Chapter Text
When Xie Lian opens his eyes, the light is blinding. It's so bright, his optical nerves hurt. What's more, he can see the sky. He hasn't been able to see the sky in so many years now. How long was it anyway? Five decades, ten maybe? It's hard to keep track of time when the only cue to how much time is passing is how many times he dies and comes back to life.
The sky stretches and stretches and stretches, unobstructed by towers or fires. He realizes that he can breathe. The wind is thin and pure and nothing like the stilted suffocating air in his coffin. It feels so good. He feels alive and… well. Very well actually. No ache in his joints, no gnawing hunger in his stomach. Too good to be true.
He gulps. Vague voices that are familiar reach out and sound like they are faintly calling him.
"— anxia? Are you—"
"— not okay, can't you see? Dumbass—"
The voices sound so familiar and so warm, it hurts. A lump forms in his throat.
Not again, he thinks as his eyes prick. Anything but this .
Loneliness drives people mad; it's lethal. And Xie Lian has been so lonely. Especially in the last century? Few decades? With only Ruoye for company and the occasional maggots that like to cling to his bloody body, he has long since lost his sanity. Sometimes, he dreams of people he used to know, people he loved. Other times, about a wistful future where someone rescues him. Funnily enough, even the hallucination where white no-face digs him out fills him with hope to the brim.
Anything is preferable over the painful monotony of being stuck in a coffin.
The best (and worst) of all are the dreams where he wakes up in a world under the blue sky and he is friends with Mu Qing and Feng Xin. Because that could never happen and it hurts how much he misses them so much. It hurts, because he thinks, if he were them, he would have left himself too.
Hearing their voice in this hazy dream breaks something inside of him which is funny, really. It's funny because he has been broken so many times and put back together haphazardly but somehow, he still manages to break all over again. There are still parts of him that can be broken. It's funny.
Taking a deep breath, he sees a sword in his hand—fangxin. The fastest way to end this sweet nightmare is to probably do something drastic enough to wake himself up. He has done it before, it’s simple enough and hundred percent effective. He raises the black jaded weapon and all at once, lunges it towards his abdomen, bracing for the impact.
It never comes.
When he opens his eyes (when did he close them?), he sees red. Red like a mountain hindering his vision. Red like glory and beauty. A red different from the crimson of blood he is used to.
Someone in velvety red robes put themself between him and his sword. He just stabbed someone, he realizes with horror.
Distantly, he thinks, he hears Mu Qing suck in a breath and someone else, likely Feng Xin, rushes forward. However, his attention remains fixed on the person in front of him.
The man— boy?—sinks to his knees, fangxin poking out from his stomach and lets out a broken sob. He has long inky hair that falls below his waist and one of his eyes is covered with an eye patch. His face is scrunched up in pain, all sharp edges and careful eyes.
"Dianxia," he whispers, sounding so small, it feels like a sharp stab at his heart. "Why?"
Xie Lian crouches down beside him, knees hitting the ground harshly, and tries to formulate something—an apology maybe— but it's hard to speak past the lump in his throat. All that comes out is a strangled sob.
"I am so sorry," he apologizes uselessly. Regret does not take away pain. He watches helplessly the youth in front of him who will likely die at his hand. The prickling tears start to stream down his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I am so sorry. Can I look at the wound?"
"Gege," he protests, sounding a little offended. "You don't have to apologize to me. Never." He shakes his head so vehemently, like apologizing is the worst crime he could ever commit.
"At least, let me take a look at the wound. I can probably help with it."
"I'm fine," the man insists fiercely. "You don't have to worry about me."
As if to prove his point, the man grabs the sword by the hilt, pulls it out of his stomach like it’s nothing and tosses it aside. Jarringly, there is an abject absence of blood. His breath hitches.
"Oh," he whispers. "You're a ghost." Like Wu Ming.
Something flashes over the ghost's eye. His eye is pretty, like obsidian and so expressive but he hasn't seen anyone in so long that he finds it hard to tell what he is feeling.
"Dianxia, I'm fine," he reassures him but the guilt pools low in his stomach like acid and grime and crawls up his stomach like sticky bile. One could be perfectly alive and still in pain, Xie Lian knows that better than most people. "I… Are you okay? Can you tell me why you were about to hurt yourself?" the ghost chooses to ask, not bothering with other important questions like how he planned to compensate for his actions.
The ghost wraps his arms around Xie Lian's shoulders and helps him sit straight. "I am sorry," he whispers because why is he being helped after he almost killed someone? "You don't have to help me. You’re the one who’s hurt.”
“Dianxia,” he protests weakly.
In front of them, Mu Qing appears—and oh, he really is here. “Stop fussing over Hua Cheng. You know he is practically invincible. Are you … What were you trying to do anyway?” he demands, sounding equally disgruntled and concerned in the familiar way that is so uniquely him.
Xie Lian pinches the skin near his elbow slightly because everything feels far too real and it can’t be. He should be in his coffin gasping for oxygen, stuck in a wooden chamber that has seen better days, rotten and nearly one with the ground.
“What does it matter? It’s a hallucination anyway. It’s not like you care anymore,” he settles for, looking away. He pretends not to notice the hurt that flashes over imaginary Mu Qing’s face. Good, the cruel part of him that he can’t quite kill thinks. But really, is it even cruel when Mu Qing isn’t even really here? (not that he can do anything while he is six feet below ground and his friend is probably six feet above the clouds.)
His eyes settle on his ghost friend—imaginary friend—who is very pretty, he thinks absurdly. Almost too pretty like a knight in shining armor too. Xie Lian wonders if he has finally entered a new level of madness to invent someone this perfect, as if the personification of everything he would like in a person.
“Gege,” the ghost—no, Hua Cheng—starts. “Can you tell me what you mean by hallucination?” He holds Xie Lian’s gaze as he asks the question, the intensity in his dark eye never once fading. Like this, he looks unshakably kind.
Xie Lian exhales a shaky breath. The characters in his dreams are hardly ever so insistent but then again, none of them are entirely new people he made up.
“It’s not real, is it? I’ll wake up and this will just be another dream,” he answers frankly.
“Dianxia.” It’s Feng Xin who addresses him this time. He looks at Xie Lian with a complicated expression that is hard to decipher. “This is not a dream.”
Xie Lian pauses. The earth underneath his hands is slightly damp and the grass is dewy. The cold seeps in through his muscles. Feng Xin towers over where he is seated with the ghost, shrouding the sun’s scintillating rays. He breathes in the air and it smells like grass, rain and blood.
Then, he bursts out laughing, shocking everyone. He laughs for a good while. Because it’s funny how well his subconscious knows him, playing his dreams the most devastating ways. It knows just the right words to ignite the flame of hope in his heart. He will wake up in a couple of hours and this dream will be like a bucket of ice water, leaving him colder now that his memories fusioned with illusions has given him a taste of companionship and warmth.
“Gods,” he says, “just let me end this dream already please.” He reaches out for the knife but before he can feel the cool hilt under his fingers, Hua Cheng snatches it from his grasp. An icy look passes over his features.
“Is that why you were trying to stab yourself?” he asks, voice so cold, it sends shivers down his spine. Now he understands what Mu Qing meant when he said Hua Cheng is invincible. His aura is impressive. “You think this is a dream so you wanted to end it by—by,” his voice cracks before he can finish the sentence.
“Why do you think it’s a dream?” Mu Qing asks, cutting off the ghost.
“Ah, it’s a lot of things,” Xie Lian says, sighing. “I haven’t seen the sky in a while. It’s too blue and pretty to be real. And I haven’t seen you or Feng Xin in,” he pauses to consider how long it has been. “I don’t know. A couple of centuries?”
“Dianxia, this isn’t a dream.” Hua Cheng speaks this time. “You were chasing after a demon. It probably altered your memories again.”
Xie Lian blinks. That does sound something that would happen to him but then again, the feeling of maggots crawling on his skin, the permanent taste of iron on his tongue from his swollen gums, and the blood—god, the non-stop fountain of blood pouring from where the dowel pierced him in the stomach are still fresh in his mind.
“Are you sure?” he asks, frowning. “If … If what you are saying is true, why are Feng Xin and My Qing here?”
“Is it so hard to believe that we want to be friends with you?” Mu Qing snaps.
Xie Lian just looks at him unblinkingly. Mu Qing shrivels under his stare. “Okay, alright, I see where you are coming from. We are f-friends again, I think.”
Feng Xin snorts beside him. “He made a big speech about how he is emotionally constipated and wants to be your f-f-friend.”
“Really?” He hates how hopeful he sounds.
Stupid Stupid Stupid. Don’t get your hopes too high—
Mu Qing doesn’t meet his eyes, the flush in his cheeks already gives him away. He nods slightly.
“That’s …” nice, “...unexpected.”
“Dianxia, do you,” Hua Cheng hesitates. “Do you remember me?”
Xie Lian lowers his eyes.
The ghost wilts, which is ridiculous. Who would want to be remembered by the God of Misfortune and ruined kingdoms?
“That’s okay,” he says softly. “We’ll get your memories back soon.”
“What if I didn’t lose my memories? What if I am just not your Xie Lian?” he insists, because he can’t imagine a world where he would forget someone as impressionable as Hua Cheng. The red of his robes carefully embroidered with silver butterflies and peonies, and the low tinkle of the bells in his boots every time the wind blows past make him appear like a grand king or something equally regal.
“Gege is gege. I know it’s you,” he says with such confidence that it makes him want to believe. He gulps because this Hua Cheng makes him feel too much.
Hua Cheng stands up and carefully brushes the dust off his dress and trousers. Then, he extends a hand to Xie Lian to help him up. He takes it gratefully.
“Are you really alright?” he asks, biting his lips. The hole in the cloth remains, slightly frayed and tinged in red.
“I’m a ghost king. There is very little in this world that can hurt me,” he says. “But gege, can kiss it better if he wants to.” He winks at Xie Lian, who looks away quickly, a blush spreading over his cheeks.
“Ah, Hua Cheng shouldn’t joke about wounds like that.”
The ghost king’s steps slow down for a second and he looks slightly caught off guard. “San Lang” he says. “That’s what you call me.”
“Oh,” Xie Lian smiles. “If that’s what San Lang wishes.”
“Will you two stop flirting for two seconds?” Mu Qing calls out, making a disgruntled face.
Xie Lian tightens his jaw, “I don’t think you need to worry about how I carry myself. You can leave anytime if my presence is bad for your heavenly reputations.”
“Dianxia,” Mu Qing sounds like a wounded animal. “I…I didn’t mean to offend you. I am sorry I overstepped.”
Xie Lian goes a little slack. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He closes it, only to open it again. “You can really leave. I didn’t mean it sarcastically. I have been alone for a long time. I wouldn’t dare force you to be friends with me.”
“Xie Lian, I’m not leaving again,” Mu Qing says softly. “When everything happened … It was a dark time. None of us were in a good place and we couldn’t look beyond ourselves.” He inhales sharply. “It’s not like that anymore. We are all in a much better place now and … and I think we could brave any adversity with more courage and strength now.”
“Don’t,” Xie Lian chokes. “Don’t say things you don't mean. Tomorrow, I will return to my time and place and I’ll be alone again. I don’t need these empty promises for now.”
“Gege, you won’t be alone ever again. You’ll always have me. It’s an amnesia spell. You'll still be here.”
“San Lang, please,” Xia Lian’s voice breaks. “Don’t make me hope.”
“Dianxia, my dianxia, you don’t have to worry.”
“I don’t think I can take it if I…If I wake up in my coffin again tomorrow.”
Something dark flashes over the ghost king’s eyes. Feng Xin and Mu Qing freeze in their steps.
“Coffin?” Feng Xin repeats.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Xie Lian laughs uncomfortably. “I was just being silly.”
“Is it … is the last thing you remember related to being Lang Qianqiu’s goushi?” Feng Xin asks again.
“You know about that?” Xie Lian asks, shame rising inside him. He chuckles, trying to ease his anxiety. “Ah well, turns out I still held a lot of resentment for the people of Yong’an. Hahaha … who would have known?”
“Gege,” San Lang says softly. “They know the complete truth. Everything. Including who killed the king before you dealt the last blow.”
“Oh.”
He feels sort of defeated. “What is this future? Aren’t you all mad at me for killing the last prince of Xian Le? I am sure it took less than me killing a person for everyone to leave me last time.”
Mu Qing and Feng Xin both wince at that.
“I was young and naive, Dianxia,” Feng Xin says. “I should have stayed.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. At least, I can’t drag you down with me now that you aren’t with me, or well, weren’t. I couldn't even take care of my parents,” a humorless chuckle, “It’s good that you left before things got messy.” It still hurts though. I wish someone had stayed.
Beside him, San Lang’s gaze pierces through him. “Gege shouldn’t have had to go through all that,” he whispers.
You wouldn’t say that if you knew the things I did, Xie Lian thinks bitterly as he shakes his head in disagreement.
“Dianxia …” Feng Xin trails off, the discomfort etched into his features. “I am sorry.”
“Your sorry won’t take away the pain Dianxia had to go through,” Hua Cheng sneers at Feng Xin.
“You shouldn’t,” Xie Lian mutters. “You shouldn’t take my side here. He had every reason to leave. My resentment is selfish.”
“Gege is never selfish,” the ghost says with that foolish conviction again.
“I think it’s best for people not to have too much hope in another,” he says instead.
Hua Cheng gives him a look, sharp and something more. It pierces right through him, like he can see through his soul. Xie Lian shifts uncomfortably. Mercifully Hua Cheng doesn’t say anything to that. For a while, they all walk in companionable silence. Feng Xin and Mu Qing walk ahead while he and Hua Cheng follow. It should be absurd how little his two childhood friends have changed. Instead, it’s comforting. This world that likes to wash away all the colors to repaint the sceneries anew still has some constancy and that’s all he can ask for, really.
Xie Lian clears his throat. “So, where are we going?”
“Home,” Hua Cheng replies, and he sounds impossibly soft.
“Whose home?” he asks tentatively, because he knows better than to assume he has one. He hasn’t even had a straw-mat to sleep on in the last hundred years. Just the hardwood coffin and dirt. But then again, if home is a place where you belong, he has been home for a long time.
“Mine," Hua Cheng replies.
“Why?”
“Because gege is sick and should be allowed to recuperate. General Xuan Zhen and General Nan Yang can take care of the demon, I am sure, " he says, throwing a glare over his shoulder.
"I… I really don't want to impose. A ghost king like yourself must be really busy,"
“Nonsense,” Hua Cheng says easily. “Your health is the most important thing right now.”
“You really don’t have to worry. I have been through much worse,” Xie Lian smiles.
“All the more reason to tend to gege,” the ghost king says with a grin.
Xie Lian looks at Hua Cheng. He is evidently powerful. It shows in the way he carries himself, so unafraid and haughty even when accompanied by two gods and an ex-god. He sees the way despite the mutual dislike, his old friends genuinely respect him. It’s interesting because he never really took Feng Xin and Mu Qing to be the type of people to fraternize with ghosts but then again, Hua Cheng looks easy to fall for.
He finds himself giving in to Hua Cheng’s offers. It’s hard to not take advantage of every single kindness he is offered especially after being stuck with insects and his own flesh for food and a home that smells of urine, vomit, rot and blood. The feeling of the earthworm that had been feeding on the skin of his earlobe still feels too real to be mere amnesia but he hopes he is wrong. He would rather take a hundred swords again than be stuck in that coffin again.
“Dianxia?” San Lang asks, once they part ways from the martial gods of the south. “Are you truly comfortable coming with me?”
Xie Lian bites his lips and doesn't meet his eyes. “Honestly, I don't have anywhere better to go. With my luck, I am probably still living in a cottage that is barely holding on,” he explains, instinctively reaching to touch the cursed shackle around his neck, A small gasp escapes his mouth. “What happened to my cursed shackle?”
“You reascended and … we dealt with them,” San Lang explains vaguely.
Xie Lian swallows. He tries to stop his mind from going into overdrive but he just found out he reascended and he decided to get rid of his shackles? Neither part of the sentence really makes sense to him. Why would the heavens, after everything, choose him for ascension? And how could he get rid of the shackles when he killed his last believer? How could he decide to get rid of his shackles when no amount of penance can ever undo what he did?
“I got rid of them?” Xie Lian asks blankly, if a bit disbelieving.
“No. I did,” Hua Cheng says.
Xie Lian stops walking. “Why?”
“A lot of things happened. It was necessary.”
“Was it really?” Xie Lian can’t help but ask.
Hua Cheng meets his gaze. “It was to save the world.”
At this, Xie Lian can’t help but chuckle. “Really?”
“Gege doesn’t believe me,” San Lang remarks, pouting slightly.
“No, no. San Lang has been awfully kind to this old gege. I am just very confused. How did you remove them anyway?”
Hua Cheng moves close to him, so close that he can see the brown accents of his pupils and the way the light dances atop them. Hua Cheng's lips are just mere inches away from his. Xie Lian’s lips part in surprise. Hua Cheng’s eye glows mischievously. “How does gege think I did it?” he asks, voice low and husky. Xie Lian feels heat creep up his neck and ears. He immediately looks away, towards the blue horizon and lets out a nervous laugh.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I had no clue anyone apart from the heavenly emperor could do it.”
At that, Hua Cheng’s face darkens a little but the look disappears as soon as it appears. When he glances at Xie Lian again, he is smiling patiently again.
“I’ll answer all of gege’s questions but let’s go home first, shall we?” the ghost king asks, stretching out an arm.
Xie Lian takes his hand, looking at Hua Cheng to confirm if that’s what he was expecting. The reassuring smile on his handsome face soothes his worries. Then, without a warning, Hua Cheng drops two glowing red dice and instantly the world bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors, an overwhelming red blooming into them before it all comes to an abrupt halt, leaving Xie Lian in front of a massive palace. His jaw nearly drops.
“You have an impressive house,” Xie Lian says, breathless, as he tries to drink in the details. The manor appears in all its red glory, standing tall and proud, arching over the entire city around them. A pavilion with beaded curtains leads to a hall within. Hua Cheng leads him inside, a small smile on his lips.
“I’m glad gege thinks so.”
“Have I—the other me—been here before?” Xie Lian asks curiously, barely stopping himself from gawking at the beautiful mansion. It’s decorated tastefully, if a little ostensibly. For some reason, however, everything looks like they belong here.
“Mhm,” Hua Cheng confirms. “Why don’t we get settled down for today?”
"Thank you so much for your hospitality," Xieian replies, bowing down. He doesn't remember much of the world outside and its etiquette but he knows everything has a price. Nothing should be taken for granted. "But I'm afraid I don't have anything to give."
"Anything that's mine is yours. Your company is already more than I can ask for," the ghost king replies with such sincerity, he almost believes it.
Hua Cheng is gentle and kind in a way that tears Xie Lian away. He has lived a long, long time as nothing but a speck of dust lost in the storm. He hasn't seen another human in nearly a century and it has been even longer since he has been seen by someone, listened to in any capacity.
But here is Hua Cheng, who seems to linger on his every word, eyes only on him like he is someone precious. Xie Lian should know better than to believe that the ghost king is not just merely entertaining him. Even so, that's more kindness he has experienced in centuries.
"San Lang is too kind," Xie Lian says for the umpteenth time as Hua Cheng insists on doing his hair after a warm shower and some of the best food he has ever had in his life.
"Nonsense gege," he responds, and scrunches up his nose. "I am very mean."
"Is that so?" Xie Lian asks, indulging him with a small smile. Hua Cheng positions himself before Xie Lian, hands expertly weaving through his silky hair. Hua Cheng's fingertips are ice cold and instantly relaxes his mind when they graze over his scalp.
"Well, it depends on my mood, I suppose," he replies with a cheeky smile.
Xie Lian laughs despite himself. He doesn't understand what it's about Hua Cheng but something about him makes it very easy to put the pain behind and truly laugh.
While he is with Hua Cheng, it's easy to forget that every banquet comes to an end.
In the end, Xie Lian doesn't ask Hua Cheng anything. It is unfair to Wu Ming that he got rid of the last symbol of him and his sacrifice from earth but he has always been selfish. So, instead of asking about his future self’s justification, he cherishes the fragile peace and companionship that Hua Cheng provides and drinks in his witty humor and obscure knowledge. He lets himself be swayed by the flow like he has for the past five hundred years because he isn't ready to break this comfortable present yet. Besides, all truths are always revealed in due time.
After Hua Cheng braids his hair, Xie Lian returns the favour by combing Hua Cheng’s long black locks of hair and weaving them into a rather clumsy fishtail braid. Then, the two of them move on to the large bed, knees pulled close to his chest, chin resting over them while Hua Cheng lies half down with his head resting against bedframe. They talk a lot, about this and that and there is never a dull turn in the conversation. Hua Cheng is easy to talk to, and he listens. He listens to what Xie Lian has to say and honestly, Xie Lian doesn't know how he can ever go back to his previous life now that he has gotten a taste of friendship. It scares him.
The mattress is like pudding under his back, soft and fluffy and so inviting. He falls asleep to the slow cadence of Hua Cheng's slightly raspy voice as he tells him about his travels and experiences. The last thing he remembers is Hua Cheng tucking him under the silky smooth duvet and whispering, "Sleep well, Dianxia."
Then, it goes black.
The first thing that registers in his mind is the smell of urea and rot. After that he feels bone deep cold and the maggot feeding on his left pinky toe. He exhales but it's difficult to inhale because the air is thick and suffocating.
When he opens his eyes, he can't help but laugh out loud. He can't stop laughing, even as he chokes up blood and the fresh, warm blood seeps through his robes. The pain, after the dream's sweet relief, feels all too fresh. He brushes the worm under his ear away but not without accidentally hitting the hard wood of the coffin, causing blood to trickle down cracked fingernails.
He is where he always was. Underground, six feet below everyone. A corpse that isn't dead, an immortal who isn't a god, a ghost of a person who isn't human. So, he laughs. He laughs because this has been his reality for an indefinite eternity and yet, he still clings to hope. Such a hopeless hope. He laughs a little louder, as tears run down his dirty cheeks.
San Lang, you lied. I'm all alone again.
He has gone insane, lost his mind completely, talking to people he made up in his sleep. The hysterical laughter only stops when he accidentally swallows the blood that comes up his throat and chokes. Chronic pain courses through his body from where the dowel sits in his stomach like an extension of his own body like icicles in his veins.
And it hurts.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!!
Help me.
By heaven’s mercy, he passes out again.