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“How long will it take to reach the afterlife?”
The spirit had appeared in the form of a youthful male, eyes the color of cor lapis yet the light within them were lost. He wore a suit and tie, a wilted white rose hanging from the pocket on the left of his chest, right above where his heart used to be.
“It depends on you.” The boatman answers. “What was your name?”
The male doesn’t look up, staring at the wispy wooden floor of the boat. A petal falls from the rose on his chest.
“Zhongli. Wei Zhongli.”
-
“So, how long will it take to reach the afterlife?”
It had been a few days since they had started travelling from the riverbank of where Zhongli had appeared. The silence they shared was muted and ignored by them both, for spirits and ferrymen do not converse.
This had been the first words that had left the shade’s wispy lips since he had told the boatman his name.
“Not long.”
The spirit hums, staring at the smoke-like river beneath them.
“Do you remember your life, eidolon?” The ferryman asks, rowing the boat to turn to the left.
“Some of it,” Zhongli answers, “I was born to a wealthy family, and my mother and father stuck around more than I thought rich parents would.”
The boatman nods. “And of your death?”
Zhongli hangs his head, as if repulsed by his own passing.
“My demise came due to my old age.” he mumbles. “Which is why I am surprised to see myself appear younger as a shade. In my wedding suit, at that.”
The ferryman chuckles. “Not all human souls die when their body does,” he says. “The image of you as a shade is the image of your soul when it died.”
The silence returns, thicker than before, yet the boatman ignores it, letting the spirit process the newfound knowledge.
-
“How long does it take to reach the afterlife?”
Zhongli again asked him the same question.
These were the words he uttered next ever since his silence at the subject of his soul. Before that the silence had stretched. He can no longer count how long he had been on the boat.
Memories came back to him in bits and broken pieces, like jigsaw puzzles. But the picture was still incomplete, hidden beneath a hazy veil before it was to be presented in front of a gawking audience.
“Not long,” the ferryman says once again.
The shade hums once more, this time reaching his hand out to touch the wispy curls of the water.
“Do you remember your marriage?”
“My marriage was arranged for the sake of my father’s business,” he answers. “I never loved my wife, but she bore my children, the heirs to my father’s wealth that had become mine.”
The boatman nods. “Have you ever fallen in love, then?
“It is a hazy memory,” Zhongli mumbles. “I remember their touch, their scent, their words, but I cannot seem to remember their face and how their voice sounded like.”
The ferryman nods once again. It goes silent, but it was not for long.
“Do you have a name?” The spirit asks, tone curious.
The boatman halts. “We deliverers do not have names,” he answers. “But I did have a name, when I was still a living entity.”
“Then may I ask for that name?” Zhongli pleads. “Just so I can call you something on my trip.”
The ferryman continues rowing, face behind his low hood.
“My name was Childe.”
-
“How long will it take to reach the afterlife, Childe?”
“A little more,” he answers once again, this time more hesitant than his last answer to the question.
Zhongli sighs, watching the vague smoke swirl into ripples from Childe's rowing.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve remembered more of the person I loved,” The spirit says, standing from his leaning position at the side of the boat to sit at the ferryman’s feet.
“Do tell.” Childe encourages.
Zhongli hums, picking at the rose at his chest. It has lost a few more petals, yet it was still recognizable enough to be called a flower.
“I still cannot remember his features and voice, as well as his name, but I know we met in college,” he begins, tone wistful. “He was in the martial arts team, and I was in the literature club.”
Childe lets out a noise of approval. “Do you remember why you didn’t end up together?”
“My parents were against same sex relationships. They were devout Catholics,” Zhongli recalls. “And he was from a poor family. Our difference in status also was a factor.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
Zhongli hesitates, wringing his translucent hands together. “He committed suicide on the day of my marriage.”
Childe goes quiet, uncomfortably so, and the spirit looks at him, interested. “Do you perhaps know about my past?”
“I know the past of all my passengers,” the ferryman answers. “Though, I am not allowed to remind them what they used to be.”
Zhongli hums. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen your face since I rode on your boat.”
Childe nods, cloak billowing in the wind, yet it never uncovers his hood.
“Because, you are not allowed to see it.”
-
“How much longer will it take until I reach the afterlife, Childe?”
The ferryman goes quiet.
They have gotten closer since, yet Zhongli has yet to arrive at the afterlife.
“I’m not stupid, Childe. You’ve been bringing me in laps around the same riverbank.”
“You noticed.”
“Of course, I did.” Zhongli scoffs. “Why are you delaying my rest?”
Childe goes quiet once again.
He stops rowing, letting go of the wooden oar. Its resounding thud on the floor of the boat echoes in Zhongli's ears as he watches Ajax kneels down in front of him.
“I do not want to take you there.”
Zhongli raises an eyebrow. “Why so?”
The ferryman sighs, and only then did Zhongli feel the weight of the weariness in his shaking voice.
“Because I don’t want you to go, zolotse.”
Everything goes quiet, like the eye of the hurricane. Zhongli's eyes widen in shock before he lifts the hood of the man before him, the man who he had waited to meet his whole lifetime.
“So t-that's why,” he whispers in disbelief, cupping the boatman’s face. “Childe. Ajax Igorevich Rybakov, my Ajax—”
Ajax tugs his hands away. “Don’t, Zhongli. Don’t make this harder for both of us,” he pleads. “This was a bad choice; I shouldn’t have shown who I was.”
“But we can be together now!” Zhongli protests, refusing to let go. “We were denied of this in our lifetime, why are you denying our wish further?”
Ajax sighs. He pushes Zhongli away, standing to row the boat once again. This time, he goes in a different direction than he had before.
Zhongli knows their time together will soon be up.
“Please, give me this. Why?”
“My spirit is tied to this vessel,” Ajax whispers, almost inaudible. “Once you get off this boat and see it disappear, you will never see it again.”
Zhongli's heart drops, but he doesn’t say another word. The silence blankets them, suffocating, yet none of them broke it, letting it fester.
The rose in his pocket sheds more petals.
-
“...how long will it take until I reach the afterlife?”
The question was hesitant.
The flower in Zhongli's coat pocket is unrecognizable, wilted completely.
He and Ajax had travelled in silence, both of them not daring to talk.
The boat halts as it reaches shore.
The destination has arrived, yet Zhongli made no move to leave.
“You have to,” Ajax whispers weakly when he can no longer bear the silence.
Zhongli nods, throat constricting. “I know.”
They fall silent again.
The spirit steps off the boat and onto the waiting land. He relishes the sight of the earth, yet his phantom heart is sinking into the depths of the river.
He turns to look at Ajax who stood unmoving, hood kept back ever since Zhongli removed it.
His cloak floats in the air, gently fluttering with the wind.
They stare at each other, not a word said, yet their eyes speak for them.
“...”
Ajax turns, his back to Zhongli, making no move to return his hood to its original place. His hand moves to row the boat, grip on the oar firm.
Zhongli watches as he rows away, not looking back to look at the spirit he had left on the riverbank.
They had wished to be reunited in the afterlife, but not like this. The agony of the realization was heavier to bear, more than their separation during their lifetime.
Maybe was their curse. For both of them to be haunted by their deaths without each other, to eternally exist without the blessing of peace and closure.
Perhaps in another lifetime, when their souls have mended enough to take on more suffering, they would be gifted the blessing of being together, like they had desired.
In this life, however, how long it may have taken for them to reach the afterlife, they were not granted this mercy.