too bad, considering the state your body was in. It seems you used to have a lot of internal strength, but I’m afraid it’s almost entirely depleted. But you’re not dead and once you’ve recovered a bit, I’m sure you can go on living a normal life. Maybe even start training again. As long as you don’t…well. Do whatever it was that put you in this state.”
Wen Kexing would have laughed, had he been able to. This voice was very blunt and ruthless, but he was grateful. Pity or sympathy would have been a lot worse.
“I’m going to give you another sedative. It’s better for you to be unconscious,” the voice informed him. Wen Kexing felt something pry his lips open and he was made to swallow a small pill. His thoughts immediately turned pleasantly foggy, and he allowed himself to sink back into blissful unconsciousness.
The next time he woke, there was colour. Not much of it, but from behind his closed eyelids he could make out a fait hint of red where before had only been black. He could also feel more than before. He was lying somewhere hard, his head propped up on what must be a pillow. There was something warm draped over his body that smelled like wood and grass and the open sky.
“You’re awake,” said a voice, the same one Wen Kexing remembered from before. “Can you move? Try to nod.”
And Wen Kexing did. It felt strange, like the movement reverberated through his entire body, but it finally made him feel like it was his own again. He moved his finger, then his hand, then his arm.
“Good,” the voice said and a hand grasped Wen Kexing’s. Fingers closed around his wrist and warmth sparked across his skin, running up his entire arm and settling in his chest. “Your energy is still very weak. You better stay in bed for one or two more days before you attempt to stand.”
Wen Kexing opened his mouth to speak, but the sound that came out was something raw and wretched.
“Don’t talk. It seems someone attempted to slash your throat. I’ve given you medicine to retain your voice, but you better keep quiet until it’s fully healed.”
The hand let go of his wrist and a few moments later Wen Kexing felt it brush against his cheek. In all other circumstances, the gesture would have been tender.
“Your right eye is gone, but I’ve managed to save the left one. It’s still bandaged; you’ll have to live in the dark for a while longer.
Wen Kexing wanted to laugh, but his throat hurt at the mere thought of it, so he settled for a grin. No sight, no speech, no movement. He had turned into an invalid (a burden). Oh. And wasn’t there something else? He reached for his right hand and felt…nothing. Which was strange – he could have sworn that he had just moved his right thumb.
“It was beyond saving. You’d lost two fingers and the wounds were festering. Be glad that you kept your arm.”
Wen Kexing nodded, still feeling around the stump of his arm. This wasn’t too bad. He could still hold a fan with his left hand.
“Alright. Lay down. I’m going to make some soup.”
Wen Kexing made a noise that scraped painfully against his throat and stretched out his remaining hand, groping for his saviour. He found the rough texture of robes, much different from the fine silk he had become used to during his years as the valley master. The man made an unhappy sound and batted the hand away, but Wen Kexing didn’t draw back. He wiggled his fingers, hoping to somehow make himself understood.
“What do you want?” the man asked, now sounding impatient. Wen Kexing held his hand open, then pointed in the direction of the voice. There was a beat of silence, but his saviour seemed to be smart enough to understand him. He placed his hand in Wen Kexing’s. Wen Kexing nodded, felt for the stranger’s palm, and started to draw something on it.
Name?
The stranger huffed a laugh. “I saved your life, and now you demand my name?”
Wen Kexing could only raise his eyebrows in question.
A sigh. Then: “Just call me Zhou Xu.”
Wen Kexing nodded and wrote Thank you.
Zhou Xu pulled his hand back. “It’s just a name.”
Wen Kexing shook his head and pointed to himself, then extended his arms to encompass the space he was in.
“Ah. Well. You’re welcome. But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with a mere thank you,” Zhou Xu grumbled and Wen Kexing heard him stand up and walk further away. “Just focus on healing. I’ve already spent so much time on you.”
Spent, he said, but Wen Kexing heard wasted. Which was fair. Wen Kexing smiled and laid back down. Better to get used to this new life as fast as possible. Maybe he still had some chance to get revenge. If he could only kill a single one of the people who had wronged him, that would already be enough.
-
Zhou Zishu tried his best to continue his life the same way as before he had taken in a bleeding stranger from the side of the road. It shouldn’t have been too difficult. The man’s physical state, both outwardly and inwardly, was in a horrible condition – he had lost a hand and an eye, had several severe cuts on his body, was temporarily without voice, and his internal energy was all but entirely depleted. For all this, he should have been unconscious for most of the time and if he was awake at all, he should have been so weakened that something like making jokes was an impossibility. And yet that was exactly what the stranger did. He didn’t voice them, of course, but his face was, despite the bandages, very expressive. Whenever Zhou Zishu brought him soup or hot water, his patient struggled to sit up, turned in the direction he reckoned Zhou Zishu to be in, and bowed as formally as his condition allowed him. Then he would point to himself, to Zhou Zishu, and finally make a gesture as if he were counting money on his palm. Or at least, the place where his palm once used to be.
I will certainly pay you back one day.
Zhou Zishu could only shake his head and ignore the annoying behaviour. Not that this seemed to deter his unwanted guest – he couldn’t see, after all. And so, he merrily continued to be something between irritating and exasperating. Soon his gestures became more elaborate, as if he tried to recite entire poems with his hand and expressions alone. Zhou Zishu was sure that, if he was allowed to stand, this man would surely be the kind who ignored personal space like it was a deadly disease. Zhou Zishu was also sure that he would have kicked the man out already if he wasn’t so pitiable.
Today was not much different. Zhou Zishu had prepared the usual meal – light chicken soup with some vegetables for which he had used up the rest of his reserves – and carried it over to the bed that used to be his before this stranger took permanent residence in it. As expected, as soon as Zhou Zishu approached, the man’s head moved and he struggled to sit up.
“I have food,” Zhou Zishu said, like he always did. A strange kind of routine had come to the little hut ever since Zhou Zishu had been forced to take care of this man. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but it could be reassuring at times, especially for someone like Zhou Zishu, who had never had a routine in his life before.
The stranger made his usual bow and held up his stump to count invisible money on an invisible hand. Zhou Zishu wondered if these rituals were maybe a strange way of coping, or if the man was merely strange in general. He waited until the man had straightened his back again until he took his left hand and placed the bowl of soup inside of it. The first few times the man’s motions had been clumsy and he had spilled half of the hot liquid over the bed sheets.
“I won’t help you,” Zhou Zishu had said. “You have to learn to live with it.”
In the end, he had still steadied the man’s hand and made sure that at least a bit of the soup ended up in his belly. After that, the man always made a great show out of balancing the bowl, and by now he didn’t spill anything anymore.
“How is your throat? Does swallowing still hurt?” Zhou Zishu asked and placed his fingers against the bandages around the man’s injury as he drank the soup. It went down smoothly, indicating that the injury to his throat had mostly healed.
“Keep quiet for one more day. Tomorrow you can try to speak again,” Zhou Zishu said. The man let the empty bowl fall onto the sheets and grasped Zhou Zishu’s hand. He pulled it away from his throat and pressed it against his chest, where Zhou Zishu could feel a steady heartbeat. The man faced a point a bit to the left of Zhou Zishu’s face and his lips pulled into a wide smile. It was slightly lopsided – there was a scar on the right corner of his mouth that made even his neutral expression look like a smirk.
Thank you, he mouthed at the empty room. Zhou Zishu snatched his hand back and clicked his tongue.
“The sooner you recover, the sooner you can be on your way,” he said. The man’s smile didn’t waver, and he nodded. Instead it was Zhou Zishu who felt a strange sting in his chest when he imagined coming home to an empty hut again.
The next morning, Zhou Zishu carefully unwrapped the bandages around the stranger’s throat. The wound looked a lot better than it had a few days ago. The ointment he had gotten from the small shop in town seemed to have been worth trading his old robes for after all. There was only a faint scar left across the throat, stark white against the man’s already pale skin. Zhou Zishu traced it with his fingers.
“No irregularities. I’m not an expert healer, but it should be fine. I’m afraid your luck is entirely used up now. A hair’s breadth deeper and you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
The man shrugged. He pointed to his mouth and tilted his head in a question. Zhou Zishu had become quite adept at reading him.
“Sure, go ahead. Here, drink some water before you try. And don’t overdo it.”
He pressed a cup into the man’s hand and waited for him to empty it. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny that he was slightly interested in hearing the man’s voice.
The man opened his mouth and made a sound somewhere between a cough and a wheeze. Zhou Zishu waited patiently for him to clear his throat and try again.
“A-“ He coughed again and Zhou Zishu passed him another glass of water.
“Slowly.”
Instead of taking the cup, the man grasped Zhou Zishu’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “A-Xu.”
It was hard to say if this was the man’s real voice or if it was still raw from disuse, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
“A-Xu. Finally I can thank my saviour properly. My words feel inadequate, but for now they’re the only thing I have to offer. I hope you accept my sincerest thanks.” His next cough shook him so badly that he made water spill all over the sheets.
“Didn’t I tell you to not overdo it?” Zhou Zishu said and pulled his hand back to place the cup on the nightstand. “Are you desperate to get injured again?”
“Some things are worth getting injured for. A-Xu. Thank you.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome. It’s nothing.”
“It’s my life. To me, that’s somewhat significant.”
Zhou Zishu stared at him, this stranger who sat in his bed, facing a point just to the left of Zhou Zishu. His eyes were hidden behind bandages, but his lips were tugged up in faint amusement as if ‘somewhat significant’ still gave too much importance to that life of his.
“Well, then cherish it more. Don’t be reckless. You still need to rest.”
“Mh. I’ll try my best to get better quickly so I can stop bothering you.”
Zhou Zishu wanted to agree with him, but the words were so heavy that they weighed down his tongue and in the end, he swallowed them back down. “Just rest,” he said simply and turned towards the door.
“Wen. Wen Kexing.”
“What?”
“You’ve never asked me my name. I thought that was the least I could give you.”
Zhou Zishu nodded before he remembered that gestures were wasted on this man. “Alright. Wen Kexing.”
“Ah. My name sounds good in your voice.”
It didn’t taste all that bad, either.
-
Wen Kexing groped around for the chair that would lead him from the bed to the door. Zhou Xu had kindly left him a trail of furniture he could use to find his way around the hut. Two days ago he had finally taken his first steps after laying down for so long, and it had been embarrassing to say the least. His legs were weak and his balance was all off. Luckily, Zhou Xu had been there to catch him before he could hit the floor.
“Slowly. It’s going to take you a while, but you’ll get used to it.”
You’ll get used to it, was Zhou Xu’s favourite line. He said it each time Wen Kexing embarrassed himself because of the state his body was now in. It didn’t feel condescending, just like something Zhou Xu had experience with. Maybe he had had to adapt to changes as well. And the statement wasn’t wrong – Wen Kexing did have to get used to all kinds of things, like the fact that his right hand was gone, or the fact that he felt scars whenever he lifted his remaining fingers to his face.
And, of course, Wen Kexing had to get used to the darkness as well. In the beginning he had felt lost in it, like it didn’t only affect his eyes but his whole body as well. It was almost like a physical presence around him, weighing him down. But over time, he found that it was rather soothing. Sight was very distracting, deceptive, and always overshadowed the other senses. Without it, Wen Kexing had the opportunity to focus on his hearing (Zhou Xu’s steps were featherlight, his movements flowing – definitely a martial artists), his sense of smell (everything here smelled like forest and meadow and nature, but Zhou Xu especially smelled like he just came from spending the entire day under the sun), his sense of touch (Zhou Xu’s robes were rough and his fingers calloused, but his skin was smooth). Wen Kexing didn’t really have a reason to focus on his sense of taste as Zhou Xu’s greatest shortcoming seemed to be his ability to cook. Whatever he concocted over at the stove, the chicken soup he claimed it to be wasn’t it. But Wen Kexing wasn’t ungrateful and drank whatever he was offered.
“Wen Kexing.”
As so often when he was lost in thought, Wen Kexing hadn’t noticed Zhou Xu’s approach. When he had lived in Ghost Valley, not a heartbeat had passed when Wen Kexing wasn’t alert and on guard. But here, in a little hut somewhere far away from treachery, backstabbing, and lies, Wen Kexing felt himself becoming dangerously complacent. If Zhou Xu wanted to kill him, then he was welcome to do so – Wen Kexing owed him his life anyway. But he knew Zhou Xu would never do it, despite all the little hints he dropped that Wen Kexing was a nuisance.
“Wen Kexing?”
“Oh. Sorry. I was lost in thought. What do you need, A-Xu?”
“Why are you out here again? I told you it’s getting cold.”
Wen Kexing had sat down on the porch of Zhou Xu’s hut, which had quickly become his favourite spot, despite the cold wind that blew there. Here, he could hear all the various sounds he had never heard before in Ghost Valley. Rustling leaves, scurrying animals, a running stream. All in complete peace.
“Ah, A-Xu, I told you the cold doesn’t bother me. It’s rather refreshing, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Wen Kexing learned quickly that Zhou Xu’s dry comments were not necessarily indicating annoyance but were simply how he was. Although he did voice his annoyance with Wen Kexing quite often.
“Anyway. I think your eye had enough time to heal. We can remove the bandage today. If you’d like.”
“If I’d like? A-Xu, I would like nothing more than to finally see my saviours beautiful face.”
“I’m not beautiful,” Zhou Xu said immediately, reliably. Wen Kexing had heard the words just as often as he had tried to convince Zhou Xu that he was definitely beautiful.
“A-Xu, even if you’re a wrinkled old man with a missing nose and a patchy beard, you’d still be beautiful to me.” Wen Kexing wasn’t even being sarcastic – the kindness Zhou Xu had shown him was already enough to make him the most beautiful man in this mortal realm of theirs.
“I wish I wouldn’t have allowed you to speak,” Zhou Xu said, but Wen Kexing’s heightened hearing picked up on the slight smile that must be playing around his lips. “Maybe I should keep your sight away for now, it will only allow you to be even more irritating.”
“What became of you wanting to get rid of this injured nuisance?”
Zhou Xu didn’t reply and Wen Kexing, not for the first time, wished he could see the other’s expression. “Alright, alright, my apologies, Saviour Zhou. I promise I won’t create more trouble for you. Please give me back my sight.”
“You make it sound like I’m some nefarious shaman from the north,” Zhou Xu grumbled. Wen Kexing heard him get up and a moment later, hands closed around his arm and pulled him to his feet. “We better do this inside, there is less danger of the wind immediately blowing dirt into your eye.”
He led Wen Kexing back inside and pushed him down onto a chair.
“I don’t know if your sight will be the same as before, or if this eye got permanently damaged as well. You better prepare yourself for the worst. It’s better to be pleasantly surprised than disappointed.”
Wen Kexing thought about it for a moment. So what if he couldn’t see anymore? He had already gotten used to it. Just one more thing he would learn how to live with. There were many blind people around, and they managed to exist by their lonesome as well. Wen Kexing was the master of adapting. He could do it. As if to prove a point to himself and his saviour, he lifted his left arm and waved the stump around. “Then surprise me, A-Xu.”
As rough as Zhou Xu’s temper was, as gentle were his touches. His fingers brushed Wen Kexing’s cheek as he carefully loosened the bandage. “Close it,” he said – unnecessarily, since Wen Kexing had kept his eyes closed ever since he’d woken up. He felt the cloth fall away from his face and wondered what Zhou Xu saw now. He didn’t know how his own face looked anymore, which was slightly bothersome. Wen Kexing had always been able to use his looks to his advantage – who knew if he was still able to do that with all these scars and a missing eye?
“How is it, A-Xu? Am I still a great beauty?” Wen Kexing said and tried to keep his voice as light as possible.
“Mh,” Zhou Xu replied.
“A-Xu, that sound could mean anything. You have to clarify.”
“Open your eye,” Zhou Xu said instead. His hand was cupping Wen Kexing’s cheek and his thumb brushed against the soft skin right underneath the left eye.
Wen Kexing took a deep breath. It was more difficult than he thought, as if even the muscles in his eyelid had deteriorated. The first thing he saw was blinding light. It burned and made him quickly return to the safety of darkness.
“You’ll get –“
“Used to it. Please have mercy, A-Xu, your beauty is too blinding, I couldn’t bear to look at it for too long.”
“Ridiculous. Here. Try again.”
When Wen Kexing opened his eye this time, the light was more bearable. Something hung in front of his eyes and he realised it was a dark blue cloth that was slightly sheer and filtered out much of the assaulting light. Behind it, he could make out the blurry shape of a face.
“Is this okay?”
Wen Kexing didn’t answer. The world slowly took shape around him. The cloth came into focus and out of the corner of his eyes he could make out the silhouettes of furniture. He slowly lifted his hand and tugged at the cloth. There was no resistance and it fluttered to the ground. His eyes protested at having to readjust and refocus, but after a few heartbeats they did as they were told.
Wen Kexing’s breath caught in his throat. “A-Xu?”
“Ah. Your eye still works then, I take it?”
Wen Kexing couldn’t help himself. He had to reach out and touch – too great was the risk that the person before him was just an illusion. But his fingers were met with smooth skin. He brushed them across Zhou Xu’s cheek and down to his throat.
“I was right,” he said. “Beautiful.”
Zhou Xu rolled his eyes and slapped the hand away. “Be serious for once. Does anything hurt? Are there dark spots in your vision?”
“No. There is only light.”
For the first time since Wen Kexing had entered Ghost Valley there was light again, and it was all bundled up inside one single person. No wonder the rest of the world had always seemed so dark.
“That’s good. The medicine worked then.”
Zhou Zishu stood up and walked out of Wen Kexing’s line of sight – which was severely impaired, as he now realised. He had to turn his entire head to follow him. Right. His other eye was gone. Wen Kexing gingerly lifted his fingertips to the socket. Before he could touch it, a hand closed around his wrist.
“Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself. Here, you can use this to cover it.”
Zhou Xu held up an eyepatch made from dark red material. Wen Kexing took it gratefully, not because he himself was bothered, but because he wanted to spare his saviour the gruesome sight of an empty eye-socket.
“Hm, maybe my new persona could be a rugged mountain bandit,” he mused as he touched the scar that ran over his cheek.
“Won’t work,” Zhou Xu said.
“Why not?”
“Unless you shave your head, break your nose, and your cheekbones while you’re at it, no one will take you seriously. You’re too pretty. Too refined.”
“Such reassuring words from the great beauty A-Xu…my heart has been put at ease,” Wen Kexing said. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out sounding a little too honest. Thankfully, Zhou Xu didn’t comment on it and only scoffed.
“Well, you’re mostly healed now,” he said.
Wen Kexing’s heart sank. That was right – his time here was limited. With his sight restored and his strength recovered enough to be able to walk without falling, there was no reason for him to impose on Zhou Xu any longer. But it was fine – the world was large, and Wen Kexing still had debts to settle. He had never intended on staying here, anyway. He was so busy convincing himself that this was how it was supposed to be that he almost missed Zhou Xu’s next words.
“You can help around the hut then.”
“Help?” Wen Kexing echoed.
“I thought you meant to pay me back. Winter is fast approaching, and my preparations are lacking thanks to a spontaneous guest.”
Didn’t you want me gone? Didn’t you say I was a nuisance?
The questions were on the tip of Wen Kexing’s tongue, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He had already used up so much of his luck and making Zhou Xu answer these questions would probably be draining what was left.
Suddenly, the revenge that had kept him alive for so long seemed irrelevant. There were other things worth staying alive for.