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The passage of days and nights was different in the underworld. Frankly, it mattered little to not at all. The souls were wandering around, either healing or waiting for the opportunity to enter the reincarnation cycle.
He was a little bit different.
There was nothing tugging him towards the reincarnation cycle, nothing and no one he wanted to see after opening his eyes again in the human world. After hundreds of years it was only natural that he got used to the routine in the underworld. He would never call it a home for he had lost his home a long time ago, and forever.
Time couldn’t heal the wounds, but it could make them less vivid, as if they were covered with dust. Sometimes, the dust was blown off and the scars uncovered, but it never lasted forever.
It didn’t matter how much suffering Chu Xun went through. Eventually, he still was able to find a place to stay, and even some matters to keep himself occupied with. Despite his gentleness, he carried a strength within himself, too. This strength and his beliefs, they could never allow him to completely drown in misery.
The routine was almost comforting.
But it seemed that even his routine couldn’t last forever.
Standing by the window one day, holding a flower branch in his hand there was an unknown anxiety settling within his chest. Vibrant red petals fell onto the expensive carpet, but Chu Xun didn’t care anymore, already by the door.
Arriving in the underworld souls had never bothered him; their passage was endless and constant, and they had nothing to do with him anyway. But why, right now, did he feel like his chest was set on fire, like the crescent shaped scar began stinging just like back in the time when it was still fresh and when he kept replaying events in his head over and over again? He didn’t believe in “coincidence”, he didn’t believe in events completely unrelated. There was the scent of something familiar in the air and, without knowing, Chu Xun dug nails into his palms so hard he almost split the skin.
His white, expansive sleeves fluttered with his movements when he rashly put on a mask he almost forgot.
It was rare for Chu Xun to leave his place; mostly he was giving orders and overseeing whether those were fulfilled or not. Now, however, it was like an unknown force pushed him outside. How could he bear sitting and waiting, how could he ignore the scent of haitang, how could he ignore his own presentiment?
His feet brought him to Ailing Souls Sanitarium by themself, he realized it only after he entered and saw all these miserable souls that waited for their own recovery. He swept a quick glance, but knew it was not the right place.
The doctors were busy and in a rush, no one noticed how Chu Xun slowly climbed up the stairs, one by one.
At first he was quite enthusiastic, but the closer he was, the slower he walked. It resembled a burden that settled on his shoulders and grew heavier with every single step he had made.
There was a single, lonely soul lying on the bed, so damaged that it was completely translucent, looking like even the slightest breeze could completely break it. It was a miracle this soul did not shatter before entering the underworld.
Chu Xun closed his eyes, feeling wetness under his eyelids. It was not the soul he hoped to see, but at the same time it was the soul that pulled him here. The scent of haitang was faint, but he couldn’t miss it. How could he miss it?
He knew how stupid it was of him to have hope. There was no such thing as his son’s soul anymore. He knew they were never going to meet again, yet still…
He shook his head, waving the memories and doubts away. He already got used to this thought. It didn’t mean accepting it completely, but it meant not feeling like being stabbed with a knife each time the reminiscences resurfaced.
Chu Xun stood where he was for a while, taking his time to chase away all the obtrusive thoughts. When he managed, curiosity came. Because of his grudge with the Ninth King he did not know about the matters happening in the world of living. He was rather sure he did not leave any relatives behind, but if so, why did this soul's aura seem so familiar?
He approached, and understood it wasn’t only the aura that was familiar. The man looked exactly like him! His facial features were faint and transparent, but it was too obvious to not notice. A crease appeared in between his eyebrows as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
The man’s eyes were closed. At first glance he looked young, but when Chu Xun stared more intensively, he noticed the weight of time apparent in the corners of his eyes. He was pale, sickly greyish shade that mixed with the transparency made him look especially pitiful. His brows were sharp like blades, thin lips squeezed shut. Hair spilled like ink onto his shoulders and what used to be white robes.
Chu Xun attempted to touch his cheek, but it was of no use; fingers went through the soul and touched the pillow that seemed far too hard.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly, expecting no answer.
The scent of haitang he had previously smelled came from this soul. He was no one Chu Xun knew or had ever seen in his life, and yet he still… He couldn’t bring himself to stand up and leave, as if some odd string of connection was already established between them.
It wasn’t anything unusual that some souls arrived damaged to the underworld. Chu Xun couldn’t help but wonder what happened to this particular one. Did he sin so badly in the past? Or maybe he experienced suffering so great that he couldn’t take it? He asked himself questions with no answers. Even if he wanted to learn them, that would mean associating himself again with the Ninth King, and he would rather die ten times than ever see him again.
Chu Xun eventually left the Ailing Souls Sanitarium, but visited every day the moment he dealt with all his responsibilities. He couldn’t explain what was pulling him towards this lonely and damaged soul but he realized he himself didn’t feel this lonely anymore.
Although the soul wasn’t responding, he still told him stories about the underworld, gossips, or read him ancient books out loud. He began bringing that one single branch of flowers to him, and replaced it with fresh one each time it arrived.
“It will make you feel less lonely.” he told him once, right before departure.
He didn’t know his name, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The changes of the soul were barely visible. It was during one of his visits when Chu Xun noticed that he doesn’t seem as transparent anymore. The next day, he could touch his hand, and held it for a very, very long time.
He was just about to leave when he suddenly felt eyes staring at him, and it dumbstruck him. Chu Xun didn’t really expect the soul to heal. These days he visited seemed only like a while; how extraordinary this man must have been to already experience some recovery?
“You are awake.” he said finally, clearing his throat. The eyes that looked at him were beautiful, phoenix shaped, but still so dull and void of any light in them. The man opened his mouth but no sound escaped. Chu Xun smiled warmly.
“There is still a long recovery awaiting you. No need to get exhausted.” he reassured, and almost unconsciously squeezed on the pale hand again. This made the man almost shudder under his touch. Who hurt you so? , Chu Xun wondered, but released the hold and instead, sat back down on the edge of the bed. He imagined many times, to see a certain soul recovering. Never would he expect to meet someone completely different, and yet someone so… Broken. He had made plans in his head, how to coak the weak soul, how to take care of it, but none of his plans were about someone he didn’t even know the name of. But how could Chu Xun possibly leave him? After all this time he told him stories, after all the flowers that withered in this room.
“Don’t worry. You’re in a safe place.” the gentle and warm smile was still on his face when the phoenix eyes tried focusing on him. From what Chu Xun knew, recovering a soul was exhausting. There was… Perhaps no rush.
“Rest. Tomorrow, I will tell you more stories.” it worked like a magic spell. He saw these phoenix eyes slowly falling closed as the man fell into a deep slumber.
That day, Chu Xun stayed in the Ailing Souls Sanitarium until the guards didn’t come informing him about the duties he had nearly missed.
The soul didn’t speak and spent more time asleep than awake, but during the rare moments when his eyes were opened again, Chu Xun picked on the stories he didn’t previously finish. Sometimes he could swear that there was something indescribable in the other’s gaze; it looked like first rays of sunshine when dawn replaced cold and dark night. Other times, the man seemed completely absent; eyes void and a little moist.
He couldn’t, or wasn’t able to communicate, but Chu Xun did not consider it as a trouble of any kind. It must have been the brightest time he has spent in the underworld.
“Do you know what this tree is?” he asked once, waving the branch of haitang. Petals spilled everywhere like under the warm breeze. When one of them fell onto the man’s fingers Chu Xun could swear his lips trembled.
“Haitang.” the voice sounded faint and weak in the solitary and far too big room, but Chu Xun still heard it and tilted his head curiously. For a moment he thought it was only his mind playing tricks on him, but then the man moved his lips again.
“Chu Wanning.”
But that was far too much than the weak soul could handle; the man fell into an unconscious state again.
“Chu Wanning.” Chu Xun repeated softly, putting the branch in the feet of the bed. “It’s quite interesting we even share the same surname. I hope the end of your life was better than mine.”
“Mo Ran. Mo Weiyu.” Chu Wanning whispered one day, so quietly, that Chu Xun had to lean closer to hear. He didn’t elaborate much more, but he didn’t need to. The next day, Chu Xun ordered the entire underworld to look for a person called like that.
“I have some news.” Chu Xun waved the haitang branch upon entering the room. It was his silly habit, each time he did that the weakest petals scattered all over them. It made him happy, however, and Chu Wanning never seemed to complain.
“Or more like, lack of news. There hasn't been such a person in the underworld since you came here.” the relief that washed over Chu Wanning made his features soften, the crease disappeared from between his eyebrows, making him look exactly like Chu Xun.
Nothing extraordinary happened in the following days. Chu Xun fell into routine again, but the routine had sweeter colors now. He spent a lot of his time with Chu Wanning. Sometimes, when the man was asleep, he allowed his mind to wander. When he was awake, Chu Xun’s mouth barely shut.
Chu Wanning still didn’t really speak, but he listened attentively. Sometimes his image was especially dark, but during those times, Chu Xun simply remained by his side.
It was like having a son he had once lost.
It remained like this until a boy rashly came into his room.
“Shizun??” his voice was anxious, and Chu Xun frowned slightly.
“I think young gongzi took me for the wrong person.” he was ever so kind, gentleness usually pushed others to talk to him and seek his advice.
When the boy showed him the portrait, an image of lonely and broken soul when he first entered the underworld came to his mind. He didn’t really need to use compass, but just to be sure…
The boy came back sooner than he was gone. The light in his lantered fluttered slightly.
“Is it possible to have two earth souls?” he asked him, and Chu Xun’s smile turned slightly sad.
Watching him go away, he couldn’t help but stare at the lantern for a while longer.
”Chu Wanning, have a safe trip back home.” he thought, closing his eyes to not allow a single tear escape. It was only for the best. Only his days became quite solitary again.