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The Darkness does not kill Wenwu.
That happened long ago, when a bitter man and his bitter men out for revenge took the moon from the sky and crushed her to fine dust beneath their pointed leather heels.
The Darkness does not kill Wenwu.
But it does end his life.
The Dweller raises him high and prepares to take his soul; and Wenwu (the Great Conqueror, the Warrior King, Master Khan, the Mandarin) closes his eyes and prepares to lose it at long, long last.
It does not leave him. His son - so much like his mother, painfully akin to his mother - saves him, takes the Rings from his willing father’s arms and uses them to beat the beast down, catch Wenwu before he falls.
Wenwu has been a fool; he had missed the moon so much he could not see its darkest side, the shadow that eclipsed it. Because of him, many good people have died. Because of him, a sacred village is in ruins.
But she was there. She was there.
He had been so close to bringing her back.
Shang-Chi sets him down gently amongst the rocks. The Dweller is gone, momentarily, at least, and Shang-Chi, still a cowardly boy of only fourteen years in his father’s eyes, holds the Ten Rings, thrumming with golden power.
“Take them,” he says, thrusting his arms forward. “You have to take them back.”
It burns like the flare of a thousand suns to turn him away, but Wenwu does. His time with the Rings has ended. He knows this now, for certain.
“I thought I was finished, once,” he says. “But now I truly am, my son.”
The look on Shang-Chi’s face is indescribable; Wenwu has lived for millennia and would not know the first word to use.
He cannot take the Rings back. No matter how strongly his body may crave them, how vividly his mind calls out.
They are his son’s, now. They are his daughter’s, now. They are anyone’s but his own.
After so much time, it is only fair.
And his children shine brighter than Wenwu ever did when they vanquish the great evil once more, and Wenwu leans his head back against the cold, hard stone and waits for them to decide his fate, for surely, he deserves a harsh one.
Yet his great love’s sister says that the taking of the Rings is punishment enough.
Wenwu disagrees, but he does not say anything.
He would not even know what to say. He lights a hundred candles to set out on the lake and all of them are for Ying Li.
On return to the monastery, Shang-Chi brews Wenwu a cup of tea. Xialing shuts herself in her room without giving Wenwu a second glance, dragging Ruiwen with her. Slattery does nothing; they left him at Ta Lo, to frolic in the grass with Morris.
Wenwu watches his daughter leave him and suddenly realizes how truly tired he is. He is a mortal man now, with a mortal body, and he must occupy himself with mortal things.
“She’ll come around,” Shang-Chi assures him. “With time, she will.” Yet he sounds unsure when he says it, and Wenwu knows better.
When you’ve lived forever, you always do.
He misses his daughter. He is proud of his son. Shang-Chi is a boy - Shang-Chi is a man, now. His heart is pure. His intentions are good. He is greater than his father, greater even than the Rings that encircle his strong forearms.
Sometimes, as Wenwu sleeps, he can hear the Rings calling for him from down the hall. He does his best to quash the feeling; he understands now that nothing good will come of listening to strange voices.
They called for him before, as well, but - the call of Ying Li had been much, much stronger.
Shang-Chi becomes a sought-after power. He is recruited by Avengers, Defenders, Revengers alike. He saves the world over and over again and never once fails where Wenwu would have. He defeats a time-traveling serpent of a man and a far-off being who dines on planets, and the worlds rejoice.
Wenwu feels pride.
He feels shame.
His daughter must despise him; he must deserve it. Xialing is rarely wrong, about anything.
Like her mother, that way, though Wenwu has always seen himself reflected in her fierce eyes, Shang-Chi holding most of Ying Li in his face and manner. Xialing should have the Rings, perhaps; Wenwu wonders if she is envious of her brother.
He wonders if he is allowed to wonder that - surely, they will never speak of it together.
The only one who really gives company to Wenwu, at all times, on all days, is Ruiwen - Katy.
Ruiwen, her Chinese name. Katy, what others call her. Ruiwen.
Ruiwen.
She is the stars where Shang-Chi is the sun, where Xialing is the many planets in their never-ceasing orbits. Ruiwen is valiant, more intelligent than she lets on, and perhaps the greatest friend and confidant Wenwu’s son could ask for.
She tells him, “You should really have watched more TV. That’s what I would have done, if I was an immortal being.”
She asks him, “Play me in a game of mahjong?”
(He beats her every time but once.)
She shows him, “There’s more to life than power. Read a book. Pick up the guitar. Do something you like, dude.”
He picks up guitar, and he does not halfway hate it as much as he thought he might. Even if the strings pain his fingers at first.
Wenwu has noticed something: Ruiwen and Xialing are in love.
Shang-Chi seems less observant. In time, in time.
Wenwu wonders, bitterly, if his own daughter will steal his only friend away from him. But Ruiwen stays by his side and continues to lose at games of mahjong, and Xialing peers through windows and from behind courtyard columns and scowls.
He wishes there were something he could do.
Ying Li would know, but Ying Li knew everything. Wenwu could never be so fortunate.
Wealthy foreigners from far away in Africa visit Shang-Chi, and bring weapons of vibranium with them. Their king speaks to Wenwu’s son and Wenwu feels utterly lost; he spars against one of the king’s guards, very nearly loses, and hones his targeting skills at pots with a vibranium cannon on his arm. Ruiwen shows him how to hit the mark naturally; the Rings did it for him, once.
The cannon glows blue. Wenwu has always been fond of the color.
The Wakandans leave, but Wenwu feels secure for the first time since relinquishing the Rings to Shang-Chi. He practices day and night with his new cannon and does not stop until he can hit a fly on the wall from forty paces.
Despite this, Ruiwen is still a better shot; since Ta Lo, she has only grown stronger.
Wenwu is…not that envious of her, shockingly. He watches her kiss his daughter and has to wonder if Shang-Chi wishes it were him she loved. Unfortunate for him, if he does.
Wenwu is surprised when Xialing approaches him one day and says, “I don’t hate you. Just so you know.”
He didn’t know; he tells her this much and she snorts bitterly.
“I used to,” she explains. “But not any more. You’re better, now. Even if she’s gone, at least they’re gone, too.”
Wenwu does not have to ask who they are.
“I worry about him,” she says. “What if they do to him what they did to you?”
Wenwu bows his head, sets his solemn features solid. “I cannot promise that that will not happen. But I do not believe that it will.” He exhales, deeply, certainly. “Shang-Chi has been better than me, always. I have faith in his abilities.”
“Yes,” Xialing murmurs, after a moment. “So do I.” She stands, raking her hair back from her face with her fingers. “I think I will marry Katy some day.”
Wenwu smiles, if only barely. “I will be very happy for you when you do.”
His daughter smiles back at him. But only barely.
Shang-Chi lives on. Xialing lives on. Ruiwen lives on.
And Wenwu…
Wenwu lives on, too. He stares up at the moon in its night sky and tells it, Some day, we will be together again, my love.
Soon.