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Ripples halo away from his ankles, the water lapping at his skin cool in the early morning sun. Yang Xunyi bends to a copse of flowers at the edge of the bank, their white, bell-shaped laden with dew, and he brushes their leaves gently away from the roiling stream. The water levels would be rising come Summer, and he has half a mind to relocate the flowers to a spot where they wouldn’t be touched by the swelling ebb and flow. Every morning they greeted him, sweet-smelling and swaying, and they’d long since become a welcome sight - a sign of familiarity, especially after the recent incident.
He looks to the forest at the thought. The child had come unusually early this morning, bringing him a steaming bowl of rice porridge and leaving him with a smile curling at his lips, before disappearing back to wherever their parents undoubtedly needed them for the day. Yang Xunyi was given quite the scare when the little one had fallen into turbulent waters, and though there had been some lingering regret at their frightful, bawling face as he spirited them away to safety, it had all but dissipated as the child had come back. Again, and again, until their expression shone with delight every time they stepped through the treeline.
At least he’d found a friend through it all.
Pulled from his reverie, Yang Xunyi turns, head tilted as he looks into the foliage running parallel to where the spring narrows into a stream. A branch cracks beneath a foot, echoing out through boughs and over the gurgling steam, alerting him to another presence.
Whoever it is strides with purpose towards a goal likely in mind, but it’s obvious he has yet to clearly spot Yang Xunyi where he wades through reeds. The relaxed panes of the approaching man's face belay the whisper of what Yang Xunyi had seen etched into statues, but he appears unbothered, almost as calm as his own waters before the sun peeks over the horizon. His face is unhidden by a disguise that might have tricked Yang Xunyi into believing that the man is some stranger stumbling through the wilderness, and so he rises to meet the martial god who has somehow found their way towards his sanctuary. Something nibbles at the very back of his mind: this man is familiar, but he simply cannot seem to place his finger on just who is approaching him. Regardless, it’s best that he makes his way back up onto dry land.
Shaking droplets from his clothes which vanish into thin air before they even hit the ground, Yang Xunyi strides across the bed of pebbles and into the grass, a placid smile on his face as the man crosses through the treeline. Whoever it is, they don’t startle at his sudden appearance, arms crossed as he stops and quietly regards the river spirit in the guise of man.
Yang Xunyi spares no pleasantries. “Hello, dear lord.” A safe greeting, to be sure. “This is quite a long way to come out. The flowers are beautiful and the water calm, there is no doubt, but I don’t get very many visitors this far out - and I think I would remember someone such as yourself, stranger. My name is Yang Xunyi. And you are…?”
The encroaching god debates on responding with an alias, or perhaps a shortened version of his true name, but with how long he’s been watching the spirit he figures that he owes him the same pleasantries. This Yang Xunyi is no mere human: he looks like one, no doubt, with clear grey eyes and flowing black hair that seems to cover his ears. But the reports of a vengeful ghost had contained something far more sinister, even if his spying had debunked every word written on that same report thus far. Three days he’d watched, sun-up to sun-down with only small breaks, only to slowly discover that this spirit was anything but.
That child was clear evidence of it. So, as if to return the kindness he’d observed etched into every one of Yan Xunyi’s actions thus far, he responds honestly, if a bit confused; he’d come without shrouding his true self, and if anything had expected some recognition. Well, no matter… but it wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging first, before giving away any information about himself.
“It is a beautiful river,” the stranger murmurs, hands folding behind his back as he strides closer to the water. He keeps Yang Xunyi in his peripheral vision, but doesn’t come more than four or five steps of the ghost. Even in situations like these, where he’s fairly certain of his deductions, he still needs to have some modicum of skepticism. Ghosts have tried to get the jump on him by feigning kindness before, and it wasn’t the last he’d seen of it, he was sure.
“Oh yes.” Yang Xunyi is following the stranger, though he too does not dare to stray too close, given the terseness of the stranger’s back and the set of his shoulders. Not an overt threat, but not entirely friendly either. “I find myself coming here to think,” he says, not entirely a lie. “Listening to the stream, the birds and all the sounds of the forest is a balm upon the soul, you see. Quite calming, if I do say so myself.”
He knows he’s beginning to ramble as though to fill the silence, yet the stranger still hums his assent. Better to ramble about inane, obvious things than to play into whatever games this man was trying to weave. Air-headed he might be, but Yang Xunyi was no idiot, and he sees through whatever wordly craft the other man is building to. There must be a reason that he has not given his name yet.
The stranger kneels just before the ground turns to rocks polished with time and the ebbing of the river, still eyeing him.
“I saw a child run by no more than a few minutes ago.” Ah, there it is. The hairs at the back of Yang Xunyi’s neck stand on end. “Are they a relative of yours? I found it odd to see them this far out, without any accompaniment.”
Lying briefly crosses Yang Xunyi’s mind. It should be easy enough, especially with someone who doesn’t know him or his quirks, but the reminder of this stranger’s otherworldliness rears its head and he quickly quashes the idea. It’s not as if the prospective god can read his mind, but he doesn’t miss the stranger’s hard, wandering eyes. A few fibbed words wouldn’t go entirely unnoticed.
So, he decides to tell something of a half-truth. “A friend of mine,” Yang Xunyi answers, “They come from town every so often to keep me company or bring little treats. I try to make it into town when I can, but the distance is long and they seem to enjoy exploring the forests and riverbanks.”
“But is the forest not dangerous?” Gaze finally turning from where it scrutinizes him, the stranger turns his focus to the same lilies of the valley that Yang Xunyi had been tending to prior his arrival. “It is nearly a forty minute walk, and I would worry that someone so young would run into trouble before long.”
The stranger is pushing him to come clean, to lay down his supposed sins for all to see, and Yang Xunyi is suddenly drawn back to the incident. The mention of the child and the safety of the forest; the secrecy of this man’s identity. Had someone been watching when he pulled the little girl from the waters? Come to think of it, it had felt as though there had been something watching him from the shadow of the woods for the past few days. It was lining up too well for him not to dwell upon it, so he laughs openly to quell his doubts.
“Oh, it’s quite safe. There hasn’t been any trouble in years.” Yang Xunyi catches himself before he assures the stranger that it’s him who often keeps the peace. “Or so my grandmother told me. The spring that this stream is connected to has long provided the town with clear water, and no harm had befallen the surrounding forest so long as she lived.” Lived is a bit of a stretch, but he rolls with it. “I’ve seen many children come to play, not just my little friend.”
Again, the god grumbles some sort of agreement, seeming to check off yet another thing on the list rattling about in his head. Yang Xunyi’s words ring true, and he can’t seem to detect any hint of malice or deception, so he lightens up. Just a tad. There’s no point in pressing for something that he now knows to be entirely false.
This is no child snatching ghost. Should he have meant the child any harm, they would not be able to run so freely through the trees, nor would they frolic in the calm stretches of the river under Yang Xunyi’s watchful gaze. No, the little one would have succumbed to a much darker fate long before he could come to investigate, and others might have even disappeared from the village.
Whoever or whatever Yang Xunyi is, he is not the type to do such things. Decades of experience, of things far more dreadful, assure him of his instinctual opinion. “That is good to hear,” he says, finally standing back to his full height and turning to look Yang Xunyi full in the face. He watches as his answer melts Yang Xunyi’s expression into something gentler, more genuine.
“Indeed it is.” Yang Xunyi pauses, the coils of anxiety that had drawn tight in his gut beginning to untighten. Acting natural and without reluctance had been the right thing to do, and he’s happy to realize it. “The spring that this river is connected to supplies the town with water, and its beauty should be able to be appreciated without any threat to those who might come to gaze upon it.”
Still, the stranger’s identity wheedles at him. Not a single moment wherein they’d conversed had anything of note come to mind, thoughts turning over and over with nothing to show for it. He debates on asking for the man’s name again, fixing the stranger with an increasingly inquisitive look. Perhaps it would be rude to ask again? They might be heading onto decent terms, and he would hate to push the envelope and accidentally offend whichever god had chosen to stand before him today.
Yang Xunyi’s curious, glittering stare has finally whittled down the martial god’s reservation, and so he finally lets his name slip. “My name is Pei Xiu. Apologies, perhaps I should have introduced myself earlier.”
The name takes a moment to process as Yang Xunyi turns it over in his mind, head cocking to the side as he thinks. And thinks. He’s heard the name before, seen the statues and the etchings of this man’s familiar face upon stone, but it doesn’t click until the very god has given his name and practically connected the dots for him. Oh. Oh.
It all makes sense. So this is Pei Xiu. Yang Xunyi quickly schools his expression away from surprise, lifting a sleeve to his mouth as though to conceal the nervousness flitting there. The feeling rises like butterflies from Pei Xiu’s sudden appearance, or his looks, or perhaps both. “General Pei,” he titters, almost meekly. “I certainly wasn’t expecting someone of your countenance, but, well, here you are.”
Something akin to vexation wrinkles at Pei Xiu’s brow upon hearing the honorific, but it quickly smooths back down into nonchalance. It occurs to him that he might want to correct Yang Xunyi - that he’s General Pei Junior, not his senior counterpart and ancestor - but seeing the gleam in the ghost’s eye quells any need for him to point out the mistake.
Ah, wait, it wasn’t a mistake. He’s being teased.
There’s a glimmer of mirth to Yang Xunyi then, as if he’s extending an olive branch across the space between them; to set the tone away from the suspicious, almost accusing attitude Pei Xiu walked into the riverside clearing with. Pei Xiu could very well take it the wrong way and bat down the offering, but for some reason he’s inclined to entertain whatever might be going through Yang Xunyi’s mind. He lets a quiet lull between them for a moment or two, mulling over the prospect, before reaching the conclusion that there was something to be gained here.
If Pei Junior had learned anything by now, it was to give others a chance. To let his stony exterior crack, if only slightly, and give way for something new. Something good.
Despite the silence, Yang Xunyi isn’t so easily baited into nervousness. Instead, he sways on his feet and seeks to fill the air with some sort of conversation. Pei Xiu doesn’t seem to him like the overly talkative type, but seeing his arms fall to his side and stance grow less firm has Yang Xunyi thinking that things are headed in a different direction from where they began. So, taking a chance, he makes a suggestion.
“You might’ve already stopped by, but the nearby town is known for its teahouse. Luck has it that my friend, the little one you saw earlier, is the daughter of its owners, and they serve a spectacular Pu-erh .” He stops to gauge Pei Xiu’s response, and when he doesn’t find a trace of rejection, continues, “I think that it might be suited to your tastes. Care to join me? I was planning on venturing into town today, anyway.” That last part isn’t entirely true, but it would be rude of Yang Xunyi to make a hasty exit upstream.
Mind, he isn’t going to offer to pay. The martial god has enough coin to spare for a cup of tea, he’s sure.
Another beat passes before Pei Xiu agrees. “Might as well,” he muses, moving to tuck his hands behind his back. This is a chance to triple-check his suspicions and ensure that his instinctual gut response is rooted in sensibility. Conversing over tea presented the perfect opportunity to get to know the ghost: what others thought of him, how he treated the townsfolk, among other things. He could see what made Yang Xunyi tick, maybe even what allowed him to form such a bond with the child he had reportedly tried to drown.
That's what he tells himself, at least, staring somewhat unabashedly at Yang Xunyi's side profile as the ghost turns away and towards the trees. A voice at the back of his head remarks of the slope of his nose and the curve of his cheek; how it all softens beneath the sun steadily rising into the sky.
His thoughts are quickly jarred when Yang Xunyi, more than a little excited with how reasonable (and dare he say amicable) Pei Xiu is being, casts his newfound companion a positively beaming smile and starts down the path that has become well worn with his trips to town. His nature as a ghost, a spirit who calls the mountain spring home, is still left unsaid as Pei Xiu follows closely behind.